"Vodka?" LeHavre offered. "The best of the local hooch is called Grand Inquisitor. Made by a bunch of Russians who escaped to Canada from Vladivostok. It's pretty good".
"No, thank you, sir".
"Eat first. Then we'll talk".
They polished off the hot food - smoked ham, applesauce, some dispirited green beans, and honey-glazed biscuits - in silence.
"I miss the fresh veggies from Southern Command", LeHavre said as they finished. "Going to say no to the Grand Inquisitor again? I'm going to put a little in that powder crap that passes for orange juice. Rad, an Orange Wallop please. Privileges of rank".
The servant went to the refrigerator and clinked glasses. He returned with the iced drink.
"We each want to know how the other got here, I guess", LeHavre said.
"They told me you led a party up this way, but you never arrived".
"My report must have been... oh, what's a polite word? Intercepted. You're the junior - let's hear your story first. That way I can enjoy my drink".
Valentine tried to keep the tale short, and concentrated on events from the point when he arrived in Pacific Command.
"It's still a group of warlords here. You know one of them, Thunderbird. There are others. Adler's united them, probably because he gives the appearance of victories".
"What do you mean, appearance?"
"What's he replacing the Kurians with? Nothing. He's just scorching earth in front of him, rather than behind.
"How did you end up in the PeaBees, sir?" Valentine asked.
LeHavre had Rad bring him another flavored vodka. "I'm not a drunk - two's my limit. My story's not all that different from yours. I came up along the coast, out of Grog country in Oregon. I was brought
to the Outlook first. Lots of speeches and maps about areas cleared of Kurians. There was another Southern Command liaison there - he'd ... oh, how would you put it? ... He'd gone native. Singing Adler's praises. He introduced me to the man himself. I'll confess, even I liked him at first. Quiet, unassuming, but confident. Able to make a decision, suck up a wrong move and move on - you remember, I look for that. Eager to remain a civilian. Yeah, he impressed me enough so I joined. There was no one waiting for me in the Ozarks".
"Not even that little girl, Jill?"
LeHavre massaged his kneecaps. "Wolf duty really catches up to you when you get older. My knees are shot. But Jill would be tickled that you remember. I was told she sorta fell for a young, good-looking Quisling. Yeah, I know. I wish I could have been there to look after her and her mom. But maybe it was the only way she could stay alive. She retreated with them".
"So how did you end up a PeaBee?"
"I saw the results of one of the Action Group sweeps. I suppose I had it better than you - I didn't see the Bears in action, just the results, an old foundation full of bodies. I had to use a pole to figure out how deep they went. Some of them were pretty torn up. Bear bloodlust".
"You blame the Bears?" Valentine asked.
"No, of course not. The Bears are just a better tool for this sort of thing. I know how easily it spins out of control. Again, not just Bears. I heard something about your massacre in Little Rock. You'd been arrested and then escaped, right?"
"Yes", Valentine said.
"Where've you been since? Keeping clear of the Ozarks?"
Valentine decided to tell him. Sooner or later the pain had to work itself to the surface and come out like a splinter. LeHavre was the closest thing he had to a guide in life anymore, and the colonel had lost someone he was more of a father to than Valentine had ever been to Amalee.
"I went back to the Caribbean, really to beach myself there. I'd met a woman there, with the Jamaica pirates. She ended up with a
daughter out of it. But in the years I was gone, she took up with another man, both for her own sake and our daughter's. Good man, I shipped with him, and as far as Amalee is concerned, Elian Torres is her father. Malia, her mother, still... still feels something for me, but I can't say whether it's love or hate. I've got no business busting up a family. Malia wanted me gone, so I left".
He felt for Malia Carrasca. He'd shown up with Narcisse and Blake - heavily disguised, of course. What woman in her right mind wouldn't balk at such an arrival? It was easier to go than to stay. And after that, the long angry hunt for the killers of Mary Carlson.
"How'd your kid look?"
"Happy", Valentine said. "Little. But God, she can run".