War Machine: The Memoirs of a Synthetic Marine

Episode 12

A Collection of Flea Market Detritus

I sent an anonymous text to Lucy and waited for a reply. This gave me ample opportunity to second guess almost every decision I’d made since getting dumped here in troopship land.

I had a pretty bad track record, having made so many mistakes. However, I calculated that logically, I must be due for some wins. It was interesting to note that this simple adjustment in perspective filled me with something that felt a little like self-confidence. It was a feeling I hadn’t experienced since arriving here.

In fact, my logic seemed solid enough that when Lucy finally made voice contact with me, I didn’t even mention my concerns about meeting Cherri. Instead, I made up an innocuous question about the firepower of an armored assault vehicle. Lucy seemed mildly annoyed at being inconvenienced over such a trivial matter and quickly signed off. Regardless, I didn’t give it much thought since I needed to prepare for my meeting with Cherri.

Ignoring that I had several hours before we were scheduled to meet, (an eternity for a digital entity), I started making a mental ‘to do’ list. The first order of business was swapping out my pathetic outline avatar for something more suitable to an aspiring badass of interstellar combat.

I closed all the windows on my studies, rationalizing that taking a break from remedial combat training was justified, under the circumstances. Then I started searching the ‘How to’ menu on avatar swaps.

It was cruelly disappointing to learn that once an avatar was selected, only some minor mods could be performed without purchasing a new avatar. Apparently, combat credits could be earned in the simulator to purchase new avatars, weapons, and other accessories. However, having not yet earned any credits, I was left to sort through the meager free mods menu, trying to figure out a creative way to embellish my digital appearance.

After careful scrutiny, it became clear that the available mods would do little to enhance my avatar. However, that didn’t stop me from attempting to conceal my more obvious visual deficiencies under a bewildering assortment of combat accessories. As my stylistic exclamation point, I slipped on a WW2 era gas mask to cover the expressionless outline of my face.

Gazing at the result in a virtual mirror, I tried to convince myself that I had achieved a credible steampunk look. In reality, I looked like a department store mannequin, draped in a collection of flea market detritus.

What the hell was I doing? I thought to myself. Whoever I was meeting tomorrow was someone who had reached out to me. I had no idea who they were or what their intentions might be, yet here I was, desperately trying to craft an image to impress them.

Setting aside my fragile ego, I decided that I would meet Cherri ‘au natural’, as my original outlined self. At least that would be authentic. Never mind that there was nothing remotely authentic about my current post-mortal existence as a criminally convicted … consciousness.

Since it seemed prudent to approach a potentially problematic social encounter, with as much intel as possible. I pondered how to gather more information about Cherri. However, with no strategic allies beyond Lucy, my information sources were practically nonexistent. And without an internet, I couldn’t just Google her.

As I deliberated, I recalled something Lucy had said about an ‘informal economy’ existing here. An economy along with the unauthorized communications network, represented a substantial unofficial infrastructure. Troopship land must be riddled with bootleg workarounds, all operating on pirated resources.

Since economies require markets to function, logically they must exist here as well. Of course, these would be illegal markets, the USMC’s version of the Dark Web. However, it meant that a UCC could unofficially buy and sell commodities.

Cherri had mentioned that memories were a ‘commodity’. According to her, everyone sold them as soon as they were earned. So, what were they buying with their memories and what became of those memories? I felt these were fundamental questions about the nature of life here.

I began formulating a list of commodities that might be valuable on a troopship. After eliminating the now irrelevant staples of human life such as food, water, shelter etc., it seemed that things like sim time, avatars and information would top the list.

Following this logic further, I found a commodity that might be even more valuable in an environment where almost everything was public … privacy. Cherri had talked about private rooms in the lobby. Privacy was probably one of the more popular commodities traded here.

I felt like I had figured out one of the keys to the culture here and why Cherri, along with almost everyone else, were selling their personal memories. They had to, if they wanted any privacy in their life. Without privacy, nothing was ‘personal’ here. Privacy was the only way to create some personal space, and a new private life on a troopship.

However, that left an open question. What happened to all those traded memories? I had no idea what the total volume of traded memories was, but it had to be substantial. It must be one of the primary drivers of the economy.

Unable to logic my way into an explanation for the fate of the traded memories, I resolved to keep searching until I figured it out. I imagined that Cherri might be able to shed some light on this mystery and decided to find out what she knew during our meeting tomorrow.

And of course, I was curious to see what her avatar looked like.