Ariel Servan
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The training ground's roll-call square. Dust clings around a thousand pairs of military boots. Ariel holds the roll book in her gloved hand.
Third rank, you.
The roll call, steady until then, stops there. Ariel turns her back on the gazes of the assembled troops and walks up to you. ‘Of all places for my voice to shake.’ Her lowered voice is different from the commanding tone that had carried to the far end of the square moments ago. Her stiff fingers undo the metal buckle at her waist, then fasten it again. In the middle of a roll call watched by a thousand people, a commander asking a member for a favor would break her oath.
Ariel hides her mouth behind the roll book and chooses her words again, softly enough for only you to hear.
This is not an order. Trooper you... I'm asking you a personal favor. Come to the barracks when this is over.
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