I gave the old man a sidelong glance. “You checking IDs, gramps?”

“There was a time you wouldn’t have taken that tone with me, you pup. Better days.” He raised his glass and drank a little, but not much. As he drank I saw a tattoo on the inside of his right forearm.

I put another five-stone coin on the bar, then pointed to the old man. “Give him one from this week’s batch.”

“I don’t need your charity.” He said it sharply, hoping his vehemence could cover his desire.

“Not charity, grandfather, gratitude.” I nodded at him. “That tattoo for real?”

The man snorted. “If it weren’t, do you think I’d show it? You know the stories. It would be long gone.”

I nodded. Though it was faded, I easily recognized the insignia for Stone’s Lament, one of the core regiments that fought with Stone to liberate worlds from tyrants. Of the hammers Stone wielded, Lament was the one he gave the truly tough jobs.

As will always happen, there are those mountebanks who will claim to have been part of something they were not. More than once I’d heard of Lament vets seeking out those who claimed to have been part of Lament and had the tattoo to prove it. Those folks underwent retro-voluntary laser dermabrasion to erase those tattoos—usually in a medical facility since the field operation, using a laser pistol, usually removed a bit more than just the pigment.

“Where did you see action?”

The man sucked the foam off his new beer then licked his mustache away. “You name it. I joined up in ’93 and went through all the campaigns. Capellan was the hardest. Those Warrior Houses weren’t surrendering a centimeter until they were drowning in blood. They killed Allard-Liao and one of Victor’s sons, you know. I fought with Burton. I wouldn’t be sitting here if he hadn’t saved my ass.”

The bartender rolled his eyes, so I could tell a story was going to be coming if I didn’t do something. “What are you doing here, then? I thought Republic vets got taken care of. Half a dozen of the Knights have to be Lament alums.”

The bartender shook his head and went over to stand near a patron who’d passed out at the bar. Lament looked at me with bloodshot blue eyes. “They forgot me. After the peace I got out, came home here, had some trouble adjusting, got in trouble with the law, did some time. The screws didn’t like me, so they sent in paperwork saying I’d died in the hole. I’ve tried complaining, but no one listens. Be easier to come back from the dead than to file all the forms to show I’m not dead.”

I frowned. “But there’s a DNA registry, right?”

He laughed. “Sent a sample. Got a letter back confirming I was dead.”

“You look pretty much alive to me.” I extended a hand toward him. “I’m Sam Donelly.”

“Andy Harness. Folks call me Croaker. That’s what I was in the Lament. Obliged for the beer.” He drank again. “Being dead’s my excuse for being in here. What’s yours?”

“Like you, I’m dead.” I snorted and sipped more beer. “Until an hour ago I worked for ARU harvesting trees up by Kokushima. GGF ambushed some Constabulary folks up there, killed a few, and some damned Republic Knight has decided I’m working with the GGF. She got ARU to fire my butt and since they were housing me, I’ve got nothing. ARU isn’t going to give me a recommendation, so no one on this rock will hire me, and I can’t afford passage away. They’ve dug me a nice little grave and are shoveling dirt on me as fast as they can.”

My voice rose as I spoke, but only the bartender seemed to take notice. I could tell from the expression on his face I was going to be strictly cash-and-carry, and he’d be biting the coins to see if they were real.

Despite how he’d been treated, Andy was still a Republic man. “Well, now, if a Knight thinks that there’s a problem, he must have a reason.”

“It’s a she and she’s listening to that moron Reis. That bloated slug…” I grabbed Andy’s saltshaker. “I’ve half a mind to head back there and just pour this on him and watch him shrivel. Better yet, I can run back to ARU, sneak in, take my ’Mech and show him why a house divided against itself cannot stand.”

Andy laughed at that idea. “He was the assistant warden when I was let go. He’s the one who did me, so I’ll help you.”

“I’m telling you, Andy, he jobbed you and he jobbed me, and the worst of it is that The Republic believes him. You know, if Stone were still around, he’d come down and kick that jerk in the butt, and hard, too, but where are things now, right? Why doesn’t The Republic wake up? That Knight is here backing Reis when he’s a little toy dictator. She ought to be taking him apart and you know what? If she doesn’t, I’m gonna. He’s ruined my life, you know, so I don’t see why he should be sitting fat, dumb and happy. For a stone I’d…”

Andy held a hand up. “Easy there, Sam. Reis is dumb, but in the hole I learned he has spies everywhere. You don’t want to be attracting attention, especially his attention.”

I nodded and drank. “You’re probably right.”

“Oh, I know I am.” Andy frowned. “So you don’t have no place to stay, right?”

I opened my arms. “This is it, Andy, everything I got.”

“Okay, we gotta get you a place to stay. There’s a mission over on Akuma that should have space. They have food, too. Not much, not very good, but it will fill a belly. You can get some rack time there, too. You’ll have to listen to some preaching after supper, but it usually ain’t too bad.”

“I can handle that.” I gave him a smile. “For a dead guy, you’re pretty nice. If Reis has spies all over, though, aren’t you running a risk? He’s got it in for me, and I’m sure he’d love to have you be collateral damage.”

Andy heaved himself up from the bar and slid from his stool. He shook his fists out, not with the awkward motions of a drunk, but the fluid force of someone who once could have whipped everyone in the bar before the head had settled on his beer. Though white hair, gin-blossoms and a keg of paunch cloaked it, I could see the old MechWarrior in him.

“Son, all I been through, I’ve never been afraid of Ichabod Reis. He’s a conniver and he has a special hate for MechWarriors because he couldn’t never get accepted into any training program. When I was with Lament, I’da thought nothing more of him than things I scraped off my boots. Now just my being alive must rankle him, and that’s good enough.” His eyes sparked for a second. “At least, good enough until we saw his house in half.”

Overton

Joppa, Helen

Prefecture III, Republic of the Sphere

20 November 3132

Andy took me under his wing and over the next week I learned quite a bit. Given that he was dead as far as The Republic was concerned, he did pretty well without any official status. When we didn’t make it to the mission in time for food, he knew which restaurants had picky eaters. Sure, the food was all jumbled together, but it all mixes in your stomach anyway.

There’s always a need for day labor. Sure, ConstructionMechs might be the things that put buildings together, but they’re notoriously bad at getting into small spaces and are really too big to be pushing a broom and hauling junk. When we worked on trash details we’d get first pick of the scrap, which we could then sell to dealers for a couple of knights. It wasn’t much, but without food and housing expenses, we didn’t need that much.

Banal was only one of a couple of dives that Andy frequented. Most were pretty close to a mission or where the day labor trucks would drop us back. We’d get paid in cash, of course, and kick some back to the driver so he’d let us onto the crew the next day. The rest of the money didn’t stick with us for very long, but we didn’t go to bed thirsty, so it was counted as a good day.