Fela wasn’t born for the ways of war, she was obligated to it. The Buharis were a military family going back five generations to O.E. Duty and sacrifice was what she explained to her son before she left. That one day he would join and serve because that was the family way. The words tasted like ashes in her mouth even as she spoke them to him. It wasn’t fair to not allow him a choice about his own life. That was what she, what they all, fought for out here. Yet there it was. Fela had a son to get back to. Having promised him that she’d return, he gave her the will to make it back. She didn’t have a holoimage or anything similar. Only her word to her eleven-year-old. She didn’t hedge her words or speak to things out of her control. She promised, pure and simple.

“You know why I joined this unit?” Fela interjected.

“To be with the best comforted by the knowledge that the best had your back,” Robin recited the O.E. recruitment poster.

“That sounds more like you.” Fela stared off into the distance. “Wars sometimes have to be fought. There’s not always room to negotiate with a narcissistic bully who has lost his mind.”

“His got-damn mind,” Anitra echoed, knowing the history of authoritarian O.E. leaders who made a habit of plunging into war with them. Until LISC took over.

“But what gives me pause is that the military has a history of rarely being the most conscientious of beasts. It wastes a lot. It’s casual about lives. If I have to fight, I wanted it to at least be … efficient. To count for something. I wanted to know that I made a difference, and I don’t want my life to be wasted.” As Fela glanced about, she realized that her words landed with the intended weight enough to settle the conversation. The squad’s chatter died once they shifted into professional mode, and they continued their patrol.

Fela examined the scoring of the nearest building. The scorch marks told a story, one she thought needed a better interpreter. With a grunt, she studied the terrain. “What’s the sitrep?”

“I don’t like this,” Robin said.

“What is it?” Fela kept her weapon at the ready, scanning the nearby buildings, alleys, and doorways.

“Exploring the other side of the Orun Gate, the Muungano community is essentially on a first-contact mission, but we’ve been dispatched. Gbeto, not only armed but weapons hot. This is no way to say hello. It makes us no different…”

“… than any other human in history,” Fela acknowledged.