The Ghost Brigades omw-2

by John Scalzi

  From his training mates radiated emotions like auras, each different: concern, confusion, irritation, indifference, amusement. Jared followed the amused emotion back to its source. Pauling's amusement was visible not only as an emotional aura but from the quirky smile on her face.

  ::Well, you don't seem all that much worse for wear,:: Pauling said. She stood up and then extended her hand. ::Up you go,:: she said. Jared reached up, took her hand, and pulled himself up.

  ::Sarah's got a pet,:: Seaborg said, and there was a ripple of amusement among some of the squad, and a strange emotional ping that Jared suddenly recognized as a form of laughter.

  ::Shut up, Steve,:: Pauling said. ::You hardly know what a pet is.::

  ::Doesn't make him less of one,:: Seaborg said.

  ::Doesn't make you less of a jerk,:: Pauling said.

  ::I'm not a pet,:: Jared said, and suddenly all eyes turned to him. He found it less intimidating than the first time, now that he had all of them in his head. He focused his attention on Seaborg "Sarah was simply being kind to me. It doesn't make me a pet, it doesn't make her my master. It just means she was nice enough to help me off the floor.::

  Seaborg audibly snorted and then removed himself from the semicircle, intently finding something else to be interested in. A few others broke off to join him. Sarah turned to Brahe. -.".Does this happen with every training squad?:: she asked.

  Brahe smiled. ::Did you think being inside each other's heads would make it easier for you to get along? There's no place to hide. What's really surprising is that one of you hasn't taken a punch at someone else yet. Usually by this time I have to pry a couple of trainees apart with a crowbar.:: Brahe turned to Jared. ::You going to be all right?::

  ::I think so,:: Jared said. ::I need a little time to sort everything out. I have a lot in my head, and I'm trying to figure out where it all goes.::

  Brahe looked back over to Pauling. ::You think you can help him sort it out?::

  Pauling smiled. "Sure,:: she said.

  ::You've got Dirac-watch, then,:: Brahe said. ::We start training tomorrow. See if you can get him up to speed with everything before then.:: Brahe walked off.

  ::I guess I really am your pet,:: Jared said.

  A wash of amusement flowed off Pauling toward Jared : .You're a funny man,:: she said.

  ::You're the second person to tell me that today,:: Jared said.

  ::Yeah?:: Pauling said. ::Know any good jokes?::

  Jared told Pauling the one about Sherlock Holmes. She laughed out loud.

  FIVE

  Training for Special Forces soldiers takes two weeks. Gabriel Brahe began the training of Jared's squad—formally the 8th Training Squad—by asking its members a question. ::What makes you different than other human beings?:: he asked. ::Raise your hand when you have the answer.:: The squad, arrayed in a ragged semicircle in front of Brahe, was silent. Finally Jared raised his hand. "We're smarter, stronger and faster than other humans,:: he said, remembering the words of Judy Curie.

  ::Good guess,:: Brahe said. ::But wrong. We are designed to be stronger, faster and smarter than other humans. But we're that way as a consequence of what makes us different. What makes us different is that alone among humans, we were born with a purpose. And that purpose is simple: to keep humans alive in this universe.::

  The members of the squad looked around at each other. Sarah Pauling raised her hand. ::Other people help to keep humans alive. We saw them on Phoenix Station, on our way here.::

  ::But they weren't born for it,:: Brahe said. "Those people you saw—the realborn—are born without a plan. They're born because biology tells humans to make more humans; but it doesn't consider what to do with them after that. Realborn go for years without the slightest clue what they're going to do with themselves. From what I understand, some of them never actually figure it out. They just walk through life in a daze and then fall into their graves at the end of it. Sad. And inefficient.

  ::You may do many things in your life, but walk though it in a daze will not be one of them,:: Brahe continued. ::You are born to protect humanity. And you are designed for it. Everything in you down to your genes reflects that purpose. It's why you are stronger, and faster, and smarter than other humans::—Brahe nodded toward Jared—::and why you are born as adults, ready to fight quickly, effectively and efficiently. It takes the Colonial Defense Forces three months to train realborn soldiers. We do the same training—and more—in two weeks.::

  Steve Seaborg raised his hand. ::Why does it take the realborn so long to train?:: he asked.

  ::Let me show you,:: Brahe said. "Today is the first day of training. Do you know how to stand at attention, or other basic drill maneuvers?:: The members of the training squad looked at Brahe blankly. "Right,:: Brahe said. "Here come your instructions.::

  Jared sensed his brain flooding with new information. The perception of this knowledge sat thickly upon his consciousness, unorganized; Jared sensed his BrainPal funneling the information into the right places, the now-familiar unpacking process launching branching paths of information that connected with things that Jared, now a full day old, already knew.

  Now Jared knew the military protocols of parade drilling. But more than that came an unexpected emotion that arose natively in his own brain, and was amplified and augmented by the integrated thoughts of his training squad: Their informal array in front of Brahe, with some standing, some sitting and some leaning back on the steps of their barracks, felt wrong. Disrespectful. Shameful. Thirty seconds later they were in four orderly rows of four, standing at attention.

  Brahe smiled. "You got it on the first try,:: he said. ::Parade rest.:: The squad shifted into parade rest position, feet apart, hand behind backs. ::Excellent,:: Brahe said. ::At ease.:: The squad visibly relaxed.

  ::If I told you how long it takes to train Realborn to do just that much just as well as you did, you wouldn't believe me,:: Brahe said. ."Realborn need to drill, to repeat, to practice again and again to get things right, to learn to do the things you that you will learn and absorb in one or two sessions.::

  ::Why don't the realborn train this way?:: asked Alan Millikan.

  ::They can't,:: Brahe said. ::They have old minds, set in their ways. They have a hard enough time just learning to use a Brain-Pal. If I tried sending them the drill protocols like I just sent to you, their brains simply couldn't handle it. And they can't integrate— they can't share information between themselves automatically like you do, and like all Special Forces do. They're not designed for it. They're not born to it.::

  "We're superior, but there are realborn soldiers,:: Steven Seaborg said.

  ::Yes,:: Brahe said. "Special Forces are less than one percent of the entire CDF fighting force.::

  ::If we're so good, why are there so few of us?:: asked Seaborg.

  ::Because the realborn are scared of us,:: Brahe said.

  "What?:: asked Seaborg.

  "They doubt us,:: Brahe said. ::They've bred us for the purpose of defending humanity, but they're not sure we're human enough. They've designed us to be superior soldiers but they worry our design is flawed. So they see us as less than human and assign us the jobs they fear might make them less than human. They make just enough of us for those jobs but no more than that. They don't trust us because they don't trust themselves.::

  ::That's stupid,:: Seaborg said.

  "That's ironic,:: Sarah Pauling said.

  ::It's both,:: Brahe said. .-.Rationality is not one of humanity's strong points.::

  ::It's hard to understand why they think that way,:: Jared said.

  ::You're right,:: Brahe said, looking at Jared. ::And you've unintentionally hit on the racial flaw of the Special Forces. Real-born have a hard time trusting the Special Forces—but Special Forces have a hard time understanding the realborn. And it doesn't go away. I'm eleven years old::—a sharp pinging of amazement ricocheted through the squad; none of them could conceive of being that ancient—::and I swear to you I still don't get the r
ealborn most of the time. Their sense of humor, which you and I have discussed, Dirac, is only the most obvious example of this. This is why in addition to physical and mental conditioning, Special Forces training also includes specialized training into the history and culture of the realborn soldiers you will meet, so you can understand them, and how they see ms.::

  ::Seems like a waste of time,:: Seaborg said. ::If the realborn don't trust us, why should we protect them?::

  ::It's what we were born to do—:: Brahe said.

  ::I didn't ask to be born,:: Seaborg said.

  ::—and you're thinking like a realborn,:: Brahe said. ::We are human too. When we fight for humans, we fight for ourselves. No one asks to be born, but we are born, and we are human. We fight for ourselves, as much as for any other human. If we don't defend humanity, we'll be just as dead as the rest of them. This universe is implacable.::

  Seaborg lapsed into silence, but his irritation broadcast itself.

  ::Is this all we do?:: Jared asked.

  ::What do you mean?:: Brahe said.

  ::We are born for this purpose,:: Jared said. ::But can we do something else too?::

  "What do you suggest?:: Brahe asked.

  ::I don't know,:: Jared said. ::But I'm only a day old. I don't know much.:: This got pings of amusement, and a smile from Brahe.

  ::We are born to this, but we're not slaves,:: Brahe said. ::We serve a term of service. Ten years. After that, we can choose to retire. Become like the realborn and colonize. There's even a colony set aside for us. Some of us go there; some of us choose to blend in with the realborn in the other colonies. But most of us stay with the Special Forces. I did.::

  ::Why?:: Jared asked.

  ::It's what I was born for,:: Brahe repeated. "And I'm good at it. You're all good at it. Or will be, soon enough. Let's get started.::

  ::We do a lot of things faster than realborn,:: Sarah Pauling said, dipping into her soup. ::But I'm guessing that eating isn't one of them. If you ate too fast you'd choke. That'd be funny, but it would also be bad.::

  Jared sat across from her at one of the two mess tables assigned to the 8th Training Squad. Alan Millikan, curious about the differences between realborn and Special Forces training, discovered that realborn trained in platoons, not squads, and that Special Forces training squads were not the same size as squads in the CDF. Everything that Millikan learned on the subject was sent to the other members of the 8th and added to their store of information. Thus another benefit of integration made itself known: Only one member of the 8th had to learn something in order for all the other members to know it.

  Jared slurped at his own soup. ::I think we eat faster than realborn,:: he said.

  ::Why is that?:: Pauling said.

  Jared took a big spoonful of soup. "Because if they talk and eat soup at the same time, this happens," he said, drooling soup out of his mouth as he spoke.

  Pauling put her hand to her mouth to stifle a laugh. ::Uh-oh,:: she said, after a second.

  "What?:: Jared said.

  Pauling glanced left, then right. Jared looked around, and saw the entire mess hall looking at him. Jared belatedly realized that everyone could, in fact, hear him speak when he used his mouth. Nobody else in the mess hall had spoken with their mouth during the entire meal. Jared suddenly realized that the last time he'd heard anyone else speak was when Lieutenant Cloud offered his farewells. Speaking out loud was weird.

  ::Sorry,:: he said, on a general band. Everyone returned to their food.

  ::You're making a fool of yourself,:: Steven Seaborg, down the table, said to Jared.

  ::It was just a joke,:: Jared said.

  ::"It was just a joke,":: Seaborg said, mockingly. ::Idiot.::

  "You're not very nice,:: Jared said.

  ::"You're not very nice,":: Seaborg said.

  : Jared may be an idiot, but at least he can think up his own words,:: Pauling said.

  ::Hey, shut up, Pauling,:: Seaborg said. ::No one asked you to butt in.::

  Jared began to respond when an image popped up in his visual field. Squat, misshapen humans were arguing about something in high-pitched voices. One of them began to mock the other by repeating his words, like Seaborg had been doing to Jared.

  ::Who are these people?:: Seaborg asked. Pauling too looked mystified.

  Gabriel Brahe's voice popped into their heads. ::They're children,:: he said. "Immature humans. And they're having an argument. I'll have you note they are arguing just like you were.::

  ::He started it,:: Seaborg said, looking for Brahe in the mess hall. He was at a far table, eating with other officers. He didn't turn to look at the trio.

  ::One of the reasons the realborn don't trust us is because they're convinced we're children,:: Brahe said. "Emotionally stunted children in adult-sized bodies. And the thing about that is, they're right. We have to learn to control ourselves like adults do, just like all humans do. And we have far less time to learn how to do it.::

  ::But—:: Seaborg began.

  ::Quiet,:: Brahe said. ::Seaborg, after our afternoon drill you have an assignment. From your BrainPal you can access Phoenix's data net. You get to research etiquette and interpersonal conflict resolution. Find out as much as you can, and share it with the rest of the 8th by the end of the evening. Do you understand me?::

  ::Yes,:: Seaborg said. He glanced over at Jared accusingly and then lapsed silently into his food.

  ::Dirac, you get an assignment too. Read Frankenstein. See where it takes you.::

  ::Yes, sir,:: Jared said.

  ::And don't drool any more soup,:: Brahe said. ::You look like an ass.:: Brahe dropped his connection.

  Jared looked over to Pauling. ::How come you didn't get in trouble?:: he asked her.

  Pauling dipped the spoon into her soup. ::My food stays where it's supposed to,:: she said, and swallowed. ::And I don't act like a child.:: And then she stuck out her tongue.

  The afternoon drill introduced the 8th to their weapon, the MP-35A "Empee" assault rifle. The rifle was bonded to its owner by use of BrainPal authentication; from that point forward only its owner or another human with a BrainPal could fire the rifle. This cut down on the chance of a CDF soldier having his own weapon used against him. The MP-35A was additionally modified for Special Forces soldiers to take advantage of their integration abilities; among other things, the MP-35A could be fired remotely. Special Forces had used this ability to fatally surprise any number of curious aliens over the years.

  The MP-35A was more than a simple rifle. It could, at the discretion of the soldier using it, fire rifled bullets, shot, grenades, or small guided missiles. It also featured flamethrower and particle beam settings. Any of this panoply of ammunition was constructed on the fly by the MP-35A out of a heavy metallic block of nanobots. Jared wondered idly how the rifle managed the trick; his BrainPal obligingly unpacked the physics behind the weapon, leading to a massive and terribly inconvenient unpacking of general physical principles while the 8th was on the shooting range. Naturally all of this unpacked information was forwarded onto the rest of the squad, all of whom looked over at Jared with varying levels of irritation.

  ::Sorry,:: Jared said.

  By the end of the long afternoon, Jared had mastered the MP-35A and its myriad of options. Jared and another recruit named Joshua Lederman focused on the options the Empee allowed for its rifled bullets, experimenting with different designs of the bullets and assessing the advantages and disadvantages of each, duly noting each to the other members of the squad.

  When they were ready to move on to the other ammunition options available to them, Jared and Lederman took ample advantage of the information about those weapons fed in by other members of the 8th to master those options as well. Jared had to admit that whatever personal problems he might have with Steven Seaborg, if he ever needed someone to wield a flamethrower for him, Seaborg was going to be his first choice. Jared told him so as they hiked back to the barracks; Seaborg ignored him and pointedly started a privat
e conversation with Andrea Gell-Mann.

  After dinner, Jared staked out a spot on the steps of the barracks. After a brief tutorial from his BrainPal (and taking care to cache his explorations so as not to repeat his embarrassing data spill from earlier in the day), he signed on the Phoenix's public data net and secured a copy of Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley's Frankenstein, or the Modern Prometheus, revised third edition, 1831.

  Eight minutes later he finished it and was in something of a state of shock, intuiting (correctly) why Brahe had him read it: He and all the members of the 8th—all of the Special Forces soldiers— were the spiritual descendants of the pathetic creature Victor Frankenstein had assembled from the bodies of the dead and then jolted into life. Jared saw how Frankenstein felt pride in creating life, but how he feared and rejected the creature once that life had been given; how the creature lashed out, killing the doctor's family and friends, and how creator and created were finally consumed in a pyre, their fates interlocked. The allusions between the monster and the Special Forces were all too obvious.

  And yet. As Jared considered whether it was the fate of the Special Forces to be as misunderstood and reviled by the realborn as the monster was by his creator, he thought back on his brief encounter with Lieutenant Cloud. Cloud certainly didn't seem terrified or repulsed by Jared; he'd offered his hand to him, a gesture that Victor Frankenstein, pointedly, refused from the monster he created. Jared also considered the fact that while Victor Frankenstein was the creator of the monster, his creator—Mary Shelley— implicitly offered pity and empathy to the monster. The real human in this story was a rather more complex person than the fictional one, and more inclined toward the creature than its fictional creator.

  He thought about that for a good, solid minute.

  Jared greedily sought out links to the text, quickly alighting on the famous 1931 motion picture version of the story and devouring it at ten times speed, only to find himself greatly disappointed; the eloquence of Shelley's monster was replaced by a sad shambling grunter. Jared quickly sampled other filmed versions but was continually disappointed. The monster he identified with was almost nowhere to be seen in any of these, even in the versions that paid lip service to the original text. Frankenstein's monster was a joke; Jared gave up on filmed versions before he reached the end of the twenty-first century.