Let me tell you about the good days and the war. I grew up in the town of Sunmount, tutored at first by my mother. When I got too rowdy for her, I moved on to state school, which was doing the strange new reform-era thing of educating boys and girls side-by-side. I liked the girls, and the girls liked me. When I got too rowdy for state school, they sent me back home, and I only just barely managed to collect a good-standing diploma on my way out the door.

  Somewhere along the way, we had gone from comfortable to rich. My father was in engines at the time, engines for automobiles, and as years ticked by the demand screamed and screamed until the automobile business felt like a money typhoon. In a typhoon, no one cares if you're working or not, and so at home I remained in our small town manor screwing around from eighteen to twenty-three years of age.

  This was the season I was living, barleywine and songmaids, on New Year’s Eve of ‘36 in my mountain hometown. It had only just begun to show the cracks of boredom and malaise. By eleven at night I was piss drunk, shirted and tied in the Western way. The hearth of the local tavern had warmed its cherry wood beams, and I was availing myself of the comfort with a face pressed slack against the grain. Despite how I might have appeared, drink in hand, I was mostly lucid.

  Two toddling kids ran in from the cold and I almost knew their names. Sunmount was the kind of town where you almost knew everyone, which is very different from knowing almost everyone. It wasn't unusual to see kids in taverns in small towns at that time. Paxana before the war cast every field as the collective backyard, every river as the collective washroom, every public house with a fire as the collective family den. It was an island of accord, at ease through strict discipline, united under the luminous hand of our beloved emperor.

  Tom and Violet were laughing. I had rented us a room, a little box with mats and pillows and a low table just off the tavern’s inner hallway. There were a handful of these rooms, with woven walls so thin between them that you could hear every titter and thump from the fellow in the next one. The idea was you’d sit on the floor and drink and a songmaid would come to tell you jokes or sing old songs or do a little more if you were bathed and tipped her right. Tom and Violet didn't need a songmaid, though, on New Year’s or ever. They were in love. They had been in love as long as I had known them, through five years of state school, in love from first sight before they’d even worked up the nerve to talk face-to-face.

  Violet was an orphan, her parents having died in a fire when she was eleven. I always thought that was just about the worst age for it. She was old enough to know them, really know them, and yet never get any good time together like a daughter should. I never told that to her face, of course. She’d had a hard enough time without boor Jack Clearwater Jr. rubbing her nose in her sorrows. Still, I was glad she had Tom. I think we all were.

  I’d paid a hefty stack for a tavern room on New Year’s, and I was glad to see them enjoying it. They never seemed to do anything more than gaze into each other's eyes and share little secrets. We were all provincials, the four of us, although you wouldn't know it now. There was an innocence to us all that came with the fresh, chilled air of an artisan town.

  Our fourth was Murdoch Boll, and he was late. I heard the front door open with another chilly gust, and I thought it might be our man, but instead a pack of khaki-uniformed enlistedmen careened inside. The Army at that time grew larger every time you blinked. None of these fellows were above corporal, or sober, or older than me. They were laughing to themselves and singing a bawdy marching song as they advanced on the bar.

  I turned back to the tea room I’d bought and was not in. Above the low table, a framed painting hung proud and centered. It was a family honorary, common in our parts, commissioned to mark the deeds of some ancestor in days of old. The man in the painting was small and ferocious, his muscle all sinewed with purpose. He wore the late-medieval armor of a lightsman knight, furious as he charged with a two-handed sword through the southern woods. His chest bore the seal of the State of Centon, our home, before it was a Paxanan prefecture. I did not recognize the family crest below.

  Beneath the painting Tom and Violet were now kissing. Even their kisses seemed innocent, so pure with that love that can only begin in adolescence. I could never kiss that way if I tried. Violet had always been exceptionally pale, with that coal-black hair people often told her evoked the Cat Witch of old. The temple priests had raised her through her teens, and from the start they had raised her demure. I never saw her in those days wearing anything less than a proper women’s gownrobe and pinned hair.

  Tom, for his part, was tan and tall and handsome. That's one of the reasons I liked him as a pal, ‘cause he never got sore at all about my own good looks like some of the other state boys did. I’m not trying to boast, I’m just being honest. We were a good looking crew, me and Tom and Violet and Murdoch who had still not arrived.

  A squat, sturdy songmaid came bounding past with her gownrobe half-open and her bosom spilling out with a heavy, rhythmic bounce. A bearded young Army man was chasing after her, and they both were just near cackling with laughter. I felt a little rush of excitement in my chest as I watched the two funny-looking people disappear around a darkened tavern corner.

  That’s about when the bastard private grabbed me. He was tall, well-fed for a lowborn peasantson. He thought the calendula pin on his khakis made him big as the emperor himself. “Hey peeper, how’s the peeping?” the drunk private asked, rudely spinning me around to break my view of the rented tea room.

  “Those are my friends,” I told him, slurred a little.

  His eyes moved on to the next contention. Two of his buddies came up on each side, cornering me right near that cherry wood beam in the warmth of the fire. The two Army lackeys kept me firmly in place while the tall private grabbed at my tie.

  “Watercourse,” he said, recognizing the embroidered mark of the fashion house. I hoped very much he would prick himself on the silver tie pin. “Rich boy.”

  “Buy us a round, rich boy!” the more hickish of the two lackeys shouted. His spit hit my face and I couldn't hide my sneer.

  “Why should I?”

  I batted the hands of the tall one away, and he drew closer. “No matter how rich your father gets, you’ll still be lowborn like us.”

  “Lowborn, yes. Like you, no.” Sunmount was an artisan town, as I said, a tradesman town, and we relished every opportunity to stress that we were not and had never been peasant farmers.

  At my remark, the third private made move to ransack my pockets. “Watch it, crook,” I snapped, thinning on patience.

  “Hey!” The tall one bopped my chin from below with the fatty base of his thumb. “You are talking to a hand of the Calendula Throne.”

  He pointed to his pin, as if I’d not already seen it, as if his recent enlistment would confer any weight to his drunken words. “Go chase a songmaid,” I said with a roll of my eyes, and in the next moment found the other two fools doing their best to force me into martial salute.

  “Industry serves the state,” one shouted. A hiccup and a burp followed. “Industry salutes the state!”

  I shoved the fool off, and he looked about ready to deck me. Then a young man like a wolverine hurled him backward. The private skidded on his bootheels, not falling, and managed to avoid landing ass-first in the burning hearth. “Leave him be,” said Murdoch Boll, and I was very glad to see that our fourth had come.

  “What are you going to do, Wyld man, eat me?” the lead private asked scowling Murdoch. He was too intimidated by the tough man’s pugilist posture to dive into blows.

  Murdoch drew a wallet from his trouser pocket and flipped it open to reveal the gold badge within. A marigold and lighthouse stood surrounded by the words, ‘Integrity Office.’

  The privates jolted to salute the officer two years my senior. “Carry on, happy New Year,” said Murdoch, and as much as I wanted to see him dress them down he simply waved the young bumpkins over to the bar.

  “Happy New Year, Captain,” said the obsequious three.

  Murdoch and I sized each other up. He looked tougher, more dignified, more stately than the last time we’d met. He was not a young state school graduate now but a man. “I was starting to think they had cancelled your leave,” I told him, and met him in a handshake that became embrace.

  “I can take it when I need it, so long as I barely ever need it,” Murdoch smiled. “Good to see you, Jack.”

  I looked over at the tea room once again. “Hey, Tom! Violet!” I called. “Murdoch’s back!”

  We met them as they rose in the small, warm room with the low table and no chairs. Tom and Violet hugged Murdoch in turn, and Violet kissed his cheek. It was, in the best way, like the state school lunchroom all over again. Clasping Violet’s hand, Murdoch made some quiet comment about the shade of purple of her gownrobe being a good match for her eyes. I certainly hadn’t noticed, myself. As much of a snappy dresser as I endeavored to be, I didn’t know the first thing about hues and undertones.

  As the pleasantries cooled into ease, we all sat down, either leaning on our sides like noblemen or crossing our legs to circle the little black table.

  “How’s Paxlight?” Tom asked of Murdoch.

  “Crowded,” said Murdoch. “You can’t get an inch to stand on the streetcar running board.”

  Violet, across from me, caught my eye and gave me a smile. “Sounds like your dad needs to sell them more streetcars,” she said, referencing Paxcorp’s recent expansion into the public transit sector.

  Murdoch slapped his knee. “I missed you all like hell, I’ll say that. You and the Sunmount food.”

  Just as he said it, a barmaid passed, and I flagged her with a raise of two fingers. She was about my age, maybe a year younger, and she was one of the ones I hadn’t seen around too many times before. The matron of the tavern had brought in some extra girls from the next town over for the New Year’s rush.

  The barmaid stopped, a tray of empty glasses in her hands. “Say,” I said, “could we get two skewer plates and a bottle of, oh, something good? What do you want, Murdoch? Barleywine? It’s all on me.”

  I didn’t need too much of an excuse to spend the Clearwater family money, and Murdoch’s return home was certainly a worthwhile occasion.

  “Grandhill Reserve,” the captain said, “if you’re buying.” He winked as he said it. He knew Grandhill was a favorite of mine as well.

  I turned back to the barmaid and nodded to confirm the order. I held up four fingers and said, “Four glasses.”

  The barmaid looked a little cross. “You’re going to need to pay more for two more in the tea room if you’re all staying in here,” she said. “We only have you down for two.”

  “That’s fine,” I said. “It should have been four in the first place. Put it under Jack Clearwater Senior. Senior, that part’s important.” The last thing I wanted was to have them accidentally bill me in place of my father.

  “Is he here?” she asked.

  I pointed to the ceiling. “He’s in the Lordsuite room upstairs.” Then I really took a good look at that little barmaid, and a flash of one of my bad ideas came to my head. “Hey, you want to join us? We could make it five.”

  The barmaid looked offended that I’d even asked. “I’m not a songmaid,” she said. “You’ll need to talk to the barmatron if you want entertainment.”

  I rolled my eyes, teasing her. “Oh, come on, not like that. What kind of cad do you take me for?”

  Murdoch butted in, ever calm. “Let her do her job, Jack.”

  I put up my hands and smiled broadly. “You’re a million bucks.”

  The barmaid left, carrying the empty glasses. I looked over at Tom and saw he had his arm around Violet’s shoulder. “So what have I missed?” Murdoch asked, adjusting himself to get comfortable on that narrow, planked floor. “Aside from the three of you graduating.”

  “You know, Tom didn’t technically graduate,” I said. I always liked to mention this as a point of pride, since Tom was a much better, smarter student than me, and somehow I had managed to graduate, and Tom Trussford hadn’t.

  “That’s true,” said Tom, “because I’m doing an expedited non-degree transfer to the Army Engineering Labs in Paxlight.”

  “Tom Trussford joining up?” Murdoch asked with surprise.

  “Not joining up,” said Tom. “Civilian engineering for Army research. All the good jobs for young engineers are in military tech these days. It’s the only way you really get to build something, not just be a clerk until you’re thirty. All the private sector bastards want Westerners or senior staff for their design teams. No offense to the old man, Jack.”

  “Murdoch, you should have seen me trying to twist Tom’s arm into leaning on my dad for a spot at Paxcorp,” I added. “He’s too proud to beg. What can I say?”

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  Tom shrugged with modesty. “I just want to make my own way for a bit, you know? Do more than automotive.”

  Violet took a drink from her ceramic cup. “Murdoch, this means you and Tom are going to be living in the same city again. Isn’t that exciting?”

  “Maybe on paper,” said the bearded Wylder. “I’m almost never in Pax, though. Integrity Office covers the whole Paxanan Order. Territories, Dawncastle…”

  A thought struck me and I had to share it. It was too exciting to keep to myself a second longer. “Hey, Murdoch, you know who is thinking of joining up?”

  Tom took his arm off Violet, and I could see that he was stewing a little. The subject had touched a nerve.

  “Not you, Jack. Surely,” said Murdoch, with a sound of incredulity.

  With my eyes, I indicated Violet herself. Murdoch’s incredulity only grew. “No. Violet? Really? Nursing Volunteers?”

  “National Sorceress Corps,” said Violet.

  Tom let out an audible sigh. He wasn’t the kind to get cross too easily, but when he did, he could really simmer in it. “I didn’t want to get into this tonight.”

  A bit of a stilted moment followed this, wherein we all wondered whether to press on regardless of Tom’s obvious disdain. The return of the barmaid with the liquor and the barbecue broke the silent moment. We sat as she poured, and Murdoch and I both greedily dug into the food as soon as it was within our reach. The lovebirds followed shortly after.

  “By the way,” said the barmaid, who had no sense of charm, “the matron says you need to pay cash before you leave, because the bill for the Lordsuite room was all prepaid.”

  “Ah, shit,” I said. I hadn’t thought that far. It wouldn’t be as easy to sneak things onto my father’s tab if he had paid and closed it up in advance. “All right, well, this is for you in the meantime.” In my drunken state, I handed her a wad of gildnotes from my pocket, just to get her off my back, to feel the brush of her finger against mine.

  “Thank you, sir,” she said with a bow, and departed.

  I took up my own cup, which Murdoch had filled with liquor, and raised a toast. The others followed. “To friendship. Forever.”

  “Forever,” the other three echoed.

  Then we all tossed back the liquor. Its pungent strength seemed to break the spell of sourness on Tom’s face, replacing it with an astonished cough. “Holy hell, Murdoch,” he said. “That tastes like gasoline.”

  I already felt flash-drunk just from the fumes. I grabbed Tom’s ear, grinning, as I watched his face flush. “Happy New Year, buddy,” I beamed.

  Just as I said it, there was a terrific thud right behind me, through the wicker wall of the tea room I was sitting against. I damn near felt someone’s head and shoulders knock against mine—that’s how flimsy the divider was. Accompanying the bump, I heard the high sound of a woman’s moan of pleasure.

  Proximity to such debauchery, reveling in its ambience while enjoying a bottle of liquor, was one of the many reasons I preferred the intimacy of a tea room to the chaos of the main tavern hall. Pointing a thumb to the wall behind me, I cracked a joke at Tom and Violet’s expense. “That would be you two right now if me and Murdoch hadn’t stormed the gates of the tea room and broken up your little moment.”

  It was not true, of course. They hadn’t considered anything so lewd, not before marriage, as far as we knew. I think I had a good enough sense of Tom to see it in his eyes if he was keeping such adventures from the group.

  There was another thud and another moan. I think it was the man’s that time, though I’m not sure. I would have found it a laugh, except that my expensive cup of Grand Hill Reserve almost spilled across my lap. “Hey, if I waste my drink ’cause of you, you better name that kid after me,” I shouted over my shoulder.

  “I think it’s a songmaid,” said Murdoch, smirking. “You’re not getting any godchildren out of that one.”

  “All the more reason for Tom and Violet to get to work,” I cracked.

  “You know that we both want to do things right,” said Violet. She tolerated the occasional off-color remark from me or from Murdoch, though she never herself participated. It was that priestly disposition that made her take it all with calm.

  “Do things right what? Wait for marriage?” I said, “Shit, let’s marry you right now. Murdoch, how far do you think we need to go to find a priest?”

  I expected him to join in with me in the silliness, but he did not. “Jack,” said Murdoch, “you’re being an ass.”

  “What?” I said. “I’m being a supportive friend. I’m trying to encourage fruitful union of men and women for the glory of Luminous Paxana.”

  “My parents,” Tom started, trepidatious and unsmiling.

  “They’ll cut him off if he marries a common-born orphan,” Violet finished for him.

  “Oh,” I said. I’d heard inklings, rumors of some kind of tension, but I hadn’t known it was so serious. “Oh man, what a joke. Violet, you’re not, I mean, it wasn’t your fault what happened. You’re as good as they come. Your parents were good stock. I mean, hell, them and my folks all went to the same—”

  “Still not lightsmen,” Murdoch interrupted, and it was true. Murdoch was a Wylder, and their people had their own system of clan honorifics to contend with. Violet and I were both run-of-the-mill artisan lowborn Paxanans. Tom, on the other hand, was a descendant of the lightsman knights. His blood carried a certain honor that could easily be diluted with the wrong marital pairing. Still, it pissed me off to think of his meddling parents driving a wedge through something that had proven itself ever so real through five years in school.

  “So what, Tom?” I said. “You’re just going to let your parents push you around?”

  “No,” said Tom. “I’m going to make my own way. Two years at the Army Labs and I can get an engineering staff job, assuming I don’t screw it up. Those pay way more than I’d get from your dad at Paxcorp. Enough to get a house in Paxlight, some servants, start a family. Like Vi said, do things right, even without my own folks chipping in.”

  I swallowed. Two years was a long time. Two years in the National Sorceress Corps sounded even longer, and I hated to think of Violet and Tom apart. “Violet,” I began, perhaps overly generous on behalf of my father in the depths of my drink, “I bet my folks would give you a place on their house staff for the two years. That way you wouldn’t have to enlist.”

  As I said it, I saw a certain seriousness in her eyes, and I wondered if I might have accidentally offended her by asking her in effect to be my servant.

  “I want to make my own way, too,” she said. “The nursing term is four long years, but the sorceress term is only two for apprentices. That’s one of the reasons I’m doing it. And I think I’d be good at it. Shrineborne, our family, we’ve always been connected to Pax ritual. I’d go crazy just waiting around for Tom.”

  The grumpy barmaid came around again, interrupting her. “The matron says to pay soon so she can close up the books for the tea rooms.”

  “All right, all right,” I snapped at her. Having been invested in Violet’s explanation, “All right, jeez, just give me a second.”

  As I said it, a roaring chant swelled from the hall outside. “Ten, nine, eight.” The patrons were counting.

  As I heard the numbers go down, I realized what was upon us, and I rushed to pour another round for my friends.

  “Quick, quick, quick,” said Murdoch. Equally pressed with the urgency of the situation, he helped me distribute the cups as I set down the bottle.

  “Five, four, three,” the yelling grew louder outside.

  We raised up four ceramic cups filled right to the brim with Grandhill, toasting again and only spilling slightly as we did so. “Happy New Year!” the four of us shouted, putting all our troubles aside for that moment of rebirth.

  “To the nation and the emperor,” said Murdoch.

  We all downed the liquor, throwing our heads back. I slammed my cup on the table. “The nation and the emperor,” I said to Murdoch, unused to hearing him speak thus. “Did they drill that into you in officer school?”

  As I asked him, Violet and Tom shared another kiss, gasoline liquor on their breath. Then Vi looked over at me and Murdoch. In an act of feminine mercy, she gave us two bachelors each a kiss on the cheek to ring in the New Year.

  “Murdoch, we really need to find you a girl,” said Tom.

  “I’m all right,” said Murdoch, unreadable.

  “And Jack,” Violet added, “we really need to find you a girl who lasts more than thirty minutes.”

  “What’s the good in that?” I laughed. Then I slumped back, almost felled by the totality of the liquor in my veins. I was vaguely aware of the other three doing the same, with heads and shoulders falling onto pillows of the tea room floor. Silence washed in like a tide as we stared at the ceiling and heard the thumps of the antics nearby.

  “Really, Jack,” said Tom, barely audible in his mumble. “What are you going to do with your life?”

  “Tom, that’s personal,” said Violet, quietly chiding him.

  “He got plenty personal with us,” Tom retorted.

  I didn’t answer, and somewhere to my right I heard Murdoch giggle at a memory. “I still remember ten-year-old Jack coming up to me on the schoolpath bridge, saying, ‘Hey, you look tough. You should stick with me because I’m going to be a great man someday.’ And here we are, a year out of school. Or more. What now?”

  I heard the way he said it, not mean, just honest. He had a point. “What now?” I said back, considering the two words together. Pushing myself back to sitting, I groaned and gathered my resolve. “Now, I’m going to go pay the check for your broke ass, mason-son.”

  Passing revelers, I wandered down the dim tavern hallway until the festivities were behind me. I was close to the stairs, which rose proud and sturdy in an arc going up to the second floor of the structure. Just to my left was the last of the tea rooms. Its sliding panel door was shut, and there was a strip of light shining through the crack from within.

  I paused, swaying, barely present in the world in my liquor delirium. I put my eye near the lighted gap in the doorframe, peering through and, slowly, saw the third of the drunken privates spending his hard-earned enlistment bonus within. He sat against the corner, khaki trousers at his ankles. A black-haired songmaid with ornate hair and an open gownrobe knelt at his knees, her head below his navel.

  The private stared ahead in a daze, glass of beer in hand. Then he saw me and smiled. “Hey, it’s the peeper,” he said, amused. “I guess he really is a peeper after all.”

  The songmaid raised her head and looked at me. I thought she might have been one I had been with before, though at the present moment I couldn’t quite remember. “I’ll be free in twenty minutes, peeper,” she said with a smile.

  In a trance state, I wandered on, not answering. I climbed the wooden stairs, at two times using my hands for balance, and ascended to a dignified landing outside an ornate private room.

  This door was more than ajar. It was mostly open, and inside a whole oval of business magnates was seated around a large wooden table. They were all tuxedoed for the occasion, all male and all middle-aged. This, a plaque beside me announced, was the Lordsuite Room.

  I saw my father near the head of the table, listening intently. The discussion was between two men I knew vaguely as Lowell Rockran of Threewell Group and Ferris Bandy of Tri-Gem Industries. Both were heavy machinery corporations, consortia that could have been construed as rivals to my father’s own employer, Paxcorp. At holiday times, however, they all got together and acted more like friends than enemies.

  “What do you think, Jack?” said Rockran, asking for my father’s input. “Would a war be good for business?”

  I saw my father taking on a diplomatic tone, the kind he used when he wanted to disagree with my mother without starting quarrel. Even with the slight sagginess of his current face, I recognized him at once as the dashing and vital man who had raised me in my childhood. “The light of the Emperor’s dominion over rich land is good for business. War is but one tool in the statecraftsman’s kit to achieve this.”

  “Then what would you have Paxana do, Jack?” asked Clarence Shorston, a government man I only loosely knew was from Cabinet.

  “Uplift the rest of the people of the Sunberth,” said my father, referring to the whole of the East with its old folk name. “Get them to stand with the emperor, know their strength. There are one hundred and fifty million people in the Sunberth Midlands, double our numbers at least. A whole continent just off our west shore, right across the street, wasted in squalor. Imagine tripling our strength, our population, with a union like that.”

  “All peasants,” said Ferris Bandy.

  “As we were just fifty years ago,” my father retorted. “Under the illumination of our emperor now, we could uplift them in only five.”

  “And what if they resist us?” asked Shorston. “What if they don’t want union against the West?”

  A pause dragged on. I started to fear that the barmaid on the first floor was harassing my friends for the money I owed her. “If they resist us,” said my father, “then you can make use of your Army Corps, Mr. Deputy Secretary, and these industry men will finally have their war.”

  At this, we locked eyes through the open door, and my father swallowed. “Excuse me, gentlemen,” he said, and slipped out of the Lordsuite Room to meet me in the dim hall.

  “I trust it’s urgent,” he said, a hand on my shoulder.

  I was surprised by how slurred and hoarse my voice came out as I replied. “I need money for the matron.”

  At this, he began fishing for his wallet in the inside of his tuxedo lining pocket. “How much?”

  “Two hundred notes should do.”

  He paused when he heard the amount. “Did you get songmaids?”

  “No,” I said. “Just food and a bottle.”

  “That’s too much for a well bottle. Don’t let her take advantage of our station, son.”

  “It was a Grandhill Reserve,” I explained. “I let Murdoch pick. He’s back from Paxlight.”

  “The Wylder boy, Murdoch Boll?” asked my father.

  “Yes. He’s a captain in the Integrity Office now.”

  At this, my father looked pleased. I was so relieved to see him pleased and not furious. With a touch of residual sternness, he handed me the banknotes I needed, plus a little more for a tip for the surly barmaid. “Good for him. Was that all, son?”

  “No,” I said, a little shaky at what I was about to say.

  “No?”

  “I changed my mind, Father. About the Deputy Secretary. What you said to me before. I’d like him to try and get me a posting in Paxlight after all.”

  I felt my father sizing me up. I felt him trying to figure out if I was serious or just in the throes of another revelrous whim. “You’re drunk?” he asked.

  “I mean it,” I said back.

  He sighed and took a step back, glancing at the men in the room to see if he was needed.n“With your scores, you won’t do better than assistant to a secretarial assistant.”

  “That’s a fine place to start,” I told him. “You can tell the Deputy Secretary I’m committed. I won’t embarrass him.”

  “What brought this about, Junior?” my father asked. He had been trying to get me to do this for months, and up until that night, I had had none of it.

  I bit my lip, glancing down the stairs, and spoke with honesty. “It was Tom. He reminded me who I’m supposed to be. This is our time. Our nation’s time. I want to be a part of it and actually make something of myself. I don’t just want to sit around town another year.”

  I saw him taking this in, and he patted my shoulder again. “That’s good, son. That’s good. Honor these words with follow-through when you wake up tomorrow afternoon. And show me you’re serious. Happy New Year. You’re right—this is our time. Make me proud.”