The Complete Legacy Trilogy: Star Corps, Battlespace, Star Marines. Ian Douglas

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СКАЧАТЬ is nothing but a tiny set of parallel computers nanotechnically grown inside your head and connecting to certain parts of your nervous system, like the linkpads in the palm of your hands. It lets you link head-to-head with others with compatible hardware, lets you connect with the WorldNet and pull down the answer to any question, gives you a whole library just a thought-click away. You can see anything, call anyone, make reservations, even download the whole history of the Corps just by thinking about it. The thing is, too many kids nowadays rely on the net, know what I mean?”

      “I guess so. But … are you saying it’s wrong to link on?”

      “Wrong? Hell no. Direct net access is one of the great cornerstones of modern technology and culture. But you as a Marine need to learn that you can get along without any technic prosthesis whatsoever … not just learn it, but know it right down to your bones. Our ancestors went a long way without implants or c-links. You can too.

      “However, we’ve found a special problem with kids coming from families with major dysfunctions. Alcoholism. Net addictions. Violence. Kids who don’t get the love and care they need at home tend to grow up relying on surrogates, like AI companions, cyberpets, or e-mates. When they’re separated from their comfort-of-choice, whatever it is, it can be pretty rough.”

      “Why don’t you just keep them from enlisting, then?” Damn it, if they were going to kick him out of boot camp for this …

      “If we did that, son, we’d have to exclude the majority of our volunteers. And some of our best people came from bad home situations. Myself included. But we do take them aside first, like I’m doing with you, and give them a final chance to think about it, think about what they’re in for. When we pull your hardware, you’re going to feel more alone, more lost, more isolated than you’ve ever felt in your life. It’s going to be hell. And you’re going to have to ride it out. Eventually, you will be issued with a Marine Corps implant. If you make it through.”

      “And if I don’t?”

      “If you don’t, the government will stand you to a replacement, though I’m afraid it won’t be as fancy as a Sony-TI 12000. Government issue, IBM-800 series. But you can upgrade that for anything you want later.”

      “What … what are my chances, sir?”

      “Oh, pretty good, actually. We lose maybe fifteen percent of our recruits at this stage. But the proportion is higher for kids from dysfunctional families, like yours. We could lose, oh, maybe thirty, thirty-five percent. A lot of kids have formed attachments they can’t get along without. You have an edge, because you haven’t bonded with an AI construct yet.”

      “I can handle it, sir.”

      “Good. Because our best Marines are fighters, the ones who’ve had bad shakes and had to fight to make it through. Tough. Survivors. We want that in our people. But we need to give you the chance to back out now, before we yank your plug-in.”

      “Thank you, sir.”

      “You have twenty-two hours to think it over. Tomorrow, at zero-seven-thirty, you will report to recruit sick bay for processing. You may, at any time until then, refuse the treatment. At that time you may opt either for a full discharge or transfer to one of the other military or government services. One less demanding than the U.S. Marine Corps. Do you understand me?”

      “Yes, sir.”

      “Very well.” He paused, and his voice hardened again. “Back to the routine. Dismissed!”

      That, Garroway knew, was his cue to slip back into his recruit persona. “Sir! Aye aye, sir!”

      He pulled a sharp about-face, then fairly lunged from the compartment, on the run.

       Headquarters, PanTerra Dynamics

       New Chicago, Illinois

       United Federal Republic, Earth

       1545 hours CT

      A scarlet-uniformed attendant ushered Dr. Traci Hanson into the briefing chamber on the 540th floor of the PanTerra Dynamics Building in New Chicago and toward her seat at a large, crystalline-topped conference table. A viewall behind the table showed the gold, scarlet, and purple panorama of Ishtar, the vast orb of Marduk hanging low in the sky above clustered pyramids, obelisks, and the low, rounded domes of native habitations.

      She was still having some trouble getting around on Earth, three weeks after her return from Mars, but she waved off the proffered arm and made the final walk to her seat on her own. She wore an earth-return EW suit, a utilitarian-looking green jumpsuit with an exoskeleton walker frame invisibly woven into the fabric. It helped her stand without falling, and supported the weight that, to her, still felt three times greater than normal. At least now she could stand. For the first few days after her return, she’d been all but confined to a wheelchair. Now she could get around pretty well without any artificial aid at all, resorting to the EW suit only when she knew she was going to be standing or walking for long periods.

      Rising with solemn formality, Allyn Buckner introduced himself and the others already seated.

      “Dr. Hanson,” he said in a raspy voice. “So good of you to come. May I present Gavin Norris … Clarence Rafferty … Lee Soong Yi … Mary Pritchard … and I believe you already know Conrad Robinson and Marine Colonel Thomas Jackson Ramsey.”

      She nodded to each in turn. Conrad Robinson was her department head at the American Xenoarcheological Institute, though she barely knew him. And Ramsey …

      “Colonel Ramsey,” she said. “Yes. We shared the packet hop back to Earth.” She noted with a small stab of irritation that Ramsey was wearing a dress Marine uniform, with no sign of the braces at neck or wrists indicating that he was wearing a walker.

      “Hello again, Dr. Hanson,” Ramsey said with a grin. “Gotten your Earth legs yet?”

      “More or less,” she replied brusquely, in no mood for casual talk. She looked at Buckner as she sank into her seat, grateful to be off her feet. “So. I understand you want me to go out-system. Why? Or perhaps I should say, ‘Why me?’”

      “Because you are one of our best xenoarcheologists, and an expert on the An or Ahannu or whatever they call themselves.”

      “An,” she replied in a clipped, offhand manner, “is what primitive humans in the Mesopotamian region called the species when they first arrived on Earth, some ten to twelve thousand years ago. Their name for themselves is Ahannu, which means, approximately, ‘the Holy People.’”

      “Er, yes. Exactly,” Buckner said.

      “You see, ladies and gentlemen,” Robinson said quickly, “why I said Dr. Hanson would be perfect for this mission.”

      “But you haven’t asked me if I want to go,” she said. “I am flattered, Mr. Buckner, but I am not prepared to sacrifice twenty years or more of my career … not when there is so much yet to do here and on Mars.”

      “Sacrifice? Who said anything about sacrifice? Upon your return, you will only be some five years older, not twenty … and thanks to cryohibertechnics, you’ll experience none of the actual voyage. And you will be able to study the Ahannu in person, on their homeworld.”

      “Not СКАЧАТЬ