Lanis’ shirt is damp 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, looking intently as Lanis. She gives Lanis’ leg a gentle 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.

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” she lies. She steps gingerly out of the pod and onto the polished concrete floor, and lightly touches the small neural shunt at the side of her head: It’s tender, but at least it isn’t hot like the first time she integrated with Ether. The mind is a sort of muscle, after all: Isn’t that what one of her instructors said? Or maybe it was the opposite…

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

  “Headache?” he asks. “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, as if all the air left the room the moment Lanis stepped into the pod and still hasn’t returned. Lanis meets his eyes, 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.

  “Right. You passed. 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? She assumes Versk made the appropriate inquiries regarding her Status-D discharge conferral. The rapid integration, the simulation that was less like an Arena match and more like a proper insertion unit battle—it all seemed designed to make her fail, and perhaps snap.

  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’s boss, Mirem says under her breath as they’re escorted inside.

  The office is larger than Mirem’s entire apartment. Lanis realizes that it’s actually a sort of atrium, all light and blooming plants. In the center of the space is a desk, a gleaming expanse of polished wood. Real wood, Lanis imagines, imported at profound expense.

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

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

  An admin, Lanis thinks for a moment. 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. After all, AI administrators aren’t just reserved for Planetary Admin or Fleet logistics, but are utilized wherever the AI structure begins to abut the legal threshold for sentience. 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 blinks her eyes rapidly.

  “Greetings Lanis. What a pleasure to meet you,” the man says, 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 abreast 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 being able to integrate with our AI systems, but you’ve shown remarkable ability. I must ask you, 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 says, 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 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 feels 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 pressure on the decision, but we would appreciate an answer by this evening,” Renfol says. He takes a another deep breath, his eyelids fluttering again. Then he stands, and gives a 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.”