Mazer roared out his answer. “As if I had need of reminders from you!”

“Would you like me to take down your remarks as—”

“I’d like you to shut yourself down and leave me in—”

“A reply?” finished the computer, ignoring his carping.

“Peace!” Mazer sighed. “Take down this answer: I’m divorced, and my ex-wife and children have made their lives without me. To them I’m dead. It’s despicable for you to attempt to raise me from the grave to burden their lives. When I tell you that I have nothing to tell you about command it’s because I truly do not know any answers that you could possibly implement.

“I’m desperate for you to find a replacement for me, but in all my experience in the military, I saw no example of the kind of commander that we need. So figure it out for yourself—I haven’t any idea.”

For a moment he allowed his anger to flare. “And leave my family out of it, you contemptible . . . ”

Then he decided not to flame the poor git. “Delete everything after ‘leave my family out of it.’”

“Do you wish me to read it back to you?”

“I’m on the toilet!”

Since his answer was nonresponsive, the computer repeated the question verbatim.

“No. Just send it. I don’t want to have the zealous Lieutenant Graff wait an extra hour or day just so I can turn my letter into a prize-winning school essay.”

But Graff’s question nagged at him. What should they look for in a commander?

What did it matter? As soon as they developed a list of desirable traits, all the bureaucratic buttsniffs would immediately figure out how to fake having them, and they’d be right back where they started, with the best bureaucrats at the top of every military hierarchy, and all the genuinely brilliant leaders either discharged or demoralized.