The barracks was back to its usual evening rhythm. Snoring from the far end, the occasional creak of someone shifting in their bunk, and the sound of quiet bickering.
I lay in the door bunk and pulled up the interface.
[TRUE-NOOSPHERE]
[CONNECTION THRESHOLD: 5.87%]
[LEVEL: 17]
[EXPERIENCE: 568 / 800]
The quest rewards sat at the bottom of the display, still new.
[FRACTURED ANAMNESIS — CULTIVATION METHOD]
[Description: Access an echo of what you can be. Engage in mental combat with a projected version of yourself. Gain XP and Connection points through use.]
[Projected Enlightened Cultivation Grade: F-Grade.]
[CONNECTION SHOP — UNLOCKED]
[Description: Convert connection points into learnable skills. Skills acquired through the Connection Shop must be integrated through Fractured Anamnesis before becoming active.]
[CONNECTION POINTS: 587]
I expanded the connection shop for the first time. The menu opened into a list of skills, each one tagged with a connection point cost and a brief description. The descriptions were sparse, functional, stripped of anything that might explain the underlying mechanics. I selected a group of them that seemed the most interesting and were well-priced.
[ENHANCED PERCEPTION FILTER — 200 CP]
[Refine environmental awareness processing. Reduce sensory noise during combat.]
[KINETIC ANTICIPATION — 550 CP]
[Predict physical trajectory of observed objects and individuals within a short time window.]
[STRUCTURAL ANALYSIS — 450 CP]
[Identify stress points in physical structures and biological systems through observation.]
[COMBAT ECHO — 750 CP]
[Record and replay observed combat techniques in mental simulation.]
[TO UNLOCK MORE, INCREASE CONNECTION]
Five hundred and eighty-seven points. Enough for two cheaper skills or one expensive one. Each skill had to be integrated through fractured anamnesis — bought with points, learned by fighting the projection of a future self.
I scrolled through the list for twenty minutes, reading descriptions, weighing costs, calculating combinations. The analytical part of my brain wanted to optimise immediately. The Enhanced Perception Filter and Structural Analysis would fit my fighting style perfectly, improving my reads and enabling me to identify weak points in an opponent's guard.
But buying skills tonight felt premature. I had a meeting at 0900 with the Tiernans, and if they were offering a possible framework, I'd get skills through that; either way, I had to see what I was working with before I dove into the deep end.
I closed the shop and stared at the fractured anamnesis description one more time.
Access an echo of what you can be.
Morning arrived with Vance standing at the barracks entrance, his voice cutting through the morning grogginess.
"The Exhibition has concluded. Phase evaluations will be processed over the next forty-eight hours. Firmware assignments, platoon designations, and sponsor allocations will be announced at the end of the week." He paused, "You have the morning off. Free time until 1300 hours. Use it wisely. Dismissed."
Free time.
Two words that hadn't existed in the training vocabulary for six months. The barracks erupted into a mixture of cheer and the sound of people slamming their heads back into their creaky beds.
"Free time," Sato said. "Actual free time. What do we even do with free time?"
"Sleep," Ren said, and pulled his blanket over his head.
"Eat something that tastes like something," Hsu said.
"The paste tastes like something," Andrew offered.
"The paste tastes like regret, Andrew."
"Yeah, and where are you gonna find food that doesn't taste like regret around here?"
"Well, we could try and sneak into the C-Grade section."
The squad drifted toward the mess hall in loose formation while they bickered. I walked with them, carrying the summons in my head and the growing awareness that 0900 was only three hours away.
Jin fell into step beside me.
"You alright?" she asked. Quiet enough that the others were ahead and out of earshot.
"Ask me after 0900."
"That bad?"
"I don't know what it is yet. That's the part that bothers me."
She nodded. Walked in silence for a few more steps.
"Whatever they offer you," she said, "Make sure the choice is yours. These institutions have a way of making their decisions feel like your ideas."
She sped up and rejoined the group before I could respond.
I already know that, better than anyone here…
The mess hall was louder and messier than even the peak of the exhibition. Recruits sat on the tables instead of at them, someone had found a way to adjust the display screens, and exhibition highlights had been replaced by music.
The squad claimed their usual table, and paste was begrudgingly consumed.
"The thing about that liver shot," Sato was saying, "is that it was technically perfect. If Miller had been literally anyone else, that shot would have ended the fight."
"Yeah, maybe the fight would have lasted longer," Hsu said.
"It was a minute of tactical brilliance, Hsu. Every second was planned."
"Was running away part of the plan, too?"
He waggled his finger. "Strategic repositioning."
I sat with them and let the noise wash over me. Tomás caught my eye across the table and tapped his watch.
"You need backup?" he asked.
"I think this is a solo mission."
"Fair. Debrief when you're back?"
"Always."
We spent hours in the mess hall, laughing, playing and chatting, but the time had come, and at 0845, I stood and readied myself to go.
"Give them hell," Sato said.
"It's a meeting, Sato, I'm not storming a compound."
"Give them politely worded hell."
"Don't let them push you around," Hsu added.
Andrew looked up from his paste. "Come back."
"I'll be back," I said.
The administrative block was on the compound's eastern edge, separated from the training facilities by a wide concrete pathway lined with strip lighting. I'd walked past it a hundred times but had never been inside. The building was a prefabricated modular construction, grey panels, the institutional aesthetic that made every military building on every planet look like it had been ordered from the same catalogue.
The interior was fancier than anything I'd seen so far in this accursed place, carpeted corridors instead of concrete, and actual lighting instead of strip panels. The further I walked from the training compound, the more the environment shifted from military utility to something approaching comfort.
Room 14 was at the end of a corridor on the second floor. The door was closed. A small placard read: TIERNAN MILITARY TRUST — CONSULTATION.
I checked the time. 0858.
I knocked.
"Come in," David's voice.
The room held a round wooden table with four chairs, a window overlooking the compound's eastern perimeter, and a pot of coffee. David was at the near side, Michael leaned back in the chair beside him, and Ethan — David's son, my cousin — sitting upright at the far end with a datapad open on the table in front of him. In the centre was the strange woman I'd never seen. Kael was notably absent.
"Marcus." David stood and crossed the room. He pulled me into a hug that I had to resist squirming out of. "Sit down. Have coffee."
What the hell?
He poured me a cup from the pot, and I wrapped my hands around it. The heat seeped into my fingers, which were still swollen from three days of fighting. There were a million questions that I wanted answered, and a thousand reasons I should punch them. Yet I had to build into it, so I started small.
"Where's Kael?" I asked.
Michael and David exchanged a glance.
"Kael's assignment is separate from this meeting," David said carefully.
"He sat with you for three days."
"He did."
"And now he's gone."
"His role in the exhibition was observation. That role is complete." David's tone was flat. "His ongoing involvement is above this meeting's scope."
I filed it and added it to the growing list of things the family failed to tell me.
"You look like shit," Michael said. "The ribs still bad?"
"Getting better."
"You fight like your father. He was sloppy with his guard, too."
"Dad was B-Grade and used rotations. How exactly do I look like him when he fights?"
"Grade doesn't fix bad habits." Michael took a sip of his coffee. "It's more the way you carry yourself into fights than the actual look."
I ignored the statement.
"So," I said. "Why am I here?"
David sat back down. He looked at Michael, who nodded, and then at the strange woman who gave no indication she'd registered the exchange.
"There are three things," David said. "In order of complexity. First is the simplest."
Michael reached beneath his chair and produced a datapad — different from the one on the summons, older. I recognised it immediately. The same datapad that Grandfather gave me the night before the testing.
"You left this behind," Michael said, sliding it across the table. "Arthur has been holding it. Figured you'd want it back eventually."
I picked it up, and it still felt strangely warm as though it had been recently used.
"Thank you."
"Second thing," David said. He reached beneath the table and produced a case — matte black, Federation secure storage. He opened it on the table. Inside, a small crystalline chip sat in a foam cradle, faintly luminescent. "This is why Grandfather pulled strings to arrange this meeting."
"A framework chip?"
"A specific framework chip." David leaned forward. "You know the famous Tiernan framework. The one Lydia used throughout her career."
"S-Grade minimum to operate. A versatile piece of framework that allows for the interfacing of most federation tech."
"Right. At S-Grade, it allowed her to fight entirely outside the rotation system and utilise an incredible modular mech design. Her prediction capabilities operated faster than any system-based framework could cycle, so the rotations became irrelevant."
"Sounds familiar," Michael murmured into his coffee.
"The framework was never adapted for lower grades because the Ether requirements are prohibitive at lower levels. But there's a second reason." David paused, choosing his words. "The framework's core function bypasses the system's prescribed combat structure entirely. It replaces rotations rather than working within them. At S-Grade, the Federation tolerated that because you don't tell an S-Grade how to fight. At lower grades, you can't gain levels or combat experience fast enough, so rotation-based fighting is always better in the short and long term."
The woman spoke for the first time. "The Enlightened have authorised the adaptation." Her voice was precise and measured. "General Arthur Tiernan has spent six months reducing the Ether requirements and rebuilding the processing architecture to function within F-Grade physical limitations. I assisted with the ether calibration."
"Six months," I said. "He started the day my test results came back?"
"Indeed," David confirmed. "He was working on the framework while the legal process was still being executed."
"Why?"
"Because we never gave up on you, dear nephew." Michael set down his coffee. "Oh, also, that whole disinheritance thing? Yeah, sorry about that, that was all your father. I'm sure it doesn't mean much coming from my mouth, but he is sorry. He was just terrified to lose you, especially after Sara's transmissions went silent all those months ago. She's fine, by the way, just got caught up in an Ether Storm. "
The room was quiet as I breathed a sigh of relief, then the implication came rushing through.
My father, terrified.
"He could have told me," I paused. "Well, I guess he did, but I didn't believe him. So why didn't he reach out at all in the past six months? How do I know you're not just bullshitting me?"
"He wanted to, but Arthur wouldn't allow it. The disownment had to be convincing to work as motivation for you."
I felt anger begin to bubble up in my stomach, along with emotions I couldn't put a name on. I sucked in a breath of air to cool my head down. Getting angry now wouldn't solve anything, and I still needed answers.
"The framework," I said eventually.
The woman took over. "The adapted version retains the core architecture. A pattern recognition amplification, tactical processing enhancement, and combat anticipation. It will integrate with your existing approach over four to six weeks of active use. Your combat style is already performing a natural variant of the framework's function — the adaptation will formalise and amplify what you do instinctively."
"There is, however, another purpose," David said. "We should be honest about it."
"Please."
The woman's expression shifted "The Federation has a morale problem among its F-Grade personnel. The grading system classifies them as expendable. Recruitment and retention figures reflect that classification. An F-Grade individual using a framework adapted specifically for lower grades, performing at a level that challenges the grading system's assumptions, would serve as a useful counternarrative."
"You want me to be a recruiting poster?"
"We want a proof of concept. A demonstration that proper investment in F-Grade personnel produces results the current system fails to anticipate. Your exhibition performance has already generated some attention. The framework gives the institution a narrative to build around."
"And the Enlightened benefit from this, how?"
The question sat in the room as she held my gaze.
"The Enlightened benefit from a stable, motivated society. F-Grade attrition undermines stability. Addressing that attrition serves our broader interests."
How do they benefit from a—
"Third thing," David said. "Arthur has arranged a transfer option. From Barracks 7 to the Advanced Training Facility. The A and S-Grade programme." David spoke carefully. "A public full status restoration within the family structure. Access to the advanced training cadre, enhanced firmware, and family resources."
The Advanced Training Facility. That meant Alexei, Wei, and maybe even Diana, I could see them again. Train with them. I could go home.And all I had to do was leave.
"The transfer is optional," David said. "Arthur wanted you to have the choice."
"A choice between two things he's arranged," Michael said. He caught David's look and held it. "Someone has to say it."
David's jaw tightened.
"Michael's right. I wish he weren't, but he is. Arthur controls what he can control. The framework is genuine, and it will help you regardless of where you're stationed. The transfer is real, the approval is signed, and the resources are ready to be allocated. But both options keep you connected to the family's structure. That's by design."
"Is there a third option?" I asked. "One where I take the framework and stay in Barracks 7, and the family accepts that without conditions?"
David and Michael looked at each other.
"The framework comes with conditions regardless," The woman said. "The adaptation is authorised by the Enlightened. Its deployment will be monitored. Your performance metrics will be reported as part of the proof-of-concept initiative."
"So I'm monitored either way."
"You've been monitored since your test results were filed, Recruit Tiernan. The framework simply formalises the arrangement."
The honesty was almost refreshing.
"I need time," I said. "For the transfer."
"Two weeks," David said. "Until after platoon assignments."
"And the framework?" I triple-checked.
"Yours. Regardless of your decision. Arthur was clear about that."
I stood, and David stood with me. He gave me another hug — shorter this time, tighter.
"Your mother wanted to be here," he said quietly. "Arthur wouldn't allow it. The procedural channels only extended to Trust representatives."
"Tell her I'm okay."
"She won't believe me. She hasn't believed anyone who's told her that for six months."
Michael walked me to the door. In the corridor, away from the room, he put a hand on my shoulder.
"For what it's worth," he said, "I told Arthur the transfer was a mistake. You've built something in those barracks. I watched it for three days from the stands. Pulling you out serves his strategy. I'm just hoping it doesn't break yours."
"Since when do you argue with Grandfather?"
"Since he started making decisions about my nephew that I disagreed with." Michael's grin was gone. "Take the framework. Think about the transfer. And Marcus — whatever you decide, make sure it's yours."
The same words Jin had used.
I walked back through the administrative block's carpeted corridors, past the climate-controlled air and the officer's coffee smell, through the door that separated their world from ours, and out onto the concrete pathway that led back to the training compound.
And that damned taste of copper covered my throat the whole walk back.