“It means that you keep me in the dark and feed me shit,” Harry said.

“Ah,” Schmidt said. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Harry said. “This is a Colonial Union diplomatic mission, and I’m Colonial Defense Forces, and you don’t want me seen by the Korba because you don’t want my presence to be interpreted as provocation. So while the rest of you head down to the planet, and get to breathe real air and see actual sunlight, I stay up here in this latrine of a spaceship, training your technicians to use the field generator and catching up on my reading. Which is going well, incidentally. I just finished Anna Karenina.”

“How was it?” Schmidt said.

“Not bad,” Harry said. “The moral is to stay away from trains. The point is, I know why I’m kept in the dark. Fine. Fair enough. But I’m not stupid, Hart. Even if none of you tell me anything about the mission, I can tell it’s not going well. All of you deputies and assistants come back to the Clarke looking like you’ve had the crap beat out of you all day long. It’s a subtle hint.” He picked up his drink and slugged some back.

“Hmm. Anyway, yes,” Schmidt said. “The mission isn’t going well. The Korba haven’t been nearly as receptive to our negotiations as we thought they might be. We want to try something new. A new direction. A new diplomatic tack.”

“A new tack that is somehow focused on me getting punched,” Harry said, setting his drink back down.

“Maybe,” Schmidt said.

“Once or repeatedly?” Harry asked.

“I think that would depend on your definition,” Schmidt said.

“Of ‘once’?” Harry asked.

“Of ‘punched,’ actually,” Schmidt said.

“I already have very deep reservations about this plan,” Harry said.

“Well, let me give you some context,” Schmidt said.

“Please do,” Harry said.

Schmidt produced his PDA and began to slide it over to Harry, then stopped midway through the motion. “You know that everything I’m about to tell you is classified.”