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Julio?”
    “Julio Mariendes. Recruited him right out of Tijuana State. Hell of a marine biologist if it wasn’t for the manic depression. You must be Simms.”
    The shark regurgitates a large black cowboy hat that, mercifully, is no longer attached to any part of its former owner. I force myself to turn away. “Uh, yes.”
    “Got an interesting little assignment for you. Have a seat.”
    He nods toward the desk on the far side of the room. Oren steers me toward it and more or less forces me into one of the chairs. There is a moment where I can see Oren trying to decide whether or not he should sit in the other chair. The lure of being in the presence of the Great Leader is clearly in direct conflict with the possibility of incurring the wrath of same.
    “Uh, would you like me to stay, Mister Hudson?” Oren says, taking up a hopeful position behind the second chair.
    “No, Tibbs. You can bugger off now.”
    Oren looks like somebody just flushed his favourite toy down the sewer. He gives me a look that can only be described as hateful and then trudges off.
    “Before we begin, Mister Simms, I would like to stress to you the importance of the fact that nothing we are about to discuss and no aspect of what I am going to ask you to do may be discussed with any other individual under any circumstances.”
    “Of course.” I wonder, not for the first time, what the hell I am doing here. “Pardon me for saying, Mister Hudson, but this is…strange.”
    He looks up at the tank behind me. “The legs? Don’t worry about that. If Hector doesn’t eat ’em, they’ll fish ’em out.”
    “No, it’s not that. Well, part of it is that. It’s just…you’re not the most visible CEO in the world. I mean, I’ve been working here for eight years and I’ve never seen you before. I don’t know anyone else who has, either. Before this meeting, I didn’t even know what you looked like.”
    Hudson grins, looking eerily not unlike the animal we were just discussing. “Between you and me – well, everything is between you and me now, Simms. Between us, Firmamental is getting out of the insurance game.”
    I purse my lips and try to look like I’m able to follow his train of thought. “But…we’re an insurance…company.”
    “We’ve managed to cancel, non-renew, expire or transfer almost every single policy on our books,” he says. “Truth be told, we’ve only got one left.”
    “Mister Sternhauser.” The words are out of my mouth almost before I’m even aware that I’ve said them.
    “That’s the one!” Hudson exclaims. “Stubborn old bastard. We’ll get him this year, though.”
    That certainly explains the massive drop in call volume, I think. And all the expense reduction. If we’re not insuring anyone, we certainly don’t need hundreds or thousands of staff to administer all of those policies.
    “But…I don’t understand,” I say, the words coming out as smoothly as rocks out of a blender. “If we’re not an insurance company anymore, then…what are we?”
    I’ll be honest with you, Simms. I didn’t invite you down here to discuss the future of the P&C business.”
    “Yes, sir?”
    “Tell me, Simms,” he says, staring at me intently. “When was the last time that you saw Maximillian Hernandez?”

-3-
    I n an afternoon filled with the surprising and unexpected, this leaves everything else in the dust.
    Max Hernandez and I were best friends growing up. The last time I saw or heard anything from him was eight years ago, when I left for university and he left to join Global Defence International. GDI is the world’s largest privately held mercenary force, with sizable air, land, sea and even space divisions. Over the last 20 years, it has gradually replaced or supplanted most of the national armies around the world. It has the most up-to-the-moment technology, a top-secret training regimen and, because it’s a private company, is not subject to the oversight of the United Nations or any other