“The debris,” I guessed.

“I want you flying in pairs,” Cobb said. “You’re going to practice formations and do careful runs. Pick a larger piece of debris, follow it for a few seconds, then tag it for salvage to investigate. Your destructors have been outfitted to fire beacons if you pull the rate control dial out until it clicks.”

“That’s it?” Hurl said. “Tagging pieces of space junk?”

“Space junk can’t dodge,” Cobb said, “doesn’t have shields, and accelerates predictably. I figure that’s right about your skill level. Besides, you’ll often be ordered to tag salvage during debris falls, while waiting to see if the Krell attack. It’s good practice—so don’t complain, or I’ll stuff you back in the simulations for another month.”

“We’re ready and willing, sir,” Jorgen said. “Hurl included. Thank you for this opportunity.”

Hurl made a few gagging noises into a private line to FM and Kimmalyn—the lights on the console under the ship numbers showed me who was listening—and she didn’t leave me off. Which seemed like maybe a step forward?

Jorgen arranged us into pairs and set us to work. When larger chunks of debris fell from the sky, we’d swoop down behind them and match speed—like we’d been taught—before shooting a radio beacon into them. The most useful debris were the ones that glowed blue with acclivity stone. We could salvage that to make ships.

I let myself enjoy the work. It wasn’t actual fighting, but the feel of the dive, the thrill of targeting and firing… I could imagine the chunks of space debris as Krell ships.

“Are you ignoring me again?” M-Bot asked in my ear. “I think you’re ignoring me again.”

“How can I ignore you,” I said with a grunt, tagging another chunk of debris, “if I don’t know you’re listening?”

“I’m always listening.”

“Don’t you think that’s a little creepy?”

“Nope! What are you doing?”

I pulled out of my dive, with Hurl on my wing, and settled back into formation to wait for my next turn. “I’m shooting space junk.”

“What did it do to you?”

“Nothing. It’s just practice.”

“But it can’t even shoot back!”

“M-Bot, it’s space junk.”

“As if that were an excuse.”

“It… It actually is,” I said. “It’s a really good excuse.”

Kimmalyn took a run, Arturo at her wing. She did pretty well, for her, though Jorgen still found reason to nitpick. “Pull in tighter,” he told her as she swooped down. “Now don’t ride it too close—if you were using real destructors to shoot it, chunks might fly back and hit you. Make sure you don’t squeeze too hard when you fire…”

“Not to complain,” she said, sounding tense, “but I do believe I should focus right now.”

“Sorry,” Jorgen snapped. “I’ll try to be less helpful in the future.”

“Dear, I think you’ll find that difficult.” She tagged the chunk of debris, then sighed in relief.

“Nice work, Quirk,” Jorgen said. “Nedder, you take next run with FM on wing.”