“Vera,” she says by way of introduction, shaking my hand with none ofLament’s hesitation. “And this is Jester.” He gives a salute. “We’re absolutely tickled to meet you.”
“Vera.” Lament pinches the bridge of his nose. “You can’t be one of the fiercest aviators in the Legion and say things liketickled.”
“On the contrary, being a fierce aviator gives me the right to speak however I please.” She’s practically vibrating with energy, popping up and down on her toes. “For example, I might comment on how rude you’re being, keeping your new gunner all to yourself. Were you planning on introducing us?”
Lament stiffens. “I don’t have a new gunner.”
“Of course you do. He’s standing right there.”
“I’ve spoken to Sergeant Forst—”
“Who told you to play nice,” Vera cuts in.
“This,” Lament replies coldly, “is not a game.”
He speaks like he’s in a theater performance, all proper posture and enunciated syllables. I notice my own posture, which is still kind of slumped over my sandwich and further hunched with defensiveness. I try my best to straighten, even though doing so feels like I’m giving in in some way, or maybe giving somethingaway, some piece of myself I didn’t realize I wanted to hold on to. It’s a confusing thought, punctuated by the fact that Lament clearly wants nothing to do with me.
Vera remains unfazed. “You’re right. Protecting the galaxy is serious business. Why don’t you start by showing Keller the flight deck?”
“No.”
“Or you could see him to his room?”
“He’s already found his room.” Lament’s eyes slice to me. “He’s even unpacked histhings.”
This time, there’s no mistaking my humiliation for anger. I drop my gaze to my shoes, wishing the floor would do the decent thing and swallow me whole.
“Lament.” Vera’s sigh is resigned. “Let’s not do this?”
“Agreed,” he clips. “Let’s not.” And then—without trying to defend himself, without even offering an excuse—he spins on his heel and strides out of the kitchen.
I watch his retreating figure, the narrow hips, straight spine. His hair is longish and combed back. His boots tap a sharp rhythm as he disappears through the sliding door.
“Don’t let him get to you,” Vera says with a sympathetic smile. “Lament can be like this sometimes.”
He’ll come around, Jester agrees, the words scrolling red across the shiny black screen of his visor.He just needs time.
“I… yeah. Okay.” I set the sandwich back onto the counter with more care than is strictly necessary, using the extra moment to arrange my face into something less obviously wounded. I know Lament just lost his former gunner in a space-related accident, which is the only reason the spot opened for me. And I get that maybe the death of his friend is still raw, that it probably grates seeing me standing here ready to act as his replacement. But Lament’s attitude sucks.
Vera waits until I turn back around before nudging me with an elbow. “Have you explored much of Skyhub yet?”
“Not yet.” The spacecraft that brought me here landed on the Sixth’s private flight deck, so I haven’t had a chance to see the greater arena that is Skyhub Space Station.
“Come on, then.” Her smile changes, regaining some of its former enthusiasm. “Jest and I will show you around, if you’re up for it?”
I appreciate her tacking on that last bit, like she understands I might just want to slink back to my new room and bury my head under a pillow. Which, yeah, I do want that. But I think of Master Ira, and my origin planet Venthros, and everything I’ve sacrificed to be here. All the things I’m still hoping to find. I’ve dreamed of this day foryears. It’s not just the prospect of running kick-ass missions or handling top-of-the-line artillery (though I’m itching to get my hands on one of the Legion’s famed Halobringers). It’s not even the idea that I’ll be standing among heroes, that I maybe even havethe chance to become a hero. A fleet is like a family, and a detachment like a home. It’s here between these walls that the ten members of the Sixth drink their coffee, take their orders, celebrate wins, and mourn losses. They belong together. They’d do anything for each other.
I want to be part of that. Sometimes, I want it so badly I can hardly breathe.
And I’m close. So close it doesn’t even seem real. Newly graduated cadets rarely manage to snag a spot in the Legion straight out of training, let alone in the most famed fleet in the galaxy. Young gunners like me usually enter the civilian workforce first, gain experience, climb their way up. The fact that I’m here—hell, that I wasrecruited—is so unlikely it might as well be planetary alignment. Which is all to say that this day means something, and I can’t let one grumpy maybe-not-even flight partner ruin it for me.
I give Vera and Jester my best smile. “Let’s do it.”
02
Thirty minutes later, I’mstanding in a packed bar holding a sealed beaker of what appears to be green sludge, alone, with no idea how to drink it, or really what I’m even doing.
Vera and Jester haven’t abandoned me, I don’t think. They ordered us a round of the green beakers, then realized they required a needle (for what purpose, I was afraid to ask) and bolted off to find one, leaving me standing in the center of this bar on Skyhub Space Station feeling both out of my element and a little starry-eyed.
