Because soldiers were Tennal’s least favorite people, this one of course took that as a challenge. They squared up to him, shorter than Tennal but with the impression of a pine marten in a corner, and said, “I’ll write it out of you.”

A switch in Tennal’s head flipped. He raised the cake in his hand, took hold of the wrapper tag with his teeth, his eyes not leaving theirs, and ripped it open. “Oh, try it.” He took a bite.

To be fair, part of him regretted it immediately. That part had listened when Zin had exasperatedly told him that making bad choices wasn’t a personality trait. Unfortunately, that part was being carried along as a passenger by the majority of Tennal, who chewed and swallowed without breaking eye contact. It wasn’t even good. It tasted like dust and sweetener.

The ranker—who was skinny, with a long ponytail and a pugnacious look—squared their shoulders and clenched their fists. A couple of the others laughed. Tennal hadn’t been in many fights, but he could read the room. “Hand it over, smug ass.”

“Did you call dibs?” Tennal said insincerely. “Is that some kind of army rule?” He was concentrating on them, but the write command actually came from one of the bystanders. Tennal’s head snapped around as he felt it splash off him like water on a rock.

That was when the skinny ranker swung at him. Tennal dodged backward, nearly knocking over a table. He should have planned an escape route before picking a fight, but he’d never been good at plans. He backed against a chair, kicked it over, and jumped over it, buying some space. The wiry ranker came after him. They lunged.

At that moment, Tennal read the number under their rank tabs.

Tennal dodged behind another chair. “Wait,” he said, faking urgency. “Wait.”

They hesitated, just for a second. Tennal raised his arm and tapped his wristband. A ping sounded on theirs.

“We’re unit-mates,” Tennal said, with one of his best fake smiles. “And you’re late for muster.”

Tennal learned on the way back that the wiry ranker’s name was Istara, they were first-class grade, and they wouldn’t talk to him without glaring, which Tennal admittedly had asked for. They had an array of tiny glass, flint, and silver studs decorating their cuff, which was nonstandard—flint was common, and glass was a galactic way of indicating nonbinary, but silver didn’t have a meaning Tennal knew. Either they’d explain when they wanted to, or they wouldn’t. Tennal vaguely settled on gender irrelevant, maybe fem-aligning.