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forbidden by Army Command Policy. Lo had fucked up, and being forced to wear his body armor was related to the way in which he’d fucked up. But Lo’s real deficiency was being stupid—his nickname was “Low-Q.” And when would that be overcome? Montauk felt bad for Lo, but he didn’t want to undercut Nguyen’s authority, which would be bad for Nguyen and bad for Montauk, who would likely lose Nguyen’s respect. He needed Olaf’s advice, but even more, he wanted to be able to handle this by himself.
    Montauk finished cleaning his weapon and signaled for Nguyen to step into the hallway with him. Before Nguyen could speak, Montauk said, “I know what Lo did. I’m just . . . concerned. That maybe you’re having too much fun.”
    â€œSir, I’m looking out for him. Our mothers go to the same church in Tacoma. If he fucks up here, no big deal. I just don’t want him to fuck up when it counts.”
    Montauk nodded. He followed Nguyen back into the classroom, scolding himself for being so soft, for acting like a camp counselor instead of a platoon leader.
    Each soldier continued to work as fast as he could, first on his own weapon and then on the squads’ as Olaufsson moved from table to table, giving a thumbs-up or -down. No one went home until it was all done. It was a social system of intense peer pressure. After all, survival in the field was a collective task, not an individual one. Get through as a group or get fucked up as a group.
    It was late afternoon by the time the arms room was locked up and Montauk had dismissed his platoon. The thirty-six of them were supposed to feel like a large family, of which Montauk was ostensibly the patriarch. But next to Olaf, he felt more like a middle sibling who was in charge only because he was Captain Byrd’s favorite. He hoped thatwould change when he deployed, when there’d be more to think about than the monotony of weapons cleaning.
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    Montauk found Mani in her pajamas, lying on the couch napping, her sketchpad on the floor. She sat up, yawned, and said hi.
    â€œHow long have you been sleeping?” he asked.
    â€œI don’t know. A while.”
    â€œGet up. Put some clothes on. We’re going out.”
    â€œNo thanks.”
    â€œC’mon, I’ll buy you a drink.” Montauk stared at her until she sighed and lifted herself off the couch.
    She moved slowly down the tree-lined street; thankfully, the Canterbury was only three blocks from the Encyclopad.
    Montauk held open the door as Mani crutched her way inside. “See?” he said. “How hard was that?” They were greeted by a suit of armor with a sign around its neck that read, “Seat Thyself.” They did, at a dimly lit table near the fireplace. Montauk ordered them both Long Islands. He almost ordered three, as if Hal were back at the table, sitting next to Mani.
    â€œGood, right?” he said after they’d each taken a sip.
    â€œCould use more lemon,” Mani said.
    â€œGetting out of the house, I mean. Doing something. Here.” Montauk gave Mani his lemon.
    She squeezed it into her drink. “This is your idea of doing something?” She smirked.
    â€œI know it’s not as exciting as lying in your pajamas all day, but yeah, this is doing something. I bet you haven’t showered in, what, four days?”
    â€œThree,” Mani said.
    If Montauk had gone unshowered that long, he would have been rank as a Greyhound bathroom. Somehow, Mani only became more desirable. Her hair was lustrous; she moved in an invisible cloud of woman-smell. “That’s something, I guess. How’s the art coming?”
    Mani shrugged. “Feels like I’m going through the motions. Drawing just for something to do.”
    Montauk looked at her skeptically.
    â€œYou know, like sometimes you’re fixated on something, it’s urgent, it demands your