Chapter 6.0 — “AN INVITATION FROM THE ADMIRALTY”

I. The Most Suspicious Thing on His Desk

Kade Bher had received many unwelcome objects across his desk.

Ammunition expenditure reports.

Maintenance estimates.

Emergency requisitions.

Fuel consumption forecasts.

Personnel assessments.

A particularly upsetting inventory sheet explaining how much Horizon Atoll had spent repairing the damage from the recent battle.

And, on one memorable morning, an empty coffee cup that somebody had apparently mistaken for an official message receptacle.

He had developed a healthy distrust of anything delivered to his office without a clear explanation.

Which was why he was now sitting behind his desk, examining a small reinforced document case as though it might contain a bomb.

It probably didn't.

Probably.

The case sat upon a cleared section of dark wood beneath the warm light of his desk lamp.

Its outer markings identified it as an Admiralty Union command dispatch originating through Resolute Shoals.

A signed custody document rested beside it.

The exterior security seal was intact.

And Sakura Nagase's careful handwriting confirmed that she had accepted the case at Resolute, protected it throughout the return voyage, and personally delivered it to Horizon's Commander.

Kade looked at the signature.

A faint smile appeared.

"Good work, Sakura."

She had earned her rest.

More than earned it.

Sixteen days across the Pacific with three loaded cargo pontoons, changing escorts, and the knowledge that Horizon was depending on what she carried.

He hoped she was currently sleeping.

Preferably somewhere Emi couldn't locate her.

That last possibility seemed unlikely.

But a Commander was allowed to dream.

Kade leaned back.

The office was quiet.

Outside the windows, the administrative district was settling into evening. Lights glowed along the paths between headquarters and the harbor. A few vehicles continued moving between the warehouses, and the distant sound of repair work occasionally carried through the open ventilation louvers.

Horizon was busy.

But the most urgent receiving operations were proceeding without his personal interference.

Corwin Hale had the general-supply manifests.

Hana Saeki and Dain Okoro were handling the protected restoration cargo.

Dr. Holt's staff had accepted the appropriate medical shipments.

Mara Fenwick had ensured that the departments possessed the authority and documentation required to continue.

In other words, the island had managed to operate for several hours without Kade standing beside every important crate.

He considered that encouraging.

Also slightly offensive.

Apparently, people could do their jobs without him.

A terrible discovery.

He looked back at the case.

"All right."

He checked the delivery record again.

The formal handover had already been acknowledged.

Only he was authorized to open the inner dispatch.

The seal number matched.

The exterior had not been damaged.

No one had reported unauthorized access.

Kade released the case's outer clasps.

They opened with two quiet metallic clicks.

He lifted the lid.

Inside, a document pouch rested within a fitted protective recess.

It bore another seal and a formal Admiralty Union emblem embossed into the material.

Kade studied it.

Then carefully opened the authorized closure.

The pouch contained several papers.

A heavy cream-colored envelope.

A shorter command notice.

And a folded booklet whose cover carried the same crest as the envelope.

Kade picked up the command notice first.

He read the originating authority.

Then frowned.

"...Huh."

The document came from the Admiralty Union's central liaison apparatus rather than a regional supply or operations bureau.

That was unusual.

Not impossible.

But unusual.

Horizon Atoll was important to the people who lived there.

Kade certainly thought so.

The Admiralty Union, however, governed or coordinated an extraordinary network of fortified ports, naval bases, fleet deployments, industrial facilities, and military resources across much of the surviving world.

Its senior officers were concerned with matters considerably larger than one damaged Pacific outpost.

Kade had therefore assumed the sealed case contained something operational.

Perhaps a notification about regional fleet dispositions.

Perhaps intelligence concerning the PCA.

Perhaps an update on Blackwake activity.

Possibly a formal inquiry concerning the Ironwake engagement.

He had prepared himself for all of those possibilities.

He had not prepared himself for what appeared on the envelope.

Across the front, in elegant dark-blue lettering, were the words:

THE ADMIRALTY UNION

REQUESTS THE HONOR OF YOUR PRESENCE

Kade stared.

Then slowly lowered the envelope.

"...What?"

He looked toward the closed office door.

Then back at the invitation.

He opened it.

Read the first paragraph.

Stopped.

Read it again.

And after several seconds of increasingly profound disbelief, he spoke into the empty room.

"You have got to be kidding me."

The Admiralty Union had invited him to a ball.

Not a conference.

Not a military tribunal.

Not an emergency strategic session.

A ball.

An actual, formal, presumably dance-floor-containing Officers' Ball.

Kade blinked.

Then looked down at his uniform.

Then at the invitation.

Then toward the ceiling.

"...Why?"

The ceiling offered no answer.

He considered this deeply unhelpful.

 

II. A Very Strange Kind of Invitation

The invitation was beautifully made.

Kade was willing to acknowledge that much.

Its stationery was substantial, the printing precise, and the Admiralty Union emblem impressed into the upper portion with enough care to suggest that someone had taken the entire production process very seriously.

A formal title occupied the center.

ADMIRALTY UNION · OFFICE OF INTERFLEET RELATIONS

 

The Officers' Ball

San Meridian · Meridian Federation Capital Fortress

 

An evening of diplomatic introduction, naval fellowship, and institutional orientation for Commanders, Admirals, senior officers, and invited representatives of the post-Crisis defense network.

Commander Kade Bher, Horizon Atoll, is cordially invited to attend as an honored command representative.

Kade read the title three times.

Then looked toward the second page.

A ball.

In San Meridian.

One of the most important military and industrial centers in the Pacific.

Hosted by the Admiralty Union.

And apparently attended by officers considerably more senior than him.

He sat quietly for a moment.

Then sighed.

"...They invited the wrong person."

He examined the next paragraph.

The event was described as an opportunity for newly recognized command personnel to become more familiar with the Admiralty Union's leadership, organizational structure, responsibilities, and cooperating national authorities.

That part made sense.

Kade had been forced into a genuine command position under circumstances that no ordinary officer-training institution had anticipated.

Many former players had experienced something similar.

Some had found themselves suddenly responsible for entire military installations.

Others had acquired the authority of fleet commanders.

Still others had become Keelborn whose equipment possessed capabilities far beyond their actual experience.

The native military institutions had spent the months since Hour Zero attempting to integrate these newcomers into the existing defense system.

Some efforts had been thoughtful.

Others had been clumsy.

A few had been downright dangerous.

Kade knew that better than he cared to.

He continued reading.

The Admiralty Union wanted former-player officers to meet the people behind the organization's directives.

To understand the relationship between AU command, national fleets, fortress authorities, industrial offices, and military support institutions.

To establish professional contacts outside the narrow range of officers they encountered in day-to-day operations.

And to discuss the responsibilities that accompanied recognized military authority.

All of that was reasonable.

Possibly even useful.

Then Kade unfolded the accompanying booklet.

Its heading made him stop again.

NEWLY ARRIVED COMMAND PERSONNEL — EVENT GUIDE

Beneath it, in smaller letters, someone had added:

For participants familiar with pre-Crisis FRONTLINE HEARTS terminology.

Kade slowly raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, no."

He turned the page.

The booklet included a brief explanation of the event's structure.

And then came the terminology.

Social Event: The Officers' Ball.

Faction Introduction: Admiralty Union leadership and member-state representatives.

Command Network Orientation: How an officer's local command relates to regional and multinational authority.

Reputation and Standing: A simplified explanation of professional trust, verified service, and recognized command responsibility.

Optional Conversations: Meetings with representatives of shipyard, medical, fleet, intelligence, and logistics departments.

Kade stared.

Then began laughing.

Not a particularly dignified laugh.

Not the restrained amusement expected of a naval Commander reading official diplomatic correspondence.

A genuine, disbelieving laugh.

He leaned back in his chair.

"Oh, that's awful."

He looked at the booklet again.

Then laughed harder.

Somewhere within the Admiralty Union, an entire group of native administrative personnel had apparently decided that the best way to make inexperienced former players pay attention to an important diplomatic gathering was to describe it using words associated with their old game.

A social event.

A faction introduction.

Reputation and standing.

It was ridiculous.

It was also, Kade reluctantly admitted, rather clever.

He could imagine exactly how the idea had arisen.

Some young former-player Commander had probably stared blankly through a conventional military orientation.

Someone had then discovered that describing the same meeting as a faction introduction immediately made the material recognizable.

And a committee, somewhere deep inside the AU's administrative structure, had decided to build an entire booklet around the concept.

Kade chuckled.

Then slowly stopped.

Because beneath the humor lay a more serious detail.

The booklet did not simply use those terms.

It explained them.

Carefully.

The introduction stressed that these expressions were familiar-language descriptions intended to help former players understand established institutions. They were not formal classifications, and they did not mean that the world operated according to game rules.

Kade read that sentence twice.

Then nodded.

"...Good."

That, at least, was sensible.

The distinction mattered.

A great deal.

The natives of this world were not newly activated background characters.

They had histories.

Families.

Governments.

Wars.

Institutions that existed long before Hour Zero.

The Admiralty Union itself predated the Crisis by decades.

Its officers had spent their lives managing a world that most former players had known only through menus, missions, and fictionalized systems.

Kade had learned to recognize the difference.

Some former players had not.

And when a person believed the world was still a game, other people tended to become very easy to mistreat.

He'd seen what that belief could do.

The PCA had offered a horrifying demonstration.

Kade's expression grew serious.

Then he looked toward the next page.

One line stood out.

The program is intended to introduce attending officers to the Admiralty Union as a living institution, including the responsibilities, limitations, and human consequences of its decisions.

He frowned.

"Interesting."

He read it again.

The wording was unusually direct.

Not simply welcome to the Admiralty Union.

Not learn how to increase your influence.

It suggested that the AU wanted the new commanders to understand what existed beyond the familiar image of a naval faction.

What its decisions meant.

What its resources supported.

What its limitations were.

And, perhaps, why those decisions sometimes looked so unreasonable from the perspective of an isolated base.

Kade leaned forward.

Now that was worth thinking about.

 

The remainder of the invitation included the practical details.

San Meridian would host the event within its principal naval administrative district, at a formal reception complex adjoining the fortified city's senior command facilities.

There would be an opening reception.

Introductions to Admiralty Union representatives.

A structured but comparatively brief institutional program.

Private meeting opportunities for invited command personnel.

And, in the evening, the ball itself.

Formal attire was required.

Kade stared at that line.

For a moment, he forgot the politics entirely.

"...Absolutely not."

He read it again.

Formal evening or equivalent dress uniform appropriate to the attendee's recognized office.

He slowly looked toward his wardrobe.

His everyday naval uniforms were perfectly serviceable.

Some were even clean.

He owned a more formal uniform, though he had last worn it for an occasion involving far less international attention.

It was possible that it still fitted.

Probably.

But attending an Officers' Ball in the Meridian Federation's capital fortress would involve more than simply finding a jacket without an ink stain.

There would be senior officers.

Diplomats.

Admirals.

Possibly people who owned clothing more expensive than Horizon's entire monthly coffee supply.

And Kade Bher, eighteen years old and five-foot-three, would be expected to behave like a respectable Commander.

He considered that the most unrealistic part of the entire invitation.

He set the paper down.

Then looked toward the ceiling again.

"...I'm doomed."

The ceiling remained indifferent.

He sighed.

Then reached for the response instructions.

Attendance was voluntary.

Official travel and security arrangements would need to be approved.

The invitation allowed for an appropriately designated staff representative or accompanying guest, subject to individual verification and event access rules.

The AU had not assigned a vessel or aircraft to transport him.

It had not ordered him away from Horizon.

It had simply invited him.

The decision was his.

At least, formally.

Kade knew enough about military politics to appreciate that an invitation from a powerful institution was rarely as simple as the word suggested.

He placed the booklet beside the letter.

Then folded his hands.

A ball.

A multinational military gathering.

An opportunity to meet the people responsible for the system Horizon depended upon.

And an entire room full of senior officers who might have very interesting things to say about former players, Keelborn, the PCA, and the Pacific.

He sighed.

"...Mara."

He reached for the office telephone.

"You're going to love this."

III. The Chief of Staff and the Social Event

Mara Fenwick arrived at Kade's office carrying a folder and wearing the expression of a woman who had been informed that something unusual had happened but had not yet been told whether it was amusing or expensive.

With Kade, there was frequently considerable overlap.

He stood when she entered.

"Chief."

"Commander."

"Close the door."

She did.

Then looked toward the documents spread across his desk.

"Something serious?"

Kade considered the question.

"Potentially catastrophic."

Mara's expression sharpened.

"Intelligence?"

"Worse."

"Another supply problem?"

"Much worse."

She looked concerned now.

"Kade."

He picked up the invitation.

Then handed it to her.

"I've been invited to a party."

Mara stared.

For one moment, she appeared entirely unable to process the sentence.

Then her gaze shifted toward the letter.

She took it.

Read the heading.

And stopped.

"...Oh."

Kade pointed at her.

"Exactly."

Mara looked up.

"An Officers' Ball?"

"Apparently."

"In San Meridian?"

"Unfortunately."

"Hosted by the Admiralty Union?"

He nodded gravely.

"I'm considering surrender."

Mara looked down at the invitation.

Then back at him.

For a moment, her expression remained perfectly professional.

Then she started laughing.

Kade closed his eyes.

"...Wonderful."

If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

"I'm sorry."

"No, you're not."

"You're right."

She laughed again.

Kade sat down.

"I knew you were going to enjoy this."

Mara took a breath.

Then examined the documents more closely.

Her amusement gradually gave way to interest.

"Commander."

"Hm?"

"This is a central invitation."

"Yes."

"Not a regional administrative function."

"Also yes."

She turned the page.

"Office of Interfleet Relations. Senior command sponsorship. San Meridian reception facilities."

She looked toward him.

"This is significant."

Kade nodded.

"That's the part I was hoping you'd notice."

Mara regarded him.

For a moment, the humor faded entirely.

Then she sat across from him.

"Do you mind if I read the full program?"

"Please."

He slid the booklet across the desk.

The Chief of Staff opened it.

Her glasses caught the lamplight as her eyes moved down the page.

Then she stopped.

One eyebrow rose.

Kade smiled faintly.

"Found it?"

Mara looked toward him.

"'Social Event.'"

He nodded.

"Keep going."

She read another line.

"'Faction Introduction.'"

He folded his arms.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

Mara stared at the booklet.

Then slowly shook her head.

"Oh, dear."

Kade grinned.

"'Reputation and Standing' is my favorite."

She looked up.

"I can see why."

He leaned back.

"Do they think we're going to ignore a diplomatic invitation unless it comes with an achievement notification?"

Mara considered the question more seriously than he'd expected.

"Some would."

Kade stopped smiling.

She lowered the booklet.

"Commander, you know as well as I do that there are former players who still struggle to understand the difference between the old game's representation of institutions and the institutions themselves."

He nodded slowly.

"Yeah."

"Some respond better to familiar terminology. The communications offices have been doing something similar for months."

"I know."

"And if that language gets a young commanding officer to attend an orientation that might otherwise be ignored..."

She shrugged.

"...It's not the worst idea the Admiralty has ever had."

Kade smiled faintly.

"Not even close."

Mara returned her attention to the booklet.

"At least they've included an explanation."

"That caught my eye too."

She nodded.

"Good. There's a difference between using a familiar phrase and reinforcing a dangerous misunderstanding."

Kade regarded her.

Then smiled.

"That's why I wanted you here."

The Chief of Staff raised an eyebrow.

"Not because you wanted someone to share your suffering?"

"Both things can be true."

She laughed.

 

Mara spent several minutes studying the program.

When she finished, she placed the booklet beside the formal invitation.

Then folded her hands.

"Well."

Kade looked toward her.

"Well?"

"You should take this seriously."

His expression became thoughtful.

"I am."

"I know. But I'd encourage you to consider what it represents beyond an opportunity to embarrass yourself on a dance floor."

Kade placed one hand against his chest.

"Chief."

"Yes?"

"Wounded."

"Not yet. Your dance partner hasn't stepped on you."

He stared.

Mara's mouth twitched.

Then she continued.

"San Meridian is one of the Admiralty Union's most important centers of influence. The Meridian Federation possesses enormous industrial and naval resources, and the AU's presence there is substantial."

Kade nodded.

"The capital fortress."

"Yes."

She looked toward the invitation.

"A gathering like this will attract people who do not ordinarily have reason to speak with the Commander of a relatively small Pacific base."

Kade considered that.

"Grand Admirals?"

"Possibly."

"Industrial authorities?"

"Likely."

"Regional fleet commanders?"

"Certainly, if their schedules permit."

He nodded.

"And diplomatic representatives."

"According to the program, yes."

Mara's expression grew more serious.

"These are people whose decisions affect where ships are repaired, how resources are allocated, what installations receive priority, and which operational concerns receive attention."

Kade looked toward the window.

Horizon had spent weeks struggling to obtain machinery that Resolute Shoals already possessed.

It had taken Sakura a hazardous voyage across the Pacific to bring those components home.

Their food situation had required several rounds of negotiations through a separate distribution system.

The repair crews were doing what they could with limited materials.

And every time Kade submitted a request for something particularly important, somebody farther along the command network had to decide whether Horizon deserved it more than another base.

He knew those decisions weren't simple.

Other people needed supplies too.

Other installations had suffered attacks.

Other commanders were probably just as frustrated as he was.

But that didn't make Horizon's needs disappear.

He looked toward Mara.

"You're suggesting I go and meet the people who keep saying no to my requests."

She smiled faintly.

"Among others."

Kade considered that.

Then nodded.

"Tempting."

Mara's eyes narrowed.

"Commander."

"What?"

"Please don't approach the first senior procurement officer you see and demand to know where your vegetables are."

He looked offended.

"I would never."

She stared.

He hesitated.

"...During the opening reception."

"Kade."

"Fine."

Mara sighed.

Then smiled despite herself.

 

The laughter faded again.

Kade looked toward the AU emblem embossed on the invitation.

"There's something else."

Mara followed his gaze.

"The former-player program?"

"Partly."

He tapped the booklet.

"They want people like us to understand the Admiralty Union better."

"Yes."

"Not just the version we see through orders and supply requests."

"That's what it says."

He looked toward her.

"Do you think they mean it?"

Mara considered the question carefully.

"I think some of them do."

Kade waited.

She continued.

"The AU is a very large institution. It isn't one person with one opinion."

"I know."

"There are officers who have spent their lives defending ports and civilians. People who understand the cost of keeping a shipyard operating when half the supply network has collapsed. People who have watched entire regions survive because multinational fleets managed to cooperate."

Kade nodded.

"And?"

"And there are people who have spent so long thinking in terms of deployment capacity and recoverable military assets that they've become very poor at recognizing what those assets actually are."

He looked toward her.

Mara's expression remained grave.

"Both kinds of people may attend the same ball."

Kade looked down at the invitation.

The Admiralty Union had enormous power over Keelborn.

It could coordinate their deployments.

Control access to maintenance facilities.

Recognize or withdraw command arrangements.

Approve the use of strategic military resources.

And through the systems inherited from decades of wartime policy, it could classify living people as equipment.

Native Keelborn had endured that system long before the Crisis.

Former-player Keelborn had entered it under very different circumstances.

Some had refused to accept the classification.

Others had adjusted because they were frightened and didn't know what else to do.

And a few former-player commanders had discovered that the AU's language gave them convenient excuses to treat their own people as possessions.

Kade had no intention of becoming one of those commanders.

He hadn't spent the first months after Hour Zero trying to make Horizon safe just to begin referring to Aster, Riko, Yuna, and the others as items on an inventory sheet.

He looked toward Mara.

"Do you think anyone there will actually listen if I challenge that?"

She didn't answer immediately.

Then she nodded.

"Some might."

"Some."

"That's the most I can promise."

Kade considered that.

Mara leaned forward slightly.

"An invitation isn't the same as an endorsement, Commander. You can attend without agreeing with everything the AU does."

He smiled faintly.

"That's fortunate."

"Very."

"Because I'm not sure the Admiralty would appreciate my views on its personnel classifications."

Mara raised an eyebrow.

"I suspect several senior officers are already aware."

He blinked.

"...Really?"

"Your reports are not subtle."

Kade considered that.

Then sighed.

"I've been told."

The Chief of Staff smiled.

"Frequently."

 

IV. The Question of Leaving Horizon

"All right," Kade said at last. "Assume I want to go."

Mara straightened slightly.

"Very well."

"First problem?"

"Distance."

He nodded.

"San Meridian isn't exactly around the corner."

"No."

She turned the invitation over.

The administrative instructions included details for registering official travel requirements, but made no promise of a specific aircraft or vessel.

Mara tapped the page.

"The AU can coordinate travel for approved attendees. That doesn't mean Horizon is guaranteed a convenient transport movement."

Kade sighed.

"Naturally."

"We'd have to submit your route request, security details, and expected return arrangement."

"And make certain the base can operate while I'm gone."

"Yes."

He looked toward the map on his wall.

Horizon was still recovering.

The western defenses were undergoing repairs.

Several Keelborn remained medically restricted.

The training program had begun producing encouraging results, but that did not mean every girl was ready for unrestricted operations.

Hana's new machinery had only just arrived.

And the Blackwake remained somewhere beyond the islands.

The PCA was still a threat.

He couldn't ignore any of that.

Kade folded his arms.

"How long could I reasonably be away?"

Mara considered the travel arrangements.

"That depends upon the route. The reception itself is comparatively short, but the journey could occupy several days in each direction if connections are poor."

He nodded slowly.

"Not ideal."

"No."

"Could Mercer cover the harbor?"

"Captain Mercer can continue commanding Breakwater and supporting the defense plan, but he shouldn't be expected to assume every administrative duty outside his authority."

"Agreed."

Kade looked toward her.

"And you?"

Mara smiled faintly.

"I can handle the administrative headquarters."

"That's what worries me."

She raised an eyebrow.

"Why?"

"I might return to discover you've made everything more efficient."

"Terrible."

"Could become addictive."

She laughed.

Then grew serious again.

"We would need a formal command-coverage arrangement. Responsibilities should be distributed according to existing authority and the current operational situation."

Kade nodded.

"Reasonable."

"Victor can maintain communications coordination. The intelligence office can continue its reporting. Harbor and engineering responsibilities remain with their respective officers."

"And if something serious happens?"

Mara's expression hardened.

"Then we follow the emergency command plan, and you return when safe and feasible."

He looked toward the window.

The Pacific was dark beyond the lights of the harbor.

For a moment, he thought of the people who had died defending the island.

He didn't like the idea of being away if another attack came.

Not one bit.

But he also understood that commanding Horizon didn't mean refusing to leave its boundaries under any circumstances.

Sometimes a Commander needed to represent the base elsewhere.

Sometimes relationships formed beyond an island determined whether that island received the help it needed.

And sometimes the most important conversation happened in a room where nobody was holding a weapon.

Kade regarded the invitation again.

"How long until they need an answer?"

Mara checked the response instructions.

"We have some time, but not enough to delay every preparation until the last moment."

He nodded.

"Then let's establish whether the trip is possible."

"And your attendance?"

"Provisional."

She looked up.

He smiled faintly.

"I'm interested. I just won't commit Horizon to losing its Commander for several days before we know the island can spare him."

Mara nodded.

"Good."

She gathered the relevant papers.

Then stopped.

"There's one more question."

Kade raised an eyebrow.

"Oh?"

"Who would accompany you?"

He blinked.

"...Accompany me?"

She tapped the invitation.

"An appropriately designated staff representative or guest may attend, subject to approval."

Kade stared at the line.

Then looked up.

"Chief."

"Yes?"

"Please tell me you aren't volunteering."

Mara smiled.

"Someone has to make certain you don't cause an international incident."

He considered that.

Then nodded thoughtfully.

"Fair."

A pause followed.

Then the Chief of Staff added:

"Although I suspect Aster would be interested."

Kade froze.

Mara watched his expression.

A slow smile appeared.

"...Ah."

Kade narrowed his eyes.

"Don't."

She stood.

"Commander."

"Mara."

"I haven't said anything."

"You're thinking very loudly."

Her smile widened.

"Good night, Kade."

She turned toward the door.

He stared after her.

"CHIEF."

She paused.

"Yes?"

He pointed toward the invitation.

"This is a military diplomatic function."

"Of course."

"Not a romantic outing."

"Certainly."

"An official gathering."

"Absolutely."

He narrowed his eyes.

Mara's expression was perfectly composed.

Then she added:

"Formal eveningwear, Commander."

And left.

Kade sat very still.

The office door closed.

Silence settled.

He slowly looked toward the invitation.

Then toward the ceiling.

"...I need a different Chief of Staff."

He considered that.

Then sighed.

"No, I don't."

Unfortunately, Mara was far too competent.

And apparently far too entertained by his suffering.

V. The Fletcher-Class Problem

Aster arrived the next morning with two cups of tea.

That alone was suspicious.

Kade looked up from the command desk as she entered.

Her auburn hair was tied with its familiar red ribbons, and she wore a comfortable version of her naval uniform without the heavy Fletcher-class rigging.

The equipment remained under its maintenance and rehabilitation arrangements.

Hana had approved another carefully restricted training schedule, but no one was about to clear Aster for an unrestricted combat sortie simply because she had begun feeling better.

Kade was grateful for that.

Aster's ability to persuade herself she was perfectly healthy exceeded her actual medical recovery by a considerable margin.

She approached his desk.

"Morning!"

He raised an eyebrow.

"Morning."

She placed one cup beside him.

Then smiled.

Kade studied the tea.

Then studied her.

"...What have you done?"

Aster looked offended.

"Nothing!"

"Suspicious."

"I brought you tea!"

"Exactly."

She folded her arms.

"You're impossible."

"Frequently."

Aster claimed the chair across from him.

Then looked around the office.

For a moment, she seemed perfectly content to enjoy her own cup.

Kade took a sip of his.

Good tea.

Warm.

Not excessively sweet.

He regarded her.

Then smiled faintly.

"Thank you."

Her expression brightened.

"You're welcome."

A comfortable silence followed.

Then she noticed the cream-colored invitation on his desk.

Her eyes narrowed.

"...What's that?"

Kade looked toward the paper.

Then back at her.

"Ah."

Aster raised an eyebrow.

"Ah?"

He considered his options.

There were several.

He could put the invitation away and avoid the conversation entirely.

He could tell her it was nothing important.

He could claim it concerned a military conference and hope she didn't notice the exceptionally decorative stationery.

Or he could behave like a reasonably mature human being and explain the situation.

The last option seemed dangerous.

Nevertheless, he chose it.

"Remember the sealed dispatch Sakura brought from Resolute?"

Aster nodded.

"Yes."

"Opened it last night."

Her expression sharpened.

"Anything serious?"

"Depends on your definition."

She lowered her cup.

"Kade."

He smiled faintly.

"Apparently, I've been invited to an Officers' Ball."

Aster froze.

Her eyes widened.

"...A what?"

He sighed.

"Yes."

She stared.

"An Officers' Ball?"

"Unfortunately."

"A real one?"

"Apparently."

"With formal clothes?"

"Yes."

"And dancing?"

Kade closed his eyes.

"...Please don't."

Aster was already smiling.

A very dangerous smile.

"Kade."

"No."

"You've been invited to a ball?"

"That's what the letter says."

"In San Meridian?"

He opened one eye.

"...How did you know?"

She pointed toward the heading visible on the invitation.

He followed her gesture.

Then sighed.

"Right."

Aster leaned forward.

Her expression became positively radiant.

"Oh, this is wonderful!"

Kade stared.

"For whom?"

"For you!"

"Questionable."

She laughed.

"And maybe for me."

He blinked.

"...What?"

Aster smiled.

He looked at her.

Then down at the invitation.

Then back at her.

"...Oh."

She tilted her head.

"What?"

He slowly narrowed his eyes.

"You're thinking."

"Of course."

"About attending."

"Possibly."

"Aster."

She grinned.

"Kade."

He sighed.

"There's an actual military purpose to this."

"Good."

He blinked.

"...Good?"

"Of course."

She leaned back.

"That means it isn't just a party."

Kade studied her.

The teasing smile remained, but there was something more thoughtful behind it now.

Aster was a beta tester.

She understood the difference between the world she'd known through a game and the reality in which they now lived.

She had been learning that difference since Hour Zero.

And she had experienced it in the most painful ways imaginable.

Kade nodded slowly.

"Right."

Then he reached for the event booklet.

"Read this."

Aster accepted it.

Her eyes moved down the page.

Then she stopped.

A moment passed.

Another.

She slowly looked up.

"...Faction Introduction?"

Kade nodded.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

Aster stared at the booklet.

Then began laughing.

"Oh, no."

He grinned.

"Keep going."

She turned the page.

"'Social Event.'"

A pause.

"'Reputation and Standing.'"

She lowered the booklet.

Then laughed harder.

"They really wrote it like this?"

"Apparently."

Aster shook her head.

"That's ridiculous."

"Yes."

Then her smile softened.

"But I suppose I understand why."

Kade nodded.

"So do I."

She looked down at the explanatory note concerning pre-Crisis terminology.

Her expression grew more serious.

"They're trying to get former players to understand how the AU actually works."

"Exactly."

Aster read another paragraph.

Then nodded slowly.

"That's not a bad idea."

"No."

She looked toward him.

"Some of the newer commanders are still treating every authority like a menu option."

Kade's expression darkened.

"I know."

Aster lowered the booklet.

For a moment, they both remembered the PCA.

The attack.

The girls who had died.

The people who had been treated as expendable because somebody believed a military command was an opportunity to accumulate power.

She looked toward the invitation again.

"Maybe meeting the actual Admiralty officers would help some of them."

Kade considered that.

"Maybe."

A pause.

"Assuming they're willing to listen."

Aster nodded.

"That's the difficult part."

 

The Fletcher-class girl continued reading.

Then stopped at the accompanying-guest instructions.

Her expression changed.

"Kade."

"Hm?"

"You're allowed to bring someone."

He nodded.

"Possibly."

She looked up.

"Possibly?"

"Subject to clearance and travel arrangements."

Aster raised an eyebrow.

"What about me?"

He blinked.

"...You?"

She pointed to herself.

"Yes. Me."

He considered that.

Then looked toward her.

"Do you want to go?"

Aster stared.

"Of course I want to go!"

He raised an eyebrow.

"Why?"

She opened her mouth.

Then stopped.

Apparently, she'd expected him to understand the appeal without requiring an explanation.

She looked toward the invitation.

Then back at him.

"San Meridian, Kade."

"Yes."

"The capital fortress."

"Yes."

"An actual Admiralty Union reception."

"Correct."

"With people from all over the defense network."

He nodded.

"And a ball!"

There it was.

Kade sighed.

Aster grinned.

Then her expression softened.

"Seriously, though. I've never been somewhere like that."

He looked toward her.

She continued.

"I've seen the game version of some of those places. I know the faction names and the old interface descriptions."

She looked toward the window.

"But seeing the real city? Meeting actual officers from the AU? Finding out what they think about us?"

Her voice became quieter.

"I'd like that."

Kade considered her.

Then nodded.

"Fair."

Aster looked toward him.

"Really?"

"Yeah."

He glanced toward the guest instructions.

"There's just one problem."

Her smile faltered.

"...What?"

"Medical clearance."

She groaned.

"Kade!"

He raised both hands.

"Not my rule."

"You sound very pleased with it."

"That's because I like you alive."

The words came out simply.

Without teasing.

Aster stopped.

For a moment, she looked at him.

Then her expression softened.

"...Oh."

Kade continued.

"You're still recovering. I'm not dragging you across the Pacific because somebody sent me fancy paper."

She considered that.

Then nodded reluctantly.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yes."

He smiled faintly.

"Good."

She looked toward the invitation again.

Then raised one finger.

"But if Dr. Holt clears me?"

Kade sighed.

"...Then we can discuss it."

Aster grinned.

"Excellent."

He narrowed his eyes.

"I said discuss."

"I heard."

"Not promise."

"I heard that too."

"Medical restrictions still apply."

"Yes, Commander."

Kade regarded her.

Then sighed.

"...You're going to be unbearable."

Aster smiled sweetly.

"Frequently."

 

VI. The Difference Between a Guest and an Asset

Aster was about to return the booklet when another section caught her eye.

She paused.

Then turned the page back.

Kade noticed.

"What?"

She didn't answer immediately.

Her eyes moved slowly over the small print beneath the guest-registration instructions.

Then her expression changed.

The smile faded.

"Kade."

He straightened.

"What is it?"

Aster placed the booklet between them.

Then pointed toward a paragraph.

He leaned forward.

The wording concerned the entry arrangements for accompanying military personnel.

Commissioned officers and recognized civilian delegates were to be registered under their own credentials.

Other military participants required sponsorship or authorization from the command responsible for their assignment.

Keelborn and synthetic military personnel were specifically mentioned under the existing Admiralty Union registry procedures.

Kade read the paragraph.

Then read it again.

His jaw tightened.

Aster watched him.

For a moment, neither spoke.

Then she said quietly:

"So that's how they're handling us."

Kade looked toward her.

She gave a small, humorless smile.

"Even at a ball."

He considered the wording.

The distinction wasn't unexpected.

The AU had used similar classifications in operational documents and resource requests for decades.

The system had been built around the assumption that Keelborn belonged within a military chain of ownership and assignment rather than possessing the same independent legal standing as ordinary citizens.

Former players had complicated that structure.

Some had arrived with recognizable service roles.

Others had been given command positions.

Many had become Keelborn in their original biological bodies.

But the AU's administrative framework had not suddenly transformed to accommodate every moral and legal problem created by Hour Zero.

Aster read the paragraph again.

Then looked up.

"It's strange."

Kade waited.

She continued.

"They're inviting former players to learn that this world isn't a game."

"Yeah."

"And they're still asking some of us to attend as registered military assets."

He nodded slowly.

"Yeah."

Aster looked toward the window.

Her expression became thoughtful rather than angry.

Kade recognized that.

She was trying to make sense of something she disliked without pretending the problem had an easy solution.

He respected that.

Then he spoke.

"If you come with me, I want you there as my guest."

She turned.

"Kade?"

"Not as something I'm bringing for display."

Aster stared at him.

He shrugged.

"I'm going to ask what their registration requirements actually mean."

Her expression softened.

"You don't have to cause trouble over it."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Who said anything about trouble?"

She looked at him.

He looked back.

Then sighed.

"...Fine. I might cause a little trouble."

Aster laughed softly.

Kade continued.

"But I'd rather know the rules before we agree to them."

She nodded.

"That's reasonable."

"And I don't want to assume the worst if this is merely how their visitor-control system works."

Aster considered that.

"Also reasonable."

"But if someone starts treating you like a piece of equipment at a social reception..."

He stopped.

His expression had become serious.

Aster watched him for a moment.

Then smiled.

A small, affectionate smile.

"I know."

Kade blinked.

"...Know what?"

She reached across the desk.

Rested her hand over his.

"You'll say something."

He looked down at their hands.

Then toward her.

"...Probably."

She smiled.

"Definitely."

He sighed.

"You're terrible at discouraging me."

"I have other talents."

Kade raised an eyebrow.

"Such as?"

Aster grinned.

"Getting you to attend a ball."

He stared.

Then laughed.

"...Unbelievable."

 

For a while, they spoke about the practical side of traveling to San Meridian.

Aster had no intention of ignoring Hana's restrictions.

Kade had no intention of allowing her to.

If Dr. Holt considered the journey safe, and the AU accepted her registration as an accompanying guest under terms they could live with, then attending might be possible.

If not, they would have to make a different arrangement.

Neither particularly liked that uncertainty.

But the world was real.

Flights required aircraft.

Military travelers required authorization.

Medical restrictions couldn't be erased because somebody wanted to see a ballroom.

And Horizon still needed its people.

Eventually, Aster closed the booklet.

Then looked toward Kade with an expression of sudden interest.

"...There's another problem."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Another?"

She nodded.

"Yes."

He sighed.

"What?"

Aster leaned forward.

"Can you dance?"

Silence.

Kade stared.

Aster smiled.

He slowly leaned back.

"...Define dance."

Her smile widened.

"Kade."

"Depending on the interpretation, I have several useful skills."

"Can you ballroom dance?"

He considered that.

Memories surfaced.

Not of Horizon.

Not of Earth.

Of another world.

Formal halls.

Music beneath enormous vaulted ceilings.

Nobles who had occasionally insisted on elaborate receptions while kingdoms remained dangerously close to destruction.

He had learned enough etiquette in Wysteria to survive such events without creating an incident every time.

Usually.

But those memories belonged to a life no one at Horizon knew he'd lived.

He wasn't going to explain them.

Kade looked toward Aster.

Then smiled faintly.

"I can probably manage."

She blinked.

"...Probably?"

He shrugged.

"How difficult can it be?"

Aster stared.

Then slowly covered her face.

"Oh, no."

Kade grinned.

"What?"

"That's what people say right before doing something disastrous."

"Unfounded accusation."

She lowered her hands.

"You'd better not step on me."

He looked down at his boots.

Then back at her.

"I think you're more likely to step on me."

Aster blinked.

Then burst out laughing.

Kade sighed.

"Terrible."

She leaned forward, still smiling.

"We'll practice."

He froze.

"...We?"

"Yes!"

"Aster."

"Kade."

"I haven't even confirmed I'm attending."

She grinned.

"Then you have plenty of time."

He stared at her.

She smiled back.

And somewhere deep inside the soul of a man who remembered fighting through sixteen years of Wysteria's worst monsters, Kade Bher discovered a new and profoundly unsettling possibility.

He might have to learn ballroom dancing with a Fletcher-class destroyer.

Willingly.

He looked toward the ceiling.

"...I've survived worse."

Aster raised an eyebrow.

"What was that?"

He blinked.

Then smiled pleasantly.

"Nothing."

She narrowed her eyes.

"Suspicious."

"Frequently."

Aster laughed.

And, despite himself, Kade found that the prospect of San Meridian no longer seemed quite so dreadful.

VII. The Most Dangerous News in the Mess Hall

By lunchtime, Kade had reached a decision.

He would investigate the invitation seriously.

He would not, however, commit to attending until Horizon's command coverage, travel arrangements, and security requirements had been reviewed.

He considered this a perfectly responsible position.

Mara agreed.

Aaron Voss, when consulted, agreed that the event represented an opportunity to develop valuable contacts and gather a better understanding of the Admiralty Union's central institutions.

Dr. Holt agreed to evaluate the medical suitability of anyone proposed for the journey.

And Aster agreed to remind Kade, as frequently as necessary, that formal invitations generally required formal clothing.

That last contribution was considerably less helpful.

Kade had been hoping to keep the matter reasonably quiet while the initial arrangements were considered.

This proved impossible.

Not because Mara had been careless.

Not because the invitation had leaked.

But because he made the mistake of allowing Aster to accompany him to lunch.

The Fletcher-class girl entered the mess hall beside him looking entirely too pleased with herself.

Kade noticed.

He regarded her suspiciously.

"...What?"

Aster smiled.

"Nothing."

"That's the third time you've said that today."

"Maybe you're suspicious."

"Maybe I've learned."

She laughed.

They reached the table near the windows.

Riko was already there, seated beside Yuna.

Hana had joined them after completing the morning's initial receiving inspection schedule.

And Sakura, finally looking considerably more rested than she had on arrival, was eating a generous portion of lunch while Emi sat beside her.

Kade stopped.

Sakura looked up.

Her expression brightened.

"Commander!"

He smiled.

"Hey."

She pointed at him.

"I have a question!"

He raised an eyebrow.

"That's dangerous."

Her expression became determined.

"Did you read the dispatch?"

Kade blinked.

Then slowly smiled.

"...Ah."

Sakura leaned forward.

"Well?"

Aster looked toward him.

Her own smile widened.

Kade noticed.

And immediately regretted everything.

He sighed.

"Yes, Sakura. I read it."

The transport girl brightened.

"And?"

He considered that.

Then looked around the table.

Everyone was watching now.

Even Yuna had lowered her spoon.

Kade folded his arms.

"...I've been invited to a formal Admiralty Union function."

Sakura blinked.

"Oh!"

Riko leaned forward.

"What kind of function?"

He hesitated.

Aster's expression became positively radiant.

Kade closed his eyes.

"...An Officers' Ball."

For one entire second, nobody spoke.

Then Riko's eyes widened.

"WHAT?"

Yuna blinked.

Hana looked up.

Sakura stared.

Emi stopped eating.

And Aster, who had apparently been waiting for exactly this reaction, burst out laughing.

Riko slammed both hands onto the table.

"A BALL?!"

Kade winced.

"Indoor voice."

"A REAL BALL?!"

"Riko."

"WITH DANCING?!"

He sighed.

"Unfortunately."

Yuna slowly adjusted her glasses.

Her expression became thoughtful.

Then the carrier smiled.

"Oh."

Kade turned toward her.

"...Don't."

She looked innocent.

"Don't what?"

"Whatever you're thinking."

Yuna considered that.

Then said:

"I was simply imagining you attending a formal diplomatic reception."

A pause.

"In San Meridian."

He narrowed his eyes.

She smiled.

"How distinguished."

Aster laughed harder.

Riko was practically vibrating.

"COMMANDER! YOU HAVE TO GO!"

Kade stared.

"...Do I?"

"YES!"

"Strong argument."

Sakura slowly raised one hand.

Everyone turned.

She looked at Kade.

Then at Aster.

Then back at Kade.

"...I spent sixteen days carrying an invitation to a dance?"

Silence.

For a moment, Kade didn't move.

Then he slowly lowered his head.

Aster made a strangled noise.

Yuna covered her mouth.

Hana looked toward her tea.

Emi burst out laughing.

And Sakura, who had crossed the Pacific with the sealed dispatch secured beside some of the most important cargo Horizon had ever received, stared at him in disbelief.

"SIXTEEN DAYS!"

Kade raised both hands.

"Technically, you were carrying restoration components."

"AND AN INVITATION!"

"Yes."

"TO A BALL!"

"Apparently."

She stared.

Then slowly began laughing.

The others followed.

Riko had to sit back in her chair.

Emi was laughing so hard that she could barely breathe.

Even Hana gave up maintaining her usual composure.

Kade looked around the table.

Then sighed.

"...This is why I wanted it kept quiet."

Aster grinned.

"Too late."

He looked toward her.

"You're enjoying this."

"Very much."

"Tragic."

 

Eventually, the laughter subsided enough for Kade to explain.

He told them that the Admiralty Union was organizing a formal reception in San Meridian, the Meridian Federation's capital fortress.

That it would bring together Commanders, Admirals, other officers, and representatives from several parts of the AU's defense structure.

That there would be an orientation program intended partly for former players whose understanding of the organization had come from FRONTLINE HEARTS rather than direct experience.

And that the event booklet used some familiar game terminology to make the program more approachable.

Riko was delighted.

"'Faction Introduction'?"

Kade nodded.

"Yes."

She grinned.

"That's hilarious!"

Yuna's expression became thoughtful.

"It's also an interesting educational approach."

Aster nodded.

"Exactly."

Hana considered the idea.

"Provided the explanations are accurate."

"That's the important part," Kade said.

The repair ship looked toward him.

He continued.

"The terminology is familiar. The institution isn't."

Yuna nodded slowly.

"The AU existed before Hour Zero."

"Long before," Kade agreed.

Sakura listened.

Her smile gradually became more thoughtful.

"So the ball is supposed to help former players meet the real people running things?"

"That's the idea."

"And understand how the AU works?"

"According to the invitation."

Riko leaned back.

"That actually sounds useful."

Hana nodded.

"It could be."

Kade looked around the table.

"That's why I'm considering it."

Aster smiled faintly.

"And because you enjoy formal dancing."

He turned.

"Aster."

"What?"

"No."

She grinned.

Riko's eyes widened.

"WAIT!"

Kade froze.

He knew that tone.

Nothing good ever followed that tone.

The battleship leaned forward.

"WHO ARE YOU TAKING?"

The table went quiet.

Aster looked at Kade.

Kade looked toward the ceiling.

Yuna slowly smiled.

Hana closed her eyes.

Sakura blinked.

Then looked between the Commander and the Fletcher-class girl.

"Oh!"

Kade sighed.

"...Not decided."

Aster raised an eyebrow.

"Yet."

He turned toward her.

She smiled sweetly.

"Medical clearance first, remember?"

Riko stared.

Then her face lit up.

"ASTER?!"

The destroyer grinned.

"Maybe."

Riko looked toward Kade.

Then toward Aster.

Then back again.

Her smile became enormous.

"Oh, this is wonderful."

Kade slowly lowered his head onto one hand.

"...I should have eaten in my office."

Yuna shook her head.

"Dr. Holt would disapprove."

Hana nodded.

"Strongly."

Sakura giggled.

Emi leaned toward Riko.

"Do you think he'll dance?"

Riko looked delighted.

"He'd better!"

Kade raised his head.

"Why is my personal humiliation becoming a group activity?"

Aster smiled.

"Because we care."

He regarded her.

Then sighed.

"...Questionable."

The girls laughed again.

And for the next several minutes, the table's attention shifted away from supply shortages, damaged machinery, and training schedules to a subject that was apparently of extraordinary importance.

What did someone wear to an Admiralty Union ball?

Riko had several opinions.

Yuna had more practical ones.

Aster was determined to be involved.

Sakura wanted to know what San Meridian looked like at night.

Hana reminded everyone that attending was not yet confirmed.

And Kade quietly wondered whether it would be possible to find a naval regulation prohibiting discussions of ballroom clothing during lunch.

He doubted it.

But a man could hope.

 

VIII. Beneath the Formalities

Later, after lunch had ended and the others returned to their work, Kade stood beside the window of his office.

The invitation lay open on the desk behind him.

Outside, Horizon continued rebuilding.

A supply vehicle passed along the administrative road.

Several sailors moved toward the harbor.

Farther away, the repair crews were working around the buildings housing the newly delivered restoration components.

No miracles had occurred.

The Respite Bath still needed extensive work.

The eleven secured Pendants remained under protection.

Four others were still missing.

The island was recovering, but not yet recovered.

And somewhere beyond the reef, the Blackwake remained a threat.

Kade watched the sunlight move across the water.

Then glanced toward the formal letter.

San Meridian.

A capital fortress.

The Admiralty Union.

A room full of people whose names appeared on orders that affected entire fleets.

He considered the invitation's stated purpose.

An opportunity for former players to understand what the AU was beneath its familiar image.

He understood the value of that.

The distinction between the world before Hour Zero and the world afterward had become a source of terrible confusion.

To the people who'd once played FRONTLINE HEARTS, some aspects of this reality looked familiar.

Ship classes.

Faction names.

Equipment.

Maps.

Military organizations.

But resemblance was not identity.

The people who lived here were not supporting characters waiting for a player to arrive.

They had built homes.

Fought wars.

Raised children.

Created institutions.

Made mistakes.

Suffered losses.

And survived events that had never appeared on any game server.

Kade knew how dangerous it was to forget that.

The PCA had forgotten.

Or chosen not to care.

Either way, the result had been blood.

He looked toward the AU crest.

There were things he wanted to understand.

Who had authorized the distribution arrangements that Horizon struggled to navigate?

How did the Admiralty weigh an isolated base's needs against the demands of larger fortresses?

What was being done about rogue former-player commanders?

What information existed beyond Horizon's immediate intelligence network concerning the Blackwake?

And why, after all the evidence that Keelborn possessed their own memories, feelings, and judgment, did so much of the official military system still treat them as property?

None of those questions would be solved by attending a dance.

Kade wasn't naive enough to believe otherwise.

But perhaps he could find people willing to discuss them.

People whose authority extended beyond the local offices that processed his requisitions.

People who might tell him what the official reports left out.

He thought of Aster.

Riko.

Yuna.

Hana.

Sakura.

The girls who were working so hard to become stronger.

The wounded who still needed care.

The eleven whose Pendants rested within Horizon's medical facility.

The island was full of lives affected by decisions made far beyond its shores.

If the Admiralty Union was offering him an opportunity to meet the people making some of those decisions, perhaps he ought to accept.

Not because he particularly wanted to see a ballroom.

Not because he was interested in impressing Admirals.

And certainly not because he expected a room full of decorations and formal uniforms to explain away everything he disliked about the AU.

But because understanding an institution was often the first step toward knowing which parts of it could be trusted.

And which parts needed to change.

Kade turned from the window.

He returned to his desk.

Then picked up the response form.

He read the conditions once more.

The event remained voluntary.

Attendance required confirmation.

Transport arrangements were not guaranteed.

And any accompanying guest would need appropriate credentials and approval.

Reasonable enough.

He reached for his pen.

Then paused.

A faint smile appeared.

"...An Officers' Ball."

He shook his head.

"Unbelievable."

Then he began writing.

 

The response was brief.

Professional.

And considerably less sarcastic than his first instinct had suggested.

He acknowledged receipt of the invitation.

Expressed interest in attending.

Requested preliminary guidance on official travel arrangements from Horizon Atoll to San Meridian.

And asked for clarification concerning guest eligibility, particularly the status of Keelborn accompanying an invited Commander.

He did not confirm a guest.

He did not promise attendance before Horizon's command coverage had been approved.

And he did not pretend that an invitation alone justified leaving his responsibilities unattended.

When he finished, he reviewed the message.

Then signed it.

Commander Kade Bher.

Horizon Atoll.

He set down the pen.

For a moment, he simply looked at his signature.

The same name he'd carried through three worlds.

The same name he'd possessed as a child beneath Mizunokuni's cedars.

The same name written beside the Holy Gauntlets in Wysteria.

And now the name of an eighteen-year-old Commander responsible for a damaged naval base in the Pacific.

He shook the thought away before it could take hold.

There was work to do.

He gathered the reply and the relevant administrative papers.

Then reached for the internal telephone.

When the connection opened, he spoke.

"Chief, it's Kade."

Mara's voice answered through the receiver.

"Commander?"

"I've prepared a preliminary response to San Meridian. Can you have Communications review the routing?"

"Of course. Have you decided to attend?"

"Interested. Conditional on travel and command coverage."

"Understood."

He hesitated.

Then added:

"And I've requested clarification about an accompanying guest."

A pause followed.

A very suspicious pause.

Then Mara answered.

"How thoughtful."

Kade closed his eyes.

"...Chief."

"Yes, Commander?"

"Don't."

The faint amusement in her voice was unmistakable.

"I haven't said anything."

"You're doing it again."

"Doing what?"

"Thinking loudly."

Mara laughed.

Kade sighed.

Then looked toward the invitation.

"...And Chief?"

"Yes?"

"See whether we have a dress-uniform tailor who can work around my schedule."

There was another pause.

Then Mara answered with exquisite composure.

"Certainly, Commander. Shall I also inquire about dancing lessons?"

Kade stared at the telephone.

For several seconds, he didn't answer.

Then he slowly lowered his head.

"...I hate this island."

Mara laughed.

And for the first time in several weeks, Kade Bher found himself looking toward an uncertain future that involved something other than preparing for another battle.

A formal reception.

An unfamiliar city.

An institution he had every reason to question.

Perhaps a Fletcher-class girl in a beautiful dress.

And an entire room full of Admirals.

He wasn't sure which part frightened him most.

Outside, Horizon's harbor glittered beneath the afternoon sun.

The repair crews continued their work.

The Keelborn trained.

The kitchens prepared another meal.

The people who'd survived the recent battle carried on with their lives.

And on Kade's desk, beneath the official crest of the Admiralty Union, lay an invitation to discover something about the world beyond Horizon's shores.

Not through a mission screen.

Not through a game.

But by meeting the people who had been living in it all along.