by John Scalzi
"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.
"I'll be fine," I said, and looked at them both. "Please. Let me go, Harry. I'll be fine."
Harry and Jesse looked at each other. Harry let go of my hand.
"Thank you," I said.
"What are you going to say to her?" Harry wanted to know.
"I'm going to tell her thanks for saving my life," I said, and got up.
By this time, she and two companions had got their orders and had made their way to a small table farther back in the commissary. I threaded my way to the table. The three of them were talking, but stopped as I approached. She had her back to me as I approached, and turned as her companions glanced up at me. I stopped as I got a look at her face.
It was different, of course. Beyond the obvious skin and eyes, she was so much younger than Kathy had been—a face that was as Kathy was half a century before. Even then, it was different; leaner than Kathy's had ever been, keeping with the CDF genetically-installed predisposition for fitness. Kathy's hair had always been a nearly uncontrolled mane, even as she aged and most other women switched to more matronly cuts; the woman in front of me kept her hair close on her head and off her collar.
It was the hair that was the most jarring. It'd been so long since I'd seen a person without green skin that it didn't register with me anymore. But the hair was nothing that I remembered.
"It's not nice to stare," the woman said, using Kathy's voice. "And before you ask, you're not my type."
Yes I am, a part of my brain said.
"I'm sorry, I don't really mean to intrude," I said. "I was just wondering if you might recognize me."
She flicked her eyes up and down on me. "I really don't," she said. "And trust me, we weren't in basic training together."
"You rescued me," I said. "On Coral."
She perked up a little at this. "No shit," she said. "No wonder I didn't recognize you. The last time I saw you, you were missing the lower half of your head. No offense. And no offense to this, either, but I'm amazed you're still alive. I wouldn't have bet on you to make it."
"I had something to live for," I said.
"Apparently," she said.
"I'm John Perry," I said, and held out my hand. "I'm afraid I don't know your name."
"Jane Sagan," she said, taking it. I held it a little longer than I should have. She had a slightly puzzled expression when I finally let go.
"Corporal Perry," one of her companions began; he had taken the opportunity to access information about me from his BrainPal, "we're kind of in a rush to eat here; we have to be back to our ship in a half hour, so if you don't mind—"
"Do you recognize me from anywhere else?" I asked Jane, cutting him off.
"No," she said, slightly frosty now. "Thanks for coming over, but now I'd really like to eat."
"Let me send you something," I said. "A picture. Through your BrainPal."
"That's really not necessary," Jane said.
"One picture," I said. "Then I'll go. Humor me."
"Fine," she said. "Hurry it up."
Among the few possessions that I had taken with me when I left Earth was a digital photo album of fami
ly, friends and places that I had loved. When my BrainPal activated, I had uploaded the photos into its onboard memory, a smart move in retrospect since my photo album and all my other Earthly possessions but one went down with the Modesto. I accessed one particular photo from the album and sent it to her. I watched as she accessed her BrainPal, and then turned again to look at me.
"Do you recognize me now?" I asked.
She moved fast, faster than even normal CDF, grabbed me, and slammed me against a nearby bulkhead. I was pretty sure I felt one of my newly repaired ribs crack. From across the commissary Harry and Jesse leaped up and moved in; Jane's companions moved to intercept. I tried to breathe.
"Who the fuck are you," Jane hissed at me, "and what are you trying to pull?"
"I'm John Perry," I wheezed. "I'm not trying to pull anything."
"Bullshit. Where did you get that picture?" she said, close up, low. "Who made it for you?"
"No one made it for me," I said, equally low. "I got that picture at my wedding. It's . . . my wedding photo." I almost said our wedding photo, but caught myself just in time. "The woman in the picture is my wife, Kathy. She died before she could enlist. They took her DNA and used it to make you. Part of her is in you. Part of you is in that picture. Part of what you are gave me this." I held up my left hand and showed her my wedding ring—my only remaining Earthly possession.
Jane snarled, picked me up and hurled me hard across the room. I skipped over a couple of tabletops, knocking away hamburgers, condiment packages and napkin holders before coming to rest on the ground. Along the way I clocked my head on a metal corner; there was the briefest of oozes coming from my temple. Harry and Jesse disengaged from their wary dance with Jane's companions and headed over to me. Jane stalked toward me but was stopped by her friends halfway across.
"Listen to me, Perry," she said. "You stay the fuck away from me from now on. The next time I see you you're going to wish I'd left you for dead." She stalked off. One of her companions followed after her; the other, who had spoken to me earlier, came over to us. Jesse and Harry got up to engage him, but he put his hands out in a sign of truce.
"Perry," he said. "What was that all about? What did you send her?"
"Ask her yourself, pal," I said.
"That's Lieutenant Tagore to you, Corporal." Tagore looked at Harry and Jesse. "I know you two," he said. "You were on the Hampton Roads."
"Yes, sir," Harry said.
"Listen to me, all of you," he said. "I don't know what the hell that was about, but I want to be very clear about this. Whatever it was, we weren't part of it. Tell whatever story you want, but if the words 'Special Forces' are anywhere in it, I'm going to make it my personal mission to ensure that the rest of your military career is short and painful. I'm not kidding. I will fuck your skull. Are we clear?"
"Yes, sir," Jesse said. Harry nodded. I wheezed.
"Get your friend looked after," Tagore said to Jesse. "He looks like he just got the shit kicked out of him." He walked out.
"Christ, John," Jesse said, taking a napkin and cleaning off my head wound. "What did you do?"
"I sent her a wedding photo," I said.
"That's subtle," Harry said, and looked around. "Where's your cane?"
"I think it's over by the wall she slammed me into," I said. Harry left to go get it.
"Are you okay?" Jesse said to me.
"I think I busted a rib," I said. "That's not what I meant," she said. "I know what you meant," I said. "And as far as that goes, I think something else is busted, too."
Jesse cupped my face with her hand. Harry came back with my cane. We limped back to the hospital. Dr. Fiorina was extremely displeased with me.
Someone nudged me awake. When I saw who it was, I tried to speak. She clapped a hand over my mouth.
"Quiet," Jane said. "I'm not supposed to be here."
I nodded. She took her hand away. "Talk low," she said.
"We could use BrainPals," I said.
"No," she said. "I want to hear your voice. Just keep it down."
"Okay," I said.
"I'm sorry about today," she said. "It was just unexpected. I don't know how to react to something like that."
"It's all right," I said. "I shouldn't have broken it to you that way."
"Are you hurt?" she asked.
"You cracked a rib," I said.
"Sorry about that," she said.
"Already healed," I said.
She studied my face, eyes flicking back and forth. "Look, I'm not your wife," she said suddenly. "I don't know who you think I am or what I am, but I was never your wife. I didn't know she existed until you showed me the picture today."
"You had to know about where you came from," I said.
"Why?" she said hotly. "We know we've been made from someone else's genes, but they don't tell us who they were. What would be the point? That person's not us. We're not even clones—I've got things in my DNA that aren't even from Earth. We're the CDF guinea pigs, haven't you heard?"
"I heard," I said.
"So I'm not your wife. That's what I've come here to say. I'm sorry, but I'm not."
"All right," I said.
"Okay," she said. "Good. I'm going now. Sorry about throwing you across the room."
"How old are you?" I asked.
"What? Why?" she asked.
"I'm just curious," I said. "And I don't want you to go yet."
"I don't know what my age has got to do with anything," she said.
"Kathy's been dead for nine years now," I said. "I want to know how long they bothered to wait before mining her genes to make you."
"I'm six years old," she said.
"I hope you don't mind if I say you don't look like most six-year-olds that I've met," I said.
"I'm advanced for my age," she said. Then, "That was a joke."
"I know," I said.
"People don't get that sometimes," she said. "It's because most of the people I know are around the same age."
"How does it work?" I said. "I mean, what's it like? Being six. Not having a past."
Jane shrugged. "I woke up one day and I didn't know where I was or what was going on. But I was already in this body, and I already knew things. How to speak. How to move. How to think and fight. I was told I was in Special Forces, and that it was time to start training, and my name was Jane Sagan."
"Nice name," I said.
"It was randomly selected," she said. "Our first names are common names, our last names are mostly from scientists and philosophers. There's a Ted Einstein and a Julie Pasteur in my squad. At first you don't know that, of course. About the names. Later you learn a little bit about how you were made, after they've let you develop your own sense of who you are. No one you know has many memories. It's not until you meet realborn that you know that anything's really different about you. And we don't meet them very often. We don't really mix."
"'Realborn'?" I asked.
"It's what we call the rest of you," she said.
"If you don't mix, what were you doing at the commissary?" I said.
"I wanted a burger," she said. "It's not that we can't, mostly. It's that we don't."
"Did you ever wonder about who you were made from?" I asked.
"Sometimes," Jane said. "But we can't know. They don't tell us about our progies—the people we're made from. Some of us are made from more than one, you know. But they're all dead anyway. Have to be or they wouldn't use them to make us. And we don't know who knew them, and if the people who knew them get in the service, it's not like they'd find us most of the time. And you realborn die pretty damn fast out here. I don't know anyone else who's ever met a progie's relative. Or a husband."
"Did you show your lieutenant the picture?" I asked.
"No," she said. "He asked about it. I told him you sent me a picture of yourself, and that I trashed it. And I did, so the action would register if he looked. I haven't told anyone about what we said. Can I have it again? The picture?"
"Of cour
se," I said. "I have others, too, if you want them. If you want to know about Kathy, I can tell you about her as well."
Jane stared at me in the dim room; in the low light she looked more like Kathy than ever. I ached just a little to look at her. "I don't know," she said, finally. "I don't know what I want to know. Let me think about it. Give me that one picture for now. Please."
"I'm sending it now," I said.
"I have to go," she said. "Listen, I wasn't here. And if you see me anywhere else, don't let on that we've met."
"Why not?" I asked.
"It's important for now," she said.
"All right," I said.
"Let me see your wedding ring," Jane asked.
"Sure," I said, and slipped it off to let her look at it. She held it gingerly, and peered through it.
"It says something," she said.
"'My Love is Eternal—Kathy,'" I said. "She had it inscribed before she gave it to me."
"How long were you married?" she asked.
"Forty-two years," I said.
"How much did you love her?" Jane asked. "Your wife. Kathy. When people are married for a long time, maybe they stay together out of habit."
"Sometimes they do," I said. "But I loved her very much. All the time we were married. I love her now."
Jane stood up, looked at me again, gave me back my ring, and left without saying good-bye.
"Tachyons," said Harry as he approached my and Jesse's breakfast table.
"Bless you," said Jesse.
"Very funny," he said, sitting down. "Tachyons may be the answer to how the Rraey knew we were coming."
"That's great," I said. "Now if only Jesse and I knew what tachyons were, we'd be a lot more excited about them."
"They're exotic subatomic particles," Harry said. "They travel faster than light and backward through time. So far they've just been a theory, because after all it's difficult to track something that is both faster than light and going backward in time. But the physics of skip drive theory allows for the presence of tachyons at any skip—just as our matter and energy translates into a different universe, tachyons from the destination universe travel back into the universe being left behind. There's a specific tachyon pattern a skip drive makes at a translation event. If you can spot tachyons forming that pattern, you'd know a ship with a skip drive was coming in—and when."
