Old Man's War Read online

  Which, in one sense, was what we were. “During our little exercises today, I struck up a conversation with one of the Colonial folks,” Harry said, “and he mentioned that the Henry Hudson was going to make its skip today at 1535. And I figure that none of us has actually seen what a skip looks like, so I asked him where one would go to get a good view. And he mentioned here. So here we are, and with”—Harry glanced at his PDA—“four minutes to spare.”

  “Sorry about that,” Thomas said. “I didn’t mean to hold everyone up. The fettuccine was excellent, but my lower intestine would apparently beg to differ.”

  “Please feel free not to share such information in the future, Thomas,” Susan said. “We don’t know you that well yet.”

  “Well, how else will you get to know me that well?” Thomas said. No one bothered to answer that one.

  “Anyone know where we are right now? In space, that is,” I asked after a few moments of silence had passed.

  “We’re still in the solar system,” Alan said, and pointed out the window. “You can tell because you can still see the constellations. See, look, there’s Orion. If we’d traveled any significant distance, the stars would have shifted their relative position in the sky. Constellations would have been stretched out or would be entirely unrecognizable.”

  “Where are we supposed to be skipping to?” Jesse asked.

  “The Phoenix system,” Alan said. “But that won’t tell you anything, because ‘Phoenix’ is the name of the planet, not of the star. There is a constellation named ‘Phoenix,’ and in fact, there it is”—he pointed to a collection of stars—“but the planet Phoenix isn’t around any of the stars in that constellation. If I remember correctly, it’s actually in the constellation Lupus, which is farther north”—he pointed to another, dimmer collection of stars—“but we can’t actually see the star from here.”

  “You sure know your constellations,” Jesse said admiringly.

  “Thanks,” Alan said. “I wanted to be an astronomer when I was younger, but astronomers get paid for shit. So I became a theoretical physicist instead.”

  “Lots of money in thinking up new subatomic particles?” Thomas asked.

  “Well, no,” Alan admitted. “But I developed a theory that helped the company I worked for create a new energy containment system for naval vessels. The company’s profit-sharing incentive plan gave me one percent for that. Which came to more money than I could spend, and trust me, I made the effort.”

  “Must be nice to be rich,” Susan said.

  “It wasn’t too bad,” Alan admitted. “Of course, I’m not rich anymore. You give it up when you join. And you lose other things, too. I mean, in about a minute, all that time I spent memorizing the constellations will be wasted effort. There’s no Orion or Ursa Minor or Cassiopeia where we’re going. This might sound stupid, but it’s entirely possible I’ll miss the constellations more than I miss the money. You can always make more money. But we’re not coming back here. It’s the last time I’ll see these old friends.”

  Susan went over and put an arm around Alan’s shoulder. Harry looked down at his PDA. “Here we go,” he said, and began a countdown. When he got to “one,” we all looked up and out the window.

  It wasn’t dramatic. One second we were looking at one star-filled sky. The next, we were looking at another. If you blinked, you would have missed it. And yet, you could tell it was an entirely alien sky. We all may not have had Alan’s knowledge of the constellations, but most of us know how to pick out Orion and the Big Dipper from the stellar lineup. They were nowhere to be found, an absence subtle and yet substantial. I glanced over at Alan. He was standing like a pillar, hand in Susan’s.

  “We’re turning,” Thomas said. We watched as the stars slid counterclockwise as the Henry Hudson changed course. Suddenly the enormous blue arm of the planet Phoenix hovered above us. And above it (or below it, from our orientation) was a space station so large, so massive, and so busy that all we could do was bulge our eyes at it.

  Finally someone spoke. And to everyone’s surprise, it was Maggie. “Would you look at that,” she said.

  We all turned to look at her. She was visibly annoyed. “I’m not mute,” she said. “I just don’t talk much. This deserves comment of some kind.”

  “No kidding,” Thomas said, turning back to look at it. “It makes Colonial Station look like a pile of puke.”

  “How many ships do you see?” Jesse said to me.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Dozens. There could be hundreds, for all I know. I didn’t even know this many starships existed.”

  “If any of us were still thinking Earth was the center of the human universe,” Harry said, “now would be an excellent time to revise that theory,” Harry said.

  We all stood and looked at the new world out the window.

  My PDA chimed me awake at 0545, which was notable in that I had set it to wake me at 0600. The screen was flashing; there was a message labeled URGENT on it. I tapped the message.

  NOTICE:

  From 0600 to 1200, we will be conducting the final physical improvement regimen for all recruits. To ensure prompt processing, all recruits are required to remain in their staterooms until such time as Colonial officials arrive to escort them to their physical improvement sessions. To aid in the smooth function of this process, stateroom doors will be secured as of 0600. Please take this time to take care of any personal business that requires use of the rest rooms or other areas outside your stateroom. If after 0600 you need to use the rest-room facilities, contact the Colonial staffer on your stateroom deck through your PDA.

  You will be notified fifteen minutes prior to your appointment; please be dressed and prepared when Colonial officials arrive at your door. Breakfast will not be served; lunch and dinner will be served at the usual time.

  At my age, you don’t have to tell me twice to pee; I padded down to the rest room to take care of business and hoped that my appointment was sooner rather than later, as I didn’t want to have to get permission to relieve myself.

  My appointment was neither sooner nor later; at 0900 my PDA alerted me, and at 0915 there was a sharp rap at my door and a man’s voice calling my name. I opened the door to find two Colonials on the other side. I received permission from them to make a quick rest-room stop, and then followed them from my deck, back to the waiting room of Dr. Russell. I waited briefly before I was allowed entrance into his examination room.

  “Mr. Perry, good to see you again,” he said, extending his hand. The Colonials who accompanied me left through the far door. “Please step up to the crèche.”

  “The last time I did, you jackhammered several thousand bits of metal into my head,” I said. “Forgive me if I’m not entirely enthusiastic about climbing in again.”

  “I understand,” Dr. Russell said. “However, today is going to be pain-free. And we are under something of a time constraint, so, if you please.” He motioned to the crèche.

  I reluctantly stepped in. “If I feel so much as a twinge, I’m going to hit you,” I warned.

  “Fair enough,” Dr. Russell said as he closed the crèche door. I noted that unlike the last time, Dr. Russell bolted down the door to the crèche; maybe he was taking the threat seriously. I didn’t mind. “Tell me, Mr. Perry,” he said as he bolted the door, “what do you think of the last couple of days?”

  “They were confusing and irritating,” I said. “If I knew I was going to be treated like a preschooler, I probably wouldn’t have signed up.”

  “That’s pretty much what everyone says,” Dr. Russell said. “So let me explain a little bit about what we’ve been trying to do. We put in the sensor array for two reasons. First, as you may have guessed, we’re monitoring your brain activity while you perform various basic functions and experience certain primal emotions. Every human’s brain processes information and experience in more or less the same way, but at the same time each person uses certain pathways and processes unique to them. It’s a little like
how every human hand has five fingers, but each human being has his own set of fingerprints. What we’ve been trying to do is isolate your mental ‘fingerprint.’ Make sense?”

  I nodded.

  “Good. So now you know why we had you doing ridiculous and stupid things for two days.”

  “Like talking to a naked woman about my seventh birthday party,” I said.

  “We get a lot of really useful information from that one,” Dr. Russell said.

  “I don’t see how,” I said.

  “It’s technical,” Dr. Russell assured me. “In any event, the last couple days give us a good idea of how your brain uses neural pathways and processes all sorts of stimuli, and that’s information we can use as a template.”

  Before I could ask, A template for what, Dr. Russell continued. “Second, the sensor array does more than record what your brain is doing. It can also transmit a real-time representation of the activity in your brain. Or to put it another way, it can broadcast your consciousness. This is important, because unlike specific mental processes, consciousness can’t be recorded. It has to be live if it’s going to make the transfer.”

  “The transfer,” I said.

  “That’s right,” Dr. Russell said.

  “Do you mind if I ask you what the hell you’re talking about?” I said.

  Dr. Russell smiled. “Mr. Perry, when you signed up to join the army, you thought we’d make you young again, right?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Everybody does. You can’t fight a war with old people, yet you recruit them. You have to have some way to make them young again.”

  “How do you think we do it?” Dr. Russell asked.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Gene therapy. Cloned replacement parts. You’d swap out old parts somehow and put in new ones.”

  “You’re half right,” Dr. Russell said. “We do use gene therapy and cloned replacements. But we don’t ‘swap out’ anything, except you.”

  “I don’t understand,” I said. I felt very cold, like reality was being tugged out from under my feet.

  “Your body is old, Mr. Perry. It’s old and it won’t work for much longer. There’s no point in trying to save it or upgrade it. It’s not something that gains value when it ages or has replaceable parts that keep it running like new. All a human body does when it gets older is get old. So we’re going to get rid of it. We’re getting rid of it all. The only part of you that we’re going to save is the only part of you that hasn’t decayed—your mind, your consciousness, your sense of self.”

  Dr. Russell walked over to the far door, where the Colonials had exited, and rapped on it. Then he turned back to me. “Take a good look at your body, Mr. Perry,” he said. “Because you’re about to say good-bye to it. You’re going somewhere else.”

  “Where am I going, Dr. Russell?” I asked. I could barely make enough spit to talk.

  “You’re going here,” he said, and opened the door.

  From the other side, the Colonials came back in. One of them was pushing a wheelchair with someone in it. I craned my head to take a look. And I began to shake.

  It was me.

  Fifty years ago.

  FIVE

  “Now, I want you to relax,” Dr. Russell said to me.

  The Colonials had wheeled the younger me to the other crèche and were in the process of placing the body into it. It or he or I or whatever offered no resistance; they might as well have been moving someone in a coma. Or a corpse. I was fascinated. And horrified. A small little voice in my brain told me it was good I had gone to the bathroom before I came in, or otherwise I’d be peeing down my leg.

  “How—” I began, and I choked. My mouth was too dry to talk. Dr. Russell spoke to one of the Colonials, who left and returned with a small cup of water. Dr. Russell held the cup as he gave the water to me, which was good, because I don’t think I could have managed to grip it. He spoke to me as I drank.

  “‘How’ is usually attached to one of two questions,” he said. “The first is, How did you make a younger version of me? The answer to that is that ten years ago we took a genetic sample and used that to make your new body.” He took the cup away.

  “A clone,” I said, finally.

  “No,” Dr. Russell said. “Not exactly. The DNA has been heavily modified. You can see the most obvious difference—your new body’s skin.”

  I looked back over and realized that in the shock of seeing a younger version of me, I missed a rather obvious and glaring difference.

  “He’s green,” I said.

  “You’re green, you mean,” Dr. Russell said. “Or will be in about five minutes. So that’s one ‘how’ question. The second one is, How do you get me into there?” He pointed to my green-skinned doppelganger. “And the answer to that is, we’re transferring your consciousness.”

  “How?” I asked.

  “We take the representation of brain activity that’s tracked by your sensor array and send it—and you—over there,” Dr. Russell said. “We’ve taken the brain pattern information we’ve collected over the last couple of days and used it to prepare your new brain for your consciousness, so when we send you over, things will look familiar. I’m giving you the simplified version of things, obviously; it’s vastly more complicated. But it’ll do for right now. Now, let’s get you plugged in.”

  Dr. Russell reached up and began to maneuver the crèche’s arm over my head. I started to move my head away, so he stopped. “We’re not putting anything in this time, Mr. Perry,” he said. “The injector cap has been replaced with a signal amplifier. There’s nothing to worry about.”

  “Sorry,” I said, and moved my head back into position.

  “Don’t be,” Dr. Russell said, and fit the cap over my skull. “You’re taking this better than most recruits. The guy before you screamed like a pig and fainted. We had to transfer him over unconscious. He’s going to wake up young and green and very, very disturbed. Trust me, you’re a doll.”

  I smiled, and glanced over to the body that would soon be me. “Where’s his cap?” I asked.

  “Doesn’t need one,” Dr. Russell said, and began tapping his PDA. “Like I said, this body’s been heavily modified.”

  “That sounds ominous,” I said.

  “You’ll feel differently once you’re inside.” Dr. Russell finished playing with his PDA and turned back to me. “Okay, we’re ready. Let me tell you what’s going to happen next.”

  “Please,” I said.

  He turned the PDA around. “When I press this button”—he indicated a button on the screen—“your sensor array will begin transmitting your brain activity into the amplifier. Once your brain activity is sufficiently mapped, I’ll connect this crèche to a specialized computer bank. At the same time, a similar connection will be opened to your new brain over there. When the connections check out, we’ll broadcast your consciousness into your new brain. When the brain activity takes hold in your new brain, we’ll sever the connection, and there you are, in your new brain and body. Any questions?”

  “Does this procedure ever fail?” I asked.

  “You would ask that question,” Dr. Russell said. “The answer is yes. On rare occasions something can go wrong. However, it’s extremely rare. I’ve been doing this for twenty years—thousands of transfers—and I’ve lost someone only once. The woman had a massive stroke during the transfer process. Her brain patterns became chaotic and consciousness didn’t transfer. Everyone else made it through fine.”

  “So as long as I don’t actually die, I’ll live,” I said.

  “An interesting way to put it. But yes, that’s about right.”

  “How do you know when consciousness has transferred?”

  “We’ll know it through here”—Dr. Russell tapped the side of his PDA—“and we’ll know it because you’ll tell us. Trust me, you’ll know when you’ve made the transfer.”

  “How do you know?” I asked. “Have you ever done this? Been transferred?”

  Dr. Russell smiled. �
�Actually, yes,” he said. “Twice, in fact.”

  “But you’re not green,” I said.

  “That’s the second transfer. You don’t have to stay green forever,” he said, almost wistfully. Then he blinked and looked at his PDA again. “I’m afraid we have to cut the questions short now, Mr. Perry, since I have several more recruits to transfer after you. Are you ready to begin?”

  “Hell no, I’m not ready,” I said. “I’m so scared my bowels are about to cut out.”

  “Then let me rephrase,” Dr. Russell said. “Are you ready to get it over with?”

  “God, yes,” I said.

  “Then let’s get to it,” Dr. Russell said, and tapped the screen of his PDA.

  The crèche gave a slight thunk as something physically switched on inside it. I glanced over to Dr. Russell. “The amplifier,” he said. “This part will take about a minute.”

  I grunted acknowledgment and looked over to my new me. It was cradled in the crèche, motionless, like a wax figurine that someone had spilled green coloring into during the casting process. It looked like I did so long ago—better than I did, actually. I wasn’t the most athletic young adult on the block. This version of me looked like he was muscled like a competitive swimmer. And it had a great head of hair.

  I couldn’t even imagine being in that body.

  “We’re at full resolution,” Dr. Russell said. “Opening connection.” He tapped his PDA.

  There was a slight jolt, and then it suddenly felt like there was a big, echoey room in my brain. “Whoa,” I said.

  “Echo chamber?” Dr. Russell asked. I nodded. “That’s the computer bank,” he said. “Your consciousness is perceiving the small time lag between there and here. It’s nothing to worry about. Okay, opening connection between the new body and the computer bank.” Another PDA tap.