She did indeed. Article 312.5 of the Military Legal Code: failure to inform superior officer in a timely manner of potentially harmful personnel situations. Article 312.6: failure to inform superior officer in a timely manner of breaches of security involving sensitive personnel. Article 312.7: failure to inform superior officer in a timely manner of… rats, rats, and flying rats. She was majorly doomed.

“I… wasn’t thinking, sir.” That was not an attempt at apology, merely a statement of fact.

“Fairly obvious. What did you think might happen?”

“I thought… Mandy—Cadet Rocher—was so upset that day—I thought if he could see a chaplain and confess or whatever, he’d settle down until the regular chaplain got back. He had those exams coming up, and they were group-graded; if he didn’t do well, his squad would suffer for it…”

“What you don’t know, Cadet, is that Rocher had been avoiding the regular chaplain’s cycle; his so-called emergency was of his own making. He wanted to talk to someone outside the Academy, and you made that possible.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you didn’t tell anyone at all about this, did you?”

“No, sir.”

“Easier to get forgiveness than permission, is that what you were thinking?”

“No, sir… not really.” One of the places where Modulans and Saphiric Cyclans disagreed was about the giving of aid. Modulans felt that moderate assistance should be moderately public—one did not make a huge display of charity, but one allowed others to know charity was going on, to set a good example. Saphiric Cyclans, on the other hand, believed that all help should be given as anonymously as possible. Now was probably not the time to talk about that difference.

“I am so reassured.” The Commandant’s eyelid quivered. “Cadet Vatta, it is unfortunate that you have to suffer for a generous impulse, but we need naval officers with brains as well as kind hearts. You will not return to class. You will, as I said, present a letter of resignation which does not mention any of this, and cites personal reasons as the cause, by 1500 hours. Sooner, Cadet, is better than later, but first you will go to Signals, and make contact with your family, so that you will be able to leave quietly and quickly when that resignation is approved.” The look he gave her now was warmer by a few degrees, but still not cordial. “Staff will pack up your things; they will be at the gate when you depart.”

“I… yes, sir.”

“And yes, you infer correctly that you are not to speak to any of your former associates. Your departure will be explained as seems most expedient for the Service.”

“Sir.” Not speak to anyone. Not to Mira or Lisette… not to Hal.Only another few months, and we can— but not now, not ever. Please, please, let no one figure out…

“You are dismissed.”

“Sir.” Ky saluted, rotated correctly on her right heel, and left his office, her mind a blur. Signals. She knew where Signals was. She passed without really seeing an enlisted man in the passage, and another at the head of the stairs down to the classroom level. Halfway to Signals, her mind clicked on long enough to panic… She had to call her family, tell her father and, oh heavens, her mother that she was disgraced, dismissed… Her brothers would all… her cousins… Uncle Tomas… Aunt Grace, worse than Uncle Tomas, who would say again all she had said when Ky first went to the Academy, laced with I told you so…

She felt the tremor in her hands, and fought to still it. Now, for this short period of time, she was still a cadet, and now, for this short period of time, she would act like one. Even as the dream went down in smoke and ashes, even then… her stomach looped wildly once and settled.

At the door of Signals, a uniformed guard stared past her.

“Cadet Vatta, on order of the Commandant,” she said.

He stepped aside, and she heard him murmur into his comunit “Cadet Vatta at Signals, sir.”

Commander Terry had the watch in Signals; his expression suggested that her family were loathsome toads, and she was toad spawn. “Vatta,” he said, minus the honorific.

“Sir.”

“Which contact number?” As if having more than one number were also a crime.

“Vatta Enterprises,” Ky said. “They have a relay—” Wherever her father was, they could reach him, or give her a link to the senior Vatta onplanet.

“We would prefer that you make a direct call.”

She knew her father’s mobile number, of course, but he’d often said he hated the damned thing, and would leave it on the bedside table as often as not. That meant her mother might pick it up, the last person she wanted to talk to. Vatta Enterprises would ring his skullphone, which he couldn’t take off. She didn’t have that number; no one did but the communications computer at VE.

She rattled off the string for the mobile, and mentally visualized the arc of blue, best fortune, of the Saphiran Cyclan wheel, as Commander Terry nodded to the rating who entered the string.

“Name?” Terry asked abruptly. Ky startled. “The name of the person you are calling,” he said.

“Sir, my father, sir. Gerard Avondettin Vatta. But if my mother—”

“You are permitted one call, to one recipient, Cadet Vatta.” Commander Terry picked up the headset and held the receiver to his ear. Ky waited, the blue arc fading in her mental eye. Then his hand twitched. “This is Commander Terry at theNavalAcademy; I need to speak to Gerard Avondettin Vatta.” A pause, then: “Kylara Vatta will speak with you.” He held the headset out toKy.

She was not even allowed to speak from a privacy booth. She had known the call would be recorded, but at least a semblance of normal courtesy would have helped. She could feel tears swelling now, stuffing her nose. She fought for calmness as she took the headset and put it on. Enough of this; she turned her back on Commander Terry without permission.

“Dad, listen—”

“Ky, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

“Dad, no, I’m fine, please listen. I have to leave, I have to leave today. Can you send somebody to the gates?”

“Ky, what is it?”

“Dad, please. I have to resign. I have to leave. I don’t have any money for transport; I need a way to get home—”

“What—!” She could hear the explosion building up, the familiar prelude to the famous roar. Then it ended, surprising her into silence. His voice gentled to a soft growl. “Ky, listen, whatever it is, we can help. Let me call the Commandant—”

“No, Dad. Don’t do that. I’ll explain when I get there, only help me get there, please?”

“When do you need transport?”

She looked at the chronometer. Only 0935. Surely she could write a resignation that would satisfy the Commandant by noon.

“By noon, if that’s possible.”

“For you, Kylara-mish, five minutes would be possible. Only tell me, has someone hurt you?”

Later, she would consider whether Mandy Rocher had hurt her; now she wanted only to get away. And even if Mandy had, she had made it possible; it was her own fault. “It’s not that, Dad.”

“Good. Because if any one of those fisheaters had laid a finger on you—”

“Dad, please. Noon?”

“At the gates. On Vatta honor.”

“Vatta honor.” The signal died, and she handed the headset back to Commander Terry. He took it without comment, and gave a curt nod.

“Get on your way, Vatta.”

“Yes, sir.” She needed a place to write the resignation; if she was forbidden to return to her quarters, where could she go? Outside, she found the answer, of sorts: the wiry gray-haired senior NCO who had been her year’s nemesis in the first four quarters, and an increasingly valuable resource ever since. She had not, she remembered, taken MacRobert’s advice on the matter of Mandy Rocher.

“Commandant’s library is empty, Cadet Vatta,” he said now. “Fully equipped.”

“Right,” she said. She would not cry. She would certainly not cry in front of this man. He turned to lead the way and she followed.