Shon nodded. “The Third Division took Denver; it was one of the biggest battles in the revolution.” He felt a sudden weight on his shoulders and took another drink, staring at the window. “They expired two years ago.”

“Most of them.”

“You’re saying some survived?”

Samm pointed toward the human camp. “Three of them, right over there. And six more still in Denver.”

Shon looked back at the bourbon, swirling it again, then capped it tightly and set it down on the desk. “Don’t you dare joke about this.”

Samm voice was firm as granite. “I am completely serious.” His link data practically vibrated with sincerity.

“How did they survive expiration?” asked Shon.

“Human interaction.”

“Are they prisoners?”

“They’re allies,” said Samm. “They’re friends. Some of them are even . . .”

Shon felt the prisoner’s emotion on the link and looked back sharply. “You’re in love with a human.”

“Close enough,” said Samm.

“So is that why you want to save them?” asked Shon, and he felt the bitterness creep back into his link. “’Cause you found a piece of tail?”

“What can I do to convince you I’m sincere?” asked Samm. “I’m not a talker, I’m not a leader, I’m just a guy. Just a soldier from the trenches, trying to do the best he can, but this is not the kind of problem a soldier can solve. I can’t cure expiration by shooting it, and I can’t bring peace between the species just by following orders and marching in formation. If I were a diplomat or a politician or a . . . hell, if I were anything but what I am, maybe I could tell you what this means, how important this is, how much I believe in it. But all I can give you is my word as a soldier that this is the right thing to do. Put down your weapons and make peace.”