The Blood Money - Freeport One Edition -

[Below Par]

"Alas, when it comes to the who, they're all dead. Which comes back to the other part of the why. Having no formal identity meant I've had to work for groups too small, stupid and insignificant to notice or care about my particulars. What they did care about was my ability to be useful. Engineering, computing and manufacturing from a theoretical standpoint. Organising duty rosters, inventory, what little intelligence there was. There also was scouting with the help of a little fancy flying. Ooh, and some field repair. If you want to look at the practical, that is.

I should be clear though. I call my former employers stupid not out of any personal grudge, ill will or anything of the sort. It's just that they were. I got a decommissioned base working again after the old owners left in a hurry and the brothers in arms, as they called themselves, moved in. I quite clearly and categorically explained that the shield generator was riddled with micro-fractures and, should they activate it, the radiation leak alone would reduce them to ash. A whole new generator would be needed, no repair possible. The moment I was gone, probably sent on the errand I was given as they didn't believe me, they switch on the generator. I couldn't even get within fifty clicks to check for survivors. One of many examples of what happened. Like a bunch of lemmings trying to hump a hand grenade . . . they were just desperate to blow their brains out. All the history, names places dates and so on are on this. Have a dekko."

He slides a crimson cassette across the table then continues.

"Point is no one's left. I'm out of work. I know that compared to most I'm a bit of a wildcard but I figured in the hand of Aces and Eights there's still room for another card to play. What do you think?"