The Obin home system housed four gas giants, one of which—Cha—orbited in a “Goldilocks zone” for carbon-based life and had three planet-sized moons among several dozen smaller satellites. The smallest of the large moons, Saruf, lay in orbit just outside the planet’s Roche limit, and was wracked by immense tidal forces that turned it into an uninhabitable ball of lava. The second, Obinur, was half again the size of Earth but less massive due to a metal-poor composition. This was the Obin home world. The third, of Earth size and mass, was Arist.
Arist was thickly populated with native life-forms but largely uninhabited by the Obin, with only a few outposts of any size on the moon. Nevertheless, its close proximity to Obinur would make it almost impossible to assault. CDF ships wouldn’t be able to simply sneak in; Arist was only a few light-seconds from Obinur. Almost as soon as they appeared the Obin would be moving in for the kill. Nothing short of a large assault force would stand a chance of extracting Boutin from Arist. Extracting Boutin would be declaring war, a war the Colonial Union wasn’t ready to commit to even with the Obin standing alone.
“We’re going to have to talk to General Szilard about this,” Robbins said to Mattson.
“No shit,” Mattson said. “If there was ever a job for Special Forces, this is it. Speaking of which”—Mattson focused on Jared—“once we drop this in Szilard’s lap, you’re going back to Special Forces. Dealing with this is going to be his problem, and that means you’re going to be his problem too.”
“I’m going to miss you too, General,” Jared said.
Mattson snorted. “You really are sounding more like Boutin every day. And that’s not a good thing. Which reminds me, as my last official order to you, get down to see the bug and Lieutenant Wilson and let them get another look at your brain. I’m giving you back to General Szilard, but I promised I wouldn’t break you. Being a little too much like Boutin might qualify as ‘broken’ by his standard. It does by mine.”
“Yes, sir,” Jared said.
“Good. You’re dismissed.” Mattson picked up Babar and tossed it to Jared. “And take this thing with you,” he said.
Jared caught it and set it back down on Mattson’s desk, facing the general. “Why don’t you keep it, General,” Jared said. “As a reminder.” He left before Mattson could protest, nodding at Robbins as he left.
Mattson stared glumly at the stuffed elephant and then up at Robbins, who appeared about to say something. “Don’t say a goddamned thing about the elephant, Colonel,” Mattson said.
Robbins changed the topic. “Do you think Szilard will take him back?” he asked. “You said it yourself: He’s sounding more like Boutin every day.”
“You’re telling me this,” Mattson said, and waved in the direction of where Jared had gone. “You and the general were the ones who wanted to build this little bastard from spare parts, if you’ll recall. And now you’ve got him. Or Szi’s got him. Christ.”
“So you’re worried,” Robbins said.
“I’ve never stopped being worried about him,” Mattson said. “When he was with us I kept hoping he’d do something stupid so I would have a legitimate excuse to have him shot. I don’t like that we’ve bred a second traitor, especially one with a military body and brain. If it were up to me I’d take Private Dirac and put him in a nice big room that features a toilet and a food slot, and keep him there until he rots.”
“He’s still technically under your command,” Robbins said.
“Szi’s made it clear he wants him back, for whatever damn fool reason he has,” Mattson said. “He commands combat troops. If we go to the mat on it, he’ll get the decision.” Mattson picked up Babar, examined him. “I just hope to holy fuck he knows what he’s doing.”
“Well,” Robbins said. “Maybe Dirac won’t actually be as much like Boutin as you think he will be.”
Mattson snorted derisively, and wiggled Babar at Robbins. “See this? This isn’t just some goddamned souvenir. It’s a message straight from Charles Boutin himself. No, Colonel. Dirac is exactly as much like Boutin as I think he is.”
“There’s no question about it,” Cainen said to Jared. “You’ve become Charles Boutin.”
“The hell I have,” Jared said.
“The hell you have,” Cainen agreed, and motioned to the display. “Your consciousness pattern is now almost entirely identical to what Boutin left us. There’s still some variation, of course, but it’s trivial. For all intents and purposes, you have the same mind as Charles Boutin had.”
“I don’t feel any different,” Jared said.
“Don’t you?” Harry Wilson said, from the other side of the lab.
Jared opened his mouth to respond, then stopped. Wilson grinned. “You do feel different,” he said. “I can tell it. So can Cainen. You’re more aggressive than you were before. You’re sharper with the retort. Jared Dirac was quieter, more subdued. More innocent, although that’s probably not the absolute best way to put it. You’re not quiet and subdued anymore. And certainly not innocent. I remember Charlie Boutin. You’re a lot more like him than like who Jared Dirac used to be.”