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sorry for the Nau soldier who, one minute ago, had been planning Gevri’s and Wendomer’s deaths. Jix paced in front of the remaining soldier as Gevri took a moment to completely disarm the explosives, pull apart the wiring, and disassemble the detonation device. He moved the explosives, now mere blobs of blue putty, to a shelf until the commander could send someone to dispose of them properly. And the guns he handed to Wendomer. “Find the safety latch on these.”
    Cindahad came running out from behind the generator.
    Gevri stepped forward and put his arm around her shoulders. “You okay?”
    The girl’s shoulders started to shake.
    “Everything’s okay now,” Gevri whispered.
    Cindahad broke into a braying laugh. “I saw the whole thing! The looks on their faces!”
    “ ‘One for you, and one for you,’ ” Wendomer said, imitating Gevri’s voice. That sent them both into fits of snorting laughter.
    And that was enough to make Gevri laugh, too.
    Two hours later, the reinforcements from the Republikite army had arrived at Ohandai, and Gevri’s strike force was honorably relieved from duty. They had completed their mission with commendation, which put everyone in the mood to celebrate. The whole strike force was in the mess hall, gathered around a huge platter of fried gosta and chits.
    Berliott was telling her version of the story. She’d watched Gevri and Wendomer with remote viewing. “And then you know what she said? ‘The fat pig is squealing!’”
    Another chorus of laughter echoed around the table.
    Pik was the only quiet one. He had only recently woken up and heard what had happened. “I missed all the fun.”
    Gevri gave him a pat on the back. “That was my fault, not yours.”
    “You owe me some fun, then,” Pik said.
    “Agreed,” said Gevri. “As soon as I have any fun, I’ll give it to you.”
    Laughter rang out again, then stopped abruptly.
    “What?” Gevri asked, but when he saw his strike force standing up, each with a stiff palm-outward salute, he knew a superior officer had walked up behind him. That was the trouble with superior officers: they never let anybody relax.
    Gevri pushed his chair back, turned to face the officer, and assumed the proper stance. He stiffened that pose even more when he saw his father staring back at him. Why hadn’t anyone told him the general was coming?
    “General Sarin, sir,” Gevri said with a crisp salute.
    “Lieutenant Sarin, your strike force is earning quite a reputation,” the general said curtly.
    “Yes, sir.” Gevri wished his father hadn’t picked such an undignified moment to show up. “We’ve just completed a difficult mission, and the soldiers are letting off a little steam. I . . . I didn’t realize you would be here, sir.”
    “I came along with the reinforcements. I wanted to be the one to give you the news.” He paused, which was his way of heightening tension, waiting until the whole room would beg for the next word from his mouth if they had the guts to speak in his presence.
    Before, when he and his father argued constantly, this would have annoyed the spit out of Gevri, and he would have made some ugly comment to take the wind out of his father’s sails. But now Gevri understood his father’s need to create a moment. Gevri even played into it, letting the pause have its desired effect before he spoke up. “News? What news?”
    “The Archon Special Strike Force has been awarded the Medallion of Honor.”
    A cheer erupted in the mess hall. Gevri had never felt prouder of his little squadron. They had earned this. Even more important than the medallion were the cheers from the regular troops. Clearly the archons were beginning to gain the respect they deserved.
    After a few seconds, General Sarin raised both hands as a signal for quiet. “That’s not all. Lieutenant, your strike force has surpassed all expectations. Your training is complete. The Archon Special Strike Force has been officially reassigned to the