The corporal led him to what had once been the house's kitchen. A ten-gallon jug of water sat on the counter; soap, towel, razor, and washcloth rested in a bucket.
Valentine saw packs and a duffel. The corporal extracted a set of Southern Command fatigues from one of them. Valentine recognized his old cammies from his stint as operations officer in the ad hoc regiment known as the Razors. His nose detected mothballs, though someone had made an effort to freshen up the uniform by packing it with acacia buds.
Valentine cleaned himself up, passed a forefinger over the thick fabric of the battle dress. Clever of Lambert. Once he was in uniform, sitting across the table from others in similar dress, old dutiful habits would naturally follow the way phrases come back when an adult who has long been in foreign lands speaks the language of home.
But Southern Command had made it amply clear that he was disposable. Valentine eschewed the uniform.
He heard a murmur from the other room and hardened his ears, but the exchange stopped almost as soon as it started. He returned to the table, the pleasant scent of clean women a welcome change in his nostrils.
Lambert watched him approach with steady eyes, a battered leather courier bag open in front of her. Styachowski was smearing peanut butter on a hard roll. Duvalier had taken off her duster and piled a small revolver, knives, and her old sword-cane on the seat next to her.
Valentine sat, the three women at the other end of the table making him feel like Macbeth looking across the cauldron at his witches.
"By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes", he said.
Styachowski paused, the roll halfway to her mouth. Duvalier's nose twitched, but perhaps Lambert recognized the allusion. Her eyes warmed a trifle.
Valentine waited to hear it, playing with refusals ranging from polite to obscene.
"By now you've guessed we're not here to haul you back to the Nut", Styachowski said.
"I'll listen", Valentine said. "Right up until you slide the pardon across the table. I'm working up saliva".
"You can walk out that door, Valentine", Lambert said. "How long you can keep walking is the question you should ask yourself. The little drama we acted out could have been true. Kurian hit teams have you on their list. You do something traceable and they'll hunt you down".
"They just missed you in Iowa", Duvalier said. "I caught one of their sniffers drunk in a bar outside Garrison Nine".
"Suppose they do catch up. What's it to you?"
"You used to be one of the best young talents in Southern Command", Lambert said.
"I used to be a lot of things. Now I'm just tired".
Duvalier poked him with her toe. "Quit the burnout talk".
"You sure you want him, Moira?" Lambert asked.
Styachowski nodded.
"How's life treating you, Wildcard?" Valentine asked. "I never thanked you for visiting me in the Nut".
"Valentine, I need your help", Styachowski said. "I'm putting together a new unit".
"A force of condemned men for suicide missions, right? Not interested".
"You used to wait until you knew what you were talking about to open your mouth", Styachowski said, stiffening. "I liked that about you".
Lambert picked up her attache. "Wasted flight".
"You flew here?" Valentine said.
"Once your old partner located you, yes", Lambert said. "Uncomfortable, cold, and loud".
Valentine knew that Southern Command had few air assets. Even generals traveled by train and car. Lambert must be a very big bug to have an airplane at her disposal.
"So Smoke tracks me down and Styachowski offers me the job. How do you fit in ?"
Lambert tapped her courier bag. "I'm the answer girl, just like at the War College, Valentine".