Something Else
It bugs me that Church has been reduced to Epsilon. Love the AI but I miss Church and I miss stories about Church.
So here is a RvB story about Church. Not Epsilon or the Alpha or even a fully recreated Church.
Just Church.
Church or what was left of Church stared at the woman he loved, had loved, had followed and would follow to the ends of the earth and back, pain making the words difficult to form. “Tex, I would have helped you.”
Tex lowered her sidearm and sighed, shaking her head at his hard fought for words. “You can't even help yourself. That's why you made me, Church. You made me to take on all the things you can't handle. Just like you always have. Well guess what, I'm gonna handle it.” She looked away, looked out over the barren snow that surrounded them. “Wash and Meta will be coming now. I have some things to get ready.”
The robot body was sending that damn Recovery beacon that Church or Epsilon could not stop. There was no way to make the steady beeping stop; it could have been his own heart and similarly impossible to stop. “Tex... why are you doing this?” he asked, pain from the shot forcing the sound down to a dull drone even to his own ears.
“Funny you should ask. That's exactly what I plan to find out,” she said, humor in her voice. She was laughing at him, at his love for her, at his stupidity for staying so close to her. She was laughing while he died for her.
She was laughing while he died.
With a start powerful enough to smack his head on the bar above his bunk, Church woke up.
“Goddamnit!” he shouted as pain, a different pain from the one in his dream, erupted across his forehead. The force of the collision sent him flying back into his bed, head to throb painfully as it hit the regulation pillows. “Goddamnit,” he repeated, softer this time as he thought about the dream he had woken up from.
It had felt so real. None of it had felt like a dream, even all the absurd things that happened to the Blues, the Reds, and Tex. Even what had become of Caboose, a child of a man hoping vainly for love from a teammate who could not care if the man lived or died. But really, thinking about it, he had never heard of an Agent Washington or Agent Maine even though there should have been both in the Freelancer Project. As far as he knew, AIs could be, in fact, copied although he did know they were based off a human mind.
A loud thud directly behind him derailed his thoughts about his dream.
“Stop shouting, Church! Some of us need to sleep,” Tucker’s half asleep voice called.
Rubbing his head, trying to ease the throbbing from both the blow it took as well as the simple fact he was also exhausted and needed to sleep, Church knocked softly on the thin wall behind him and called back, “Sorry, man.”
The last sound from Tucker before he went back to sleep were a few grumbles then soft snoring.
In his dream, Tucker had been a father. His dream Tucker had been a horrible father but the Tucker not a foot from him would have been a decent one. It was just another detail his subconscious had mauled before it coughed it back up for him to be repulsed by.
He smiled at the idea of this Tucker, the real Tucker, as a father and picked up his buzzing comm.
Quietly he answered it and was not surprised at who was calling.
“Tucker was yelling. Everything okay?” Caboose’s soft voice came through the earpiece and soothed Church’s still ruffled feathers.
“Yeah. I just hit my head.”
Caboose was not a child of a man. Nor did was he fruitlessly vying for Church’s affection. Caboose was a strong man who knew what he wanted; he was quirky and could be downright silly at times but had a solid head on his shoulders. When he had arrived, he asked to be friends and Church had agreed.
Church could hear Caboose sit up a little in his bunk. “You okay? Do you want me to come over there and kiss it better?” he asked, the seduction playful. Church could see the smile on the Rookie’s features and he smiled even more.
“No, that’s all right. But I may ask for on later today.”
“I think I can remember to give you one later. If I forget, reminded me.”
Church laughed softly, not wanting to disturb the tuckered out Tucker on the other side of the wall, and replied, “You got it. Good night.”
“Good night, Church.”
“Hey, Caboose?” he called before the other Blue could hang up.
“Yeah?”
Church looked at the comm., a feeling of emptiness and shame filling his being. “I love you, you know that right?”
There was only the slightest of pauses as Caboose tried to figure out why he was being asked the question. “I know with every fiber of my being. I know it more than I know I am a Blue and I am reminded of that fact every moment. I also know I love you.”
That empty shame eased a little. “Thanks.”
The next morning was normal. Tucker holding a hot cup of coffee, black, and was slowly eating the eggs Caboose had made for him. When Church entered the kitchen, still feeling as though maybe this was the dream world and it was only a matter of time before he woke up to the searing pain of a gunshot wound and the danger of Wash and the Meta. And the Recovery Beacon blaring in his ears.
But as he sat down, the bench felt solid, the table was cool, and the eggs Caboose placed in front of him were warm and so good. That first bite made him feel better and more confident that these eggs were real and that snowy wasteland was just a messed up dream. When Caboose sat down next to him and gave him that kiss, Church decided that even if this were a dream induced by bleeding out, he would do everything he could to simply not wake up.
Taking a bite of egg, Tucker paused to chew before turning to Church. “So what happened last night?”
It was only Caboose’s warmth that kept Church from jumping at the question. “Fucked up dream. Woke up and hit my head on the bunk.”
Caboose, who was eating his eggs, looked at Church. “Wanna tell us about it?”
“Nah, it was way to messed up to talk about over breakfast,” he said, reaching for the pepper and for the hand Caboose had under the table. He gave the hand a quick squeeze that said, ‘but I need to talk about it when we are alone.’
There was an answering squeeze back.
They were sitting on top of the base, just Church and Caboose. Tucker had gone back to bed as he had been woken up sometime during the night (Church had apologized again before the blue had left for his quarters) so it fell to the others to watch the Reds.
Caboose was silent for a really long time after Church had stopped talking. “Wow.”
Church pulled the scope off the sniper rifle and eyed it. “Yeah. And it all felt real. There was no point where I stopped and could even remember it was a dream.” He pushed back the lens and blow on the casing.
“Wow.”
He paused in his work and looked at Caboose. “Are you going to say anything else? You know, other than ‘wow’?”
“Tucker had a kid?” Caboose smiled at his lover, well aware that by focusing on such a small detail would rub the man.
“Focus, Rookie,” Church said. He only called Caboose ‘rookie’ when Caboose was acting silly.
“It made you feel uncomfortable,” Caboose said softly.
Going back to the scope, Church nodded. “You could say that.”
“So are you?”
“So am I what?”
“An AI based on the Director of Project Freelancer that was tortured until you fragmented.”
“Damn, man that’s not funny.”
Caboose shrugged. “Good. I’m not trying to be funny.”
“No.” Church felt that emptiness pull at him as he slid the lens back into place.
“How do you know? I mean in your dream, you had no idea but you where.”
Frustrated, Church set down the rifle and Caboose shrugged, a sign he would drop the accusations.
“What has you troubled the most?”
“That fucking Agent Washington.” He picked up the scope and shoved it back on the rifle and held it up to check the sights. “After he tried to convince me I was an AI he talked me into stopping the Meta.”
“So he could kill you,” Caboose finished. “Yeah, that would trouble me too.”
Church set the rifle down and sat down next to Caboose. “And then there’s Tex.”
Caboose stiffened. “Oh my god, don’t tell me she really was your girlfriend.”
“She was but that’s not the issue. She shot me, or Epsilon. She used me to get what she wanted and didn’t even fucking care if I died for it.” Church leaned over and rested his head on Caboose’s shoulder. “The whole dream just made me feel … thrown away. Tossed out like a used paper plat at a family barbeque.” He started to run his fingers up and down Caboose’s arm, trying not to think about the pain in his chest. “The Director stuck me somewhere useless once he was done with me. Wash let me get deleted. Tex shot me.”
“It was a dream,” Caboose said in his most commanding voice.
“How do you know that?”
Caboose smiled and kissed the other man on the forehead. “Simple. That tank over there,” he pointed, “doesn’t talk.”
So here is a RvB story about Church. Not Epsilon or the Alpha or even a fully recreated Church.
Just Church.
Church or what was left of Church stared at the woman he loved, had loved, had followed and would follow to the ends of the earth and back, pain making the words difficult to form. “Tex, I would have helped you.”
Tex lowered her sidearm and sighed, shaking her head at his hard fought for words. “You can't even help yourself. That's why you made me, Church. You made me to take on all the things you can't handle. Just like you always have. Well guess what, I'm gonna handle it.” She looked away, looked out over the barren snow that surrounded them. “Wash and Meta will be coming now. I have some things to get ready.”
The robot body was sending that damn Recovery beacon that Church or Epsilon could not stop. There was no way to make the steady beeping stop; it could have been his own heart and similarly impossible to stop. “Tex... why are you doing this?” he asked, pain from the shot forcing the sound down to a dull drone even to his own ears.
“Funny you should ask. That's exactly what I plan to find out,” she said, humor in her voice. She was laughing at him, at his love for her, at his stupidity for staying so close to her. She was laughing while he died for her.
She was laughing while he died.
With a start powerful enough to smack his head on the bar above his bunk, Church woke up.
“Goddamnit!” he shouted as pain, a different pain from the one in his dream, erupted across his forehead. The force of the collision sent him flying back into his bed, head to throb painfully as it hit the regulation pillows. “Goddamnit,” he repeated, softer this time as he thought about the dream he had woken up from.
It had felt so real. None of it had felt like a dream, even all the absurd things that happened to the Blues, the Reds, and Tex. Even what had become of Caboose, a child of a man hoping vainly for love from a teammate who could not care if the man lived or died. But really, thinking about it, he had never heard of an Agent Washington or Agent Maine even though there should have been both in the Freelancer Project. As far as he knew, AIs could be, in fact, copied although he did know they were based off a human mind.
A loud thud directly behind him derailed his thoughts about his dream.
“Stop shouting, Church! Some of us need to sleep,” Tucker’s half asleep voice called.
Rubbing his head, trying to ease the throbbing from both the blow it took as well as the simple fact he was also exhausted and needed to sleep, Church knocked softly on the thin wall behind him and called back, “Sorry, man.”
The last sound from Tucker before he went back to sleep were a few grumbles then soft snoring.
In his dream, Tucker had been a father. His dream Tucker had been a horrible father but the Tucker not a foot from him would have been a decent one. It was just another detail his subconscious had mauled before it coughed it back up for him to be repulsed by.
He smiled at the idea of this Tucker, the real Tucker, as a father and picked up his buzzing comm.
Quietly he answered it and was not surprised at who was calling.
“Tucker was yelling. Everything okay?” Caboose’s soft voice came through the earpiece and soothed Church’s still ruffled feathers.
“Yeah. I just hit my head.”
Caboose was not a child of a man. Nor did was he fruitlessly vying for Church’s affection. Caboose was a strong man who knew what he wanted; he was quirky and could be downright silly at times but had a solid head on his shoulders. When he had arrived, he asked to be friends and Church had agreed.
Church could hear Caboose sit up a little in his bunk. “You okay? Do you want me to come over there and kiss it better?” he asked, the seduction playful. Church could see the smile on the Rookie’s features and he smiled even more.
“No, that’s all right. But I may ask for on later today.”
“I think I can remember to give you one later. If I forget, reminded me.”
Church laughed softly, not wanting to disturb the tuckered out Tucker on the other side of the wall, and replied, “You got it. Good night.”
“Good night, Church.”
“Hey, Caboose?” he called before the other Blue could hang up.
“Yeah?”
Church looked at the comm., a feeling of emptiness and shame filling his being. “I love you, you know that right?”
There was only the slightest of pauses as Caboose tried to figure out why he was being asked the question. “I know with every fiber of my being. I know it more than I know I am a Blue and I am reminded of that fact every moment. I also know I love you.”
That empty shame eased a little. “Thanks.”
The next morning was normal. Tucker holding a hot cup of coffee, black, and was slowly eating the eggs Caboose had made for him. When Church entered the kitchen, still feeling as though maybe this was the dream world and it was only a matter of time before he woke up to the searing pain of a gunshot wound and the danger of Wash and the Meta. And the Recovery Beacon blaring in his ears.
But as he sat down, the bench felt solid, the table was cool, and the eggs Caboose placed in front of him were warm and so good. That first bite made him feel better and more confident that these eggs were real and that snowy wasteland was just a messed up dream. When Caboose sat down next to him and gave him that kiss, Church decided that even if this were a dream induced by bleeding out, he would do everything he could to simply not wake up.
Taking a bite of egg, Tucker paused to chew before turning to Church. “So what happened last night?”
It was only Caboose’s warmth that kept Church from jumping at the question. “Fucked up dream. Woke up and hit my head on the bunk.”
Caboose, who was eating his eggs, looked at Church. “Wanna tell us about it?”
“Nah, it was way to messed up to talk about over breakfast,” he said, reaching for the pepper and for the hand Caboose had under the table. He gave the hand a quick squeeze that said, ‘but I need to talk about it when we are alone.’
There was an answering squeeze back.
They were sitting on top of the base, just Church and Caboose. Tucker had gone back to bed as he had been woken up sometime during the night (Church had apologized again before the blue had left for his quarters) so it fell to the others to watch the Reds.
Caboose was silent for a really long time after Church had stopped talking. “Wow.”
Church pulled the scope off the sniper rifle and eyed it. “Yeah. And it all felt real. There was no point where I stopped and could even remember it was a dream.” He pushed back the lens and blow on the casing.
“Wow.”
He paused in his work and looked at Caboose. “Are you going to say anything else? You know, other than ‘wow’?”
“Tucker had a kid?” Caboose smiled at his lover, well aware that by focusing on such a small detail would rub the man.
“Focus, Rookie,” Church said. He only called Caboose ‘rookie’ when Caboose was acting silly.
“It made you feel uncomfortable,” Caboose said softly.
Going back to the scope, Church nodded. “You could say that.”
“So are you?”
“So am I what?”
“An AI based on the Director of Project Freelancer that was tortured until you fragmented.”
“Damn, man that’s not funny.”
Caboose shrugged. “Good. I’m not trying to be funny.”
“No.” Church felt that emptiness pull at him as he slid the lens back into place.
“How do you know? I mean in your dream, you had no idea but you where.”
Frustrated, Church set down the rifle and Caboose shrugged, a sign he would drop the accusations.
“What has you troubled the most?”
“That fucking Agent Washington.” He picked up the scope and shoved it back on the rifle and held it up to check the sights. “After he tried to convince me I was an AI he talked me into stopping the Meta.”
“So he could kill you,” Caboose finished. “Yeah, that would trouble me too.”
Church set the rifle down and sat down next to Caboose. “And then there’s Tex.”
Caboose stiffened. “Oh my god, don’t tell me she really was your girlfriend.”
“She was but that’s not the issue. She shot me, or Epsilon. She used me to get what she wanted and didn’t even fucking care if I died for it.” Church leaned over and rested his head on Caboose’s shoulder. “The whole dream just made me feel … thrown away. Tossed out like a used paper plat at a family barbeque.” He started to run his fingers up and down Caboose’s arm, trying not to think about the pain in his chest. “The Director stuck me somewhere useless once he was done with me. Wash let me get deleted. Tex shot me.”
“It was a dream,” Caboose said in his most commanding voice.
“How do you know that?”
Caboose smiled and kissed the other man on the forehead. “Simple. That tank over there,” he pointed, “doesn’t talk.”