Doesn’t Boutin see this? Jared asked himself. Perhaps he did, but chose to believe that it wouldn’t happen that way. But maybe he simply never considered the consequences of his actions. When the Obin contacted him, perhaps all Boutin saw was a people so desperate for the thing he could give them that they would do anything to get it. Maybe Boutin asked for the moon and didn’t give a thought to what he would do with the moon once he had it. Maybe Boutin didn’t really think the Obin would really, truly give him the war he asked for.
Interlaced within all of this, Jared felt a sick-making worry for Zo?: What would happen to her if Boutin failed or was killed; what would happen to her if he succeeded? Jared felt guilty for worrying about what would happen to one small child when billions of lives would be altered or ended, but he couldn’t help himself. As much as anything, he was looking for a way where Zo? lived through all of it.
Jared felt overwhelmed by the choices he needed to make, and underwhelmed by the information he had to make them with, and utterly bereft at how little he would be able to do about any of it. He felt like he was probably the last person in the world who should be wrestling with all of this. But there was nothing to be done about it now. He closed his eyes and considered his options.
An hour later Jared opened his eyes as Boutin came through the door, trailed by an Obin. “You’re awake,” Boutin said.
“I am,” Jared said.
“It’s time for me to make the transfer,” Boutin said. “I’ve programmed in the process and run the simulations; it looks like it’s going to run perfectly. There’s no point in putting it off anymore.”
“Far be it from me to stop you from killing me,” Jared said, casually.
Boutin paused; Jared saw that coming right out and mentioning his incipient murder disturbed Boutin. Good, Jared thought.
“About that,” Boutin said. “Before we do the transfer, I can run a directive that will put you to sleep, if you want. You wouldn’t feel a thing. I’m offering that to you. If you want.”
“You don’t seem to want it,” Jared said.
“It makes the transfer more difficult, from what I can see from the simulations,” Boutin said. “The transfer will take more securely if you’re conscious as well.”
“Well then, by all means I’ll stay awake,” Jared said. “I wouldn’t want to make this more difficult for you.”
“Listen, Dirac,” Boutin said. “This isn’t something personal. You have to understand that you offer a way to make this all happen quickly and cleanly, with the least amount of bloodshed on all sides. I’m sorry you have to die, but the alternative is far more death.”
“Murdering every Colonial Defense Forces soldier with your virus doesn’t strike me as the least amount of bloodshed,” Jared said.
Boutin turned and told the Obin to start the preparations; the Obin went to the console and went to work.
“Tell me,” Jared said. “After you’ve killed all the Colonial Defense Forces, who is going to protect the human colonies? They won’t have defenders anymore. You’ll have killed them all.”
“The Obin will protect them in the short run,” Boutin said. “Until we can create a new defense force.”
“Are you sure about that?” Jared said. “Once you give them consciousness, why would they need to do anything for you anymore? Or do you plan to withhold consciousness until after they give you your next demand?”
Boutin gave a quick glance back at the Obin in the room, and then faced Jared. “I’m not withholding anything,” he said. “They’ll do it because they’ve agreed to it.”
“Are you willing to bet the life of Zo? on it?” Jared asked. “Because that’s what you’re doing.”
“Don’t lecture me on my daughter,” Boutin spat at Jared, and turned away. Jared gave a sad shudder, thinking of the choices he was making.
The Obin nodded over at Boutin; it was time. Boutin looked over to Jared one more time. “Anything else you want to say before we get started?” he asked Jared.
“I think I’ll save it for later,” Jared said.
Boutin opened his mouth to ask what that meant, but before he could, a noise erupted from outside the station. It sounded like a very large gun going off very rapidly.
Harvey lived for this sort of shit.
His chief worry as they approached the science station was that Lieutenant Sagan would do one of her patented thoughtful, methodical approaches; something sneaky that would require him to tiptoe around like a goddamn spy or something. He hated that crap. Harvey knew what he was and what he was best at: He was a noisy son of a bitch and he was good at making things fall down and go boom. In his few introspective moments, Harvey wondered if his progie, the guy he was mostly made from, hadn’t been something really antisocial, like a pyromaniac or a professional wrestler, or maybe had done time for assault. Whoever or whatever he was, Harvey would have been happy to give him a nice big smack on the lips. Harvey was absolutely at peace with his inner nature, in the sort of way that Zen Buddhist monks could only dream about. And so when Sagan told him his job was to draw attention to himself so she and Seaborg could do their jobs, Harvey did a little dance on the inside. He could definitely draw attention to himself.