The high-pitched whine of actuators cut through Dellian’s frenzy. He forced himself to stop thrashing about and drew some shaky breaths. A crack of bright light appeared right in front of him as the helmet hinged apart. Faster! Great Saints, I want this to stop. Then the spongy contact pads that made up the interior of the suit released their grip on his sweaty skin. The helmet finished opening, and he could see the simulation egg’s upper segments rising away from his body on the end of metal tentacles. They withdrew into a service globe in the middle of the simulation chamber, leaving him drifting a few centimeters above the pedestal that formed the rear half of the egg. He reached up and peeled the medic patches from his neck and thighs, then pulled the waste tube cap from his dick.

The cohort returned to haunt the back of his mind, and they didn’t seem upset at all. It had all been just another training session for them.

“You okay?” Tilliana asked.

“Sure. Fine.” Right now Dellian didn’t want to think about what had happened, how badly he’d reacted to the exercise. The stress had drained away, to be replaced by shabby embarrassment. He could barely bring himself to glance around the spherical chamber.

The other simulation eggs had opened, leaving his squad floating listlessly above the pedestals. Most of them didn’t even have the energy to remove their patches and tubes.

That was bad, he thought—although a part of him was wondering if they didn’t deserve it. The last eighteen months had seen them run through some of the toughest simulations the tech strategists could dream up—and they could dream nasty. Eighty-three percent success level, putting their squad well out in front of anyone else. This, though, this was on a whole other level of crap.

He could guess why it had been created. The senior staff had decided it wouldn’t hurt for the squad to have their confidence beaten down once in a while. He could even agree with the theory. But the actual experience—fearing you were about to smother, totally alone, without even your cohort, buried alive in the center of malignant alien goop—it made him worry just how much it would affect them.

But he was squad leader, which made it his job to rally them. I don’t want to let them down. He pushed off and glided through the air to Xante. “Well, fuck, huh?”

Xante gave him a weak smile. Even that clearly took a lot of effort.

“Hey,” Dellian shouted, looking around. “Anyone make it out intact?”

Some shook their heads. Others couldn’t even meet his gaze. The atmosphere in the chamber was worse than they’d known when they’d been stranded in the fake flyer accident all those years ago. The sim had taken them right back down to wrecked little kids again. And he resented that, feeling a spark of anger amid the gloom. “Tilliana,” he called, “that was an eleven on my utter bastard meter. Uret, no sex for her tonight. That’s an order, clear?”