Old Man's War Boxed Set 1 (99 page)

“What is it?” I said.

“Special Forces are second-class citizens in the Colonial Union,” Szilard said. “We always have been. We’re needed but not trusted.
We do the difficult work of keeping the Colonial Union alive—it was we who destroyed the Conclave fleet, but our reward is only more work, more responsibility. I wanted a way to make the Colonial Union recognize
my
people, and how important we are to the Union. And the answer was you.”

“Me,” I said. “You said that we were chosen because of Jane and Zoë, not me.”

“I lied,” Szilard said. “You all had your part to play. Jane and Zoë’s were the most critical to keeping humanity alive, yes. But your part was critical to
my
goal.”

“I don’t see how,” I said.

“Because you’re the one who would get
indignant
at being used,” Szilard said. “Lieutenant Sagan no doubt got angry at how she and Roanoke were manipulated for the Colonial Union’s ends. But her solution is to deal directly with the immediate problem. That’s how she was trained. Direct-line thinking. Your wife is many things, Perry, but subtle is not one of them. You, on the other hand. You would
stew
. You would look for a long-term solution, to punish those who used you, and to make sure that humanity wouldn’t face the same threat twice.”

“Bringing the Conclave here to Earth,” I said. “Cutting off the Colonial Union’s supply of soldiers.”

“We saw it as a possibility,” Szilard said. “A small one. But a real one. And as a consequence the Colonial Union would need to fall back on its ready source of military power. Us.”

“There are always the colonists,” I said.

“The colonists haven’t fought their own wars for nearly two centuries,” Szilard said. “It would be a disaster. Sooner or later it comes down to the Special Forces.”

“But you’re here lobbying to end the recruiting moratorium,” I said.

“The last time we had a conversation I told you the reason I let
my Special Forces soldiers be used to destroy the Conclave fleet,” Szilard said.

“So you could stay in control of the situation,” I said.

Szilard spread his hands as if to say,
And so
.

“I’m having a hard time believing you planned for this,” I said.

“I planned none of it,” Szilard said. “I left open the possibility it might occur, and was ready to act on it if it did. I certainly didn’t expect you to do what you ended up doing. Trade ships. That’s weird thinking. I would have expected another armada.”

“I’m happy to surprise you,” I said.

“I’m sure you are,” Szilard said. “And now let me return the favor to you. I know Lieutenant Sagan has yet to forgive me for altering her.”

“She hasn’t forgiven you,” I agreed. “It took her a long time to get used to being human, and you took it away from her.”

“Then tell her this,” Szilard said. “She was a prototype. A version of Special Forces soldier designed entirely from the human genome. She is one hundred percent human, right down to the number of chromosomes. She’s
better
than human, of course, but human all the same. She never stopped being human through any of this.”

“She has a BrainPal in her head,” I said.

“We’re particularly proud of that,” Szilard said. “The most recent generation of BrainPals were largely organic as it was. It took a substantial amount of tweaking to get one to generate out of the human genome. She was the first to have a wholly integrated, human BrainPal.”

“Why did you test it on her?” I asked.

“Because I knew she would need it, and I knew she valued her humanity,” Szilard said. “I wanted to honor both, and the technology was ready to be tested. Tell her I am sorry I wasn’t able to tell her this before now. I had my reasons for not wanting the technology to be common knowledge.”

I looked at Szilard closely. “You’re using the same technology now, aren’t you,” I said.

“I am,” Szilard said. “For the first time I am entirely human. As human as anyone. And in time every member of Special Forces will be the same. It matters. It matters to who we are, and for what we can become to the Colonial Union and to humanity. Let Jane know, Perry. She is the first of us. The most human of us. Let her know.”

Not long after, I took Jane to meet Kathy.

My Ohio hometown was as I had left it, almost two decades before, only slightly worse for wear. We drove up the long driveway of my old house to find my son Charlie, his family and every person I was even tangentially related to waiting for us. I had seen Charlie twice since my return, when he had visited Washington, D.C., to see me. We had been able to get over the shock of me appearing decades younger than he, and he had been able to get over the shock of Jane looking so much like his own mother. For everyone else, however, it was an awkward first.

It would have kept being so if Zoë hadn’t dived in and broke the ice, starting with Charlie’s son Adam, who Zoë demanded call her “Aunt Zoë,” even though she was younger than he was. Slowly our clan began to warm to us, and to me. I was filled in on all the gossip of the last double decade. Jane was told stories of Kathy she had never known before. Zoë was fussed on by old relatives and moony teenage boys alike. Savitri told Charlie jokes about my days as ombudsman. Hickory and Dickory tolerated being curiosities.

As the sun sank in the sky, Jane and I gave Zoë a quick kiss and slipped away, walking east on my county road to Harris Creek Cemetery, and to the simple marker that held my wife’s name.

“Katharine Rebecca Perry,” Jane read, kneeling.

“That’s right,” I said.

“You’re crying,” Jane said, not looking back. “I can hear it in your voice.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I just never thought I would be back here.”

Jane looked back. “I didn’t mean for this to hurt you,” she said.

“It’s all right,” I said. “It’s supposed to hurt. And I wanted you to meet her. I wanted to be here when you did.”

“You still love her,” Jane said, looking back down at the marker.

“I do,” I said. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“I’m part of her,” Jane said. “She’s part of me. When you love her, you love me. I don’t mind that you keep loving her. I hope you do. I hope you always do.”

I reached out a hand to her; she took it. We stayed that way, silent at my wife’s grave, for a very long time.

“Look at the stars,” Jane said, finally.

“There’s the Big Dipper,” I said, pointing.

Jane nodded. “I see it.”

I wrapped my arms around Jane. “I remember you said on Huckleberry that it was when you finally saw the constellations that you knew you were home.”

“I remember saying that,” Jane said.

“Is it still true?” I asked.

“It is,” Jane said, and turned to face me. “I’m home. We’re home.”

I kissed my wife.

“The Milky Way,” she said, looking up, after we broke our kiss.

“Yes,” I said, looking up myself. “You can see it really well from here. That’s one of the reasons I liked living in a little country town. In the cities the light drowns it out. But here, you can see it. Although I imagine with your eyes, you’re getting quite a show.”

“It’s beautiful,” Jane said.

“That reminds me,” I said, and told her what General Szilard said about her being the first entirely human Special Forces soldier.

“Interesting,” she said.

“So you’re completely human after all,” I said.

“I know,” Jane said. “I figured it out already.”

“Really,” I said. “I’d like to know how.”

“I’m pregnant,” Jane said, and smiled.

With this book we’ve reached the end of our journeys with John Perry and Jane Sagan. I like to think they go on. But they go on without us. It’s possible I’ll return one day to this universe, to explore other corners of it, and to see how it has changed through the events of this book. For the moment, however, I’m stepping back, to explore other places and people. I hope you don’t mind.

I’d like to thank each of you who have taken this journey with me, whether this is your first encounter with this universe, or whether you came through all three books to arrive here. One of the great joys of writing this series has been hearing the feedback and reading the mail from those of you who have thanked me for writing these books and encouraged (and in some cases, demanded) that I get off my ass and write the next one. You sure do know how to make a writer feel good.

I have been immensely fortunate through these books to have Patrick Nielsen Hayden as my editor. Patrick’s practical sense of the science fiction book industry is matched by his aspirations for the books he shepherds; I have benefited from both.
And in particular, this book benefited from Patrick’s patience, as I tore out entire chapters and pushed certain annoying characters none of the rest of you will ever meet down wells, all of which extended the time required to finish the book. Patrick didn’t complain (much). I deeply appreciate that faith. Many thanks also to Tom Doherty, whose encouragement through this series has meant an incredible amount to me.

Other folks at Tor to whom I owe more thanks than I can express: Teresa Nielsen Hayden, Liz Gorinsky, Irene Gallo, Dot Lin and Tor’s merciless marketing folks. Thanks are also in order for John Harris, who once again has done a kick-ass cover, to copy editor Justine Gardner, who makes it look like I actually know grammar and spelling, and to Nicole de las Heras for interior book design. All I did was write the book; these folks made it look good. Thanks also to Ethan Ellenberg, my invaluable agent.

Friends helped keep me sane as I wrestled this book to the ground. Among them: Nick Sagan, who shared deadline misery as we were both finishing our books, as did Justine Larbalestier. In both cases you should seek out their books to find out what you were missing. Other friends who helped me keep my head screwed on and otherwise made sure I had sufficient human contact: Scott Westerfeld, Doselle and Janine Young, Deven Desai, Anne KG Murphy and Karen Meisner. There are so many other people I’d like to single out and thank, particularly in the science fiction writing community, but really, we would be here all day if I did, so if you think I should be thanking you (and there are many of you I should thank), please do assume I’m talking about you here. I’d also make special mention of the readers of my blogs,
Whatever
and
By the Way
, for their daily encouragement to get my work done, even if it meant posting less at the blogs.

During the writing of the
The Last Colony
I was nominated for and won the John W. Campbell Award for best new writer in science fiction. I was nominated with Sarah Monette, Chris Roberson, Brandon Sanderson, K. J. Bishop and Steph Swainston, and was fortunate enough to become friends with Sarah, Chris and Brandon. The suggestion that I’m a better writer than any of these folks is a flattering lie, and I encourage you to look up their work the next time you’re in a bookstore or book-buying online. You won’t be disappointed.

I killed off a character named Joseph Loong in this book; the real Joseph Loong, with whom I work at AOL, I wish a long and happy life, and I thank him for letting me use his name. Lieutenant Stross in the book is an obvious tuckerization of Charles Stross, the unspeakably talented science fiction writer, and also a friend of mine. The real Stross is not as spacey as the one I put in the book. General Rybicki is named for Joe Rybicki, my longtime friend and editor. I hope he likes his character.

Yet again, many thanks to Regan Avery, who continues to be my frontline reader, and helps make my books better. She’s been my frontline reader for a decade now; I consider her my lucky charm.

Finally, thanks to Kristine and Athena Scalzi, my wife and daughter, respectively, and especially to Kristine. Those people who know Kristine and me have suggested that Jane Sagan is rather obviously modeled after Kristine. There is only so far the comparison goes—as far as I know my wife has not taken out entire platoons of soldiers armed only with knives—but it is a fact that Jane’s intelligence, strength and personal character are based on my wife’s own intelligence, strength and personal character. To be blunt about it, my wife totally rocks. She also is kind enough not only to put up with me but to encourage me,
support me and love me. I am lucky to be with her. I dedicate this entire series to her—
Old Man’s War, The Ghost Brigades
and
The Last Colony
. These are her books. I just wrote them.

J
OHN
S
CALZI
           
September 20, 2006

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

THE LAST COLONY

Copyright © 2007 by John Scalzi

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.

This book is printed on acid-free paper.

Edited by Patrick Nielsen Hayden

A Tor Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC
175 Fifth Avenue
New York, NY 10010

www.tor.com

Tor
^®
is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Scalzi, John, 1969–

    The last colony / John Scalzi.—1st ed.

         p. cm.

    “A Tom Doherty Associates Book.”

    ISBN-13: 978-0-7653-1697-4

    ISBN-10: 0-7653-1697-8

    1. Space warfare—Fiction. 2. Life on other planets—Fiction.

3. Space colonies—Fiction. I. Title.

PS3619.C256L37 2007

813'.6—dc22                    2006102740

First Edition: May 2007

Printed in the United States of America

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