The Ghost Brigades

“I know who Leo Szilard was, Szi,” Mattson said.

 

“I didn’t mean to imply you didn’t, General,” Szilard said. “Although you never know with you realborn. You have funny gaps in your knowledge.”

 

“We spend most of our later educational years trying to get laid,” Mattson said. “It distracts most of us from stockpiling information about twentieth-century scientists.”

 

“Imagine that,” Szilard said, mildly, and then continued on his train of thought. “Aside from his scientific talents, Szilard was also good at predicting things. He predicted both of Earth’s world wars in the twentieth century and other major events. It made him jumpy. He made it a point to live in hotels and always have a packed bag ready. Just in case.”

 

“Fascinating,” Mattson said. “What’s your point?”

 

“I don’t pretend to be related to Leo Szilard in any way,” Szilard said. “I was just assigned his name. But I think I share his talent for predicting things, especially when it comes to wars. I think this war we’ve got coming is going to get very bad indeed. That’s not just speculation; we’ve been gathering intelligence now that my people know what to look for. And you don’t have to be in possession of intelligence to know that humanity going up against three different races makes for bad odds for us.” Szilard motioned his head in the direction of the lab. “This soldier may not have Boutin’s memories, but he’s still got Boutin in him—in his genes. I think it’ll make a difference, and we’re going to need all the help we can get. Call him my packed bag.”

 

“You want him because of a hunch,” Mattson said.

 

“Among other things,” Szilard said.

 

“Sometimes it really shows that you’re a teenager, Szi,” Mattson said.

 

“Do you release this soldier to me, General?” Szilard asked.

 

Mattson waved, dismissively. “He’s yours, General,” he said. “Enjoy. At least I won’t have to worry about this one turning traitor.”

 

“Thank you,” Szilard said.

 

“And what are you going to do with your new toy?” Mattson asked.

 

“For starters,” Szilard said, “I think we’ll give him a name.”

 

 

 

 

 

FOUR

 

 

 

 

He came into the world like most newborns do: screaming.

 

The world around him was formless chaos. Something was close to him and making noises at him when the world showed up; it frightened him. Suddenly it went away, leaking loud noises as it went.

 

He cried. He tried to move his body but could not. He cried some more.

 

Another form approached; based on his only previous experience, he yelled in fear and tried to get away. The form made noise and movement.

 

Clarity.

 

It was as if corrective lenses had been placed on his consciousness. The world snapped into place. Everything remained unfamiliar, but everything also seemed to make sense. He knew that even though he couldn’t identify or name anything he saw, it all had names and identities; some portion of his mind surged into life, itching to label it all but could not.

 

The entire universe was on the tip of his tongue.

 

::Can you perceive this?:: the form—the person—in front of him asked. And he could. He could hear the question, but he knew that no sound had been made; the question had been beamed directly into his brain. He didn’t know how he knew this, or how it was done. He also didn’t know how to respond. He opened his mouth to reply.

 

::Don’t,:: the person in front of him said. ::Try sending me your reply instead. It’s faster than speaking. It’s what we all do. Here’s how.::

 

Inside his head instructions appeared, and more than instructions, an awareness that suggested that anything he didn’t understand would be defined, explained and placed into context; even as he thought this he felt the instructions he’d been sent expand, individual concepts and ideas branching off into pathways, searching for their own meanings in order to give him a framework he could use. Presently it coalesced into one big idea, a gestalt that allowed him to respond. He felt the urge to respond to the person in front of him grow; his mind, sensing this, offered up a series of possible responses. Each unpacked itself as the instructions had, offering up understanding and context as well as a suitable response.

 

All of this took slightly under five seconds.

 

::I perceive you,:: he said, finally.

 

::Excellent,:: the person in front of him said. ::I am Judy Curie.::

 

::Hello, Judy,:: he said, after his brain unpacked for him the concepts of names and also the protocols for responding to those who offer their names as identification. He tried to give his name, but came up blank. He was suddenly confused.

 

Curie smiled at him. ::Having a hard time remembering your name?:: she asked.

 

::Yes,:: he said.

 

::That’s because you don’t have one yet,:: Curie said. ::Would you like to know what your name is?::

 

::Please,:: he said.

 

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