“I’m not familiar with the Ala,” Sagan said.
“They’re extinct,” Szilard said. “A hundred fifty years ago they got into a war with the Obin over a colony. They had an army of clones and the means to make those clones quickly, and for a while it looked like they were going to beat the Obin. Then the Obin tailored a virus keyed to the clones’ genetics. The virus was initially harmless and transmitted by air, like a flu. Our scientists estimated it spread through the entire Alaite army in about a month, and then a month after that the virus matured and begun to attack the cellular reproduction cycle of every single Ala military clone. The victims literally dissolved.”
“All at once?” Sagan asked.
“It took about a month,” Szilard said. “Which is why our scientists estimated it took that long to infect the entire army in the first place. With the Alaite army out of the way the Obin wiped out the civilian population in short order. It was a fast and brutal genocide. The Obin are not a compassionate species. Now all the Alaite planets are owned by the Obin, and the Colonial Union learned two things. One, clone armies are a very bad idea. Two, stay out of the way of the Obin. Which we have done, until now.”
Sagan nodded. The Special Forces battle cruiser Kite and her crew had recently begun recon and stealth raids in Obin territory, to gauge the Obin’s strength and response capabilities. It was dangerous work since the Obin were unforgiving of assaults, and technically speaking the Obin and the Colonial Union were not in a state of hostilities. Knowledge of the Obin-Rraey-Eneshan alliance was a closely guarded secret; the majority of the Colonial Union and the CDF were unaware of the alliance and its threat to humans. The Eneshans even maintained a diplomatic presence on Phoenix, in the Colonial capital of Phoenix City. Strictly speaking, they were allies.
“Do you want to talk about the Obin raids?” Sagan said. In addition to being a squad leader on the Kite, she was the ship’s intelligence officer, charged with force assessment. Most Special Forces officers held more than one post and also led combat squads; it kept the ship rosters lean, and keeping officers in combat positions appealed to the Special Forces’ sense of mission. When you are born to protect humanity, no one is above combat.
“Not now,” Szilard said. “This isn’t the place for it. I wanted to talk to you about one of your new soldiers. The Kite has three new recruits, and two of them will be under you.”
Sagan bristled. “They will, and that’s a problem. I had only one hole in my squad, but I have two replacements. You took one of my veterans to make room.” Sagan remembered the helpless look on Will Lister’s face when his transfer order to the Peregrine came through.
“The Peregrine is a new ship and it needs some experienced hands,” Szilard said. “I assure you there are other squad leaders on other ships just as irritated as you. The Kite had to give up one of its veterans, and as it happens I had a recruit I wanted to place under you. So I had the Peregrine take one of yours.”
Sagan opened her mouth to complain again, then thought better of it and clammed up, stewing. Szilard watched the play of emotions on her face. Most Special Forces soldiers would have said the first thing that came into their heads, an artifact of not having social niceties banged into their head through a childhood and adolescence. Sagan’s self-control was one of the reasons why she had come to Szilard’s attention; that and other factors.
“Which recruit are we talking about?” Sagan said finally.
“Jared Dirac,” Szilard said.
“What’s so special about him?” Sagan asked.
“He’s got Charles Boutin’s brain in him,” Szilard said, and watched again as Sagan fought back an immediate visceral response.
“And you think this is a good idea,” is what eventually came out of her mouth.
“It gets better,” Szilard said, and sent over Dirac’s entire classified file, complete with technical material. Sagan sat silently, digesting the material; Szilard sat, watching the junior officer. After a minute one of the mess staff approached their table and asked if there was anything they needed. Szilard ordered tea. Sagan ignored the waiter.
“All right, I’ll bite,” Sagan said, after she was done examining the file. “Why are you sticking me with a traitor?”
“Boutin’s the traitor,” Szilard said. “Dirac has just got his brain.”
“A brain that you tried to imprint with a traitor’s consciousness,” Sagan said.
“Yes,” Szilard said.
“I submit the question to your attention once more,” Sagan said.
“Because you have experience with this sort of thing,” Szilard said.