"What were you like when you were fifty-five?" I asked.
"Well, that's the thing," Thomas said. "I was a fat slob at fifty-five. It took a heart replacement to get me serious about taking care of myself. My point is that a high-functioning seventy-five-year-old can actually do many things without actually being 'young,' but just by being in excellent shape. Maybe that's all that's required for this army. Maybe all the other intelligent species in the universe are pushovers. Presuming that's the case, it makes a weird sort of sense to have old soldiers, because young people are more useful to their community. They have their whole lives ahead of them, while we are eminently expendable."
"So maybe we'll still be old, just really, really healthy," Harry said.
"That's what I'm saying," Thomas said.
"Well, stop saying that. You're bringing me down," Harry said.
"I'll shut up if you give me your fruit cup," Thomas said.
"Even if we're turned into high-functioning seventy-five-year-olds, as you say," Susan said, "we'd still be getting older. In five years, we'd just be high-functioning eighty-year-olds. There's an upper limit to our usefulness as soldiers."
Thomas shrugged. "Our terms are for two years. Maybe they only need to keep us in working order for that long. The difference between seventy-five and seventy-seven isn't as great as between seventy-five and eighty. Or even between seventy-seven and eighty. Hundreds of thousands of us sign up each year. After two years, they just swap us out with a crew of 'fresh' recruits."
"We can be retained for up to ten years," I said. "It's in the fine print. That would seem to argue that they have the technology to keep us working for that period of time."
"And they've got our DNA on file," Harry said. "Maybe they've cloned replacement parts or something like that."
"True," Thomas admitted. "But it's a lot of work to transplant every single organ, bone, muscle and nerve from a cloned body to ours. And they'd still have to contend with our brains, which can't be transplanted."
Thomas looked around and finally realized he was depressing the whole table. "I'm not saying that we won't be made young again," he said. "Just what we've seen on this ship convinces me that the Colonial Union has much better technology than we ever had back home. But speaking as a medical doctor, I'm having a hard time seeing how they'll reverse the aging process as dramatically as we all think they will."
"Entropy is a bitch," Alan said. "We've got theories to back that one up."
"There is one piece of evidence that suggests that they'll improve us no matter what," I said.
"Tell me quickly," Harry said. "Tom's theory of the galaxy's oldest army is ruining my appetite."
"That's just it," I said. "If they couldn't fix our bodies, they wouldn't be giving us food with a fat content that could kill most of us within the month."
"That's very true," Susan said. "You make an excellent point, there, John. I feel better already."
"Thank you," I said. "And based on this evidence, I have such faith in the Colonial Defense Forces to cure me of all my ills, that now I'm going back for seconds."
"Get me some pancakes while you're up," Thomas said.
"Hey, Leon," I said, giving his flabby bulk a push. "Get up. Sleepy time is over. You've got an eight o'clock appointment."
Leon lay on his bed like a lump. I rolled my eyes, sighed and bent down to give him a harder push. And noticed his lips were blue.
Oh, shit, I thought, and shook him. Nothing. I grabbed his torso and pulled him off his bunk to the floor. It was like moving dead weight.
I grabbed my PDA and called for medical help. Then I kneeled over him, blew into his mouth, and pumped on his chest until a pair of Colonial medical staffers arrived and pulled me off of him.
By this time a small crowd had gathered around the open door; I saw Jesse and reached out to bring her in. She saw Leon on the floor and her hand flew to her mouth. I gave her a quick hug.
"How is he?" I asked one of the Colonials, who was consulting his PDA.
"He's dead," he said. "He's been dead for about an hour. Looks like a heart attack." He put the PDA down and stood up, glancing back down at Leon. "Poor bastard. Made it this far just to have his ticker crap out."
"A last-minute volunteer for the Ghost Brigades," the other Colonial said.
I shot a hard stare at him. I thought a joke at this moment was in terribly bad taste.
FOUR
"Okay, let's see," the doctor said, glancing at his rather large PDA as I entered the office. "You're John Perry, correct?"
"That's right," I said.
"I'm Dr. Russell," he said, and then looked me over. "You look like your dog just died," he said.
"Actually," I said, "it was my roommate."