The Ghost Brigades (24 page)

“It certainly is my problem,” Jared said. “Because I want to find Boutin. Not just help with the mission, and absolutely not to sit it out. I want to find him and I want to bring him back.”

“Why?” Cainen asked.

“I want to understand him. I want to know what it takes to make someone do this. What makes them a traitor,” Jared said.

“You would be surprised at how little it takes,” Cainen said. “Something even as simple as kindness from an enemy.” Cainen turned away; Jared suddenly remembered Cainen's status and his allegiance. “Lieutenant Wilson,” Cainen said, still looking away. “Would you give me and Private Dirac a moment.” Wilson arched his eyebrows but said nothing as he left the lab. Cainen turned back to Jared.

“I wanted to apologize to you, Private,” Cainen said. “And to warn you.”

Jared gave Cainen an uncertain smile. “You don't need to apologize to me for anything, Cainen,” he said.

“I disagree,” Cainen said. “It was my cowardice that brought you into being. If I had been strong enough to hold out against the torture your Lieutenant Sagan put me through, I would be dead, and you humans would not have known of the war against you or that Charles Boutin was still alive. If I had been stronger, there would have never been a reason for you to have been born, and to be saddled with a consciousness that has taken over your being, for better or for worse. But I was weak, and I wanted to live, even if living was as a prisoner and a traitor. As some of your colonists would say, that is my karma, which I have to grapple with on my own.

“But quite unintentionally I have sinned against you, Private,” Cainen said. “As much as anyone, I am your father, because I am the cause of the terrible wrong they have committed against you. It's bad enough that humans bring soldiers to life with artificial minds—with those damned BrainPals of yours. But to have you born only to carry the consciousness of another is an abomination. A violation of your right to be your own person.”

“It's not as bad as all that,” Jared said.

“Oh, but it
is,
” Cainen said. “We Rraey are a spiritual and principled people. Our beliefs are at the core of how we respond to our world. One of our highest values is the sanctity of self—the belief that every person must be allowed to make their own choices. Well”—Cainen did a neck bobble—“every Rraey, in any event. Like most races, we're less concerned about the needs of other races, especially when they are opposed to our own.

“Nevertheless,” Cainen continued. “Choice matters. Independence matters. When you first came to Wilson and me, we gave you the choice to continue. You remember?” Jared nodded. “I must confess to you that I did that not only for your sake but for my own. Since I was the one who caused you to be born without choices, it was my moral duty to give one to you. When you took it—when you made a choice, I felt some of my sin lift away. Not all of it. I still have my karma. But some. I thank you for that, Private.”

“You're welcome,” Jared said.

“Now my warning to you,” Cainen said. “Lieutenant Sagan tortured me when we first met, and at the end of it I broke and told her almost everything she wanted to know about our plans to attack you humans. But I told her one lie. I told her I never met Charles Boutin.”

“You've met him?” Jared asked.

“I have,” Cainen said. “Once, when he came to talk to me and other Rraey scientists about the architecture of the BrainPal, and how we might adapt it for the Rraey. A fascinating human. Very intense. Charismatic in his way, even to the Rraey. He is passionate, and we as a people respond to passion. Very passionate. Very driven. And very angry.”

Cainen leaned in close. “Private, I know you think that this is about Boutin's daughter, and to some extent, maybe it is. But there is something else motivating Boutin as well. His daughter's death may simply have been the discrete event that caused an idea to crystallize in Boutin's mind, and it's that idea that fuels him. It's what made him a traitor.”

“What is it?” Jared asked. “What's the idea?”

“I don't know,” Cainen confessed. “Revenge is the easy guess, of course. But I've met the man. Revenge doesn't explain it all. You would be in a better position to know, Private. You
do
have his mind.”

“I have no idea,” Jared said.

“Well, perhaps it will come,” Cainen said. “My warning is to remember that whatever it is that motivates him, he has given himself to it, entirely and completely. It's too late to convince him otherwise. The danger for you will be that if you meet him, you will empathize with him and with his motivation. You are
designed
to understand him, after all. Boutin will use this if he can.”

“What should I do?” Jared asked.

“Remember who you are,” Cainen said. “Remember that you're not him. And remember that you always have a choice.”

“I'll remember,” Jared said.

“I hope you do,” Cainen said, and stood. “I wish you luck, Private. You can go now. When you leave, let Wilson know he can come back in.” Cainen wandered over to a cabinet, intentionally choosing to put his back to Jared. Jared stepped out the door.

“You can go back in,” Jared said to Wilson.

“Okay,” Wilson said. “I hope you two had a useful conversation.”

“It was,” Jared said. “He's an interesting fellow.”

“That's one way of putting it,” Wilson said. “You know, Dirac, he feels very paternal toward you.”

“So I gathered,” Jared said. “I like it. Not exactly what I was expecting in a father, though.”

Wilson chortled. “Life is full of surprises, Dirac,” he said. “Where are you off to now?”

“I think I'll go see Cainen's granddaughter,” Jared said.

The
Kestrel
flicked on its Skip Drive six hours before Jared returned to Phoenix Station and translated to the system of a dim orange star that from Earth would be seen in the Circinus constellation, but only if one had a proper telescope. It was there to pick through the remains of the Colonial Union freighter
Handy
; the black box data sent back to Phoenix via emergency Skip drone suggested that someone had sabotaged the engines. No black box data was ever recovered from the
Kestrel
; nothing of the
Kestrel
was ever recovered.

 

Lieutenant Cloud looked up from his lair in the pilots lounge, a table laid out with enticements to trap the unwary (namely, a deck of cards), and saw Jared in front of him.

“Well, if it isn't the jokester himself,” Cloud said, smiling.

“Hello, Lieutenant,” Jared said. “Long time, no see.”

“Not my fault,” Cloud said. “I've been here this whole time. Where have you been?”

“Out saving humanity,” Jared said. “You know, the usual.”

“It's a dirty job, but someone has to do it,” Cloud said. “And I'm glad it's you instead of me.” Cloud kicked his leg to push out a chair and picked up the cards. “Have a seat, why don't you. I'm due to the prelaunch formalities of my supply run in about fifteen minutes; that's just enough time to teach you how to lose at Texas hold 'em.”

“I already know how to do that,” Jared said.

“See? There's one of your jokes again,” Cloud said.

“I actually came to see you about your supply run,” Jared said. “I was hoping you'd let me deadhead down with you.”

“I'll be happy to have you,” Cloud said, and began shuffling the cards. “Ping me your leave clearance, and we'll be able to continue this game on board. The supply transport's on autopilot most of the way down anyway. I'm just on board so that if it crashes, they can say someone died.”

“I don't have leave clearance,” Jared said. “But I need to get down to Phoenix.”

“What for?” Cloud asked.

“I need to visit a dead relative,” Jared said. “And I'm going to be shipping out soon.”

Cloud chuckled and cut the deck of cards. “I'm guessing the dead relative will be there when you get back,” he said.

“It's not the dead relative I'm worried about,” Jared said. He reached his hand out and pointed to the deck. “May I?” Cloud handed over the deck; Jared sat and began shuffling it. “I can see you're a gambling man, Lieutenant,” he said. He finished shuffling and put the deck in front of Cloud.

“Cut it,” Jared said. Cloud cut the deck a third of the way down. Jared took the smaller portion and placed it in front of himself. “We'll pick a card from our decks at the same time. I get the high card, you take me to Phoenix, I go see who I need to see, I'm back before you lift.”

“And if I get the high card we try for two out of three,” Cloud said.

Jared smiled. “That wouldn't be very sporting, now would it. Are you ready?” Cloud nodded. “Draw,” Jared said.

Cloud drew an eight of diamonds; Jared drew a six of clubs. “Damn,” Jared said. He pushed his cards over to Cloud.

“Who's the dead relative?” Cloud asked, taking the cards.

“It's complicated,” Jared said.

“Try me,” Cloud said.

“It's the clone of the man whose consciousness I was created to house,” Jared said.

“Okay, so you were absolutely correct about this being complicated,” Cloud said. “I haven't the slightest idea what you just said.”

“Someone who is like my brother,” Jared said. “Someone I didn't know.”

“For someone who is just a year old, you lead an interesting life,” Cloud said.

“I know,” Jared said. “It's not my fault, though.” He stood up. “I'll catch you later, Lieutenant.”

“Oh, stop it,” Cloud said. “Give me a minute to take a leak and we'll go. Just keep quiet when we get to the transport and let me do all the talking. And remember if we get in trouble I'm going to blame it all on you.”

“I wouldn't have it any other way,” Jared said.

Getting past the transport bay crew was almost ridiculously simple. Jared stuck close to Cloud, who ran through his preflight check and consulted his crew with businesslike efficiency. They ignored Jared or assumed that since he was with Cloud he had every right to be there. Thirty minutes later the transport was easing its way down to Phoenix Station, and Jared was showing Cloud that he wasn't actually very good at losing at Texas hold 'em. This annoyed Cloud greatly.

At the Phoenix Station ground port, Cloud consulted with the ground crew and then came back to Jared. “It's going to take them about three hours to load her up,” he said. “Can you get to where you're going and be back before then?”

“The cemetery is just outside Phoenix City,” Jared said.

“You should be fine then,” Cloud said. “How are you going to get there?”

“I haven't the slightest idea,” Jared said.

“What?” Cloud said.

Jared shrugged. “I didn't actually think you'd take me,” he confessed. “I didn't plan this far ahead.”

Cloud laughed. “God loves a fool,” he said, and then motioned to Jared. “Come on, then. Let's go meet your brother.”

 

Metairie Catholic Cemetery lay in the heart of Metairie, one of the oldest neighborhoods in Phoenix City; it was around when Phoenix was still called New Virginia and Phoenix City was still Clinton, before the attacks that leveled the early colony and forced humans to regroup and reconquer the planet. The earliest graves in the cemetery dated back to the early days, when Metairie was a line of plastic and mud buildings, and proud Louisianans had settled there with the pretensions of its being Clinton's first suburb.

The graves Jared visited were on the other side of the cemetery from the first line of the dead. The graves were marked by a single headstone, upon which three names were engraved, each with their separate dates: Charles, Cheryl and Zoë Boutin.

“Jesus,” Cloud said. “An entire family.”

“No,” Jared said, kneeling down at the headstone. “Not really. Cheryl is here. Zoë died far away, and her body was lost with many others. And Charles isn't dead. This is someone else. A clone he created so it would look like he had killed himself.” Jared reached out and touched the headstone. “There's no family here.”

Cloud looked at Jared kneeling by the headstone. “I think I'll take a look around,” he said, trying to give Jared some time.

“No,” Jared said, and looked over. “Please. I'll be done in just a minute and then we can go.” Cloud nodded in assent but looked toward the close-by trees. Jared returned his attention to the headstone.

He lied to Cloud about who he had come to see, because who he wanted to see wasn't here. Outside of a bit of pity, Jared found himself at an emotional loss regarding the poor nameless clone Boutin killed to fake his own death. Nothing in the still-emerging bank of memories Jared shared with Boutin featured the clone in anything but the most clinical of settings, emotional or otherwise; the clone wasn't a person to Boutin, but a means to an end—an end that Jared, naturally enough, had no memory of since the recording of his consciousness was done before Boutin pulled the trigger. Jared tried to feel some sympathy for the clone, but there were others here he had come for. Jared hoped the clone indeed had never woken up and left it at that.