Choice

A shell detonated somewhere to his left. He winced at the fresh memory of the unnamed man from moments earlier, the other soldier’s chest struck with one of the high powered armor piercing rounds, exploding over the fox hole. Huddled in the dirt, the man thought about why he was fighting, why he had volunteered. He remembered stories of soldiers fighting never-ending wars whose purpose had been long forgotten, but he knew that this war was not one of those. He considered himself to be a reasonable person, but even reasonable people could be zealous, if the cause was just. The man, sure of his convictions stood erect in the hole, aimed his weapon and was struck in the chest with an armor piercing round.

The generally coherent set of important players in the great game of interstellar politics long ago came to the realization that a majority of wars between states were only properly initiated, or even desidered, by a vanishingly few number of people. Only slightly more recently, when the necessary amount computational volume became economically available it was decided that because of that very fact wars between states could be fought far more economically not only in virtual environments but also with as few combatants as possible all conflicts would be decided in the virtual and only including those who wanted the war in the first place as combatants.

A shell detonated somewhere to his left. He winced at the harsh memory of the unnamed man from moments earlier, the other soldier’s chest struck with one of the high powered armor piercing rounds, exploding over the fox hole and leaving an acrid odor of gunpowder and blood behind. Huddled in the dirt, the man thought about why he was fighting, why he had volunteered. He remembered stories of soldiers fighting never-ending wars whose purpose had been long forgotten but he knew that this war was not one of those. He considered himself to be a reasonable person, a person who, if the cause was just, would fight. He believed in what they were fighting for and decided he was no longer going to cower in the hole. The man, sure of his convictions stood erect, aimed his weapon and was struck in the chest with an armor piercing round.

It was quickly realized that the general assumed principal “Most wars are desired by only a few people” was both more accurately and more usefully framed as “The vast, vast majority of wars fought between states in the greater galaxy are desired by only one”. The effect of this, combined with the already accepted doctrine of virtual wars with limited combatants was the creation of the now ubiquitous “war of one”

A shell detonated somewhere to his left. He coward at the visceral memory of the unnamed man from moments earlier. He heard and somehow felt the screams and agony the other soldier felt as his chest was struck with one of the high powered armor piercing rounds. The other man’s blood was still dripping down of his glasses. He lay, huddled in the dirt, crying, not daring to think about why he was fighting. He remembered stories about hoards of soldiers fighting never-ending wars whose purpose had been long forgotten. He considered himself to be a reasonable person, but some wars simply could not be won. In the back if his head however, he knew that, in his here and now, he had to fight, no matter the reason. The man, determined to return home, stood erect, raised his weapon and was struck in the chest with an armor piercing round.

Some cultures took the concept of the “war of one” to its laudablly consistent if morally dubious limit. The reasoning went that if we accept it as axiomatic, which all enlightened civilizations did, that “war’s of one” are the most moral way of fighting a war, and that because these cultures saw every decision, no matter how minor as a limiting case of a war, then would not a war of one be the most moral way to make any choice? Of course, many civilizations saw this practice as a barbaric if not fascinating emergent element of the interplay between the meta and individual civilizations of the galaxy.

A shell detonated somewhere to his left. He coward at the pain and suffering of the unnamed man from moments earlier. He erupted in agony as he a round slammed into his chest. Shards of bone clattered down onto his face. The other man’s blood was dripping down of his glasses. He lay, huddled in the dirt, crying, angry at those who had forced him to fight. He remembered stories of conscripts being forced to fight wars of attrition for no purpose other than to amuse their betters, safe at home. He considered himself to be a reasonable person, and no reasonable person would consider the conflict he was immersed in one worth fighting for. He lay, huddled in the mud, crying, wishing only that he would not have to fight. Shells detonated, somewhere in the distance on the ravaged field a tank grumbled along, and he still lay in the hole, arms down, surrendering to whatever fate lay for him at the end of his conflict. He lay and he lay and then he didn’t.

War’s of One for every choice made by a person would pose a technological challenge only to the most computational backwards of civilizations. Any player of reasonable importance long ago achieved an effectively unlimited amount of computational volume. Therefore, those cultures which did adopt the War of One lifestyle, as it were, both tended to be advanced players, and tended to adopt it both vigorously and wholeheartedly. 

An infinite sea of not quite black stretched out around him. Others like him stood, lay, were spread all throughout the volume. The unarmed soldier he had seen, and felt, be so violently dismember by the round existed in a million iterations in all directions. He knew why he had been fighting and he knew whom he had been fighting, and he knew why they had been fighting, and he knew why he had been fighting. He knew the choices which had to be made, and he knew the choice had been made. He had lost, laying in a fox hole in a nondescript field, he had stopped fighting and lost the case, but he knew he had won, pushing some tank forward in a nondescript field barging over foxholes and minefields.

The man turned left at the fork.