Previous chapter: Chapter 9
Next chapter: Chapter 11
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... straightened out my Confederate greys, tied my hair back into a neat ponytail, and triple-checked all my effects. For the first time in seven weeks, I actually cared about my appearance.

“How do I look?” I asked Tuff.

“Like you are about to attend a funeral,” the droid dryly answered.

“Sounds about right,” I chirped, before marching off the ship, “Wish me luck.”

“I calculate a sixteen-point-four-four percent probability you will be punished for your failure,” Tuff ...

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