I shuddered and found myself at the base of the observation tower. I opened it and discovered a spiraling staircase inside. I was huffing by the time I reached the top, which wasn't normal for me.
The top of the tower was air conditioned and possessed its own snack and drink counter. There were five comfortable chairs circling the room. Graves was in one of them, and he and I were alone in the room.
He didn't look at me when I entered. He was staring outside at the training field watching the squads as they broke up and began to spar with one another. There would be no live-fire exercises today. It was all light exercise and hand-to-hand. Even the officers knew when the troops were tired of dying and needed a break.
"Mind if I help myself to a glass, sir?" I asked him.
He waved his hand over his shoulder at me. I took this as approval. I poured myself something fizzy and sweet. It eased my sweating body when I drank it.
"You feeling all right, McGill?" he asked finally.
"Never better."
He chuckled. "You're a tough bastard. I like that. I really do."
"You've got a funny way of showing your love, if you don't mind me saying, Centurion."
He spun around in his chair which swiveled without a squeak. "You want to know why you're up here?"
"So I don't fall on my face on the field and give it all away?"
His smile faltered. "You're angry? I'm surprised, but I guess I shouldn't be. Gratitude is a rare component in most people's personalities."
I blinked at him, then frowned. "You want a big thanks for having me executed?"
"You weren't executed—at least not permanently."
"It felt real enough, sir."
"I think you need to keep things in perspective, Recruit. I didn't have to bring you back. I took a major risk in doing so. I'll have you know that Primus Turov was against it."
That bitch, I thought to myself. But I nodded. "Sorry if I don't feel like kissing anyone's ring today. They told me when I came out it was a bad grow."
Graves frowned. "A bad grow? Why didn't they recycle and do it right?"
I wanted to shiver at the idea of being recycled. Right then, for the first time, I wondered how often that happened. How often did a man miraculously return to life, only to be killed again instantly and brought back yet again? I bet they threw those little slices of our memories away by not copying our minds when such dark events occurred.
I sipped my fizzy sugar water and stared out at the practice field. "They didn't want to risk a regrow. The bio said I should be all right in a few days."
He nodded. "Well enough, then. With any luck, the Galactics will never bring it up again. You were executed promptly with one of their own as a witness. Fortunately, they can't tell us apart nor do they track individual IDs for us. To them, we're like fish thrashing in a vast pond or rabbits nibbling in an endless field. There are billions of us, and we don't matter as individuals."
I looked at him seriously. "Why did you bring me back, sir? It was less of a risk to leave well enough alone."
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