The Ghost Brigades (8 page)

Jared sat and looked up at Curie. ::What do I do now?:: he asked.

::Lieutenant Cloud here will shuttle you down to Phoenix, to Camp Carson, where you'll join your training mates,:: Curie said. ::They're a couple days ahead in their training but the first few days are mostly just for integrating and stabilizing personalities. You probably haven't missed any real training.::

::Where will you be?:: Jared asked.

::I'll be here,:: Curie said. ::Where did you think I would be?::

::I don't know,:: Jared said. ::I'm scared. I don't know anyone but you.::

::Be calm,:: Curie said, and Jared felt an emotional sense come from her to him. His BrainPal processed the wash of feeling and unpacked the concept of “empathy” for him. ::In a couple of hours you'll be integrated with your training mates and you'll be fine. It'll make more sense then.::

::Okay,:: Jared said, but felt doubtful.

::Good-bye, Jared Dirac,:: Curie said, and with a small smile turned and left. Jared felt her presence in his mind for a few moments longer until finally, as if Curie suddenly remembered she left the connection open, it shut off. Jared found himself revisiting their brief time together; his BrianPal unpacked the concept of “memory” for him. The concept of memory provoked an emotion; his BrainPal unpacked the concept of “intriguing.”

 

“Hey, can I ask you a question?” Cloud asked Jared, after they had begun their descent to Phoenix.

Jared considered the question, and the ambiguity of its structure that allowed for multiple interpretations. In one sense, Cloud had answered his question by asking it; he was clearly capable of asking Jared a question. Jared's BrainPal suggested, and Jared agreed, this was not likely the correct interpretation of the question. Presumably Cloud knew he was procedurally capable of asking questions, and if he previously was not, he would be now. As Jared's BrainPal unpacked and sorted additional intepretations, Jared found himself hoping that one day he'd be able to hit upon the correct interpretation of sentences without having to do endless unpacking. He'd been alive and aware just over an hour and already it was tiresome.

Jared considered his options and after a period of time that seemed long to him but seemed to be imperceptible to the pilot, ventured forth with the answer that seemed most appropriate in the context.

“Yes,” Jared said.

“You're Special Forces, right?” Cloud asked.

“Yes,” Jared said.

“How old are you?” Cloud asked.

“Right now?” Jared asked.

“Sure,” Cloud said.

Jared's BrainPal informed him he had an internal chronometer; he accessed it. “Seventy-one,” Jared said.

Cloud looked over. “Seventy-one years old? That makes you pretty old for Special Forces, from what they tell me.”

“No. Not seventy-one years,” Jared said. “Seventy-one minutes.”

“No shit,” Cloud said.

This required another quick moment of interpretational choices. “No shit,” Jared said, finally.

“Damn, that's just weird,” Cloud said.

“Why?” Jared asked.

Cloud opened his mouth, closed it, and shot a look at Jared. “Well, not that
you
would know this,” Cloud said. “But for most of humanity it'd be a little odd to be having a conversation with someone who is only slightly more than an hour old. Hell, you weren't even alive when I started that poker game back there. At your age most humans have barely got the hang of breathing and taking a dump.”

Jared consulted his BrainPal. “I'm doing one of those right now,” he said.

This got an amused noise out of Cloud. “That's the first time I've ever heard one of you guys tell a joke,” he said.

Jared considered this. “It's not a joke,” he said. “I really
am
doing one of those right now.”

“I sincerely hope it's the breathing,” Cloud said.

“It is,” Jared said.

“That's fine, then,” Cloud said, and chuckled again. “For a minute there, I thought I'd discovered a Special Forces soldier with a sense of humor.”

“I'm sorry,” Jared said.

“Don't be sorry, for God's sake,” Cloud said. “You're barely an hour old. People can live to a hundred without developing a sense of humor. I've got at least one ex-wife who went through most of our marriage without cracking a smile. At least you have the excuse of just being born. She had no excuse.”

Jared considered this. “Maybe you weren't funny.”

“See,” Cloud said, “now you
are
telling jokes. So you are really seventy-one minutes old.”

“Seventy-three now,” Jared said.

“How is it so far?” asked Cloud.

“How is what so far?”

“This,” Cloud said, and motioned around him. “Life. The universe. Everything.”

“It's lonely,” Jared said.

“Huh,” Cloud said. “Didn't take you long to figure that one out.”

“Why do you think Special Forces soldiers have no sense of humor?” Jared asked.

“Well, I don't want to suggest it's
impossible,
” Cloud said. “I've just never seen it. Take your friend back on Phoenix Station. The fair Miss Curie. I've been trying to get a laugh out of her for a year now. I see her every time I transport a gaggle of you Special Forces down to Camp Carson. So far, no luck. And maybe it's just her, but then from time to time I try to get a laugh out of the Special Forces soldiers I'm transporting down to the surface or bringing back up. So far, nothing.”

“Maybe you really aren't funny,” Jared suggested again.

“There you go again with the jokes,” Cloud said. “No, I thought it might be that. But I don't have any problems making ordinary soldiers laugh, or at least some of them. Ordinary soldiers don't really have a lot of contact with you Special Forces types, but those of us that have all agree that you have no sense of humor. The best we can figure it's because you're born grown-up, and developing a sense of humor takes time and practice.”

“Tell me a joke,” Jared said.

“Are you serious?” Cloud said.

“Yes,” Jared said. “Please. I'd like to hear a joke.”

“Now I have to think of a joke,” Cloud said, and thought for a moment. “Okay, I thought of one. I don't suppose you have any idea who Sherlock Holmes is.”

“I do now,” Jared said, after a couple of seconds.

“That's a very scary thing you just did,” Cloud said. “All right. Here's the joke. Sherlock Holmes and his sidekick Watson decide to go camping one night, right? So they make a campfire, have a bottle of wine, roast some marshmallows. The usual. Then they bed down for the night. Later that night, Holmes wakes up and wakes up Watson. ‘Watson,' he says, ‘look up at the sky and tell me what you see.' And Watson says, ‘I can see the stars.' ‘And what does that tell you?' Holmes asks. And Watson starts listing things, like that there are millions of stars, and how a clear sky means good weather for the next day, and how the majesty of the cosmos is proof of a powerful God. When he's done, he turns to Holmes and says ‘What does the night sky tell you, Holmes?' And Holmes says, ‘That some bastard has stolen our tent!'”

Cloud looked over at Jared, expectantly, and then frowned after Jared stared back blankly. “You don't get it,” Cloud said.

“I get it,” Jared said. “But it's not funny. Someone
did
steal their tent.”

Cloud stared at Jared for a moment, and then laughed. “I may not be funny, but you sure the hell are,” he said.

“I'm not trying to be,” Jared said.

“Well, that's part of your charm,” Cloud said. “All right, we're entering the atmosphere. Let's put the joke-swapping on hold while I focus on getting us down in one piece.”

 

Cloud left Jared on the tarmac of Camp Carson's skyport. “They know you're here,” he said to Jared. “Someone is on the way to get you. Just stay put until they arrive.”

“I will,” Jared said. “Thank you for the trip and the jokes.”

“You're welcome for both,” Cloud said, “although I think one was probably more useful to you than the other.” Cloud stuck out his hand; Jared's BrainPal unpacked the protocol and Jared stuck his hand into Cloud's. They shook.

“And now you know how to shake hands,” Cloud said. “That's a skill to have. Good luck, Dirac. If I fly you back after your training maybe we'll swap a few more jokes.”

“I'd like that,” Jared said.

“Then you better learn a few between now and then,” Cloud said. “Don't expect me to do all the heavy lifting. Look, someone's heading your way. I think he's for you. Bye, Jared. Stay clear of the lifters, now.” Cloud disappeared back in his shuttle to prepare for his departure. Jared stepped away from the shuttle.

::Jared Dirac,:: said the rapidly approaching person.

::Yes,:: Jared responded.

::I am Gabriel Brahe,:: the other man said. ::I am the instructor assigned to your training squad. Come with me. It's time to meet the others you'll be training with.:: As quickly as he reached Jared, Brahe turned around and started walking toward camp. Jared hustled to follow.

::You were speaking to that pilot,:: Brahe said as they walked. ::What were you discussing?::

::He was telling me jokes,:: Jared said. ::He said that most soldiers don't think Special Forces have a sense of humor.::

::Most soldiers don't know anything about the Special Forces,:: Brahe said. ::Listen, Dirac, don't do that again. You're just adding fuel to their prejudices. When realborn soldiers say Special Forces don't have a sense of humor, it's their way of insulting us. Suggesting we're less human than they are. If we don't have a sense of humor we're like every other subhuman automaton humanity has made up to amuse itself. Just another emotionless robot for them to feel superior to. Don't give them a chance to do that.::

After Brahe's rant was unpacked by his BrainPal, Jared thought back to his talk with Cloud; he didn't sense that Cloud was suggesting he was superior to Jared. But Jared also had to admit he was only a couple of hours old. There were a lot of things he could be missing. Still, Jared felt a dissonance between what Brahe was saying and his own experience, small though it might be. He ventured a question.

::
Do
Special Forces have a sense of humor?:: he asked.

::Of course we do, Dirac,:: said Brahe, glancing back briefly. ::Every human has a sense of humor. We just don't have
their
sense of humor. Tell me one of your pilot's jokes.::

::All right,:: Jared said, and repeated the Sherlock Holmes joke.

::See, now, that's just stupid,:: Dirac said. ::As if Watson wouldn't know that the tent was missing. This is the problem with realborn humor. It's predicated on the notion that someone's an idiot. There's no shame in not having
that
sense of humor.:: Brahe radiated a sense of irritation; Jared decided not to carry the topic of conversation further.

Instead, Jared asked, ::Is everyone here Special Forces?::

::They are,:: Brahe said. ::Camp Carson is one of only two training sites for Special Forces, and the only training base of any kind on Phoenix. See how the camp is ringed by forest?:: Brahe motioned with his head to the edge of the camp, where earth-derived trees and native Phoenix megaflora competed for supremacy. ::We're more than six hundred klicks from civilization in any direction.::

::Why?:: Jared asked, remembering Brahe's earlier comment about the realborn. ::Are they trying to keep us away from everybody else?::

::They're trying to keep everybody else away from
us,
:: Brahe said. ::Special Forces training isn't like training for realborn. We don't need the distraction of regular CDF or civilians, and they might misinterpret what they see here. It's best if we're left alone to do what we do, and to do our training in peace.::

::I understand I am behind in my training,:: Jared said.

::Not in your training,:: Brahe said. ::In your integration. We begin training tomorrow. But your integration is as important. You can't train if you're not integrated.::

::How do I integrate?:: Jared asked.

::First, you meet your training mates,:: Brahe said, and stopped at the door of a small barracks. ::Here we are. I've told them you're here; they're waiting for you.:: Brahe opened the door to let Jared in.

The barracks were sparsely furnished and like every barracks for the last few centuries. Two rows of eight beds lined the sides of the barracks. In and among them fifteen men and women sat and stood, eyes focused on Jared. He felt overwhelmed by the sudden attention; his BrainPal unpacked the concept of “shy.” He felt the urge to say hello to his training mates, and was suddenly aware that he wasn't sure how to speak to more than one person through his BrainPal; near simultaneously he realized that he could just open his mouth and speak. The complexities of communication confounded him.

“Hello,” he said, finally. Some of his future training mates smiled at his primitive form of communication. None of them returned the salutation.

::I don't think I'm off to a good start,:: Jared sent to Brahe.

::They're waiting to say their introductions after you've integrated,:: Brahe said.

::When do I do that?:: Jared asked.

::Now,:: Brahe said, and integrated Jared with his training mates.

Jared had about a tenth of a second of mild surprise as his BrainPal informed him that as his superior officer, Brahe had limited access to his BrainPal, and then that datum was superseded by the fact that suddenly there were fifteen other people in Jared's head, and he was in the heads of fifteen other people. An uncontrolled bolt of information seared through Jared's consciousness as fifteen life stories poured into him and his own meager store of experiences branched into fifteen pipelines. Salutations and introductions were unnecessary and superfluous; in an instant Jared knew and felt everything he would need to know about these fifteen strangers who were now as intimately part of him as any human could be with another human. It was a mercy that each of these lives was unnaturally short.