In the gym, Manuel Brie is very quiet.

You watch him at his weights. The oldest pilot on the Solaris makes no noise except his breath. He's a short man, a pug man who looks like he's been punched so hard he grew back as one big fist. The years have been kind to his strength. 

But you can see his arms shaking. He's lifting too much.

When Brie talks, people listen. He's been around: a reservist before the war, and now that the war's come home, a Flight Lieutenant with more time outside the simulator than in. You can hear that time in his voice. He says what needs to be said and he says it so it's heard.

Brie's your uncle on your mom's side (rest in peace, Mom) and you think he probably pulled strings to get you as his wingman. You think it's probably in violation of military conduct. But you trust him in a way you don't yet trust yourself.

Still. He's lifting too much.