Free By Blood Alone by William C. Dietz

and three years on Earth. It suggested that the officer had enough influence to retain his commission while others were released.
    The operations officer, Captain Winters, was something else again. She had come up through the ranks-and brought a Distinguished Service Medal with her. A decoration earned off- planet ... out on the rim. He liked her reliable-looking face, the calm green eyes, and the sound of her laugh. They were early times yet ... but Winters had possibilities.
    The command and services company, which included the headquarters staff, medical personnel, and supply folks, was under the command of Captain Andre Kara, a bookish-looking man, who seldom spoke or smiled. Hisfile, which portrayed the legionnaire as efficient but not especially distinguished, had little more to say. A mystery wrapped in an enigma. Asset or liability? The next few months would tell.
    Not Captain Holly Hawkins, though.... C Company’s commanding officer, better known to her troops as “the Hawk,” was a class-A, dyed-in-the-wool, ass-kicking leg officer who had either been sent to the 13th as the result of some wonderful accident, or severely pissed someone off and been dumped in much the same way as he had. She owned three right hands, and this one had been chromed. A servo whined as the infantry officer took a sip of wine. She met his gaze, raised her glass, and drained it dry. Here at least was someone he could depend on.
    There was a loud thump. Booly turned to find that his other ground pounder, Captain Henry Olmsworthy III, commanding officer of D Company, 2nd REP, was facedown on the table. A steadily expanding red stain indicated where his wine had gone. No one seemed surprised. That spoke volumes ... and Booly made a note.
    The next officer, Captain Margo Ny, was something of a surprise. Given the fact that there was no way in hell that her ten-ton, tractorlike body was going to fit inside the mess, and the rest of the officers weren’t likely to dine in her vast underground garage, the cyborg had elected to have her brain box delivered to the table.
    And not just delivered, but delivered on a silver tray , which Booly found to be vastly amusing. It spoke of style, courage, and a good sense of humor.
    Ny’s brain box, which was covered with a custom-tailored dress uniform, plus rows of decorations, was equipped with a vid cam as well. It whirred as it panned. A good officer by all accounts-who had chosen the 13th rather than life as what? A deep-space miner? A cab in New York City? He was lucky to have her. The works company was well led.
    Last, but certainly not least, was First Lieutenant Goodeye Nightslip. A full-blooded Naa, with features that reminded Booly of his paternal grandmother, golden fur with flecks of white, and the body of a weight lifter. He served as the battalion’s intelligence officer and led the special reconnaissance squadron as well.
    The group consisted of two platoons, both under the command of a senior NCO and consisting of ninety-eight percent Naa nationals. Not because of a bias on the Legion’s part, but because the aliens were good at what they did, and wanted to serve there.
    Did Nightslip know about Booly’s ancestry? Yes, there was little doubt that he did. The family was well known, after all, and the other officer was unlikely to miss the cast to Booly’s features, or the mane of fur that ran down the back of his neck.

    Suddenly their eyes met. Booly knew the other male could smell him from fifteen feet away, and felt the past pull him back. In spite of the fact that his grandfather and his mother had been born elsewhere, both took Algeron as their home, while he , who had been conceived, born, and raised there, never managed to fit in.
    The Legion offered the perfect way out, the means to leave home while becoming a warrior, the very thing that his childhood tormenters respected most.
    There was no escaping his own inferiority, though. No matter what Booly did or where he went, he