"I don't think you're supposed to be able to," I said.
"That's exactly right. But they do anyway. So, quite obviously, our model of how skipping works is wrong. Theory gets thrown out the window when observation proves it isn't so. The question now is what is really going on."
"Any thoughts on it?" I said.
"A couple, although it's not really my field," Harry said. "I don't really have the math for it."
I laughed. "You know, Alan said something very much like that to me, not too long ago."
Harry smiled, and raised his cup. "To Alan," he said.
"To Alan," I said. "And all our absent friends."
"Amen," Harry said, and we drank.
"Harry, you said you were there when they brought me on board the Sparrowhawk," I said.
"I was," he said. "You were a mess. No offense."
"None taken," I said. "Do you remember anything about the squad that brought me in?"
"A little," Harry said. "But not too much. They kept us isolated away from the rest of the ship for most of the trip. I saw you in the sick bay when they brought you in. They were examining us."
"Was there a woman in my rescue party?"
"Yes," Harry said. "Tall. Brown hair. That's all I remember right off the top of my head. To be honest, I was paying more attention to you than who was bringing you in. I knew you. I didn't know them. Why?"
"Harry, one of the people who rescued me was my wife. I'd swear on it."
"I thought your wife is dead," Harry said.
"My wife is dead," I said. "But this was her. It wasn't Kathy as she was back when we were married. She was a CDF soldier, green skin and all."
Harry looked doubtful. "You were probably hallucinating, John."
"Yeah, but if I was hallucinating, why would I hallucinate Kathy as a CDF soldier? Wouldn't I just remember her as she was?"
"I don't know," Harry said. "Hallucinations, by definition, aren't real. It's not as if they follow rules. There's no reason you couldn't have hallucinated your dead wife as CDF."
"Harry, I know I sound a little nuts, but I saw my wife," I said. "I may have been chopped up, but my brain was working fine. I know what I saw."
Harry sat there for a moment. "My squad had a few days on the Sparrowhawk to stew, you know," he said. "We were crammed into a rec room with nowhere to go and nothing to do—they wouldn't even allow us access to the ship's entertainment servers. We had to be escorted to the head. So we talked about the crew of the ship, and about the Special Forces soldiers. And here's an interesting thing: None of us knew anyone who had ever entered the Special Forces from the general ranks. By itself, it doesn't mean anything. Most of us are still in our first couple of years of service. But it's interesting."
"Maybe you have to be in the service a long time," I said.
"Maybe," Harry said. "But maybe it's something else. They call them 'Ghost Brigades,' after all." He took another sip of his juice and then set it down on my bedside table. "I think I'm going to go do some digging. If I don't come back, avenge my death."
"I'll do as best as I can under the circumstances," I said.
"Do that," Harry said, grinning. "And see what you can find out, too. You have at least another couple of interrogation sessions coming up. Try a little interrogating of your own."
"What about the Sparrowhawk?" Major Javna said at our next interview session.
"I'd like to send a message to it," I said. "I want to thank them for saving my life."
"It's not necessary," Lieutenant Colonel Newman said.
"I know, but it's the polite thing to do," I said. "When someone keeps you from being eaten toe by toe by woodland animals, the least you can do is send a little note. In fact, I'd like to send the note directly to the guys who found me. How do I do that?"
"You can't," Javna said.
"Why not?" I asked, innocently.
"The Sparrowhawk is a Special Forces ship," Newman said. "They run silent. Communication between Special Forces ships and the rest of the fleet is limited."
"Well, that doesn't seem very fair," I said. "I've been in the service for over a year, and I never had a problem getting mail to my friends on other ships. You would think even Special Forces soldiers would want to hear from their friends in the outside universe."
Newman and Javna glanced at each other. "We're getting off track," Newman said.
"All I want to do is send a note," I said.
"We'll look into it," Javna said, in a tone that said, No we won't.
I sighed and then told them, for probably the twentieth time, about why I gave permission to blow the Modesto's shuttle bay doors.
"How's your jaw?" Dr. Fiorina asked.