"It can't, Lawrence." He was almost pleading. "If they could break e-alpha we'd be wide open to them. Hell, we'd never even have made it down from orbit."
"Yeah." Lawrence took another sip from his bottle: it was his fourth, or fifth. Not a bad brew, based on some Nordic ideal of three hundred years ago with an alcohol percentage higher than he was used to. "I guess you're right" The sun had vanished now, pulling a veil of deep tropical darkness over Memu Bay. Streetlights and neon signs threw a rosy haze into the air above the marina. Farther down the beach, someone had started a bonfire. He took a slow glance around the bar, watching his men fooling about. "Will you look at that? We're commanding the biggest bunch of losers in the galaxy."
"They're damn good, and you know it. We just got all shook-up by Nic, is all."
"Maybe. But this whole outfit isn't what it used to be. There used to be enough of us to damn well make sure there were no screwups like truck crashes and pressurized lander pods. And nobody would ever have taken a shot at us like they did poor old Nic."
"Lawrence..."
"I mean it. I used to go along with it when I was younger. Now I'm old enough to know better. A lot better."
"Jesus, Lawrence, are you having a midlife crisis on me? Is that what this is?"
"No, that's very definitely not what this is."
"You got doubts about the job, Lawrence? If you have, then I'm telling you, you've got to sideline yourself. It ain't right someone with doubts leading us. You might—"
"Hesitate to shoot? I won't hesitate to shoot. I came to terms with that a long time ago. Our Skin is the one thing that stops our conscience being put on the line every day. We don't kill anyone; technology takes care of that. We knock them out and give them the mother of all headaches, but no scruples get trashed on the way."
"Then what the hell is this about?"
"My life. I shouldn't be here, you know. I made the wrong choice a long time ago."
"Ho fuck." Amersy took a big swig of beer. "Is this about that girl again?"
Lawrence's hand moved automatically to the small pendant under his T-shirt. "Fate, I was stupid. I should never have left. Never."
"I knew it! God damn! Who the hell keeps killing themselves over a girl for twenty years? Lawrence, man, I can't even remember the first time I got laid, never mind what her name was."
Lawrence grinned over the top of his bottle. "Yes, you can."
"Yeah, okay. Maybe. But Jesus ... twenty years. I mean, your chick, she's got to be grossing out at a hundred kilos now, a housemom out in the burbs dosing up on antis to get through the day, with at least a couple of ex-husbands, not to mention some grandchildren knocking around."
"Not Roselyn. She would have made something of her life; she was never as dumb as me. And in any case, she was only a part of Amethi."
"You always go on about that planet like it's some kind of paradise. Why did you leave?"
"I told you, I'm a dumb fuck. The dumbest there is. I made a mistake. I had it all, you know, I just didn't realize it at the time."
"Everyone's like that when they're teenagers. I mean, Christ, you've met my kids."
"Don't complain, they're good kids. You're lucky to have a family like that."
"Yeah, man. Guess so."
Lawrence couldn't help smiling. Hell, two guys getting loaded in a bar, talking about their families and how they'd screwed up their lives. How deeper in could you get? "Would you leave?" he asked slowly, trying to make it come over casual.
"Leave what?"
"The platoon. Strategic security. Z-B. Everything. Would you quit if you could?"
"Come on, man, you know I've got a family. My stake's not big enough to take care of them if I stop work. I can't quit."
"But if you could? If you didn't have to worry about your stake."
Amersy grinned wide. "Sure. If I could dump this shit, I would. Who wouldn't?"
"Good," Lawrence said in satisfaction. If he ever hoped to pull off his private mission into the hinterlands, he would have to have Amersy on his side. "Let's go get some more beers."
Edmond Orlov lurched into them as they made their way back to the bar. He clutched at Amersy, barely stopping himself from falling. His smile was beatific. "Hey, Corp, Sarge, how you doing? Ain't this the coolest place? Apart from the heat, that is."
He started giggling wildly. Lawrence hadn't really been paying attention, but he thought Orlov had just come out of the toilets.
"You know, it's still pretty early," Amersy said. "You've got to learn to pace yourself, man."
"Sure thing." Edmond threw a salute, almost missing his head. "You got it, Corp. But don't you worry. I'm on it." He tottered over to the jukebox, and after squinting, managed to slide his credit coin in the slot. A spiral video grid twisted up inside the juke's cylindrical pane. Edmond started muttering: "Oh yeah" and "you, baby, you" to the AS as his finger waved at various grids. "Gimme some of that. Oh brother, I want me a piece of that, too." Ska calypso music started to pound out of the overhead speakers. Edmond backed away from the juke, eyes closed, arms waving in a rhythm that didn't quite correspond to anything being played.
All of the locals were nudging each other and smirking at the solitary, swaying figure. His own platoon mates and several of the other platoons laughed and clapped as he began to speed up.
"I gotta have that beer," Amersy said, and broke for the bar.
Lawrence took a last backward glance at Edmond. Something was going to have to be done about him. But not tonight. "Pain level's too high," he whispered as he went after Amersy.
Hal was still on his prominent stool at the middle of the counter. His smile flicked on at every girl who walked in. It never lasted long. The girls who arrived in groups checked him out immediately, then giggled among themselves as they found an empty section of the bar away from him. He earned himself some hard warning stares from boyfriends. Single girls had seemingly all perfected the same dismissive sneer.
"I've been ripped off," Hal whined to Amersy as the corporal leaned on the counter and tried to attract one of the barmen. "Can we employ lawyers to sue people here?"
"What the hell are you talking about?" Amersy asked.
"This," Hal grunted. He flicked his glance downward.
Amersy peered at the trooper's feet. "Your shoes don't fit?"
"No! Not that!"
"What's happening?" Lawrence asked. "Hal, you still here? I thought you'd have scored by now."
"I've been sold a dud," Hal told them through clenched teeth. He held his left arm up. There was a slim black band round his wrist. "I haven't got a bleep out of it all evening. Eighty goddamn credits that son of a bitch took off me."
Lawrence had to forcibly hold back his laughter. "Is that what I think it is, Hal?"
"It's not illegal, Sarge," Hal protested. "The guy in the shop swore everyone here uses PSAs."