“What the hell are you doing, Petty Officer Reynard? It’s the middle of the night cycle.”

  I jumped, my heart leaping into my throat as Commander Taera’s voice cut through the bay’s ambient noise. I’d been so focused on carefully maneuvering the large heavy-G drone into its launch bay on the drop pod that I hadn’t heard her approach.

  I looked up from the drone’s housing to see the XO standing there, arms crossed, one elegant eyebrow raised. She was out of uniform, wearing a simple black shipsuit, but she still radiated an aura of absolute authority.

  “Getting ready for tomorrow’s raid, ma’am,” I said, wiping a greasy smear off my cheek with the back of my wrist. “I had to do some last-minute refits after I found out I was going to be on-site, and I am running out of time. My own fault, I didn’t realize I was going to be on the raider team itself. I thought I was just support.”

  Taera looked at me disapprovingly. It was a look she had perfected, one that could make a seasoned chief petty officer feel like a misbehaving child. “Fine. I understand preparedness. Why are you doing it at two in the morning? You need your sleep, Gabrielle. A tired healer is a dead healer, and a dead healer gets her team killed.”

  I shook my head, gesturing at the open panel and the complex wiring within. “I have too much work to do, and not enough time before the scheduled drop. I’ll sleep when it’s done.”

  Taera actually laughed, a short, surprised sound. “Go get some sleep. Or hit midrats first if you need to eat. If getting prepped sets our schedule behind by a few hours, then it sets us behind. The rift isn’t going anywhere.”

  “Huh?” I blinked, confused. Fleet, and by extension privateers, ran on schedules. Deviations were met with displeasure.

  She looked at me sternly, but there was a hint of something softer in her eyes. “Sweety, you are going to be your team’s primary field healer and you will be running the first entry. You are the linchpin of this operation. If you need more prep time to feel confident, to ensure your gear is perfect, it’s not like the rift is going to overload. Your team will happily give you all the time you need, and so will I, if it means your focus is sharp and it keeps even one of my troopers alive. Their lives are worth more than a timetable.”

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  I looked at her oddly, this revelation so contrary to everything I’d experienced in the 132nd Penal Battalion, where we were expendable assets, cheaper than ammunition.

  I shook my head, closing the pod’s bulkhead door and locking its security seal with a firm clunk. “Sorry, Commander. I didn’t think… I didn’t think I was that important. I figured I was just… you know, the pilot. The drone operator. A replaceable part.”

  She laughed again, a warmer sound this time. “Yes, Gabrielle, you are important. Maybe among your people spiritual healers are as common as sand, but out here in the wider galaxy? You are worth your weight in weapons-grade plutonium for that alone. Oh, and one more thing…” Her expression turned serious again.

  “Yes Ma’am?” I asked, standing a little straighter.

  “Once you get started, you are going to drop your child class almost immediately. This is a copper raid; the experience flow will be significant. When you do, tell the team leader, Corporal Rastlin, immediately. Getting you a real class is like half the reason for this raid. Use the portable node I’ll have sent to your bunk to grab a class right away, they will happily secure the area and wait for you. Choosing a class is not something to rush.”

  I was confused. “Me? Getting a class is half the reason? What’s the other half?”

  She grinned, a predator’s smile. “Getting the troops to high copper or maybe bronze, and hopefully seizing enough resources to put us in the black for a while… Our refit was pretty expensive, and The Captain likes her ship to turn a profit. And if you are able to grab the resources with a drone fleet, well, suddenly you just became three quarters of the reason. I am not going to tell you what classes you can take, that’s up to you and one of the reasons we are not Fleet—we believe in self-determination—but take your time in choosing. The teams will happily wait.” She gave me a final, appraising look. “Now. Go. Eat. Sleep. That’s an order, Petty Officer.”

  “Aye, aye, ma’am,” I said, the weight of her words—worth your weight in plutonium—settling on my shoulders alongside all the others.

  It was a heavy burden. But it was one I had chosen. Now I had to be strong enough to carry it.