Of course, Mike wound up carrying the luggage. He tried not to react to that necessity in front of the troops. Obviously, other than Cassandane, he had the most kinetic strength. Most of the others would be hard pressed to lift their own body weight. Still, he couldn't help but feel a little disappointed that his role as second in command of the entire army involved being a beast of burden. After everything he had been through and accomplished -- not to mention the stress he would live under going forward -- it didn't seem fair that his place in society remained that of a basic laborer.

He schooled himself to impassiveness so that his frustration wouldn't show, telling himself that their army was small and ensuring someone did the work was more important than appearances. The pep talk didn't measurably improve his mood before they reached the convention center. Cassandane led their airborn parade, followed by Smith and Spencer, who stabilized the other kinetics too weak to handle the flight on their own. Mike brought up the rear, holding aloft their various interview candidates before him and trailing cots and personal bags behind.

Each person, not including their leader, lingered outside to survey the city from the rooftop before Mike clapped his hands and ordered them to get inside. Their occupation of the fourth floor may be official, but it was not yet public. A gaggle of flying idiots could change that status real quick. Mike touched down onto his feet in a corridor formed between two sections of building, separating the two sections of hallway that composed the top floor with a concrete avenue that extended to where windows on the side of the arched roof provided visibility to the large open spaces on floors below. Not wanting to disobey his own command, Mike did no more than glance at the architecture before walking in through the door, using his corona to stream all of their cargo inside.

Mike gestured to Spencer. "Could you take the candidates into one of the rooms? I don't want them mingling too much until the boss puts her stamp of approval on them. You can have them fill out personal information on paper. Assuming you can find paper. Just give them some busy work so we can maintain some semblance of OPSEC." With nothing else to go on, Spencer set of to herd the candidates into one of the empty rooms while instructing Srinivas to find pen and paper for her.

He turned to Varanelli and Smith next. "Get the gear staged. Looks like five meeting rooms and one lecture room in this section. We're going to house the men in one room, the women in another, and reserve a third for the Imperator. The meeting room closest to the stairs on either end we will reserve for office space and that lecture room will be for group instruction."

Varanelli squinted at him. "It didn't take you long to get back into full sergeant mode, did it?"

"I may be in over my head, roomie, but I'm not going to let that stop me. Now--" He turned to the door leading back onto the roof, sensing something at the fringe of his corona. "Scratch all that. Just get the Imperator and let her know we might have a problem." Mike stomped through the door, slamming it open as his corona rose upwise in a sloppy version of the exercise he had learned from Marius the day before, then crashed down to smother the kinetic talent of the two figures in dark leather as they loitered just outside.

The person a step ahead turned to face him, hands up in the air, blond hair framing a young face. The ironic amusement she wore drained away along with any color her pale face held. Behind her, the second woman froze as if she could render herself invisible through immobility. Mike used the full extent of his newfound power to hold the two women in place before him. They did not look like followers of Nallit at first glance. Nor did their light coloring match the brown skin common among the Angmari.

"Who are you?"

Rather than answering his snapped question, the two women looked at one another. Mike snapped his fingers. "Answer. Now."

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

"You go first," the one in front said.

"Why me? You're standing closer to him."

"Because I'm about to pee my pants. Besides, this is your big chance to chat him up."

"We're only here because of you! I would much rather be back in Cali right now."

Mike's eyes roved between the two as they held their side conversation. "Ladies, you have ten seconds to convince me you are friendly," he growled.

Behind him, the door opened. A familiar hand on his shoulder silently communicated that command of the situation had passed from him. "Hello, Sam. I see you managed to escape the fleet. I assume your companion is Jess?"

The blond sagged in relief. "Cassandane! Your body guard is way too intense."

Cassandane tilted her head. "If I understand the situation correctly, you attempted to infiltrate our headquarters the day after we battled enemy kinetics."

"Well . . . I mean . . . we were just trying to join up with you."

"How did you escape the fleet?"

The girl's features came to life, dimples appearing as her hands animated to help tell her story. "I decided as soon as you left that I was breaking Jess free. So I went all in on the corporate ladder climber role. They actually sat me down to tell me that I wasn't qualified to take over your job yet and I would have to accept whatever work the fleet gave me. Then that night I broke Jess out, grabbed some space suits, and we jumped."

Cassandane frowned. "The oxygen regenerators of the suits are not rated for extended trips."

"I figured as much when we almost died."

"Fortunately you survived," Cassandane said. "I am promoting you to centurion."

Mike clenched his jaw so fast he bit his tongue. Ignoring the pain, he cleared his throat. "Excuse me, Imperator, but are you sure that rank is appropriate?"

"Yes, Centurion," Cassandane said, voice firm, "I am. Sam will lead the training branch while you lead the operations branch."

"What about Jess?"

"She can interview with the other candidates for a position in the EDA."

Sam opened her mouth to protest, but Mike forestalled that by waving Jess over. "Sounds like you're joining the other candidates in our waiting room. Let's get you situated."

All three women watched him with blank expressions as Mike took Jess inside. "I'm Centurion Mike Dombroski, Jess. I take it you were part of the Angmari fleet?"

"A dumb volunteer who grew vegetables in space for a few weeks. Not really vegetables. Bacteria in bio-reactors. It was boring and stupid. Anyway, I'm Jess Green, originally from Sacramento."

"Sacramento. I feel like I should know where that is."

"California." When Jess flipped her hair back, it was like flipping a switch that put her into full on flirt mode.

Mike raised a single brow. "Oh, so you're a California girl."

"So hot we'll melt your popsicle."

"I think that's only when you are dressed in Daisy Dukes with bikinis on top," Mike said.

"You, sir, know your Katy Perry."

"I'm not sure that's the compliment you intend it to be."

Jess made an O of her mouth. "Are you telling me that you listen to something besides the lower common denominator in music? Tell me what it is so I can judge you."

They stood outside the door to the room the other candidates had gone into. "It's a very confused mix of genres. Eighties metal. Nineties punk. Reggae. Industrial. Rap."

"Suddenly all that building catching makes sense."

"Now that you mention it . . . ." Mike pulled open the door. "Get in there with the rest of them. Spencer, we have another candidate here, Jess Green."

"I'll see you around, crazy music man," Jess said as she sauntered into the room. With a deliberate effort, he did not look down as she swayed her hips.