Old Man's War

by John Scalzi

  Javna and Newman glanced at each other. “We’re only following every line of inquiry,” Newman said mildly.

  “Christ,” I said. “Think about it. If I really planned to betray the CDF and survive it, chances are I’d try to do it in a manner that didn’t involve removing my own fucking jaw.” I figured that in my condition, I just might be able to snarl at a superior officer and get away with it.

  I was right. “Let’s move on,” Newman said.

  “By all means, let’s,” I said.

  “You mentioned you saw a Rraey battle cruiser firing on a CDF cruiser as it skipped into Coral space.”

  “That’s correct,” I said.

  “Interesting you managed to see that,” Javna said.

  I sighed. “Are you going to do this all through the interview?” I said. “Things will move along a lot quicker if you’re not always trying to get me to admit I’m a spy.”

  “Corporal, the missile attack,” Newman said. “Do you remember whether the missiles were launched before or after the CDF ship skipped into Coral space?”

  “My guess is that they were launched just before,” I said. “At least it seemed that way to me. They knew when and where that ship was going to pop out.”

  “How do you think that’s possible?” Javna asked.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I didn’t even know how skip drives worked until a day before the attack. Knowing what I know, it doesn’t seem like there should be any way to know a ship is coming.”

  “What do you mean, ‘knowing what you know’?” Newman said.

  “Alan, another squad leader”—I didn’t want to say he was a friend, because I suspected they’d think that was suspicious—“said that skip drives work by transferring a ship into another universe just like the one it left, and that both its appearance and disappearance are phenomenally unlikely. If that’s the case, it doesn’t seem like you should be able to know when and where a ship will appear. It just does.”

  “What do you think happened here, then?” asked Javna.

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “As you say, there shouldn’t be any way to know that a ship is skipping,” Javna said. “The only way we can figure this ambush occurred is if someone tipped off the Rraey.”

  “Back to this,” I said. “Look, even if we supposed the existence of a traitor, how did he do it? Even if he somehow managed to get word to the Rraey that a fleet was coming, there’s no possible way he could have known where every ship was going to appear in Coral space—the Rraey were waiting for us, remember. They hit us while we were skipping into Coral space.”

  “So, again,” Javna said. “What do you think happened here?”

  I shrugged. “Maybe skipping isn’t as unlikely as we thought it was,” I said.

  “Don’t get too worked up over the interrogations,” Harry said, handing me a cup of fruit juice he’d gotten for me at the medical center’s commissary. “They gave us the same ‘it’s suspicious you survived’ bit.”

  “How did you react?” I asked.

  “Hell,” Harry said. “I agreed with them. It’s damn suspicious. Funny thing is, I don’t think they liked that response any better. But ultimately, you can’t blame them. The colonies have just gotten the rug pulled out from under us. If we don’t figure out what happened at Coral, we’re in trouble.”

  “Well, and there’s an interesting point,” I said. “What do you think happened?”

  “I don’t know,” Harry said. “Maybe skipping isn’t as unlikely as we thought.” He sipped his own juice.

  “Funny, that’s what I said.”

  “Yeah, but I mean it,” Harry said. “I don’t have the theoretical physics background of Alan, God rest his soul, but the entire theoretical model on which we understand skipping has to be wrong somehow. Obviously, the Rraey have some way to predict, with a high degree of accuracy, where our ships are going to skip. How do they do that?”

  “I don’t think you’re supposed to be able to,” I said.

  “That’s exactly right. But they do anyway. So, quite obviously, our model of how skipping works is wrong. Theory gets thrown out the window when observation proves it isn’t so. The question now is what is really going on.”

  “Any thoughts on it?” I said.

  “A couple, although it’s not really my field,” Harry said. “I don’t really have the math for it.”

  I laughed. “You know, Alan said something very much like that to me, not too long ago.”

  Harry smiled, and raised his cup. “To Alan,” he said.

  “To Alan,” I said. “And all our absent friends.”

  “Amen,” Harry said, and we drank.

  “Harry, you said you were there when they brought me on board the Sparrowhawk,” I said.

  “I was,” he said. “You were a mess. No offense.”

  “None taken,” I said. “Do you remember anything about the squad that brought me in?”

  “A little,” Harry said. “But not too much. They kept us isolated away from the rest of the ship for most of the trip. I saw you in the sick bay when they brought you in. They were examining us.”

  “Was there a woman in my rescue party?”

  “Yes,” Harry said. “Tall. Brown hair. That’s all I remember right off the top of my head. To be honest, I was paying more attention to you than who was bringing you in. I knew you. I didn’t know them. Why?”

  “Harry, one of the people who rescued me was my wife. I’d swear on it.”

  “I thought your wife is dead,” Harry said.

  “My wife is dead,” I said. “But this was her. It wasn’t Kathy as she was back when we were married. She was a CDF soldier, green skin and all.”

  Harry looked doubtful. “You were probably hallucinating, John.”

  “Yeah, but if I was hallucinating, why would I hallucinate Kathy as a CDF soldier? Wouldn’t I just remember her as she was?”

  “I don’t know,” Harry said. “Hallucinations, by definition, aren’t real. It’s not as if they follow rules. There’s no reason you couldn’t have hallucinated your dead wife as CDF.”

  “Harry, I know I sound a little nuts, but I saw my wife,” I said. “I may have been chopped up, but my brain was working fine. I know what I saw.”

  Harry sat there for a moment. “My squad had a few days on the Sparrowhawk to stew, you know,” he said. “We were crammed into a rec room with nowhere to go and nothing to do—they wouldn’t even allow us access to the ship’s entertainment servers. We had to be escorted to the head. So we talked about the crew of the ship, and about the Special Forces soldiers. And here’s an interesting thing: None of us knew anyone who had ever entered the Special Forces from the general ranks. By itself, it doesn’t mean anything. Most of us are still in our first couple of years of service. But it’s interesting.”

  “Maybe you have to be in the service a long time,” I said.

  “Maybe,” Harry said. “But maybe it’s something else. They call them ‘Ghost Brigades,’ after all.” He took another sip of his juice and then set it down on my bedside table. “I think I’m going to go do some digging. If I don’t come back, avenge my death.”

  “I’ll do as best as I can under the circumstances,” I said.

  “Do that,” Harry said, grinning. “And see what you can find out, too. You have at least another couple of interrogation sessions coming up. Try a little interrogating of your own.”

  “What about the Sparrowhawk?” Major Javna said at our next interview session.

  “I’d like to send a message to it,” I said. “I want to thank them for saving my life.”

  “It’s not necessary,” Lieutenant Colonel Newman said.

  “I know, but it’s the polite thing to do,” I said. “When someone keeps you from being eaten toe by toe by woodland animals, the least you can do is send a little note. In fact, I’d like to send the note directly to the guys who found me. How do I do that?”

  “You can’t,” Javna said.<
br />
  “Why not?” I asked, innocently.

  “The Sparrowhawk is a Special Forces ship,” Newman said. “They run silent. Communication between Special Forces ships and the rest of the fleet is limited.”

  “Well, that doesn’t seem very fair,” I said. “I’ve been in the service for over a year, and I never had a problem getting mail to my friends on other ships. You would think even Special Forces soldiers would want to hear from their friends in the outside universe.”

  Newman and Javna glanced at each other. “We’re getting off track,” Newman said.

  “All I want to do is send a note,” I said.

  “We’ll look into it,” Javna said, in a tone that said, No we won’t.

  I sighed and then told them, for probably the twentieth time, about why I gave permission to blow the Modesto’s shuttle bay doors.

  “How’s your jaw?” Dr. Fiorina asked.

  “Fully functional and ready to chew on something,” I said. “Not that I don’t like soup through a straw, but it gets monotonous after a while.”

  “I sympathize,” Fiorina said. “Now let’s look at the leg.” I pulled down the covers and let him take a look—the ring was now halfway down the calf. “Excellent,” he said. “I want you to start walking on that. The unprocessed portion will support your weight, and it’ll be good to give the leg a little exercise. I’ll give you a cane to use for the next couple of days. I notice you have some friends who come to visit you. Why don’t you have them take you to lunch or something.”

  “You don’t have to tell me twice,” I said, and flexed the new leg a little. “Good as new,” I said.

  “Better,” Fiorina said. “We’ve made a few improvements to the CDF body structure since you were enlisted. They’ve been incorporated into the leg, and the rest of your body will feel the benefit, too.”

  “Makes you wonder why the CDF just doesn’t go all the way,” I said. “Replace the body with something designed totally for war.”

  Fiorina looked up from his data pad. “You have green skin, cat’s eyes, and a computer in your skull,” he said. “How much less human do you want to be?”

  “That’s a good point,” I said.

  “Indeed,” Fiorina said. “I’ll have an orderly bring in that cane.” He tapped his data pad to send the order.

  “Hey, doc,” I said. “Did you treat anybody else who came off the Sparrowhawk?”

  “No,” he said. “Really, Corporal, you were challenge enough.”

  “So none of the Sparrowhawk crew?”

  Fiorina smirked. “Oh, no. They’re Special Forces.”

  “So?”

  “Let’s just say they have special needs,” Fiorina said, and then the orderly came in with my cane.

  “You know what you can find out about the Ghost Brigades? Officially, I mean,” Harry said.

  “I’m guessing not a lot,” I said.

  “Not a lot is an overstatement,” Harry said. “You can’t find out a damn thing.”

  Harry, Jesse and I were lunching at one of Phoenix station’s commissaries. For my first trip out, I suggested we go as far away from Brenneman as we could. This particular commissary was on the other side of the station. The view was nothing special—it overlooked a small shipyard—but was known stationwide for its burgers, and the reputation was justified; the cook, in his past life, had begun a chain of specialty hamburger restaurants. For a literal hole in the wall, it was constantly packed. But my and Harry’s burgers were growing cold as we talked about the Ghost Brigades.

  “I asked Javna and Newman about getting a note to the Sparrowhawk and got stonewalled,” I said.

  “Not surprised,” Harry said. “Officially, the Sparrowhawk exists, but that’s all you can find out. You can’t find out anything about its crew, its size, its armament or its location. All the information isn’t there. Do a more general search on Special Forces or ‘Ghost Brigades’ in the CDF database and you likewise get nothing.”

  “So you guys have nothing at all,” Jesse said.

  “Oh, I didn’t say that,” Harry said, and smiled. “You can’t find out anything officially, but unofficially there’s lots to know.”

  “And how do you manage to find information unofficially?” Jesse said.

  “Well, you know,” Harry said. “My sparkling personality does wonders.”

  “Please,” Jesse said. “I’m eating here. Which is more than you two can say.”

  “So what did you find out?” I asked, and took a bite of my burger. It was fabulous.

  “Understand that this is all rumor and innuendo,” Harry said.

  “Which means that it’s probably more accurate than what we’d get officially,” I said.

  “Possibly,” Harry granted. “The big news is that there is indeed a reason why they’re called ‘Ghost Brigades.’ It’s not an official designation, you know. It’s a nickname. The rumor, which I’ve heard from more than one place, is that Special Forces members are dead people.”

  “Excuse me?” I said. Jesse looked up from her burger.

  “Not real dead people, per se,” Harry said. “They’re not zombies. But there are a lot of people who sign up to join the CDF who die before their seventy-fifth birthday. When that happens, apparently the CDF doesn’t just throw out your DNA. They use it to make Special Forces members.”

  Something hit me. “Jesse, you remember when Leon Deak died? What the medical technician said? ‘A last-minute volunteer for the Ghost Brigades.’ I thought it was just some kind of sick joke.”

  “How can they do that?” Jesse asked. “That’s not ethical at all.”

  “Isn’t it?” Harry said. “When you give your intent to sign up, you give the CDF the right to use whatever procedures necessary to enhance your combat readiness, and you can’t be combat ready if you’re dead. It’s in the contract. If it’s not ethical, it’s at least legal.”

  “Yeah, but there’s a difference between using my DNA to create a new body for me to use, and using the new body without me in it,” Jesse said.

  “Details, details,” Harry said.

  “I don’t like the idea of my body running around on its own,” Jesse said. “I don’t think it’s right for the CDF to do that.”

  “Well, that’s not all they do,” Harry said. “You know that these new bodies we have are deeply genetically modified. Well, apparently Special Forces bodies are even more modified than ours. The Special Forces soldiers are guinea pigs for new enhancements and abilities before they’re introduced into the general population. And there are rumors that some of the modifications are truly radical—bodies modified to the point of not looking human anymore.”

  “My doctor said something about Special Forces soldiers having special needs,” I said. “But even allowing for hallucinations, the people who rescued me looked human enough.”

  “And we didn’t see any mutants or freaks on the Sparrowhawk,” Jesse said.

  “We weren’t allowed full run of the ship, either,” Harry pointed out. “They kept us in one area and kept us disconnected from everything else. We saw the sick bay and we saw the rec area, and that was it.”

  “People see Special Forces in battle and walking around all the time,” Jesse said.

  “Sure they do,” Harry said. “But that’s not saying that they see all of them.”

  “Your paranoia is acting up again, sweetie,” Jesse said, and fed Harry a french fry.

  “Thank you, precious,” Harry said, accepting it. “But even throwing out the rumor about supermodified Special Forces, there’s still enough there to account for John seeing his wife. It’s not really Kathy, though. Just someone using her body.”

  “Who?” I said.

  “Well, that’s the question, isn’t it,” Harry said. “Your wife is dead, so they couldn’t put her personality into the body. Either they have some sort of preformatted personality they put into Special Forces soldiers—”

  “—or someone else went from an old body into her new one,�
�� I said.

  Jesse shivered. “I’m sorry, John. But that’s just creepy.”

  “John? You okay?” Harry said.

  “What? Yeah, I’m fine,” I said. “It’s just a lot to deal with at one time. The idea that my wife could be alive—but not really—and that someone who isn’t her is walking around in her skin. I think I almost preferred it when there was a possibility that I hallucinated her.”

  I looked over to Harry and Jesse. Both of them were frozen and staring.

  “Guys?” I said.

  “Speak of the devil,” said Harry.

  “What?” I said.

  “John,” Jesse said. “She’s in line for a burger.”

  I spun around, knocking over my plate as I did so. Then I felt like I got dunked directly into a vat of ice.

  “Holy shit,” I said.

  It was her. No doubt about it.

  FOURTEEN

  I started to get up. Harry grabbed my hand.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “I’m going to go talk to her,” I said.

  “You sure you want to do that?” he asked.

  “What are you talking about?” I asked. “Of course I’m sure.”

  “What I’m saying is that maybe you’d want Jesse or me to talk to her first,” Harry said. “To see if she wants to meet you.”

  “Jesus, Harry,” I said. “This isn’t the sixth fucking grade. That’s my wife.”

  “No it’s not, John,” Harry said. “It’s someone entirely different. You don’t know if she will even want to speak to you.”

  “John, even if she does speak to you, you’re going to be two total strangers,” Jesse said. “Whatever you’re expecting out of this encounter, you’re not going to get it.”

  “I’m not expecting anything,” I said.

  “We just don’t want you to be hurt,” Jesse said.