Fee exited the lift and quickly shouldered her way through the corridor. She made her way to the main concourse, where the four-sided screen relayed a live feed of the events. The concourse was packed tight, with all eyes trained on the screens in anticipation. At first, the footage took a while to focus, until the reality of what occurred set in. An anxious gasp rose as the camera narrowed in on a sizeable hole in the side of Outpost-Tiger. The blast site exposed many floors, most of which vented broken pieces into the cold of space. The screen switched to a video call insert, showing the haggard face of Air Marshal Dhruva Pal, the second-highest-ranking member of Outpost Tiger. He occasionally glanced at a monitor off-screen at his Wolf and Eagle counterparts.

  “What's the death count?" Wolf asked.

  "So far, there are three hundred dead or unaccounted for," Pal said, his gaunt expression grim but professional. "Three decks were taken out, but we are still afloat."

  "How effective are you ?"

  "The situation is critical but contained. All lower decks have been sealed off. All transport cancelled."

  "Initial suspects?" Eagle chimed in.

  "Right now, it's too early to tell; we are still patching up," Pal said. "Until we have collated enough data, there's no way to know if it's a defective element or sabotage. It could just be a malfunctioning fusion drive. I don't want to foster a culture of paranoia so that we will wait until the official report."

  "What's the mood like?"

  "Needless to say, everyone is shaken but adapting. We are still on high alert. Morale is determined and resolute."

  A familiar hand rested on Fee's shoulder.

  "So now you know," Amy said. Her gaze was still fixed on the screen.

  "What’s that?" Fee asked, watching the camera zoom in on little white dots scattered around the dark void.

  "People," Amy said. Fee immediately covered her mouth and tried not to cry. "Easy girl, the time for tears will be later. Let's go."

  They threaded out of the crowd, which with salutes.

  On the walk back to her office, Amy met with a group of subordinates who had gathered outside her door. For the first time, Fee saw how others paid total deference towards her mother. She admired how Amy listened intently to them and reacted with steadfast authority over her people with intensity unlike anything Fee had seen at home—a far cry from the punk rock Mother who handed out naps to the parents of bullies. After a few minutes, the lower ranks dispersed, and Amy gestured to Fee to follow her into the room. They both passed the secretarial desk, where a young woman snapped off a salute. Amy requested two cups of tea before heading into the back room. The main office was small, austere and sparsely furnished. To the right was a large port window overlooking the outer door of Hangar Fourteen. Fee slumped onto the two-seater couch.

  "So this is your secret Mexican boxing match?" Fee said.

  "Ah, you remembered."

  "And the 'Pope of the year' award?"

  Amy smiled. "I can't believe you fell for that."

  "I was ten, you could have told me anything."

  "Apparently, I did."

  The Secretary left the tea before briskly exiting. Fee glanced at a cream box with a large red question mark on the front.

  "What's that?"

  "It's a mystery box," Amy said. "It is supposed to give the user the impression of being enigmatic and at one with deep philosophical themes so mysterious they are beyond explanation."

  "What's it really for?"

  "Huffing your own farts, I use it for trash."

  Fee nodded. "No photos of the family, I see."

  "I can't have any distractions when I'm on duty," Amy said, then paused to correct herself. "I don’t mean you're a distraction, but here I need to be laser-focused."

  "It's okay, I understand, Mum or Ma'am." Fee said. "I feel like I should call you Ma'am."

  "Mum is fine for now. I bet you thought it was good timing, the alarms sounded when they did."

  "I knew you were watching us. You couldn't help yourself."

  "Your moods are always entertaining, it’s hard not to."

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

  "I had a reason to be in a mood. It was outright treachery."

  Amy scoffed. "Treachery. You are a drama queen."

  "Anyway, that was my first reaction.” Fee said.

  "It's good to know pessimism runs in the family."

  "I learnt from the best."

  "Damn straight," Amy said, leaning back in her big chair. You had time to leave, and you didn't. How come?"

  "Running away didn't feel right."

  "Fight or flight, and you chose to fight. That's a good sign. The question is, what do you want to do now?"

  "Take it to the next level, I guess."

  Amy shook her head. "I need a proper answer, Fee, not a quote from a Kung-fu movie."

  "All those people blown into space, it was shocking. They deserved better."

  "Occupational hazard, they knew the risks."

  "That's a bit cold." Fee said.

  "No one is going next door with a pot roast, it doesn't mean we are robots either. I will mourn them like everyone else."

  "I wish I could help."

  "Life goes on, whether you hate it or not."

  Fee thought for a while and chose her next words carefully.

  "So 'Mendacium'." She said.

  "What about it?"

  "I’ve changed my mind."

  "Go on," Amy said.

  "Come on, you know where this is going."

  "You have to say it out loud, for everyone to hear."

  Fee stood up. "I am ready to fight."

  Amy was unconvinced.

  “Is that a fact?” She said. “So if I were to ask 'What does bravery mean to you?' how would you answer?”

  “Not being afraid and doing the right thing.”

  “I didn’t ask for the definition, I meant what does it mean personally, when you have to step up?”

  Fee thought for a while before answering.

  “Bravery is about living in the moment,” She said. “Accepting the risk no matter what it brings, even if it means the end.”

  Amy appraised her daughter with a careful eye and nodded.

  "Okay. Good."

  She ducked into her quarters and soon emerged with a folded grey flight suit and boots.

  "You knew I was going to enlist?" Fee asked, receiving the pile in her arms.

  "It was fifty-fifty,” Amy said. “I had your gear on standby, on the off chance." She held up a thick plastic hoop. "We don't know how dangerous you are, so we have to be careful."

  "Is that a bomb collar?"

  Amy smiled. "So dramatic. No, it’s a shock collar; slightly less...final. It is used to discipline Saw-Pigs.. You'll know about it if you become a liability or step out of line. We can’t have another Tiger incident."

  "I understand." Fee said. "I'd be worried too."

  "It's not about worry, it's about precaution. I have to look out for my people, if that means at your expense, then so be it."

  "Also 'Saw-Pigs'?"

  "People who commit misdemeanours, which are serious but not career-ending. In the old days, it was a phrase used to describe looters of the battlefield dead, which is tantamount to desecration."

  "Grave robbers? You're just tempting fate at this point."

  Amy locked the hoop around her daughter's neck; it emitted a pale orange glow.

  "Any last questions?"

  Fee looked worried. "Who will take care of the pets?"

  "They have been placed in a shelter, in special circumstances; no adoptions. Don't worry, I fed them before we left."

  "I think you meant to say: 'Before I loaded your unconscious body into the car'."

  "It was a van, but same difference,” Amy said. “Alright, time you got dressed."

  Some minutes later, Fee emerged suited and booted. Her hair was tied back into a tight ponytail. The nasal strip had finally gone.

  "You look the part. Now you have to think about the part. This uniform is not just clothing, but a symbol of your ceaseless devotion to the Brigade. Who you used to be doesn't matter anymore, it's all about the service.” She moved closer to Fee, her eyes growing cold as a cruel ocean. "When you leave here, we are no longer related; that life is on hold. You step out of line, back-chat, use sarcasm or fail to salute; I will break one of your fingers. And God help you if you call me anything other than ma'am or Low Commander. Do I make myself clear, Cadet?"

  "Yes, ma'am," Fee said, snapping off an awkward salute.

  "Bayonet, not a butter-knife," Amy said, adjusting the fingers. "Do not talk to me unless urgent; do not sit at my table at meal times, even if no seats are available."

  "Yes, ma'am!"

  Amy stepped back and folded her hands behind her.

  "What is your mission, Cadet? Why are you in that uniform?"

  Fee paused and tried to think. Everything had happened so fast, and felt swept up in the moment. Yet for some reason, it felt like the right path, a place beyond the rain, beyond the gloomy bedroom, and beyond feeling alone. It felt like an adventure.

  "To protect my loved ones and the Earth." She finally stated.

  "In that order?"

  "Is that wrong?" Fee said and suddenly remembered to salute. "Ma'am!"

  Amy chuckled. 'No, that's pretty much the answer I gave when I joined."

  Everything felt new to Fee, the sensation of giving herself to a future she was not ready for, and yet was determined to make good on her pledge. All the safety nets were gone; there was no point in going back to circle an empty house, surf blankly through a tide of channels, pretending it would all go away. Something had been lit, and could feel a sense of purpose. Here on the cusp of a new life, her skin felt cleaner and her back straighter.

  "Last chance," Amy said. "You leave here in that uniform, everything changes, and we torch your comfort zone."

  "I'm ready,"

  Amy fished out a small velvet ring box and opened it to what looked like a watch battery.

  "A 'Palm Tracker'," She said. "Once inserted, it will grant you access to most of the station. It will also allow us to track you from anywhere on the planet."

  "Is this going to hurt?"

  "I won't feel a thing," Amy said, with a sly smile. Fee said nothing. She looked at her mother and tried to match the steel in her eyes.