To Crown a Caesar (The Praetorian Series: Book II) by Edward Crichton Page B

them.  Every time we ate one, we lost just that much more of our old home, and ever after all the time I’d spent here, I was still home sick.  I missed my sister immensely, my SEALS and friends as well, but most especially, I missed my TV.  Helena thought I was addicted to it, and while she was probably right, I suspected she was just afraid I’d be a lazy boyfriend if we ever got home.
    There wasn’t much sense thinking about it.  With each passing year, the idea of going home became harder and harder to believe anyway.
    I op ened one of the cracker packages and applied some jalapeño cheese spread.  Taking a bite, I nodded pleasantly.  For some reason, MREs had a stigma for tasting horrible, like tissue paper or something.  I couldn’t disagree more, suspecting such complainers actually ended up eating the tissue paper itself.
    As careful as I was, I noticed H elena shift in her sleep beside me.  Always a light sleeper, I could recall many occasions when I had been unable to fall asleep during heavy thunderstorms, our thin tents offering little protection from the bright flashes and loud thunder claps brought on by the storms, while Helena dozed peacefully throughout, never once waking.
    She rolled over and looked up at me, her hands beneath her head.
    “Morning,” I said happily.
    Her expression was groggy, but at least she didn’t seem angry.  “Shouldn’t it be late afternoon by now?”
    I looked at my watch.  “Oh, right.”
    She gave me a small smile.
    “Hungry?”  I asked, holding out the c racker.  She took a bite and her eyes opened wide, her palate never meant for spicy foods.  She reached for the CamelBak and swallowed some water, which I knew would only make it worse.  Finally, she snatched a cracker without any cheese and started munching, the redness in her face slowly residing.
    I looked at her knowingly, offering a weak shrug.  “Sorry?”
    She returned my look with the same anger her eyes normally exuded, but I knew it wasn’t real.  At least I hoped it wasn’t.
    “It’s too bad I fell in love with you and not Santino,” she said.
    I placed a hand against my chest.  “Ouch.  That one really hurt.”
    “Sure it did,” she said, peeking into the MRE bag.  “What else do you have to eat in there?”
    I looked into the bag that held the individual servings of food.  “Rice pilaf and turkey with gravy.  Great.”
    “Ever wonder who comes up with these combinations?”
    “No,” I said, “and frankly I don’t want to.  Those sadistic bastards at the MRE packaging plant once loaded an entire crate of the stuff with nothing but cream cheese in each meal.  I was eating cream cheese for two weeks.  Two weeks!” I repeated angrily.  “Cream cheese!”
    “Obviously they’re all insane sadists.”
    At least our conversation was back near our normal banter level.
    “You have no idea, ” I said, tearing open the rice pilaf package and handing it to her.
    I tore open the turkey and gravy and started digging in.  Helena and I traded packages after a few scoops from each, and I used the MRE’s small container of Tabasco sauce to spice up the rice, finished off the rest of our crackers, and split the black and white cookie desert with her.  Never liking chocolate much, I gave her that end, and I ate the vanilla side.  Even without warming it through, the meal had tasted good and had been substantial.
    W e policed our mess and got comfortable again.  I looked up at the bottom of Galba’s bed and picked at some splintered wood with a finger, hoping we were in fact doing the right thing.  Helena had a point about one thing.  No matter how I justified it, we were in fact messing with people’s lives every time we took a breath in this world, and the only responsible thing to do would be to just flee into the shadows and never interfere with society again.
    But that felt like giving up, and even if we stayed away from every human being for the rest of our lives, it