“That the war isn’t black and white. That it’s a mess. That maybe, people deserve to know.”
I nod slowly. “Good luck with that.”
She laughs. It’s small. Wounded. But real.
The stars are out, hard and silver and cold. The kind of stars you only see from the edge of civilization. They don’t twinkle. They glare.
Amy tucks her arms around herself and leans back to look up at them.
“Funny,” she says. “When I was a kid, I thought stars were quiet.”
“They are,” I say. “From down here.”
I watch her for a long moment. The way her hair spills like a gold river. The way her eyes never stop moving, scanning, calculating. She’s all sharp edges and soft armor.
And I hate how I’m starting to understand her.
Hate how it’s not hate anymore.
CHAPTER 5
AMY
The base hums with after-midnight silence—soft electric pulses, blinking indicator lights, the faint hiss of recycled air being fed into metal bones. It’s the kind of quiet that isn’t really quiet. Just everything pretending to sleep.
My fingers fly over the holopad, slicing through timestamped footage, trimming voice tracks, boosting audio. I’ve got three interviews, two B-roll passes of the burnt-out commune, a slow pan of that goddamn toy turning in my palm. My piece is taking shape, and it’sangry.
I title it “Morality in the Mud” and mean every syllable.
The war isn’t clean. Kanapa isn’t clean. And if the Alliance is so scared of the truth, maybe they’ve forgotten what they’re supposedly fighting for in the first place.
I attach the draft, run a quick stabilization pass, and send it up the secure channel to Rex with a curt subject line:
FOR IMMEDIATE REVIEW. FIELD REPORT.
I half-expect him to wake up screaming.
It doesn’t take long.
My comm buzzes like a gnat with a vengeance, and Rex’s face appears on the secure holo—bags under his eyes, tie loosened like it’s trying to strangle him, voice as dry as a Martian salt flat.
“Amy.”
“Hi, boss.” I lean back, too casual.
“What thehellis this?”
“A report. You remember those, right?”
He rubs his temples like I just handed him a live grenade. “You called Kanapa’s tacticspsychological intimidation bordering on war crimes.”
“That was the generous phrasing.”
He lets out a slow exhale, the kind that saysI want to scream but I’m too tired to be sued.“You think we can run this? With his face oneveryrecruitment holoboard between here and Earth? With Alliance Command watching our ratings like hawks on a calcium drip?”
“I think if we don’t run it, we’re complicit.”
“You don’t pick fights you can’t finish, Amy. And you sure as hell don’t punch up with wet ink.”
