It’s an eight-hour flightfrom Skyhub to Venthros on any commercial cruiser, cut down to thirty minutes in Vera’s hyperspeed split-wing. I’d say the ride is a thrill, except right now I feel like I’ve swallowed my teeth and they’re jangling around in my gut. I’m worried I might vomit, or faint, or at the very least sweat through my whites. I’ve hardly had time to wrap my head around where we’re going before suddenly we’re there, descending toward a landing area in Longji’s neighboring city, Soto.
I peer out the window and take it all in: those jipper shrubs, the forests and clouds. I know what that grass is like, the way it’ll smell. I can explain how it feels to stand under that sky. I’ll say it now—it feels like flying. It’s been three years since I’ve stepped foot on this planet, but it’s like no time has passed at all. Everything is exactly as I remember, the farmlands, the rice fields, the flocks of black geese. And of course, looming in the distance, striking and omnipresent as ever: Mount Kilmon.
I pull away from the window just in time to see Vera shooting me an eager look. She probably assumes I’m excited about my first real mission (we’re not counting that other one), but Vera doesn’t know I’m from here. None of the Sixers do, except Lament. I should have told them, saidsomething when Vera showed me today’s orders, but I didn’t, so how do I bring it up now?
Not that I want them to know. Not that I want to talk about itat all.
Vera lands our split-wing neatly in the grassy field just south of Soto. Lament’s skimmer (which is slightly larger than the last one, single engine, navy body) touches down beside us, followed closely by Caspen and the rest of the Sixth in her cargo craft named The Bargainer. Though most of the galaxy’s larger metropolises have landing pads designed specifically for spacecraft, Soto isn’t one of them. The city is a mix of urban and rural, half a million people. Big enough, surely, to warrant its own spaceport, but this is a Lower Planet—the galaxy’s way of sayingpoorer—and Soto sees so little outside travel that they probably couldn’t justify the expense. Instead, we get a field with a single raised platform made of weathered planks that serves no purpose, as far as I can tell, except as a landmark.
I turn my eyes west. The village of Longji—and within it, Master Ira’s School for Children—is just over those hills. If I started walking now, I could be there by nightfall.
“Heads up,” Vera warns as she powers down the split-wing. “Reporters incoming.”
I look out the opposite windows to see a crowd of people armed with microphones and cameras coming our way. There’s a lot of them—too many to count at a glance—and they look… actually, they look pretty intense. “Damn.”
“Is it just me, or are there more than usual?” Vera asks Jester.
Definitely more, he agrees.
“I thought our missions were classified,” I say. “How did they know we’d be here?”
“They didn’t. But this is the only landing pad in the region, and given the Determinist activity, they probably figured the Legion would send a fleet. Speaking of, someone should probably…” Vera trails off.
I follow the line of her gaze. My heart drops. “Lament.”
He’s already exited his spacecraft and is walking toward the woodenplatform, reading something on his handheld. He’s distracted. He doesn’t see the approaching mob.
Vera looks a little panicked. “Lament has a thing about—”
“Reporters,” I finish, yanking off my harness and pushing open the door. “I know.”
I drop to the patchy earth and hurry forward. My hand itches to grab my gun, but I remember my training this time, so I merely clench my fist and concentrate on my footing, avoiding the mole holes and stray branches. Lament is still a good twenty yards ahead of me. His hair catches the light of the midday sun, his nose buried in whatever he’s reading. “Lament.”
He looks up at my voice, then notices the reporters. His steps falter. His eyes go wide. I break into a jog, but I’m not quick enough. Spurred by a hidden burst of wind, or magic, or a traitorous nudge from the cosmos, the newspeople put on a collective surge of speed and descend around Lament in a tide of cameras and recorders and flashing lights.
“Mr. Bringer, is it true you’ve come to stop a riot?”
“Any words for Ran Doc Min?”
“How’s it been flying with a new partner?”
Lament lifts a hand to ward off the onslaught. “No comment.”
“Can you confirm the rumors about a red card on your file?”
“What would Bast say about that if he was alive?”
“Why’d your spacecraft go down that day, Lament?”
“No—” Lament’s eyes are wild, darting. “No comment.”
“Do you know why the Determinists are gathering here in Soto?”
“Has the Legion come to defend the Randomists?”
“I don’t…” Lament is trying to escape, but the reporters have him surrounded. “I’m not…”
I finally manage to shove my way through, pulling Lament into my side to shield him from the cameras and using my not insubstantial height to fight our way out. “Move,” I snarl at the mob, shoving someone with my shoulder. “We’re not taking questions.”
