“Keller. Look at me.”
There he goes again, saying my name. I wonder if Lament really thinks that’ll make any difference. I wonder if he’sright, because seemingly of their own accord, my eyes lift to his. Lament’s giving me one of those too-searching, too-honest looks. He brings his hands back to my shoulders, bending a little to meet my eye. “You’re okay,” he says firmly. “Take a breath.”
I take a breath.
“Another.”
I take another.
“All right.” He’s not drawing away, but the child in me wants to cling to him anyway.Don’t leave.All of a sudden, I’m nine years old again, powerless and scared, watching my mom walk away.Please, stay.
Lament’s tone is firm when he asks, “Did the Time Stopper get you?”
“W-what?”
“Avi’s measurements are usually precise, but sometimes the particles go astray. It looks like you inhaled some of the stopper’s fumes.”
He’s speaking to me like you’d speak to a skittish horse, all commanding and reassuring. It seems to be working, because the world isn’t spinning so badly now, and my lungs appear to have unstuck themselves.
“Yeah,” I say faintly. “Yeah, that must be it.”
By this point, the frozen citizens are coming unfrozen, and local law enforcement is finally starting to arrive. I try to concentrate on what’s happening around me, but most of the next half hour is a blur: the joint fleet debriefing; securing the area; questioning stragglers about Ran Doc Min’s motives, his means of communication, and details surrounding his latest prediction. Illiviamona and the Fifty-Seventh’s medic tend to a few wounded civilians in a mobile medi-rover while Avi tears into Soto’s officials(You seriously call yourselves keepers of the peace? Where were you when your people were mauling each other?). Lament keeps glancing at me like he’s not entirely convinced I’m okay, and while I’d like to put on a smile and pretend all is well, I can’t seem to make my face cooperate. My thoughts are all smoke.
“Hartman.” That’s Beckly’s voice coming from somewhere to my left, and go figure he’d decide he wants a chat when I’m in less than peak chatting condition. “Hartman, hey.”
He jogs over to where Lament and I are standing beside the medi-rover. Lament scowls and says, “Now’s not a good time, Van.”
Beckly rubs a palm over his cheek and offers a sheepish shrug. “I just wanted to tell Hartman thanks. For stopping that crowbar.”
“Oh.” I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t that. “Okay.”
“Also”—he crosses his arms, then uncrosses them, like he’s just remembered the proper body language for gratitude—“I may have been a bit harsh on you earlier. About your Academy status. You clearly know how to shoot, and the Sixth is lucky to have you.”
This would be a good moment for me to be mature and gracious. “Did Mira tell you to say that?”
“Oh, um. She did, actually, yeah. But I still mean it and stuff.”
“Okay,” I say, wondering if I should believe him. “Thanks.”
“Cool. Yeah. You’re welcome.” He looks relieved. “Maybe we’ll have a chance to shoot together again someday.”
I can’t quite muster an answer to that, so I just give a nod. Beckly walks away, and though I guess his apology should make me feel better, I am, if anything, more confused than before.
The sun is sinking by the time we split off from the Fifty-Seventh and reconvene on The Bargainer, which is parked where we left it in the field south of the city. The cargo craft is large and shaped sort of like a beetle, with six hydraulic legs and a row of bulbous windows resembling eyes. Caspen docks her overland rover in the ship’s belly, and (exhausted, grimy) we file up theramp into The Bargainer’s command center, which looks nothing like any command center I’ve ever seen. There are the usual blue-glowing monitors and flight controls near the windshields, but there are also a bunch of beanbags, a Ping-Pong table, and a gaming console. Movie posters adorn the walls, and there are snacks everywhere, the kind a teenager might choose if you gave them a wad of cash and free run of the supermarket.
“That,” Vera announces as she sinks into a plush chair, “was a disaster.”
“Understatement,” Avi agrees, launching into one of the beanbags.
The rest of the Sixers follow Vera and Avi, claiming spots on various sofas and chairs like they’ve done it a hundred times before. Which, they probably have. Toph takes a giant seat shaped like a stuffed koala, Jester perches on the counter, Caspen and Illiviamona claim the pilot and copilot chairs by the main controls.
“I don’t even know where to start,” Vera continues, rubbing her chest like she’s having palpitations. “The absent law enforcers, the hidden weapons. And of course, Ran Doc Min’s speech about how Mount Kilmon will spew poisonous fumes across Planet Venthros.”
“That part wasn’t news, exactly.” Toph strips out of his jacket and tosses it aside. (It lands heavily on Avi’s head; she splutters indignantly.) “Doc Min has been hinting at something like this for months.”
Hinting, yes, Jester points out,but this is the first time he’s given any specifics.
“Which has only brought up more questions than it’s answered,” Vera groans. “I mean, who knew a volcano could be poisonous?”
