Page 146 of Commander’s Mate

Officer.

Warrior.

Civilian.

Orders moved down.

Reports moved up.

Harper’s work moved sideways.

Medical to family.

Family to transport.

Transport to destination.

Names across systems that had never been designed to speak to one another.

It was untidy.

Effective.

Very Harper.

If we rebuilt Farseek exactly as it had been, what would we be rebuilding?

The question angered me.

Not because I lacked an answer.

Because I had too many.

Our laws.

Our cities.

Our schools.

Our military.

Our family lines.

The kitchens.

The training grounds.

The redflower gardens Harper had mocked.

But there had also been habits we had never questioned because survival had not demanded we question them.

Command deciding what civilians needed.

Families assuming reunion was always good.

Warriors believing protection excused secrecy.

Institutions built for a stable world, not for thousands of scattered people who had been enslaved, displaced, or declared dead.