Grown Men

against the foam. A horrible whistling gasp came out of his grimace as he sucked air into his ribs.
    “Shhh. I’ve got you. Huh?” Runt patted him, standing beside the bed. “All good. Look what I found.” Runt held up the nasty tooth. “Huh?”
    Ox didn’t seem able to focus his eyes. He scooted back a little bit so he could sit up.
    Runt spun the tooth and cocked a grin that felt fake on his face. A mask over a mask.
    The larger man blinked and shook his head. The synth-skin over his ribs had stabilized already, beginning to fuse with the muscle underneath. “Does your side hurt at all? I hit you with a ton of meds.”
    Sore, but safe .
    Runt put the tooth inside the termination case between the shunt and a grenade. It almost seemed to belong there with all the other deadly shit. “I didn’t know how to calculate your dosage—”
    Ox’s eyes focused finally, but not on the tooth. He stared at Runt’s hand on the case of weapons. He swallowed. His face hardened.
    “Accident.” Runt faced Ox almost eye to eye. “Just rotten luck is all. The hive, yeah? I mean the heat popped the panel and a caterpillar found the knives . . . You lied to me and you can’t even talk.”
    Ox’s eyes stayed on the retirement package resting on the bed beside his thick thigh.
    “You’re trying to think of another lie to not tell me.”
    Ox watched the kill-kit as if the weapons were a jar of wasps thumping against glass.
    My murderer. “They are yours. They must be.”
    Ox shook his head.
    “You brought these here. With you. To retire me.”
    Ox looked up at him with eyes that seemed clear, cold, and a hundred years old. He looked like he was going to vomit.
    “I need for you to look me in the eye and tell me the fucking truth: you’re an assassin.”
    No response. Ox attempted to elbow himself up to a sitting position.
    “And I can’t— I’m not gonna—”
    Ox leaned forward, brow creased.
    “—kill you. So I guess you need to—” Runt took a raspy breath. “—Kill me, Ox. You’re killing me.”
    The larger man ran his hands over the weapons, with nausea or respect.
    “I’m not a shitwit; if you disobey your orders, they’ll send another one to retire us both.” Runt leaned over the bed and pushed his face close to Ox’s. “I don’t mind, huh? Time to know and have done. I don’t mean—”
    A broad finger prodded his chest.
    “—Much.” Runt stepped back to stand apart from the bed. Awful . Ox’s blood smeared all over the pearly room. “Will you fucking answer me?”
    As Runt watched, Ox lifted and replaced each weapon in its molded cradle. He knew what they were, obviously.
    “I s’pose you’re the best friend I’ll ever have. I s’pose—” His voice shook a little ’til he swallowed. Runt tipped his head to the side, baring his throat. “If you terminate me, you’ll do it right. Clean.”
    Ox’s nostrils flared.
    “I just don’t think I can look at you when—”
    Runt lifted his gaze to Ox’s angry face, which wasn’t angry at all. His eyes looked dead, their light buried.
    “I’m already a dead man.”
    Runt shoved Ox and Ox let him. “What are they? Who sent them? Truth. The truth now.”
    Ox pursed his lips then, a child’s frown, but he didn’t shake his head. He closed the not-his kit. He locked it. His eyes stayed on it, like he expected it to lunge at him.
    “But you brought them. You hid them when you welded the hive. Tell me.”
    Ox patted the weapon set, then handed it to Runt. Wincing, he held a hand to his wound.
    Runt swatted the case away. “Stop conning me!”
    Ox scooped up the case and pressed it against Runt with a nod.
    Runt reared back and raised a defensive fist. “No more shit.”
    Ox’s eyes were wide and empty. He pressed his big paw to his bandaged wound and then pressed it against Runt. His calloused fingers spread over his bandage, and then thumped Runt’s sternum gently. He looked terrified. He swung his feet, tried to stand, and hissed. He sat back down, swallowed, and then stood up gingerly. He walked into the live-space, unsteady on his legs.
    Runt followed him. “Oi! Then whose are they? Answer me.”
    Ox stood in front of the dark holo-vid projector, looking down at the bencho where he’d slept the first few nights. He couldn’t seem to stand still on the gory floor. But for the synthetic skin, he showed no sign of the ragged bite or losing so much blood. His perfect, oversized muscle gleamed like armor in the waxy