Once Meridan had read and reread the assignment enough times to believe he wasn’t hallucinating—approximately fifty times in all—he went to the washbasin to throw some water on his face.
As he dried himself with a towel, he returned to his datapad and forwarded the message to a single recipient.
Baromis Noro: Father and all-around-asshole.
Meridan knew this wouldn’t really change the bastard’s mind; nothing would.
His father would be more likely to think that the First Order personnel department had gone out of its collective mind than to believe that his son merited a flagship posting.
Meridan shook his head. He hadn’t seen or spoken to his father since he entered the Academy four years ago, but he could still perfectly imagine his vitriol.
With his father's likely criticisms ringing in his head, Meridan started packing his meager possessions. Everything still fit in his standard-issue duffel bag.
Taking one last look around his dormitory room, he realized he wouldn’t miss it much, then headed to the port. He secured a seat on a flight leaving in eleven hours. He’d arrive on the
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