I spent an hour trying to study, but my mind refused to settle to the task. I slammed the book shut and returned it to the shelf over my desk.

Clearly, there wasn't a chance I'd be able to focus on anything that required being still. I wanted to crawl out of my skin.

On the floor, I did pushups until my arms trembled and failed to lift my weight again. I shifted and did squats until my legs were equally spent. One-hundred crunches rounded out the routine before I sprawled on my back and waited for my heart rate to quiet. Then I pushed myself up and looked at the clock. Thirty minutes had passed.

"Are you kidding me?" I flopped onto the floor.

Someone two or three rooms down was throwing a ball against the wall. It made a distinctive, rubbery smack, smack, smack that echoed through the barracks. The person directly on the other side of them must have been losing their mind.

I'm losing my mind.

If I could go for a run, I could burn off some steam. But we were under orders to stay in. I stood, crossed the room to the door, and pulled it open. Nothing under the grayish-red sky moved. No cadets lingered on their front patios. No one was hurrying to class.

The voices of younger cadets, drilling, rose in the distance, but in this quadrant, there was only the smack, smack, smack of the rubber ball.

Why don't they want us to talk to each other?

That was surely the point of the order—to prevent us all from spending the day in idle speculation.

So instead, we're just idle.

But if the point of the order was to prevent gossip and the spread of misinformation, it would cause no harm for me to circle the perimeter twice. No one was ever out that far. By the time I did that and got back, took a shower, and dressed again, a decent chunk of the wait would be behind me.

I stepped out and eased the door shut, wincing at the snick of the latch. Surely, nobody heard that tiny sound. I hoped.

Scurrying away from the barracks, I told myself only a fool would feel guilty. I wasn't doing anything wrong. I set my legs in motion and tried to outrun the doubt that chased the thought.

Under the Martian Dome, on any given day, it is as likely to be snowing with subzero temps or sweltering at eighty-five percent humidity. Peacekeepers might be called to the icy moons of Uranus or the equatorial tropics of Earth. The wind on Enceladus can literally take your breath away. The over-oxygenated meeting rooms on Europa cause lightheadedness and disorientation if you're not used to it. So, they acclimated us to those conditions and a thousand others. Through careful breeding and rigorous training, we were conditioned for every circumstance.

That afternoon, the climate was set ten degrees warmer than I'd call ideal. Not a single suggestion of a breeze flowed from the vents. It was as if the Dome itself was holding its breath in anticipation of the results of the bizarre test.

My boots hit the ground with a quick rhythm. Two steps for each breath. My uniform wicked the sweat from my body and the SmartFiber opened to allow the air to flow over my skin. Halfway around the perimeter, running got hard. My legs ached. Dry air rasped in and out of my parched throat. But by the time I passed my starting place, endorphins had kicked in and I was in a steady trot that I felt I could maintain just about forever.

When I finished my second lap, a powerful urgency struck me. Time to get back to my room. I'd pushed my luck far enough. I walked, giving my body a chance to cool down, and as I rounded the end of my building, my heart stuttered to a halt and then took off at twice the highest rate of my run.

General Colbert sat in the chair outside my door. She held her hands folded in her lap and watched me hesitate, swallow my panic, and approach.

I saluted and stood at attention with my eyes fixed on a point on the wall behind and slightly above her right ear.

"When I asked you to return to your room and stay there, was I vague?"

"No, General."

"You ignored a direct order, then?"

"I believed I was following the spirit of the order, General."

She rose with the fluid grace of a powerful athlete. "Look at me, Cadet."

I forced myself to meet her cool gaze.

Colbert had a way of searching your face that made you feel like she was reading your soul. "The spirit of my order, hmm?"

My parched throat clicked when I swallowed. "Yes, General."

"Let's talk inside," she said.

Her words so completely differed from my expectation that it took me a moment to understand. Finally, like a dunce, I rushed to open the door and gestured for her to go in.

"After you," she insisted.

I entered, and she followed, pulling the door shut behind her. She wasted no time. "You've been granted the rank of lieutenant."

My stomach churned with the crazy concoction of high and low emotion, adrenaline, and boredom that had comprised my day. Before I could think of what to say, she went on.

"I'm giving you six months on Earth."

I thought I must have misheard. Only the most worthless peacekeepers—the ones unfit to face actual problems—got stationed on Earth.

"Did I—"

"Six months." She cut me off. "It's not an assignment. It's a vacation."

"A vacation?"

"Relax, Willow. You've worked hard. Spend some time being pampered by the Earthborn."

"The Earthborn?" Shit. I sounded like a damn parrot.

"I'm sure you'll enjoy the lack of intrusion on your time. You can take as many runs as you like. Your transport leaves at twenty-three-hundred. Don't be late."

So many thoughts and questions fought for my attention. The only ridiculous thing I managed to say was, "I'm never late."

Was that the ghost of a smile that flashed across her stern features?

"I'm aware." She tugged on the coat of her dress blacks. "So, your orders are to go to Earth for six months and, under no circumstances, are you to involve yourself in the regular duties of the Peacekeepers working there. No one else from your class is to be told of this. I certainly hope you understand the spirit of this order."

"And then what?" I blurted out. "What happens after six months?"

She arched a brow. "Then you'll receive new orders."

I couldn't begin to comprehend the lunacy of the situation. Furloughed on the day I graduated at the top of my class? "Am I being punished?" I asked.

She studied me with that unsettling gaze. "Safe journey, Lieutenant." She turned and opened the door and I heard her murmur, "Spirit of the law." I'd have sworn she sounded amused. Maybe even approving. She left.

I don't know how long I stood there staring at the closed door, trying to figure out why my entire career had just been derailed.