“Even though,” says Reiser, looking around. Looking at the zhee as they menace those attempting to servilely placate them, leading them to a grand table set up just for their needs. “Even though it’s a world full of them little koobs… it’s the zhee that have the real power around here right now, Jack. Always is with them, on every planet. And, when you think about it, it’s hard to say why, ain’t it? I mean, what the hell do they do? They don’t work. They’re difficult and hard to get along with. They treat every other race no better than the insects you step on when you cross any third-rate alien world. You know why that is, Jack? You know why the zhee, a basically worthless species, get treated like the princes of the galactic kingdom—that is, whatever the galaxy is post-Republic? You know why that is, Jack?”
Reiser watches the man he’s been sent to meet with and feigns surprise when he gets an answer.
“Because everyone’s afraid of them,” mutters Jack Bowie, relaxed and leaned back in his chair. Both men could kill each other from a dead standstill. Reflexes, training, and weapons would barely make the difference. Both are experts. Who lived would be decided by the ephemeral lady luck. As in… who decided to move first. That was probably the only real factor that would make the decision.
Reiser smiled at Jack’s deft insight. The intent was that the smile should seem genuine. Patronizingly so. Indicating that was exactly what he was looking for. The right answer.
“Yeah, Jack. That’s right. Everyone’s afraid of ’em. You’re right about that. Solid copy.”
Then he turned back to Jack, once the zhee entourage had passed into their private lounge. Teams of red-jacketed waiters swarmed the herd with all manner of delicacies. Soon the honking-braying indicating zhee gustatory delight would commence.
Reiser turned back and leaned in confidentially.
“This is something completely new, Jack. Brand new. And for what it’s worth… I’m all in, buddy.”
“Gonna make the galaxy a better place, Reiser?” asked Bowie, barely concealing his contempt.
“Yeah. Something like that, Jack. Something like that. But…”
“Then you’d better start with that sled full of dobie pups you blew up. Just so the packs would keep fighting each other and all those other lies you guys told that year on Psydon.”
That had been a bad incident long after the Legion’s big conflict on that world. A supposed terrorist act by one of the militant tribes that got a sled full of dobie pups blown up on their way to a Repub medical facility. In the end it came out that it was a Nether Ops play gone horribly wrong. To the intelligence community, that is.
If only everyone had found that out before the Day of Genocide and six hundred thousand dead dobies needed to be erased from the pack rolls to pay for the crime.
“Hey… I didn’t like it any more than you did. But forty years of peace after the Legion’s conflict there and it was all about to go sideways again. And in the end, whether you like it or not… bad guys got theirs. And the Legion didn’t have to go in and die for some dogs. ’Cause that’s what they are, Jack. Dogs. So there’s that. Okay, smart guy?”
Bowie stared at the man across the table for a long moment. Just to let him know he knew the score. And that he could stare at him and wasn’t afraid of him at all. In fact the look said that Jack Bowie wouldn’t mind seeing what luck had to say if the two of them decided to tangle.
Reiser leaned back and muttered a slur. A volatile man, a bull, would have demanded an answer for that insult. Jack Bowie wasn’t that. He had the patience of a spider. But he could explode when needed.
He crossed his legs and leaned back.
“So, you’re not Nether Ops anymore but the things you used to do are still okay? I got that right, Reiser?”
Reiser said nothing.
“Things are changing, Jack. You and I both know it. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here. So save your holier-than-thou for another time, Jack Bowie, because everyone knows what you really are, and why you’re here. Freelancer.”
If that was intended to hurt, it didn’t. In fact it didn’t even faze Jack Bowie. He didn’t have any illusions about his life. He’d given all that up when the 7th went boom like a firecracker at a battle he was supposed to have been at.
All the illusion, and the biggest one of all, had died that day. Best to be clear about it.
Yeah, Reiser was right. The galaxy was becoming something new. And everyone was worried about the same thing. Would the new boss be the same as the old boss?
No one knew the answer.
That was why it was the biggest question.
“So who is he?” Again the specific identifier was dropped. They both knew the “he” being referred to indicated Nilo. The problem was no one really knew “who” the “he” was. Nilo was a big mystery and if anyone knew anything hard, they weren’t saying. Just yet.
Bowie had heard recruiting was going on for something new. And if your contact info was submitted, credentials verified, then you got an audition. Whoever Nilo was, whoever his, or even her, people were, they’d been able to verify Bowie’s credentials. Which had been rated very high back in Repub Naval Intel. Need to Know. That was for sure. But someone had known. Because the audition had been tailored specifically for his skill set.
Infiltration and Termination.
Espionage, infiltration, and… his time attached to the Marine Reapers… termination. Just for the training, specifically. The shooting skills. He’d applied their teaching on behalf of Navy Intel in other situations no one was ever supposed to know about.
Except Nilo, Team Nilo, had found out. And now here he was.
