Lanis’ shirt is soaked with sweat as the sim pod’s hatch hisses open. Just one more indignity, Lanis thinks. Maybe I should start bringing a change of clothes if I’m going to make a habit of it. She licks her dry lips as Ash moves to unbuckle her from the pilot seat.

  “So, how’d I do?” Lanis asks softly. Along with the sweat, the stirrings of a headache have transformed into a fully fledged migraine. Lanis shuts her eyes tightly as Ether removes the neural shunt with a wet click and opens them to see Ash shaking her head with a sort of bewilderment.

  “I mean… you passed, from a simulation perspective. But are you ok?” Ash replies, gazing intently as Lanis. She notices Lanis’ grimace of pain, and gives her shoulder a gentle commiserating squeeze after she unbuckles the last part of the pilot harness.

  Lanis inhales deeply through her nose, out through her mouth. Her legs are cramping, her skull feels ready to split open, and she’s already shivering.

  “I’m fine,” she lies. She gingerly steps out of the pod and onto the polished concrete floor, and lightly touches the neural shunt at the side of her head: It’s tender, but at least it isn’t hot. The mind is a sort of muscle, after all; isn’t that what one of her instructors said? Which means I should be giving it plenty of rest…

  Suddenly Heinrich is standing before her, his arms crossed over his chest.

  “Headache?” he observes. “Makes sense. Those readings were barely outside our disconnect threshold.”

  Besides a soft humming noise coming from the sim pod and the creaking of a few chairs, the question falls on an awkward silence. It’s as if all the air left the room the moment the simulation began and still hasn’t returned. Lanis meets Heinrich’s searching gaze, forcing herself to match the man’s intensity.

  She manages a weak smile. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

  Heinrich clears his throat. He looks to Ash, who nods minutely, before looking back to Lanis. His tone is curt, but there’s a hint of something behind it, an awkward sensitivity.

  “Well, you passed the integration run. Come with me.”

  Heinrich leads them to an adjacent building within the Versk complex, walking in silence. Lanis feels her headache slowly fade into a background hum of discomfort. She wants to ask Mirem about the simulation—surely that couldn’t have been standard? The rapid integration, the simulation that was less like an Arena match and more like a mini Insertion Unit battle—it all seemed designed to make her fail, and perhaps even snap. The joys of living with a Status D discharge conferral, she thinks. She’s grimly satisfied to have proven their doubts wrong.

  They finally reach an office foyer, where they’re greeted by a chisel-featured valet in immaculate Versk livery, pale blue with silver accents across his lapels. Heinrich hands them off to the man, his eyes lingering on Lanis. He gives a small nod to Mirem.

  “Heinrich’s boss,” Mirem whispers as they’re escorted inside.

  The office they enter is larger than Mirem’s entire apartment. Lanis suddenly realizes that it’s actually a sort of atrium, with arched windows overhead, all light and blooming plants. At the center of the space is a desk, a gleaming expanse of polished wood that appears old and profoundly expensive.

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  The man who rises to greet them behind the desk is tall and slim, and his shaved head nearly gleams in the dappled light. What does gleam are the small implants that tastefully adorn his temples, curving over his ears in ridges of silver and matte black.

  Some type of Admin, Lanis thinks. There’s something about the glaze of his eyes, and the awkward way he smiles as they take their seats, as if his muscles are a bit out of practice, that gives the impression that the man is more comfortable in an integration couch than in human relations. She’s a bit surprised that Versk has one overseeing their new Suit division. Then again, AI Administrators aren’t just reserved for Planetary Admin or Fleet logistics, but are utilized whenever the AI structure begins to abut the legal threshold for sentience, with the associated risks of heightened unpredictability and ego spiraling; that’s where strict oversight has to be maintained.

  Of course, the real Administrators barely see the light of day, so essential is their continued oversight to the efficiency of the systems they co-run. That could have been my future, Lanis thinks, living out my days in a navigation pod, cosseted by the Ship’s systems, beatifically wasting away until I became half ship myself. That was the goal, wasn’t it? She swallows, pushing the thoughts of Fleet from her mind.

  “Greetings Lanis. What a pleasure to meet you,” the man states, inclining his head to Lanis and Mirem in turn. His voice is high, almost childlike. “And Mirem, what thanks we have that you brought us such joy. My name is Renfol. I am the Vice President of the Versk Armored Suit division and the Director of this facility. I’ve been kept informed of you Lanis, and I must say, we are most impressed.”

  He smiles, and inhales deeply. His eyelids flutter, and then he continues.

  “We so rarely get to meet ex-Fleet personnel, even cadets. We were afraid your Status D notation would preclude you from successfully integrating with our AI systems, but you’ve shown remarkable ability. I must ask, what were the details surrounding your medical discharge from Fleet? Your discharge papers paint a rather… incomplete picture,” Renfol says, examining Lanis like she’s a particularly rare orchid.

  “I’m afraid that information is classified,” Lanis answers, her voice flat.

  Renfol’s smile tightens. He inclines his head.

  “Of course it is. Though, I’m sure you understand that without a full examination of your background we will only be able to offer a provisional contract. Even that is unusual, given the implication of your Status D conferral.”

  Lanis’ chest tightens, and she clenches her jaw. But she simply nods. “As you say.”

  Renfol briefly meets Mirems eyes, as if his disappointment extends to her as well. His eyes then grow distant, as he confers with some internal system.

  “Well, perhaps in the future those details will be more forthcoming. In the meantime, we are prepared to offer a provisional pilot contractor agreement, with bonus fees dependent on performance.” Lanis sees a small ping against her vision, and she opens up the document.

  “I also have a hardcopy here for review,” Renfol says. “A physical document is really the only way to mark such a moment.” Despite the man’s almost simpering tone, there’s a cold look in his eyes as he slides the document across his desk.

  “Of course, you’ll want an external lawyer to review these documents. I’ve sent over a list of firms that specialize pilot contracts, none of which are affiliated with Versk. You are, of course, free to find your own.”

  Lanis picks up the document, running her hands over the thick paper. It feels rough, and expensive.

  “Not to put any undue pressure on the decision, but we would appreciate an answer by this evening,” Renfol remarks. He takes another deep breath, and then he stands and gives a slight bow. Lanis and Mirem stand as well, both bowing back, Lanis awkward, Mirem elegant with practice.

  “I do hope we can work together,” Renfold says. He gestures to his attendant, who is suddenly at their side.

  “Now, Reginold will see you out.”