Read Rich Man's War for Free Online

around from the desk to stand with the petitioner and said, “My only condition is that I get a copy, sir.” He shook the man’s extended hand. Tanner wore his dress uniform, with medals and badges and well-polished sidearm just as regulation required for duty at Ascension Hall. The man who stood beside him with a well-practiced smile and perfectly groomed goatee wore a business suit that cost at least three months of Tanner’s base salary.
    “I’m Jonathan Hartmann,” said the gentleman, “though I guess you might’ve already heard that,” he added, gesturing toward the civilian receptionist.
    “Yes, sir, ” Tanner replied with a friendly nod. “Briarwood Capital is the largest independent investment firm in the system.”
    Hartmann seemed gratified by that. “It’s always nice to be recognized, isn’t it?”
    Tanner kept his mouth shut. He made a habit of looking up every individual scheduled on the guest book upon arriving at his post. People who entered Ascension Hall through this checkpoint tended not to be ordinary, anonymous citizens. They also enjoyed being recognized.
    The man’s aide pulled her holocom from its earring mount, activated it and took a few steps around the pair to get a solid frontal-arc image. Few people went for the full three-sixty recording. Soon, Tanner instructed his wrist-mounted holocom to receive a tap-transfer and touched it against her slick, state-of-the-art device.
    “That’s a nice piece,” Tanner said idly as the holocoms executed the file transfer.
    “ Thanks,” she smiled at him, and then tilted her head curiously. “Hey, you’re wearing an earring. I thought servicemen weren’t allowed to wear those?”
    “Old naval tradition, ma’am,” Tanner explained. He hadn’t meant to draw any attention to the humble gold bead in his left earlobe. “Sailors who survived a wrecked or sunken ship were entitled to wear one.” He gave a little wink . “I’m pretty sure it’s more myth than tradition, but if it lets me get away with pushing the uniform boundaries, I’ll take it.”
    “I had a couple of friends on the Pride of Polaris ,” said Hartmann, his glowing and genetically perfect smile still on display. “I heard the whole story from their perspective, so I’ve wanted to shake your hand ever since.”
    “Thank you, sir,” Tanner replied. “Pleasure to meet you.”
    “Mr. Hartmann,” spoke up one of the civilian staffers, “I’ll show you in. Right this way.”
    Tanner walked back around the desk. Predictably, with Hartmann out of earshot, the needling from the woman who ran the reception desk began. “Sooner or later, one of these people will just come straight out and ask if they can adopt you.”
    “They’re not that interested in me, Beth .”
    “Oh, please. ‘ Oooh, you’re Tanner Malone! Can I have your picture? Will you sign my briefcase? Are you doing anything later?’” she mimicked.
    Tanner rolled his eyes. “I have never once been asked out while on duty—“
    “That you actually noticed,” Beth smirked, “but you are a little dense.”
    “—and who actually uses briefcases anymore?”
    “I’ve seen a few. Besides, it’s either that or sign a napkin. Or someone’s breast, but you’d probably get in trouble for doing that here.” She paused. “You’ve never been asked out while on the job? Some people might presume you and Andrea Bennet are still seeing each other, but it’s not like that ever stopped anyone in this town.”
    He bit down on his first response. Beth was just teasing him, and he knew it. He also knew her last comment was a marginally subtle probe. He didn’t feel like opening that line of discussion. “They’re not actually interested in me. They just want the picture.”
    “You don’t think people want their picture next to you because they’re interested in you?”
    “I think they want the picture so they can show it off to create a certain impression.” Tanner jerked his thumb in the