Page 220 of Commander’s Mate

She had brought a slate.

Not to command.

To record.

The woman looked back.

“What can I do?”

That was the right question.

We built a second mission team in the corridor.

Not ground assault.

Recovery support.

The mechanic went to shuttle maintenance.

The woman with the knee brace joined family identification.

The cadets worked equipment intake under supervision.

The miner sat with tactical engineers and explained how workers hid during punishment sweeps.

By evening, the volunteer list contained one hundred twelve names.

Only twenty-six were warriors.

The rest were what Farseek had always been beneath the uniforms.

People who knew how worlds worked.

I watched Harper divide them by skill instead of status.

Medical.

Translation.

Mining.

Mechanical.

Food.

Children.

Records.

Transport.

She looked up.

“You’re staring.”

“I am observing.”

“That sounds suspicious.”