Lament’s eyes flick to me. “Not possible.”
“Why not?”
I wince. “My ray gun might have… mangled it a bit.”
“Hartman’s carrying a 20–88 Blaster,” Lament clarifies. “As in, a gun that was minted before they invented automatic target volume adjustments. I didn’t realize that in the moment and let off a full blast.”
I cover the hilt with a protective hand. “That’s not the gun’s fault.”
“Really?” He squares off, already geared up again. “Why do you even have that thing? It’s ancient.”
“An heirloom.”
“It belongs in a junkyard.”
“It belongs on my hip.”
“It could hurt someone.”
“It’s agun,” I exclaim. “Of course it could hurt someone.”
We glare at each other. Yes, my ray gun is old. Finicky, even, with a permanent black singe around the muzzle and a trigger that clicks. Its beam is green, which is less stylish than the more modern blue or red, and its loading lights are broken so you can’t ever tell when it’s fully charged. The Legion has already tried to replace it—they’ve shipped me at least three upgrades—but I’ve had this gun since before the Academy. Since before I even knew I wanted to join the Academy. It’s never failed me.
“Regardless,” Vera interrupts. “Even if investigating the raptor colony on Purvuva wasn’t a long shot—and I hate to say it, Lament, but it really is—I don’t think leaving right now is the best idea.”
Lament’s attention shifts back to her. “Why not?”
“Because you already have a red card on your file, and taking off on an unapproved mission in the middle of the night seems like a good way to earn another.”
“Wait,” I blurt. “Lament has a red card?”
Lament’s jaw ticks. “Don’t look so surprised.”
“I just… red cards are kind of serious.”
“Thank you for that observation.”
“But”—it’s like my mouth has detached from my brain and is now hellbent on sabotage—“why?”
“That’s really none of your business.”
I continue to stare. Red cards are part of the Legion’s disciplinary system, and they’re not handed out lightly. It’s possible to have the card removed from your file with good behavior, but if you get two in a row,you’re grounded from future spaceflights until you knock one down, and if you get three, you’re kicked out of the Legion. Like, forever.
Lament’s eyes return to Vera. “This is the best lead—theonlylead—we’ve had since the accident. What am I supposed to do? Let it go?”
“We could report it.”
He gives a hard laugh. “To who? Sergeant Forst? You know we can’t trust the Legion to investigate this themselves.”
“No, you’re right, it’s just…” Vera grimaces. “This doesn’t change the fact you should be keeping your head down right now, and I just think rushing off to Purvuva isn’t the way to do that, especially when it’s not going to lead anywhere.”
“Not going to lead—?” Lament’s expression hardens. “How can you say that?”
“He’s gone.” Vera’s voice comes out strangled. “Bast is gone, Lament, and going on this… this wild goose chase isn’t going to bring him back.”
Lament flinches. “You don’t understand.”
“I understand you’re not thinking clearly. I understand things have been so hard—”
