The door slid open.

“Tuckalle,” came a voice that Rogers recognized. “Magistrate Tuckalle, you slick son of a bitch.”

In the doorway stood the magistrate, resplendent in an official uniform that had golden cords wrapped around a black double-breasted coat bearing the Meridan symbol in the middle of the chest. A sash around his waist showed a golden picture of an ancient glyph of justice, a tipped weight scale with a dagger through the middle of it.

“Tucky!” Rogers said, brightening. He knew he’d recognized that name. The last time he’d heard it, however, it had the word “colonel” in front of it. Finally, someone he knew from his military days. What a stroke of luck! Tucky would get him out of this; Rogers was sure he would.

The magistrate, his hair gone from salt-and-pepper to full gray in the year or so since their last meeting, made a dismissive gesture toward the two officers.

“I have all I need to know. I’ll take it from here.”

Atikan stood, tucking his datapad under his arm, and reached across the table to vigorously pump Rogers’ hand.

“It’s been a pleasure, sir, a real pleasure. Wow, a genuine hero. I have goose bumps!” He and Brooks swiftly exited the room. “I’ll see you on the parade grounds!”

“I’ll see you in hell!” Brooks called as the door closed.

Rogers let out a tremendous sigh of relief and made to hug his old mate. “Thank heavens it’s you, Tucky. I thought I was space dust. You won’t believe—”

“Sit down, Rogers.”

The magistrate’s face was something resembling a stone slab, if a stone slab also had a big nose, thin, crescent lips, and thick-rimmed spectacles around a pair of beady black eyes. Rogers tried to picture this old, ruddy-looking man back in his marine uniform.

Rogers slowly sat down. “Come on,” he said. “It’s me, Rogers. You know me. Help me out here.”

“Of course I know you,” Tucky said as he moved to the other end of the table and sat down, adjusting his sash when it got caught on the edge of the chair. “Didn’t you hear me call you a slick son of a bitch when the door opened?”

“I thought it was a compliment.”

“It wasn’t.”

Rogers started to sweat. Well, continued sweating. He was going to need a shower and another change of clothes at the end of the day. What was Tucky’s problem?

“Now I’ve got you, Rogers,” the magistrate said. “And it’s time for payback.”

“Payback?” Rogers said nervously. “Payback for what? You and I were shipmates. We turned on the same beer light every day at noon. You came to my poker games. You bet on my virtual horses. You drank my whiskey.”

“You watered it down,” Tucky said. “Your poker games had one and a half decks, and your virtual horses were ridden by virtual crooked jockeys.” He leaned forward, boring into Rogers. “You were a poor excuse for a sergeant, Rogers. You were sloppy, aloof, and conniving.”