out the window, toward the large DDF high command building. “The only reason we have this stupid culture of self-martyrdom is because somebody feels they have to justify our casualties. To make them seem honorable, righteous.
“It’s neither one. And you’re fools for listening to them. Don’t you throw your lives away. Don’t you dare be like that idiot yesterday. Don’t you—”
“Don’t call her an idiot,” I snapped. “She was trying to fly a controlled crash. She was trying to save her ship.”
“She was scared of being called a coward!” Cobb bellowed. “It had nothing to do with the ship!”
“Hurl—Hudiya—was a hero.” I glared at him.
“She was a—”
I stood up. “Simply because you want to justify your cowardice in ejecting doesn’t mean we have to do the same!”
Cobb froze. Then he kind of . . . deflated. He sank down into the seat by his desk. He didn’t seem wise, or even grizzled. Just . . . old, tired, and sad.
I immediately felt embarrassed. Cobb didn’t deserve that; he hadn’t done anything wrong in ejecting, and even the DDF didn’t blame him. And Hurl, well, I’d told her to eject. I’d practically begged her to.
But she hadn’t. And we had to respect her choice, didn’t we?
“You’re all on medical leave for a week,” Cobb said. “Dr. Thior has been pushing to give more leave to flights once they lose members, and it looks like she’s started to get her way.” He stood up and stared right at me. “I hope you enjoy being a hero when your corpse is rotting like your friend’s, alone in a wasteland, forgotten and ignored.”
“She’ll be given a pilot’s burial,” I said. “Her name will be sung for generations.”
He snorted. “If they had to sing the name of every fool cadet who died on her way to pilot, we’d never have time for anything else. And Hurl’s corpse isn’t going to be recovered for at least several weeks. The scouts confirmed that the crash destroyed her ship’s acclivity ring beyond recovery. There’s nothing on that Poco worth salvage priority, not considering that big wreck we’re still working on.
“So your heroic friend will be left out there—another dead pilot buried by the slag of her own explosion. Scud. I have to go write a letter to her parents and explain why. I can’t trust what Ivans will say.”
He hobbled toward the door, but stopped and turned toward Kimmalyn. I hadn’t noticed that she’d stood up. She saluted him, eyes teary. Then she dropped something on her seat.
Her cadet’s pin.
Cobb nodded. “Keep the pin, Quirk,” he told her. “You’re dismissed with whatever honors matter to you.”
He turned and left.
Dismissed? Dismissed? “He can’t do that to you!” I demanded, turning toward Kimmalyn.
She wilted. “I asked for it after the battle. He told me to think about it overnight. And I did.”
“But . . . you can’t . . .”
Jorgen stepped up beside me, confronting Kimmalyn. “Spin is right, Quirk. You’re an important member of this flight.”
“The weakest member,” Kimmalyn said. “How many times has one of you had to pull out of a fight to come and save me? I’m putting you all in danger.” Contrary to what Cobb had said, she left her pin on her seat as she walked toward the door.
“Kimmalyn,” I said, feeling helpless. I rushed after her and took her hand. “Please.”
“I got her killed, Spin,” she whispered. “You know that as well as I do.”
“She got herself killed.”
“The one shot that mattered. That’s the one I missed.”
“There were two ships chasing her. One shot, even if it had hit, might not have been enough.”
She smiled, squeezed my hand, then left.
I felt my world collapsing. First Hurl, now Kimmalyn. I looked toward Jorgen. Surely he could stop this. Couldn’t he?
He stood stiffly, tall, with that too-handsome face. He stared straight ahead, and I thought I could see something in his eyes. Guilt? Pain?
He’s watching his flight break apart around him too.
I had to do something. Make some kind of sense out of this disaster, and of my pain. But no, I couldn’t—wouldn’t—stop Kimmalyn. At least . . . at least she’d be safe this way.
Hurl though . . .
“Arturo,” I said, picking up my pack, “about how far out was that battle, would you say?”
“Pretty close to our original position, beyond the AA guns. Say, eighty klicks.”
I shouldered my pack. “Great. I’ll see you all in a week.”
“Where are you going?” FM asked.
“I’m going to find Hurl,” I said, “and give her a pilot’s