Free The Ghost Brigades by John Scalzi Page A

amusing. “Wake him up without switching on the BrainPal,” he said. “If that’s Boutin in there, I don’t want him confused. I want him talking.”
    â€œYes, sir,” Robbins said.
    â€œIf this thing worked, he’ll know who he is as soon as he’s conscious, right?” Mattson said.
    Robbins glanced over to Wilson, who could hear the conversation; Wilson give a half shrug, half nod. “We think so,” Robbins said.
    â€œGood,” Mattson said. “Then I want to be the first thing he sees.” He walked over to the crèche and placed himself in front of the unconscious body. “Tell them to wake up the son of a bitch,” he said. Robbins nodded to one of the techs, who jabbed a finger at the control board she had been working from.
    The body jolted, precisely the way people do in the twilight between wakefulness and sleep, when they suddenly feel like they are falling. Its eyelids fluttered and twitched, and flew open. Eyes darted momentarily, seemingly confused, and then fixed on Mattson, who leaned in and grinned.
    â€œHello, Boutin,” Mattson said. “Bet you’re surprised to see me.”
    The body strained to move its head closer to Mattson, as if to say something. Mattson leaned in obligingly.
    The body screamed.
    Â 
    General Szilard found Mattson in the head down the hall from the decanting lab, relieving himself.
    â€œHow’s the ear?” Szilard asked.
    â€œWhat kind of goddamned question is that, Szi?” Mattson said, still facing the wall. “ You get a screaming earful from a babbling idiot and tell me how it feels.”
    â€œHe’s not a babbling idiot,” Szilard said. “You woke up a newborn Special Forces soldier with his BrainPal switched off. He didn’t have any sense of himself. He did what any newborn would do. What did you expect?”
    â€œI expected Charles fucking Boutin,” Mattson said, and shook. “That’s why we bred that little fucker in the crèche, if you’ll recall.”
    â€œYou knew it might not work,” Szilard said. “I told you. Your people told you.”
    â€œThanks for the recap, Szi,” Mattson said. He zipped and moved over to the sink. “This little adventure has just been one big goddamn waste of time.”
    â€œHe still might be useful,” Szilard said. “Maybe the consciousness needs time to settle.”
    â€œRobbins and Wilson said his consciousness would be there as soon as he woke up,” Mattson said. He waved his hands under the faucet. “Goddamn automatic faucet,” he said, and finally covered the sensor completely with his hand. The water kicked on.
    â€œThis is the first time anyone’s done something like this,” Szilard said. “Maybe Robbins and Wilson were wrong.”
    Mattson barked out a short laugh. “Those two were wrong, Szi, no maybes about it. Just not in the way you suggest. Besides, are your people going to babysit a full-grown, man-sized infant while you’re waiting for his ‘consciousness to settle’? I’d be guessing ‘no,’ and I’m sure as hell not going to do it. Wasted too much time on this as it is.” Mattson finished washing his hands and looked around for the towel dispenser.
    Szilard pointed to the far wall. “Dispenser is out,” he said.
    â€œWell, of course it is,” Mattson said. “Humanity can build soldiers from the DNA up but it can’t stock a head with fucking paper towels.” He shook his hands violently and then wiped the excess moisture on his pants.
    â€œLeaving the issue of paper towels to the side,” Szilard said, “does this mean you’re relinquishing the soldier to me? If you are, I’m going to have his BrainPal turned on, and get him into a training platoon as soon as possible.”
    â€œYou in a rush?” Mattson said.
    â€œHe’s a fully developed Special Forces