Empire Reborn (Taran Empire Saga Book 1): A Cadicle Space Opera by A.K. DuBoff (jenna bush book club TXT) 📕

by history and set ourselves up for the best chance of long-term success by learning from the outcomes of others’ decisions.”

Jason queued up the first video. “Let’s take this engagement, for example.”

He played the video and then led the students through discussion of the tactics at the individual and squad levels. He was happy to see the students picking up on the sublties and where he was going with the explanation of making informed choices.

They then went through another example. For a time, at least, the discussion offered the kind of distraction he had been hoping for. Now, he only wished he could believe his own statements about not dwelling on the path not taken.

It wasn’t like he could snap his fingers and have everything be okay. He’d lost his best friend and longtime lover. He could still hardly acknowledge that fact, let alone have had time to work his way to acceptance. Worse, he’d seen it happen—had actually been linked with her mind. And there hadn’t been any pain on her end… she was just gone. Somehow, that made it worse. Like she’d never existed. But she had, and he’d loved her.

Emotion unexpectedly swelled in his chest again, closing his throat and stinging his eyes. He wasn’t sure what they had even been talking about. Close-quarters engagements, maybe? He took a deep breath and tried to re-focus on what the students were saying, willing himself to hold it together. Breaking down in front of his dad was one thing, but not here with a group of Initiates who looked up to him as a mentor. He was stronger than that.

“So, I guess the neural link is sort of how you cheat at omniscience,” Alisha said.

Wes smiled. “Yeah, it kinda is, huh? Getting a feed from what the other pilots in the squad are seeing, so you can take action together, not simply based on what makes the most sense from your vantage alone.”

Jason swallowed the lump in his throat. “Yes, exactly.”

Shite. There had been a little crack there—enough that the most perceptive students in the group caught it.

“Let’s go over one more,” he quickly added, trying to sound more confident.

The conversation was less lively than those about the previous examples, but at least the content was valuable. When the discussion started to wind down, Jason dismissed the class.

Not surprisingly, Alisha hung back.

I can’t deal with her right now. Jason took a steadying breath, willing himself to hold it together long enough to get back to his quarters.

“Sir, are you okay?”

No! he shouted in his mind. “We have jobs to do,” he said instead. “How we feel doesn’t matter.”

“Except it does, sir. You told us yourself that our emotions color our perception, even when we don’t want them to. But a good officer knows how to acknowledge that and compensate.”

Fok, I did say that, didn’t I? He evaluated the statement and decided that it was still good advice, as much as he hated it right now. “It’s been a difficult few days. One of my best friends was on Alkeer.”

“Shite!” Alisha’s eyes went wide. “I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because talking about it won’t bring her back,” he snapped.

Alisha took half a step back. “At the risk of sounding patronizing, sir, you also told us that keeping things bottled up isn’t productive in the long-term.”

“Thank you, Alisha, I’ll take it under advisement.” Jason walked away before he said something he’d regret.

In any other military-type organization, she’d have never been able to speak to a superior officer like that. But, as much as it pained him to admit, she was being as TSS as they came. Honorifics were rarely used between fellow Agents, and even between students and instructors they were mentioned sparingly. The TSS drilled into their trainees how important it was to have each other’s backs as people, beyond their responsibilities dictated by the chain of command. Alisha was observant and not afraid to speak up when she sensed something was amiss. She’d make a good officer one day.

Regardless of her well-meaning intentions, talking about Tiff with a student acquaintance wasn’t any way to go about healing. He’d need to dig a lot deeper to come to terms.

Being alone wasn’t going to help, though. Not with everything going on. He needed to recover quickly; he didn’t have the luxury of mourning on his own time frame.

He had people he could turn to. Tiff may have been his best friend, but she wasn’t his only friend.

Jason pulled out his handheld and typed out a message to Gil: >>Game night tonight? I feel like killing some bad guys.<<

—     —     —

There was too much work to do, but Wil had to step away and call it an early night. He couldn’t dismiss the magnitude of the events on his psyche, and he knew he needed to take the proper time to process the loss.

The people on Alkeer had been under his command. He had been in a position to order an evacuation or any other course of action that may have saved their lives. It didn’t matter that they hadn’t known the danger at the time; he still bore responsibility for their deaths, as much as anyone but the perpetrator. If anyone was to be blamed, it would be him.

No one would—at least not within the TSS. There was no reason for him to have given any other orders.

Saera sat with him on the couch in their quarters, offering what comfort she could. She understood better than most the parallels to what Wil had been through in the war and how those decisions had eaten him alive. This wasn’t as bad, but the similarity dredged up the past to make it worse.

“I keep wondering if I should have taken action sooner. Tried to talk to them,” he murmured.