Good Luck, Yukikaze

made him dislike her instantly.

Major Booker called up the doctor’s personnel file on his desktop terminal. Name: Edith Foss. Rank: Captain. Sex: Female. Joined the Faery Air Force as a volunteer. Specialties in aviation medicine and aviation psychology. Served in the Systems Corps prior to transfer to the SAF, where she’d mainly been in charge of psych care for the test pilots.

What kind of care was that, he wondered. The test pilots of the FAF Systems Corps were the elite. Their flight skills were unmatched, but test piloting took more than that. Test pilots had to look for problems in the planes that they tested and investigate advanced flight maneuvers, and they also needed excellent interpersonal communication skills so that they could convey the results of their tests to others. Someone like the pilots of the SAF with their “To hell with everyone else” attitude would be completely unsuited for it. Test pilots needed to get along well with others. In other words, these pilots with their never-fail personalities were psychologically stable; they’d seldom run into a problem that required a shrink to help them work out. People with those tendencies would be weeded out from the start.

Foss had probably been doing mainly research rather than actual psych care in the Systems Corps, Major Booker imagined as he read her file. She was a researcher and a scholar with no criminal record. There were more and more people like her in the FAF these days.

When the FAF had first been established, its personnel had been chosen from the elite. There was a true appreciation of the JAM threat back then, and it allowed humanity to throw itself fully into halting their invasion. But as the war dragged on and as the elite were consumed with no end in sight, humanity began to panic. One by one, the best of society, those meant to bear the burden of Earth’s future, were being killed off by the JAM. You couldn’t instantly mass-produce people like that. At the rate they were dying, the fear was that Earth would lose its entire reserve of leaders and human civilization would devolve into an unruly mob. It was at that point that mankind stopped sending the hope of Earth’s future — or, to be more precise, the hope of each nation — to fight on the front lines against the JAM. Instead, the defense of Earth was left to bleeding-edge combat machine systems which were installed in FAF HQ and in the planes themselves, leaving their machine intelligences to shoulder the burden that had once been that of humanity’s best and brightest. As a result, the selection of FAF conscripts was now based on the determination of whom human society would miss the least were they killed, specifically those branded as antisocial or possibly criminal. To be brutally honest, the FAF was now composed of criminals of every type.

There hadn’t been a global consensus that this should be done, so the change occurred very gradually. Since the selection methods varied by national agency, you’d still occasionally get a new recruit that made you wonder what such a good person was doing here. Even so, these groups of people called “nations,” according to the varied political agencies that prevented them from uniting on a global scale, had evolved a system where it was now normal for the ruling classes to send off the weakest members of society in order to profit from the war.

Quite a few people tried to desert, Major Booker thought. However, their outlook on life would change after their first encounter with the JAM on the front lines. At any rate, fresh recruits couldn’t escape even if they survived out there. Escape wasn’t an easy matter. They’d have to go up against the power of the state as well as being hunted by the FAF, not to mention having the JAM in the background as well.

You couldn’t make deals with the JAM like you could with a human. If you were dealing with humans, it was possible to find a group that shared your values and could help you against a group persecuting you. But the JAM were different. You might not have any intention of fighting them and just want them to let you go, but there was no way you could negotiate with the JAM. Everyone who came here knew that.

The majority of people who came here died in battle. If they managed to survive, most would go back to Earth, but some would stay in the FAF. However, the sort of people who came there had been changed by their service. The number of people who volunteered rather than being conscripted was increasing. There’d been quite a number of volunteers previously as well, but their motives for volunteering had changed. It used to be that recruits would come because it was hard for them to live on Earth. Most of the old guard had cut ties with the home world when they came to Faery, but now the number of people who were motivated to come and develop their own talents while maintaining their relationship with Earth was growing. There were even some thrill-seekers who came to the front like it was some sort of video game center. There was no shortage of talented people, but they were a completely different variety of person from the elite founders of the FAF in how they viewed the JAM threat. To the new recruits, the FAF now was like some sort of virtual game space.

Systems Corps always has lots of that type. Foss, who recently came from there, was probably just like that, thought Major Booker. The people in the SAF aren’t. They’re a squadron made up of the old type of soldier. This Captain Foss came to the FAF to study the psychological makeup of the people here, didn’t she? He was sure of it. When he read at the end of her file that she’d requested the transfer to the SAF, Major Booker sighed.

She’s going to be trouble for us, he thought. She and the soldiers here were like oil and water, which made him the surface agent that had to somehow make them mix. In other words, he was soap. Soap was apropos, since this job was definitely wearing him down.

As the squadron’s supervisor, he couldn’t just leave her to wave her newbie doctor expectations around in front of the old-timers here. But if Foss is the sort of person I imagine her to be, she won’t just take my word for it that Rei doesn’t need her, Major Booker thought gloomily.

She’d probably ask why. If she were just ordered to do it, he wouldn’t have to explain anything to her, since a subordinate had to obey a superior. She couldn’t refuse it. But an unconditional order like that would have to be handed down by her direct superior, and in Captain Foss’s case, that would be General Cooley, the de facto boss of the SAF. Foss was likely different from the other members of the squadron. Captain Foss would probably refuse an order. She might technically be a military doctor, but Booker expected that her sense of military protocol was weak. She probably saw herself more as a visiting scholar engaged in field work, or a researcher studying abroad, than as an actual soldier. He predicted that she’d be hard to handle, unable to understand that orders weren’t just suggestions.

The SAF didn’t need people like her. He was going to need to get General Cooley to help him out on this. But why hadn’t the general rejected the transfer request from a doctor like this in the first place? Did she simply not care about personnel matters not directly related to combat? That was possible, which was why he handled that job — the one that was wearing him down. He wanted to avoid further crumbling.

Major Booker closed the connection to the personnel file and massaged his stiff neck. Damn, the one who wanted a break around here was him. If Booker could just sprawl out on a comfortable couch and come clean to a counselor about all the psychological burdens he had, he’d probably feel a lot better.

Captain Foss was a qualified counselor. He was sure she’d come here for a consultation, although he still didn’t know if she was reliable. Well, here was a good chance for him to check out the character and talents of the newbie doctor. Would he need to make an appointment with her? It was at times like this that Booker wished for a private secretary who could handle this stuff for him.

Major Booker accessed Captain Foss’s room with his terminal. A synthesized voice answered. “My user is currently away from her seat.” Then “I will handle whatever business you may have.”

Major Booker was momentarily perplexed. “ ‘My user’?” Did that mean Edith Foss? “Who is this?” he asked.

“I am the electronic secretary that has been installed in this terminal,” the voice replied. “I will be sure to deliver your verbal message to my user only. Please proceed.”

Booker was being addressed by a simple terminal agent program. This e-secretary wasn’t sending any video, instead simply displaying the contents of what it was saying as text. There were even more advanced e-secretaries in common use, and they were practically indistinguishable from actual persons. Major Booker wasn’t unaware of them, but it was rare to encounter one here in the SAF squadron section. This was the first time any person here had installed an agent that gave the impression of personality.

“Who is this?” asked the e-secretary in Foss’s terminal.

Major Booker, of course. He didn’t answer it like that, though.

“I’d like to consult you about something. Please come to my office.”

The e-secretary knew without asking who was accessing it. Confirmation requests were believed to make for a friendlier user interface, but it was essentially an unnecessary and redundant step. Installing an electronic agent into a terminal like this was another example of the sort of thing the new breed of people here were doing, but it