General Marsh, for example. Yeah, he knew General Marsh would leave him in the dust in a second if he decided Tom wasn’t useful to him, but Tom owed him a lot for giving him a chance in the program and at Capitol Summit, so he respected the guy. . . . Also, there was his father. Neil wasn’t all that authoritative, but he was sort of looking out for him. He respected that, even if he didn’t trust his dad to make the right decisions or use good judgment ever—his dad at least loved him and wanted the best for him. Oh, and there was Olivia Ossare, who would definitely have his back, but he also didn’t fool himself. She was doing her job. Still, she’d saved him from the census device, so he owed her a huge debt, and he wouldn’t forget that.

Those were three authority figures he basically respected right there. More or less.

Even Elliot, he could kind of respect sometimes. He knew now that Elliot was an okay guy who meant well, at least. So he tried to listen as Elliot urged, “You need to change your approach and learn to show respect, whether or not you feel it. Every aspect of your life from here on out will work this way. People in charge want the sense that other people are subordinate to them. Let’s take your Coalition meet and greets Friday. You’re going to be interacting with potential sponsors, men and women who are above you in a hierarchy. You’re going to have to show respect, whether or not you really feel it; and if you can’t, you’ll be in trouble. If you can’t even manage to show respect for Snowden, how are you going to handle Friday?”

“I’ll handle Friday,” Tom assured him.

And he would. Somehow. He was sure of it.

After all, he had to. Those executives were his only shot at being a Combatant, his only shot at sponsorship for CamCo. He couldn’t screw it up—he couldn’t afford to.

Chapter Five

CHAPTER FIVE

THE NEXT MORNING meal formation, Tom was far too pleased to learn that Vik and his new roommate, Giuseppe, weren’t getting along.

“There is something seriously wrong with that kid. All he talks about are the hotels he’s stayed in,” Vik whispered hastily to Tom as they stood by their chairs at the Alexander male Middle table, waiting for their cue to snap to attention. “Plus, he collects antique boot buckles. He showed me a bunch of them. He made me look at them, and he talked about each one at length. . . . Do you know what’s so great about antique boot buckles?”

“What?” Tom said as they all snapped to attention.

“Nothing, Tom.” Vik shook his head vigorously. “Nothing is great about them.”