“Shouldn’t I be the judge of that?”
“No.”
Lament starts to move past me, abandoning his PPM on the counter. And great, now he’s missing meals because of me. I snag the box and hold it out, a peace offering. “All right, hey, all right. I get that you and Beckly have… secrets.” The word tastes like poison. I want to tear out my own windpipe. “That’s your right. I can respect that.”
Lament folds his arms even tighter, revealing the divots of sinew over the bones in his hands. “Big of you.”
“At least tell me this,” I plead. “Are you sure we can trust him?”
“You’d better hope so,” Lament says as he takes the PPM and slips past me, “since I just told him our entire plan.”
I let him go. I have nothing to say that he wants to hear, either.
I find Master Ira sitting on a large rock outside The Bargainer. He’s wearing a spare set of Caspen’s clothes (his old ones were filthy beyond hope), and he’s facing the direction of Planet Venthros, looking up at the sky. It’s midday. Sunny. It’s always sunny on Purvuva.
“I want you to know,” he says without looking at me, “I never learned the reason your mother left you at my school. I rarely do, with the kids. If I’d been aware of the truth, I would have told you.”
I join him on the rock. It’s flat enough to make for a comfortable seat, warm against the back of my legs. “I know.”
Silence settles over us. I try to enjoy the warmth. The rare absence of Purvuva wind. But I’m too distracted to stay silent for long.
“You’ve seen our plan,” I begin. “How we’re going to steal the Determinists’ neutralizer.”
“I have.”
“Do you think it’ll work?”
He’s still looking at the sky. “Yes, Keller, I think it could.”
“But there’s a chance it won’t.”
He drops his eyes to mine. They’re the same as they’ve always been, black but not dark, searching, honest. I can picture him as he once was, in the dining room at the children’s home, or in the garden. The memories come back stronger than I would have expected, details I hadn’t even noticed at the time, the fire-oven smell of the kitchen, the way sunlight fell in fat orange strips across the floor. Murals on every surface. Flowers in all the pots.
Master Ira tips his head. “Did you want to ask me something?”
I glance at The Bargainer parked on the bluff. The exterior is coated in a film of sand, and the windows too, so when you’re inside everything seems muted. I think of Lament sitting in that filtered light. How strained things have been between us, how difficult it is to look at him. Looking at him is like looking at everything I can’t have. But he’s still wearing my lifestone.
“Yes,” I say. This is difficult, too. As soon as I speak, Master Ira will knowexactly what I’m asking, and why. “I’d like you to tell me what you told Ran Doc Min. About Mount Kilmon’s tunnels.”
And I’m right. I see understanding flare in the Master’s black eyes. When he starts to give his answer, though, he doesn’t sound surprised.
We talk long and late.
The days slip by. I try not to think too much—not about our mission plan or Lament or everything that could go wrong—but it doesn’t seem to be helping. Not thinking just means my anxiety has nowhere to land, so I’m stuck in this loop of meaningless foreboding and distraction. And then there’s thatotherthing—the subject I discussed with Master Ira—that I definitely don’t want to think about. Likely, I won’t ever make use of what he told me. If things go to plan, I can forget that conversation ever happened. But I’m worried Lament might read it on my face anyway (if he ever starts looking at me again). I’m worried I’ll give it all away.
I catch my reflection in The Bargainer’s warped bathroom mirror and hunt for it—a secret, that hint of something more—in the tired lines around my eyes, my jaw, my hair that needs a cut. I don’t find it. I’m not sure I find anything.
I thought I’d finally gotten a handle on who I am and where I belong, but Rudy and the museum and The Parallax and Bast’s death have messed it all up again. I watch Jester chewing his favorite sour gummies, futzing with the command center’s main monitor until NewsNet appears on the screen. I see Avi arguing with Toph about alternate endings forHippie Days, the Youvu Hums trying to have a conversation that’s not in unison. My heart twists. I want things to go back to the way they were, back when I was still new to the Sixth and my future held nothing but hope.
Venthros, though. I really think we can save it. Our plan is wild, but we’re the Sixth. The best fleet in the Legion, so they say, the most highly skilled unit in the galaxy. Each of us was hand-chosen for our talents, and we’ve spent our lives mastering our respective fields. I can only hope it’ll be enough.
I’ve taken to watching NewsNet in my free time. Nine days before the eruption, the Determinists send an A-Line cargo freighter to Venthros. It lands in the same field we once did, just south of Soto. Inside the ship are millions of doses of Ran Doc Min’s neutralizer, which will be packed onto smaller flight pods and flown around the planet. Determinists are preparing distribution centers where they’ll receive the pods and pass them out to the general public. And bygeneral public, I mean anyone who pledges loyalty to Ran Doc Min. The centers aren’t open yet, but lines are already forming in front of them, people fighting for their spot in the queue, camping out to ensure they have a chance to make their pledge and get their dose.
I assumed the pledges would be straightforward verbal ones, but of course Ran Doc Min isn’t making it that easy. I watch a NewsNet correspondent (a young woman with a slick bob named Vivian Mercelli) report from the ground, explaining how Determinist workers will inject Venthrothians with intravenous lie detectors before they speak their pledges. The serum exacerbates typical symptoms of lying (elevated heart rate, dry mouth, sweating), making it obvious who is truly committing to the movement and who is not. Those found faking their oaths will be sent away without the neutralizer. In all her enthusiastic reporting, Mercelli conveniently fails to mention that intravenous lie detectors are illegal.
I pass Lament in the halls and in the control center. We’re not really speaking, not about anything that doesn’t directly pertain to the mission. At night in our shared cot, we pretend not to notice each other. I don’t know what to say to him. I have no idea how to make this better.
Three nights before the eruption, we pass each other again. Lock eyes. Look away.
