I cleaned up and went to the shop, because I did have actual work lined up. One of the warehouses needed new bearing rollers for their loadout system. Silver went to her “job.” I actually don’t know where she disappeared two divs a day. I should probably learn that, though I assumed it involved talking to Naumann about me, hopefully through mail drops. I couldn’t imagine he’d risk another face-to-face, but I should find out.
I worked until lunch, and was able to stop thinking. The rollers were straight tube, with pressed in bearing surfaces on each end. I did that part by hand, once I had them cut, because there were only fifty of them and it was easier to hold the piece and crank the press than to set up the Brett Loader to do it. I hate having the mechanical monstrosity walk around the shop anyway. It feels too much like a person I can’t stop.
I grabbed a calzone from Andre at lunch time. It felt as if everyone was watching me, and probably a few were. The story of the robbers was out, and a few knew I’d been the agent who dealt with them. Probably quite a few knew I was a vet, and it was statistically certain the story had blown out of proportion. I wasn’t exactly discreet at this point.
Had Naumann chosen me because he knew I could be manipulated? Was this even more dangerous than he’d hinted and he expected me to be taken out in the process?
Well, bring it on, dogfucker. I’d welcome it.
Andre handed over my usual and smiled.
Maybe I was reading too much into things.
I finished the steaming pastry, finished setting the bearings, and delivered the crate of goods. McMillan are honest business people, so I was happy to let them accept an invoice with net fifty.
Silver’s runabout was parked near the shop when I got back. I glanced at the time and yes, that’s how late it was. The bay door was open so I slipped in quietly and looked around.
I heard her voice. She was in the reception room that led to the stairs and lift. I’m a natural spy and a trained one as well. I eased into a slouch next to the engine lathe and listened. Chelsea was there, too.
“So what’s your dad like? How do you handle him?”
Chelsea said, “He can be very intense. Unforgiving, some ways. He has no patience for quitting.”
“Yeah, I found that out,” Silver said, a slight rueful tone in her voice.
“But he’s very generous and compassionate. He lets me be my own person, even if he’s strict. I love him a lot.”
“Sounds as if he’s a good dad.”
“I suppose. I know I feel luckier than most of my friends. Though I’m not sure how to handle this new past of his. He’d told me he’d been a soldier, and done some rescue work. He said he’d been in some ugly combat and didn’t want to talk about it. But now . . .” she paused, “. . . I dug into the records about his career and unit. They’re . . . disturbing. I never realized how much abuse he took, even before the war. Even before Mtali. He’s spent sixteen years dealing with death and pain.” She sounded hurt.
Yeah, I’d wanted to save her from that. That, and there’s just no way to explain it. Nor could I trust anyone with that information. No priest, no therapist. The only counselor I had was me.
I’d never thought about that, either. I’m probably a shit counselor.
“Yes,” Silver agreed. “I’ve seen the stuff you probably couldn’t find. It’s a sad story. The military uses its resources, and he’s just another resource to them. One that can cause a devastating amount of damage. Yet he’s a totally different person from Marshal Naumann, who’s done about the same. I think Naumann handles it better.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. But he doesn’t have a family, and he’s . . . colder. Probably sociopathic to some degree. Your dad’s really too nice to have done what he has. And he’s still nice after taking it all. He’s a very strong man.”
“It doesn’t sound like a job you put a nice person into,” Chelsea said.
“Would you want a cruel one doing it?” Silver asked.
Right. A cruel one like Naumann who could sentence people to die and not feel compassion. The right person at the strategic level. At the tactical level, he would be war crimes waiting to happen. Instead, send a nice kid. You’ll fuck his brain, but his guilt will stop him before he randomly kills people in compensation for the stress. A few may even kill themselves. Another may even start killing others, but rationalize it as moral because he’s being paid.
I’d avoided going mad by not thinking about this. I’d flushed a large part of my past from memory. Now I was recalling it, and recalling why I’d flushed it.