“Notthatpart.”
“If your loyalty to this establishment is coming into question—”
“At the Academy,” I interrupt, feeling very much like I’m sticking my fist into a pool of piranhas, “we’re taught that most situations can be handled without force.”
Lament and the sergeant both snap their eyes to me. And… I did not think this through. There’s clearly something going on here—something beyond the Legion’s investigation into Doc Min—but I can’t read the subtext. I don’t understand where Lament’s anger at the sergeant is coming from. All I know is if I don’t do something right now, Lament is going to land that second red card after all.
“Direct violence,” I continue, “is only ever to be used as a last resort.” I look around the room, keeping my voice even and open, like we’re all just having a friendly little debate.De-escalate, my heart demands with every painful thump.De-escalate.“This is especially true since—as members of the most powerful fighting force in the galaxy—it’s up to us to use our authority responsibly. Sure, we could blaze into every mission brandishing our weapons and leveling anything that stands in our way, but if we did, would we be any better than the enemy? In that regard, I think Lament makes a good point.”
I beam at the sergeant hopefully, but she looks entirely unamused. “The Academy trains its cadets well,” she admits. “They have produced some of the finest fleet members this organization has ever known, often outpacing the many other prep schools from which we recruit new members. But there is a difference between controlled training scenarios and real missions.”
“Isn’t the point of training toprepareus for real missions?”
“It is not that simple.”
“But what if—”
“Tomorrow, you will be given your first true orders,” the sergeant cuts in. “You will begin to learn the truth of what it takes to keep this galaxy safe.The lengths the Legion must go—has always gone—to ensure our way of life.” Her expression changes. It grows almost sad. I remember, suddenly, that before the sergeant became the leader of this fleet, she was a gunner, too.
“You are a member of the Legion now, Mr. Hartman,” she says, glancing at Lament, as if these words are as much for him as they are for me. “If force is necessary, I expect you to use it. Class dismissed.”
10
The Insomnia is back.
I shouldn’t be surprised. I mean, the week started off pretty well, and I felt like I was really starting to mesh with my fleet, but then I had to go and plant myself in the middle of someone else’s fight.Again.It’s not like I’m trying to get on the sergeant’s bad side. It’s just… I’ve been finding it really hard to sit by and watch while she and Lament have their little sparring matches thinly veiled as professional discourse. Even if I still don’t fully understand the reason.
So here I am, awake again in my room at some ungodly hour, wondering if maybe sleep is a myth invented by our AI overlords to make us believe we’re supposed to close our eyes every night while they secretly run around wreaking havoc in our absence. I’m lying on my back in bed, scrolling aimlessly through my handheld when a message from Lament lights up the screen.
We need to talk.
I’m immediately upright. We need to talk? Seriously? Not even aHey, Hartman, how’s it going?I’m already mentally tallying the possibilities (everything fromLament has a new lead on the space misttoLament’s leg has been bitten off by a cave raptor)as I type back,That sounds ominous.
It’s nothing bad.
I have something to say.
Not over message, though.
Can I come to your room?
Give me a hint first.
Hartman.
Just a small one.
You don’t need a hint.
Just say okay.
Okay,I type, when what I really want to say is no, absolutely not, under no circumstances are you barging in here with your… your vague demands to speak in person. I don’t care if Lament says it’s nothing bad. People always say it’s nothing bad. And then it’s the worst.
I scoot out of bed and flip on the lights, wishing I owned more stuff so I’d have something to nervously tidy while I wait for him. To come here. To my room.
Shit.
I pour myself a glass of water, then pour him a glass, only to realize how deranged it looks having preemptively poured water for a guest. Not that Lament is a guest. His room is, like, three doors down from mine. We practically live together. We do live together. Except not, like, live-live, since that would imply something else entirely.
