Patting the NCO's shoulder, Connors answered, "I'm sure you'll be back, Bob."

"But will it be me that comes back?" Tears began to roll down the NCO's blank, lifeless face.

"God . . . I don't know, Bob. I can tell you that the tank didn't make me any different on the inside."

"Me neither, Sergeant Duncan," Martinez added, more than a little embarrassed for the junior noncom. Martinez knew Duncan was going to remember the tears and feel the shame of them long after he and the skipper had forgotten. "I came out the same Marine I went in as . . . just younger, stronger and healthier.

"By the way, Skipper," Martinez asked, turning his attention away from Duncan's streaming face, "what were you doing before the rejuv? I was a retired gunny, infantry, and just marking time in Jacksonville, North Carolina . . . waitin' to die."

"Oh, I did a lot of crap after I left the Army, Top. Do you mean what did I do in the Army? I was a DAT."

"What's a DAT?"

Connors smiled. "A DAT is a dumb-assed tanker, Top."

"So how did you end up in infantry, sir?" Duncan asked, showing for once a little interest in something.

"I hate the internal combustion engine, Sergeant Duncan. Just baffles the crap out of me. So when I got rejuved and they sent my unwilling ass to OCS I worked that same ass off so that I'd have a choice when I graduated. And I chose Mobile Infantry to keep the hell away from tanks."

Duncan rocked his head slightly from side to side, which was also a bit more life than he had shown for a while. "Okay . . . maybe I could see that."

Earth Orbit, Indowy Freighter Selfless Accord

"Let me see my e-mail, AID," Connors ordered, alone in his cramped cabin aboard ship.

The cabin measured about six feet by nine, and had a ceiling so low Connors had to duck his head to stand up to stretch his legs. The bed was stowed against the wall and a fold-out table served as the desk on which rested the AID, a black box about the size of a pack of cigarettes.