Old Man’s War

by John Scalzi

  "Where do you hear this stuff?" I said.

  "Unlike the two of you, I don't spend my days lounging about," Harry said. "I've made friends in interesting places."

  "If we knew about this tachyon pattern or whatever it is, why didn't we do something about it before?" Jesse asked. "What you're saying is that we've been vulnerable all this time, and just been lucky so far."

  "Well, remember what I said about tachyons being theoretical to this point," Harry said. "That's sort of an understatement. They're less than real—they're mathematical abstractions at best. They have no relation to the real universes in which we exist and move. No race of intelligence that we know of has ever used them for anything. They have no practical application."

  "Or so we thought," I said.

  Harry gave a hand motion of assent. "If this guess is correct, then it means that the Rraey have a technology that's well beyond what we have the capability to create ourselves. We're behind them in this technology race."

  "So how do we catch up?" Jesse said.

  Harry smiled. "Well, who said anything about catching up? Remember when we first met, on the beanstalk, and we talked about the colonies' superior technology? You remember how I suggested they got it?"

  "Through encounters with aliens," Jesse said.

  "Right," Harry said. "We either trade for it or take it in battle. Now, if there really is a way to track tachyons from one universe to another, we could probably develop the technology ourselves to do it. But that's going to take time and resources we don't have. Far more practical to simply take it from the Rraey."

  "You're saying the CDF is planning to go back to Coral," I said.

  "Of course we are," Harry said. "But the goal now isn't just to take the planet back. It's not even going to be the primary goal. Now, our primary goal is to get our hands on their tachyon detection technology and find a way to defeat it or use it against them."

  "The last time we went to Coral we got our asses kicked," Jesse said.

  "We're not going to have a choice, Jesse," Harry said gently. "We have to get this technology. If the technology spreads, every race out there will be able to track Colonial movement. In a very real sense, they'll know we're coming before we do."

  "It's going to be a massacre again," Jesse said.

  "I suspect they'll use a lot more of the Special Forces this time around," Harry said.

  "Speaking of which," I said, and then told Harry of my encounter with Jane the night before, which I had been recounting to Jesse as Harry walked up.

  "It looks like she's not planning to kill you after all," Harry said after I was finished.

  "It must have been so strange to talk to her," Jesse said. "Even though you know she's not really your wife."

  "Not to mention being just six years old. Man, that's odd," Harry said.

  "It shows, too," I said. "The being six part. She doesn't have much emotional maturity. She doesn't seem to know what to do with emotions when she has them. She threw me across the room because she didn't know how else to deal with what she was feeling."

  "Well, all she knows is fighting and killing," Harry said. "We have a life of memories and experiences to stabilize us. Even younger soldiers in traditional armies have twenty years of experiences. In a real sense, these Special Forces troops are children warriors. It's ethically borderline."

  "I don't want to open any old wounds," Jesse said. "But do you see any of Kathy in her?"

  I thought about it a moment. "She looks like Kathy, obviously," I said. "And I think I saw a little of Kathy's sense of humor in her, and a little of her temperament. Kathy could be impulsive."

  "Did she ever throw you across the room?" Harry asked, smiling.

  I grinned back. "There were a couple of times that if she could have, she would have," I said.

  "Score one for genetics," Harry said.

  Asshole suddenly clicked to life. Corporal Perry, the message read. Your presence is required at a briefing with General Keegan at 1000 hrs at Operational HQ in the Eisenhower Module of Phoenix Station. Be prompt. I acknowledged the message and told Harry and Jesse.

  "And I thought I had friends in interesting places," Harry said. "You've been holding out on us, John."

  "I have no idea what this is about," I said. "I've never met Keegan before."

  "He's only the commander of the CDF Second Army," Harry said. "I'm sure it's nothing important."

  "Funny," I said.

  "It's 0915 now, John," Jesse said. "You'd better get moving. You want us to walk with you?"

  "No, please finish breakfast," I said. "It'll be good for me to have the walk. The Eisenhower Module is only a couple of klicks around the station. I can make it in time." I got up, grabbed a donut to eat on the way, gave Jesse a friendly peck on the cheek and headed off.

  In fact, the Eisenhower Module was more than a couple of klicks away, but my leg had finally grown in, and I wanted the exercise. Dr. Fiorina was right—the new leg did feel better than new, and overall I felt as if I had more energy. Of course, I had just recovered from injuries so grave it was a miracle that I lived. Anyone would feel like they had more energy after that.

  "Don't turn around," Jane said, into my ear, from directly behind me.

  I nearly choked on a bite of donut. "I wish you wouldn't keep sneaking up on me," I finally said, not turning around.

  "Sorry," she said. "I'm not intentionally trying to annoy you. But I shouldn't be talking to you. Listen, this briefing you're about to go to."

  "How do you know about that?" I said.

  "It doesn't matter. What matters is that you agree to what they ask of you. Do it. It's the way you're going to be safe for what's coming up. As safe as can be."

  "What's coming up?" I asked.

  "You'll find out soon enough," she said.

  "What about my friends," I said. "Harry and Jesse. Are they in trouble?"

  "We're all in trouble," Jane said. "I can't do anything for them. I worked to sell you as it is. Do this. It's important." There was a quick touch of a hand on my arm, and then I could tell she was gone again.

  "Corporal Perry," General Keegan said, returning my salute. "At ease."

  I had been escorted into a conference room with more brass in it than an eighteenth-century schooner. I was easily the lowest-ranking person in the room; the next lowest rank, as far as I could tell, as a lieutenant colonel, was Newman, my esteemed questioner. I felt a little queasy.

  "You look a little lost, son," General Keegan said to me. He looked, as did everyone in the room, and every soldier in the CDF, no more than in his late twenties.

  "I feel a little lost, sir," I said.

  "Well, that's understandable," Keegan said. "Please, sit down." He motioned to an empty chair at the table; I took it and sat down. "I've heard a lot about you, Perry."

  "Yes, sir," I said, trying not to glance over at Newman.

  "You don't sound excited about that, Corporal," he said.

  "I'm not trying to be noticed, sir," I said. "Just trying to do my part."

  "Be that as it may, you have been noticed," Keegan said. "A hundred shuttles managed to get launched over Coral, but yours was the only one to make it to the surface, in great part due to your orders to pop the shuttle bay doors and get the hell out of there." He jerked a thumb to Newman. "Newman here's been telling me all about it. He thinks we should give you a medal for it."

  Keegan could have said, Newman thinks you should star in the army's annual performance of Swan Lake, and I would not have been as surprised as I was. Keegan noticed the expression on my face and grinned. "Yes, I know what you were thinking. Newman has the best straight face in the business, which is why he has the job he does. Well, what about it, Corporal? Think you deserve that medal?"

  "Respectfully, sir, no," I said. "We crashed and there were no survivors other than myself. It's hardly meritorious service. Beyond that, any praise in making it to the surface of Coral belongs to my pilot, Fiona Eaton."

  "Pilot Eat
on has already been decorated posthumously, Corporal," General Keegan said. "Small consolation to her, being dead as she is, but it's important to the CDF that such actions are noted somewhere by us. And despite your modesty, Corporal, you will be decorated as well. Others survived the Battle of Coral, but that was by luck. You took initiative and showed leadership in an adverse situation. And you've shown your capacity to think on your feet before. That firing solution against the Consu. Your leadership in your training platoon. Master Sergeant Ruiz made special note of your use of the BrainPal in the final training war game. I served with that son of a bitch, Corporal. Ruiz wouldn't compliment his mother for giving birth to him, if you know what I mean."

  "I think I do, sir," I said.

  "That's what I thought. So a Bronze Star for you, son. Congratulations."

  "Yes, sir," I said. "Thank you, sir."

  "But I didn't ask you here for that purpose," General Keegan said, and then motioned down the table. "I don't believe you've met General Szilard, who heads our Special Forces. At ease, no need to salute."

  "Sir," I said, nodding in his direction, at least.

  "Corporal," Szilard said. "Tell me, what have you heard about the situation over Coral?"

  "Not very much, sir," I said. "Just conversations with friends."

  "Really," Szilard said, dryly. "I would think your friend Private Wilson would have given you a comprehensive briefing by now."

  I was beginning to realize that my poker face, never very good, was even less so these days. "Yes, of course we know about Private Wilson," Szilard said. "You might want to tell him that his snooping around is not nearly as subtle as he thinks it is."

  "Harry will be surprised to hear it," I said.

  "No doubt," Szilard said. "I also have no doubt he's also appraised you on the nature of the Special Forces soldiers. It's not a state secret, incidentally, although we don't put information on the Special Forces in the general database. Most of our time is spent on missions that require strict secrecy and confidentiality. We have very few opportunities to spend much time with the rest of you. Not much inclination either."

  "General Szilard and Special Forces are taking the lead on our counterattack on the Rraey at Coral," General Keegan said. "While we intend to take the planet, our immediate concern is to isolate their tachyon detection apparatus, disable it without destroying it if we can, but destroy it if we must. Colonel Golden here"—Keegan motioned to a somber-looking man next to Newman—"believes we know where it is. Colonel."

  "Very briefly, Corporal," Golden said. "Our surveillance before the first attack on Coral showed the Rraey deploying a series of small satellites in orbits around Coral. At first we thought them to be spy satellites to help the Rraey identify Colonial and troop movement on the planet, but now we think it's an array designed to spot tachyon patterns. We believe the tracking station, which compiles the data from the satellites, is on the planet itself, landed there during the first wave of the attack."

  "We think it's on the planet because they figure it's safest there," General Szilard said. "If it were on a ship, there's a chance an attacking CDF ship might hit it, if only by sheer luck. And as you know, no ship but your shuttle got anywhere close to the Coral surface. It's a good bet it's there."

  I turned to Keegan. "May I ask a question, sir."

  "Go ahead," Keegan said.

  "Why are you telling me this?" I asked. "I'm a corporal with no squad, platoon or battalion. I can't see why I should need to know this."

  "You need to know this because you're one of the few survivors of the Battle of Coral, and the only one that survived by something more than chance," Keegan said. "General Szilard and his people believe, and I agree, that their counterattack has a better chance of succeeding if someone who was there in the first attack advises and observes the second. That means you."

  "With all due respect, sir," I said. "My participation was minimal and disastrous."

  "Less disastrous than almost everyone else's," Keegan said. "Corporal, I won't lie to you—I'd prefer we'd have someone else in this role. However, as it stands, we do not. Even if the amount of advice and service you can give is minimal, it is better than nothing at all. Besides, you've shown the ability to improvise and act quickly in combat situations. You will be of use."

  "What would I do?" I asked. Keegan glanced over to Szilard.

  "You'd be stationed on the Sparrowhawk," Szilard said. "They represent the Special Forces with the most experience in this particular situation. Your job would be to advise the Sparrowhawk senior staff on your experience at Coral, observe, and act as liaison between CDF regular forces and Special Forces if one is required."

  "Would I fight?" I asked.

  "You're a supernumerary," Szilard said. "You would most likely not be required to participate in the actual engagement."

  "You understand that this assignment is highly unusual," Keegan said. "As a practical matter, due to differences in mission and in personnel, regular CDF and Special Forces are almost never mixed. Even in battles in which the two forces are engaged against a single enemy, both tend to perform separate and mutually exclusive roles."

  "I understand," I said. I understood more than they knew. Jane was stationed on the Sparrowhawk.

  As if following my train of thought, Szilard spoke up. "Corporal, I do understand that you had an incident with one of my people—one stationed on the Sparrowhawk. I need to know that there will be no other incidents like that one."

  "Yes, sir," I said. "The incident was over a misunderstanding. A case of mistaken identity. It won't happen again."

  Szilard nodded to Keegan. "Very well," Keegan said. "Corporal, given your new role, I think your rank is deficit to the task. You are hereby promoted to lieutenant, effective immediately, and will present yourself to Major Crick, CO of the Sparrowhawk, at 1500. That should give you enough time to get your things in order and say your good-byes. Any questions?"

  "No, sir," I said. "But I have one request."

  "Not the usual thing," Keegan said, after I had finished. "And in other circumstances—in both cases—I would say no."

  "I understand, sir," I said.

  "However, it will be arranged. And some good might come out of it. Very well, Lieutenant. You're dismissed."

  Harry and Jesse met me as soon as they could after I messaged them. I told them of my assignment and promotion.

  "You think Jane engineered this," Harry said.

  "I know she did," I said. "She told me she had. As it happens, I may actually turn out to be useful in some way. But I'm sure she planted a bug in someone's ear. I'm on my way in just a few hours."

  "We're being broken up again," Jesse said. "And what's left of Harry's and my platoon is being split up, too. Our platoon mates are getting assignments to other ships. We're waiting to hear our own assignments."

  "Who knows, John," Harry said. "We'll probably be back at Coral with you."

  "No, you won't," I said. "I asked General Keegan to advance you both out of general infantry and he agreed. Your first term of service is done. You've both been reassigned."

  "What are you talking about?" Harry said.

  "You've been reassigned to CDF's Military Research arm," I said. "Harry, they knew about you snooping around. I convinced them you'd do less harm to yourself and others this way. You're going to work on whatever we bring back from Coral."

  "I can't do that," Harry said. "I don't have the math for it."

  "I'm sure you won't let that stop you," I said. "Jesse, you're going to MR, too, on the support staff. It's all I could get you on short notice. It's not going be very interesting, but you can train for other roles while you're there. And you'll both be out of the line of fire."

  "This isn't right, John," Jesse said. "We haven't served our time. Our platoon mates are going back out to fight while we'll be sitting here for something we didn't do. You're going back out there. I don't want this. I should serve my time." Harry nodded.

  "Jesse, Harry, pleas
e," I said. "Look. Alan is dead. Susan and Thomas are dead. Maggie is dead. My squad and my platoon are all gone. Everyone I've ever cared about out here is gone but you two. I had a chance to keep you two alive and I took it. I couldn't do anything for anyone else. I can do something for you. I need you to be alive. You're all I have out here."

  "You have Jane," Jesse said.

  "I don't know what Jane is to me yet," I said. "But I know what you are to me. You're my family now. Jesse, Harry. You're my family. Don't be angry with me for wanting to keep you safe. Just be safe. For me. Please."

  FIFTEEN

  Sparrowhawk was a quiet ship. Your average troopship is filled with the sounds of people talking, laughing, yelling and going through the verbal motions of their lives. Special Forces soldiers don't do any of that crap.

  As was explained to me by the Sparrowhawk's CO when I came on board. "Don't expect people to talk to you," Major Crick said as I presented myself.

  "Sir?" I said.

  "The Special Forces soldiers," he said. "It's not anything personal, it's just we're not much for talking. When we're by ourselves, we communicate almost exclusively by BrainPal. It's faster, and we don't have a bias toward talking, like you do. We're born with BrainPals. The first time anyone ever talks to us, it's with one of them. So it's the way we talk most of the time. Don't be offended. Anyway, I've ordered the troops to speak to you if they have something they need to get across."

  "That's not necessary, sir," I said. "I can use my BrainPal."

  "You wouldn't be able to keep up," Major Crick said. "Your brain is set to communicate at one speed, and ours at another. Talking to realborn is like talking at half speed. If you've talked to any of us for a great deal of time, you might notice we seem abrupt and curt. It's a side effect of feeling like you're talking to a slow child. No offense."

  "None taken, sir," I said. "You seem to communicate well."

  "Well, as a CO, I spend a lot of time with non-Special Forces," Crick said. "Also, I'm older than most of my troops. I've picked up a few social graces."