Free The Hunt for Pierre Jnr by David M. Henley Page A

they were silent, each appreciating the fire of the drink and the associations brought by its taste. Pete had rarely experienced actual Scotch. The traditional distillery and fermentation drinks had been long ago replaced with synthetic reproductions that replaced the intoxicating effect of alcohol with a weak psychogenic or chemical manipulation. For him the taste was historical, like a museum or photographs, and he reflected on humanity’s past.
     
    Pete couldn’t make sense of the Colonel’s past. ‘You think a lot like my father,’ he commented, perhaps to share an intimacy, the way the Colonel had with him.
     
    ‘I thought I told you to keep out of here,’ the old man said, tapping at his temple in mock reprimand.
     
    ‘I can’t help it. It’s like sound to me. I can’t close my ears either.’
     
    The Colonel chuckled.  I know, boy. I’m only teasing.
     
    ‘Hah! H—’
     
    Don’t give the game away,  the Colonel thought with alarm.  I can’t project or anything, but I’m smart enough to assume you’re listening. That gives us one-way communication at least.
     
    Pete retracted and corrected, ‘You are a  lot  like my father.’
     
    ‘We would be of an age, I believe.’ Pete nodded to this. ‘Services man, was he?’
     
    ‘Yes. All his life.’
     
    ‘How did he feel about you turning out atypical?’
     
    ‘He wasn’t too happy.’
     
    ‘And your sister. Doris, wasn’t it? Did he know about her?’
     
    ‘I won’t tell you her name and no, he passed before she showed any sign.’
     
    ‘Does my asking bother you?’ the Colonel inquired, somewhat gently though slightly rebuking.  You know we still have no information on her. Are you sure you didn’t make her up?
     
      ’Didn’t you get everything from my file?’
     
    The Colonel nodded. ‘Of course, but I’ve never been one to think I know a man because I’ve read about him. Especially when the person in question has himself told me how easy it is to rewrite history.’
     
    Pete could see the wisdom in this and submitted to the discussion. The Colonel doled out another finger for each of them.
     
    ‘Don’t get me wrong. I respect my father for what he was, and I understand what he did for me.’
     
    ‘Didn’t he have you taken to be tested?’
     
    ‘Yes.’
     
    ‘A good Services man.’
     
    ‘Yes, he was. I understand that he had no choice. In his mind, it was my duty to keep it from him, so I’m the one who failed.’
     
    ‘You can’t blame people for what they are. Their beliefs and reasoning are subject to the situation.’
     
    ‘Exactly,’ Pete agreed, ‘but before they took me, he told me that if I could get through the testing, then I could get through life. He thought it would challenge me.’
     
    ‘Yes, fly or fall,’ the Colonel said, stating the obvious, one of the clever adages Services were indoctrinated with.
     
    ‘I don’t hold with that principle.’
     
    The Colonel shrugged. ‘There are twenty billion people on greater Earth. What philosophy do you follow?’
     
    ‘I haven’t figured that out yet,’ Pete admitted.
     
    ‘Your problem isn’t with the fight, it’s with the kill.’ The Colonel looked deeply at him, the calm watery pools inviting him in. It became clear to Pete now that the Colonel’s need for a drinking companion was attached to other motives. ‘In basic training they teach us that our fear of killing is greatly linked to our own fear of dying.’
     
    ‘What right have we to take another life?’
     
    ‘Rights are the constructs of our civilisation, lad. They come and go.’
     
    ‘And we should respect them, or we are just animals.’
     
    ‘Aye, as far as we can. What about the matter at hand though? Have you thought about what you will do if you succeed in tracking down this boy?’  Unless you’re planning on joining with him.
     
    ‘I haven’t thought about that yet. Or I have, but I don’t want killing him to be the only