The Ghost Brigades omw-2

by John Scalzi

  A hand touched his shoulder. Jared recoiled, almost slipping on the vomit as he twisted away, bag of jellybeans flying from his hand. He looked at the woman who had touched him, a CDF soldier of some sort. She looked at him strangely and then there was a short, sharp buzz in his head like a human voice accelerated to ten times speed. It happened again and once more, like two slaps on the inside of his head.

  "What?" Jared yelled at the woman.

  "Dirac," she said. "Calm down. Tell me what's wrong."

  Jared felt disoriented fear and quickly stepped away from the solider, clipping other pedestrians as he heaved away.

  Jane Sagan watched Dirac stumble away and then looked down at the dark splash of vomit and the splay of jellybeans on the floor. She looked back toward the candy stand and stalked over.

  "You," she said, pointing to the vendor. "Tell me what happened."

  "The guy came over and bought some black jellybeans," the vendor said. "Said he loved them and shoved a bunch into his mouth. Then he takes a couple of steps and throws up."

  "That's it," Sagan said.

  "That's it," the vendor said. "I made small talk about how my husband likes black jellybeans, he said his kid likes them too, he took the jellybeans and he walked off."

  "He talked about his kid," Sagan said.

  "Yeah," the vendor said. "He said he had a little girl."

  Sagan looked down the walkway. There was no sign of Dirac. She starting running in the direction she last saw him going and tried to open a channel to General Szilard.

  Jared reached a station lift as others were exiting, jabbed the button for his lab's level and suddenly realized his arm was green. He retracted it with such violence that it smacked hard against the lift wall, bringing into sharp, painful focus that it was, in fact, his arm, and that he wasn't going to get away from it. The other people in the lift looked at him strangely, and in one case with actual venom; he'd almost hit a woman when he drew back his arm.

  "Sorry," he said. The woman snorted and performed the forward-looking elevator stare. Jared did the same and saw a smeary reflection of his green self in the brushed metal walls of the lift. Jared's confused anxiety by this point was peaking toward terror, but one thing he did know was that he didn't want to lose his shit in an elevator filled with strangers. Social conditioning was, for the moment, stronger than panic over confused identity.

  If Jared were to have taken a moment to question who he was, standing there silently in the lift and waiting for his level, he would have come to the startled realization that he wasn't exactly sure. But he hadn't; on a day-to-day basis people don't question their identity. Jared knew that being green wasn't right, his lab was three levels down from where he was, and that his daughter Zoe was dead.

  The lift reached Jared's level; he stepped out to a wide hallway. This level of Phoenix Station had no candy stands or commissaries; it was one of the two levels of the station given over primarily to military research. CDF soldiers stood every hundred feet or so, monitoring hallways that led deeper into the level. Each hallway was fronted by biometric and BrainPal/brain prosthesis scanners that scanned every individual who approached. If that person was not allowed down the hallway, the CDF guard would intercept them before they made it to the hallway itself.

  Jared knew that he was supposed to have access to most of these hallways, but doubted that this strange body would have clearance for any of them. He set down the hall, walking as if he had a purpose, toward the hallway he knew held his lab and his office. Maybe by the time he got there he'd figure out what to do next. He was almost there when he saw every CDF guard in front of him in the hallway turn and look at him.

  Crap, Jared thought. His hallway was less than fifty feet away. On impulse he sprinted toward it and was surprised at how fast his body took off toward his goal. So was the soldier guarding it; he whipped up his Empee but by the time it was up Jared was on him. Jared shoved the soldier, hard. The soldier bounced off the hallway wall and fell. Jared sprinted past him without breaking his stride and ran to his lab door, two hundred feet down the corridor. As Jared ran, sirens blared and emergency doors slammed shut; Jared barely passed the threshold of the one that would have separated him from his goal when it shot out from the corridor sides, sealing the section in less than half a second.

  Jared reached the door to his lab and thrust it open. Inside were a CDF military research technician and a Rraey. Jared was struck immobile by the cognitive dissonance of having a Rraey in his lab, and through the confusion came a knife-like frisson of fear, not of the Rraey, but from having been caught doing something dangerous and terrible and punishable. Jared's brain surged, looking for a memory or explanation to attach to the fear, but arrived at nothing.

  The Rraey wiggled its head and came around the desk at which it had been standing, and moved toward Jared.

  "You're him, aren't you?" the Rraey said, in strangely pronounced but recognizable English.

  "Who?" Jared asked.

  "The soldier they made to trap a traitor," the Rraey said. "But they couldn't do it."

  "I don't understand you," Jared said. "This is my lab. Who are you?"

  The Rraey wiggled its head again. "Or maybe they did, after all," the Rraey said. It pointed to itself. "Cainen. Scientist and prisoner. Now you know who I am. Do you know who you are?"

  Jared opened his mouth to answer and realized he did not know who he was. He stood there dumb and open mouthed until the emergency doors flew open a few seconds later. The woman soldier he had talked to earlier stepped through, raised a pistol, and shot him in the head.

  ::First question,:: General Szilard said. Jared lay in the Phoenix Station infirmary, recovering from his stun bolt, with two CDF guards stationed at the foot of his bed and Jane Sagan standing by the wall. ::Who are you?::

  ::I'm Private Jared Dirac,:: Jared said. He did not ask who Szilard was; his BrainPal ID'd him as he entered the room. Szilard's own BrainPal could have as easily ID'd Jared, so the question wasn't a matter of mere identification. ".I'm stationed on the Kite. My commanding officer is Lieutenant Sagan, who is over there.::

  ::Second question,:: General Szilard said. ::Do you know who Charles Boutin is?::

  ::No, sir,:: Jared said. ::Should I?::

  ::Possibly,:: Szilard said. ::It was his lab we found you standing in front of. It was his lab that you told that Rraey was yours. Which suggests that you thought you were Charles Boutin, at least for a minute. And Lieutenant Sagan tells me that you wouldn't respond to your name when she tried to talk to you.::

  ::I remember not knowing that I was me;: Jared said. "But I don't remember thinking I was anyone else.::

  ::But you got to Boutin's lab without ever having been there before,:: Szilard said. ::And we know you didn't access your BrainPal for a station map in order to find it.::

  ::I can't explain it,:: Jared said. "The memory of it was just in my head.:: Jared saw Szilard glance over at Sagan at that.

  The door opened and two men walked through. One of the men stalked over to Jared before his BrainPal could identify him.

  "Do you know who I am?" he said.

  Jared's punch sent the man to the floor. The guards raised their Empees; Jared, already coming down from his sudden surge of rage and adrenaline, immediately put his hands up.

  The man stood up as Jared's BrainPal finally identified him as General Greg Mattson, head of Military Research.

  "That answers that," Mattson said, holding his hand to his right eye. He stalked off toward the room's lavatory, to check out the damage.

  "Don't be so sure," Szilard said. He turned to Jared. "Private, do you know the man you just struck?"

  "I know now he's General Mattson," Jared said. "But I didn't know that when I struck him."

  "Why did you strike him?" Szilard asked.

  "I don't know, sir," Jared said. "It just…" He stopped.

  "Answer the question, Private," Szilard said.

  "It just seemed like the right thing to do at
the time," Jared said. "I can't explain why."

  "He's definitely remembering some things," Szilard said, turning to Mattson. "But he's not remembering it all. And he doesn't remember who he was."

  "Crap," Mattson said, from the lavatory. "He remembered enough to punch me in the head. That son of a bitch has been waiting to do that for years."

  "He could be remembering it all and trying to convince you that he doesn't, General," the other man said to Szilard. Jared's BrainPal identified him as Colonel James Robbins.

  "It's possible," Szilard said. "But his actions so far don't seem to suggest it. If he really were Boutin, it wouldn't be in his interest to let us know he remembered anything at all. Punching out the general wouldn't have been very smart."

  "Not smart," Mattson said, coming out of the lavatory. "Just cathartic." He turned to Jared and pointed to his eye, ringed in gray where the SmartBlood had been smashed out of blood vessels, causing a bruise. "Back on Earth, you'd have hung this shiner on me for a couple of weeks. I should have you shot just on principle."

  "General," Szilard began.

  "Relax, Szi," Mattson said. "I buy your theory. Boutin wouldn't be stupid enough to punch me, so this isn't Boutin. Bits of him are coming out, though, and I want to see how much we can get."

  "The war Boutin tried to start is over, General," Jane Sagan said. "The Enesha are going to turn on the Rraey."

  "Well, that's wonderful, Lieutenant," Mattson said. "But in this case two out of three won't do. The Obin may still be planning something, and since it looks like Boutin is with them, perhaps we shouldn't go declaring victory and calling off the search just yet. We still need to know what Boutin knows, and now that the private here has got two people rattling around in his skull, perhaps we can do a little more to encourage the other one to come out and play." He turned to Jared. "What do you say, Private? They call you guys the Ghost Brigades, but you're the only one with a real ghost in your head. Want to get it out?"

  "With all due respect, sir, I have no idea what you're talking about," Jared said.

  "Of course you don't," Mattson said. "Apparently, other than where his lab is, you don't know a goddamn thing about Charles Boutin at all."

  "I know one other thing," Jared said. "I know he had a daughter."

  General Mattson touched his hand gingerly to his black eye. "That he did, Private." Mattson dropped his hand and turned to Szilard. "I want you to give him back to me, Szi," he said, and then noticed Lieutenant Sagan shoot Szilard a glance; no doubt she was sending him one of those rat-a-tat mental messages Special Forces used instead of speech. "It's only temporary, Lieutenant," he said. "You can have him back when we're done. And I promise I won't break him. But we're not going to get anything useful out of him if he gets shot dead on a mission."

  "You didn't have a problem with him getting shot dead on a mission before," Sagan said. "Sir."

  "Ah, the vaunted Special Forces snotty attitude," Mattson said. "I was wondering when it would become obvious you were six."

  "I'm nine," Sagan said.

  "And I'm one hundred and thirty, so listen to your great-great grandfather," Mattson said. "I didn't care if he died before because I didn't think he was useful. Now he may be useful, so I'd rather he didn't die. If it turns out he's not useful, then you can have him back and he can die all over again for all I care. Regardless, you don't get a vote. Now shut up, Lieutenant, and let the grown-ups talk." Sagan stewed but shut up.

  "What are you going to do with him?" Szilard asked.

  "I'm going to put him under the microscope, of course," Matt-son said. "Find out why he's leaking memories now and see what it takes to leak a few more." He jerked a thumb back to Robbins. "Officially, he'll be assigned to Robbins as an assistant. Unofficially, I expect he'll be spending a lot of time down at the lab. That Rraey scientist we took off your hands has been coming in useful down there. We'll see what he can do with him."

  "You think you can trust a Rraey?" Szilard asked.

  "Shit, Szi," Mattson said. "We don't let him turd without a camera up his ass. And he'll die in a day without his medicine. He the only scientist I have that I absolutely know I can trust."

  "All right," Szilard said. "You gave him to me once when I asked. You can have him now. Just remember he's one of ours, General. And you know how I am about my people."

  "Fair enough," Mattson said.

  "The transfer order is in your queue," Szilard said. "As soon as you approve it, it's done." Szilard nodded to Robbins and Sagan, glanced over to Jared, and left.

  Mattson turned to Sagan. "If you've got any good-byes to make, now's the time to do them."

  "Thank you, General," Sagan said. ::What an asshole,:: she said to Jared.

  ::I still don't know what's going on or who Charles Boutin is,:: Jared said. ::I tried accessing information on him but it's all classified.::

  ::You're going to find out soon enough,:: Sagan said. "Whatever you learn, I want to you to remember one thing. At the end of it all, you're Jared Dirac. No one else. No matter how you were made or why or what happens. I sometimes forgot that about you, and I'm sorry for it. But I want you to remember it.::

  ".I'll remember it,:: Jared said.

  ::Good,:: Sagan said. ::When you see this Rraey they're talking about, his name is Cainen. Tell him that Lieutenant Sagan asked him to look out for you. Tell him I would consider it a favor.::

  ::I've met him,:: Jared said. -.-.I'll tell him.::

  ::And I'm sorry for shooting you in the head with the stun bolt,:: Sagan said. ::You know how it is.::

  ::I do,:: Jared said. "Thank you. Good-bye, Lieutenant.::

  Sagan left.

  Mattson pointed to the guards. "You two are dismissed." The guards left. "Now," Mattson said, turning to Jared. "I'm going to work under the assumption that your little seizure earlier today is not going to be a frequent occurrence, Private. Just the same, from now on your BrainPal is set to record and locate, so we have no surprises from you and we always know how to find you. Change the setting just once and every CDF soldier on Phoenix Station will get the go-ahead to shoot you dead. Until we know exactly who and what's in your head, you don't get any private thoughts. Do you understand me?"

  "I understand you," Jared said.

  "Excellent," Mattson said. "Then welcome to Military Research, son."

  "Thank you, sir," Jared said. "And now, will someone please finally tell me what the hell is going on?"

  Mattson smiled, and turned to Robbins. "You tell him," Mattson said, and left.

  Jared turned his gaze to Robbins.

  "Uh," Robbins said. "Hello."

  "That's an interesting bruise you have there," Cainen said, pointing to the side of Jared's head. Cainen was speaking his own language; Jared's BrainPal provided the translation.

  "Thanks," Jared said. "I was shot." Jared spoke his own language as well; after several months, Cainen's English proficiency was quite good.

  "I remember," Cainen said. "I was there. As it happens, I was once stunned by your Lieutenant Sagan too. We should start a club, you and I." Cainen turned to Harry Wilson, who was standing nearby. "You can join too, Wilson."

  "I'll pass," Wilson said. "I'm reminded of a wise man who once said that he would never want to join a club that would have him for a member. Also, I'd rather not get zapped."

  "Coward," said Cainen.

  Wilson bowed. "At your service."

  "And now," Cainen said, bringing his attention back to Jared. "I trust you have some idea of why you're here."

  Jared recalled the awkward and not especially forthcoming conversation with Colonel Robbins the day before. "Colonel Rob-bins told me that I had been born for the purpose of transferring this Charles Boutin's consciousness into my brain, but that it didn't take. He told me that Boutin had been a scientist here but that he'd turned traitor. And he told me that these new memories that I'm sensing are actually Boutin's old memories, and that no one knows why they are coming out now instead of earlier."


  "How much detail did he give you about Boutin's life or research?" Wilson asked.

  "None, really," Jared said. "He said if I learned too much from him or from their files, it might interfere with my memory coming back naturally. Will it?"

  Wilson shrugged. Cainen said, "Since you're the first human to whom this has happened, there's no history to go on as to what we should do next. The closest thing to this are certain types of amnesia. Yesterday, you were able to find this lab and recall the name of Boutin's daughter, but you don't know how you knew it. That's similar to source amnesia. What makes it entirely different is that the problem isn't your own memory, it's someone else's."

  "So you don't know how to get any more memories out of me, either," Jared said.

  "We have theories," Wilson said.

  "Theories," Jared said.

  "Hypotheses, more accurately," Cainen said. "I remember many months ago telling Lieutenant Sagan that the reason I thought Boutin's consciousness didn't take in you was that his was a mature consciousness, and when it was put into an immature brain that hadn't had enough experiences, it couldn't find a grip. But now you have those experiences, don't you? Seven months at war will season any mind. And perhaps something you experienced acted as a bridge to Boutin's memories."

  Jared thought back. "My last mission," he said. "Someone very important to me died. And Boutin's daughter is dead as well." Jared didn't mention the assassination of Vyut Ser to Cainen, and his breakdown as he held the knife that would kill her, but it was in his mind as well.

  Cainen nodded his head, showing his understanding of human language included nonverbal signals. "That could have been the moment, indeed."

  "But why didn't the memories come back then?" Jared asked. "It happened when I was back on Phoenix Station, eating black jellybeans."

  "Remembrance of Things Past," Wilson said.

  Jared looked at Wilson. "What?"

  "Actually, In Search of Lost Time is a better translation of the original title," Wilson said. "It's a novel by Marcel Proust. The book begins with the main character experiencing a flood of memories from his childhood, brought on by eating some cake he dipped in his tea. Memories and senses are closely tied in humans. Eating those jellybeans could easily have triggered those memories, especially if the jellybeans were significant in some way."