Tom slouched back, unimpressed by the implied threat. “I can’t believe you got me declared a terrorist over the Beringer Club.”

Dalton gave a snakelike smile. “What makes you think it was me? You terrorized quite a few very powerful people that day.”

“So ‘terrorism’ doesn’t mean ‘killing innocent civilians to cause fear and advance a political cause.’ It now means ‘disrespecting the rich and powerful.’ Is that it?”

“My,” Dalton said, “you just figured that out, did you?”

Tom fell silent. The sentiment was so cynical, Neil could’ve spouted it—but it was different coming from Dalton. He said it with a gloating air like he was exulting in it.

“In fact, I really only dropped by to give you some friendly advice, sport.”

“Save your breath. There is nothing you could say to me that I care about.”

“Oh, I think you should hear this.” Dalton circled around behind him, so Tom would’ve had to twist and look like an idiot to keep him in sight. Instead, he glared straight ahead at the one-way mirror as Dalton planted his hands on his shoulders.

“You see, you are Delilah’s son, and I know that old man of yours isn’t going to point your compass in the right direction—”

“Oh please. You’re not pointing any compass for me. And we agreed that you never talk about my dad again.”

“I feel a sense of obligation. After all, you didn’t just cross Dominion Agra executives, you crossed a group of very powerful people with the ears of very powerful friends. People talk, people spread information about various trainees, people give each other a heads-up about whether or not some kid is an insolent little punk who needs to learn some manners.”

A sour smile curled Tom’s lips. “Yeah, an insolent little punk who was the only person, ever, to beat the greatest fighter on the Russo-Chinese side at Capitol Summit. I really appreciate your concern for my reputation, Dalton, but I think I’ll get by somehow.”

Dalton’s eyes met his in the mirror. “Have you heard what happens to trainees who don’t qualify for Combatant status?”

Tom blinked, thrown by the reminder. The Intrasolar forces were young, but he knew there were trainees who couldn’t get sponsors. Some stuck around and kept trying; others gave up and went elsewhere—other government agencies, other types of positions at Coalition companies. Nigel Harrison tried to blow up the Pentagonal Spire and kill everyone, but he was the exception.

“What about them?” Tom said reluctantly.