![]() In some of my worst nightmares, they roll to stare up at me and gasp, Why, Sarge? I still wonder what it was all for. His crew cut brought to mind an unwelcome flash of memory I'd be willing to trade my left kidney to lose: the front lines of old Mother Russia where my gunner squad had unexpectedly come upon a platoon of Eastern Conglomerate mandroids, two of my foot soldiers instantly decapitated by the sweep of a massive bayonet, their heads-both sporting the same close-cropped haircut-landing at my feet. No contact from her abductors? Only the real deal shone like that these pearls were genuine, and they hadn't come cheap. The streetlight outside pierced the slats of my venetian blinds, painting the earnest couple in horizontal streaks of amber that gleamed from the string of pearls around the woman's throat. I leaned back in my faux-leather desk chair until it squeaked. The acid rains had a way of making our natives restless, wearing them down along with the eroding buildings and curbs along every street. ![]() Madison? His eyes were intense, as clear and blue as the sky our city hadn't seen in weeks. ![]() Her husband, a burly retired jarhead who'd served two tours and kept the bad haircut, put his arm around her. Why would they take her? She begged for an answer, like there was one hanging in midair I could pluck down to satisfy her. It was a wet, awful night in the city, but the thundering rain against my windowpane had some serious competition in the tears streaming down the woman's face before me. ![]()
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