★ Minerva ★

  This room with its harsh lighting exposed all of their flaws. It showed the truth, and some aspect of this space was particularly adept at revealing those who entered for exactly who they were, rather than who they pretended to be.

  Harlow simply appeared tired; in here, the sunken shadows beneath his eyes, the premature grayness of his hair, and the sallow pallor of his skin were far more visible. It was the look of exhaustion worn by one who hadn’t slept properly for quite some time.

  Minerva looked completely different, though. Out there, she’d been General Richard Gray’s granddaughter, celebrating his retirement and her promotion with a smile, but in here, her demeanor was that of one who was desperately—and unsuccessfully—trying to project confidence. In the dim lighting of the ballroom it was almost convincing, but underneath these bright spotlights, with just the two of them, all pretense fell away. She wasn’t smiling anymore, and even though she clutched her glass tightly, the alcohol inside remained untouched.

  “General Gray…” Harlow began, but his voice trailed off.

  “Yes?” she asked.

  He hesitated. “It’s strange referring to you that way. I’m used to addressing your grandfather as such. Do you mind if I just call you Minerva? At least while we're in here?”

  “Not at all.” She relaxed with these words.

  He nodded and took a deep breath. “You’re not ready, are you?”

  She didn’t answer, because they both knew the truth. Harlow studied her for a moment, then he turned away, put his hands on his hips, and began pacing around the room as if he had something very unpleasant on his mind.

  “Did you make this decision yourself, or were you pressured into it by your grandfather?” he finally asked.

  Minerva shook her head. “I’m here because I want to be. I’d never have agreed to this promotion if I didn’t.” A frown crossed her face. “If you don’t mind my asking, though, why bring this up now? Seems a bit late to be raising these concerns, don’t you think?”

  “I’m asking because I care, and because I don’t want you taking on a role you were coerced into, or that you’re unprepared for.”

  “I appreciate your concern, but I want this, and I’m ready.”

  “Are you?” Harlow scrutinized her carefully. “It’s easy to display this level of confidence at a party hosted in your honor, where everyone’s there for the sole purpose of offering congratulations and praise, and they’re all smiling because they’re a few drinks in. But what about a year from now? The party’s over, you’re expected to do your job, and your performance will be under heavy scrutiny. Some might even have a vested interest in derailing your career, or worse—co-opting it for their own benefit. You’ll be an easier target than most since you’re the youngest and least experienced person on that Council by far. Some will do it by telling lies to your face and pretending to be your allies, while others… well, you saw that exchange out there with General Howard, didn’t you?”

  “It was hard to miss.”

  “Yes it was, and you’ll have to deal with worse than him. We’re at least fortunate that he makes a loud, public spectacle of his indiscretions, but the ones you need to watch out for are those who do it quietly. There’s probably a few of them out there right now plotting to make you a pawn in their schemes while they whisper congratulations in your ear. Whenever you see someone smiling at you, Minerva, especially someone in a position of power, always ask yourself why.”

  Her reply was silence, and Harlow continued. “I’m not saying any of this to intimidate you; I just want to give fair warning of what you’ve agreed to.”

  She nodded. “I appreciate that, but you seem to forget who my family are. I’m no stranger to political games, and I'm not concerned about navigating the senior command environment. I know what to expect.”

  Harlow shrugged. “I’m sure you do. For all his negative attributes, though, your grandfather has always supported your career. Now imagine someone every bit as cunning and ruthless, but who does the opposite—someone intent on tearing down everything you’ve worked for, and who possesses the means to do so. It could be someone here, or it could be one of our rivals. Either way, you’ll encounter one at some point, I guarantee it.”

  “Whoever they are, they won’t be nearly as wealthy or well-connected as my grandfather. Whatever they come up with, I can always do better.”

  He shot her a look. “That’s your plan? To hide behind your grandfather? A man in his eighties with more enemies than he can count?”

  Minerva merely shrugged, and Harlow studied her closely. “That’s an awful lot of hubris you’ve got there. I don’t think you realize the depths to which they’re willing to sink. For someone who claims to be prepared, you, of all people, should know better.”

  “Thank you, but I’m not worried.”

  He stared at her. “Money can’t buy your way out of an early grave. Just ask your father about that.”

  There was a long pause. “This is getting awfully personal, Sir,” Minerva finally said. Her eyes contained a hint of warning that he’d pushed too far, but he stared right back as he continued.

  “Yes, it is. I hadn’t planned on going there, but maybe it’s good that I did. If you think your past won’t be dug up and used against you—even things that were beyond your control—you’re in for a rude awakening.”

  An uncomfortable silence followed in the wake of these words, and Harlow turned around and began pacing again. “I know this may sound harsh, but there’s something I want you to understand. There’s no doubt in my mind you’re a talented, competent officer—I’d never have approved your promotion if you weren’t—but I’ve got my concerns. Talent alone isn’t enough to succeed at this rank, and it’s certainly no substitute for experience. Your father never relied on money or family connections to coast his way through a career, although he easily could’ve. He was a damn good officer who fully committed to every word of that oath when he assumed office, and he died for it. That’s the standard that’s been set. Are you sure you're up to the task?”

  Minerva took a deep, halting breath. “I wouldn’t be standing here if I wasn’t.”

  Harlow studied her again, and his gaze was sharper this time. “I know you’re aware of all this, at least on some level, but my fear is that you don’t truly understand the full depth of that commitment—not just dying for it, but living with it. At this rank, everything you do is in the public eye, and every decision you make will be scrutinized many times over by both your allies and enemies alike. They’ll be searching for your weaknesses, analyzing your failures, and looking for ways to exploit them. If you’re even the slightest bit unprepared, unable, or unwilling to do this job, you should leave.”

  Minerva gripped her untouched drink even tighter and stared at the floor. After a moment, though, she straightened up and met his eyes. “I’m not going anywhere. I wanted this promotion, and I fought for it. I’m staying right here.”

  Harlow stopped pacing. “If you admit you’re unprepared, I won’t judge you for it, but don’t you dare stand there and lie to me.” He exhaled slowly, then looked away. “There’s something I wanted to tell you, and I hadn’t planned on doing it tonight, but now’s as good a time as any, I guess. I haven’t filed all of your paperwork yet. I deliberately withheld some of it. We can have parties and ceremonies all day, but your promotion doesn’t become official until those forms hit your file. If you want to back out, it’s not too late. If you were to change your mind beforehand, it would be a quick, easy process without the legal mess to untangle. It doesn’t even have to be embarrassing; we can fabricate an emergency for you, and it would be as if none of this ever happened. Your grandfather doesn’t even have to know. So tell me, what do you really want?”

  She didn’t respond, and after a few seconds, Harlow drew a deep breath. “I can tell you’re thinking something you’re afraid to say, so just say it.”

  She looked away and let out a long sigh. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to convince me to leave. I don’t mean for that to come across as disrespectful, but I don’t know how else to interpret it.”

  Harlow stared back, and when he answered, his voice had a far more sympathetic tone. “I just want to make sure you’re here for the right reasons. So tell me, why are you here? I'd like an honest answer. This isn’t for a promotion board interview or a press briefing; this is just between you and me.”

  Stolen story; please report.

  Minerva thought for a second. “I’d like to follow in my father’s footsteps and have a long, successful career.”

  “That’s an incredibly vague answer, and it tells me nothing.”

  “Well, the question’s far too complicated for a simple response.”

  “Try.”

  Once again, she faltered, and Harlow stared at her. “The reason I ask is because when pushed on how you’ll achieve that success, all I’ve heard you talk about tonight is your grandfather and his money. I know what Richard Gray wants—we all do—but what does Minerva Gray want? If you can’t respond with anything more than vague platitudes, you’ve got no business here. So I’m going to ask again, and I want an honest answer this time—how badly do you want this?”

  Minerva took a deep breath. “I want this promotion more than anything, and I’ve wanted it for a very long time.”

  “I’m not convinced.”

  “Why’d you offer it to me, then!?” she snapped. There was a raw sincerity to these words, and a weighted silence followed.

  Harlow didn’t seem offended by this lack of decorum; he almost looked relieved, but the same couldn’t be said for Minerva. Her calm, collected demeanor had given way to anger, and she looked as if she had quite a bit more she wanted to say, but was holding back.

  And Harlow knew.

  “Minerva, when it’s just you and me in here, I don’t demand formality, or even respect. I want you to say what’s on your mind, even if it’s something you think I don’t want to hear.”

  She looked away. “You’re right. You won’t like it.”

  “Try me.”

  “Fine.“ She closed her eyes. “You know what I really want? I’d like to bring my father back from the dead, or better yet, go back in time and keep him from dying in the first place. If there was a way to do it, I would. I’d love nothing more than for him to be here tonight so we could enjoy this together. He always told me this would be the proudest moment of his life—seeing me get this promotion—and he said he’d be there with me every step of the way, but he never got the chance. And next, I wish General Howard wasn’t out there making an absolute fool of himself, because that’s all anyone will be talking about. He’ll be the subject of gossip, and because it happened at my party, my name will be attached to it. And you know what else? I wish my grandfather would say a single word of acknowledgement about how hard I’ve worked and how much effort it took to get here. That’s all—just one word—but I know he won’t. And it’s not just him, either; I’d like to be treated with the same respect as any other Council member, but I know I won’t be. I'm damn good at my job and I plan to fix all the things that went wrong during my time as a pilot, not to mention I'm the only person on that Council who's flown a mission within the past decade, but they won't listen. I’ve heard the whispers, and I’ve seen the looks I’m getting. I agreed to this promotion with the hope that I’d be able to prove them wrong, and I was prepared to, but what I didn’t expect was this conversation in here. I’m well aware that no one out there takes me seriously, but I thought you might. I thought that you, of all people, would understand. I’m used to this from my grandfather—that’s nothing new—but to hear it from you?” She took a deep breath. “So there you have it. I want recognition, I want respect, and I want to be able to do my job. Is that too much to ask?”

  A long silence followed.

  “I told you that you wouldn’t like it,” she finally said.

  Harlow shook his head and let out a long, slow breath. “I asked for honesty, and I meant it. I know I may have come across as unnecessarily harsh, but I wanted you to speak your mind.”

  “Yes, it did seem that way—so much so that I have to wonder if you don’t want me here. Why would you approve my promotion, then turn around and berate me for taking it? I shouldn’t have to convince you I deserve this considering you’ve already approved it, and I’ve already accepted. You stood there at that ceremony, looked me in the eye, and shook my hand after fastening that pin to my uniform. If you had reservations, why didn’t you say so? I’d rather you just relieve me of command and get it over with, if that’s how you feel. Is that what’s going on? You feel like you can’t say no to my grandfather, so you gave me this role, but now you’re trying to convince me to resign? Because that seems uncalled for and unfair.”

  “That’s one hell of an accusation,” Harlow said, “and an unfounded one, at that. I don’t play those games. If I thought you didn’t deserve to be here, you wouldn’t be. I don’t care if your grandfather nominated God incarnate for that Council seat. If I thought it was the wrong choice, I’d oppose it. So, no, I’m not just giving you a chance, I’m giving you a choice—one I fear you’ve never been allowed to make.”

  “I’ve already made my choice,” Minerva said. “And please excuse me for being so direct, but your words seem a bit hypocritical, given that you were younger and less experienced than I am when you gained your current rank.”

  Harlow shrugged. “It does seem hypocritical, doesn’t it? I became Chief Commander at twenty-seven, and everyone always focuses on that, but they often forget that the year prior, I was promoted to general at the age of twenty-six. Twenty-six. It was unheard of—a promotion only made possible by the war—and even then, it never should’ve happened. Most of that Council were old enough to be my parents, and some of them were old enough to be my grandparents. I was optimistic and idealistic, much like you, and I thought I was ready, but I wasn’t.” He turned away and began pacing again. ”So yes, it may seem hypocritical for me to say these things, but I want you to understand why I’m doing it. By the time I was your age—when I was twenty-eight—I was the newly appointed chief of staff for a neglected, underfunded agency who found themselves at the forefront of a full-blown war. A war, mind you, that everybody wanted a piece of, but nobody wanted to take part in. Everyone who could’ve held the role—or at least done a better job of it—was either dead or too cowardly to step up and take it. I did what I could, and I did what I had to, but I’d never wish that on anyone.”

  Minerva looked away, and her voice grew quieter. “You had no idea what this promotion held for you when you accepted it, did you?”

  He shook his head.

  “Do you regret it?”

  He let out a long sigh. “My answer to that question has changed several times over the years, but currently, no, I don’t. However, I’m not going to sugar-coat any part of it. I’m doing this because I want you to be prepared for whatever could happen. There could be another war, Minerva. Some say it’s impossible, but that’s what they said the first time. Twelve years of peace has lulled us into complacency, which is a dangerous place to be. We’ve put a lot of faith in our preventative measures—and for good reason; they’ve been very effective—but all it takes is one bad actor to render all of that useless.”

  He took a deep breath. “And you think this conversation’s unfair? I’m telling the truth, and I’m being far nicer about it than they ever will. If you can’t handle what I’m saying in here, then you’ll never be able to handle those Council meetings, or the harsh realities of your job. You find hurt feelings offensive? Try giving orders that keep you up at night, such as calculating the acceptable number of civilian casualties before approving an airstrike. Those decisions are yours now, attributable to no one else, and you bear full responsibility. You can no longer assuage your conscience by saying you were following orders, because you’re the one giving them. Your decisions are going to ruin lives, and there’s no way around it. If a simple conversation makes you uncomfortable, this job will destroy you. Hell, it’s destroyed better than you—how many of us remember what a pre-war General Howard was like? Not many. I’m one of the few who does, which is why I’m one of the few who’s willing to put up with him. And your father… we all would’ve loved to see what the future held for him, but we were robbed of the privilege.

  “And on that note, we could lose another general in that hypothetical war and find ourselves scrambling to replace them in an emergency Council session that pulls you out of bed at midnight. That could happen several times in a year, which is how you end up with a twenty-six-year-old on that Council who’s very, very unprepared. I found it in me to succeed after all, but I hope you never come to understand the cost of that success.”

  He stared at the floor, and when he spoke again, his voice was quieter. “I’ve dealt with many an officer who fancied themselves royalty. War is little more than a game to them because they’ll never personally suffer its horrors. But you? You understand the true cost. That war took something from you—someone you held dear, who you can never get back. So I hope you understand what’s being asked of you. I swore early on in my career that I’d never find myself engaged in another conflict, and so far, it hasn’t happened. But that promise hasn’t come easily, and it required me to surround myself with trustworthy people. When a Council vacancy opens, I want that seat occupied by someone who’s as dedicated to that cause as I am. There were twenty-two names submitted for final consideration when your grandfather announced his retirement, and all of them would’ve been excellent choices, but you’re standing here tonight, and they aren’t. I know it’s up to Council vote, but I hold final approval, and I don’t take that decision lightly. I selected you because I believe, without a shadow of a doubt, that you’ll do everything within your power to prevent another conflict. And you’re right—they’ll hate you for it—but I’m looking for someone who’s willing to do it anyway.”

  Minerva shifted uncomfortably and stared at the floor, but Harlow stood resolute as ever.

  “You’re no warmonger, Minerva. There’s no shame in being nervous; I’d be more concerned if you weren’t.” He paused and took a deep breath. “I’m telling you all of this not to encourage you to leave, but rather because I’m paying a debt to my younger self. I wish I’d fully understood the gravity of what I’d committed to, rather than being left on my own by those who should’ve known better. You can never claim ignorance now, which is why I’m giving you a way out.”

  She appeared to be thinking this over.

  “You should never have to go through what I went through,” he continued. “So this is your chance. I’m asking again, for the last time, how badly do you want this?”

  Minerva gripped her drink even tighter and met his eyes. “I’m not going anywhere. I want to spend my entire career as a peacetime general.”

  He scrutinized her carefully. This room revealed all lies, and there were none to be found here.

  “Alright, then.” He nodded. “I’m glad, because I don’t want anyone on that Council who says otherwise. I’ll make sure that paperwork gets filed soon. Now, let’s get you back out there before anyone comes looking for you.”

  With that, he crossed the room, held the door open, and motioned her out. Minerva followed his lead, and they returned to the crowded ballroom and stopped a few feet from the bar.

  “Congratulations, General Gray,” he said. “I wish you a long, successful career, and I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening.”

  “Thank you, Sir,” she replied. Before they could say anything else, someone walked by and tapped her on the shoulder, and she gave a quick, appreciative nod, as if grateful for the interruption, and turned away.

  Harlow’s expression remained indecipherable, and he motioned to Victor without another word. Victor stood up from the barstool and joined him, and General Howard scowled in their direction as he brooded over yet another drink.

  Harlow stared right back at him, though. “Never again,” he said. And with a stern parting glance in Howard’s direction, he took a step backward, then turned and left the room.