Page 39 of Accidentally Fearless

I fell asleep in his arms, in the home we were building together on a planet I'd never expected to see, and for the first time in as long as I could remember, I didn't dream about being somewhere else.

Epilogue

RORY

THREE MONTHS LATER

The thing about teaching tactical innovation to Velkorin soldiers is that they take notes. Not casual, doodling-in-the-margins notes—meticulous and organized notes that would make my old community college professors weep with jealousy.

"The key concept here," I said, pointing to the holographic display in Training Room Three—my training room, officially assigned, my name on the schedule, "is flexibility under pressure. Traditional doctrine gives you a plan. What I'm teaching you is how to throw the plan away when the situation changes and build a new one in real time."

Thirty soldiers watched me with an intensity that I'd learned was standard Velkorin classroom behavior. No fidgeting. No texting under the desk. No twelve-year-olds with paintball guns threatening pizza.

I kind of missed the twelve-year-olds. But I'd never tell them that.

"Dismissed. Tomorrow we run the canyon scenario. Bring your worst ideas—the stupider, the better."

They filed out, and I packed up my teaching materials—holographic tactical displays and spiral notebooks side by side, because some tools transcended planetary boundaries—and headed for the commissary.

The coffee shop was coming along. I'd secured a space near the main atrium—a corner that had been used for storage, which I'd argued was a waste of prime social real estate. The renovation was being done by a team of soldiers who had volunteered their off-duty hours, partly because they were curious about the concept and partly because I'd promised them first access to the menu.

The menu was a work in progress. Velkorin taste buds were different from human ones—they processed bitter flavors as sweet and vice versa, which meant I was essentially reverse-engineering every beverage I'd ever made. The current prototype was a heated drink made from roasted Velkorin grains that tasted, to me, like extremely strong coffee with a honey finish. The soldiers who'd tried it were addicted.

I called it "The Battlezone Brew." Vrex said the name was "unnecessarily dramatic." I told him that was rich, coming from someone whose species named their children things like "Talon" and "Krenix."

Three months. Three months since I'd decided to stay, and every day felt like the first day of a life I hadn't known I was allowed to have.

I taught tactical innovation three days a week. I consulted on the honor code reform committee two days a week. I spent evenings in the coffee shop space, testing recipes and arguing with the contractor about seating arrangements—comfortable seating, I insisted, not military standard—because the entire point was to give people a space to not be soldiers for an hour.

And I talked to my family. The comm relay Zenir had built was now a permanent installation, and I called Jess every week and my parents every other week. The conversations had evolved from "please explain again what a Velkorin is" to "when are you coming to visit?"

That was actually happening. Next month. My mother and sister were taking a Bureau transport—I'd negotiated a family visitation clause into my citizenship agreement, which the Council had granted with the bemused tolerance of people who did not fully understand the concept of "in-laws" but were willing to accommodate it.

Vrex was nervous about meeting them. Vrex, the warrior who had defeated Krenix in single combat, who commanded a division of two thousand soldiers, who had fought a three-year war and won—was nervous about meeting my mother.

"She is your parent," he'd said, as though this explained everything. "In Velkorin culture, the approval of a mate's family is—"

"Vrex. My mom is five foot two and her biggest concern is whether you eat enough. You'll be fine."

"What if she does not approve?"

"She already approves. She asked if you liked pot roast."

"What is pot roast?"

"It's an Earth food. You'll love it."

He wasn't convinced. I loved him for it.

VREX

Rory's family arrived on a Tuesday.

The Bureau's transport deposited two human females in the compound's reception area at precisely the scheduled time—a feat of punctuality that I suspected was motivated by the Bureau's desire to maintain their recently improved relationship with our division, given that Rory had submitted a seventeen-page feedback document on their operational procedures and the Bureau's director had personally apologized for the original mistranslation.

The older female was small. Smaller than Rory—five feet and two inches, according to my scanner, with Rory's brown hair streaked with silver and Rory's brown eyes set in a face that was simultaneously softer and more formidable than her daughter's. She emerged from the transport beam clutching a large insulated container and wearing an expression of determined goodwill.

The younger female—Jessica, Rory's sister—was taller than Rory by several inches, with darker hair, and she emerged from the transport beam already looking in every direction with the curiosity of an academic encountering new data.