“Yes,” Abumwe said. “What about it?”

Schmidt accessed his PDA and searched through his message queue. “Harry Wilson was attached to the Tubingen a few days ago,” he said, and turned his PDA to the ambassador to show her the message Wilson had sent him. “Its CDF platoon lost their systems guy on Brindle. Harry was stepping in for their current mission. Which would be this one, wouldn’t it.”

“Yet another team member of mine farmed out,” Abumwe said. “What is your point?”

“My point is that it could be useful for us to have someone on the ground on this,” Schmidt said. “You know we’re getting dealt a bad hand here, ma’am. At the very least Harry can tell us how bad of a hand it actually is.”

“Asking your CDF friend for information on an active military mission is a fine way to get yourself shot, Schmidt,” Abumwe said.

“I suppose it would be,” Schmidt said.

Abumwe was silent at this for a moment. “I don’t think you should risk being caught doing something like that,” she said, eventually.

“I understand you entirely, ma’am,” Schmidt said. He turned to go.

“Schmidt,” Abumwe said.

“Yes, ma’am,” Schmidt said.

“You understand that earlier I was implying that they left you with me because you were largely useless,” Abumwe said.

“I got that, yes,” Schmidt said, after a second.

“I’m sure you did,” Abumwe said. “Now. Prove me wrong.” She returned her gaze to the Clarke.

Oh boy, Harry, Schmidt thought as he walked away. I hope you’re having an easier time of things than I am right now.

* * *

The shuttle from the Tubingen hit the atmosphere of the planet like a rock punching into an earthen dam, throwing off heat and rattling the platoon of Colonial Defense Forces soldiers inside as if they were plastic balls in a child’s popper.

“This is nice,” Lieutenant Harry Wilson said, to no one in particular, then directed his attention to his fellow lieutenant Heather Lee, the platoon commander. “It’s funny how something like air can feel so bumpy.”

Lee shrugged. “We have restraints,” she said. “And this isn’t a social call.”

“I know,” Wilson said. The shuttle rattled again. “But this has always been my least favorite part of a mission. Aside from, you know. The shooting and killing and being shot and possibly eaten by aliens.”

Lee did not look impressed with Wilson. “Been a while since you’ve dropped, Lieutenant?”

Wilson nodded. “Did my combat time and then transferred into research and technical advising for the diplomatic corps. Don’t have to do many drops for that. And the ones I do come down nice and easy.”

“Consider this a refresher course,” Lee said. The shuttle rattled again. Something creaked worryingly.

“Space,” Wilson said, and sank back into his restraints. “It’s fantastic.”

“It is fantastic, sir,” said the soldier next to Lee. Wilson automatically had his BrainPal query the man’s identity; instantly, text floated over the soldier’s head to let Wilson know he was speaking to Private Albert Jefferson. Wilson glanced over to Lee, the platoon leader, who caught the glance and gave another, most infinitesimal of shrugs, as if to say, He’s new.