23
Rev slowly opened his eyes to a bright white room, two people in doctors’ whites and three in the Navy’s medical greens, all looking at him. He had to squint to ward off the intense light over him.
“That’s it. He’s back with us,” one of the doctors said to the others.
“Is this the Big Hob?” he croaked out, his throat raw and dry.
“The what, son?”
“The Big Hob,” Rev repeated, and then when the doctor didn’t seem to understand, he said, “The Hobart Bay.”
“That’s one of our dreadnaughts,” one of those in the greens said, a chief’s crow on his pocket.
“Oh, sorry about that,” the doctor said to the chief. “I still don’t know all your Navy ins-and-outs.”
She turned back to Rev and said, “No, son. You aren’t on a ship. You’re at the Navy Regional Medical Center in Anastasia. You’ve been here for five weeks now while your arm heals up.”
What? Five weeks?
“Punch, you here with me?”
There was only silence.
“Where’s my battle buddy?” Rev asked, suddenly feeling the void.
The doctor looked confused and turned to the nurse again.
“His Didactic Interface.” The nurse stepped forward and leaned into Rev. “Nothing’s wrong with it, Sergeant. It was deactivated during your transit. Standard procedure when you’re in an induced coma.”
There was a lot to unpack there, but “deactivated” stood out, and Rev felt a surge of what was almost panic.
“Am I getting Punch back?” he asked, trying to sit up.
“Yes, yes, yes,” the nurse said, holding Rev down. “Don’t worry. It’ll be good as new. No memory loss.” He must have seen Rev’s unbelieving eyes because he added, “I know you Marines get attached, and believe me, you won’t even know the difference.”
“When? When will I get him?”
The nurse looked at the second doctor, an older man with the Navy Medical Service logo on his whites’ breast pocket.
“As soon as we run a couple of tests on you. Maybe by late afternoon, if the tests are OK,” the doctor said.
Rev didn’t like that qualifier, but Navy doctors were officers, and he wasn’t going to argue. He’d try and get the real scoop from one of the corpsmen later.
“Well, then, if we can go on,” the first doctor said. Her whites were plain, without the Navy logo. “I’m Doctor Chakrabarti, head of Bionic Research at Sieben Intergalaxy.”
Rev’s mind was still fuzzy, but he knew about Sieben Intergalaxy. His stepdad’s crystal plant, where Rev was going to become an apprentice before he was conscripted, was owned by Sieben. They were huge, providing weapons and equipment not only to the Union military but to other nations’ armed forces as well.
But that didn’t explain why some civilian doctor was standing over him back on New Hope.
She stepped up to his left side and undid a white covering over his . . . my stump.
It all came rushing back. Kat. The blast. His arm gone.
He felt nauseous, and he didn’t want to look, but he couldn’t help it. As the doctor pulled back the covering, all he could see was . . . nothing. Nothing where his arm should be.
But he could feel it. He flexed his fingers. It felt almost normal, but there was nothing there.
The doctor pointed at a monitor and told the others, “See. Great impulse generation. You did a great job with that.” And back to Rev, the doctor said, “Wiggle your fingers again.”
The others crowded around the monitor and nodded. Rev thought that must be a good thing, but he didn’t ask.
The doctor turned back to his stump and started prodding at it, which pegged the weird scale. It was so invasive, and Rev felt naked. For all he knew, under the sheets he was physically naked, but not as exposed as having her fingers rummaging through his stump.
Finally, she finished and said, “Doctor Morales, why don’t you bring this young man up to speed.”
If Rev wasn’t mistaken, the Navy doctor, probably a captain or commander at the very least given his apparent age, didn’t like taking orders from the younger civilian doctor, but he said, “Sergeant Pelletier, you received your initial stabilization aboard the Hobart Bay before being transported back here. As Chief Price told you, you’ve been in an induced coma since your injury so we could advance the regenerative healing of your shoulder and see what we had to work with.”
“Why was I put into a coma?”
“You had many injuries, and some of the . . . procedures we use are invasive and onerous to bear. We’ve found that by placing a patient in a coma, the body can maximize its regenerative energy while eliminating their discomfort.”
Which Rev took to mean it hurt like hell. Maybe the coma hadn’t been such a bad thing.
“And is that why you had to disconnect my AI?”
The chief gave a soft laugh, and the doctor said, “There are feedback loops that can affect your AI, and those, in turn, can be reintroduced to what your body went through.”
“What Doctor Morales is saying is that your battle buddy, even if you’re unconscious, will note some of the crap we put you through, and when you’re back, some of that can leak back to you as subconscious memories,” the chief said.
Leave it to a chief to get right to the point, Rev thought, smiling for the first time since he woke up.
“And that’s all over now?”
“You’ve done quite well, actually. Most of your internal injuries are healed or close to it. And your residuum has done remarkably well.”
“My what?”
“Residuum. Your residual limb.”
“Your stump,” the chief said.
That I understand.
“When the time comes, you’ll be a great candidate for regeneration,” the doctor said.
“When will that be, sir?”
The Navy doc looked uncomfortable before saying, “Not for the duration.”
Which didn’t make sense to Rev. The duration? The duration of what? His treatment?
Once again, it was the chief who came to the rescue. “Sorry, son. Needs of the military and all that. Regen will take two years to grow, then it’ll take you another to learn how to use the arm. You’re getting a prosthesis, and you’ll be back with your unit in six months tops.”
“And that leads you back to me,” the civilian doctor said, a proprietary smile on her face as she stepped closer to Rev. “We think you are a perfect candidate to be a proof-of-concept test case for one of our newest projects, the Integrated Bionic Hopological Unit.”
She looked at Rev as if expecting him to jump out of the bed and thank her. The thing is, he had absolutely no idea what an Integrated Bionic Hopological Unit was. And when you added the words test case, that rang more than a few alarm bells.
“Doesn’t that sound good?”
Rev didn’t know how to answer that except for the resounding no he was tempted to tell her. Mr. Oliva, the old man who’d given him a wealth of advice before he reported into recruit training, had told him that unless it was life or death of a fellow Marine, never volunteer for anything. And this civilian doctor gave him the creeps, to be honest.
“Ma’am, maybe you’d better tell him a little more about the project.”
She smiled and hit her forehead with the heel of her hand. “Of course, Chief Price. I’m just so excited to move to this phase of the project that I’d forget my head if it wasn’t attached to my neck.”
First human thing she’s said since I woke up.
“You are a Marine infantryman . . .”
Rev wanted to tell her he was a Raider, but he let it slide.
“. . . and so, you use weapons in your job. But a weapon is a tool, something outside your body, so-to-speak. In order to fire your gun . . .”
Rifle.
“. . . you have to rely on neurological—”
The chief gave a dramatic cough.
“Something wrong?” the doctor asked, obviously thrown off her game.
“No disrespect, ma’am, but maybe you should let me explain it without all the deep science that I know you’re about to delve into. And if I screw up, you can correct me.”
She stared him down, then looked at the senior Navy doctor, who was not going to naysay the chief.
“Very well,” she said in a snit.
“Sergeant, think of it this way. If I tell you to shoot a tin-ass, you have to acknowledge the command, find the tin-ass, lift up your M-49 . . . and yes, I know that won’t do shit to a tin-ass,” he said before Rev could object. “But you raise your Moray, OK? Then you have to aim it and tell your finger to fire. All pretty quick if you’re well-trained. But, if I tell you to point at Doctor C, there, do you have to consciously think about that? Do you have to tell your hand to come up, to extend the finger, to aim it at her?”
“No, I would just do it.”
“Exactly. And you’d do it much quicker than if I told you to shoot her.”
The doctor gave a huff of displeasure when he said that, but she didn’t interrupt.
“So, what if we made your pointing into a weapon. In other words, instead of a normal prosthesis, we made that into a weapon, a mechanical weapon, but with biosynth neurons that could control it faster than you can control your other arm? And then because the arm is mechanical, we give you the biggest, baddest weapons possible? What would you think of that?
Rev recoiled. “Isn’t that how we got the Genesians?”
“In a way, yes, but we’re—”
“No, not in a way, Chief. Not at all,” the doctor said. “Totally different process, built upon accepted practices. We’ve just improved on the end product.”
She stepped closer to Rev. “No, Sergeant, we’re not going to make you into an android, as much as I hate the term. It’s not scientifically sound, you know.”
She stopped and said to the others in a more than defensive tone, “The Genesians weren’t androids. That was just what the media started calling them.”
Back to Rev. “All we’re going to do is bypass some of the steps that Chief Price delineated. We’re giving you an IBHU,” she said, pronouncing it “ibhoo.” “It’s a better prosthesis, much better, but with weapons integrated into it. With training, you’ll be much more effective in your job.”
Rev lay there quietly, but his mind was awhirl. A weapon that was a part of him? It just didn’t seem right.
But . . . he thought about it a moment. He carried weapons, and how was that different? And it wasn’t as if he didn’t already have so much crap with his augments as it was. But what was it that Bundy had said about too many augments? That it increased the chances of getting the rot?
“What about the rot, ma’am? What will this do to my chances of getting that?”
She looked confused until the Navy doc said, “He means Weislen’s Syndrome.”
“Oh, that. Well, this project will be mostly external mods, so theoretically, it shouldn’t have an effect.”
Theoretically?
“But as part of the testing program, any adverse effects will be monitored.”
Rev leaned his head back on his pillow. He was tired, which seemed strange as he’d been asleep for the last five weeks. And this was all a little much to take in.
He looked up at the chief, who said, “It’s your choice. You don’t have to do it. We’ll get you a regular prosthesis if that’s what you want.”
Rev caught the little glare the doctor sent to the chief. He didn’t trust her, not one bit. She had a stake in the project, that was obvious, and Rev was just a means to an end.
Still, the thought was intriguing. If it really could fire the weapons system as easily as he pointed a finger, that could be a big benefit.
“Do I have to make up my mind now?”
The civilian doc looked crestfallen, but she said, “No. I can give you until tomorrow. But after that, I’ll go to the next candidate.”
Rev looked to the Navy doctor and asked, “I’d like to discuss this with Punch, if I could.”
“Punch? Who’s that?”
“My battle buddy, sir.”
“I . . . well, I don’t see why we can’t get that done if your tests come back green.”
That would help. Punch had access to more data than Rev could even dream existed. Surely, he could pull up something on this project. But it would be good to talk this over with someone more experienced in the ways of the military.
Camp Nguyen’s only a hundred klicks away. Maybe the gunny would come?
“Uh, and sir, would it be possible for me to talk to my Platoon Sergeant, Gunny Thapa? He’s at Nguyen.”
“Was he deployed forward to Alafia?” the chief asked.
“Yes, he was. We all were.”
“Then it will be a little hard for him to help you. He’ll still be on Alafia.”
“Still?”
The thought hadn’t crossed his mind. They’d been just mopping up five weeks ago. Longer if he counted the time he was on the ship and coming back to New Hope.
“The Angel Shi—the Children of Angels,” the chief corrected, glancing at the civilian doctor, “don’t know that they’ve lost yet. Most guerilla stuff, some suicide bombers. Fanatics, you know.”
Not only suicide bombers, he thought, remembering Kat. But who can I talk to? Punch is great, but . . .
“How about my dad? Well, he’s my stepdad, but he works for LTQ Crystallines, so he’s got clearance.”
Doctor Chakrabarti frowned, then asked, “What does he do there?”
“He’s a crystal engineer. Been one for thirty years.”
She twisted her face up in concentration. “I guess I could have him sign an NDA, but even then,” she said, more to herself than anyone else. She looked at Rev. “And you really need this? I can sit and answer any questions you might have.”
“I’d really like to talk to my father, to confirm that this is the right decision for me.”
Rev hadn’t committed to anything that had to be confirmed, but he thought if he phrased it that way, she’d be more open to the suggestion.
“If he’s a Sieben employee . . .” Rev could almost see the gears turning in her head. Probably thinking she had leverage over him. She didn’t know his stepdad, though, if she thought he’d put company over family. “Yes, I guess I can allow that. But I want to see him first.”
“I can give you his number,” Rev told the chief.
“No need. He’s here.”
“What? My dad’s here? Maximillian Pelletier? From Swansea?”
“He’s been here from the second day you arrived. Your mother and sister have been here, too, but your dad never left.”
Rev was shocked. His stepdad had been here for five weeks, all the time while he was in a coma? His throat tightened, and he fought to keep his eyes from welling up. Now he felt guilty for asking to get Punch back before he thought of family.
“Yeah, Chief. If I can see him, that’d be great.”
“Well, then,” the civilian doc said, clapping her hands together. “That’s that. If you can get the young man his Mr. Punch back, I’ll talk to his father so they can discuss this. Then, I’ll see you in the morning, son.”
She looked at the others in an awkward silence for a moment before turning and leaving the room.
“I’ll send in a tech to run the tests. If the numbers are good, you’ll have your battle buddy by”—he looked at the chief for confirmation—“seventeen hundred?”
“We can make that happen, sir.”
“Good luck with whatever you decide. And don’t let yourself be pressured. It’s going to affect your body, so this is your decision.”
Yeah, right. Like it was my decision to get augmented.
Rev left that thought unsaid. He was still a corporal, and even if the man was a doctor, he was a Navy captain too.
“He means that,” the chief said as the door closed behind the doctor. “It is your choice.”
“What do you think, Chief.”
The man shrugged and said, “It really is your choice.”
“If it were your choice, what would you do?”
“I’m not a snake-eating ground pounder. Never served with the Marines, either. And I’m stuck here for the duration. So, for me, nah. I’d say no. It’s experimental, and we don’t know how well it’ll work. But for you? For a grunt Marine? Maybe it’d be a good thing.”
“But if it doesn’t work, can’t they just take it off and give me a regular one like they give to everyone else?”
“Like the doc said, ‘theoretically.’ They have to do a lot more to you to get the thing working. I don’t know how much of that’ll be permanent.”
Which was a new wrinkle to things. Rev shook his head. This was probably not a good idea. Let someone else be their guinea pig. But if it worked . . .
“What if—”
Rev was cut off as a tech came through the door, pushing a cart. “You Sergeant Pelletier?”
“No.”
The tech looked confused, and he asked the chief, “Were you with Doc Morales? He said—”
“This is Pelletier, Grimsby. You’re in the right place.”
“I’m Pelletier. Corporal Pelletier.”
The chief laughed and asked, “Haven’t you heard me call you sergeant?”
Rev thought back, but his mind was too crammed full of everything he’d been told. He was vaguely aware that he might have been called sergeant, but that was probably because the first doc was a civilian and the others were Navy, and maybe they didn’t know Marine ranks. It hadn’t registered.
“I guess you hadn’t heard, you being in a coma and all. But the message came in eight days ago. Congratulations, Sergeant of Marines.”
* * *
“I can’t believe you’ve been here in Anastasia all this time,” Rev said.
His stepdad shrugged. “Where else was I going to be? Your mother was here, too, you know. She went back so Neesy can get back in class. But now that you’re awake, she’ll be back.”
“But what about work?”
His stepdad shook his head. “What do you expect them to say? We’re a defense contractor, after all.”
“Yeah, and owned by Sieben.”
His stepdad gave him a startled look, then laughed. “Yeah, I met the good Doctor Chakrabarti.”
“Was it bad?”
“Oh, she gave me the corporate loyalty pitch and all. ‘What’s good for Sieben is good for the Union,’” he said in a credible imitation of the woman. “She pushed rather hard.”
“And . . . ?”
“And what, Rev? You’re my son. I think that takes priority over Sieben Intergalactic.”
“But what do you think about this project?”
Rev had learned quite a bit about the project from Punch—damn, he was glad he had his battle buddy back. A surprising amount was public record. Not the tech, but the concept and morality. Some people thought it hearkened to the Genesians and android soldiers, no matter what the doctor had said about the word, while others worried about human morality.
The arm the doctor was offering him was just an arm. It wasn’t going to change what made him who he was. But critics warned that the program was just one step along the journey to android or even robot soldiers.
What Rev wanted now was his stepdad’s take on it. Not as someone who grew crystals, but as a father.
His dad pursed his lips like he always did when trying to gather his thoughts. “We do provide some of the crystals for the project, but that hardly makes me an expert on it.”
“I don’t need that. Punch got me caught up on some of it.”
“Punch?”
Rev could feel his face turn red, and he mumbled, “My battle buddy. My AI. I thought it would be easier than always saying ‘Hey, you.’”
His father raised his eyebrows in surprise, but he didn’t comment on the revelation. He shifted gears and asked, “Then what do you want from me?”
“Should I do it? I mean, I asked the doctor about the rot, and she wasn’t too reassuring. This is all experimental, right?”
“What do you think you should do?”
“That’s just it. I don’t know. I mean, on the one hand, if this will make me a better soldier, then isn’t it my duty?”
“And on the other hand?”
“Well, I told you about Mr. Oliva at the VGW, the old Marine?”
His father nodded.
“He said don’t ever volunteer unless it’s to save another Marine. He said the Big M will always screw you in the end.”
“And you believe that?”
“Yeah. No. I mean, if they need you to do something, something dangerous, then yeah, they won’t think twice. But just to screw you? No.”
“But what if this all goes wrong? What if the arm they want to give me is fu . . . uh, messed up and goes bad?”
His father smiled and said, “It’s OK. I’ve heard more than a bit of cursing in my life. You’re not going to shock me. But to ask a question back. What if it does go wrong? Worst case basis, they take it off and give you another off-the-shelf, proven commodity, right?”
“I guess so. I’m just worried that they’ll have to do more to me than just hook on some wonder arm. All the connections and stuff.”
“They probably will have to put them in. But when this war’s over, they’ll take out whatever arm they’ve given you so you can go through regen. Not much of a difference.”
“So, you think I should do it, then?”
“No. I mean, I’m not saying you should, and I’m not saying you shouldn’t. I’m just saying that this is your choice, not the doctor’s, and not mine.”
Rev knew that. But for once, he just wished someone would take the decision away from him.
“If you were in my position, what would you do?”
“Me? But I’m not a Marine. I work in a factory.”
“But if you were,” Rev persisted.
“If I were a Marine?” His dad looked up, his eyes unfocused for a moment. “You know, I never served in uniform.”
“You’re in a war-priority job. That’s how you serve.”
“Maybe. But I never put myself in harm’s way, and I’ve always felt a little guilty because of that. When you volunteered—”
“You mean when I was stupid enough to get my dumb ass conscripted.”
His father laughed and said, “Well, maybe. But I was still so proud of you. Scared, but proud.”
He reached out and squeezed Rev’s shoulder, just above the stump. “Really proud.”
“Thanks, Dad. But that doesn’t answer my question. What if you were in my position?”
“If I were a Marine and lost my arm, and I was offered this opportunity . . .”
He stopped, and Rev knew he was trying to decide whether he should say what was on his mind.
“Just say it, Dad.”
“Then I’d want to be the most dangerous motherfucker around!” he blurted in a rush.
Rev’s mouth dropped open in shock. Not for what his father had said, but how he’d said it. Never in his entire life had he heard his father curse.
He broke out into a laugh and said, “I guess you have heard a few f-bombs in your life.”
The intense look on his dad’s face evaporated, and he laughed as well. “Just don’t tell your mom. She’s been after me since we first met to clean up my language. Between you and me, I used to swear like a Host sailor.”
“Yeah. I think she wouldn’t be too happy to hear how we talk in the Corps.”
“Oh, with you in uniform, I’m sure you could get away with about anything right now.” He leaned a little closer and lowered his voice. “They told us how you lost your arm. I can’t tell you how proud we are of you. You’re a good man, Reverent. A real good man.”
Rev squirmed in his bed, embarrassed at the praise. This was the man who worked his butt off to provide for three kids who weren’t even his. Well, not biologically. As far as Rev was concerned, they were all his in every way that mattered.
“Oh, sorry,” his father said, mistaking the reason why he squirmed. “Are you tired?”
“No, it’s OK. I’m just . . .” He tried to think of a way to change the subject. “When do you have to leave?”
“If you’re tired, I can go now. They said you might not be up for a long visit.”
“No, no! I want you to stay. I was just wondering if you wanted to sit and watch ‘The Renewed Kingdom’ with me, just like old times at home. I’m a little behind on the episodes, and you’ve probably already seen the latest season . . .”
“I’d be honored, son.” He looked around the small room and asked, “Where should I sit? Maybe I can ask a nurse for a chair?”
Rev scooted over, which was surprisingly difficult with only one arm. He reached across his body with his right arm and patted the bed at his side.
“Are you sure? That won’t hurt you?”
“I’m fine.”
His father shrugged and eased himself beside Rev. One of his lurches, as he got situated, did send a bolt of pain down Rev’s phantom arm, but he didn’t complain.
“Room, play ‘The Renewed Kingdom,’ Season Six, Episode One.” Then to his dad, he said, “Sorry, it’s a flat-screen. No holo-stands in the rooms, they told me.”
“It’s OK, son. This is fine.”
As the familiar intro spooled up, Rev’s father put his arms around his son’s shoulders, encompassing his stump.
Rev was a Direct Combat Marine. He’d killed a Centaur, and he’d fought traitors to humanity, giving up his arm in the fight. He was a trained killer. But at the moment, he was a kid again, safe and sound in his father’s arms.