She luxuriates on the bed afterward, body sheened with sweat, eyes half closed. There’s been a certain numbness since her breaking. The incident, she calls it. Often it feels like she is viewing herself outside of her own body, a puppet performing actions, her mind half-heartedly pulling the strings. Lying next to Mirem she feels more fully present than she has since… it. She smiles, and realizes that it’s the first actual, non-artificial smile she’s made in months, and softly hums as she stares at the dim, orange glow of Mirem’s high-ceilinged globe light.

“That sounds reassuring. There were moments there where I wasn’t sure if you were fully enjoying yourself,” says Mirem, stroking Lanis’ arm. She’s propped on an elbow, hair billowing over her glistening neck. Lanis feels her heart lurch, despite herself.

“Oh, I enjoyed every moment. It’s just that, sometimes, I disassociate a bit. Well, more than a bit., More than sometimes. The doctors said it’s a natural response, after… what I went through,” Mirem waits a moment, but Lanis doesn’t expand.

“Just so you know, I don’t sleep with every prospective client,” Mirem says. Lanis barks a laugh. “Is that what I am? I’d almost forgotten about that.” Lanis says. She shakes her head. “I’m afraid I might have just humored you to get you into bed.”

Mirem gives a look of false outrage. “Or maybe I used the pitch as you for an excuse to get you into bed,” she says, smiling back. Lanis traces the curve of Miren’s thigh, sighing.

“Ok, but… really,” says Mirem, affecting a tone of seriousness. “I’m so curious about you, it’s honestly a bit embarrassing. Is that rude? That I really want to know what Fleet training was like? Sorry if you’ve been asked that a hundred times. And, you can tell me you don’t want to talk about it,” she adds, holding up a hand.

“No, actually, it’s fine. Maybe even good to talk about,” Lanis says, leaning back again, staring at the orange-lit ceiling again. “That’s what the psychologists said. It was, uh, intense. I came into it at fourteen. I was good in school, but not exceptional. Everyone was shocked when I was chosen after mandatories.” Mirem raises her eyebrows. The mandatory exams were just that; nearly every Terra child was tested at yearly intervals for fleet compatibility through a battery of tests. Some were generic problem solving exams, others cognitive compatibility appraisals with advanced AI systems.

“I thought thirteen was the cutoff?” Mirem asks, softly. She sits up in the bed, her legs crossed, watching Lanis.

Lanis continues, opening herself up to this stranger, reckless in the afterglow of the bed. “Oh, they make a few exceptions. I guess I was a late bloomer? Anyway, then it’s studying, god, so much studying, then more tests, modifications, more studying, more tests. There were a few thousand in my cohort at first. Some washed out, but most made it to second year where we were reshuffled into service tracks. I,” Lanis smiles lightly again, but with a sourness too, and she can feel her eyes stinging despite herself, “I was put on command track. Navigator class, starting year three. Fleet doesn’t advertise this, but the problem with the ship AIs, with the integrations, with their massive egos, and especially the warp jumping… It breaks people. Just the training. People go a bit mad all the time. And I did too, in the end, I suppose, even after all the training, and after all the modifications. I wonder if I’m even really human anymore. How much can you replace, and still be human?” She hears herself, hears her voice starting to rise, and takes a few deep breaths. Mirem’s hand is on her head, just resting there. She shuts her eyes tightly and feels the tears spilling out at the edges.

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She says “I’m sorry,” and then Mirem is softly stroking her, saying it’s ok, that she doesn’t have to keep going, but she wants to, and so she does.

“It was my first warp jump. The ships, despite what they are, still can’t do what we do. Something with the interdimensionally of the biological imagination, quantum mechanics, all that. I’ll spare you, since I can’t do any justice to the explanation. But.. on my first jump, something was there. An anomaly.” She takes a rattling breath. “I managed to pull us out, but it almost killed me. I haven’t been the same since. I spent a month in the hospital, another in psychiatric rehab, then a couple weeks at a convalescent retreat for societal re-integration. And now… here I am. Trying not to think about it.”

She leaves out all the details of course: the heady first touch with the Jupiter-class ship during pre-jump trials, the Demeter’s all encompassing presence, the horror of warp-jump training, the weightlessness of the psychotic break, the screaming, the blood pouring so heavily that she choked and nearly died. Whatever it was, in the Warp, eating the Androvan ship, hungry for the Demeter, for Her. It’s as if she can still feel it, a shadow that lingers at the edge of her own. An Anomaly, they called it in the extensive debriefs, unable or unwilling to expand further.

“Shit,” Mirem says, quietly. “I’m sorry. I knew it was intense. But like you said, Fleet doesn’t exactly advertise how bad it can get Terra-side. I can’t believe…” Mirem stops herself. Can’t believe what? The thing is, she does believe Lanis. But to be here, next to a Navigator, it doesn’t quite feel real. What did Lanis say - one in two hundred million? But it’s more than that. It’s the mystique of Fleet. Most information from Fleet is relayed through propaganda and colonial recruitment drives, and most of its veterans resettle on the colonial worlds.Technically, there are no secrets. They all know that humanity isn’t alone, and, while it’s unclear how crowded it is out there, according to Fleet it’s a fucking mess. So, even though they’re all on the same side, the fewer questions the better. No need to freak everyone out unnecessarily, is there? This has naturally raised some hackles over the years, but the apparatus of power is such that no one makes too much of a fuss. The massive industrial base of Terra and its glittering orbital shipyards keep churning out ships and supplies, the mega-corporations reaping the benefits, while Planetary Administration referees the competing players, trying to keep a lid on the inevitable fratricidic squabbles. Of course, maybe it’s all busywork, Mirem has sometimes thought. Endless math worksheets to keep the students from rebelling against the teacher.

“Yeah, thanks. It’s ok, I think. They wanted me to stay at the retreat for another few weeks, but I’d already been medically discharged. Told too many people to go fuck themselves when I regained my sanity. Once the doctors declared me copus mentis they couldn’t hold me. Didn’t want to send me off-world because of certain risks.”

Mirem is quiet, just stroking Lanis’ hair, feeling the cold silver lines that run across her head. Lanis exhales noisily.

“Anyway, enough about that. It’s a mess. Your turn. What about you? And what are the Arena Games? I remember hearing about them before I went to Fleet, but I’ve never actually seen a game.”

Mirem looks stunned for a moment, and then barks a laugh.

“Are you kidding me? First of all, how do you not know about the Arena Games? Second, you just got out of the hospital. I mean, I’m still not even sure what you went through, but it sounds like hell. I had no idea. I’m sorry I even brought it up. I was drunk, and recruiting someone from Fleet seemed like an outrageously good idea at the time.”

“No, I’m fine. Really,” Lanis says. She slides out of the bed, stretching, joints popping, turning fluidly with her hands on her hips. “The doctors said that I made a ‘remarkable recovery, motor-sensory systems fully intact only two weeks post-intubation ’” she says, switching to an affected, clipped accent. “Look, how about this— I take a shower, and you come with me and tell me all about the Games.”