Lett stopped, took a deep breath, sat back down on his chair.

Lansdale took a deep breath, too. He set down the chalk.

“You usually give me an injection when I do this,” Lett said. “Just do it. Please.”

“All right, just, hold tight.”

Lett planted his elbows on the table, folded his arms, and set his face into the dark little cabin of his arms. He felt his buddies there, but only as a presence, watching over. He didn’t know how long this went on. He might have slept a moment, a minute, more.

He hadn’t expected a relapse such as this. He told himself it had just been the weather.

Lansdale came striding back in. He had a case that looked like a house call bag.

“Sit up, please.”

Lansdale delivered Lett the good old shot. It stung a little at first. Then Lett leaned back, let it flow through him.

He believed that it was helping immediately. His face felt like it was opening like a flower, like he was yawning wide yet not moving his face. He blinked any remaining tenseness away. His limbs unlocked and his muscles loosened and he let his arms hang off his sides.

His friends were gone. The room was normal size.

“All right? Fine? You happy now?” Lansdale said.

“Sure am. Thanks, Doc.”

“Good. So don’t screw this up. Not now.”

***

Lansdale left him there, told him to wait. Lett had his dose, but the fire inside him still wouldn’t douse. The heat found his head again, boiling his blood, and it filled his fists. To hell with Lansdale and his positive sayings. Fuck them all. War and death and tortures and all that came with them were never something to be enjoyed, savored, promoted like some newfangled toothpaste. He hated Lansdale. He hated himself for hating. Then he started speculating, anticipating, preparing. What were they going to throw at him next?

About thirty minutes later, Selfer came striding in. He wore his fatigues, but they were uncharacteristically wrinkled and his shirt barely tucked. His eyes darted around. He carried a slim map case on one shoulder.

“Just what are you trying to pull?” Selfer said.

“I needed my dose. Weather can cause it. Or maybe it was the Worldwide Red Scare routine?”

Selfer ignored the comment. He pulled out what Lett first thought was a map, but once Selfer rolled it out flat Lett saw that it was a blueprint-style sketch of a series of buildings. They were simple and squared in their arrangement with a gap in the center like locations around an airfield or a city square. No locations were marked. Selfer spread his hands across the paper, smoothing it, eyes searching for something he could show Lett, apparently.

Lett stopped looking at the paper. “Why isn’t Lansdale briefing me?”

Selfer didn’t answer.

“Because Lansdale told you to,” Lett added.

“Lansdale’s higher level now,” Selfer snapped. “That’s the word.”