Two men were waiting in front of the nearest hangar. Both were dressed in civilian clothes but might as well have been wearing uniforms, because everything else about them was military, including their haircuts and erect postures. One was tall, the other was short, and he was the one who spoke. “Ark Bennet?” he inquired, as the group walked past. “We’d like to speak with you.”
Kydd nearly fell for it. The only thing that saved him was the fact that he’d been using “Kydd” for so long that it took a second to process what the man had said. And that was sufficient time for his brain to kick in and override the natural tendency to say, “Yes.”
Some of those around Kydd knew his true identity, of course—but a frown was sufficient to silence them. And by that time, the shorter of the two men had switched to a different tactic. “Private Kydd? My name is Corly… . And this is Sergeant Orin. We’re with MSS and we’d like to talk to you.”
“MSS” stood for the Military Security Service, a group it was almost impossible to say “No” to. But before Kydd could reply, Tychus chose to intervene. “I don’t know what this is about,” the noncom said ominously, “but whatever it is can wait. We just came in out of the field. Of course you rear-echelon sons of bitches wouldn’t know much about that, would you?”
When Sergeant Orin turned toward Tychus, his eyes were like blue lasers and his face was wooden. “Sergeant Corly has a medal of valor—and was wounded three times in the battle of Rork’s Rift.” He stepped closer until Tychus felt the agent’s breath on his face. “You think we don’t know what it feels like to put our lives on the line? To see our brothers and sisters get blown to pieces right in front of us? You watch your mouth, son, and pray you never turn up on my case list.”
Kydd knew that a large handgun was probably responsible for the visible bulge under Orin’s jacket. But Tychus was armed too, and Kydd could see the pressure starting to build, as the noncom took a step forward. “You know where you can shove your case list, Sergeant. Or maybe I should do it for you.”
Kydd hurried to get in between them. “No problem, Sarge… . I might as well get this over with. I’ll see you back at the barracks.”
Raynor nodded. “Come on, Tychus… . You can use your natural charm to get me some service at the infirmary.”
Tychus glowered, but allowed himself to be steered away. That left Kydd with the MSS agents. Corly eyed the sniper’s rifle. “Is that thing unloaded?”
Kydd nodded. “It is… . Would you like to check?”
“No,” Corly replied. “That won’t be necessary. Please accompany us to the command center. We have some questions to ask you—but the process won’t take long. We’ll have you back with your buddies shortly.”
Was that true? Or an attempt to put his fears to rest? Kydd didn’t know, not that it mattered, because the MSS agents would do whatever they wanted to do.
It was a short walk to the command center, through the entrance, and down a side hall to an office labeled maintenanceofficer. Kydd felt an emptiness at the pit of his stomach. Because here, after all of the combat, was a different kind of battle. It was a stark choice. Did he want to go back to being Ark Bennet—son of privilege, a businessman, and head of an Old Family? Or did he want to be Ryk Kydd—soldier, sniper, and adventurer?
Orin opened the door to the empty office. A round table was positioned in front of a utilitarian desk covered with clutter. Corly gestured to one of four seats. “Please, sit down.”
Kydd hesitated. This would be a crucial, life-defining decision—there was no turning back after this. What was the saying Raynor used every now and then? The one he always attributed to his father? “You are who you choose to be.” Yeah, that was it. Kydd had always laughed off Raynor’s attempts to impart his sentimental brand of wisdom—that kind of warmth was completely foreign to him. But somehow this one resonated with Kydd, even now, when his mind was filled with anxiety.
Both MSS agents were seated at the table by the time Kydd lowered himself into the steel chair. Corly eyed a viewscreen. “According to your P-1 file, you submitted affidavits claiming that your real name is Ark Bennet—and that you were snatched off the streets of Tarsonis by a rogue recruiter. Is that correct?”
Kydd took a slow, deep breath as he chose his next words. He thought about the former version of himself, the one that had gone for a stroll in the neighborhood called Hacker’s Flat back on Tarsonis, and understood what he had been looking for back then. He’d been looking for a chance to live life outside of the obligations he’d been born to, beyond the cocoon of safety in which his family preferred to live, and earn a place in the world rather than simply inherit it.
“I filed affidavits in which I claimed to be Ark Bennet,” Kydd admitted. “That much is true.”
Corly raised an eyebrow. “And the claim itself? Is that true as well?”
“No,” Kydd said, trying to appear remorseful as he looked down at the tabletop.
“So you lied to Major Macaby?”
Kydd looked straight into his interrogator’s eyes. “Yes, sir.” Kydd swallowed the lump in his throat. “I did.” He shifted his eyes toward Orin.
There was a moment of silence as the MSS agents glanced at each other. It wasn’t the response they’d been expecting.
Kydd’s mind swirled with worry. Did they believe him? Did they already know the truth? Was his father watching them right now? He pretended to cough as he glanced around the room. If there was a camera, he couldn’t see it.
Corly leaned forward. “Why did you lie?”
“Why? I wanted to get the hell out of the Marine Corps,” Kydd replied matter-of-factly. He continued, gaining confidence as he spoke. “I’d heard that a rich kid was missing, and based on the description they gave of him, it sounded as though we have a similar appearance.”
“Yes, there is an uncanny resemblance, Private.” He paused for a moment as he examined Kydd’s face. “Although you look leaner, tougher almost. So what changed?” he asked as he looked back at the screen. “Why are you coming clean now?”
“I’ve had time to think it through. I mean, how far would I get?” Kydd inquired cynically, as his eyes came back into contact with Corly’s. “To Tarsonis? Where the family would denounce me?” He laughed incredulously, for dramatic effect. “I mean, is the family still looking for this kid? How long’s it been? Months?”
“There are quite a few bounty hunters out there trying to nab the hefty reward offered by the family. Damn shame we’re not eligible for it, because Sergeant Orin and I are feeling pretty close to finding our man.” Those words sent a chill down Kydd’s spine. “So yes, even now, the search is still ongoing. We have nearly a hundred leads to comb through.” He pressed some buttons on the terminal. “You may be surprised to learn that your profile was assigned a relatively low percentage rating for a match. But then again, Sergeant Orin and I know that the computers are programmed to assume that all of our military recruiters are law-abiding citizens.”
Kydd felt relieved, but was careful to keep the emotion hidden.
“But,” Corly continued, “allowing for the possibility that some recruiters will break the law to make quotas, we ran a retinal scan and compared it to the one the Bennets gave us.” He looked squarely at Kydd. “You’re a match, Private.”
The floor seemed to drop out from under Kydd. He felt dizzy, nauseous. His voice quivered as he spoke. “Regardless of what you think,” Kydd pleaded, “I’m in this for good, and you can’t take that away from me. I have a great record, I’m the best at what I do, and my platoon needs me.” He paused to muster his resources, which seemed to be fading. “Those men and women—those are my brothers and sisters out there.” He punctuated his words by jutting his finger in the direction of the barracks. His eyes moistened. Embarrassed, he looked down at the table.