Chapter 7

           ThepaperbackI’dbeenreadingwasbesidemypillow.Yonabaruwascountinghisbundleofconfessionsonthetopbunk.

           "Keiji,signthis."

           "Corporal,youhaveasidearm,don’tyou?"

           "Yeah."

           "CouldIseeit?"

           "Sincewhenareyouagunnut?"

           "It’snotlikethat."

           Hishanddisappearedintothetopbunk.Whenitreturned,itclutchedaglisteninglumpofblackmetal.

           "It’sloaded,sowatchwhereyoupointit."

           "Uh,right."

           "Ifyoumakecorporal,youcanbringyourowntoystobedandain’tnobodycansayathingaboutit.Peashooterlikethisain’tnogoodagainstaMimicanyhow.TheonlythingsaJacketjockeyneedsarehis20mmandhisrocketlauncher,threerocketsapiece.Thebananahepacksforasnackdoesn’tcount.Nowwouldyousignthisalready?"

           Iwastoobusyflickingoffthesafetyontheguntoanswer.

           Iwrappedmymoutharoundthebarrel,imaginingthat9mmsluginthechamber,waitingtoexplodefromthecold,hardsteel.

           Ipulledthetrigger.