Captain Dara Kravchenko sat across from her mother, at a table decorated with old stains and a haphazard carving of Dara’s initials—memories of a time long gone. The two women stared without a word, finding the same weathered look reflected in each other’s eyes. Their synthetic lunches were cooling, but neither of them moved to take a bite.

“I don’t understand,” Dara’s mother broke the silence. “They’re sending you where?”

“It’s an experimental training program in a top-secret digital simulation. My company was selected for its superior response time and discipline,” Dara said quietly. Her voice was flat and emotionless, her expression like stone. “It’s an honor. It’s hardly the end of the world.”

Dara watched as her mother huffed and folded her arms. Her voice was choked with the threat of tears when she said, “You shouldn’t have to do this. You shouldn’t have to risk your life in some crazy experiment! What if something goes wrong? What if there’s a malfunction, or they can’t bring you back out—”

“Then I will have taught A-Corp something valuable about their simulation,” Dara said with a small shrug. “This might not be quite what I signed up for, but I was chosen by my superiors because they trust me. My pay has been increased, and if all goes well, I’ll receive a promotion when I get back.”

Her mother sighed heavily, glancing down at her plate. “Dara. My darling. This? This is not worth a raise, or a promotion. This is unnatural. You have no idea what could happen to you!”

“It’s no more dangerous than anything else I’ve faced, Mom,” Dara sighed. She hated the sound of her own voice—she was too blunt, neither reassuring nor kind. “Stop worrying about my safety. I joined the Armed Forces because I’m willing to risk my life for A-Corp. Why don’t you understand that?”

Dara’s mother shook her head. Her hands clenched into fists. “No. You’re my daughter! Of course I’m going to worry about your safety!” Her voice rose to a tearful yell. “I can hardly take it anymore, you know! You’ve worked so hard, and what have you gained? Were those badges and medals really worth everything that’s happened to you because of our damn military? I’ve spent your entire life worrying about you, and I’m not going to stop until you’re happy and safe!”

A stab of guilt pierced Dara. She knew that she was never an easy child to raise, between the panic attacks, terrible performance in school, and frequent dance injuries. It was an expensive commitment, and her mother had to pay for it all on her own. Her father had died fighting overseas when she was two. She didn’t know him, didn’t experience her mother’s grief. But she was well aware of how difficult it must have been without him.

She still vividly remembered the day one of her teachers pulled her mother aside and flat-out told her that Dara had no hope of entering a prestigious career field due to her falling grades. At that point, most parents would have been disappointed, but Dara’s mother continued to praise her, told her to remember that she was smart and capable, that she still had value even if her style of learning didn’t suit what the system tried to push on her. 

They would find a way together, her mother had said—but Dara had something else in mind. She gave up on academic pursuits and threw herself into training for a career in the Armed Forces, working out for hours upon hours each week, damaging her muscles faster than they could repair themselves. She refused to get help, even when the panic attacks and migraines left her unable to move for hours, even when she began to feel compelled to exercise constantly, because she knew that anything but a squeaky-clean mental health record would result in rejection from the military. She yelled at her mother every time she expressed concern, because receiving concern felt like failure, and receiving advice felt like being controlled. Yet her mother stuck with her through every difficult year. She celebrated Dara’s acceptance into the Armed Forces and each subsequent promotion with a little cake, colored red and black like Dara’s uniform. And she waited in the hospital day after day for Dara to recover, after she was nearly killed by two of her own men.

They had called it a favor to everyone, she recalled bitterly. She lost a hand and leg in the incident. In response, the military gave her cutting-edge prostheses and an offer to execute the guilty men herself. It really wasn’t much of a consolation.

“This experiment will help A-Corp explore new possibilities for cyber warfare,” Dara explained calmly. “I’m proud to be contributing.”

She still could not believe that people were capable of such disloyalty, such betrayal. Before, pride was what made Dara want to wear her uniform at all times. Now, she wore it to better disguise everything she had lost. In civilian clothes, the dark metal of her hand and leg stood out too blatantly, as did the cold, harsh look in her eyes.

Dara’s mother squeezed her eyes shut, wiped away her tears. “I know, baby,” she said with a messy sniffle. “I know. I’m so, so proud of you. Really, I am.” Her voice broke, and she struggled not to sob. “I just want you to be safe.”

“I’ll be fine,” Dara insisted flatly, rising from the table. She moved closer to her mother and stiffly hugged her, whispering, “Love you, Mom.”

Her mother hugged her tightly, sobbing into her shoulder, and Dara began to feel apprehensive. This Explicator’s Maze wasn’t as dangerous as her mother feared, was it? She was told upon receiving the assignment that there was a certain level of risk involved, but she’d survived so much already—what was one more challenge?