The divisions, though, moved as a unit, lived as a unit, dropped as a unit. Mike knew every guy in the division, more or less. Hell, with the way that the ACS hadn’t been restocking, First Division wasn’t much larger than a brigade. One of the things he planned on bringing up whatever the reason that he’d been brought back to Earth. Surely they could get some ACS restock. It was getting as bad as back in the Siege…

And here he was stuck in the loop. Again!

“Shelly, time to Titan orbit?”

“One hour and twenty-three minutes, General,” the AID said liltingly. “You did well, this time. Six minutes and seventeen seconds from the last time you asked. That’s up from your mean of three.”

“Iron self-control, Shelly,” Mike said. “Iron self-control.”

“Message from General Wesley’s AID,” Shelly said. “You’re on another shuttle from Titan to Fredericksburg immediately after landing. Quote: Get some sleep on the shuttle; briefings immediately on landing so you can quit asking Shelly what’s going on. The answer is good news and bad. Close quote.”

“My iron self-control is clearly well known,” Mike said.

To human eyes, the Ghin was an average-looking Darhel. To human eyes, Darhel fur looked metallic gold or metallic silver, with black traces threading through it, and the Galactic’s eyes a vivid green in a white sclera, laced with purple veining.

There were no humans in the office. The Tchpth who was present saw the Ghin in a rather different light. The eyes, so vivid to humans, were rather dull; but the fur glinted brightly, like the color play across anodized titanium.

“I greet you, Phxtkl. Thank you for granting me the favor of a game,” the Ghin said.

“It is always a pleasure to instruct, O merely expert student of aethal.”