Tarken Idiot. What a goddamn stupid son-of-a-bitch I was… I mean, hell knew I’d made mistakes before but this one was absolutely inexcusable. I was slipping, and that worried me. Sometimes my fingers felt a little stiffer than they ought to have done. And I couldn’t train for as long as I used to be able to. Rich Confederate families used to be able to buy regen treatments back before everything went to hell, but now no one had the tech. It was all guns and grunts, these days. I’d seen Mitchell’s autopsies on some of the newer marines. They had an implant that manipulated their cell division, made them not age half as fast. But me? I had hair fast turning grey. I did have one consolation – my face might have been scarred so much my own mother wouldn’t recognise me, but at least I wouldn’t