It’s only then that it clicks. “Wait. Bast Vinicchi. You’re not saying he’s one ofthoseVinicchis? As in, Vinicchi Power?”
“His family invented the Grid.”
The system most planets use to collect energy and power their cities. The Vinicchi family is old, large, impossibly wealthy. They live on a hybrid spaceship-moon separated from the rest of society and tend to stay out of the public eye, interacting only with each other and their closest allies. Rumor has it that the Vinicchis have been secluded for so long, they’ve evolved into an entirely separate species, with their own genetic code and language and lifespan. I knew Bast’s last name was Vinicchi, but I had no idea he was aVinicchi. I’m burning with a million questions. “Why did Bast become a gunner? His family founded, like, the wealthiest empire in the galaxy.”
Lament’s face is perfectly expressionless when he says, “He did it for me.”
“Oh.” I fumble. “I didn’t…”
“It’s okay.” Lament runs his palm along Moon Dancer’s body like it’s a living creature. “Bast and my parents were close friends. The Vinicchis don’t really mix with outsiders, but my dad owns the tethium mines on Planet Urporator, and the Vinicchis need tethium to make their Grid chips. They were business partners first, and they have nothing in common, but you know what they say about opposites. Bast and I were born in the same year. We grew up together. I’m not just talking holidays and joint family vacations. I mean, I spent as much time at his house as I did at my own. When I said I wanted to join the Legion, he tried to talk me out of it. We didn’t have to work for a living—his inheritance would have taken care of us—but I never could have been happy living an idle life, and the Vinicchis are…”
“Intimidating?” I offer.
“Oppressive,” he corrects. “Accepting their money—their lifestyle— would have come at a cost I wasn’t willing to pay. But Bast didn’t want me to join the Legion alone. He said if I was going to be one of those idiots fighting for the galaxy, I might as well have a good gunner to protect me. We attended a private prep school together, one for underage recruits who want to fast-track to the Legion. It was competitive, it cost a fortune, and it washard. But we had each other. We graduated a year early.”
“Were you two, um… you know.” I flap my hand around, wishing I could learn how to think before opening my stupid mouth.
“Were we what?”
“Together?” I squeak.
“No.” His eyes are faraway. “We weren’t together.”
Which kind of makes it sound like Lamentwantedthem to be together. Also, he said Bast’s inheritance would have taken care of them. So, like, what, as friends? But I’ve already reached my daily allotment for insensitive questions, so I change the subject. “Why aren’t the Vinicchis investigating Bast’s death?”
“They’re Determinists,” he replies without inflection. “They believe his death was written.”
“That’s … wow.”
“I tried asking for their help, but they’re worse than Sergeant Forst. It’s like their wealth has completely detached them from reality. They don’t feel things like normal people do. I’m not even sure they really understand what death means. What Bast’s death means. It’s too abstract. They had—” He grimaces. “They had a hologram of Bast installed in their home after his death. It walks around, looking and talking just like the real-life Bast, and it’s just, it’s so…”
“Fucked-up,” I supply, with vehemence. “It’s completely fucked-up.”
“Yes.”
We fall quiet. I tap the wing again to bring back that deep ringing.Something to fill the silence. “It’s a shame about Moon Dancer,” I say. “Since, you know, she’s destroyed.”
“Not for much longer.” Some of his eagerness seems to return. “The damage is extensive, but it’s mainly body work. I’ve been studying up on repairs. She’s fixable.”
“No shit?”
“I ordered a compounder from a body shop in The Hub. The owner, Archmon, is an old friend, and I trust him to get it to me discreetly. That’s the tool I’ll need to re-form the zurillium body. As for the interior mechanics, I’ve already made good progress. She runs, and the safety systems are back in place. Now it’s just a matter of finishing her exterior and getting her off the ground.”
I like Lament when he’s like this. Voice quick, hands moving with his words, a little bit of sun breaking through the clouds. Lament is usually so buttoned up—so utterlycomposed—it makes me want to see more of what he looks like when he lets go. Comes undone. Lights up with pleasure.
Which is not the kind of thing I’m supposed to be thinking about my new partner.
Not at fucking all.
“Once I get her flying,” Lament is saying as I haul my thoughts back in line, “she’ll be ours to use however we want.”
I slant another look at him. “This is how you learned to fix a spacecraft, isn’t it?” I narrow my eyes. “And also what you were doing the night you found me in the library. You were awake because you were working on repairs.”
“I have to work at night. There isn’t time during the day.”
“Are you a vampire or something?”
He tenses. “Because I’m pale?”
