by J. N. Chaney
He looked up at the chief, who said, “It’s your choice. You don’t have to do it. We’ll get you a regular prosthesis if that’s what you want.”
Rev caught the little glare the doctor sent to the chief. He didn’t trust her, not one bit. She had a stake in the project, that was obvious, and Rev was just a means to an end.
Still, the thought was intriguing. If it really could fire the weapons system as easily as he pointed a finger, that could be a big benefit.
“Do I have to make up my mind now?”
The civilian doc looked crestfallen, but she said, “No. I can give you until tomorrow. But after that, I’ll go to the next candidate.”
Rev looked to the Navy doctor and asked, “I’d like to discuss this with Punch, if I could.”
“Punch? Who’s that?”
“My battle buddy, sir.”
“I . . . well, I don’t see why we can’t get that done if your tests come back green.”
That would help. Punch had access to more data than Rev could even dream existed. Surely, he could pull up something on this project. But it would be good to talk this over with someone more experienced in the ways of the military.
Camp Nguyen’s only a hundred klicks away. Maybe the gunny would come?
“Uh, and sir, would it be possible for me to talk to my Platoon Sergeant, Gunny Thapa? He’s at Nguyen.”
“Was he deployed forward to Alafia?” the chief asked.
“Yes, he was. We all were.”
“Then it will be a little hard for him to help you. He’ll still be on Alafia.”
“Still?”
The thought hadn’t crossed his mind. They’d been just mopping up five weeks ago. Longer if he counted the time he was on the ship and coming back to New Hope.
“The Angel Shi—the Children of Angels,” the chief corrected, glancing at the civilian doctor, “don’t know that they’ve lost yet. Most guerilla stuff, some suicide bombers. Fanatics, you know.”
Not only suicide bombers, he thought, remembering Kat. But who can I talk to? Punch is great, but . . .
“How about my dad? Well, he’s my stepdad, but he works for LTQ Crystallines, so he’s got clearance.”
Doctor Chakrabarti frowned, then asked, “What does he do there?”
“He’s a crystal engineer. Been one for thirty years.”
She twisted her face up in concentration. “I guess I could have him sign an NDA, but even then,” she said, more to herself than anyone else. She looked at Rev. “And you really need this? I can sit and answer any questions you might have.”
“I’d really like to talk to my father, to confirm that this is the right decision for me.”
Rev hadn’t committed to anything that had to be confirmed, but he thought if he phrased it that way, she’d be more open to the suggestion.
“If he’s a Sieben employee . . .” Rev could almost see the gears turning in her head. Probably thinking she had leverage over him. She didn’t know his stepdad, though, if she thought he’d put company over family. “Yes, I guess I can allow that. But I want to see him first.”
“I can give you his number,” Rev told the chief.
“No need. He’s here.”
“What? My dad’s here? Maximillian Pelletier? From Swansea?”
“He’s been here from the second day you arrived. Your mother and sister have been here, too, but your dad never left.”
Rev was shocked. His stepdad had been here for five weeks, all the time while he was in a coma? His throat tightened, and he fought to keep his eyes from welling up. Now he felt guilty for asking to get Punch back before he thought of family.
“Yeah, Chief. If I can see him, that’d be great.”
“Well, then,” the civilian doc said, clapping her hands together. “That’s that. If you can get the young man his Mr. Punch back, I’ll talk to his father so they can discuss this. Then, I’ll see you in the morning, son.”
She looked at the others in an awkward silence for a moment before turning and leaving the room.
“I’ll send in a tech to run the tests. If the numbers are good, you’ll have your battle buddy by”—he looked at the chief for confirmation—“seventeen hundred?”
“We can make that happen, sir.”
“Good luck with whatever you decide. And don’t let yourself be pressured. It’s going to affect your body, so this is your decision.”
Yeah, right. Like it was my decision to get augmented.
Rev left that thought unsaid. He was still a corporal, and even if the man was a doctor, he was a Navy captain too.
“He means that,” the chief said as the door closed behind the doctor. “It is your choice.”
“What do you think, Chief.”
The man shrugged and said, “It really is your choice.”
“If it were your choice, what would you do?”
“I’m not a snake-eating ground pounder. Never served with the Marines, either. And I’m stuck here for the duration. So, for me, nah. I’d say no. It’s experimental, and we don’t know how well it’ll work. But for you? For a grunt Marine? Maybe it’d be a good thing.”
“But if it doesn’t work, can’t they just take it off and give me a regular one like they give to everyone else?”
“Like the doc said, ‘theoretically.’ They have to do a lot more to you to get the thing working. I don’t know how much of that’ll be permanent.”
Which was a new wrinkle to things. Rev shook his head. This was probably not a good idea. Let someone else be their guinea pig. But if it worked . . .
“What if—”
Rev was cut off as a tech came through the door, pushing a cart. “You Sergeant Pelletier?”
“No.”
The tech looked confused, and he asked the chief, “Were you with Doc Morales? He said—”
“This is Pelletier, Grimsby. You’re in the right place.”
“I’m Pelletier. Corporal Pelletier.”
The chief laughed and asked, “Haven’t you heard me call you sergeant?”
Rev thought back, but his mind was too crammed full of everything he’d been told. He was vaguely aware that he might have been called sergeant, but that was probably because the first doc was a civilian and the others were Navy, and maybe they didn’t know Marine ranks. It hadn’t registered.
“I guess you hadn’t heard, you being in a coma and all. But the message came in eight days ago. Congratulations, Sergeant of Marines.”
“I can’t believe you’ve been here in Anastasia all this time,” Rev said.
His stepdad shrugged. “Where else was I going to be? Your mother was here, too, you know. She went back so Neesy can get back in class. But now that you’re awake, she’ll be back.”
“But what about work?”
His stepdad shook his head. “What do you expect them to say? We’re a defense contractor, after all.”
“Yeah, and owned by Sieben.”
His stepdad gave him a startled look, then laughed. “Yeah, I met the good Doctor Chakrabarti.”
“Was it bad?”
“Oh, she gave me the corporate loyalty pitch and all. ‘What’s good for Sieben is good for the Union,’” he said in a credible imitation of the woman. “She pushed rather hard.”
“And . . . ?”
“And what, Rev? You’re my son. I think that takes priority over Sieben Intergalactic.”
“But what do you think about this project?”
Rev had learned quite a bit about the project from Punch—damn, he was glad he had his battle buddy back. A surprising amount was public record. Not the tech, but the concept and morality. Some people thought it hearkened to the Genesians and android soldiers, no matter what the doctor had said about the word, while others worried about human morality.
The arm the doctor was offering him was just an arm. It wasn’t going to change what made him who he was. But critics warned that the program was just one step along the journey to android or even robot soldiers.
> What Rev wanted now was his stepdad’s take on it. Not as someone who grew crystals, but as a father.
His dad pursed his lips like he always did when trying to gather his thoughts. “We do provide some of the crystals for the project, but that hardly makes me an expert on it.”
“I don’t need that. Punch got me caught up on some of it.”
“Punch?”
Rev could feel his face turn red, and he mumbled, “My battle buddy. My AI. I thought it would be easier than always saying ‘Hey, you.’”
His father raised his eyebrows in surprise, but he didn’t comment on the revelation. He shifted gears and asked, “Then what do you want from me?”
“Should I do it? I mean, I asked the doctor about the rot, and she wasn’t too reassuring. This is all experimental, right?”
“What do you think you should do?”
“That’s just it. I don’t know. I mean, on the one hand, if this will make me a better soldier, then isn’t it my duty?”
“And on the other hand?”
“Well, I told you about Mr. Oliva at the VGW, the old Marine?”
His father nodded.
“He said don’t ever volunteer unless it’s to save another Marine. He said the Big M will always screw you in the end.”
“And you believe that?”
“Yeah. No. I mean, if they need you to do something, something dangerous, then yeah, they won’t think twice. But just to screw you? No.”
“But what if this all goes wrong? What if the arm they want to give me is fu . . . uh, messed up and goes bad?”
His father smiled and said, “It’s OK. I’ve heard more than a bit of cursing in my life. You’re not going to shock me. But to ask a question back. What if it does go wrong? Worst case basis, they take it off and give you another off-the-shelf, proven commodity, right?”
“I guess so. I’m just worried that they’ll have to do more to me than just hook on some wonder arm. All the connections and stuff.”
“They probably will have to put them in. But when this war’s over, they’ll take out whatever arm they’ve given you so you can go through regen. Not much of a difference.”
“So, you think I should do it, then?”
“No. I mean, I’m not saying you should, and I’m not saying you shouldn’t. I’m just saying that this is your choice, not the doctor’s, and not mine.”
Rev knew that. But for once, he just wished someone would take the decision away from him.
“If you were in my position, what would you do?”
“Me? But I’m not a Marine. I work in a factory.”
“But if you were,” Rev persisted.
“If I were a Marine?” His dad looked up, his eyes unfocused for a moment. “You know, I never served in uniform.”
“You’re in a war-priority job. That’s how you serve.”
“Maybe. But I never put myself in harm’s way, and I’ve always felt a little guilty because of that. When you volunteered—”
“You mean when I was stupid enough to get my dumb ass conscripted.”
His father laughed and said, “Well, maybe. But I was still so proud of you. Scared, but proud.”
He reached out and squeezed Rev’s shoulder, just above the stump. “Really proud.”
“Thanks, Dad. But that doesn’t answer my question. What if you were in my position?”
“If I were a Marine and lost my arm, and I was offered this opportunity . . .”
He stopped, and Rev knew he was trying to decide whether he should say what was on his mind.
“Just say it, Dad.”
“Then I’d want to be the most dangerous motherfucker around!” he blurted in a rush.
Rev’s mouth dropped open in shock. Not for what his father had said, but how he’d said it. Never in his entire life had he heard his father curse.
He broke out into a laugh and said, “I guess you have heard a few f-bombs in your life.”
The intense look on his dad’s face evaporated, and he laughed as well. “Just don’t tell your mom. She’s been after me since we first met to clean up my language. Between you and me, I used to swear like a Host sailor.”
“Yeah. I think she wouldn’t be too happy to hear how we talk in the Corps.”
“Oh, with you in uniform, I’m sure you could get away with about anything right now.” He leaned a little closer and lowered his voice. “They told us how you lost your arm. I can’t tell you how proud we are of you. You’re a good man, Reverent. A real good man.”
Rev squirmed in his bed, embarrassed at the praise. This was the man who worked his butt off to provide for three kids who weren’t even his. Well, not biologically. As far as Rev was concerned, they were all his in every way that mattered.
“Oh, sorry,” his father said, mistaking the reason why he squirmed. “Are you tired?”
“No, it’s OK. I’m just . . .” He tried to think of a way to change the subject. “When do you have to leave?”
“If you’re tired, I can go now. They said you might not be up for a long visit.”
“No, no! I want you to stay. I was just wondering if you wanted to sit and watch ‘The Renewed Kingdom’ with me, just like old times at home. I’m a little behind on the episodes, and you’ve probably already seen the latest season . . .”
“I’d be honored, son.” He looked around the small room and asked, “Where should I sit? Maybe I can ask a nurse for a chair?”
Rev scooted over, which was surprisingly difficult with only one arm. He reached across his body with his right arm and patted the bed at his side.
“Are you sure? That won’t hurt you?”
“I’m fine.”
His father shrugged and eased himself beside Rev. One of his lurches, as he got situated, did send a bolt of pain down Rev’s phantom arm, but he didn’t complain.
“Room, play ‘The Renewed Kingdom,’ Season Six, Episode One.” Then to his dad, he said, “Sorry, it’s a flat-screen. No holo-stands in the rooms, they told me.”
“It’s OK, son. This is fine.”
As the familiar intro spooled up, Rev’s father put his arms around his son’s shoulders, encompassing his stump.
Rev was a Direct Combat Marine. He’d killed a Centaur, and he’d fought traitors to humanity, giving up his arm in the fight. He was a trained killer. But at the moment, he was a kid again, safe and sound in his father’s arms.
24
Rev looked down at his new arm. Or rather, his new sleeve. The arm itself was not done yet, but everything relied upon the sleeve. It was both the nexus of synthetic neurons that would transmit the nerve impulses that would allow Rev to control the arm as well as the osseointegration, which was the connection of bone to prosthesis.
He wasn’t impressed. Rev wasn’t sure what he expected, but the hunk of metal and electronics was decidedly primitive-looking, not the high-tech piece of gear he’d expected. Two days of surgery, and this was where it led to? A swollen body and ten centimeters of a tin can stuck on the end of his stump?
And he itched.
Not the sleeve itself, but the new webbing and support straps that now ran under his skin. His initial spider web had itched, too, but this put that to shame.
The harness had been a surprise to him, but it had made sense after the surgeon had explained the need to him. His arm was going to be subject to tremendous forces, both while functioning as his old arm and while being deployed as a weapon. The old strengthening of his joints during his augmentation and the osseointegration just wouldn’t be enough to keep him from pulling the arm right out of his far-weaker flesh and bone.
To enable him to use his arm, his entire upper body had to be braced. He was given a t-shirt of a much more robust spider web that ran under his skin from the base of his neck to his waist to help distribute the forces. That still wouldn’t be enough to keep the arm from tearing free, so four Finite Element Poly-phenylene straps, each with a tensile strength of 2.6 GPa, were now running across and up and down
his body, just under his musculature. Two went across and around his ribs, while the other two ran vertically over his shoulders and under his pelvic girdle.
Rev didn’t know what Finite Element Poly-phenylene was, nor what a 2.6 GPa meant, but Punch assured him that the straps were very strong.
When Rev had asked the surgeon what would happen if this super-strong harness broke, the surgeon had laughed and said if that happened, Rev would never know it because he’d have been torn apart into bits and pieces.
Not the best bedside manner ever.
The harness and the t-shirt had been the easiest parts of his surgery, however, taking just over five hours. The next day was the major surgery, something so detailed that it wasn’t trusted to human hands. The entire operation had been done by three separate robot-surgeons over a sixteen-hour process. Thousands of micro-connections had been made between his nerves and the mechanical receptors. But that wasn’t even enough to give him the control he needed. As he looked at the sleeve, nanobots were stimulating more organic-Rev and biosynth connections.
Rev still didn’t understand why he was getting both the normal human-to-mechanical arm connections and this new human-to-biosynth web. A Sieben scientist had tried to explain the advantages to him, but most of it had gone over his head. Even with Punch explaining it later, all he could gather was that it should improve his effectiveness.
The thought didn’t sit well with him. Despite Doctor Chakrabarti’s protests to the contrary, this was getting into Genesian territory of half-man, half-machine, and everyone knew how that worked out. At least, everyone knew what the combined nations of humankind kept teaching them over a century after that attempt to create an android soldier.
The door opened, and a civilian tech in an isolation suit came in wheeling a cart.
“You alive today?” she said with a cheery smile showing through her face shield.
“I think so.”
“Good. You had a lot done to you over the last two days, and some of it was all new. You must be pretty sore.”
“I itch.”
