I think about how Lament is always fully dressed, even when working on Moon Dancer in the middle of the night. I think about boxes set in neat rows, tools aligned in order of size. The food he chooses to eat. Even the way he speaks.
“He’s a control freak,” I say. “I mean, that came out wrong. I just—he can’t let stuff go, can he?” Vera and Jester shake their heads. “Has he gotten help? You know, like, talked to anyone?”
“The Legion assigned him a therapist. He was seeing her for a while, but he hasn’t really been able to discuss the details of the accident. He can talk about the mist and the crash—general facts that might help the investigation—but explaining what happened in the cockpit or how he’s coping with it… it’s still too hard. One day the therapist pushed him to open up. He resisted, she pushed harder, and he just lost it. We could hear him shouting from three floors away. That’s how he earned his red card, did you know? For verbal abuse of a Legion employee.”
My jaw hangs open. “That’show?” There’s a feeling inside me, dark and heavy, anger mixed with disbelief. “But he was grieving.”
She musters a tight smile. “I know.”
“And—okay, obviously yelling at your therapist is not ideal—but she’s supposed to know how to handle that. To de-escalate the situation. That’s literally her job.”
“Iknow.”
“We have to do something.”
“Like what?”
Good question. The Board of Directors—that appointed group of non-Legion civilians—is in charge of handling disciplinary hearings and balancing the Legion’s power. Their effectiveness hinges on them remaining separate from the Legion and uninfluenced by its members. I can’t see them overturning Lament’s red card just because we demand it. Actually, I can see it making things worse.
“We’ve been here for him,” Vera says. “The Sixers, I mean. And Lament’s doing better than he was before. But his grief isn’t something to be solved overnight.”
“You’re right,” I say, feeling like an absolute moron for ever making this about me. Aboutpancakes. I look at my lap. “Sorry for snapping.”
Happens to the best of us, Jester replies, with the ease of someone who’s glad to move on. He pulls a ray gun out of his satchel.This is for you, by the way. Sergeant Forst’s orders.
It’s not my gun. This one’s new, with a long barrel and a fancy telescopic sighting lens that I immediately remove because it looks stupid and I don’t need it. Sergeant Forst did mention I’d be getting my ray gun back for missions, though I guess she didn’t meanmyray gun. “Any idea what happened to the gun I came with? The 20–88 Blaster?”
Jester shakes his head.The sergeant didn’t say.
I strap the gun to my waist and try not to let my mood drop any further. Which ends up being a wasted effort, because Vera pulls up her handheld and asks, “Did you see today’s orders yet?”
“Not yet.” Details regarding today’s mission arrived during breakfast, but I haven’t had a chance to read them.
Determinists are gathering on one of the Lower Planets, Jester explains.We don’t know exactly why, but it’s drawing Randomists out, too. The Legion worries it’ll turn into a riot.
“Or a war,” Vera adds darkly.
“Randomists?” I ask.
“People who believe there is randomness in the world, so the future can’t be predetermined, and therefore Ran Doc Min’s simulation must be a hoax. It’s the Randomists who speak most vocally against Doc Min. Apparently they’ve been demanding he show us FPS or else forfeit his efforts. Whenever a new prediction emerges, the Randomists and Determinists both tend to get involved. We’re teaming up with another Starfield Fleet—the Fifty-Seventh—and going to investigate.”
We’ll use this as an opportunity to hunt for more information on Ran Doc Min and his motives, Jester adds,and we’ll also make sure the crowd doesn’t turn violent.
“Which planet?” I ask.
“It’s not far from here. One of the ring planets. Famous for a giant volcano, from what I understand.”
I go still. The odds… but no. There are lots of planets with giant volcanoes. Lots and lots of them.
Vera squints at her handheld, scrolling through a stream of messages to get to our orders. “Here.” She shows me the image.
It’s like all the air has been sucked from the cockpit. On the screen is an image of a brilliant green planet. I see the glittering oceans, the ragged shape of the continents, and there toward the northern hemisphere: a great black shadow.
That shadow is Mount Kilmon, and the planet is Venthros.
I’m going home.
14
