Old Man's War Boxed Set 1 (67 page)

“I think it could be a good one,” Yoder said. “Although much will depend on the people in it.”

“I agree,” I said. “Which brings me to a question I’d meant to ask you. Some of the Mennonites I knew in Ohio kept to themselves—would separate themselves from the world. I need to know if your group will do the same.”

Yoder smiled. “No, Mr. Perry,” he said. “Mennonites vary in how we practice our faith, from church to church. We are Colonial Mennonites. We choose to live and dress simply. We don’t shun technology when it’s required, but we don’t use it when it’s not. And we choose to live
in
the world, as the salt and the light. We hope to be good neighbors to you and the other colonists, Mr. Perry.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” I said. “Looks like our colony is off to a promising start.”

“That could change,” Jane said, and nodded off toward the distance again. Kranjic and Beata were heading our way. Kranjic was moving animatedly; Beata was moving at a distinctly more sluggish pace. Chasing after colonists all day was clearly not her idea of fun.

“There you are,” Kranjic said to Yoder. “I have comments from every other colonist here—well, except for her,” he waved in the direction of Jane. “And now I just need something from you to put into the pool stock.”

“I’ve told you before, Mr. Kranjic, that I would prefer not to be photographed or interviewed,” Yoder said, pleasantly.

“This is a religious thing, isn’t it,” Kranjic said.

“Not really,” Yoder said. “I’d just prefer to be let alone.”

“The folks back on Kyoto are going to be disappointed if they don’t see their hometown . . .” Kranjic stopped, and stared behind all three of us. “What the hell are those?”

We turned, slowly, to see two deer-sized creatures about five meters into the fur trees, eyeing us placidly.

“Jane?” I asked.

“I have no idea,” Jane said. “There’s not a whole lot on the local fauna in our reports.”

“Beata,” Kranjic said. “Go get closer so we can get a better shot.”

“The hell I will,” Beata said. “I’m not going to get eaten so
you
can get a better shot.”

“Oh, come on,” Kranjic said. “If they were going to eat us they would have done it by now. Look.” He started to inch closer to the things.

“Should we let him do that?” I asked Jane.

Jane shrugged. “We haven’t technically started the colony yet.”

“Good point,” I said.

Kranjic had snuck up to within a couple meters of the pair when
the larger of the two decided it had had enough, bellowed impressively, and took a quick step forward. Kranjic shrieked and took off like a shot, nearly stumbling as he sprinted back toward the shuttle.

I turned to Beata. “Tell me you got that,” I said.

“You know I did,” she said.

The two creatures in the trees, their work done, sauntered casually away.

“Wow,” Savitri said. “It’s not every day that you get to see a major colonial news figure wet himself in fear.”

“This is true,” I said. “Although to be entirely honest I’m pretty sure I could have gone my entire life without having seen that and still died happy.”

“Then it’s just a bonus,” Savitri said.

We were sitting in my office on the day before my final departure from Huckleberry. Savitri was sitting in the chair behind my desk; I was sitting in one of the chairs in front of it.

“How do you like the view from the chair?” I asked.

“The view is fine. The chair is kind of lumpy,” Savitri said. “Like someone’s lazy ass had deformed it beyond all recognition.”

“You can always get a new chair,” I said.

“Oh, I’m sure Administrator Kulkarni would be delighted with that expense,” Savitri said. “He’s never gotten over the idea of me as a troublemaker.”

“You
are
a troublemaker,” I said. “It’s part of the job description of being an ombudsman.”

“Ombudsmen are supposed to resolve trouble,” Savitri noted.

“Well, fine,” I said. “If you want to get snippy about it, Miss Literal Pants.”

“What a lovely name,” Savitiri said, and swung back and forth in her chair. “And anyway, I’m only an assistant troublemaker.”

“Not anymore,” I said. “I’ve already recommended to Kulkarni that you be made village ombudsman, and he’s agreed.”

Savitri stopped swinging around. “You actually got him to agree?”

“Not at first,” I admitted. “But I was persuasive. And I convinced him that at least this way you’d be required to help people rather than bother them.”

“Rohit Kulkarni,” Savitri said. “Such a fine man.”

“He does have his moments,” I allowed. “But he did give his approval, finally. So just say yes, and the job is yours. And so is the chair.”

“I definitely don’t want the chair,” Savitri said.

“Fine,” I said. “Then you’ll have nothing to remember me by.”

“I don’t want the job, either,” Savitri said.

“What?” I said.

“I said, I don’t want the job,” Savitri said. “When I found out that you were leaving, I went looking for another job. And I found one.”

“What is it?” I asked.

“It’s another assistant job,” Savitri said.

“But you could be ombudsman,” I said.

“Oh, yes, be ombudsman in
New Goa
,” Savitri said, and then noticed my look; after all, that had been my job. “No offense. You took your job after you’d seen the universe. I’ve been in the same village all my life. I’m thirty years old. It’s time to leave.”

“You’ve found a job in Missouri City,” I said, naming the district capital.

“No,” Savitri said.

“I’m confused,” I said.

“This is not news,” Savitri said, and then continued on before I could retort. “My new job is off-planet. On a new colony called Roanoke. Maybe you’ve heard of it.”

“Okay, now I’m
really
confused,” I said.

“Seems that a two-person team is leading the colony,” Savitri said. “I asked one of them for a job. She said yes.”

“You’re Jane’s assistant?” I asked.

“Actually, I’m assistant to the colony leader,” Savitri said. “Since there are two of you, I’m your assistant, too. I still won’t get you tea.”

“Huckleberry’s not one of the colonies that was allowed to send colonists,” I said.

“No,” Savitri said. “But as the colony leaders, you are allowed to hire whomever you like for your support staff. Jane already knows and trusts me and knows that you and I work together well. It made sense.”

“When did she hire you?” I asked.

“The day you gave notice here,” Savitri said. “She came in while you were out to lunch. We talked about it and she offered me the job.”

“And neither of you bothered to tell me about this,” I said.

“She was going to,” Savitri said. “But I asked her not to.”

“Why not?” I asked.

“Because then you and I wouldn’t have had
this
wonderful, wonderful conversation,” Savitri said, and then spun around in my chair, laughing.

“Get out of my chair,” I said.

I was standing in the bare living room of my packed-up and stored-away home, getting misty, when Hickory and Dickory approached me.

“We would like to talk to you, Major Perry,” Hickory said to me.

“Yes, all right,” I said, surprised. In the seven years that Hickory and Dickory had been with us we had conversed a number of times. But they had never once initiated a conversation; at most, they would wait silently to be acknowledged.

“We will use our implants,” Hickory said.

“Fine,” I said. Both Hickory and Dickory fingered collars that rested at the base of their long necks, and pressed a button on the right side of the collar.

The Obin were a created species; the Consu, a race so far advanced of ours that it was almost unfathomable, had found the Obin’s ancestors and used their technology to force intelligence on the poor bastards. The Obin indeed became intelligent; what they didn’t become was
aware
. Whatever process that allowed for consciousness—the sense of self—was entirely missing from the Obin. Individual Obin had no ego or personality; it was only as a group that the Obin were aware that they were lacking a thing all other intelligent species had. Whether the Consu accidentally or intentionally made the Obin nonconscious was a matter of debate, but given my own encounters with the Consu over the years, I suspect they were simply curious, and the Obin were just another experiment to them.

The Obin desired consciousness enough that they were willing to risk a war with the Colonial Union to get it. The war was a demand of Charles Boutin, a scientist who was the first to record and store a human consciousness outside the supporting structure of the brain. Boutin was killed by Special Forces before he could give the Obin consciousness on an individual level, but his work was close enough to completion that the Colonial Union was able to strike a deal with the Obin to finish the work. The Obin went from foe to friend overnight, and the Colonial Union came through on Boutin’s work, creating a consciousness implant based on the CDF’s existing BrainPal technology. It was consciousness as an accessory.

Humans—the few who know the story, anyway—naturally regard Boutin as a traitor, a man whose plan to topple the Colonial Union would have caused the slaughter of billions of humans.
The Obin equally and naturally regard him as one of their great racial heroes, a Prometheus figure who gave them not fire but awareness. If you ever needed an argument that heroism is relative, there it is.

My own feelings on the matter were more complicated. Yes, he was a traitor to his species and deserved to die. He’s also the biological father to Zoë, who I think is as wonderful a human as I’ve met. It’s hard to say that you’re glad the father of your beautiful and terribly clever adopted daughter is dead, even when you know it’s better that he is.

Given how the Obin feel about Boutin, it’s not in the least surprising they would feel possessive about Zoë; one of their primary treaty demands was, essentially, visitation rights. What eventually got agreed to was a situation where two Obin would live with Zoë and her adopted family. Zoë named them Hickory and Dickory when they arrived. Hickory and Dickory were allowed to use their consciousness implants to record some of their time with Zoë. Those recordings were shared among all the Obin with consciousness implants; in effect, they
all
shared time with Zoë.

Jane and I allowed this under very limited conditions while Zoë was too young to really understand what was going on. After Zoë was old enough to grasp the concept it was her decision. Zoë allowed it. She likes the idea of her life being shared with an entire species, although like any teenager she has extended periods of wanting to be left alone. Hickory and Dickory turn their implants off when that happens; no point wasting perfectly good consciousness on time not spent with Zoë. Their wanting to be conscious talking to me alone was something new.

There was a slight lag between the moment Hickory and Dickory activated their collars, which stored the hardware that housed their consciousness, and the moment the collar communicated with the neural overlay in their brains. It was like watching
sleepwalkers wake up. It was also a little creepy. Although not as creepy as what came next: Hickory smiling at me.

“We will be deeply sad to leave this place,” Hickory said. “Please understand we have lived our entire conscious life here. We feel it strongly within us, as do all Obin. We thank you for allowing us to share your lives with us.”

“You’re welcome,” I said. This seemed a trivial thing for the two Obin to want to discuss with me. “You sound as if you were leaving us. I thought you were to be coming with us.”

“We are,” Hickory said. “Dickory and I are aware of the burden we carry both to attend to your daughter and to share our experiences with all other Obin. It can be overwhelming. We cannot keep our implants engaged for long, you know. The emotional strain is so great. The implants are not perfect, and our brains have difficulties. We get . . . overstimulated.”

“I didn’t know that,” I said.

“We would not wish to burden you with it,” Hickory said. “And it was not important for you to know. We managed it so that you would not need to know. But recently, both Dickory and I have found that when we turn on our implants, we are immediately overwhelmed with emotion for Zoë, and for you and Lieutenant Sagan.”

“It’s a stressful time for all of us,” I said.

Another Obin smile, even more ghastly than the first. “My apologies,” Hickory said. “I have been unclear. Our emotion is not formless anxiety over leaving this place or this planet, or excitement or nervousness about traveling to a new world. It is a very specific thing. It is
concern
.”

“I think we all have concerns,” I began, but then stopped when I saw a new expression on Hickory’s face, one I had never noticed before. Hickory looked
impatient
. Or possibly it was frustrated with me. “I’m sorry, Hickory. Please continue.”

Hickory stood there for a minute, as if debating something with itself, then abruptly turned from me to confer with Dickory. I spent the time reflecting that suddenly the names that a small child puckishly gave these two creatures several years ago no longer seemed to fit in the slightest.

“Forgive me, Major,” Hickory said, finally, returning its attention to me. “I regret I may be blunt here. We may be unable to fully express our concern. You may be ignorant of certain facts and it may not be our place to provide them to you. Let me ask you: What do you think is the status of this part of space? The portion in which we the Obin and you the Colonial Union reside among other species.”

“We’re at war,” I said. “We have our colonies and we try to keep them safe. Other species have their colonies and try to keep them safe, too. We all fight over planets that fit our species’ needs. We all fight each other.”

“Aah,” Hickory said. “We all fight each other. No alliances? No treaties?”

“Obviously there are a few,” I said. “We have one with the Obin. Other races may have treaties and allies with a few other species. But generally, yes. We all fight. Why?”

Hickory’s smile passed from ghastly into rictus territory. “We will tell you what we can,” Hickory said. “We can tell you about things already spoken of. We know that your Secretary of Colonization has claimed that the colony you are calling Roanoke was given to you by the Obin. The planet we call Garsinhir. We know that it is claimed we have taken a planet from you in return.”