“I’m the one who repaired Moon Dancer—”
“We all repaired her.”
“I did most of the mechanical work. I cleared her to fly.”
My chest is constricting because I know where this is going. Lament will say today’s disaster proves his point—that it’s not safe for us to fly together. He’ll tell me in that godforsaken monotone that he regrets it, that he should never have allowed it. Though Lament has shuttered his expression, I can feel the truth in the slight quiver of his hand on my wrist, see it in the hard set of his mouth.
He’s terrified. This is too much like what happened to Bast. It’s all his worst nightmares reanimated.
“You saved my life today,” I say. “If you hadn’t come for me, I would have died on that ship.”
“And then I nearly got you killed again.”
“I was the one who got myself captured. Hell, I was the one who insisted on infiltrating The Parallax in the first place. You can’t take the blame for that.”
He releases my arm and opens the cockpit, letting in a swirl of dusty air. “I’m accepting responsibility for the mistakes that occurred within my domain of duty.”
“You’re not accepting responsibility,” I plead in a tone that is beginning to sound suspiciously like anger. “You’re internalizing the mishap like it’s some sort of character flaw.”
He pauses with one leg over the in-slit. “What isthatsupposed to mean?”
“It means exactly what it sounds like. You think you can control everything, like being in control means nothing bad will ever happen, and when something baddoeshappen, you use it as proof that you weren’t trying hard enough, or being smart enough, or paying enough attention. You line your toiletries up at right angles. The clothes hangers in your closet are all spaced at perfect intervals. Have you ever seen your handwriting? It looks like a typewriter, and it takes you twice as long to take notes because you have to make every letter exact.”
Lament’s eyes narrow. “I’m not sure I want to hear this.”
“Too bad.” I kneel on the gunner’s seat, get my face close to his. The wind is rattling through the opening, tugging at my clothes, tossing Lament’s hair across his mouth. “You think you’ve hidden yourself away,” I say, “but you’re wrong about that, too. You’re not perfect, Lament. You don’t have to be. Mistakes happen. Sometimes they’re even your fault. But we talked about this. It’s not healthy or fair for you to shut down every time something goes wrong.”
“I don’t—”
“Youdo,” I snap. “You’re doing it now. But we’re partners, okay? Andthat—” I’m breathing like I just ran a mile. The other Sixers are almost here. “That means something.”
Lament stares at me for a long moment. I hold my breath, hoping maybe some of what I’m saying is getting through to him. Only then—surprise, surprise—he clenches his jaw, turns, and climbs out of Moon Dancer without another word.
Vera gets to us first, throwing her arms around Lament’s neck with enough force to make him stumble. “Youstupid—” She’s sobbing. Like, full-on, snot-in-her-nose, tears-down-her-face sobbing. “Don’t youever—you can’tscare melike—you absolutejerk.”
Lament doesn’t look particularly surprised by this assault. He leans into Vera, wrapping long arms around her and hugging her back.
“I thought you were dead,” Vera continues in broken tones. “I really thought—like,dead.” She breaks away from Lament and pulls me in next. Her grip is viselike. Her entire body is trembling. The other Sixers huddle around, offering nods and murmured sympathies. Master Ira is there as well, fitting into our group oddly well for a non-Legion seventy-something-year-old who’s just been rescued from the clutches of a villain.
“I hate both of you,” Vera announces when she releases me. “I really—oh, I can’t even look at you.” With a final toss of her hands, she storms away.
What happened back there?Jester asks, watching his partner stomp up The Bargainer’s ramp and vanish into its hold.One moment, you were right behind us, and then you weren’t.
“Vera says your hyperspeed button jammed?” Toph prompts.
I try to exchange a look with Lament, but his gaze is on the ship. “Yeah,” I reply.
“And you got it to… un-jam?”
“I smashed it with my gun.”
Avi—who’d been poking Master Ira like a suspicious new food she isn’t sure she likes—swings her head around and beams, which has somewhatof a madwoman effect on account of her missing eyebrows. “Itoldyou that would work.”
Together, we make our way toward The Bargainer, exchanging moreAre you okays?andYeah, I’m fines. Lament links up with Jester, asking something about the risk of enemy tracking locaters while I trail behind them like a lost duckling. Then—deciding I do in fact still possess some dignity—I hang back, drawing even with Master Ira.
Under the late Purvuva sun, I can see just how much weight my old mentor has lost. Where there used to be full cheeks and laugh lines, now there are just lines, deep and tired, digging channels around his eyes and mouth. His hair is thinner, but it’s also grown out, meaning his topknot looks sort of like a scarecrow in a cornfield. His clothes are worn to holes.
“Are you…?” I start, uncertain exactly how to ask the question without sounding like an ass.
