As expected, the message queue on my terminal is full. Twenty-three new communications requiring responses, three flagged as high priority. I scan through the subjects with growing irritation.
Request for additional bunks at Outpost Seven.
Complaint about a shift supervisor in Ofin’s centraldistrict.
Proposal for redistribution of patrol routes in Belken.
And on and on.
If it were permissible, I’d program an automated response telling them all to solve their own fucking problems. They’re supposed to be Enforcers, not helpless children needing constant guidance. Figure it out. Adapt. Overcome. Is that not what we drill into every recruit?
But I can’t. Because part of leadership is dealing with this mundane bullshit, no matter how much I despise it.
And I despise the fuck out of it.
The priority messages are answered first, addressing each with the minimum necessary words. My replies are direct, unambiguous, and leave no room for further discussion. Yes, you can have the additional bunks. No, I won’t reassign the supervisor because you don’t like his tone. Yes, implement the new patrol routes immediately.
By the time I finish the last message, my food has gone cold and my patience has evaporated completely. Tomorrow will bring more of the same. An endless cycle of petty problems that somehow become my responsibility despite having nothing to do with any actual mission.
I rub my eyes beneath my mask, allowing myself a brief moment of weakness in the privacy of my office. Tomorrow, I’ll need to put on the Commander face again—implacable and unwavering. I’ll need to impress Rennaux, push the recruits harder, maintain absolute control over every aspect of this operation.
My thoughts drift to the insubordinate recruit again. There’s something off about Ashford; something that nags at my instincts.
His file is clean. Standard background, normal progression through education and early employment, no disciplinaryissues or notable achievements. A completely unremarkable man who somehow possesses a remarkable power. The kind of power that could be dangerous if misused.
The kind of power that could potentially influence people to aid our females in escape.
I dismiss the thought immediately. If Ashford were behind the breaches, he wouldn’t have joined this unit. He wouldn’t place himself directly under my scrutiny, it would be suicide.
Still…
I’ll watch him more closely. Test his reactions as I push his limits and search for inconsistencies in his behavior. If nothing else, it will force him to improve his physical capabilities or wash out trying.
Tomorrow’s training will focus on combat endurance. Seven hours of continuous drills, minimal rest periods. I’ll pair him against physically superior opponents, force him to adapt or break. The others won’t fare much better, but Ashford will be my primary focus.
One week. That’s what I told him today, and that’s all he gets, useful power or not.
The sharp trill of the desk phone startles me from my stupor. I glance at the clock—nearly nine. There’s only one person who uses this phone to communicate with me.
I let it ring twice more before lifting the receiver. “Leader Rennaux. I was under the impression we were meeting in the morning.”
“Commander. Change of plans.” The voice on the other end carries the weight of absolute authority, each syllable clipped and demanding. “Report.”
My spine straightens automatically, years of conditioning taking hold despite the privacy of my office. “Sir. Training is progressing on schedule. The recruits are adapting to thephysical requirements, though several have been dismissed for inadequacy.”
“How many?”
“Five so far, sir. We’re down to fifteen active recruits.”
Silence stretches through the line—he disapproves. When he speaks again, ice coats every word. “Fifteen. From an initial pool of twenty.”
“Yes, sir.” My voice remains steady and calm. “The standards are necessarily high for this mission. We cannot afford weak links.”
“What we cannot afford, Commander, is delay.” The temperature in his tone somehow drops further. “The rebel situation grows more concerning by the day. Our intelligence suggests they’re mobilizing, possibly planning something significant. We need your team operational.”
My jaw clenches. “Understood, sir. However, sending unprepared recruits into the field would be?—”
“Your job is to prepare them, is it not?”
