“So you’ve said!” She pulled up a file. “In fact, you’ve said it several times in your sixty-page report. Do you know what it means to take full responsibility in writing, Lieutenant Yeni? It means I’ve had three separate requests for your removal, personally, by name.”

This was a blow, though not unexpected. “Sir.”

The district captain drummed her fingers on the arm of her chair. “It was also the fault of the soldier piloting your ship,” she said. “We might be able to do something with that. I don’t particularly want to lose you, Lieutenant Yeni. It seems unfair to let a wayward herd of goats take out the career of one of my better officers.”

“All the pilots in my unit are competent, sir,” Surit said flatly. “Any fault was in my orders.” This was not strictly true. Retrieval ships were the most despised assignment in the army, and the soldiers who got shuffled into them were the unambitious, the unskilled, and the very new. But they were Surit’s unit, and Surit had a duty to them. He had been the officer in charge.

“Guidance Lights,” the district captain said. “Are you just determined to kill your career? Is this what it was like talking to your mother?”

Surit stiffened. Most people knew about his mother—the traitor general Marit Yeni was a household name, even twenty years after her death—but most people didn’t mention her to Surit’s face. Surit very carefully counted to five, bringing his vocal cords under control enough that he could say lightly, “I don’t know, sir. Do you have a way I can travel back in time and check?” That was rude. He added, “Sorry, sir. Sore point.”

The district captain raised her hand, abashed. Surit had always found her a solid commanding officer, cautious with her architect abilities, responsible with her orders. But she had no way to resist pressure from higher up the food chain.

She shuffled the glowing files around her desk. “We have to transfer you,” she said. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant, but I haven’t been given a choice. If you picked the right post, though, you could recover in a year or so. I’ve asked around for open assignments. Look at this.”

She opened a diagram of the sector on her desk, the same one that hung above every bridge. This one centered on the whirling galactic link and on the silver clouds of chaotic space that surrounded it.