My lungs are full of glue. My mouth is a sandpit. I almost can’t help myself from blurting,You should have come to me, you can always come to me for advice—
“… about Hartman,” Lament finishes.
Wait.
Excuse me?
“I asked about… things.” Lament continues, turning farther away so that I’m staring at the full width of his back, “And you told me to do what Mira did back when you two first became partners.”
There’s a pause on Beckly’s end. He must be moving around, because I hear muffled shuffling. “He’s there right now, isn’t he?”
“Yes.” Lament glances at me. “Looking ready to tear this handheld from my grip, in fact.”
I blink back into my body. And… he’s kind of right. I didn’t exactly mean to, but I’ve crept up behind Lament and am now sort of leaning menacingly over his shoulder like an ax murderer in a horror movie. I take an embarrassed step back, even as I want to demand to know what the hell they’re talking about. Lament asked Beckly Van something about me?Adviceabout me? That was apparently so sensitive he can’t speak of it aloud?
“All right,” Beckly replies, blowing out a breath. “I believe it’s you. But whereareyou? The Legion released an internal statement this morning saying your fleet went AWOL. Then they called our forces out of Venthros and ordered us to remain within our detachments until further notice.”
Lament’s brows make sharp little arches. “They put you on lockdown? Did they say why?”
“No!” I can hear Beckly’s frustration, the stress in his voice. “Mount Kilmon is set to erupt in less than two weeks. We’re supposed to be evacuating the Venthrothians, but the Legion has scrubbed the mission without explanation, and now our sergeant—Sergeant McLean—is talking aboutdisobeying the Legion’s order, which is sostrangefor him, and I think there’s something going on here…”
“Van, I need you to listen to me.” Lament drops his voice. “Doc Min’s simulation is a hoax.”
Beckly pauses again, longer this time. “It’s… what?”
“The Determinists have been planting operatives inside the Legion. That’s why you’ve been called off the mission.”
“All right,” Beckly says, then gives a strained laugh. “Wait, no. I’m so lost. You’re going to have to start from the beginning.”
Lament does. He launches into an abbreviated version of events, starting with Ran Doc Min’s voroxide and ending with the neutralizer. “Doc Min plans to stop the Legion from interfering with Mount Kilmon’s eruption so he can have full control over who lives and who dies,” he finishes. “It’s the crux of his plot.”
“But…” Beckly sounds like he’s speaking through a straw. “But that’sridiculous. The Legion can’t give in to the whims of a villain. We’re supposed to protect the galaxyagainstvillains!”
“And we will,” Lament says, meeting my eye again. I wait. He tells Beckly: “Here’s what I need you to do.”
“What was all that about asking Beckly for advice?” I ask Lament almost as soon as he’s off the line.
Lament opens The Bargainer’s pantry (which is really just a storage space stuffed with PPMs) and looks through the pile of brown boxes until he finds one labeledvegan. He pulls it out and hefts it in his hands like he wants to put something between us. “Nothing.”
“You said it was about me.”
There’s an emotion in Lament’s face I can’t read. A pause or a look. A wariness. “So?”
“So, I think I should know what it was.”
“I wanted advice on how to deal with a partner when they’re being stubborn.”
I roll my eyes. “That makes two of us.”
“It wasn’t important.”
“But it wasabout me,” I emphasize.
Lament sets the PPM on the counter, crossing his arms so tightly it looks like he’s hugging himself. “You said that already.”
This isn’t going well. I told myself I’d give Lament the space he needs, that I wouldn’t push or prod or force him to assure me that we’re okay, that he doesn’t blame me for what happened to Bast, that these last two days haven’t ruined any chance for us to be… whatever we were going to be. Yet here I am, boxing him in this tiny kitchen, demanding he give me more. I rarely think about the size difference between us, but it’s obvious now, magnified here in this narrow space: how easily I could block his way out, how few options he’d have if I did. We’re almost the same height, but he’s slender, lighter, all bones and skin. I’m acting like a brute again, but I can’t make myself stop. “You’re really not going to tell me?”
“Maybe it isn’t something you want to hear,” he says.
