After Earth: A Perfect Beast by Peter David Michael Jan Friedman Robert Greenberger Page B

the first. Lennon wasn’t the sort to apologize for anything. Ever.
    The third notion that came to mind was that Lennon was going to promote Conner to squad leader for what he had done during the war games. Not because he wanted to but because Wilkins had ordered him to.
    In the end, Conner found out that his superior had
none
of those things in mind. “So,” said Lennon whenConner arrived, “when was the last time you stood satellite duty?”
    “I haven’t
ever
stood satellite duty, sir,” Conner said.
    Lennon smiled. “Well, Cadet, there’s a first time for everything.” He told Conner when to report and what to expect. “Details on your tablet in case you’ve got any questions. Dismissed.”
    It might have been the quickest conversation the command center had ever seen.
Satellite duty
, Conner mused as he walked out of the building.
    He was recalling what he had heard about such an assignment when he saw a familiar face waiting for him outside the command center.
    “Dad?” he said.
    It was a surprise, to say the least. Frank Raige hadn’t visited his son the whole time Conner had been in training. They had gotten together those times when both he and Conner went home on leave but never once when Conner was on duty.
    His father couldn’t have shown up at a better time. “Listen to this,” Conner said. “You know what that lowlife Vander Meer’s been saying about—”
    “I heard,” said his father.
    His response was clipped, abrupt. It brought Conner up short, making him wonder why Frank Raige would react that way.
    He thinks I let Vander Meer’s comments go
, Conner decided.
He thinks I looked the other way
. “Don’t worry,” Conner said, “I put Vander Meer in his place. I didn’t let him get away with that garbage.”
    “That’s the problem,” said Frank Raige. “You didn’t let him get away with that garbage. Since when are you the official spokesman for the Rangers?”
    For a moment, Conner thought his father was kidding. His dad would do that sometimes—pretend to be deadly serious and then break out into the world’s biggest grin. But not this time. Frank Raige’s eyes looked like they had been chiseled from rock.
    “I—I’m not,” Conner stammered. “But I couldn’t—”
    “But nothing,” his father said. “There’s a chain of command in the Corps. You know that, right? It starts at the top and it works its way down, and it’s been there since long before either of us was born. Some people in that chain, usually the ones with the most experience, are authorized by the Prime Commander to speak on behalf of the Rangers—and others are not. You are one of those who are not.”
    Conner felt his throat constrict. He couldn’t remember the last time his dad had spoken to him with an edge in his voice. He was angry; that much was clear. Angry and embarrassed.
    The worst part was that Conner didn’t deserve it.
    The Rangers would never in a million years make an official response to Vander Meer’s crap. If Conner hadn’t opened his mouth, those people in the plaza would never have heard the other side of the argument: the Rangers’ side. They would have accepted everything Vander Meer coughed up without exception.
    Conner started to say so.
    But before he could get two words out, his father held up a hand. “The Prime Commander makes that decision, not you. If she wants to say something, that’s her business. And if she doesn’t, that’s her business as well.”
    “But Dad,” Conner asked, “how would the Prime Commander even have known what Vander Meer said? She wasn’t there—I was.”
    “It’s not your problem,” said his father. “Someone else’s, maybe, but not yours. Your problem is acting like a Ranger, and you’re nowhere near a solution from what I can see. You get into fights in your barracks, you insult your commanding officer, and you mistake yourself for the Prime Commander. You’re part of a family that’s been a credit to the uniform since