“I think we got off on the wrong foot,” Rogers said. “A corporal as chief of Supply is a very prominent achievement. I mean, for you to be put in a position of such power and influence at your rank is very impressive.”

“I’m just doing my duty,” Suresh said, his voice flat and his face expressionless.

Well, flattery didn’t seem to work. Maybe Rogers could bribe him.

Without warning, however, Suresh pressed a button on the keyboard and began shouting.

“Supply room, A-TEN-HOOOOAAH!”

Instantly, everyone in the room jumped to their feet and stood at strict attention, arms at their sides, feet together, their spines as rigid as engine support braces. Papers and personal effects tumbled to the floor. He felt his muscles stiffen in reaction to the command but realized that since he was still in civilian clothes, it didn’t really matter. Rogers spun toward the supply room entrance, positive that the charismatic and powerful Admiral Klein, fleet commander of the 331st and the only military man Rogers had ever feared, had walked through the door. But nobody was there.

Moments of silence passed as all activity completely stopped. Rogers, the only unfrozen body in the room, looked around. Everyone’s eyes were locked straight ahead, their limbs like stone. One young starman was clenching his fists so hard that they were trembling.

Finally, Rogers turned around and asked the supply clerk.

“Who are we standing at attention for?”

“You, sir !” Corporal Suresh shouted.

“Me?” Rogers said incredulously. “I’m only a sergeant. Wait, did you just call me ‘sir’?”

“I did call you sir, sir!” Suresh said. His arms rigid at his sides, he pointed ridiculously toward the computer screen in front of him by moving only his index finger. “Your records list you as Ensign Roger W. Rogers, assigned to the 331st ATBG, and regulations say that when an officer enters the room, you are to call the room to attention.”

“I told you I’m a sergeant. And it’s R. Wilson Rogers.” He heard someone behind him groan and hit the floor as he passed out. “Damn it, everyone relax! And tell that guy not to lock his knees.”

The whole room let out a sigh of relief, and a pair of marines rushed to help their fallen comrade, who was looking very pale. Rogers turned back to Suresh.

“There has to be some mistake,” he said.

“Perhaps you forgot your rank during the break in service, sir?” Suresh offered.

“Don’t be an idiot. Can you look up the personnel records from here? What’s my date of rank?”

Suresh whipped through the database. “It says effective today. Congratulations, sir! It was awarded in conjunction with the Anti-Pirating Combat Valor Medal. Very impressive, sir.”

Rogers barely heard him. He felt blood rising to his cheeks. Tuckalle, that bastard. He knew that Rogers never wanted to be an officer. He knew that Rogers never wanted responsibility or accountability, people calling him “sir” and saluting him, people asking him to fill out paperwork.