The Peacekeeper had white hair.
Must hold rank. Grunts didn't live long enough to grow old. Not in this war.
He sure drank like a grunt, Levin thought, refilling a glass for the fifth time. Drinking damak, too. Potent.
"I have a theory. Wanna hear it?"
Levin made a cursory swipe at the counter with his rag. Polite conversation with the customers occasionally meant extra currency, something more added with the bill.
Polite conversation with this customer meant the slijnot wouldn't reach across the bar and break his frelling neck.
"Sure. Tell me your theory."
The Sebacean raised a hand, curling all but one gloved finger. Pointing up. Keeping it there for a microt or two, until Levin succumbed to impulse, glanced at the ceiling.
"You only get one chance."
Levin blinked all three of his eyes in sequence, brought his gaze back down. "One chance at what?"
"Dying." The Peacekeeper uncurled fingers, used them to pick up his drink.
"You mean honorably?" Why else would a Peacekeeper care?
"No. To do it at all."
"One chance to die?"
"Yeah. Then you can't do it anymore."
He laughed and regretted it, expecting the action to be met with the business end of a pulse pistol. But the Peacekeeper laughed with him, pushing forward an empty glass for another refill. Levin poured more damak, thought about not charging for this one. "Who would want to, anyway?"
"There are worse things than being dead."
"Like what?"
The Sebacean looked about to respond, but he reached for his drink instead. Silenced himself with a swallow of sapphire liquid.
Battle fatigue. Levin had seen it before. In other Peacekeepers coming in from the Scarran Front. Or going toward it. "Are you expecting to die soon?"
The empty drinking cup tumbled on the bar, clumsily placed. "No. I think I lost my turn."
Levin picked up the glass, held it under the damak spout. A voice interrupted his task, halting the flow of intoxicant.
"He's had enough."
A Luxan stood beside the Peacekeeper. An unlikely pairing, Alliance or not. Levin watched for some hint at hostility. The start of violent disagreement between the two.
"Time to go, D?"
"Yes."
"Lemme pay up." Currency was produced, dropped on the bar. "Thanks."
"Good fortune to you," he said, as Peacekeeper and Luxan eased through the crowd. Levin counted the money with his gaze. Enough to cover the drinks and conversation.
Nebari coin. Rare in these parts.
His gaze cycled upward, toward the door, but the two were already gone. Levin scrapped the currency from the counter, depositing it in the pocket of his apron and went in search of other customers.
Must hold rank. Grunts didn't live long enough to grow old. Not in this war.
He sure drank like a grunt, Levin thought, refilling a glass for the fifth time. Drinking damak, too. Potent.
"I have a theory. Wanna hear it?"
Levin made a cursory swipe at the counter with his rag. Polite conversation with the customers occasionally meant extra currency, something more added with the bill.
Polite conversation with this customer meant the slijnot wouldn't reach across the bar and break his frelling neck.
"Sure. Tell me your theory."
The Sebacean raised a hand, curling all but one gloved finger. Pointing up. Keeping it there for a microt or two, until Levin succumbed to impulse, glanced at the ceiling.
"You only get one chance."
Levin blinked all three of his eyes in sequence, brought his gaze back down. "One chance at what?"
"Dying." The Peacekeeper uncurled fingers, used them to pick up his drink.
"You mean honorably?" Why else would a Peacekeeper care?
"No. To do it at all."
"One chance to die?"
"Yeah. Then you can't do it anymore."
He laughed and regretted it, expecting the action to be met with the business end of a pulse pistol. But the Peacekeeper laughed with him, pushing forward an empty glass for another refill. Levin poured more damak, thought about not charging for this one. "Who would want to, anyway?"
"There are worse things than being dead."
"Like what?"
The Sebacean looked about to respond, but he reached for his drink instead. Silenced himself with a swallow of sapphire liquid.
Battle fatigue. Levin had seen it before. In other Peacekeepers coming in from the Scarran Front. Or going toward it. "Are you expecting to die soon?"
The empty drinking cup tumbled on the bar, clumsily placed. "No. I think I lost my turn."
Levin picked up the glass, held it under the damak spout. A voice interrupted his task, halting the flow of intoxicant.
"He's had enough."
A Luxan stood beside the Peacekeeper. An unlikely pairing, Alliance or not. Levin watched for some hint at hostility. The start of violent disagreement between the two.
"Time to go, D?"
"Yes."
"Lemme pay up." Currency was produced, dropped on the bar. "Thanks."
"Good fortune to you," he said, as Peacekeeper and Luxan eased through the crowd. Levin counted the money with his gaze. Enough to cover the drinks and conversation.
Nebari coin. Rare in these parts.
His gaze cycled upward, toward the door, but the two were already gone. Levin scrapped the currency from the counter, depositing it in the pocket of his apron and went in search of other customers.