Old Man's War Boxed Set 1 (62 page)
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Authors: John Scalzi
“I’ll manage it,” Sagan said. “Even if I have to take you there myself. I promise it, Cainen. I promise that you’ll go home.”
A month after Zoë and Sagan returned to Phoenix Station, Sagan took Zoë on a shuttle to visit the gravestone of her parents.
The shuttle pilot was Lieutenant Cloud, who asked after Jared. Sagan told him that he had passed on. Lieutenant Cloud was quiet for a moment and then began telling Sagan the jokes that Jared had told him. Sagan laughed.
At the gravestone, Sagan stood while Zoë knelt and read the names of her parents, clearly and calmly. Over the month, Sagan had seen Zoë change from the tentative girl she’d first met, seemingly younger than she really was, asking plaintively for her father, to someone happier and more talkative and closer to the age she was. Which was, as it happened, only a little younger than Sagan.
“My name is here,” Zoë said, tracing the name with her finger.
“For a while, when you were first taken, your father thought you were dead,” Sagan said.
“Well, I’m
not
dead,” Zoë said, defiantly.
“No,” Sagan said, and smiled. “No, you definitely are not.”
Zoë put her hand on her father’s name. “He’s not really here, is he?” Zoë asked. “Here under me.”
“No,” Sagan said. “He died on Arist. That was where you were before we came here.”
“I know,” Zoë said, and looked over to Sagan. “Mr. Jared died there too, didn’t he?”
“He did,” Sagan said.
“He said he knew me, but I didn’t really remember him,” Zoë said.
“He did know you, but it’s hard to explain,” Sagan said. “I’ll explain it to you when you’re older.”
Zoë looked at the tombstone again. “All the people who knew me have gone away,” she said, in a small, singsong voice. “All my people are gone.”
Sagan got down on her knees behind Zoë and gave her a small but fierce hug. “I’m so sorry, Zoë.”
“I know,” Zoë said. “I’m sorry too. I miss Daddy and Mommy and I even miss Mr. Jared a little, even though I didn’t know him very much.”
“I know they miss you too,” Sagan said. She came around to face Zoë. “Listen, Zoë, soon I’m going to be going to a colony, where I’m going to live. If you want, you can come with me.”
“Will it just be you and me?” Zoë said.
“Well, you and me and a man I love very much,” Sagan said.
“Will I like him?” Zoë asked.
“I think so,” Sagan said. “I like him, and I like you, so it stands to reason you would like each other. You, me, and him.”
“Like a family,” Zoë said.
“Yes, like a family,” Sagan said. “Very much like one.”
“But I already have a daddy and a mommy,” Zoë said.
“I know, Zoë,” said Sagan. “I would never want you to forget them, ever. John and I would just be the two grown-ups who will be very lucky to get to live with you.”
“John,” Zoë said. “John and Jane. John and Jane and Zoë.”
“John and Jane and Zoë,” Sagan repeated.
“John and Jane and Zoë,” Zoë said, standing up and moving to the rhythms of the names. “John and Jane and Zoë. John and Jane and Zoë! I like that,” Zoë said.
“I like it too,” Sagan said.
“Well, okay then,” Zoë said. “And now I’m hungry.”
Sagan laughed. “Well then, let’s get you something to eat.”
“Okay,” Zoë said. “Let me say bye-bye to Mommy and Daddy.” She ran to the headstone and planted a kiss on it. “I love you,” she said, and then raced back to Sagan, and took her hand. “I’m ready. Let’s eat.”
“Okay,” Sagan said. “What would you like?”
“What do we have?” Zoë said.
“There are lots of choices,” Sagan said. “Pick one.”
“All right,” Zoë said. “I’m
very
good at making choices, you know.”
“Well,” Sagan said, hugging the girl close. “I’m so very glad to hear it.”
First off, to everyone who thinks writing a sequel should be easy because you’ve already created the universe: Bwa ha ha ha ha ha ha! Heh. No.
With that in mind, allow me to first acknowledge my editor, Patrick Nielsen Hayden, for occasionally dropping me a casual e-mail to let me know much he was looking forward to reading the next chapter, rather than strangling me dead, which he probably should have done and
may
yet do, because now he’s gotten the entire manuscript and there’s no penalty in doing so (unless he wants another book).
Other absolutely magnificent Tor people who deserve love and/or chocolates: Teresa Nielsen Hayden, Liz Gorinsky, Irene Gallo, the dearly departed Fiona Lee (she’s alive, just in China), Dot Lin and Tom Doherty. However, as a general rule, everyone who works at Tor deserves love and/or chocolates, and I’m not just saying that because I’ve made them suffer by blowing deadlines. Well, maybe a bit. But it doesn’t make it any less
true
. Thanks also to Rich Klin, for truly heroic copyediting.
Admit it: You think the cover rocks. Well, it’s true, it does, and we all have John Harris to thank for that.
Thanks as ever to Ethan Ellenberg, my agent, whose judicious wrangling of contracts is a sight to behold.
One of the reasons that
The Ghost Brigades
exists is that the first book in the series,
Old Man’s War,
was fortunate enough to have been praised online by folks whose taste in books is trusted by their readers. I thank all of them and add special thanks to Glenn Reynolds, Cory Doctorow, Stephen Green, Stephen Bainbridge and Eugene Volokh. If you ever wondered if online word of mouth worked, by the way: Oh, my,
yes
.
If you’re wondering why particular things in the book seem so good, the short answer is because I’ve seen them work in other books and said, “What an excellent thing. I think I’ll steal that.” Writers from whom I’ve consciously stolen include Nick Sagan (his consciousness transference idea, used to excellent effect in
Edenborn
), Scott Westerfeld (whose awesome space battles in
The Risen Empire
and
The Killing of Worlds
will make you weep with joy) and David Brin, whose concept of “Uplift” (see:
The Uplift War
) gets a quick ping. Thanks also to the various SF/F authors I namecheck throughout the book.
As ever, Regan Avery served indispensably as my reader of first resort. Every writer should have a Regan. But you can’t have Regan Avery. She’s
mine
. Grrrrrrrrrrr.
Chad Brink mailed me a copy of one of my books to sign, and it took me several months to return it to him. In fact, I may still have it here. I figure putting him in the acknowledgments of this book makes up for being a bad book-mailer-backer. Also, clearly, you should not mail your books to me to sign. It’s not you, it’s me.
Deven Desai, Natasha Kordus, Kevin Stampfl, Mykal Burns, Daniel Mainz, Justine Larbalestier, Lauren McLaughlin, Andrew Woffinden, Charlie Stross, Bill Schafer, Karen Meisner, Anne KG Murphy, Cian Chang, Kristy Gaitten, John Anderson, Stephen Bennett, Erin Barbee, Joe Rybicki, and many others whom I can’t remember because it’s 4:30 in the morning but you know who you are, I love you all and wish to have your babies. Twins, even.
Lastly and not leastly, a moment to thank Kristine and Athena Scalzi for being as patient with me as they could possibly be in the writing of this book. The writing of this book was particularly trying for Athena, who at one point turned to her mother and declared, “Daddy’s become
boring
.” Well, sweetheart, I promise to be less boring from now on, starting right this very instant.
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this novel are either fictitious or are used fictitiously.
THE GHOST BRIGADES
Copyright © 2006 by John Scalzi
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.
Edited by Patrick Nielsen Hayden
A Tor Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC
175 Fifth Avenue
New York, NY 10010
Tor
®
is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Scalzi, John, 1969–
The ghost brigades/John Scalzi.—1st ed.
p. cm.
“A Tom Doherty Associates book.”
ISBN: 978-0-7653-1502-1
1. Cloning—Fiction. 2. Space warfare—Fiction. 3. Genetic engineering—Fiction. 4. Special forces (Military science)—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3619.C256G48 2006
813’.6—dc22
2005027330
THE LAST COLONY
LAST
COLONY
John Scalzi
To Patrick and Teresa Nielsen Hayden, friends and editors.
To Heather and Bob, brother and sister.
To Athena, daughter.
To Kristine, everything.
THE LAST COLONY
Let me tell you of the worlds I’ve left behind.
Earth you know; everyone knows it. It’s the birthplace of humanity, although at this point not many consider it our “home” planet—Phoenix has had that job since the Colonial Union was created and became the guiding force for expanding and protecting our race in the universe. But you never forget where you come from.
Being from Earth in this universe is like being a small-town kid who gets on the bus, goes to the big city and spends his entire afternoon gawking at all the tall buildings. Then he gets mugged for the crime of marveling at this strange new world, which has such things in it, because the things in it don’t have much time or sympathy for the new kid in town, and they’re happy to kill him for what he’s got in his suitcase. The small-town kid learns this fast, because he can’t go home again.
I spent seventy-five years on Earth, living mostly in the same small Ohio town and sharing most of that life with the same woman. She died and stayed behind. I lived and I left.
The next world is metaphorical. The Colonial Defense Forces took me off Earth and kept the parts of me they wanted: my consciousness, and some small part of my DNA. From the latter they
built me a new body, which was young and quick and strong and beautiful and only partially human. They stuffed my consciousness inside of it, and gave me not nearly enough time to glory in my second youth. Then they took this beautiful body that was now me and spent the next several years actively trying to get it killed by throwing me at every hostile alien race it could.
There were a lot of those. The universe is vast, but the number of worlds suitable for human life is surprisingly small, and as it happens space is filled with numerous other intelligent species who want the same worlds we do. Very few of these species, it seems, are into the concept of sharing; we’re certainly not. We all fight, and the worlds we can inhabit swap back and forth between us until one or another gets a grip on it so tight we can’t be pried off. Over a couple of centuries, we humans have managed this trick on several dozen worlds, and failed this trick on dozens more. None of this has made us very many friends.
I spent six years in this world. I fought and I nearly died, more than once. I had friends, most of whom died but some of whom I saved. I met a woman who was achingly like the one I shared my life with on Earth, but who was nevertheless entirely her own person. I defended the Colonial Union, and in doing so I believed I was keeping humanity alive in the universe.
At the end of it the Colonial Defense Forces took the part of me that had always been me and stuffed it into a third and final body. This body was young, but not nearly as quick and strong. It was, after all, only human. But this body would not be asked to fight and die. I missed being as strong as a cartoon superhero. I didn’t miss every alien creature I met trying very hard to kill me. It was a fair trade.