Carson sighed. “So I’m aware.”

“Big pressure, sir,” Herzer said, nodding. “Welcome to the world-saver’s club. Admission is hard. Staying in is harder,” he added with a grin, holding up one arm that terminated in a complex prosthetic.

“You haven’t had that replaced, I notice,” Carson said, walking over to the racks and putting up his armor and weapons.

“Well, Megan has access to the power,” Herzer admitted. “And Mistress Daneh, or even her daughter Rachel, is more than capable of doing the regeneration. But…” He looked at the device and clicked it thoughtfully. “It has some things it does better than a hand and, in general, I’ve found that those are useful. Maybe if we ever win this damned war I’ll have it replaced. Until then, I think I’ll keep it. Great for opening beer bottles.”

“And speaking of Lady Megan,” Carson said, smiling. “Where is your fiancée?”

“Getting ready for the Foundation Ball, sir.” Herzer grimaced, looking up at the wall mounted chronometer. “Which I’m also supposed to attend.”

“Hanging out with the nobs, eh?” Carson said, smiling. “Why don’t you look happy? Plenty of majors would like an opportunity to bend the ear of the Army commander, for example.”

“Well, honestly, I can bend Duke Edmund’s ear any time I’d like, sir,” Herzer said, shrugging. “And if he thinks it’s worthwhile he’ll bring it to Minister Spehar, which carries more weight than a major doing it. But, honestly, sir, it’s four hours of standing around making polite conversation with people who will take your words and use them as a knife in your back. Then there are the after-dinner speeches. I don’t even get to sit with Megan since she’s real high society and I’m just her… fiancé. I’ll be down in the peanut gallery with the lowlifes like… well… colonels and select members of the House of Commons.”