Command Me To Be Well [Completed]

6 - Day of the no

"Your state, Madame Seer?"

"Good as new." I shrug. Then I correct myself immediately. "Ready for service, Master commander Auberon!"

We're sitting around a table, with the leaders of the squads. Master Auberon already gave them their orders. And I successfully resisted the urge to talk. A perfect day so far.

I'm proud of myself. The squad leaders address him as if they were talking to a god, so it takes an insane amount of self-discipline not to roll my eyes. And when Mr. Chosen One looks at them, they seem to shrink, as if it was too much to bear, to be under the scrutiny of such a supreme creature. I know, he did this and that, proper hero things, more than anyone else in history, there's no denying that. Still, I can't help but sigh, seeing them worshipping a self-sufficient bonehead, prone to violence.

It must be those unsettling eyes of his. They seem transparent, as if they were designed to conceal his thoughts. They don't look like human eyes at all. When we are left alone in the room, and he turns to me, even I feel a little uncomfortable.

"We need to discuss strategy," he states.

"Why?" I ask. "Strategy is based on the momentary emotional state of the enemy. My operative decisions are made minute by minute. It can't be planned."

"Still, we need to talk about it."

"Are you not satisfied with the outcome of the last battle? Are you still doubting my skills?"

"Hell no. I've never seen anything like that. You're... inhuman."

"Wow." I shrug. "I'm not sure if I have to thank you for this. But okay, I do. Thank you. And you're pretty inhuman too. Kudos."

"Okay, can't we just talk?" he snorts. "The thing I wanted to point out, is the opposite of what you've made out of it. You don't need me in the control room. My presence's been unnecessary since the moment you took over. You don't need Timur either, but someone has to be around, in case you faint. I'm of more use elsewhere. So next time the Wasps attack, I'll be back out there."

"Out there?"

"Yes. In a battle, I still can make a difference."

"You mean, fighting?"

"What else?" he bursts out. "I know you hate me, but still you have to admit that I'm the best pilot around."

"No," I state firmly.

"Okay," he spreads his hands. "You don't have to admit anything. But still—"

"No," I repeat with the same force.

"Okay." He nods. "Maybe I lost my edge, maybe my skills are not exactly as they used to be, but it still makes more sense for me to fly a jet than to test the alternative uses of paper bins."

"No," I repeat, for the last time. "You don't get what I'm saying. I'm not denying this. You can be the best of bests, greased lighting, chosen savior and stuff. It's still a no. I can't let you fight. We simply can't afford to lose you."

"Aw." He grimaces. "Are you worried for my life? Your concern is so touching."

"No."

"Okay, it's not. It's absurd. And I don't need your permission anyway."

"No," I repeat categorically.

"No, what?" he grunts. "All you say is no, no, no! Does it feel good? Do you get a kick out of it?"

"Again, that's not what I'm denying. I said we can't afford to lose you. Will you please take it literally? Your death would the last blow to morale."