Joe Haldeman - Forever Peace

The colonel shook his head. He leaned back and drank some wine. "There's been time enough for somebody to find out these things about me. I can't decide whether you're some kind of super-spook or just one of the best bullshit artists I've ever come across."

"If I were bluffing, I'd threaten you now. But you know that, and that's why you said what you just said."

"And so you threaten me by making no threat."

Mendez laughed. "Takes one to know one. I will admit to being a psychiatrist."

"But you're not in the AMA database."

"Not anymore."

"Priest and psychiatrist is an odd combination. I don't suppose the Catholic Church has any record of you, either."

"That's harder to control. It would be cooperative of you not to check."

"I don't have any reason to cooperate with you. If you're not going to shoot me or throw me in a dungeon."

"Dungeon's too much paperwork," Mendez said. "Julian, you've jacked with him. What do you think?"

I remembered a thread from the common mind session. "He's completely sincere about doctor-patient confidentiality."

"Thank you."

"So if you left the room, he and I could talk patient-to-doctor. But there's a catch."

"There is indeed," Mendez said. He remembered the thread as well. "A trade you might not want to make."

"What's that?"

"Brain surgery," Mendez said.

"You could be told what we're doing here," I said, "but we'd have to make it so that no one could learn it from you."

"Memory erasure," Jefferson said.

"That wouldn't be enough," Mendez said. "We'd have to erase the memory of not only this trip and everything associated with it, but also your memories of treating Julian and people who knew him. That's too extensive."

"What we'd have to do," I said, "is take out your jack and fry all the neural connections. Would you be willing to give that up forever, to be let in on a secret?"

"The jack is essential to my profession," he said. "And I'm used to it, would feel incomplete without it. For the secret of the universe, maybe. Not for the secret of St. Bartholomew's Home."

Someone knocked on the door and Mendez said to come in. It was Marc Lobell, holding a clipboard over his chest.

"May I have a word with you, Father Mendez?"

When Mendez left, Jefferson leaned over toward me. "You're here of your own free will?" he said. "No one's coerced you?"

"No one."

"Thoughts of suicide?"

"Nothing could be farther from my mind." The possibility was still back there, but I wanted to see how this turned out. If the universe ceased to exist, it would take me with it anyhow.

I suspected that that would be the attitude of someone resigned to suicide, and that realization may have shown on my face.

"But something's bothering you," Jefferson said.

"When did you last meet someone with nothing bothering him?"

Mendez came through the door alone, carrying the clipboard. A lock on the door clicked behind him.

"Interesting." He asked the bar for a cup of coffee and sat down. "You've taken a month's leave, Doctor."

"Sure, moving."

"People expect you back in what, a day or two?"

"Soon."

"What people? You're not married or living with anyone."

"Friends. Colleagues."

"Sure." He handed the clipboard to Jefferson.

He glanced at the top sheet and the one under it. "You can't do this. How could you do this?" I couldn't read what was on either sheet, but they were some sort of signed orders.

"Obviously, I can. As to how," he shrugged. "Faith can move mountains."

"What is it?"

"I'm TDY'ed here for three weeks. Vacation canceled. What the hell is going on?"

"We had to make a decision while you were still in the building. You've been invited to join our little project here."

"I decline the invitation." He tossed the clipboard down and stood up. "Let me out of here."

"Once we've had a chance to talk, you'll be free to stay or go." He opened a box inlaid in the table's surface and unreeled a red jack and a green one. "Oneway."

"No way! You can't force me to jack with you."

"Actually, that's true." He gave me a significant look. "I couldn't do anything of the sort."

"I could," I said, and pulled the knife out of my pocket. I pushed the button and the blade flicked out and then began to hum and glow.

"Are you threatening me with a weapon? Sergeant?"

"No, I'm not. Colonel." I raised the blade to my neck and looked at my watch. "If you aren't jacked in thirty seconds, you'll have to watch me cut my own throat."

He swallowed hard. "You're bluffing."

"No. I'm not." My hand started to tremble. "But I suppose you've lost patients before."

"What is so goddamned important about this thing?"

"Jack and find out." I didn't look at him. "Fifteen seconds."

"He will, you know," Mendez said. "I've jacked with him. His death will be your fault."

He shook his head and walked back to the table. "I'm not sure of that. But you seem to have me trapped." He sat down and slid the jack in.

I turned off the knife. I think I was bluffing.

Watching people who are jacked is about as interesting as watching people sleep. There was nothing to read in the room, but there was a notepad and stylus, so I wrote a letter to Amelia, outlining what had been going on. After about ten minutes, they started to nod regularly, so I finished the letter quickly, encrypted it and sent it.

Jefferson unjacked and buried his face in his hands. Mendez unjacked and stared at him.

"It's a lot to assimilate all at once," he said. "But I really didn't know where to stop."

"You did right," Jefferson said, muffled. "I had to have it all." He sat back and exhaled. "Have to link with the Twenty now, of course."

"You're on our side?" I said.

"Sides. I don't think you have a snowball's chance. But yes, I want to be part of it."

"He's more committed than you are," Mendez said.

"Committed but not convinced?"

"Julian," Jefferson said, "with all due respect for your years as a mechanic, and all the suffering you've gone through for what you've seen ... for having killed that boy ... it may be that I know more about war and its evil than you do. Secondhand knowledge, admittedly." He scraped sweat off his forehead with the blade of his hand. "But the fourteen years I've spent trying to put soldiers' lives back together make me a pretty good recruit for this army."

I wasn't really surprised at that. A patient doesn't get too much unguarded feedback from his therapist-it's like a one-way jack with a few controlled thoughts and feelings seeping back-but I knew how much he hated the killing, and what the killing did to the killers.

AMELIA SHUT DOWN HER machine for the day and was stacking papers, ready to go home, long bath and a nap, when a short bald man tapped on her office door. "Professor Harding?"

"What can I do for you?"

"Cooperate." He handed her an unsealed plain envelope. "My name is Harold Ingram, Major Harold Ingram. I'm an attorney for the army's Office of Technology Assessment."

She unfolded three pages of fine print. "So would you care to tell me in plain English what this is all about?"

"Oh, it's very simple. A paper that you co-authored for the Astrophysical Journal was found to contain material germane to weapons research."

"Wait. That paper never got past peer review. It was rejected. How could your office hear of it?"

"I honestly don't know. I'm not on the technical end."

She scanned the pages. "'Cease and desist'? A subpoena?"

"Yes. In a nutshell, we need all of your records pertaining to this research, and a statement that you have destroyed all duplicates, and a promise that you will discontinue the project until you hear from us."

She looked at him and then back at the document. "This is a joke, right?"