His voice raised in pitch now. It was still raspy and hoarse, but it picked up a sharp, booming quality. He spoke faster. His cheeks grew red.

“Put on the armor of God,” he cried, “and you will stand firm against the schemes of the devil. Be strong and courageous! Do not panic before the enemy. For in every battle, the Lord your God will go ahead of you. He will never fail you nor abandon you.”

At this, several men around the room pounded their fists on the tables. One man in the back let out a “whoop.” These outbursts inspired other men to cry out “Praise God!” Manny glanced around, trying to gauge if more or less than half of the room was joining in. He didn’t want to stay quiet if that was going to look weird. But then the pastor went quiet. A sense of anticipation filled the room.

There were about four-hundred cadets all dining together in this shift. And, of course, the officer in charge, a tall, gangly red-head with no chin but a strangely beautiful baritone voice, led them in prayer before the meal. Manny repeated the words after him, but he didn’t hear them. He did have to elbow Roland once, when he saw the big post-human wasn’t chanting along with the other soldiers.

Just then, a pair of big doors to the left of the stage slung open. Ditmar walked out, with a hefty brown canvas bag over his shoulder. He was followed by an armed guard, and then two men in shackles.

The captives wore striped white prison pajamas, and they both looked the worse for wear. One of them, a middle-aged Black man, looked familiar. Manny thought he must be a captured SDF fighter. His lip looked as if it had been recently split, and there was a nasty gash on his forehead. He kept his head down and his shoulders slumped. His posture was one of complete resignation. The other man was—Manny’s heart skipped a beat—

Oscar.

He’d been beaten too, although not as badly as the soldier. He looked not so much frightened as bewildered, starving, and probably reeling from one or more head injuries.

“Dude,” Roland nudged Manny’s rib cage and whispered to him, “the fuck?”

Manny realized his mask had slipped. He’d let himself stare in horror rather than the excitement evident in everyone else’s face. No one else seemed to have noticed yet, they were all focused on the prisoners. But Manny forced a grim smile onto his face and tried to look, at least, like he was deeply satisfied.