I held on to the edge of the door, unwilling to invite him over the threshold, and too tired for his self-justification.

“Listen, it’s late…”

Preston ran a finger around the collar of his orange jumpsuit. “I never wanted to join the House of Reclamation,” he said. “But I guess that’s what happens when you’re the family embarrassment, when you can’t get through your first night at the Academy without crying in your sleep and wetting the bed.” He bunched his fists and looked away, down the silent corridor.

“My father’s a general in the Conglomeration Fleet,” he said quietly. “He fought in the Archipelago War.”

I scraped my front teeth against my lower lip. During the war, I had served with the Outward Faction. The Conglomeration despised us because they thought we cared nothing for the traditions of Old Earth. They thought we were reckless and naïve in our openness to alien ideas and influence, and the way we embraced new philosophies, new arts and new gods. We believed in universal healthcare and common ownership of resources and infrastructure, while they worshipped the free market and the individual accumulation of wealth and power for its own sake.

The war had been as brutal as it had been pointless, stuttering to a stalemate following atrocities on both sides.

“He was?” I managed to keep my tone neutral. In theory, we were no longer enemies. Such concerns were in my past, left at the gate when boarding my first Reclamation Vessel. Clay and I had both been Outwarders, and the Trouble Dog had been a Conglomeration warship. We were all outcasts and exiles. Like every other member of the House of Reclamation, we had renounced our homes and nationalities, and would live the rest of our lives without history or state, doing our duties shoulder-to-shoulder with our former adversaries.

“When my father realised I’d lost the respect of my fellow cadets, that they were bullying me and making me a laughing stock, he withdrew me from the Academy and enrolled me in the House of Reclamation.”

“What about your tour on the Happy Wanderer?”

“It never happened.” Preston looked embarrassed. “My father falsified the data.”

“So you’ve no experience?”

“Only what I learned at the Academy.”

“And how long were you there?”

His gaze fell to the deck. “Six months.”

I felt a sudden, overwhelming need to fall onto my bunk and bury my face in the pillow.

“Go to bed, Preston.”

“But—”

I closed the door on his wide eyes and open mouth.

* * *

After he had gone, I waited until I heard his cabin door close. Then, having pocketed the gin bottle, I slipped out into the corridor and made my way into the main body of the ship, to the hangar near her stern.