His words were harsher than his tone. He meant them, but he spoke almost as if we were peers. “I’ll cooperate, sir.” I was unbuttoning my uniform jacket as I spoke. One of the buttons, loosened on its thread, broke free and went flying across the office. He lifted a brow at that.

“Still gaining flesh, I see.”

“I always put on weight right before I get taller.” I spoke a bit defensively. This was the third time he had brought up my weight gain. I thought it unkind of him. “Surely that must be better than me being thin as a rail, like Trist.”

“Cadet Wissom’s reaction to having survived the plague is the norm. Yours is different. ‘Better’ remains to be seen,” he replied ponderously. “Any other changes that you’ve noticed? How’s your wind?”

“It’s fine. I had to march off six demerits yesterday, and I finished up at the same time as the other fellows.”

“Hm.” He had drawn closer as I spoke. As if I were a thing rather than a person, he inspected my body, looking in my ears, eyes, and nose, and then listening to my heart and breathing. He made me run in place for a good five minutes, and then listened to my heart and lungs again. He jotted down voluminous notes, weighed me, took my height, and then quizzed me on all I’d eaten since yesterday. As I’d had only what the mess allotted to me, that question was quickly answered.

“But you’ve still gained weight, even though you haven’t increased your food intake?” he asked me, as if questioning my honesty.

“I’m out of spending money,” I told him. “I’m eating as I’ve eaten since I arrived here. The extra flesh is only because I’m about to go through another growth spurt.”