Huh. I actually have a decent idea of how this is going to go.
That was a gamble, which paid off with a laugh. “Good! You’re one of the quick ones. And it’s ‘Agent Beltran,’ not ‘sir.’ I’m a cop, not a headknocker.”
He looked at his folder, which was made from actual paper. “And you are… Norman Baker. Born 2183, grew up in Lubbock, Johnson, was drafted for your one-year after high school. You voluntarily re-upped with the Peeps last year, though, took a five-year oath.” His eyes snapped on Norm. “Why?”
Norm exhaled — in relief. He’d guessed right about whether he’d been asked this question. He even decided that it was time for the truth. “The Peopl– the Peeps never had any trouble paying me, Agent Beltran. With the Old Man not doing so well–”
“Dying, Baker,” Beltran corrected him. “President Lewis was dying. We can say things like that, now.”
“Right. Sorry. With the Old Man dying, it seemed smart to stay in service, right? No matter what happened, I’d get fed, and my family’d get my stipend. I wasn’t staying in to, you know, make a pile of cash or anything. I just wanted to keep my head down until the dust cleared.”