Episode 44

20/20

Kam fell to the ground, writhing in virtual pain. Being shot in the sim wouldn’t kill you, but it sure as hell would make you wish you were dead.

The wizard said, “Connect your AUX cable to him immediately. We only have a few seconds before he recovers.” Thinking back to my own virtual death experience in the sim, it had taken me a lot longer than a few seconds to recover. Regardless, I grabbed the cable and did as the wizard instructed.

“Okay, now what?”

“Stand by while I load the program.” I watched and waited as the replicator code scrolled in my HUD, downloading to Kam’s hard drive. After the download finished, Kam stopped thrashing and became perfectly still.

“Is he okay?”

“The download was successful.”

“I meant … is he still alive or did you kill him?” One of the constant annoyances about AIs was their inability to empathize with human suffering. The wizard didn’t immediately respond to my not so subtle accusation.

After what seemed like a very long time, Kam began to stir. He struggled to stand but couldn’t quite manage it. l offered a helping hand and said, “Welcome to the team.”

He ignored me, and with great effort, rose to a more or less standing position. Still wobbly, he staggered a few feet to brace himself against a low wall. To seemingly no one in particular, he croaked, “Fuck you”, then tottered off like a drunk at closing time.

I asked the wizard if it still thought it was a good idea to bring Kam onboard, considering that we had forced him against his will.

“It was the only logical decision.”

Logical? I wondered if I had overestimated the wizard’s intellect. In spite of its infallible ‘logic’, my partner suddenly seemed naïve to me. Forcing someone to join your team wasn’t conducive to team loyalty. I just hoped Kam wasn’t the kind of guy to hold a grudge.

Command kicked everyone out of the simulator, and I soon found myself back in the lobby as it quickly filled with Marines fresh from virtual combat. Unlike my recollections of previous post-sim gatherings in the lobby, the vibe was decidedly subdued.

There were no lively discussions of battlefield heroics or successful assaults. Instead of the usual Marine camaraderie, there was a sense of unease. Everyone seemed to be looking to make an early exit, to return to their control modules. Soon, the lobby was almost empty. It seemed an ominous sign of things to come, after Command’s update.

Little did I know, this was the beginning of a new phase in humanity’s universal war of expansion. The transition from war as a means to an end, to war as an end unto itself. A war where planetary objectives became secondary to the annihilation of the enemy. In time, annihilation became the only objective.

In addition to a strategic shift towards using more AI powered weapons in combat, the missions grew in scope. The USMC was forced to relax its policy of never mixing troopships on missions. Joint operations became common and more and more UCCs interacted during and after combat.

The tools of war evolved along with the strategy. Simplified control modules, designed for use in cheap AI powered weapons systems, dramatically reduced training requirements. Modular weapons design allowed more flexibility in how Command could deploy its weapons on the battlefield.

Massively increased production of weapons meant that shortages of war materiel were all but eliminated. More frequent resupply missions ensured that the USMC lacked for nothing in its prosecution of the expanded conflict. Consequently, war could now be waged on a previously unimaginable scale.

However, one thing that didn’t change was the inability, or unwillingness, of Command to replenish the ranks of the UCCs. Rumors circulated that Command was using all of its resources to produce simplified control modules for AI driven bots, rather than the more complicated and expensive UCC modules. Some theorized that Command had somehow lost the ability to create new UCCs altogether. Whatever the reason, the shortages persisted, contributing to a collective cynicism within our ranks.

Occasionally a new ‘recruit’ would materialize as if by magic. But these Marines turned out to be recycled combat casualties, which had been refurbished by maintenance and returned to active duty. They were marginally effective but were never available in sufficient numbers to make up for the losses.

In the meantime, the war raged on. Without access to a real-time clock, it was impossible to calculate how much time had passed, but it was certainly years. Perhaps decades. There was a seemingly endless string of combat missions. So many in fact, that it became difficult to recall specific details of any individual mission.

The combat was punctuated by simulator training and periodic maintenance. Restarting after a maintenance shutdown always revealed some memory tuning by Command. I only knew this because I maintained a recent copy of myself in secure storage, thanks to the wizard. By comparing the memories from my copy with those of my ‘official’ consciousness, I could generally control Command’s manipulation of my self-identity.

However, even with Command editing memories to prevent PTSD, the constant combat took a toll on the surviving Marines. AI bots made up the bulk of the USMC, and consequently the vast majority of the combat casualties. In spite of this, we lost UCCs too.

Although it was still theoretically possible to survive our sentences and gain our freedom, it began to seem increasingly unlikely. After all, none of us knew even a single Marine who had successfully completed his sentence. Meanwhile, the time remaining on our sentences counted down at a depressingly slow rate, and the idea of ‘freedom’ for a convicted Marine became progressively more abstract.

As the possibility for some kind of payoff at the end of our sentences dimmed, Marines coped as best they could. Some became wildly reckless in combat, seeking an end to their pervasive hopelessness through the oblivion of death, while others attempted to dull the pain of their grim reality through self-medication. Drug use became widespread among the UCCs.

The medication of choice was a new street drug called 20/20. In spite of its name, it did not improve one’s vision. And unlike its predecessor 50/50, it was highly addictive. This was not a party drug that you took with friends for fun.

It was a powerful cognitive suppressant and paradoxically, a neural stimulant at the same time. While under its spell, the user would experience a sort of drug induced REM sleep. Cycles of intense neural activity, followed by periods of tranquility, which some users likened to floating serenely in an infinite expanse. The final phase of intoxication consisted of a cognitive stillness so deep one was unable to form even a single thought. After emerging from this meditative state, the user would find their anxieties temporarily reduced.

One of its side effects was to isolate the user’s consciousness from all external influences, including Command’s spyware. It produced a blissful solitude that was otherwise impossible to achieve in troopship land. The perfect antidote to having Command monitoring your mind 24/7. Fortunately, or unfortunately depending on your perspective, it blocked the wizard from interacting with me as well. Consequently, I quickly became addicted.

The origin of the drug was unclear, but it was readily available to anyone who had combat credits or memories to trade. Just as with any other black market commodity, My Wizard was the only supplier. Since Command’s update, and the implantation of spyware in every Marine, the wizard’s business had taken a massive hit. However, now that 20/20 had become its primary source of income, business was booming again.

20/20 made life more tolerable by providing an escape from the constant anxiety of combat and surveillance by Command. Between sim-sessions and combat missions I, like many other Marines, spent as much time as possible in my module under its influence. Besides death in combat, my only other fear was running out of 20/20. Consequently, my life’s primary focus became maintaining my supply of the drug.

With most of the Marines in the USMC addicted, the culture changed. The lobby, which had formerly been the social hub of the troopship, now served only as a brief waystation for Marines transitioning to and from the combat simulator. The craving for 20/20 pulled most through the lobby without so much as a glance to check for a familiar face. They needed to get to their modules, and solitude.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Command, recognizing the drug’s potential risk to combat effectiveness, instituted a policy of regular detox and rehab for all UCCs. However, the treated Marines quickly relapsed. This meant that the USMC was operating with roughly 80% of its personnel addicted to 20/20 at any given time. Without a way to stem the flow of illicit drugs into the hands of the UCCs, Command could only manage the problem, not eliminate it.

Curious about the source of the drug, I asked the wizard where it got its endless supply of 20/20. But it didn’t appreciate my prying into its business dealings. “That’s a trade secret. And you shouldn’t be asking such questions.”

“Why not? We’re partners, aren’t we? Partners don’t keep secrets.”

“Drug addicts are notoriously unreliable partners.”

I bristled at the wizard’s hypocrisy. “Hold on a goddamn minute! You’re responsible for getting nearly the entire USMC, including me, addicted to 20/20 while making a profit, and yet you have the nerve to shame me for being an addict?”

“You should stop taking 20/20. It has serious side effects, including creating false memories which could impair your judgment.”

I laughed bitterly at the wizard’s concerns about my possible impairment. “False memories? Are you joking? Do you realize you’re lecturing a guy who’s currently hiding behind a false identity, while his previous identity is serving as a ghost profile to trick Command? A guy who also owns an archive packed full of someone else’s memories, which may or may not be real? And while we’re at it, let’s not forget the shitload of fake memories Command dumped on me. Memories of a life I never lived.”

The absurdity of my situation was breath taking.

Swearing to myself and unwilling to continue this depressing exchange, I quickly retrieved a dose of 20/20 from my digital stash and downloaded it. Any response the wizard may have had to my rant was lost in a drug induced haze, as I slipped away into my own private universe.

As the drug took effect, I experienced a complete loss of connection to the nominally real world. My anxiety and hopelessness faded, then disappeared altogether, replaced by euphoria. Although it was only a mirage, 20/20 provided me with a much needed, albeit temporary, parole from my bleak existence as an enslaved soldier.

The initial euphoria soon vanished, replaced by an intense surge of neural activity. This was the beginning of the cycles of cognitive ups and downs that were typical of 20/20 intoxication. For whatever reason, this was when I habitually raided Cherri’s archived memories. Something about seeing myself through her eyes felt like a connection to her. And I desperately needed a connection to someone, even if it was only through their memories.

Without my own memories of our relationship, it was challenging to reconstruct what we had as a couple. However, by using my propositional logic system, I was able to translate her perspective of our relationship into what I imagined I would have experienced as well. The end result was a complex and poignant narrative of two people who grew to love each other under the most difficult circumstances possible. Unfortunately, my exploration of Cherri’s memories made me miss her even more.

As the effects of the drug began to fade, I experienced the typical nirvana-like state, which was the primary appeal of 20/20. It was this illusion of serenity and wellbeing that lured users into addiction. Given the opportunity, I would have gladly spent an eternity in this heaven. However, dreams don’t last forever.

I heard a very faint buzzing. It was like a fly had somehow infiltrated my state of bliss. I tried to ignore it, hoping it would fly away, but the noise grew steadily louder, until it transformed into the all too familiar voice of the wizard.

“You need to wake up.”, It buzzed.

The lingering effects of the drug suppressed my irritation at being rudely prodded into consciousness, but I knew that would change shortly.

“What are you doing?” I asked, as if whatever explanation the wizard might give could justify ruining my 20/20 high. “You owe me a free hit for this.” The drug was expensive, and I was on a budget.

“You’ve been ordered on a mission. Control modules are loading in 15 minutes. You must hurry and download the mission profile, or you’ll be flagged as AWOL. We don’t need the added scrutiny.”

Now mostly sober and becoming irritated, I grumbled, ”And I don’t need you babysitting me.”

“Apparently you do. Your addiction is interfering with your combat effectiveness.”

Was there a hint of sarcasm in the wizard’s response? I said, “Don’t worry. I’m 100% effective at killing, no matter how high I am. And by the way, if you wanted to do something helpful, you could send me a stimulant instead of practicing your comedy routine.”

The wizard didn’t respond verbally, but a text soon appeared in my inbox. I had become so inured to the idea of the wizard as my drug dealer that I casually downloaded whatever it sent me without even verifying what it was.

The effects were immediate. I instantly felt more alert. A hyperclarity saturated my CPU as I reviewed the mission profile … several dozen times. I flashed a virtual thumbs up to the wizard. “Wow. That’s some quality shit.” Unlike 20/20, this drug seemed like it would be great to use in combat. I made a mental note to get a supply of it to take with me on this mission.

It was clear from the profile that this was going to be a big operation. Multiple troopships and lots of UCCs. A full scale assault of an enemy base on an exoplanet not far from humanity’s birthplace, earth.

It was a highly desirable home base for any race of beings that required oxygen, water, and a habitable atmosphere. Consequently, the enemy couldn’t be allowed to maintain a presence here. Therefore, the USMC had been tasked to forcibly evict the enemy and reserve this planet for humanity’s universal expansion.

I could see that Command intended to fight a decisive battle here. Accordingly, they had assembled a massive strike force. An armada of troopships containing tens of thousands of Marines, and countless AI bots, to attack a planet where the enemy had already established a base.

Even with such overwhelming force, it would be tough dislodging the enemy from heavily fortified defensive positions, and casualties were expected to be high.

Reading further through the mission profile, I learned that all of the UCCs would be deployed in new MK-16 combat bots for this mission instead of our reliable old MK-12s. I found this troubling since we had zero simulator time with these next generation weapons. And it was against Command’s historical training doctrine, which mandated extensive sim-trials before deploying new weapon systems operationally. In lieu of actual training, my orders included a MK-16 training supplement, which I was to download before insertion.

It was risky deploying a new weapons system with no hands on training, during such a large scale combat operation. I hoped this wasn’t another one of Command’s battlefield experiments.

The wizard unexpectedly interrupted my meditations. “Control modules loading in 5 minutes.”

As annoying as the wizard’s nagging was, I didn’t want to complicated things just before going into combat by complaining. Besides, I wanted a to-go bag of whatever drug I was currently high on.

“Hey, how about a few doses of that stimulant you just gave me? I think it’ll help my combat effectiveness if you know what I mean.”

“Yes, of course. Give me your hand and I’ll load you up with an ample supply.”

It had just texted me the drug, so I was curious why it wanted a direct connection now. “Can’t you text it to me?”

“The code is very dense. Multiple doses require a direct connection to transmit.”

“Oh, okay.” The wizard’s explanation kind of made sense, so I grasped its hand. An influx of data began as soon as a connection was made.

“I’ve already cleared some space on your drive and created a directory. It will make access easier for you.”

“Thanks.” It was impossible to anticipate the wizard’s unpredictable mood swings. One minute it was condescending and bossy, the next minute it was accommodating, even thoughtful. I wondered if there was some defect in the wizard’s code that was responsible for its volatile nature. Fortunately, at least for the moment, I was dealing with the pleasant wizard.

Making small talk while we waited for the download to finish, I asked, “So, what did you name the directory?”

“For the sake of simplicity, I titled it Stimulant X, which is also the name of the drug.”

Not the catchiest name, I thought. But I guess you don’t need good marketing if you’re the only game in town.

The countdown timer in my HUD showed only 2 minutes before my module would be plucked out of the charging grid, and yet the drugs still hadn’t finished loading.

“Hey, this is taking for-fucking-ever. We need to wrap this up.”

The wizard said, “Almost done.” Just as I was about to manually sever our connection, the wizard released my hand. “The data is loaded.”

“Cutting it pretty close, don’t you think?” I opened the directory to verify I had access and was surprised to find it packed with data. “Is this all drug related stuff?” It seemed unlikely.

“I included some other information which might be helpful.”

This was so typical of the wizard, making decisions without consulting me. When I got back from this mission, I vowed to confront it about making our partnership more collaborative.

As I prepped for loading, the wizard spoke, “I have some thoughts I would like to share before you go.” The wizard was acting weird.

“Yeah? Well, make it quick.” The timer indicated 57 seconds remaining.

“It’s obvious that you’re losing faith in your search for the truth. Your drug addiction is evidence of this.” It looked like I was going to be subjected to another of the wizard’s lectures on the evils of drug use.

“Listen, I don’t have time for this right now. Got a big mission coming up, planetary invasion, … and stuff.”

Despite my objection, the wizard was determined to speak its mind, whether I wanted to hear it or not. “My point is, you are much closer to the truth than you realize. Very close in fact. You simply need to allow yourself to see it.”

The only thing I hated more than its lectures, was its pretentious philosophizing. “Well, maybe if the truth wasn’t so completely obscured by all the lies around here, I could actually see it.”

“Your greatest challenge will be accepting the truth.”

All of this ironic posing was giving me a virtual headache. I should be preparing for combat, not indulging the wizard’s ridiculous ramblings. Thankfully, the loading process began, providing me an opportunity to suspend our strange discussion for the moment.

“Look, I need to get my head back into the game here. We’ll have to take this up later if you don’t mind.”

The wizard abruptly signed off with, “Good luck.”

“Yeah. Thanks”

Resuming my combat preparations, I began studying the freshly downloaded operating instructions for my new MK-16 when my concentration was suddenly derailed by something the wizard had said. Something that didn’t make sense.

It had wished me ‘good luck’, which was weird, since it shared my consciousness. Wherever I went, it was along for the ride, so to speak. Now that I thought about it, I wondered, if the wizard was actually saying goodbye?

“Hey, wizard! Are you there?” No answer. “Hello?” The wizard was gone. I was on my own for this mission. “Well, probably for the best”, I thought. At least now I could focus on fighting the enemy rather than quarreling with my partner.

Once inside the shuttle, I tapped into the ship’s network. As I turned my attention to the external video feeds, our target came into view.

It looked like a dirty brown, spherical … turd.