Humans to have survived Eeloir and Neskfaat, and was the only one officially still alive. They cared
that he owned a yacht, and had Bajnan brokers overlooking a dozen different
bank accounts on Eeloir.
They didn’t care
about Joe . They wanted to take him out in public and get their picture
taken with the legend so they could send it back home to their Aunt Jenny—or
tell the tabloids about the size of his cock during an hour-long exposé on his
lovemaking skills, after which they quit the Army and retire to Kaleu to live
on the royalties.
Not for the
first time, Joe cursed himself for going back to Torat, rather than finding
another war to get lost in. He was turning to leave when the Prime Commander
touched his arm.
“Sir,” she said
sincerely, her face a picture of innocence, “you don’t have to go at it alone.”
Joe knew it
wasn’t kind, but he snorted anyway. “No offense, lady, but shows what you
know.” He tugged his arm out of her grip and turned to stalk across the parade
grounds to the place where he’d left his haauk. He wasn’t sure if she was
actually sincere or not, but he’d had way too many innocent-looking girls grab
him by the arm and look up at him with those same soulful doe-eyes and say
something similar, only to find a new documentary about him on the newsfeeds a
couple weeks later, narrated by the very girls he’d taken to bed—undercover
reporters for one of the Peacemaker news agencies—after his ‘innocent’ young
playmate had left him one morning without even a note.
‘Jaded’ didn’t
even begin to describe Joe’s outlook on life. He knew as much, but he didn’t
really care. Not anymore. He didn’t care about much of anything anymore. He woke up each morning, forced himself to leave Jane under his
pillow, got out of bed, went to the mirror, and recited to himself what he had
to live for.
War.
That was pretty
much the extent of it. He lived for war. He lived for the buzz of plasma, the
scent of ozone and burned flesh. He used the legend of Zero to scare a few
recruits into shaping up, then went home to drink himself into another stupor.
Pretty burning
pathetic.
As Joe got on
his haauk and drove himself home, he wondered what Daviin would have thought,
seeing him now. Without even looking at himself in a mirror, Joe doubted
Daviin would approve. He knew his uniform was rumpled, his boots laced
haphazardly, his sleeves loose and baggy. He had permanent rings under his
eyes from an increasingly chronic insomnia, his gut was starting to pooch from
twenty turns of being able to eat whatever he wanted, and his left hand started
to shake again whenever he didn’t have a good, stiff drink, so he drank
whenever he was alone.
And, as the man
wearing Zero’s legend, Joe was always alone.
He really wasn’t
looking forward to his next chat with Daviin, but he had the nagging feeling it
was coming soon. He hadn’t even spoken to the Jreet in a couple rotations, but
he saw his old buddy making waves in Congress just about every time he turned
on the newsfeeds. The last time he’d talked to his former Sentinel, Joe had
been busting up yet another Huouyt takeover on Telastus, and he hadn’t had time
to talk. Joe, PlanOps had quickly learned, had a better sense for Huouyt than
an Ayhi-manufactured zora scanner, and they’d put him to work combing his way
through all the government positions on Telastus, finding plants.
After all,
scanners were wrong twenty percent of the time. Joe had only ever been wrong
once.
Well, twice, Joe
amended, thinking of Galek. But Peacemakers had interfered on that one, and
had given Galek’s chip to his assassin, so that, mentally, the Huouyt continued
to register to Joe as the Ooreiki. Joe liked to think he would’ve been able to
tell the difference if he hadn’t been chipped—and talking to him in his mind—as
Galek.
Excuses ,
he thought, miserable. So many died for you and you have
that he owned a yacht, and had Bajnan brokers overlooking a dozen different
bank accounts on Eeloir.
They didn’t care
about Joe . They wanted to take him out in public and get their picture
taken with the legend so they could send it back home to their Aunt Jenny—or
tell the tabloids about the size of his cock during an hour-long exposé on his
lovemaking skills, after which they quit the Army and retire to Kaleu to live
on the royalties.
Not for the
first time, Joe cursed himself for going back to Torat, rather than finding
another war to get lost in. He was turning to leave when the Prime Commander
touched his arm.
“Sir,” she said
sincerely, her face a picture of innocence, “you don’t have to go at it alone.”
Joe knew it
wasn’t kind, but he snorted anyway. “No offense, lady, but shows what you
know.” He tugged his arm out of her grip and turned to stalk across the parade
grounds to the place where he’d left his haauk. He wasn’t sure if she was
actually sincere or not, but he’d had way too many innocent-looking girls grab
him by the arm and look up at him with those same soulful doe-eyes and say
something similar, only to find a new documentary about him on the newsfeeds a
couple weeks later, narrated by the very girls he’d taken to bed—undercover
reporters for one of the Peacemaker news agencies—after his ‘innocent’ young
playmate had left him one morning without even a note.
‘Jaded’ didn’t
even begin to describe Joe’s outlook on life. He knew as much, but he didn’t
really care. Not anymore. He didn’t care about much of anything anymore. He woke up each morning, forced himself to leave Jane under his
pillow, got out of bed, went to the mirror, and recited to himself what he had
to live for.
War.
That was pretty
much the extent of it. He lived for war. He lived for the buzz of plasma, the
scent of ozone and burned flesh. He used the legend of Zero to scare a few
recruits into shaping up, then went home to drink himself into another stupor.
Pretty burning
pathetic.
As Joe got on
his haauk and drove himself home, he wondered what Daviin would have thought,
seeing him now. Without even looking at himself in a mirror, Joe doubted
Daviin would approve. He knew his uniform was rumpled, his boots laced
haphazardly, his sleeves loose and baggy. He had permanent rings under his
eyes from an increasingly chronic insomnia, his gut was starting to pooch from
twenty turns of being able to eat whatever he wanted, and his left hand started
to shake again whenever he didn’t have a good, stiff drink, so he drank
whenever he was alone.
And, as the man
wearing Zero’s legend, Joe was always alone.
He really wasn’t
looking forward to his next chat with Daviin, but he had the nagging feeling it
was coming soon. He hadn’t even spoken to the Jreet in a couple rotations, but
he saw his old buddy making waves in Congress just about every time he turned
on the newsfeeds. The last time he’d talked to his former Sentinel, Joe had
been busting up yet another Huouyt takeover on Telastus, and he hadn’t had time
to talk. Joe, PlanOps had quickly learned, had a better sense for Huouyt than
an Ayhi-manufactured zora scanner, and they’d put him to work combing his way
through all the government positions on Telastus, finding plants.
After all,
scanners were wrong twenty percent of the time. Joe had only ever been wrong
once.
Well, twice, Joe
amended, thinking of Galek. But Peacemakers had interfered on that one, and
had given Galek’s chip to his assassin, so that, mentally, the Huouyt continued
to register to Joe as the Ooreiki. Joe liked to think he would’ve been able to
tell the difference if he hadn’t been chipped—and talking to him in his mind—as
Galek.
Excuses ,
he thought, miserable. So many died for you and you have
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