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individual scrutiny, Byron relished the opportunity to show off his skills in the cockpit. As the week progressed, his confidence grew. Basking in the glory, he believed his team’s abilities were beyond question.
     
    By the end of the first week, they emerged from the simulator feeling triumphant. Not only had they completed another practice drill without error, but Byron felt he’d exhibited several complicated and daring moves in the process. Performing several jumps by way of the ship’s teleporter, he’d emerged at the precise location every time. All targets were destroyed and they’d easily completed their task within the allotted time frame. In Byron’s mind, their run was perfect.
     
    Trindel removed his helmet, revealing curly locks now plastered to his head. “We’re good!” he exclaimed, flashing one of his broad grins.
     
    Byron removed his own helmet and tossed back his head. Running fingers through his straight, black hair, he caused the strands to stick out in an unnatural pattern. Grinning at his navigator, Byron straightened his shoulders with pride.
     
    “ No, I’d say we’re perfect,” he boasted, holding up his fist.
     
    Trindel returned his gesture and they tapped knuckles. As one, the young men walked toward the control room. Byron predicted another report of excellence on his team’s record.
     
    Officers Rellen and Char were monitoring their flight today and awaited the men in the control room. Byron was surprised to discover Bassa also present. The young men snapped to attention, aware their casual posture would be viewed as unacceptable by the senior instructor. Bassa briefly noted their entrance, his gaze once again returning to the series of monitors in the control room. Rellen and Char remained seated but leaned away from the main panel. Byron waited for one of the men to speak.
     
    “ Adequate run,” offered Bassa, his gaze still averted.
     
    Byron had to suppress the indignation that arose in his thoughts. “Yes, sir,” he replied in unison with Trindel.
     
    Officer Bassa straightened his shoulders, a frown on his face. He turned to face the young men, his hands clasped behind his back.
     
    “ You performed numerous jumps,” he observed, meeting Byron’s eyes.
     
    “ I do what I feel is necessary to succeed, sir,” Byron replied, ready to defend his decisions.
     
    Bassa’s eyes narrowed. “A good pilot cannot rely solely on the teleporter. You must learn to master maneuvers.”
     
    “ Yes, sir,” answered Byron, taking a quick breath. “We did perform twenty-seven unique maneuvers during that flight, sir.”
     
    He sensed a flash of panic from Trindel, but the feeling was quickly shielded. Bassa’s eyebrows pulled together, reflecting his disapproval of Byron’s unsolicited statement. Realizing he’d spoken out of turn, Byron felt annoyance rise in his thoughts. He didn’t want to incur the senior officer’s wrath but resented criticism of his skills. He’d flown perfectly today.
     
    “ Perhaps you’d prefer an opportunity to showcase those maneuvers,” Bassa stated, his tone implying it was an order rather than an offer. “Officer Char, please run number 789 with the teleporter offline.”
     
    “ Yes, sir!”
     
    Unable to respond, Byron stared helplessly as Char punched in the code for the program. Bassa gestured for Byron and Trindel to return to the simulator, and they exited the control room with great reluctance.
     
    Well, didn’t take you long to annoy Bassa, Trindel commented privately.
     
    Always start at the top, Trindel …
     
    Byron knew he’d been too quick with his boastful words. Upon reaching the simulator entrance, he paused and glanced up at the control room. Byron grasped his helmet and placed in on his head before nodding at Trindel.
     
    Regardless, we’ll ace this run, he declared, not bothering to shield his thought.
     
    In the control room, Rellen leaned away from the main panel and shook his head. Pivoting in