At the end of every training flight, the drills would unseal our ships and wrench us out of the cockpits, disoriented and sticky with ship fluids. They would hose us off, then blast us dry with compressed air. Today, there was something wrong with the heater. The water was ice cold. Each member of the squadron yelped as the torrent hit them, and when it was my turn, I couldn’t help but do the same. The air hose sputtered a feeble raspberry as they tried to dry us. There was a break in the line somewhere.

Losing the war.

I stood shivering on the deck after the terrible run, spirit bruised and manhood shrunken. I could hear the bay doors hiss open behind me, the unmistakable sound of Tsuros’ stride. His boots clanged against the deck grating. He stopped in front of me and eyed me up and down.

“Pathetic.”

I wasn’t sure if he meant my genitals or my flight time. Both were in a sorry state today.

“Come with me,” Tsuros ordered. He turned briskly and marched back towards the door.

Before I could comply, a strangled sound escaped Pirate’s mouth. The whole squadron flinched. Tsuros came to an abrupt halt, searing us with his glare. Pirate’s nose twitched. He tried to pretend he’d been stifling a sneeze.

Tsuros motioned his head towards a drill. Without hesitation, the drill drove his fist into Pirate’s gut. Tsuros watched Pirate fall, and then gave a curt nod of approval. I started towards the bay doors, but Tsuros’ expression froze me mid-step.

“Get dressed, idiot,” Tsuros ordered.

Still wet, I put on my coveralls and followed him out. Pirate softly sobbed behind me.

☼

I expected Tsuros to lead me back to the interrogation room. Instead, he brought me to his office. There were no pictures, no medals, no commendations. Set against the wall was a clavichord. At first, I assumed it must be a replica. An antique would be impossibly expensive. But the open lid had the particular luster of real wood. There was a slight concavity to the keys that spoke of decades of use. It was real. Tsuros was the source of the distant music, the phantom of the vents.

Tsuros, made a sound in his throat, and I snapped my eyes forward, anticipating retribution. He stood behind his desk, where everything was rigidly organized. Each object looked like it had been aligned with a ruler. Maybe they had.

“Rate the competence of your squadmates,” Tsuros fired the command at me like a shot, looming over his desk.

I was at attention. He hadn’t given me leave to relax.

“Low, sir,” I replied. I didn’t care about shielding them anymore.

“Their flying ability?” Tsuros pressed.

“Lower, sir.”

“Sit down.”

I took the chair. It felt like a trap, but I had no choice. My body was damp and uncomfortable. I was going to leave a spot on the chair, and Tsuros might beat me for it, but he’d certainly beat me if I hesitated. I couldn’t win.

“You’re worthless, but you aren’t stupid, Traitor. You can see how things are going.”

He gestured around the walls, meaning the prison falling apart all around us. His orderly office was like the eye of a hurricane.

“Say it,” he demanded.

I was confused. I hoped I didn’t have a concussion.

“Say what, sir?” I asked.

“Say it!”

“We’re losing the war, sir,” I said. Tsuros was, after all, the one who had unwittingly revealed this to me.

For a moment, Tsuros’ lip curled. Maybe he had meant for me to say something else. But his expression leveled.

“That’s right. We are losing the war. Losing to an enemy that can’t attack us! An enemy fundamentally incapable of doing us harm! And it’s almost over, we’re nearly finished. All because of people like you. Deserters. Retreaters. Backstabbing, turncoat, traitors,” he spat the last like a curse.

Had Tsuros brought me here to kill me? The hair on the back of my neck rose. My eyes darted across his desk. I searched for something I could use to defend myself, but nothing would suit.

I had no hope of beating Tsuros in a fight. No amount of adrenaline could overcome our difference in size and strength. I imagined him surging across the desk, closing those thick fingers around my windpipe and squeezing until my face turned purple. Soon, it wasn’t just my neck hair rising. I was glad to be sitting down. Thankfully, Tsuros didn’t pick up on my inner turmoil. He probably thought I was just afraid.

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“The others in your squadron are spineless. Not you. You were a cunt-hair away from dying when we grilled you, did you know that? Forty-eight hours without water. Not a peep of protest. Medical says your kidneys were failing. Did you break into that storeroom, Traitor?”

Tsuros rose to his feet and circled around the small office. It felt like his mouth was just centimeters from my ear. If I flinched, I would get belted for it.

Here was the pivotal moment. It was critical I delay my answer, to act like I was getting new information. I pretended I was trying to figure out who had done it.

“No, sir,” I concluded.

“We could shoot for seventy-two hours without water this time,” Tsuros threatened. He completed his circuit and made his way back behind his desk.

“Aye-aye, sir” I replied.

I met Tsuros’ stare, daring him to do it. Seventy-two hours of interrogation would kill me. I was certain he couldn’t afford to lose me. It just bothered him that I hadn’t cracked like the others.

Tsuros sat down and faced me, shrugging off the failed attempt. He had more cards to play.

“It’s time, Traitor. You fly at 0600.”

I was stunned. How could the mission be tomorrow? Whatever the hell they wanted us to do, I knew the others weren’t ready. Addict was a mess. Murderess had barely improved. Corrupt and Liar were middling, and who knew what Pirate would do. If this was a tournament, I would expect all of them to get eliminated before semis. I wouldn’t trust any of them in a battle.

I wanted to scream all of this at Tsuros, but I choked it down. He didn’t really care what I thought. I told myself dying on the mission would be better than dying in this prison.

“Aye-aye, sir,” I said, sealing my fate.

“Nothing I say in this room will be repeated. Do you comprehend?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do the others still believe what we’ve told them about the mission?”

“I think so, sir.”

“Do you?”

“No. This is a suicide mission, sir.”

Tsuros nodded.

“Are you ready to die, Traitor?”

“Yes, sir,” I replied easily. I felt a moment of relief that I’d been right all along. I think I was more worried I’d guessed wrong than afraid of dying. I’d been ready for a long time.

“The broad outline of what you know about the mission is true. But you’re correct, there is no plan for retrieval. You’ll find out why in the briefing. This is the third time we’ve attempted this. We sent veteran pilots on the first one. They failed. Then we sent fanatics, the most zealous patriots.

They failed. Now, we’re down to convicts. It was the psychologists’ idiot idea to send in the condemned, thinking you had nothing to lose. Now, it’s too late. The other fronts have collapsed. We’re out of supplies, out of men, out of time. You are mankind’s last chance.”

I stared back at Tsuros, wondering how long he’d spent composing this pitch, how many times he’d rehearsed before my empty chair.

“Look at me, Traitor. I’ve served the Hezo since the day I was born. I’ve got more flight hours than every man on this station combined. I crushed rebellions. I conquered star systems!”

Tsuros tapped the ridge of his cheekbone with his index finger.

For the first time, I noticed the very faint scars on his temples. Three pinpoints on either side, forming equilateral triangles where an interface had been removed. Now I knew why he was on the other side of the desk. He’d burned out, and they’d clipped his wings.

Tsuros paused until he was sure I understood.

“The war has turned against us. Procyon is lost. Sirius has capitulated. These cowards want to cede the galaxy to our own creation. Weak, disgusting sheep! Satisfied to graze and rut while our species is extinguished! Wallowing in their knock-off Heaven! Oozing through fat, meaningless degeneration! No contrast! No definition! An easy, useless, painless existence! Do you want that, Traitor?”

My eyes blazed. Tsuros was speaking my language.

“No, sir.”

“Your squadmates are weak, Traitor. We should be sending a hundred ships, a hundred first-rate pilots. But there are no more ships. No more munitions. No good men. Just you.”

I nodded in agreement.

Tsuros let out a long, dissatisfied breath. When he finished, all emotion had drained from his face.

“The Collaborator fools made a deal with the Devil. The worms are burrowing into the stars themselves, trying to feed the beast. But Iblis can never be sated. They will all be consumed.”

My breath caught. Iblis was one of the forbidden names of Tai Di. A year ago, Tsuros would have been executed for saying it, and I for hearing it. But there was no one left to execute us. The Hezo was falling! I was struck by the admission. It took me a moment to process the rest of what he’d said.

“The stars, sir?”

“You’ll be briefed before the mission,” Tsuros replied, cold and remote. The shifts from fire to ice in his demeanor reminded me of the week after we got our implants.

Cranial trauma.

Tsuros stared at me for a long time. All I could do was peer back. I didn’t dare ask why I was here, or if I could go. He would dismiss me when he was finished with me.

“You are the only pilot who matters on this mission. The others are disposable. You are to fly at the rear and let the others take the hits. If they falter, keep going. Get as deep as you can before you trigger.”

I couldn’t mask my distaste. In my mind, I was always the one at the van in the mission, screaming into the fray. Tsuros noticed.

“Get that shitty look off your face. Cowering is what you’re good at. That’s what you are. Why do you think we let you live, Traitor? Did you think you were fooling anyone?”

I almost recoiled.

“The psychologists wanted you culled, round one. I said no. They wanted me to keep you in the dark about the mission, like the others. Again, I intervened. This is my show. I know what you are. I know you won’t fail me. Now, get out. They’re waiting for you in the briefing hall.”

I followed his orders. But on the way to the briefing hall, I made a fateful detour.

I know what you are.

Did he really?