“What gives? I know, you can’t tell me, right? OPSEC?” Mike studied the glowing end of his cigar then took another draw.

“I can’t and I won’t play twenty questions.” General Horner stabbed the conference table with a finger and pinned his former subordinate with a glare. “Here’s the deal,” he continued, blowing out another fragrant cloud. The room had rapidly filled with cigar smoke. “This conference will last three days. I can hold you as a tech rep, for a really stupid amount of money, for the conference, maybe a week. But that is only if you agree to take a commission now. Further, we’ll be locked in for quite a while afterwards, maybe a couple of months and any communications with home will be monitored and censored…”

“Hold it, you also didn’t say anything about a goddamn lock-in!” Mike snapped, his face stony.

“Debate is not allowed about the lock-in so don’t even go there, it’s been ordered by the President. Or you can go home and in a few months get orders to report to Benning as a sergeant.” Jack leaned back and softened his tone. “But if you come on board now Sharon will get the tech rep check in a week — I can disburse it out of Team funds — and after that you’ll be making O-2’s salary and benefits including medical and housing, and so on.” Jack cocked his head and waited for an answer.

“Sir, look, I’m working on a career here… ” Mike twiddled the cigar and contemplated the top of the conference table. He found himself unable to meet Horner’s gaze.

“Mike, do not kick me in the teeth. I would not have requested you if you were stupid. I will make this as plain as I can within the limits of my orders: I need you on my team.” He stabbed the table again. “Not to put too fine a point on it, your country needs you. Not writing science fiction or making web pages, but doing science fiction. Our kind.”