★ West ★

  Later that same Friday evening, hours after classes had finished, West walked alone through the Academy’s administrative wing to the Chancellor’s office.

  The cadets had long since left the mess hall after dinner and had been dismissed to return to the dorms. It was far too late to be wandering around—only an hour from lights out—but West had permission to be here.

  General Howard was working after hours, as West assumed he often did, and for the first time, he’d requested assistance. West had set out as soon as he’d received that summons, walking as quickly as he could past empty rooms with dimmed lights lining the darkened corridor, but he slowed down as he approached Howard’s office, taking a moment to inhale deeply and adjust his uniform before stepping inside. As soon as he walked in though, he stopped abruptly, and even though he tried to conceal it, he knew his expression must have been one of genuine surprise.

  He’d expected to find General Howard in a room as bleak and uncomfortable as the rest of the Europa Station, sitting behind an immaculately clean desk surrounded by white walls, but that’s not what greeted him when he walked through the door.

  Howard was indeed sitting at his desk—that part of West’s mental image had been accurate—but even though this room bore the title of an office, it didn’t look like one. It was cramped and slightly disorganized, although not in a haphazard way, but more like a space someone had filled with the things they loved. Bookshelves ran the length of the room, stretching floor to ceiling, packed full of hefty volumes that had been wedged wherever they’d fit, and in the corner sat a small end table with a pile of paperwork on it next to an armchair with an upholstered floral pattern. The furniture was worn but well-cared for, and all of it was lit by the gentle glow of a desk lamp that gave off a surprisingly inviting aura. This room looked like a study—somewhere one could retreat and read for hours at a time, undisturbed and unbothered, as West imagined Howard had done many times over the course of his career. This was his home, West could see—a place he’d made his own and fashioned into a space that was truly his.

  Howard himself looked different too, somehow. He was leaning back in his chair, legs crossed, with his posture relaxed and his expression calm. His authoritative demeanor had given way to something far more approachable, and his face, which normally looked very stern, was softened by the warm hues of the light. And in a surprisingly inviting gesture, two plain white teacups sat steaming on the desk—one set out for Howard, and one for a guest.

  West realized he’d spent far too long staring and snapped to attention. This gesture felt strangely out of place here, though, as if the room had been designed to eschew formality.

  “Good evening, West. Have a seat.” Howard nodded toward the vacant chair in front of the desk.

  West nodded back as he crossed the room and sat down. He’d never known either of his grandfathers, but he’d imagined them many times, and this was exactly what he’d want such an encounter to be.

  “I like your office,” he said, smiling despite himself.

  “Thank you. It’s not much to look at.”

  “On the contrary, it’s quite nice in here. And... that’s a lot of books.” West stared at the bookshelves. “I’ve never seen so many—at least, not all in one place.”

  “Yes; I’m quite fond of reading.”

  “I can see that. It takes up a lot of space, though. Why don’t you just read them on the screen, like everyone else does?”

  “It’s not the same, West. There’s something to be said for the physical, printed word—a magic that simply can’t be found elsewhere.”

  “Maybe, but you must’ve spent a fortune on all these. Books aren’t cheap, and it costs a lot to ship things here.”

  “It took more effort than you can ever know. This represents a lifetime of work. I’ve spent decades curating this collection.”

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  “I don’t see how you find the time.”

  “If you love something, you’ll make time for it. I’ve read every single one of these books—some more than once.”

  West nodded. “Which one’s your favorite?”

  Howard appeared taken aback by the question. “I’m not sure how to answer that, because you’re the first cadet who’s ever asked me. But if there’s one that’s had more of an impact than most, it would be the one I read every year. I don’t even bother putting it back on the shelf; I keep it in my desk.”

  He opened a drawer, withdrew a worn paperback, and tossed it in on the desk in front of them. West jumped slightly at this gesture and stared at it.

  “What’s that look for?” Howard asked.

  “It's nothing,” West answered in a hesitant tone.

  “Your face says otherwise. Go on; say what’s on your mind.”

  “Pardon my bluntness, Sir, but books are too expensive to be thrown around like that.”

  Howard shot him an amused look. “It’s my property, West, and I’ll do with it what I like. Besides, what am I going to do, damage the resale value? I’m not so worried about that because of all the books I own, this is the one that’ll be buried with me.”

  West glanced at the title. “Mutiny on the Bounty,” he said.

  “Yes.” Howard smiled. “Taking the military back to its roots, this one. Just a man, a boat, and the sea, and if any of the vile insubordinates on board got under his skin, he could beat the ever-loving piss out of them and toss them overboard, and no one would be any the wiser. The advent of the surveillance age was a damn shame.” He sighed. “But moving back to the topic at hand, it’s a cautionary tale chronicling the many pitfalls of arrogance, insubordination, and disobedience. A wise lesson for us all.”

  West nodded again. “I agree—it sounds like a great book.”

  “It is, and you’ll be reading it.”

  “I don’t think… I mean, I might’ve already. It was a long time ago, but…”

  “Again.”

  “Oh, I could never take your copy.”

  “You will, and you’ll be returning it when you’re done.”

  West took a deep breath and nodded. “Yes, Sir. Absolutely.”

  “Good.” Howard returned a satisfied nod and leaned back in his chair. “Now, let’s get into why you’re here tonight, and it’s not to take my books, as glad as I am to allow it. I’ve got real work for you to do.”

  “Anything you need, Sir.”

  “You can look over these.” Howard lifted a heavy stack of paper from the opposite side of the desk, set it down in front of him, and placed a pencil on top.

  “Tuesday’s quizzes?” West said.

  “Yes. You’ll be grading them. Should be easy enough; they weren’t essays.”

  West frowned at this—a gesture that didn’t escape Howard’s notice.

  “Does that bother you?” Howard asked, studying him carefully.

  “No, just… that’s a lot of paper. Wouldn’t it be faster to have Andromeda do it, like the other teachers do?”

  “Of course it would, but as you may have noticed, I do things my own way. I don’t use Andromeda because she’s—” He stopped abruptly, glanced at the hallway, and lowered his voice so he could barely be heard. “She’s a bitch, and she’s always listening, so I have to be careful what I say, but that’s neither here nor there. From a practical perspective, it makes cheating more difficult, and secondly, I want to identify cadets who perform well in unexpected circumstances. Nobody expects to have a piece of paper in front of them for the first quiz of the year, and I want to see who’s thrown off by it. There’s nothing formulaic about my class, and anyone who enrolls in it should expect as much. Does that answer your question?”

  West nodded.

  “Good. Now, get to work. And while you’re doing that, I’ll be going through this other pile of boring tripe, because there’s far more to being Chancellor than grading papers. That’s why you’re here—to do the easy work.”

  “I’d imagine this job keeps you very busy, especially with teaching on top of it.”

  “Oh, I’m immensely busy. I’ve spent many a late night in this office—more than I care to admit. I’ve even slept in here before.”

  “Why are you still teaching at all, if you don’t mind my asking? You’re Chancellor. I’d have thought you’d stop teaching classes long ago.”

  Howard paused at this. “I’ll give you the same answer I gave Harlow when he suggested I scale back my workload. The reason I’m still in the classroom is because anyone else would do it wrong. Combat tactics is one of the most important classes we offer, and on top of that, it holds a special place in my heart. When I was first offered a faculty position, I found that there was no existing curriculum for space-based tactics, so I made one. I designed the course, I wrote the textbook, and I was the first who ever taught it. That class will always be mine.”

  West nodded. “Well, Sir, I’m honored to have the opportunity to study under you.”

  “Brilliant. Now, quit blathering on, and get to work.”

  And with that, Howard put on a pair of glasses that West had never seen him wear before and leaned forward to peer at the tiny words on the documents in front of him as he made his way through the pile.