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Too bad it didn’t help him on Folor Base. He spun, planted a powerful side kick to the dummy’s sternum, watched the rig sway far back on its flexible pole and then snap upright.

Just like his tenure here on Folor. If all his skills were as polished as his fighting, all his objectives here seemed as resilient as that dummy. He gave them everything he had and still they popped upright, unmoved, undamaged, unmarked.

“Are you mad at the dummy? Or is this a mad mind?”

Kell spun. Runt was seated on a balance bar, watching curiously, his brown eyes open wider than usual. The fur that covered his body was fluffed and disordered in places, patchy with moisture in others, clear signs of a recent shower and inadequate drying. “Uhhh … I guess it’s a mad mind,” Kell said.

“It seems to be a competent mind. You seem to be able to abandon it when you want. Else you would be attacking us.”

Kell smiled. He still couldn’t quite work his mind around his wingmate’s logic or figure out Runt’s circuitous approaches to subjects of conversation. “I suppose so. This ‘mind’ works better if you can shut it off at will.”

“Yes. Our pilot mind is getting better that way. Have you noticed? You can cut through its haze sometimes. This is good.”

“I’m glad.”

“But you have another mind that worries us.”

“Us, as in all of Runt?”

Runt shook his head, sending his ponytail swaying. “Us as in all the squadron. All who admit to worry, that is.”

Kell picked up his towel from the floor, threw it over his shoulders, and sat up on the bar beside Runt. “I don’t get it.”

“You have a bad mind in you. You think we do not see it? It speaks to you when you fail, and lashes you with your failure.”

Kell turned away from him, looking back at the dummy. Its features restored to normalcy, it seemed to be grinning at him. Grinning with amused indifference. Or contempt. “There’s nothing wrong with that. Identifying failure correctly is just part of analysis.”

“Then it keeps at you. For days. Weeks. Eating at you. Like some animal that has crawled into you and now wishes to chew its way out.”

“Call it my motivational mind.”

“No. It is not. It makes you think things that are not true. It is your enemy. I am your friend. I wish I could turn my guns on it.”

There was such bitterness in Runt’s voice that Kell turned back to him, surprised. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Falynn and Grinder also failed today’s mission. Do you know where they are? In the cafeteria. Eating. Laughing. Looking forward to tomorrow’s missions. They and others have settled in around Myn Donos and are trying to make him smile. Where are you? In the training room, punishing yourself and a dummy.”

“Is Tyria there?”

Runt blinked at the sudden change of subject. “Yes.”

“Have they been there long?”

“No.”

“Well, I haven’t eaten. I think I’ll take a quick shower and join them. You coming?”

“I do not think you have heard what I have said.”

“Of course I have. I’ll see you there in a few minutes.”

As he walked toward the showers, Kell heard Runt breathe a long sigh.

It was as Runt had said. Most of Gray Squadron was at the longest table in the officers’ cafeteria. Falynn and Jesmin had Donos pinned between them. They were laughing as Kell approached; Runt waved him toward a seat beside him, but Kell took the one beside Piggy, opposite Tyria and Phanan.

Face was speaking. “So here I am stark naked, locked out of my quarters, running around the corridors looking for a towel, a rag, anything, and I turn a corner and bump right into the executive officer. He has about the same sense of humor as a Wookiee with a rash. So I throw my best salute and say, ‘Major, I regret to report only partial success with the Personal Cloaking Device.’ ”

The others burst out in laughter. Even Donos, slowly stirring some sweetener into his cup of caf, managed a faint smile. Falynn asked, “So, what did he do?”

“He turned out to be all right. He made me hold salute for a while, looked me over, returned my salute, and said, ‘It’s obvious this project was a failure. I suggest you go and cover up its shortcomings.’ So I