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"So what's going on here?" Mosovich asked in exasperation.
"Like I said, we're not experts," Richards answered. "We can only speculate. You want our speculation?"
"Yes," Mueller said. "Please."
"Okay," Richards said, taking off the glasses and setting them on the table. "A
"The Tch . . . Tchfe . . ." she paused.
"We usually just say Crabs, doc," Mosovich said. "Although the best pronouncement a human can get along with is Tch-fet." He smiled. "I'm one of the few people I know who has ever had to try to speak Crab. And even I don't try when I don't have to."
"Very well, the . . . the Crabs approached the therapy team, us that is, with an offer to try to heal her. They noted that she might die in the process, but that if it worked it would permit various others who had sustained damage to be recovered as well.
"We had . . . authorization to do whatever we liked, except cut off her lifeline, so we acquiesced. She disappeared with the . . . Crabs and reappeared . . . as she is. In less than a week, with significant muscular improvement. 'Miraculous' was the most minor word we used."
Richards paused and shrugged. "From there on out, it's speculation." She frowned and shook her head. "Crazy speculation if you don't mind my using the word.
"Say you have a computer that is broken. You pull out the broken parts, clear out the memory and load on new software. We think that's what the Crabs did. . . . All of it."
"Shit," Mueller whispered. "You mean they . . ."
"They probably had to cut portions of the brain away," Richards said. "Or something just as radical. The damage was extensive and not just a result of bruising; she had some comintuated fractures in her tissue. Repairing that would require cutting and regeneration in, say, your liver. At least for us humans. But whatever the Crabs did, it was just as extensive. And when you finish that, you still have a 'dead' computer. So we think they took a . . . personality, a person if you will, that they had . . . hanging around, and loaded it in Elgars. And the memory stuff that we're seeing is the result of the sort of little fragments of code you just have . . . hanging around. You rarely can get rid of all of it in a computer, much less a human."
"So, A
"Sort of," Richards said with another sigh. "Don't ask me about souls. Who or what a person is is a religious debate as much as a psychological one. For one thing, nature does have some influence on it; that's been repeatedly proven. People seem to tend to . . . fill a mold that is somewhat prepared. They're not locked in deterministically, but it is unlikely that the person A
"What about the thing with the alpha waves?" Mueller asked.
"Ah, that's different," she answered. "A
"Well, I don't know who she is," Mosovich said. "But the question is, can she do her job? Right now we need every rifle we can get. Can she soldier or not?"
"She can do a job," Richards answered. "Quite easily. She's programmed to be a soldier, arguably a 'supersoldier.' She has skills ranging from advanced marksmanship to field expedient demolitions. She can certainly soldier. The question is, what else is she programmed for?"
* * *
Wendy opened the door at the buzz, tucked a squirming Amber under one arm and frowned at the figure in camouflage filling the door. "We gave at the office."
Mueller frowned. "I'd think this was your office."
"It is, but we already contributed," Wendy answered. "In other words, what are you here for?"
"Ah, we were told we could find Captain A
"Cummings," Wendy said, wincing at the anticipated joke. She had lived with her name her whole life. "Wendy Cummings."
"Master Sergeant Mueller," Mueller said. "Charmed. And is Captain Elgars available?" he continued as the baby let out a howl like a fire engine.
"Sure, I'll get her," Wendy said. "Come on in."
She stepped around Kelly, who had chosen the middle of the floor as the obvious place to do a life-sized Tiger puzzle, and walked towards the back.
Mueller looked over his shoulder at Mosovich and shrugged, then stepped through the door. The room was filled with the sort of happy bedlam you get with any group of children, but the noise was dying as the kids noticed the visitors. Before too long Mosovich and Mueller found themselves in a semicircle of kids.
"Are you areal soldier?" one of the little girls asked. Her eyes were brown and just about as big around as saucers.
Mueller squatted down to where he wasn't much over their height and nodded his head. "Yep. Are you a real little girl?"
The girl giggled as one of the boys leaned forward. "Is that a real gun?"
"Yes," Mosovich said with a growl. "And if you touch it you'll get a swat."
"Guns aren't toys, son," Mueller added. "What's your name?"
"Nathan," the kid said. "I'm go
"And that's a fine thing to want to do," Mueller opined. "But you don't start off with a big gun. You learn on little guns first. And someday, if you eat your vegetables, you'll be big like me. And you can kill Posleen all day long."
"Without getting tired?" one of the girls asked.
"Well . . ." Mueller said, flipping a surreptitious finger at Mosovich for laughing, "you do get tired."
"Okay, let's start getting ready for lunch, children," Shari said, coming out of the back with Elgars and Wendy. "Leave these gentlemen alone. Wash hands then sit down for grace."
"I'm Elgars," said the captain, ignoring the children. She had white powder on her hands and a cheek.
"Captain, I'm Sergeant Major Mosovich with Fleet Recon and this is my senior NCO Master Sergeant Mueller." He paused and then nodded as if he'd done some sort of a mental checklist. "Your commander, Colonel Cutprice, sent a message to one of my troops asking him to come down here and find out if you needed rescuing from the shrinks. I don't know if you remember Nichols, but you two went through sniper school together. He got banged up on our last op and is still down in the body-and-fender so I came down here with Mueller instead. Anyway, here I am."
"Okay," Elgars said, with a nod. "So am I being rescued from the shrinks?"
"Is there someplace we can talk, ma'am?" Mosovich temporized. "Someplace quieter?" he added as the children trooped back from the bathroom.
"Not really," Elgars said, raising her voice slightly over the children. "The kitchen isn't much better. We'd have to go to my quarters and I can't really afford the time for that."
"Is this where . . . Do you work here, ma'am?" Mosovich asked.
"Sort of," she answered. "I help out. I'm following Wendy around, getting my bearings again."
"Well," Mosovich frowned. "Okay, the question, ma'am, is, how do you feel about going back on active duty?"