Chapter 6.2 - “The Commander Who Had to Leave”

I. The Three-Day Problem

Kade Bher had three days.

Three days to prepare Horizon Atoll for his temporary absence.

Three days to finish the most urgent command work.

Three days to confirm an international travel itinerary, inspect the relevant security arrangements, finalize the delegation of authority, review the repair priorities, and make certain that nobody accidentally decided the Commander being away was an excellent opportunity to do something catastrophically stupid.

And somewhere in those three days, he was apparently expected to get a haircut.

He considered that last requirement unreasonable.

The first six were understandable.

The haircut was an attack on personal liberty.

Kade sat behind his desk in Horizon's administrative headquarters, staring at the neatly arranged documents before him.

Outside, morning sunlight warmed the upper windows of the building. A faint sea breeze moved through the ventilation louvers, carrying the smell of salt and freshly cut grass from the grounds below.

Somewhere beyond the administrative district, a maintenance truck reversed toward a loading platform.

Its warning signal sounded three times.

Then stopped.

Kade looked toward the window.

For one wonderful second, he considered going outside.

Perhaps walking along the harbor.

Perhaps visiting the mess hall.

Perhaps disappearing into the gardens where Dr. Holt had once ordered him to take a break.

Then his eyes returned to the documents.

The stack had grown.

He was almost certain of it.

He had left it unattended for less than a minute, and somehow it had become taller.

"...Unnatural."

A voice answered from the doorway.

"What is?"

Kade looked up.

Mara Fenwick stood there carrying another folder.

He stared at it.

Then closed his eyes.

"No."

The Chief of Staff raised an eyebrow.

"Commander?"

"Absolutely not."

"I haven't said anything."

"You're holding paperwork."

"Yes."

"That's a hostile act."

Mara considered that.

Then smiled.

"Would you prefer I leave it with Communications?"

Kade opened one eye.

"...What is it?"

"Your provisional travel authorization has been confirmed."

He stopped.

Then sat straighter.

"Oh."

Mara approached.

"San Meridian has acknowledged Horizon's response and accepted your attendance, pending the final departure requirements."

Kade looked toward the folder.

Then back at her.

"...Really?"

"Really."

"The Ball?"

"Yes."

"In the actual capital fortress?"

"Yes."

"With Admirals?"

"Presumably."

He considered that.

Then sighed.

"Well."

Mara waited.

Kade lowered his head.

"...Damn."

She laughed.

He pointed toward her without looking up.

"Don't."

"I'm sorry."

"You're not."

"No."

She placed the folder on his desk.

Kade regarded it with profound suspicion.

Then opened it.

The documentation was real.

Not simply an invitation anymore.

A formal attendance acknowledgment.

Preliminary entry credentials.

A travel coordination notice.

And a proposed aircraft itinerary identifying the approved military air corridors by which he and his companion would be conveyed to San Meridian.

The route was not direct.

That would have been convenient.

Convenience, Kade had learned, was something naval logistics occasionally permitted by accident.

The proposed journey would involve an authorized transport movement out of Horizon, an intermediate military refueling and passenger-control stop, and onward passage to the Meridian Federation's capital fortress.

The aircraft assignments were being confirmed through the regional transport network.

No aircraft had magically appeared at Horizon simply because a prominent institution wished to host a reception.

Kade appreciated that.

He also found it irritating.

He studied the estimated movement schedule.

Then looked toward Mara.

"We leave in three days."

"That is the proposed departure window."

"Assuming the aircraft and weather cooperate."

"Correct."

"And assuming San Meridian's receiving arrangements are completed."

"Correct."

"And assuming Aster receives final medical clearance."

Mara nodded.

"Also correct."

Kade leaned back.

His chair creaked.

"...Wonderful."

The Chief of Staff looked entirely too pleased with herself.

"You're excited."

He stared.

"I'm experiencing a range of emotions."

"Naturally."

"Several are unpleasant."

"Understandable."

He looked back toward the itinerary.

For a moment, the humor faded.

Three days.

It was suddenly real.

The Admiralty Union Officers' Ball had existed as a peculiar document on his desk.

An amusing possibility.

Something to discuss over lunch while Riko enthusiastically imagined formal clothing and Aster asked whether he could dance.

Now there was a departure window.

A route.

A receiving command.

A security procedure.

And a very real possibility that Kade would be standing in San Meridian before the week was over.

He placed the documents down.

Then looked toward Mara.

"All right."

She straightened.

"Commander?"

"We have three days."

"Yes."

He glanced toward the piles on his desk.

Then toward the window.

His expression became determined.

"Let's make certain this island can function without me."

Mara smiled.

"It already can."

Kade stared.

She continued pleasantly.

"That's why you have a Chief of Staff."

He considered that.

Then sighed.

"...I walked into that."

"Entirely."

 

II. Horizon Does Not Stop Because One Man Leaves

The first meeting began twenty minutes later.

Kade had requested the people responsible for Horizon's principal administrative and operational functions, not every officer on the island.

The distinction mattered.

An entire base shouldn't need to stop working merely because its Commander wanted to feel reassured.

So the meeting room contained a manageable group.

Mara Fenwick occupied the seat beside him.

Captain Mercer attended as commanding officer of USS Breakwater and the senior representative for the conventional warship's operational responsibilities.

Victor, responsible for communications coordination, had brought the latest network-status report.

Corwin Hale arrived with logistical estimates and the expression of a man who had already been informed that someone would shortly ask him for more supplies than existed.

Aaron Voss represented the intelligence office.

Hana Saeki attended for the repair effort, accompanied by Dain Okoro, who carried the latest engineering inspection notes.

Dr. Irena Holt joined them after completing her morning rounds.

The people in the room represented different responsibilities.

Different chains of authority.

Different priorities.

And the fact that Kade trusted them did not mean he could simply transfer every aspect of his command to whichever person happened to be sitting closest to the door.

He waited until everyone was settled.

Then spoke.

"All right. San Meridian has acknowledged the invitation, and the transport network has proposed departure in three days."

Corwin slowly closed his eyes.

Kade looked toward him.

"...Corwin?"

The logistics officer sighed.

"How much additional work is this going to create?"

Kade considered that.

"Some."

"Define some."

"Politically acceptable amounts."

Mara lowered her face toward her notes.

Aaron smiled faintly.

Corwin stared.

Then sighed again.

"I see."

Kade grinned.

"Glad we're communicating."

He looked around the table.

"Seriously, though, I don't want the base improvising an entirely new command structure because I'm going to a diplomatic function."

Mercer nodded.

"Agreed."

"The existing responsibilities remain where they belong. Mara coordinates headquarters administration and the authorities formally delegated during my absence. Captain Mercer retains command of Breakwater. Harbor Control continues controlling the port. Engineering continues handling engineering."

Hana nodded approvingly.

Kade glanced toward her.

"Within the approved schedules."

Her expression became thoughtful.

Then slightly offended.

"...I know."

Dr. Holt raised an eyebrow.

Kade looked toward the doctor.

"I thought you'd appreciate that."

"Very much."

Hana sighed.

Dain looked down at his paperwork with suspicious concentration.

The meeting continued.

Kade clarified the reporting requirements for significant incidents.

Victor reviewed the communications procedures by which the headquarters could transmit urgent information through the regional network while the Commander was traveling.

Aaron summarized the intelligence reporting arrangements, including the distinction between an unverified sighting and a confirmed hostile contact.

Corwin provided the latest logistics situation.

The arrival of Sakura's cargo had improved several supply categories, but it had not solved every shortage.

Preserved provisions and repair materials had been entered into the receiving system.

Certain medical items required further acceptance checks.

The separately arranged air shipment of perishable food remained subject to its own transport confirmation and should not be counted as available inventory until it actually arrived.

Kade nodded.

"Good. Keep the numbers honest."

Corwin looked mildly offended.

"They're always honest."

Kade raised an eyebrow.

"Even the vegetable numbers?"

The logistics officer closed his eyes.

"...Commander."

A few people laughed.

Corwin sighed.

Then continued.

"The restoration cargo's receiving process is underway, but it isn't available for general engineering use. Hana's department has control of those items."

Kade nodded.

"Exactly."

He turned toward Hana.

"How are the inspections?"

She opened her folder.

"Preliminary acceptance checks have confirmed that the principal shipments arrived with no obvious external transport damage."

Kade relaxed slightly.

"Good."

"But we haven't completed internal testing. The resonance manifold requires dimensional verification, the control modules need compatibility checks, and the Pendant interface assembly remains inside its protective cradle."

Dain added, "We also have to compare the supplied interface drawings with the damaged installation before committing to any structural modifications."

Kade listened carefully.

Then asked:

"Anything you need from me before I leave?"

Hana considered that.

"Approval to continue the noninvasive inspection schedule and place any necessary parts requests through the existing procurement process."

"Granted, within the established safety procedures."

She nodded.

"And if the next test reveals a serious discrepancy?"

"Document it. Tell Mara. Don't force the installation."

Hana smiled faintly.

"I wasn't planning to."

"I know."

Kade leaned forward.

"That's why I'm saying it to everyone."

The room quieted.

He looked from one face to another.

"The parts are here. That's a victory for Sakura and everyone who got them across the Pacific."

A pause.

"But I don't want anyone treating their arrival as permission to rush the Respite Bath back into service."

Dr. Holt nodded.

"Agreed."

"The eleven Pendants remain secured. We still have four missing. Nothing about those facts changes because we have new machinery in a workshop."

Hana's expression softened.

Kade continued.

"We'll do the work properly. Even if it takes longer than we'd like."

There was a silence.

Then Dain nodded.

"Understood."

Hana closed her folder.

"Understood."

The doctor gave a small approving nod.

Kade looked toward Mara.

The Chief of Staff had already written the decision into the meeting record.

Of course she had.

He smiled faintly.

One less thing to worry about.

Not because the problem was solved.

Because the people responsible understood what needed to happen next.

 

The security discussion was less comfortable.

Aaron unfolded a regional chart.

No dramatic new enemy attack had occurred that morning.

No confirmed Blackwake force was approaching Horizon.

That didn't mean the threat had disappeared.

The PCA still possessed hostile remnants and uncertain resources.

The Blackwake remained active elsewhere in the Pacific.

And Horizon's recent losses were evidence enough that a quiet day could not be treated as proof of permanent safety.

Kade studied the chart.

Then looked toward Mercer.

"The defensive watch remains unchanged?"

The captain nodded.

"With adjustments for the current repair restrictions. Breakwater remains available within her approved readiness condition, and the harbor-defense stations will continue their assigned watches."

"Good."

Victor reviewed the communications checks.

Aaron confirmed the standing procedures for reporting suspicious traffic.

Mara summarized who could authorize emergency measures under Horizon's existing command arrangements.

Kade listened.

He asked questions.

Not because he doubted their competence.

Because it was his job to understand what would happen if the island came under pressure while he was somewhere over the Pacific.

At the end of the discussion, he sat back.

Then looked around the room.

"Anything I'm overlooking?"

A pause followed.

Corwin raised one hand.

Kade regarded him.

"...Yes?"

"Your travel expenses."

Silence.

Kade slowly closed his eyes.

"...Of course."

The logistics officer looked almost pleased.

"Official travel will need a separate accounting code."

"Naturally."

"And any personal purchases at the reception are not chargeable to the base."

Kade opened one eye.

"...Corwin."

"Commander?"

"Do I look like someone planning to bankrupt Horizon with ballroom refreshments?"

Corwin considered the question.

Then answered with great seriousness.

"I've seen what happens when Emi discovers an unattended buffet."

The room erupted into laughter.

Even Mercer chuckled.

Kade lowered his head.

"...That's fair."

And the meeting ended with an unexpectedly cheerful atmosphere.

Not because Horizon's problems had vanished.

But because everyone understood that the work would continue.

With Kade.

Without Kade.

During the flight.

During the Ball.

And long after he returned.

III. The Workshop Where Hope Had to Pass Inspection

The next stop was the repair complex.

Kade had originally intended to remain there for fifteen minutes.

That was the time he'd written into his schedule.

Fifteen minutes to review the technical situation, speak with Hana and Dain, and return to headquarters before his next meeting.

It was a reasonable plan.

Unfortunately, Hana Saeki had other ideas.

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"Don't touch that."

Kade stopped.

His hand hovered above a neatly arranged collection of fittings on the workbench.

He looked toward her.

"...I wasn't going to."

Hana regarded him.

"Good."

"Merely appreciating the craftsmanship."

"Appreciate it from there."

Kade lowered his hand.

"...Hostile environment."

Dain laughed from the other side of the table.

The workshop smelled of oil, metal, and clean insulating material. Overhead lights illuminated several separate workstations, each marked according to the component undergoing inspection.

The principal restoration equipment had been moved here from the protected receiving area after the required transfer checks.

The larger assemblies remained on their shipping supports.

Technicians were documenting dimensions and examining external interfaces.

A separate workstation held the control modules delivered from Resolute Shoals.

Several instruments were connected to a test fixture, though the equipment itself remained isolated from the damaged Respite Bath.

Kade looked around.

The place seemed orderly.

Almost unnervingly orderly.

He was accustomed to repair facilities filled with machinery in various stages of disassembly, workers calling measurements to one another, and someone loudly demanding a tool that had been sitting directly beside them for the last ten minutes.

This was different.

The technicians spoke quietly.

The components were labeled.

Every movement appeared deliberate.

Kade understood why.

These weren't ordinary replacement parts.

Not to the people waiting at Horizon.

He approached the largest shipping cradle.

Hana stood beside him.

"That's the manifold?"

She nodded.

"Yes."

It was heavier-looking than he'd expected.

An intricately constructed assembly surrounded by a protective frame, with several connection housings arranged around a central structure.

The exterior was unremarkable in the way complicated machinery often was.

It didn't glow.

It didn't hum with miraculous promise.

It looked like something that belonged inside a carefully maintained industrial installation.

Kade studied it.

Then asked:

"Any surprises?"

Hana considered that.

"One."

He turned.

"...Good surprise?"

"Not yet determined."

Kade sighed.

"Naturally."

She pointed toward a measurement drawing.

"The mounting interfaces match the preserved plans within the expected tolerance. But the damaged Respite Bath's support frame has shifted since the original installation."

He frowned.

"From the battle?"

"Most likely. We documented the damage earlier, but until the manifold arrived, we couldn't check the final relationship between its mounting surfaces and the equipment we still have."

Dain joined them.

"We may need to rebuild part of the receiving frame rather than simply fit the replacement component into the old supports."

Kade looked toward the diagram.

"Can we?"

"Probably," Dain answered. "But we need a more complete survey before committing materials."

Hana nodded.

"And I don't want anyone compensating for a misalignment by forcing the connections."

Kade looked at her.

"Agreed."

She seemed pleased.

Then added:

"Especially because this assembly includes interfaces whose internal tolerances we can't fully verify without the proper testing sequence."

He nodded slowly.

"So if we rush, we could destroy something we can't easily replace."

"Exactly."

Kade studied the manifold again.

For a moment, he felt the familiar pressure of responsibility gathering around him.

He wanted the Respite Bath repaired.

Desperately.

Eleven Pendants waited in secure storage.

Eleven girls whose absence remained visible in the people who remembered them.

And four more had never been recovered.

Every morning, Horizon continued without those fifteen.

Every evening, the gap remained.

He could order the technicians to work faster.

He could demand extra shifts.

He could stand beside Hana and ask every hour whether the installation was ready.

None of those things would make a misaligned manifold fit correctly.

Kade exhaled.

"Then build the survey into the schedule."

Hana nodded.

"Already done."

He looked toward her.

A small smile appeared.

"Of course."

Dain folded his arms.

"We can begin the next measurements once the support fixtures are ready."

"Good."

Hana glanced at Kade's uniform.

Then at the folder tucked beneath his arm.

"Aren't you supposed to be preparing for San Meridian?"

He stared.

"...I am."

She raised an eyebrow.

"By standing in my workshop?"

"Command oversight."

"Of fittings?"

"Very important fittings."

Dain looked down.

His shoulders shook.

Hana sighed.

"Commander."

Kade smiled.

"Yes?"

"We're handling it."

He hesitated.

She continued.

"You've authorized the inspections. We've received the parts. We have the technical documents. And we know when to stop a procedure if something doesn't look right."

A pause.

"You don't have to stand here watching the manifold."

Kade glanced toward the machinery.

Then back at her.

For a moment, he looked almost reluctant.

Hana's expression softened.

"Go prepare for your trip."

He considered that.

Then sighed.

"...Fine."

"Good."

He turned toward the doorway.

Then stopped.

"Hana?"

She looked up.

"Yes?"

His expression became serious.

"Thank you."

The repair girl blinked.

"For what?"

He gestured toward the workstations.

"For not giving up."

Hana looked toward the manifold.

The control modules.

The protected interface assembly waiting for its own inspection.

For a moment, her professional composure softened.

Then she nodded.

"...You're welcome."

Kade smiled.

He started toward the door.

Then heard her call after him.

"And Commander?"

He turned.

"Yes?"

"Don't return from San Meridian with any unapproved machinery."

Kade blinked.

"...What?"

Hana folded her arms.

"If an Admiralty Union representative offers you a miraculous new technical system, I want its specifications before you accept it."

Dain burst out laughing.

Kade stared.

Then grinned.

"Not even if it's very shiny?"

"Especially then."

He sighed.

"...You people take all the fun out of command."

Hana smiled.

"Frequently."

And Kade left the workshop feeling slightly less worried than when he'd entered.

The problem remained complicated.

The work remained uncertain.

But it was in capable hands.

He could live with that.

 

IV. A Battleship's Opinion on Priorities

Kade's afternoon took him past the training lagoon.

That was a mistake.

Not because anything had gone wrong.

In fact, quite the opposite.

Riko Minase was having a very good day.

Unfortunately, Riko's definition of a good day tended to include explaining exactly why it was good to anyone within hearing distance.

Kade reached the observation area just as the Yamato-class girl completed a controlled maneuvering run.

Her Mk. I training arrangement still carried the conspicuous assistance structures required to support and stabilize her enormous equipment.

Supplemental flotation.

Reinforced stabilizers.

Conservative propulsion controls.

The broad support configuration that had prompted Kade's infamous comparison to a floating warehouse.

Riko had not forgiven him.

She had, however, begun learning to operate the arrangement more confidently.

From the observation platform, Kade watched her complete a planned turn under the supervising instructor's direction.

The movement was slow.

Deliberate.

No attempt at dramatic acceleration.

No attempt to demonstrate what a Yamato-class battleship could do when all her systems were fully operational.

Just a controlled maneuver.

The kind that looked unremarkable to someone who didn't appreciate the difficulty of moving such a large equipment arrangement safely.

Kade appreciated it.

He watched Riko settle onto her assigned heading.

Her final correction was smoother than the earlier ones he'd seen.

The training officer confirmed the maneuver.

Riko's face lit up.

Kade smiled.

Then made the mistake of allowing her to see him.

"COMMANDER!"

He sighed.

"...There it is."

Riko waved vigorously from the training area.

"YOU SAW THAT?!"

He raised one hand.

"YES!"

"DID YOU SEE MY TURN?!"

"YES!"

"IT WAS GOOD, RIGHT?!"

Kade considered that.

Then called back:

"VERY RESPONSIBLE!"

Riko stared.

For a moment, the battleship seemed unsure whether she'd been complimented or insulted.

Then she grinned.

"I KNOW!"

The supervising officer slowly lowered her head.

Kade laughed.

A few minutes later, after the session had been formally concluded and the training equipment placed in its approved condition, Riko joined him near the observation platform.

She looked tired.

Also delighted.

Kade considered that an acceptable combination.

"Well?"

She raised an eyebrow.

"Well what?"

"Are you going to explain it?"

Riko stared.

Then her expression became radiant.

"YES!"

He sighed.

"Walked directly into that."

For the next several minutes, the battleship discussed her maneuver.

Every correction.

Every stabilizer response.

Every small improvement she believed she had made.

Kade listened.

He asked a few questions.

Then congratulated her.

Genuinely.

Riko looked pleased enough to glow.

But when he reminded her that the exercise did not constitute clearance for the next reduced-assistance configuration, she groaned.

"Everybody keeps telling me that!"

"Because everybody likes you attached to the correct number of functioning components."

She folded her arms.

"I'm not going to rush!"

Kade raised an eyebrow.

Riko hesitated.

Then sighed.

"...I'm trying not to."

He smiled.

"That's better."

For a moment, she looked toward the lagoon.

Then glanced back at him.

"You're leaving soon, right?"

Kade nodded.

"Three days, if the travel arrangements hold."

Her expression brightened.

"San Meridian!"

"Yes."

"The Ball!"

"Unfortunately."

Riko grinned.

Then, unexpectedly, her expression became serious.

"Are you going to be safe?"

Kade looked at her.

The question was simple.

He had expected another joke about formal clothes.

Perhaps an inquiry about whether he could dance.

Instead, the Yamato-class girl was watching him with genuine concern.

He smiled faintly.

"That's the plan."

"You're going by airplane?"

"Yes."

"With Aster?"

"If she's cleared."

Riko nodded.

Then folded her arms.

"Good."

Kade raised an eyebrow.

"Good?"

"She'll look after you."

He laughed.

"That's what she says."

Riko regarded him.

Then smiled.

"And we'll look after Horizon."

Kade's expression softened.

He looked toward the training lagoon.

The young battleship stood beside him without her full combat capabilities, still working toward mastery of equipment that demanded patience and discipline.

But she was learning.

And more importantly, she was beginning to understand that protecting Horizon didn't always mean firing enormous guns.

Sometimes it meant completing the training properly.

Sometimes it meant helping the people beside her.

Sometimes it meant letting someone else do their job.

Kade nodded.

"I know."

Riko blinked.

"...You do?"

"Yeah."

He smiled.

"That's why I can go."

For a moment, she stared at him.

Then her cheeks warmed slightly.

She looked away.

"...Oh."

Kade grinned.

"Very touching."

Riko turned.

"COMMANDER!"

"What?"

"YOU RUINED IT!"

He laughed.

She folded her arms.

Then, despite herself, smiled.

 

V. The Dress Uniform Campaign

The following morning, Kade Bher discovered that the outfitting specialist had absolutely no fear of naval authority.

This was unfortunate.

He'd been hoping to negotiate.

He stood on a small fitting platform while a woman named Celia Marr examined the shoulders of his dress uniform with the focused disapproval of someone who had just discovered a minor structural flaw in an otherwise acceptable machine.

"Arms down, Commander."

Kade lowered them.

"Like this?"

"Yes."

She adjusted the fabric at his collar.

"Chin up."

He complied.

A pause followed.

Then she stepped back.

"Hm."

Kade narrowed his eyes.

"...Hm?"

Celia studied the jacket.

"The shoulders need a slight adjustment."

"Tragic."

"And the waist could be taken in."

"Hostile."

"The sleeve length isn't quite right."

Kade closed his eyes.

"...You've dismantled me."

Celia ignored him.

She picked up a measuring tape.

"Arms out."

He sighed.

Then obeyed.

A mirror stood opposite the platform.

Kade regarded himself.

The dress uniform was dark, formal, and considerably more elaborate than the clothing he wore during ordinary command work.

Its carefully arranged insignia marked his recognized position at Horizon.

The jacket had been cleaned and pressed.

The trousers were properly fitted.

The shoes, which he had already developed a profound dislike for, were polished to an unreasonable shine.

He looked like an officer.

A real one.

At least until he opened his mouth.

"Question."

Celia continued measuring.

"Yes?"

"Is there a regulation against attending a formal reception in ordinary service dress?"

"Not if ordinary service dress meets the event's requirements."

Kade brightened.

"Oh?"

Celia glanced toward him.

"Yours would not be the appropriate choice."

His expression collapsed.

"...Cruel."

She made another note.

"Stand still."

Kade sighed.

He did.

Then looked toward the mirror again.

For a moment, the sight stirred an uncomfortable memory.

A different formal coat.

A different hall.

Music echoing beneath a vaulted ceiling.

Long tables.

Nobles dressed in elaborate clothing, speaking about war as though the armies fighting it were distant abstractions.

He remembered standing beneath those lights in Wysteria, older than his body was now, surrounded by the people he had fought beside for years.

He remembered Ayame looking extraordinarily unimpressed by a particularly self-important noble.

He remembered Elias quietly identifying every exit in the room.

He remembered somebody insisting that sacred Heroes ought to behave with greater dignity.

He had been tempted to demonstrate exactly how little dignity the Holy Gauntlets possessed when confronted with an arrogant man and an expensive table.

He hadn't.

Ayame had stopped him.

Probably for the best.

The memory faded.

Kade looked toward the mirror.

Eighteen.

Not twenty-eight.

A young Commander preparing for a reception in yet another world.

He almost laughed.

You really can't escape formal functions, can you?

"Commander?"

Kade blinked.

Celia was looking at him.

"Yes?"

"Please stop smiling at the mirror."

He stared.

"...Why?"

"It makes it difficult to tell whether you're listening."

He considered that.

Then nodded.

"Fair."

She returned to the jacket.

"And you need to try the shoes."

Kade looked toward the polished black pair beside the platform.

His expression darkened.

"...Absolutely not."

Celia raised an eyebrow.

"Commander."

He stared.

She stared back.

Then he sighed.

"...Fine."

Another battle lost.

 

The dress shoes fitted.

Unfortunately.

They were formal, polished, and sufficiently comfortable that Kade couldn't honestly object to them on practical grounds.

This left him with very little ammunition.

He looked down.

Then toward Celia.

"Can I run in these?"

She considered the question.

"If necessary."

"Can I climb stairs?"

"Yes."

"Can I escape from a ballroom?"

She stopped.

Then slowly looked up.

"...Commander."

He smiled pleasantly.

"Just exploring the performance envelope."

Celia closed her eyes.

From the doorway came a familiar laugh.

Kade froze.

He turned.

Aster stood there.

She wore ordinary clothes, her auburn hair secured with the red ribbons he knew so well.

She wasn't carrying her Fletcher rigging.

There was no heavy naval machinery around her.

Just the girl who had somehow convinced half the island that the Commander's formal attire was a matter of public interest.

She smiled.

"Looking good."

Kade stared.

"...How long have you been there?"

"Long enough."

"Terrible."

Aster stepped inside.

Her eyes moved over the uniform.

The fitted jacket.

The insignia.

The polished shoes.

For a moment, her expression changed.

The teasing faded.

She looked at him.

Really looked.

Then smiled.

A warm, unmistakably delighted smile.

"Oh."

Kade blinked.

"...Oh?"

Aster shook her head.

"Nothing."

He narrowed his eyes.

"You're doing it again."

"Doing what?"

"Thinking loudly."

She laughed.

Then approached.

"Seriously, Kade."

He looked toward her.

She smiled.

"You look handsome."

Silence.

Kade stared.

For one dreadful instant, all the sarcastic answers that ordinarily arrived without effort seemed to vanish from his mind.

He blinked.

"...Ah."

Aster's smile widened.

Celia quietly turned toward her measuring table.

The Commander cleared his throat.

"Well."

Aster raised an eyebrow.

"Well?"

He glanced toward the mirror.

Then back at her.

"...The uniform is doing most of the work."

She laughed.

"Don't be ridiculous."

He smiled faintly.

Aster looked toward Celia.

"Is he being difficult?"

The specialist answered immediately.

"Extremely."

Kade turned.

"BETRAYAL."

Aster burst out laughing.

Celia smiled.

Then picked up her notes.

"I need another fitting after the alterations. He can return tomorrow."

Aster nodded.

"I'll make sure he does."

Kade stared.

"...Wonderful."

The Fletcher-class girl grinned.

"You're welcome."

And Kade discovered that, for all his experience surviving court etiquette in Wysteria, being complimented by Aster while wearing a dress uniform was a remarkably effective way to make him forget what he intended to say next.

VI. The Aircraft, the Guest, and the Question of Ownership

The final travel authorization arrived the next afternoon.

Kade was halfway through reviewing an updated harbor-repair priority list when Victor requested his attention over the internal communications circuit.

"Commander, the Admiralty Union liaison has transmitted the confirmed passenger and movement arrangements."

Kade stopped reading.

Then looked toward the ceiling.

"...Finally."

He picked up the receiver.

"Any changes to the proposed departure date?"

"No, sir. The flight remains scheduled for the morning after tomorrow, subject to weather and the normal final airfield release."

"Aircraft?"

"A military passenger transport has been assigned through the regional movement network. The itinerary includes an authorized intermediate stop before the onward flight to San Meridian."

Kade nodded.

"Passenger records?"

A pause followed.

"Both have been accepted for preliminary boarding authorization. Final issue awaits the medical and security confirmations."

He straightened.

"Both?"

"Yes, Commander. Yours and Miss Aster's."

Kade smiled faintly.

"Good. Send the complete packet to Mara and me."

"Already forwarded."

He blinked.

Then laughed quietly.

"Excellent work, Victor."

"Thank you, sir."

The call ended.

Kade set down the receiver.

Then looked toward the growing stack of documents.

Two days.

He had two days before the aircraft was supposed to depart.

The Ball was no longer an abstract social engagement.

There was an aircraft.

A passenger list.

A destination.

And an entire chain of transport officers who would become very annoyed if he failed to appear at the correct departure point with the correct documents.

Kade sighed.

"...Well."

He picked up the packet.

"Suppose I'd better pack."

Then he saw the page concerning Aster's registration.

His expression changed.

He read it carefully.

Once.

Then again.

The language was not perfect.

He hadn't expected perfection.

The Admiralty Union's legal and military classification system remained exactly as complicated as it had been when he first began corresponding with its officers.

But the liaison had answered the question he'd asked.

Aster was listed by her personal name.

She was identified as a Fletcher-class Keelborn associated with Horizon Atoll.

Her participation was authorized as an accompanying command guest and designated escort representative.

The document explicitly separated her attendance from any transfer of operational custody or combat assignment.

It also stated that her presence at the reception would not constitute a change in Horizon's recognized equipment or personnel arrangements.

Kade read that final sentence carefully.

Then frowned.

The wording was still annoyingly bureaucratic.

It carefully avoided addressing the wider argument about Keelborn status.

There was no sudden declaration of equal citizenship.

No sweeping institutional reform.

No admission that decades of administrative practice had reduced living people to entries in an equipment registry.

But for this specific journey, the authorization recognized Aster's personal attendance under Kade's sponsorship without pretending he was delivering a warship to another command.

That mattered.

He could work with that.

For now.

Kade placed the document beside his own authorization.

Then reached for the telephone.

"Mara."

Her reply came through the receiver.

"Commander?"

"I've seen the guest registration."

"So have I."

"Thoughts?"

A pause followed.

Then she answered.

"It's a workable accommodation. Not a resolution of the broader legal issue."

Kade smiled faintly.

"Exactly."

"I would recommend we retain the full correspondence in Horizon's records."

"Agreed."

"And have Aster review the relevant conditions before signing her acceptance."

"Definitely."

Another pause.

Then Mara added:

"Are you satisfied?"

Kade glanced toward the AU crest.

He considered the question.

"...Satisfied enough to keep talking."

The Chief of Staff gave a quiet laugh.

"That sounds like you."

He smiled.

"Frequently."

 

Aster arrived an hour later.

She carried her own travel packet.

Not a document Kade had been asked to sign on her behalf.

Hers.

With her name.

Her identification.

Her guest-registration terms.

And the medical conditions that would govern her travel if Dr. Holt approved the final itinerary.

Kade was pleased about that.

He didn't make a grand speech.

He simply pulled a chair beside his desk and asked whether she wanted to read through the documents together.

Aster nodded.

"Yeah."

They spent the next half hour reviewing the arrangements.

The reception access requirements.

The guest identification process.

The departure documents.

The prohibition on bringing unauthorized weapons or military equipment into the formal venue.

The need for ordinary travel clothing during the flight.

The procedure for receiving further instructions if the aircraft movement was delayed.

Aster studied the paperwork carefully.

Then looked toward Kade.

"So I'm actually on the passenger list."

He nodded.

"Yep."

"With you."

"Yes."

She smiled.

A small smile at first.

Then wider.

"...Wow."

Kade raised an eyebrow.

"Something wrong?"

She shook her head.

"No."

Her eyes returned to the page.

"It's just becoming real."

He regarded her.

Then smiled faintly.

"Yeah."

She looked toward him.

"Are you excited?"

Kade considered that.

"Somewhat."

Aster grinned.

"Somewhat?"

"Yes."

"Only somewhat?"

He sighed.

"Aster, I have to spend an evening surrounded by Admirals."

"Poor thing."

"And diplomats."

"Tragic."

"And people who may expect me to be charming."

She tilted her head.

"That shouldn't be difficult."

Kade blinked.

Then looked toward her.

"...Oh?"

Aster smiled sweetly.

"You can be charming when you want to."

For a moment, he couldn't answer.

Then he slowly narrowed his eyes.

"That's a very dangerous accusation."

She laughed.

"Is it?"

"Extremely."

Aster leaned back.

Then looked toward the documents again.

Her expression softened.

"...I'm glad you asked about my status."

Kade stopped smiling.

He looked toward her.

She continued.

"I know they haven't changed the whole system."

"No."

"And I know this is just a travel authorization."

"Right."

She traced one finger along the page.

"But it matters."

Kade nodded.

"Yeah."

She looked up.

Then smiled.

"Thank you."

He returned it.

"You're welcome."

A quiet moment followed.

Then Kade glanced toward the medical conditions.

"Now we just need Dr. Holt to sign off."

Aster groaned.

"...There it is."

He grinned.

"Your greatest enemy."

"Absolutely."

"Fearsome."

"Terrifying."

"Armed with a clipboard."

Aster burst out laughing.

Then she sighed.

"I'll survive."

Kade raised an eyebrow.

"That's the idea."

 

Dr. Holt's final review took place later that day, after the flight itinerary and expected travel conditions had been provided.

The decision was not particularly dramatic.

Which was exactly how Kade preferred medical decisions to be.

Aster's progress remained encouraging.

Her current condition was considered compatible with the planned passenger journey, provided the airline-style movement procedures and the approved accommodations were followed.

She was not authorized to carry or deploy her Fletcher-class rigging during the trip.

She was not cleared for combat operations.

She was expected to avoid prolonged unnecessary standing, maintain appropriate rest periods, and report any significant symptoms rather than attempting to conceal them.

The final clearance reflected those restrictions.

Aster signed the acknowledgment.

Then looked toward Dr. Holt.

"...That's it?"

The doctor raised an eyebrow.

"Yes."

The Fletcher-class girl stared.

Then slowly smiled.

"...I'm cleared?"

"For this travel itinerary, under the stated conditions."

Aster's eyes widened.

The doctor lifted one finger.

"Not for unrestricted duty."

"I know!"

"Not for rigging trials."

"I know!"

"And not for attempting to dance for six consecutive hours."

Aster froze.

Kade, standing beside her, slowly turned away.

His shoulders began shaking.

Aster narrowed her eyes.

"...Kade."

He cleared his throat.

"Nothing."

"You're laughing."

"Medical professionalism."

"KADE!"

Dr. Holt smiled.

Then handed Aster the final copy.

"Enjoy San Meridian."

For a moment, the destroyer's embarrassment disappeared.

She looked toward the doctor.

Then smiled warmly.

"...Thank you."

Irena nodded.

"You're welcome."

And just like that, one of the last major obstacles disappeared.

Aster was going.

With Kade.

By airplane.

To San Meridian.

To an Officers' Ball.

She stood outside the medical building for several seconds afterward, looking down at her clearance papers.

Then slowly looked toward him.

Kade raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

Aster smiled.

A delighted, almost disbelieving smile.

"We're actually going."

He nodded.

"Looks that way."

She stared.

Then laughed.

"Oh, Kade."

Before he could ask what she meant, she hugged him.

He blinked.

Then returned the embrace.

Aster laughed against his shoulder.

"We're going!"

Kade smiled.

"Yeah."

She held on for another moment.

Then stepped back.

Her cheeks were warm.

Her eyes bright.

And Kade discovered that seeing her happy made the entire absurd adventure feel considerably more worthwhile.

 

VII. The Trouble with Leaving People Behind

The evening before departure found Kade in his office again.

He hadn't intended to work late.

He had even promised Mara that he would finish at a reasonable hour.

Then a final command-coverage document arrived.

And another.

And a revised airfield passenger instruction.

And a message concerning the official reception's arrival procedures.

By the time he looked at the clock, the administrative district had grown quiet.

Kade sighed.

"...Of course."

He closed the last folder.

Then stood.

His back ached from sitting.

He stretched his arms.

Rolled his shoulders.

And looked toward the window.

Beyond the glass, Horizon's lights shone beneath the night sky.

A familiar sight.

The harbor.

The repair district.

The residential buildings.

The distant outline of Breakwater beneath her watch lights.

His island.

Their island.

A place that had been devastated only weeks earlier and was now struggling to stand again.

He looked toward the signed delegation documents.

Mara knew what needed to happen.

Mercer knew.

Victor knew.

Corwin knew.

Hana and Dain knew.

Dr. Holt knew.

The base possessed functioning responsibilities that did not depend upon Kade personally approving every movement of every crate.

He knew that.

Intellectually.

The difficulty lay somewhere deeper.

Kade was accustomed to staying.

To being present.

To watching over the people beside him.

It was an old habit.

Far older than his current eighteen-year-old body.

In Wysteria, he'd spent sixteen years learning that people could die during the briefest moment when someone looked the wrong way.

He remembered battles where a single missed warning had cost an entire formation.

He remembered running toward a wounded friend because there hadn't been time to explain the danger.

He remembered the terrible effort required to keep all seventeen Heroes alive.

And then he remembered the Black Wave.

The final battle.

The day even their stubborn promise had failed.

Kade closed his eyes.

For a moment, he could hear Ayame again.

Come back.

Elias.

All of you.

The other Heroes.

Their voices overlapping in the warm war room.

He remembered the seventeen chairs.

Then opened his eyes.

Horizon returned.

The administrative office.

The paperwork.

The Pacific outside.

He looked toward the harbor.

Aster was somewhere on the island, probably making final preparations with her friends.

Riko had another training session scheduled after his departure.

Sakura was resting after her long voyage.

Hana had the restoration components.

The people he'd promised to protect would continue living while he was gone.

He wanted that.

He really did.

Yet the thought of not being there if something happened frightened him.

Not because he believed the island was helpless.

Because he knew too well that being present did not guarantee he could save everyone.

And being absent meant he couldn't even try.

Kade rested one hand against the window frame.

"...Just a few days."

His voice was quiet.

He looked toward the dark water.

"That's all."

He knew it wasn't a promise the world was obliged to honor.

But he made it anyway.

He would go.

He would meet the Admiralty Union's officers.

He would learn what he could.

He would represent Horizon.

And then he would come home.

He wanted to come home.

That desire had followed him through too many worlds to be comfortable.

Now he had another place he didn't want to lose.

 

A quiet knock interrupted his thoughts.

Kade turned.

"Come in."

The door opened.

Mara stood there.

She wasn't carrying a folder.

That was unusual enough to make him suspicious.

He stared at her empty hands.

"...Chief."

"Commander."

"Where's the paperwork?"

She raised an eyebrow.

"Finished."

He considered that.

Then narrowed his eyes.

"...All of it?"

"Everything requiring your signature before departure."

Silence.

Kade stared.

Then slowly looked toward his desk.

The completed folders sat in neat stacks.

Nothing remained open.

No unsigned authorization.

No unresolved command-coverage instruction requiring immediate action.

For several seconds, he seemed unsure what to do with the information.

Mara watched him.

Then smiled faintly.

"You're allowed to go home, Kade."

He looked toward her.

"...What?"

"Your luggage isn't going to pack itself."

He sighed.

"Unfortunately."

"And you need sleep."

"So I've been told."

She entered.

Then stopped beside his desk.

For a moment, neither spoke.

Mara looked toward the window.

Then toward him.

"You're worried."

Kade raised an eyebrow.

"About what?"

She regarded him.

He sighed.

"...Everything."

The Chief of Staff nodded.

"Of course."

A pause followed.

Then she continued.

"But you don't need to spend the entire trip wondering whether Horizon will collapse because you're not here."

Kade smiled faintly.

"That's reassuring."

"I'm serious."

He looked toward her.

She folded her arms.

"We've been rebuilding this island for weeks. The departments have assigned responsibilities. The watch schedules exist. The emergency procedures have been reviewed."

Kade nodded.

"I know."

"And the people carrying them out are capable."

"I know."

Mara's expression softened.

"Then trust us."

For a moment, Kade didn't answer.

The words struck something unexpectedly old.

Trust us.

He remembered Wysteria.

Ayame.

Elias.

The way he'd eventually learned that protecting his companions did not mean doing everything himself.

Sometimes it meant trusting another person to hold a line he couldn't reach.

To heal someone he couldn't carry.

To solve a problem he didn't understand.

And sometimes it meant accepting that the people he loved were capable of protecting themselves.

Kade drew a slow breath.

Then nodded.

"...All right."

Mara smiled.

"Good."

He looked toward her.

Then gave a faint grin.

"Don't let Corwin sell the harbor while I'm away."

She raised an eyebrow.

"Commander."

"What?"

"He'd demand three separate approval forms before considering it."

Kade burst out laughing.

Mara smiled.

Then her expression softened again.

"Safe travels, Kade."

He looked toward her.

For a moment, he seemed almost surprised.

Then he nodded.

"Thanks, Chief."

She smiled.

"And enjoy yourself."

He sighed.

"...I'll try."

"Good."

She turned toward the door.

Then stopped.

"Oh, and Commander?"

He closed his eyes.

"...Yes?"

"Your formal uniform is waiting in its garment bag. Celia confirmed the final fitting."

Kade nodded.

"Thank you."

"And she says the shoes are ready."

He stared.

Mara smiled.

"Good night."

The door closed.

Kade stood alone.

Then slowly looked toward the ceiling.

"...Everyone's against me."

But he was smiling.

 

VIII. Two Bags, One Invitation

Packing took longer than Kade expected.

This was mostly because Aster had arrived to supervise.

He hadn't requested supervision.

She had simply appeared at the doorway to his quarters carrying a small travel checklist and wearing the expression of someone who had recently discovered a problem she was very excited to solve.

Kade stared.

"...What?"

Aster smiled.

"Packing inspection."

He blinked.

"Excuse me?"

"Making sure you don't forget anything."

He considered that.

Then folded his arms.

"I'm perfectly capable of packing a bag."

Aster raised an eyebrow.

"Really?"

"Yes."

She looked toward the open suitcase on his bed.

Then back at him.

"...Where are your socks?"

Kade stopped.

He looked toward the suitcase.

Then the wardrobe.

Then back at Aster.

A long silence followed.

She smiled.

He closed his eyes.

"...Hostile."

Aster burst out laughing.

Then stepped inside.

"Come on."

Kade sighed.

She set the checklist on the table.

The packing process resumed.

Travel documents.

Identification.

Suitable clothes for the flight.

Toiletries.

A small medical kit appropriate to ordinary travel.

Spare clothing.

The formal dress uniform inside its protective garment bag.

Polished shoes.

Necessary communications and command materials.

Nothing that violated the receiving airfield's restrictions.

Nothing requiring the transport aircraft to carry a private armory.

Kade found that last limitation disappointing.

Not because he intended to bring weapons to a ballroom.

Simply because there was something reassuring about being excessively prepared.

Aster examined the packed items.

Then nodded.

"Good."

Kade smiled.

"See?"

She looked toward the wardrobe.

"Now the socks."

He sighed.

"...I'll get them."

She grinned.

"Excellent."

 

Aster had packed her own things already.

Her evening dress remained in its protective garment arrangement, ready to travel without unnecessary creasing or damage.

She had chosen comfortable travel clothing for the flight.

Her shoes were secured.

Her identification and medical documentation were together.

And her Fletcher-class rigging remained at Horizon, where Hana's maintenance team had confirmed the equipment was properly supported, isolated as required, and secured for continued servicing during her absence.

Aster had visited it earlier that day.

Not to wear it.

Not to test it.

Simply to check that the physical machinery was where it belonged.

The fitted hull sections.

The naval gun structures.

The torpedo equipment.

The propulsion assemblies.

All arranged according to the maintenance and rehabilitation requirements.

It had felt strange to leave.

But she had.

And now she was standing inside Kade's quarters, inspecting his socks.

Life, she decided, was becoming extraordinarily peculiar.

Kade closed the suitcase.

Then looked toward her.

"All right."

She raised an eyebrow.

"Hm?"

"Everything packed?"

Aster glanced at the checklist.

Then nodded.

"Looks like it."

He smiled faintly.

"Good."

For a moment, neither moved.

Then she looked toward the garment bag containing his dress uniform.

Her expression softened.

"...Tomorrow."

Kade followed her gaze.

"Yeah."

"We're really going."

He nodded.

"Assuming the aircraft behaves."

Aster laughed.

"Don't start."

"What?"

"You promised not to complain the entire flight."

"I promised no such thing."

She stared.

He smiled.

"I recall specifically saying no promises."

Aster groaned.

"...Of course you did."

Kade laughed.

Then looked toward the window.

Outside, the lights of Horizon's harbor shone beneath the night sky.

The island was quiet.

Not asleep.

It never completely slept.

But calm.

For tonight, at least.

He looked toward Aster.

She stood beside him, auburn hair falling neatly around her shoulders, her familiar red ribbons catching the lamplight.

No rigging.

No heavy weapons.

No imminent battle.

Just a young woman preparing for a journey she had chosen to make.

Kade's expression softened.

"Excited?"

Aster smiled.

"Very."

"Nervous?"

"A little."

He nodded.

"Same."

She looked toward him.

Then grinned.

"About flying?"

"No."

"The Ball?"

"Possibly."

"Meeting Admirals?"

"Definitely."

Aster laughed.

Then tilted her head.

"Anything else?"

Kade considered that.

For a moment, his thoughts returned to the strange life he'd lived.

A road beneath cedar trees.

Seventeen children standing in a summoning chamber.

Sixteen years of battles.

A final night beneath Wysteria's stars.

Then Horizon.

A naval base.

A girl with red ribbons.

And an invitation to a ballroom in a city he'd never seen.

He'd once thought his life could no longer surprise him.

Apparently, that had been a foolish assumption.

Kade smiled faintly.

"...Mostly wondering what San Meridian's like."

Aster's expression brightened.

"Me too."

He looked toward her.

Then nodded.

"Guess we'll find out."

She smiled.

"Together."

The word lingered.

Kade looked at her.

For a moment, the room became unexpectedly quiet.

Then he smiled.

"...Yeah."

Aster stepped closer.

Her hand found his.

He took it.

Neither spoke for a little while.

There was no need.

 

Eventually, Aster glanced toward the clock.

Her expression changed.

"Oh."

Kade raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

"We need to sleep."

He sighed.

"Everyone keeps saying that."

"Because the aircraft departs in the morning."

"Allegedly."

"Kade."

He smiled.

"Yes?"

"If you arrive at San Meridian looking like you haven't slept for three days, I'm going to be very disappointed."

He considered that.

Then nodded solemnly.

"Terrible diplomatic consequences."

"Extremely."

"Could destroy international relations."

"Probably."

They laughed.

Aster squeezed his hand once.

Then stepped back.

"Good night."

Kade smiled.

"Night, Aster."

She moved toward the doorway.

Then stopped.

Turned.

And looked at him with a mischievous smile.

"Oh, and Kade?"

He raised an eyebrow.

"...Yes?"

"Don't forget the dress shoes."

He stared.

Aster grinned.

Then disappeared into the corridor before he could answer.

The door closed.

Silence returned.

Kade stood for several seconds.

Then slowly lowered his head.

"...I am surrounded by traitors."

He looked toward the polished shoes beside his suitcase.

Then sighed.

Unfortunately, they were packed.

Properly.

Celia would be pleased.

Mara would be pleased.

Aster would be very pleased.

Kade considered that an unacceptable amount of happiness over footwear.

But he didn't unpack them.

 

Later, after the lights had been dimmed and the final documents placed inside his travel case, Kade stood beside the window.

Horizon lay before him.

The harbor.

The administrative buildings.

The repair workshops.

The dark water beyond the reef.

Everything familiar.

Everything imperfect.

Everything worth protecting.

He remembered the first time he'd looked upon the island.

How uncertain everything had seemed.

How many people had needed help.

How little he'd known about the world he'd entered.

Now he was preparing to leave it for a few days.

Not to fight another Wave.

Not to march into battle.

Not to save a collapsing kingdom.

To meet people.

To listen.

To ask questions.

To learn what the Admiralty Union really was beneath its polished emblems and military directives.

Perhaps he would discover something useful.

Perhaps he would encounter officers worth trusting.

Perhaps he'd find people who believed Keelborn deserved more than the status their old regulations assigned them.

Or perhaps he would spend the entire event attempting to avoid diplomats who wanted to discuss procurement categories.

That possibility seemed distressingly likely.

Kade smiled faintly.

Then looked toward the night sky.

For a moment, he thought of home.

Not only Horizon.

Mizunokuni.

The old shrine road.

Kuroha.

Ranmei.

And farther back, the people he'd fought beside in Wysteria.

He remembered what it had felt like to prepare for travel in a world where every departure might become permanent.

To say goodbye without knowing whether he'd return.

His expression softened.

Then he looked toward the harbor again.

"...Just a few days."

A pause.

"I'll be back."

He wasn't making the promise to the stars.

Or to the gods.

He was making it to himself.

Tomorrow, he would board an aircraft.

Aster would be beside him.

Mara would look after headquarters.

The people at Horizon would continue doing their work.

And somewhere far beyond the Pacific horizon, San Meridian waited.

A capital fortress.

An Officers' Ball.

A room full of Admirals.

And an Admiralty Union that wanted former players to understand the institution behind the name.

Kade turned from the window.

He switched off the lamp.

Then went to bed.

For once, he had done everything that needed doing.

At least, everything that could be done tonight.

The rest would belong to tomorrow.