Cling. A window flashed on in her Soft Display (SD). A message lit her eyes, her Captain's name written at the bottom.
Good Day, Lieutenant Mist. I'm happy to hear of your smooth recovery. Thanks to your recent encounter, we discovered vital intel. The company was eventually sent on a mission. But I advise you, for now, to stay in your quarters and focus on full recovery.
- Captain Mavindle
In just a blink of her eye, the window closed, not letting it linger in her eyes. It was impractical advice, in her analysis. She had recovered enough, and she was sure not to let this minor injury be a hindrance to her duty.
Why would the Captain exclude me? The question raised in her inner script, only answered by the stutter in her head, trying to come up with qn answer.
Mist hunkered in the corner of her quarters, arms wrapped around her knees. Windows slid on her screen, simulated, and calculated numbers layered in her Soft Wire Display.
She was convinced that staying was not the best idea, a fact only reinforced by the numbers flashing on her eyes.
After what seemed like a thousand simulations, a warning slid across her SWD: "Too many activities running!"
She noticed a faint heat around her eyes and closed all windows in a blink.
With limited options, she recalled Colonel Doyle's supposed visit yesterday. Her system rang, warning her actions, but she got to her feet anyway.
The city outside was tamed, not bustling as it did at night. Few cars rolled along the road, and fewer people walked the streets.
Her BobberByc lit up as the engine started. It floated off the ground, bobbing down under her weight when she hopped on. Her legs gripped its sides. She leaned forward as it revved, then hovered down the road.
× × ×
When Mist arrived, the hangar echoed with the clanking of metal and the clatter of half-made machines. Sparks flew from workstations, and the air smelled of burning metal.
Mister Stane, the head engineer, emerged from the crowd of soldiers and walked toward Lieutenant Mist.
"Good morning, Mister Stane," she greeted.
"Good morning, Lieutenant...I see you're not on the operation, was it his order?"
"Captain, advised me to recover. That should include rebuilding my strength. I came here to train."
It was a lie. She knew how far it strayed from her Captain's advice, but her confidence convinced Stane it was truth.
"Great, just—" Mr. Stane stuttered as he reached behind him. "Just in time. Here." He held out a sphere-shaped device.
Her eyes lit up as she ran an analysis to identify it, but her logs returned nothing.
Mr. Stane noticed her curiosity and smiled.
"It's something I made. It should help you keep track of your recovery without the strain or the trip to the lab. How about we give it a try?"
The ball lit up as Stane pushed a button on its side before handing it to her. It buzzed in her palm, electricity flowing across its surface as it powered on.
While the display loaded, Stane explained.
"Built-in firewalls. Up to 5000 layers of simulated strength. Just fire a small spark of your Overpulse, any degree you choose,and it will run a diagnostic based on the hardwires in your fingertips."
"Press your index port to the back, fire a short pulse, and give it 10 seconds," he added, adjusting her finger.
When Mist felt the port align, her finger sparked as she fired her pulse. Then, she waited.
"Oh, and you have to shake it to see the results," Stane cut through the silence. "Just added some quirks. You know me."
Unnecessary, she thought. But for a simple device, it shouldn't be a significant problem.
After 10 seconds passed, she shook it in her hand. The screen blinked: 90%. Congratulations, you're in great condition.
Her eyes marveled at the peculiar designs, absorbed by the effort poured into seemingly inconsequential details.
"If it's right, you should be able to send a Glitch to units of your rank with just 10% of dose. Let me know if I'm right."
Stane smiled as she held the device. The light faded as he deactivated it, and his smile dropped as he walked away.
Questions filled her mind as she held the device. What should I call this? Why would he make it? Still, she latched it to her waist and proceeded on her way.
× × ×
The Colonel's office door rang. Mist's I.D. flickered on the small screen beside it.
"This was supposed to be a private discussion, Mr. Doyle," said Alexander, Commander of the 78th Dream Corps, his voice stern and cold.
Colonel Doyle's expression softened when he saw the I.D. on the screen. "Ah, I apologize, Mr. Alexander. This one's special. But if you'd like to be our guest..." He pressed a button, and the door slid open. "May I introduce Lieutenant Mist, from Sierra Company."
Alexander's eyes narrowed. But when they shifted to Mist, standing at the door, his expression twisted into a smile.
"Ah, yes. The Mist on the mountain."
"Yes!" Doyle grinned. "The one who helped uncover DreamWare's latest... complication."
"But Mr. Doyle," Alexander said, his tone light but clipped, "you'll spoil tomorrow's surprise. And I do like surprises."
He rose from his seat and walked to the door, his eyes catching the pin on Mist's chest, her name etched in polished silver.
"I hope you sleep well... Miss Mist. Tomorrow will be a special day." He gave a final smile, then left the office.
Doyle still smiled, watching him go.
"Just in case you don't know, Lieutenant, the entire Brigade is looking forward to celebrating your Captain's return."
"Don't tell Mavindle there'll be a General, too," Doyle said with a grin, leaning toward her ear.
"I came today regarding your supposed visit."
"Ahh yes, that too." He returned to his table, reached for a glass of bourbon, and toasted. His back turned to her, while he gazed out at the skyline.
"Lieutenant Mist, I'm considering promoting you... as the new Captain of Sierra Company."
"It's an honor, Colonel Doyle," was all she could say. Her shoulders dropped, as each breath carried weight off her chest, and her gaze dropped to the ground.
Even with Soft Display off, a picture of Captain Mavindle slipped on her eye lens. Though she wanted to ask about Captain Mavindle, dream units like her don't ask, developed not to, they only comply.
The room turned silent. Doyle seemed to wait for her to say more, to test her patience, before finally breaking it.
"We'll handle the formalities tomorrow, during the celebration. I'm honestly looking forward to it." He took one last sip from his glass. "You're dismissed, soldier. Or should I say... Captain?" He laughed.
"Thank you, sir." She saluted, stepped back, and turned away from the room.
The silence outside comforted her. She spent a short pause behind that door, swallowing in her throat. She pushed her system to muster all that just happened.
She lowered her head and focused on walking the hallway. No simulations. No calculations. No hypotheses. Only eyes watching her feet race each other.
As she exited the hallway, all eyes in the hangar pinned on her. Workers, soldiers, officers watched her walk down the iron stairway.
Even as she avoided their gazes, she felt each stare strike her senses, each drawn in different expressions. She was lost trying to make sense of it, even with her innate intelligence.
But one person walking up the stairs stood out, cloaked in a black suit, soaked by rain, a golden button pinned with a sleeping owl, a symbol carried only by high-ranking DreamWare units.
Her black hair fell under her hood. Her eyes did not meet Mist's, even as they passed.
"Take care of yourself. The rain will be heavier outside."