Unfinished Business

Prologue

"You sure you want to do this, mate?"

Hamilton peered out through tired eyes and the scuffed, dirty lens of his antique spacesuit at the other man – his tone had been casual, almost jovial, but that belied the concerned look in his eyes. They were talking by pressing their helmet faceplates together to protect from eavesdroppers, which lent an eerie, hollow tone to his voice.

"Yessir," he assured, his tone dead and unenthusiastic. "I'm not going to make it much longer, Colonel. This is best for everyone."

"Me an' the lads, we . . . we appreciate it, Ham," the Colonel said, resigned. "I wish there was some other way."

"It's all right, Colonel. I'm not afraid. Kinda lookin'—" he interrupted himself with a hard cough that wracked his body. Colonel McNab winced inside his helmet as he saw tiny splatters of blood spray against Hamilton's mask. He was getting worse. In a few days they would have send him Below . . . and he couldn't let that happen to another one of his men. Hamilton recovered. "I'm kind of looking forward to it, actually. Maybe I come back as a billionaire, next time."

"Bah! You an' your damned Buddhist reincarnation. Tell you what, though. I'll look you up in Purgatory and buy you a beer."

"Thanks, Colonel," Hamilton smiled, thinly. "It's been . . . it's been a pleasure to serve with you and the boys."

"Likewise," McNab agreed, nodding enthusiastically. "You see the Doc like we discussed?"

"Yessir. He gave me somethin'. Said it might buy me a little time. Make it painless, too, in the long run. Not sure I want to take the time, actually."

"Do it," insisted McNab. "It's a long shot – this whole bloody scheme is a longshot of a longshot – but can't give up, now, can we? Wouldn't be right."

"Not sporting," agreed Hamilton, weakly.

"Good man. You have the package?"

"Right here," Hamilton agreed, tapping his chest with a gauntleted finger. "Got it all. Reports. Letters. All of i