I make it halfway to the door before discomfort tugs at my stomach. My eyes slide to the discarded clothes.Order, the feeling demands.Cleanliness. Control.
I pause. Sigh.
I return to pick up the shirt first, then the utility jacket, folding them neatly. As I stoop to retrieve the pants, a slip of paper falls from one of the pockets.
Odd. The parchment looks like it’s been torn out of a book. It’s slightly crushed, folded in half. I’ve never seen it before.
Why are my hands shaking?
I pick up the paper and catch the beginning of a note written in Keller’s sloppy hand.Hey, Lament.
My mouth goes dry. My fingers feel sticky and soft, like dough. I half think I’ve imagined this note, that I must be experiencing some sort of delirium. I fold the paper. Unfold it. The words remain crisp on the page.
I cast around. I can’t read Keller’s note here. This isn’t even my room. It’s not private. But where, then? I briefly entertain the fantasy of taking Moon Dancer and jetting off to some distant planet, but I can’t imagine any planet far enough, any galaxy remote enough, because even if I was alone—the only life-form left in existence—I’d still have to be with myself.
I’m afraid of this letter. I’m afraid of what will become of me if I read it. I should put it back where I found it. Leave it unopened.
But it’s addressed to me.
I sit on the edge of my cot, smooth the page over my thigh, and read Keller’s words.
Hey, Lament,
I don’t want this to come out wrong. That’s why I’m writing it down. I’m no poet or anything, but I don’tthink you need to be one of the great Romothridans to get your point across. As long as you really believe in what you’re saying. As long as you feel it.
I’m feeling a lot right now.
You’re currently unconscious under Illiviamona’s care on The Bargainer. I’ve been here since she cut your shirt away to get to the ape wound, and I saw your scars—the ones from Moon Dancer’s crash. I want to talk to you about it when you wake up, but I think I won’t know how.
I don’t know. It’s possible I wouldn’t even be thinking any of this stuff right now if I hadn’t almost just watched you die. And maybe I’ll crumple this note up and throw it away before you ever read it, because you probably don’t need my emotions all over you anyway. But I feel like I need to get this out.
You once told me I can’t hide anything—that all my emotions show on my face. You must think you’re the opposite. That you can close yourself off, like a painting at a museum partitioned behind a rope. People can look, but they can’t get close enough to see the imperfections. That might seem like a good thing (who wants their flaws on display for every random tourist to gawk at?) but I’m not so sure. It must get lonely, being roped off like that. People may not be able to see the imperfections, but they can’t see the artist’s signature, either.
When I first joined the Sixth, I thought I’d made a mistake. Do you remember the first thing you ever said to me? You told me I didn’t belong here. I was tempted to take that to heart, but I didn’t really understand things then. I didn’t know all the pain you were carrying around. You were such a jerk to me. You made it clear you didn’t want to be partners, didn’t want to get to know each other or work together. But fate or destiny or whatever you want to call it has a way of putting the universe where it’s supposed to be, and I’ve come to know you anyway. I’ve seen your signature.
I want you to know I think you’re beautiful. I’ve always thought so, and Moon Dancer’s crash changes nothing. So yeah. Take that for what it is.
But it’s more than that, actually. You’re a good person. You’re smart to the point of absurdity. You care about the truth, and you’ll always do what you think is right, even if it means sacrificing yourself in the process.
If I’m ever in your position, I hope I’ll have the courage to make the same decisions. To choose the greater good.
A selfish part of me is thankful you were attacked by that ape. It means I get to see yet another layer of what makes you who you are. Soon, you’re going to wake up, and maybe things will be different between us, and maybe they won’t, but either way, Iwant you to know I’m glad I was chosen to be your partner.
I hope you’re glad, too.
Keller
It feels like my legs have been cut out from under me. I can’t breathe. I can’t see. I slump forward, bury my head in my hands. The sounds coming out of me are not human. They’re barely even animal. I try to make the noises stop, but I feel like I’m drowning, like I want to drown. I cry as hard as I can and it is nothelping, nothing ishelping, because Keller is dead and I’m here without him, and it’s my fault for not stopping him, not giving him a reason to stop, not being a good enough reason—
Arms come around my shoulders. I didn’t hear Vera enter, but suddenly she’s here, wrapping me up in a tight embrace and murmuring soothing things. I look up to see Jester beside her, and Toph, and Avi, and everyone. They pile around me, cocooning me, trying to lend me their strength.
I want to tell them to stop. Or never stop. Or no, stop. Because they can’t help. Because sometimes when we’re all together like this, my grief feels magnified. I see the absence of Keller in their red eyes, their stricken faces, and it makes me want to tear out my own heart.
I can’t think of how to say any of this in a way that won’t scare them. I don’t want to scare them. So I let my team huddle closer, and close my eyes, and let the pain unfold.
Keller’s memorial service is well attended. The Legion originally wanted to host it on Planet Venthros, but the citizens are still dealing with the post-eruption crisis, and anyway, it would be wrong to demand more of a planet that’s already been through so much. Instead, the service is held on Planet Uru, on the grounds of ARCAN Aviation Academy.
I don’t know how the full story got out. Maybe it’s being covered on Galaxy One (NewsNet’s non-Determinist rival that surged in popularity after NewsNet’s recent downfall). Or maybe the story spread some other way. I wouldn’t know. I haven’t been paying attention. Regardless, it’s been five days since the eruption, and the entire galaxy seems to know exactly what happened to Ran Doc Min and the Determinists. How Doc Min fabricated FPS, planted voroxide inside Mount Kilmon, and tried to use his neutralizer to force loyalty pledges and take over the galaxy. The Sixth uncovered his plan and attempted to steal the neutralizer but failed. Then the Sixth’s gunner realized he could save Venthros by destroying the gas capsule inside the Determinists’ altered heat collector, but not before it was too late to escape himself. He sacrificed his life to spare the Venthrothians. He’s being celebrated as a hero.
