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"That's called walking, Garcia."

"That's called Thessok got you at least once." Garcia pointed her spoon. "He did, didn't he."

"He got me once out of four."

"I'm telling everyone he got you twice."

"That's slander."

"That's reporting."

"You're a translator, Garcia, not a journalist."

"On this planet those are the same job and you know it."

"It's morale. The warriors love it when you lose. It makes them feel like the universe still has rules." Garcia dug into her porridge. "Korvax finished the whole 'th' drill yesterday. Start to finish. No blood."

Athena set down her cup. "None?"

"None. He said 'the theory of the thing' four times in a row, and then he stood there for about ten seconds looking at me like he'd invented fire." Garcia was grinning into her bowl. "I gave him another gold star. He's got two on his chest plate now. Draeth asked him if he was being awarded for valor and Korvax said yes."

"Korvax said yes."

"With a completely straight face. He is my favorite student and I will not be taking questions."

Sorenson arrived the way she always arrived, without warning and carrying food. She put a plate down in front of Athena and stood back with her arms crossed and the held-breath tension of an artist watching someone approach her work.

"What is it?" Athena asked.

"Don't ask what it is. Eat it."

"That's not reassuring."

"Reassurance is for people who don't trust their cook." Sorenson tapped the table. "Eat."

Athena ate. It was bread, or the Dobromian argument for bread. Warm and dense, threaded with something savory that caught at the back of her throat in a way she immediately wanted more of.

"Sorenson."

"I know."

"No, Sorenson."

"I know." The cook allowed herself about a quarter of a smile. "Eight-hour ferment on the spring water. Turns out the minerals do half the work if you let them. Fifty-three tries."

"You counted?"

"I wrote them down. There's a book." Sorenson picked up the empty plate that had held Athena's porridge. "Tell your sister. She's been asking about the bread in every message for four months. Toren told her Dobromian food was better than Earth food, and Marina decided that was a challenge issued to her personally."

"That is exactly what my sister would decide."

"I know. I like her." Sorenson headed back toward the kitchens. "Tell her fifty-three."

* * *

Her office was a converted storage alcove near the council chambers, and Athena had made exactly one change to it in a year.

The photograph hung on the wall above the volcanic glass desk. Marina and Athena on a beach, nineteen and sixteen, sunburned into two shades of the same red, laughing at something neither of them could remember afterward. Their mother had taken it eleven days before the diagnosis. Athena had carried it through basic training, through two deployments, through the Vulcana's cargo manifest, and through a crash landing on a planet nobody had charted.