Phoenix Rising (Book Two of The Icarus Trilogy) by Kevin Kauffmann Page A

old man just wanted to implement some new policy onto Eris that Garrison would just have to approve.
    When he thought about that he had to stifle a laugh.  As far as he knew he was the only regional director that had been called planet-side.  His three peers, Tiberius, Perkins and Ingersoll, had not been called to similar meetings.  It had to be something personal.  It had to do with some paper that had crossed his desk and left with his signature.  Garrison wracked his brain as the glass of water, which Montgomery’s secretary had poured, started to sweat in front of him.  He felt the creeping pit-stains under his arms and sympathized with the piece of glass.
    For some reason Garrison’s mind revisited the day when Carver had last been in his office.  The veteran of the games had created his own little niche on the war-stricken world.  Jonathon Carver was a celebrity and a hero to billions of underprivileged children living in the slums on Earth and in the comfortable homes of her three residential satellites.  That kind of recognition gave him more power than the average soldier. 
    The old Crow didn’t use that influence often.  Over the course of his more than thirty-year career as the leader of the Crows, Carver had been to Garrison’s office four times.  Twice it had been to renegotiate his pay; a foolish act which held little consequence.  Carver had received a five percent increase each time, which was a drop in the bucket in the perspective of a regional director.  Garrison smiled as he remembered how he had fooled the then-young soldier into thinking he had won.
    But as the years wore on Carver lost interest in obtaining more money; the old soldier had become morose and lost in his own personal Hell.  Garrison couldn’t blame him; the veteran had seen his fair share of horrors.  It wasn’t completely out of the question that Carver had lost the taste for life.  He was a celebrity and a hero against his own wishes, by that point.
    The third time Carver had been to Garrison’s office had not been a good one.  The bureaucrat tried his hardest to remember the young soldier’s name, but it was lost to him.  All he knew was that it affected the veteran a great deal.  There was something of Carver in that youth.  Garrison remembered signing off on the man’s evaluation not once, not twice, but five times.  He had committed suicide each time, but Maxwell didn’t want to give up a promising investment so early.  His scores during the games were as good as Carver’s in his prime. 
    It was only when Carver came to his office that Garrison agreed to let the young soldier fall into oblivion.  It was a terrible cost; a whole crop of clones had to be destroyed and repurposed into biotic compounds.  That alone had put a dent into the quarterly report.  The only reason Garrison didn’t allow the young soldier back onto the field was that Carver agreed to pay part of the cost.  The veteran was foolish with his money.  He could pay and still retire, of course, but it was something that Garrison wouldn’t have done in his shoes.
    As he sat in the stifling waiting area Garrison remembered the fourth time that Carver had entered his office.  It had been four years after that first youth and very much the same kind of situation.  Now that he thought about it, Garrison recalled that it was only two weeks prior that Carver had walked right up to one of the battlefield camera drones and demanded Maxwell’s audience.  Garrison had cleared the new soldier, Jenkins, for return to the field.  He had killed himself but Garrison had looked over the file and it was clearly a situation that could be explained away.
    After all, Jenkins had discovered his first clone’s body.  That would be a jarring experience for any soldier.
    But Carver would not let it happen.  He had told the middle manager that the boy should not be resurrected.  Garrison had learned to trust the veteran; they had dealt with each