“Yes, sir,” we all mumble. All except Lashley, who’s just holding his robe in a balled up fist.
Surber walks right by him and visits me again.
“Well, Carter, we’re going to have to hurry up if we’re going to be rolling when I said we needed to be.”
“Let’s put ’em on and get into the truck!” I shout.
Surber nods, a flat smile on his face. “And Carter, don’t make me have to do something like this again.”
He’s whispering, sparing me the embarrassment. I guess that’s welcome enough. It’s him not wanting to cut my balls off in front of my team.
“You need this job. Up to your eyeballs in debt, a marriage on the rocks, kids in private school, a house you can’t afford, and a nice, new family speeder parked in the driveway that’s always one bad decision away from repossession. And what will the neighbors in that exclusive little gated community you’ve set your family up in think when the tow sleds show up? And how will your wife handle the shame of that?”
I just stare at the man. But really, I’m looking at myself. Literally and figuratively. I can see my reflection in those black shades. And I’ve got no one to argue with and no one to answer to but myself. I made this. I thought everything Surber just named was what would fix all Mel and mine’s problems.
And now I’m too deep to back out. It would ruin what chances I have at working things out with Mel. It would disrupt my kids’ lives.
It is what it is.
“Understood, Mr. Surber.”
“I know.” He turns and steps back inside his speeder, pausing as his two bodyguards—dressed in their own koob robes—wait at the door for him to step inside. “You’ll all follow me.”
“How about these trucks, sir?” I ask.
“We’ll arrange cleanup from Command.”
I nod and then circle my finger in the air. “Figure out who’s driving in the cab and who’s bouncing on the cargo.”
Lana and Easy make directly for the cab, which means I’ll be in the back with the dead bodies for the trip. I don’t mind that, really. It’s not gonna make me smell any worse and I’ll have more room to stretch out.
Abers stands, watching Lana and Easy jump up into the cab. “That’s it? No discussion? No debate? I gotta ride with nasty-ass dead koobs?”
Our sniper follows Easy, who’s standing outside as his Marine buddy hops into the passenger side of the cab, leaving Lana to drive.
“Hey!” Abers says, a smile on his face. “How ‘bout we bet on it, Easy? Rock, datapad, lasers? That’s right up your alley, ain’t it?”
Easy slams the door and sticks his fist out the window, one prominent finger raised.
As Abers and Winters climb into the back of the truck, I approach Lashley. He’s just now putting on his robe, which seems way too small for his barrel chest and frame.
“So how come Surber didn’t bust your chops?”
Lashley rolls his shoulders and picks up his SAB again. “Man ain’t got nothin’ on me. I wanted to be here.”
04
It’s surprisingly comfortable to ride through the desert on a throne of your vanquished foes. I can’t believe it took me this many years to find out. Seems like things like this would have been part of Legion orientation when I was first assigned to the 42nd.
Stench aside, those guys don’t know what they’re missing. Actually, if I had a bucket on with filters running, this would be pretty sweet. As it stands, it’s enough that Winters is asking for a capture of the guys riding dirty in the back of the truck.
“I’ll take the holo,” I say, grabbing Winters’s datapad from his hand before he can answer.
He, Abers, and even Lashley pose at the height of the pile, right up next to the cab. I can see Lana and Easy through the windshield, so it’s a pretty good group shot. Easy makes sure to flip me off as I start the holo-recording.
This may seem a little macabre. And in truth, it is. Which is why I made sure not to be in the holo. Those things always seem to have a way of catching up with you, and I intend on having a life after all this.
But I did take the holo.
I did take the holo.
“I’m gonna see if I can get a connection with the missus,” I say, tossing the datapad back to Winters. I move to the end of the truck bed, close enough to the gate that the moving sun is flooding in underneath the synthweave fabric canopy over us. “And I swear to Oba, if any of you interrupt me if I get a solid link, I will bury you beneath the pile until you’re marinated in koob blood, and sell you to the donks as a meat stick at the nearest bazaar.”
“Rog, Carter.”
I sit down, my back facing the team and the desert in front of me. The shot-up caravan of white koob trucks we dispatched is shrinking in the distance as we roll. But the desert is flat, and you can see for miles. This view may not change for a while.
“I feel like we should have put these robes on after the ride,” Winters opines. “Seems kind of counterproductive to get all dressed up only to soak ourselves in gore.”
I hold up a finger and half-turn to face the man. “No. See… that’s what I’m talking about. No. Don’t do that. No conversation starters. I need you to shut up.”
“All right,” Winters says, holding his hands
