Lanis and Mirem debrief their days over dinner—that’s what Lanis likes to call their talks, after her years in Fleet—and she shyly tells Mirem about exploring the possibility of applying for jobs. She opened up her Admin ID Profile after two hours of meditation on the third day of her stay, a digital summary of her accomplishments, or lack thereof, and her place within Planetary Admin’s citizen hierarchy.

  Glancing at the profile is like willingly experiencing blunt force trauma. Sure, there’s the good: her eight years at Fleet Academy aren’t worth nothing, and she was awarded dual master's degrees in Artificial Intelligence Pairing and Physics, with minors in Administration, Cybersecurity, and Philosophy. Alas, those are nearly irrelevant next to the discharge status that Fleet has saddled her with. It’s like a felony, or an amputation.

  Rank: Cadet. Status: D.

  Lanis watches Mirem shake her head in disbelief after she pings over her resume.

  “Right… So, I don’t think you’ll have any trouble finding a job. AI Pairing, awarded by the Orbital College of Science? Dear God. Do you know that their graduation rate is like ten percent? Any corp with half a brain will interview you, if nothing else than because they’ll be damned curious. We can practice the interviews,” Mirem says, her voice trailing off in wonder, looking at Lanis with even more respect. She shakes a fork at her. “You’ll crush it. I wouldn’t be surprised to see a bidding war. Oh, I’d love to see that.”

  Lanis grimaces. Part of her wants to let Mirem think it’s that easy. She lets the fantasy of a corp bidding war linger for a moment, slowly chewing. Then she points out the glaring problem.

  “I wish it was that simple. But do you see the ‘Status: D’ after my rank? That’s what’s going to give me issues. It’s sort of a,” Lanis waves her hand, unsure of how to explain it— “black mark.”

  Mirem frowns. “I’ve never even heard of that before. But then again I’ve never reviewed a Fleet veteran applicant. What is it?”

  Lanis sighs. “It means….” Lanis begins, and hesitates. How to explain, without sounding crazy? But of course, that’s exactly the point that the Status D mark is making. “It means ‘damaged goods,’ and ‘inquire further before hiring.’ I know that they did it as a way of trying to get me to stay within Fleet, in some role or other. A sort of, ‘stay with us or you’ll be scrubbing toilets for the rest of your life’ kind of threat.” Lanis tries to shrug, as if it doesn’t matter.

  Mirem sits back with her arms crossed, and shakes her head at the pointless injustice of it all. She leans forward then, speaking with an intensity that surprises Lanis.

  “Look, if you could just get to a practical exam, none of that might matter. I’m sure you would ace it, what with your AI training. It might seem like Fleet’s opinion is all-powerful, but you haven’t seen a corp sniffing out talent. Trust me, they can overlook almost anything…” Mirem says, trailing off, her mind drifting to some unpleasant memories.

  Practical exam. Left unsaid by Lanis is the fact that the last time she was integrated with an AI she essentially lost her mind. Then again, that was with a Jupiter-class AI mind under emergency protocols. It was the Anomaly and the Warp that gave her the psychotic break, not the Demeter. Right. Right?

  Still, Lanis thinks, she hasn’t touched an AI since, and she’s nervous, despite her newfound mental stability—or maybe because of it. The fleet doctors said that there probably wouldn’t be any issues if she tried to integrate with an AI again: to let her mind heal, and just take it slow on the first interface. Probably? What do you mean probably? she remembers asking a tall, severe looking doctor. Oh, not more than one in five that you won’t make a full recovery regarding your AI-pairing abilities, he said dryly, as if that was supposed to be reassuring. Her face must have revealed something, because he quickly added, Quite good odds, all things considered.

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  She’s been thinking about that conversation a lot recently.

  “Well, I guess I’ll send out some applications soon. I suppose it can’t hurt. But I still want to see the Versk hangar before I commit to some Admin pairing overseeing wastewater management. Don’t think you’re getting out of showing me.” Lanis says, furrowing her brows in mock anger.

  After a brief hiatus around the topic, they’ve been discussing the Arena Games during each dinner, Lanis peppering Mirem with increasingly technical questions over every meal they share. Mirem has been reluctant, Lanis can tell, to bring the idea up again after their first night, after finding out what she has about Lanis’ past. It’s almost as if Lanis isn’t just some prospective Versk client anymore, lured in with a warm bed.

  “We’ll see,” Mirem responds, the trace of a smile playing at the corner of her lips as she looks over Lanis’ resume again. “We’ll see.”

  “So, want to come to the company hangar later today?”

  They’re eating breakfast together on day six, in what Lanis already considers an irrevocable ritual, when Mirem casually poses the question between bites of fruit.

  Lanis nearly chokes on her mouthful of oatmeal. “Seriously? Are they going to put me in a Suit? Do I need to sign anything first? Liability waivers?”

  Mirem needs to cover her mouth so that food doesn’t spray out from her laughter. “What? Of course they’re not going to put you in a Suit!” She pauses, swallows, and tilts her head, considering. “Anyway, the master armorer does that.” She barely gets the words out, nearly choking on her own mirth.

  “God, you do think you’re funny, don’t you?” Lanis says, but she’s laughing too. “Well, I’d obviously be thrilled to see where you work,” Lanis says, carefully spooning another bite of oatmeal into her mouth, though it’s too late to cover up her excitement. “I feel like Versk is this other lover that you have. Not that, you know, whatever,” she adds.

  Mirem rolls her eyes. “You make it sound like I’m there every day. I only visit the actual hangar when I’m taking a prospective client on a tour, or when my boss asks me to drag along a VP to show them where all the money is going. Anyway, it’s pretty much all twenty-five ton Suits there, along with a few five ton Corp security units. Which reminds me!” Mirem winks, and springs up to the kitchen counter, rummaging in a drawer for a moment. “Here. I remember it’s your favorite.” She tosses a protein packet over the counter to Lanis.

  Lanis catches the packet and lifts it up, running her fingers across the blocky Murkata-Heisen logo that’s proudly stamped across the foil. Underneath is the food division’s mascot, a fat brown cat with eyes squinting in contentment.

  Mirem continues, beaming: “Murkata-Heisin bought a twelve-percent stake in the company last month. The geniuses in the mining division are clearly killing it, and Murkata wanted in. Anyway, what matters to us is that they sent over a couple of their own twenty-five ton Suits— outdated models by their standard, but still great tech. Something for the engineering team to play around with, or even salvage for parts. God, I don’t even want to know how drunk my boss had to get with their team to swing that,” she says, shaking her head in wonder. She looks back to Lanis, clapping her hands.

  “So, you’re up for a day trip?”

  Lanis bites into the protein packet, sticky strawberry tang flooding into her mouth. The taste is reassuring.

  “Let’s go.”