#global command

Numbuh 78 had argued long and hard against the decision. But at last the day had arrived she was to be reassigned to Arctic Base—whether she liked it or not.

She sulked moodily while she took her belongings out of closets and drawers in her room, packing up her life's contents one at a time for transport away from New Orleans and Sector X.

Arctic Base. They were sending her to Arctic Base. Officially her new title was Drill Sergeant Minor, seeing as the new Drill Sergeant Supreme really needed one. Why Numbuh Five had chosen Wallabee Beetles for the Academy job when the guy couldn't babysit a goldfish without another person maintaining emergency veto power was beyond Numbuh 78, but someone needed to be there to keep him from killing the poor cadets, and she found herself landed with an unwanted mid-year reassignment.

Her duties didn't stop at Drill Sergeant Minor. Numbuh Five had made it clear that though Numbuh Four would be running the show at Arctic Base in all but technicality (and probably throwing his weight around, too), he had not been given the dual title of Sector Commander for Kids Next Door Arctic Base. Numbuh 78 held that title in his stead. For all she disagreed with her Supreme Commander on too many topics to count, this time Numbuhs 78 and Five were in full agreement. Having the final say out of Numbuh Four's hands running a place that big was definitely nonnegotiable.

She was interrupted from her task by a knock at the door.

"Uh…Commander?"

She glanced over. At the sound of her second-in-command's voice, she felt the unexpected pressure of tears building behind her eyes without any prompting necessary. "Hey," she said brusquely to Numbuh 34, and fought back the odd impulse to cry.

From the doorway, their soon-to-be Sector Leader grinned sheepishly and stepped sideways a bit, revealing a morose Numbuh Ten to Midnight hovering behind him. A few other familiar faces from Sector X peeked out from the hallway, though Numbuh 78 was predictably disappointed not to see Numbuh 42.

"We came to see if you needed any help," Numbuh 34 said. He folded his arms even though it didn't cover up how awkward the offer sounded, as none of them were the type to exactly hug it out or spend time on big goodbyes. "With, you know, packing. Pretty big job title you're heading to."

"It is bitterly cold in the Arctic Circle…" Numbuh Ten to Midnight said ominously in his trademark mystical-guru affectation. With a hand he pulled up the hood of his long black cloak, probably hoping Angeline hadn't seen any dried tear tracks on his pockmarked, pasty face. "You should pack extra sweaters and protective talismans to keep from catching the region's deadly 'Antarctic Hypothermic Madness'~!"

"Trust me, I'm already plenty mad," Numbuh 78 said moodily, brushing off Ten to Midnight's warnings as the nonsense it was. "…And thanks for the offer, guys, but it's fine. I mean, I wasn't gonna fold my clothes or do anything fancy. I'm gonna have to wear a jacket over it when I get there. Is Numbuh 42 still in his room?"

"Still his room. Still crying," Numbuh 34 said, expression turning exasperated if a bit sad. For all the youngest member of Sector X liked to make Numbuh 34's existence as much of a chore as humanly (or inhumanly) possible and treated the older operative like a very taken-for-granted sibling, there was fondness there that Numbuh 34 couldn't hide. "He, uh, stopped calling you a 'mean lying leaving-face,' though."

Numbuh 78 laughed. Without warning she felt tears prickling again at her eyes and once again pushed them back down. Sector X was obviously affected by the Supreme Leader's giving Angeline the promotion, but Numbuh 42 was taking things the hardest. The six-year-old had been whining and crying for three days straight and hadn't run off to hunt for some trinket sacred to nerd lore in all that time, which was a new record and longer than anyone in the betting pool thought his attention span could last.

"I'll talk to the kid before I go," Numbuh 78 promised wearily. Numbuh 42 was sensitive, and a space cadet. They were all used to having to baby him.

She leaned up against a stack of boxes with a sigh and stared at the floor. "Wish I was leaving for better reasons," she continued. "But it'd be a bad idea to let a bully like Numbuh Four run the Academy by himself. If he treated new recruits anything like he treats Numbuh 42 and Ten-to-Dorknight back there–"

"I resent thaaat~"

"–then we'd have a big problem in the KND." Thinking of Numbuh Four's treatment of her dorky teammates (even they didn't deserve that degree of manhandling), Angeline clenched her hand into a fist, irritated. But she stopped herself from getting too worked up before she let it go. Letting things go had been her first life lesson from the Bayou, where there was too much craziness to properly have a meltdown over any old novelty like fear or rage or sadness or wondering what species of swamp nerd was infesting the thirtieth sublevel of the treehouse.

"Now remember all the stuff I told you," she warned Numbuh 34 one last time, trying to remember if there was anything she'd forgotten to mention in outlining her—now his—responsibilities as head of Sector X. "You know where the data's saved for our treehouse's Martis Gras contingency plans in case of an emergency, right?"

"Yes sir, boss."

"And you're up to date on Friday the thirteenth drills for next month?"

"I am."

"Good." Numbuh 78 stepped away from the boxes she'd been leaning on and picked up a stray purple dress from the floor of her closet, closing her eyes and looking away from the door. She didn't want the boys to see her shed the odd tear or two that was coming through despite her vow not to cry.

Angeline had never imagined, on being made Sector Leader over a year ago, that this circus-like treehouse of werenerds and white boys would ever become the place that felt most like home. Let alone where she would find the hopeless, incapable children she considered her closest friends.

Yes, even Numbuh 42, who'd left her at the mercy of rabid Doctor Time-Space fans on several occasions for Yipper and was known to wander into traffic after pennies.

"…You know, I hate to say it," Numbuh 78 said quietly, "but I'm really gonna miss this place."

Numbuh 34 finally stepped fully into the room and approached her. He placed hand on her shoulder and gave her a look that was somehow reassuring even though it wasn't much different from his habitual scowl.

He didn't have to say the obvious—that of course her stupid assembly of swamp dwellers would miss her too. That they had maybe never appreciated how much they valued her until she was going to leave.

"You know, boss," he offered, after a moment of silence, eyeing the leaky, constantly-in-disrepair treehouse surrounding them, "I hear they have hot water down at the Arctic Treehouse. And plumbing that doesn't leak through the floors and working elevators–"