But, what the hell, he didn’t envy being skewered by a jealous husband if he stayed around here. Not to mention being watched like a hawk by the other jealous husbands. It was common knowledge he screwed around, of course, but every man assumed his own wife was perfectly sexually satisfied at home. Or, at least, the women he chose had that kind of husband. He made a point of skipping the suspicious ones. Damn Claire.

In the end, he decided fuck it, and lined up with the others to give his vocal signature to the contract. Every one of the other guys was signing on, and this bunch didn’t look like suckers to him. He’d take his chances.

David Wheeler was not an attractive man. He had been cursed with a large nose, ears that stuck out from his head, and a tendency to freckle. There were some things rejuv just didn’t clean up. Sure, his buck teeth had been corrected as a matter of course, but being juved wasn’t the same thing as having good, old-fashioned plastic surgery. The other thing rejuv didn’t touch was the fundamental personality, nature and nurture together. In David’s case, who knew what genes his father had bestowed? His mother had been a war whore, and he was the result of a Galactic policy that treated women like breeding stock. The tendency of adults and children alike to favor the beautiful put a fine polish on whatever nature gave him.

Wheeler shared only a couple of traits with the bleached-blond twit in the shuttle seat next to him. The first was that both were quite fit. He knew the other man’s work, such as it was, and its motivation. The second was a complete and total lack of conscience. It was the only thing about the over-sexed moron he remotely respected.

“So, what’d we sign up for?” the other man asked him.

“A trip to the vet. My god, I hope you’re not on my team,” Wheeler said, pulling his hat down over his eyes and leaning back to catch some sleep.