Mike picked at the chicken breast, green beans, and potato wedges that had come from the catering trays.

Across from him, Joe repeated himself. "But, I mean, who the hell shot her? Was it terrorists?"

"We don't know yet," Mike growled.

"It just doesn't make sense," Whittaker said.

McGreary shook his head. "She should have been hardened."

"Oh, like you walk around constantly bulletproof?" Joe snorted. "I seen you get a nosebleed the other day from picking at it, so don't claim you're always hardened."

"No one is in the mood for jokes right now," Varanelli said.

"It wasn't a joke. He really did that. I'm defending Erica. McGreary wants to fault her for not walking into a restaurant like she's going into a battle zone."

Whittaker dropped his fork to his plate. "We're going to be a hundred percent dependent on convention center catering for our food from now on?"

"There's always cereal," Varanelli muttered.

"Screw this city. Antarctica is starting to sound like an upgrade," Tracy said.

"Arctic," Sam corrected. "Antarctica is on the bottom of the globe."

"I am thinking catering makes food better when they have advance notice," Srinivas added.

Whittaker sighed. "I don't see why you can't pick up our meals, Ski. You're practically invincible."

"None of us are invincible," Mike growled.

"I wasn't picking my nose," McGreary said. "Just putting that out there for the record."

Cop Cody cleared his throat. "How close are we to being ready for the move to Nuvanet island?"

"My dad finished the ventilation on the shower facility this morning. He ran the air intake pipe through the vent pipe so that the incoming air will be warmed up. Should keep the chill off." Jimmy nudged Mike in the side. "You doing all right, buddy?"

"Fine," Mike growled.

Whittaker sighed. "What are we even going to even eat up north?"

"What? You don't think Uber Eats delivers there?" Sarcasm practically dripped from Tracy's tongue.

"We're not even allowed delivery here," Whittaker said. "Is the big boss worried they'll try to poison us next?"

"Ask her yourself when she gets back," Mike growled.

Whittaker drew back as if he'd been slapped. "Sorry if I'm bothering you, Centurion."

"You were getting real annoying with the whining, Whittaker," Joe said.

Sam cleared her throat. "Uh, Centurion Dombroski? Can we talk real quick?"

By way of response, Mike pushed away from the table and walked outside to stand on the rooftop. When the door had closed behind Sam, he held a clenched fist up to inspect knuckles battered from years of work hitting heavy bags. "Do you actually have something to say or did you just want to get me away from the troops?"

"The second one mostly."

"You're becoming a good leader, Sam."

"I hope so," she said.

"None of your soldiers have died yet."

"Mike, you can't let the stress get to you."

"Please, go ahead and tell me all about how I should handle the stress of leading a combat team."

Sam slowly edged around to face him, face pale. "Mike, I'm not trying to give you advice on anything. I need to tell you something."

Cold fear replaced the simmering rage in an instant. "What's happened now?"

"Nothing happened. Not yet, anyway. I don't even know if I should tell you, since the . . . romance . . . thing. It's just that I don't think Cassandane is holding herself together as good as she seems to be."

Mike frowned. "We're all under a lot of stress, Sam. We'll handle it and get the job done."

"No, I don't think you understand. Cassandane isn't like you. She's not going to flip out and yell or beat someone up. She could do a lot worse."

"Look, kid . . . ."

"She murdered children on the Angelship."

Whatever response he had been about to make vanished from his mouth. "Children? No, come on. Did you see this?"

"She admitted it. Her last mission from Nallit was to kill everyone on the Angelship. One of the other 'saviors' chickened out and she did his portion too. I don't think that's the only time she's killed innocents, Mike. She was a terrorist working for Nallit on her old planet."

Mike looked away from her. "That's history. We've all done things in the past that we're ashamed of."

"Being a terrorist isn't the same as cheating on your wife."

"Maybe you should ask yourself if you would rather be lead by a martyr or a survivor. We've heard enough from Marius and Cassandane about what things were like. They did what they had to to survive. Everyone who wouldn't or couldn't handle the demands placed on them died. We need to survive so that we can ensure the world survives."

"Are you sure Cassandane won't snap and murder us?"

Mike clenched his jaw. "How do you know I won't?"

"Because you care about people."

"So does she."

Sam visibly deflated. "You can't even admit it's possible. Mike . . . . She's not going to settle down and raise a family. All she wants is to achieve objectives. I don't even think it really matters what those objectives are, so long as she gets to untangle some interesting problems."

Mike chopped his hand sideways in a cease-and-desist motion. "We're going talking before you suggest mutiny and I have to report this conversation."

"Fine." Sam re-entered the building and Mike moved forward to lean over the railing. Over time, the tingly fear of heights had transformed into heady anticipation and eventually faded into numb indifference. The terrors that tormented him were no longer simple things like gravity. It was instead the inevitability of the disasters lining up to crush his people. Disasters that, given enough time, he would fail to prevent.

His dark musings lasted some time before he felt the approach of a foreign corona on his own. Mike pulled himself upright, straightening his expression, as the ladies came into sight. Erica looked as hale as ever, though once she stood on her feet she moved with a delicate concentration that worried Mike. She flashed him a transparently false smile.

Cassandane caught his attention. "I need to speak with you immediately, Centurion. The Sergeant can make her way inside unassisted."

Mike nodded his head in assent. "What's the new emergency, boss?"

"It's a pre-existing issue that has been illuminated."

"Lay it on me."

"Nallit came to see me this morning."

Mike's eyes darted about the darkening skyline before he brought himself back under control. "He's in the city?"

"Yes," she said. "He set the terms for the start of his game with you. Friday at noon you have to be at Point Park. You are to bring three members of the EDA as hostages to ensure your adherence to whatever rules he specifies at that time. For the duration of the event, I must remain in this building and refrain from any attempt to assist you."

Mike glanced back into the convention center, where Sergeant Spencer was surrounded by her fellow soldiers. "I don't want to bring anyone."

"You know the alternative is that he will kill all of them. I will make the assignments if that eases the burden on you."

"Ask for volunteers," he said. "That might make it a smidge less horrible."

"Your corona wrestling is adequate to handle anyone Nallit has trained at this point. I want to focus on protecting yourself with the teleotic talent."

Mike nodded. "The Jello thing."

"Semi-solid hardening. You should be able to achieve a basic level of proficiency in two and a half days."