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“Drake’s first session is today.”

Riss and Cosmer talk some more amongst themselves about Integration plans, but I don’t hear any more of their conversation. I’m still thinking over what Cosmer just said.

If it’s Drake’s first corrective instruction session today, will he be fully converted by tonight?

Will he still be my friend?

I stare at him. The way he carefully and neatly takes in each spoonful, as if testing it first for poison.

He looks up at me.

“Did you give him your breakfast again?” he says under his breath, indicating my bowl on Cosmer’s side of the table with his gaze.

“I don’t mind.”

His eyes narrow. “I do mind. You need to eat.”

“I’m fine.” I add, “Are you fine? You don’t seem concerned that you have corrective instruction later.”

“I try not to concern myself with things I have no sway over. Not when there are plenty in which I do.”

“Like what?”

“Like, you eating,” he says, pushing his own bowl to me.

It surprises me.

“Thank you,” I say, stiltedly. “But honestly. Even if I was starving, I wouldn’t want to eat that. And I would know, because I have starved.”

“All right,” he says, pulling the bowl back – but doesn’t look happy about it.

“I hope it goes okay,” I tell him. “The correction.”

“I am optimistic.”

“The facts are allowing it?” I guess.

“Quite.”

Cosmer and Riss are getting up. It’s time to go.

And I start wondering when my first corrective instructive session will be. I’m sure it’s deliberate, keeping Drake and I in the dark about these sessions. Another way for Dezeeves to keep us under his thumb, paranoid, and compliant.

Because that’s what he wants, isn’t it? What The Assembly wants? That’s why there are so many Accords.

They want Hevallan soldiers who will serve their country in the way they deem fit and do no wrong.

Like if you could magically animate a training dummy, and get it dancing for you.

Intelligence goes by similarly to yesterday. I’m assigned a frequency that turns out to be for engineer use. My notes end up looking like a training manual for them. They’re always talking about either oil or osimidite or laser light. Oxygen and pressure. Faults or leaks or breakages. Stabilisation, and destabilisation. Cooling. I get the impression it’s a wonder this ship is upright and floating at all.

After our duties end at the hour of sixteen, Riss and I head straight down to the Training Room. She puts me to work even harder than yesterday. I can barely breathe after running, jumping, squatting, lifting. And press-ups – which I’m terrible at.

After our drills, she gets me onto a mat and starts teaching me how to flip someone.

“We’re smaller, so we have to get lower. Rely on our centre of gravity. It’s all in the hips.”

She then proceeds to slam me into the floor three times to demonstrate. I barely manage to get up between them. Her eyes are blazing.