There was a sense of triumph in the breakroom. The inhabitants of planet PT-836 had officially signed their surrender. It was a hassle explaining what it means to sign a contract, but I think they got the gist of it.

  It was a beautiful planet, though its inhabitants were kind of weird—only three legs and a swan-like neck, but without eyes. According to the logs, they used an ultra-sensitive midbrain to feel moisture. They only needed this because the fruits they harvested gave off a mist when ripe.

  Everyone was having a good time—hilarious dancing and obnoxious music filled the room. I sat in the corner with a half-empty glass of punch. A couple of guys tried their luck, but they got distracted pretty quickly by other girls who might actually give them a shot.

  Some time passed, and I soon returned to my bunk. The party wasn’t going to get any better. I waved my hand across the sensor, and the smooth steel wall revealed itself to be a door.

  “Where are you going, Smith?”

  I froze at the familiar voice. Turning around and saluting, I replied, “I was heading off to bed, Major General Sandler.”

  Major General Sandler was a war-stricken veteran from the old Earth wars. She had been enlisted as a high-ranking officer for the great space expansion. A tall, stately woman with caramel-toned skin, she had a bionic prosthetic replacing her left arm.

  There were a lot of rumors about her—some said she was only a colonel when she started but impressed the brass so much that they skipped Brigadier entirely and promoted her straight to Major General. Others claimed she was the great-great-great-great-granddaughter of some once-famous actor who lost everything after a stupid social media post. I doubt that last one—probably just army gossip.

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  “At ease,” she said, overly bubbly. She must have had a few shots, but not even that could make her posture falter.

  “Not a fan of loud noises?”

  I shook my head. “No, Major General.”

  She gave a friendly scoff. “Follow me,” she instructed.

  She walked rhythmically toward her office.

  “Best view in the entire fleet,” she said, gesturing to the window. It offered a clear view of PT-836. I’d never had the chance to admire the planet from this angle. The atmosphere was always too tense, what with us invading it and all.

  “I see great things in you, Smith,” she said, pouring some cheap whiskey into a steel cup.

  “Major General Sandler, I’m flattered—but I’m just a private.”

  “Weren’t we all?” she replied. “I started off as a janitor in a hospital wing, but eventually I was given the chance to serve. I’ll never forget what my drill sergeant said—he told me he saw unstoppable determination in me. The determination of a bomber plane, flying straight toward its target. I see that same determination in you.”

  Her words lingered in the air as she took a sip.

  “Why do you fight, Smith?”

  “Because it’s required of me to fulfill our mission. Winning the battle will reduce casualties.”

  She placed her cup on the table.

  “Sometimes, winning the battle loses you the war.”

  The intercom buzzed:

  “All personnel: Lights out will commence in five minutes. Please clean any used facilities and prepare to rest. Announcement: Tomorrow, we will arrive at Planet OQ-729 at 08:00.”

  “You should return to your bunk,” she said.

  We shook hands, and I left.

  Like clockwork, our sensors picked up the planet around 08:00. It was a vivid blue, with Saturn-like rings and three moons. Moments passed, and we were within firing range.

  The ship shook. Warning signs flashed across the displays—then turned green.

  The HBM beam hit.