“I’ve spoken to Sergeant Forst,” Lament says as he extracts himself from the tangle of overexcited Sixers. His voice, too, is back to its usual clipped self, direct and to the point. “She’s ordering us to stay on Venthros until I’m cleared to fly again. Which,” he says, glancing at Illiviamona, “will be tomorrow?”
Illiviamona’s glowing freckles ripple in disagreement.
Lament tries again. “The day after tomorrow?”
“If you would like to overexert yourself while your body is still healing from a rabid ape attack, that is your choice. But”—Illiviamona’s mouth opens like a fish sucking water—“you will suffer.”
“We’ll wait,” Vera is quick to say. “However long Lament needs.”
“The longer the better,” Avi adds.
Vera shoots the eleven-year-old a scowl. “I don’t think we should wish for Lament’s extended misery.”
“But the longer his recovery takes, the more time we get to relax.”
“Still,” Vera says, in the tone of someone whose patience is hard-won, “I think it’s best to hope for Lament’sspeedyrecovery.”
“Then you should hope for his speedy recovery,” Avi replies.
Vera casts around helplessly. “What do I do with her?”
Lament gives a slight smile. “It’s all right. We deserve the break.”
“Hear that?” Avi crows. “Lament says we deserve the break!” She punches the air and launches herself into her beanbag, which crunches rather dramatically given she’s the size of a houseplant. “Jester, toss me the remote.”
We’re not watchingHippie Days, Jester warns.
“But there’s a new episode!”
The theme music alone is enough to drive me mad.
“Wehave to,” Avi insists. “Limpie just found out Gamma’s pregnant, and he thinks the baby is his, but really it belongs to his estranged brother who is part merman—”
Vera squeezes her eyes shut. “Save it, Avi.”
Avi gives a whine and flops backward. “You’re all probably going to put on something scholarly and wholesome andboring, and everyone else in the galaxy will know the fate of Gamma’s merman baby, and I’ll have to wait until we get back to the detachment to see for myself, but by then there will be spoilerseverywhere.” She pops up like a puppet reanimated. “Jester, I’ll play you for it.Frog Smasher, best two out of three.”
Jester’s mouth quirks.If I win, we’re watchingCamp.
“Isn’t that the film about that cannibal from the eighties?” I ask.
His name was Rogue Lueman.
“I thought we were going to put on something scholarly?” Vera suggests hopefully.
Campis scholarly, Jester replies.It’s a documentary.
“Oh.” Youvu Hum looks a bit bloodless. “I’ve never done well with horror stories. Avi, you had better win this.”
“I’m rooting for Jester,” Toph announces. “Bring on the cannibals.”
As everyone splits into sides and Avi pulls out the gaming console, Lament comes to stand at my shoulder and asks, “Who are you rooting for?”
I ignore that question (because, seriously?) and look at him. Like, really look at him. Lament might want to put on a brave face, but here, under the wan light of the control monitors, I can see what he’s trying to hide: the shadows under his eyes, the fatigue in his posture, pain lines scored like hash marks around his mouth. He looks worn down and washed out. A painting left too long in the sun.
Which makes me think about the rest of him. And what I saw. And whether he knows I saw. I can’t guess how much Lament remembers from Illiviamona’s medical room (he’d already suffered heavy blood loss by that point, to say nothing of the sedative), but I get the sense he suspects the truth. Which makes me want to apologize. I should have stepped out of the room as soon as Illiviamona cut off his shirt, respected his privacy. Really, I should have stopped that ape from attacking him in the first place. Isn’t that my responsibility? The reason I was recruited, the reason I carry a gunon my hip? All of this—Lament’s pain, my pain—could have been avoided if only I’d done a better job of protecting him.
The pause has gone on too long. Lament tips his chin, probably confused by the unaccountable anguish on my face when all he did was ask who I want to win a video game. And maybe he was right to jump straight toFrog Smasherafter all, because I’m spiraling like I do when things get too big, and my stomach has become a yawning pit, and I’m jumbled and so tied up inside that I just end up blurting, “I hate scary movies.”
