The Ghost Brigades (29 page)

“No,” Jared said.

“It means
lacking,
” Boutin said, and cocked his head, bemusedly. “Isn't that interesting? With most intelligent species, if you look back far enough for the etymological roots of what they call themselves, you'll come up with some variation or another of
the people.
Because every species starts off on their own little home world, convinced they are the absolute center of the universe. Not the Obin. They knew right from the beginning what they were, and the word they used to describe themselves showed they knew that they were missing something every other intelligent species had. They
lacked
consciousness. It's just about the only truly
descriptive
noun they have. Well, that and
Obinur,
which means
home of those who lack
. Everything else is just dry as dust.
Arist
means
third moon
. But
Obin
is remarkable. Imagine if every species named itself after its greatest flaw. We could name our species
arrogance
.”

“Why would knowing they lack consciousness matter to them?” Jared asked.

“Why did knowing that she couldn't eat from the tree of knowledge matter to Eve?” Boutin said. “It shouldn't have mattered but it did. She was temptable—which, if you believe in an all-powerful God, means God intentionally put temptation into Eve. Which seems like a dirty trick, if you ask me. There's no reason the Obin should desire sentience. It'll do them no good. But they want it anyway. I think it's possible that the Consu, rather than screwing up and creating an intelligence without ego, intentionally created the Obin that way, and then programmed them with the desire for the one thing they could not have.”

“But why?”

“Why do the Consu do anything?” Boutin said. “When you're the most advanced species around, you don't have to explain yourselves to the rock bangers, which would be us. For our purposes, they might as well be gods. And the Obin are the poor, insensate Adams and Eves.”

“So this makes you the snake,” Jared said.

Boutin smiled at the backhanded reference. “Maybe so,” he said. “And maybe by giving the Obin what they want, I'll force them out of their egoless paradise. They can deal with that. In the meantime, I'll get what I want from this. I'll get my war, and I'll get the end of the Colonial Union.”

 

The “tree” the three of them looked at stood about ten meters high and was about a meter in diameter. The trunk was covered with ridges; in a rainfall these could funnel water into the inner part of the tree. Every three meters, larger ridges sprouted a circular array of vines and delicate branches, decreasing in circumference as they increased in altitude. Sagan, Seaborg and Harvey watched as the tree swayed in the breeze.

“It's a pretty light breeze to make the tree sway this much,” Sagan said.

“The wind's probably faster up there,” Harvey said.

“Not by that much,” Sagan said. “If at all. It's only ten meters up.”

“Maybe it's hollow,” Seaborg said. “Like the trees on Phoenix. When Dirac and I were doing our thing, we had to be careful which of the Phoenix trees we walked across. Some of the smaller ones wouldn't have supported our weight.”

Sagan nodded. She approached the tree and put weight on one of the smaller ridges. It held for a reasonable amount of time before she could snap it off. She looked up at the tree again, thinking.

“Going for a climb, Lieutenant?” Harvey asked. Sagan didn't answer; she gripped the ridges on the tree and hoisted herself up, taking care to distribute her weight as evenly as possible so as not to put too much strain on any one ridge. About two-thirds of the way up, with the trunk beginning to taper, she felt the tree begin to bend. Her weight was pulling down the trunk. Three-quarters of the way up, and the tree was significantly bent. Sagan listened for the sounds of the tree snapping or cracking, but heard nothing except the rustle of the tree ridges scraping against each other. These trees were immensely flexible; Sagan suspected that they saw a lot of wind as Arist's global ocean generated immense hurricanes that lashed over the planet's relatively tiny island continents.

“Harvey,” Sagan said, moving slightly back and forth to keep the tree balanced. “Tell me if the tree looks like it's going to snap.”

“The base of the trunk looks fine,” Harvey said.

Sagan looked over to the nearest gun. “How far do you think it is to that gun?” she said.

Harvey figured out where she was going with that. “Not nearly far enough for you to do what you're thinking of doing, Lieutenant.”

Sagan wasn't so sure about that. “Harvey,” she said. “Go get Wigner.”

“What?” Harvey said.

“Bring Wigner here,” Sagan said. “I want to try something.” Harvey gawked in disbelief for a moment, and then stomped off to get Wigner. Sagan looked down at Seaborg. “How are you holding up?” she asked.

“My leg hurts,” Seaborg said. “And my head hurts. I keep feeling like I'm missing something.”

“It's the integration,” Sagan said. “It's hard to focus without it.”

“I'm focusing fine,” Seaborg said. “It's just that I'm focusing on how much I'm missing.”

“You'll make it,” Sagan said. Seaborg grunted.

A few minutes later Harvey appeared with Wigner's body in a fireman's carry. “Let me guess,” Harvey said. “You want me to deliver him to you.”

“Yes, please,” Sagan said.

“Sure, hell, why not?” Harvey said. “Nothing like climbing a tree while you've got a dead body over your shoulder.”

“You can do it,” Seaborg said.

“As long as people don't distract me,” Harvey growled. He shifted Wigner and began to climb, adding his weight and Wigner's to the tree. The tree creaked and dipped considerably, causing Harvey to inch along to keep his balance and to keep from losing Wigner. By the time he got to Sagan, the trunk was bent at nearly a ninety-degree angle.

“What now?” Harvey said.

“Can you put him between us?” Sagan said. Harvey grunted, carefully slid Wigner off his shoulder, and positioned his body so it was prone on the tree. He looked up at Sagan. “Just for the record, this is a pretty fucked-up way for him to go,” Harvey said.

“He's helping us,” Sagan said. “There are worse things.” She carefully swung her leg over the trunk of the tree. Harvey did the same in the other direction. “Count of three,” Sagan said, and when she reached
three
they both jumped out of the tree, five meters to the ground.

Relieved of the weight of two humans, the tree snapped back toward perpendicular and then beyond it, flinging Wigner's corpse off the trunk and arcing it toward the guns. It was not an entirely successful launch; Wigner slipped down the trunk just prior to launch, compromising the total energy available and positioning him off-center just before he became airborne. Wigner's arc dropped him directly in front of the closest gun, which pulverized him instantly as soon as he fell into firing range. He dropped as a pile of meat and entrails.

“Christ,” Seaborg said.

Sagan turned to Seaborg. “Can you climb with that leg?” she asked.

“I
can,
” Seaborg said. “But I'm not in a rush to get all shot up like that.”

“You won't,” Sagan said. “I'll go.”

“You just saw what happened to Wigner, right?” Harvey asked.

“I saw,” Sagan said. “He was a corpse and he had no control over his flight. He also weighs more, and it was you and me in the tree. I'm lighter, I'm alive and the two of you mass more. I should be able to clear the gun.”

“If you're wrong, you'll be pâté,” Harvey said.

“At least it'll be quick,” Sagan said.

“Yes,” Harvey said. “But messy.”

“Look, you'll have plenty of time to criticize me when I'm dead,” Sagan said. “For now, I'd just like all of us to get up this tree.”

A few minutes later Seaborg and Harvey were on either side of Sagan, who was crouched and balancing on the bent trunk.

“Any last words?” Harvey said.

“I've always thought you were a real pain in the ass, Harvey,” Sagan said.

Harvey smiled. “I love you too, Lieutenant.” He nodded to Seaborg. “Now,” he said. They dropped.

The tree whipped up; Sagan adjusted and fought against the acceleration to keep her position. When the tree reached the apex of its swing Sagan kicked off, adding her own force to the force of the tree launch. Sagan arced impossibly high, it seemed to her, easily clearing the guns, which tracked her but could not fire. The guns followed her until she was beyond the perimeter and rapidly arcing toward the meadow beyond. She had time to think,
This is going to hurt
before she balled up and plowed into the ground. Her unitard stiffened, absorbing some of the impact, but Sagan felt at least one rib crack from the hit. The stiffened unitard caused her to roll farther than she would have otherwise. She eventually came to a stop and, lying in the tall grass, tried to remember how to breathe. It took a few more minutes than she expected.

In the distance, Sagan heard Harvey and Seaborg calling for her. She also heard a low drone from the other direction, growing higher in pitch the longer she listened. Still lying in the tall grass, she shifted her position and tried to see over it.

A pair of Obin were coming, riding a small armed craft. They were coming right toward her.

 

“The first thing you have to understand is that the Colonial Union is evil,” Boutin said to Jared.

Jared's headache had returned with a vengeance, and he longed to see Zoë again. “I don't see it,” he said.

“Well, why would you,” Boutin said. “You're a couple years old at most. And all your life has been made up of doing what someone else has told you to do. You've hardly made choices of your own, now, have you.”

“I've had this lecture already,” Jared said, recalling Cainen.

“From someone in Special Forces?” Boutin asked, genuinely surprised.

“From a Rraey prisoner,” Jared said. “Named Cainen. Says he met you once.”

Boutin furrowed his brow. “The name isn't familiar,” he said. “But then I've met quite a few Rraey and Eneshans recently. They all tend to blur. But it makes sense a Rraey would tell you this. They find the whole Special Forces setup morally appalling.”

“Yes, I know,” Jared said. “He told me I was a slave.”

“You
are
a slave!” Boutin said, excitedly. “Or an indentured servant, at the very least, bound to a term of service over which you have no control. Yes, they make you feel good about it by suggesting you were born specially to save humanity, and by chaining you to your platoon mates through integration. But when it comes right down to it, those are just ways they use to control you. You're a year old, maybe two. What do you know about the universe anyway? You know what they've told you—that it's a hostile place and that we are always under attack. But what would you say if I told you that everything the Colonial Union told you was wrong?”

“It's not wrong,” Jared said. “It
is
hostile. I've seen enough combat to know that.”

“But all you've seen
is
combat,” Boutin said. “You've never been out where you weren't killing whatever the Colonial Union tells you to. And it's certainly true that the universe is hostile to the Colonial Union. And the reason for that is,
the Colonial Union is hostile to the universe
. In all the time humanity has been out in the universe we've never not been at war with nearly every other species we've come across. There are a few here or there the Colonial Union deems useful as allies or trade partners but so few as to have their numbers be insignificant. We know of six hundred and three intelligent species inside the Colonial Union's Skip horizon, Dirac. Do you know how many the CU classifies as a threat, meaning the CDF is able to preemptively attack at will? Five hundred and seventy-seven. When you're actively hostile toward ninety-six percent of all the intelligent races you know about, that's not just stupid. It's racial suicide.”

“Other species are at war with each other,” Jared said. “It's not just the Colonial Union that goes to war.”

“Yes,” Boutin said. “Every species has other species it competes with and goes to war against. But other species don't try to fight
every other species
they come across. The Rraey and the Enesha were longtime enemies before we allied them, and who knows, maybe they will be again. But neither of those species classifies
all
the other races as a permanent threat.
Nobody
does that but the Colonial Union. Have you heard of the Conclave, Dirac?”

“No,” Jared said.

“The Conclave is a great meeting between hundreds of species in this part of the galaxy,” Boutin said. “It convened more than twenty years ago to try to create a workable framework of government for the entire region. It would help stop the fighting for real estate by apportioning new colonies in a systematic way, rather than having every species run for the prize and try to beat off whoever tries to take it away. It would enforce the system with a multispecies military command that would attack anyone who tried to take a colony by force. Not every species has signed on to the Conclave, but only two species have refused even to send representatives. One is the Consu, because why would they. The other is the Colonial Union.”

“You expect me to take your word for that,” Jared said.

“I don't expect anything from you,” Boutin said. “You don't know about it. The rank-and-file CDF doesn't know about it. The colonials certainly don't know about it. The Colonial Union has all the spaceships, Skip drones and communication satellites. It handles all the trade and what little diplomacy we engage in on its space stations. The Colonial Union is the bottleneck through which all information flows, and it decides what the colonies learn and what they don't. And not just the colonies, it's Earth too. Hell, Earth is the worst.”