The sergeant’s pause is short, but unmistakable. “Is there a problem, Mr. Hartman?”
Yes, yeah, thanks for asking. “No.”
“Good.” The sergeant turns her attention to Lament. “Before we begin, I would like to address you in person, Mr. Bringer. I’ve read your full injury statement. Illiviamona reports that she was able to successfully close your wounds and restore you to good health. Is that correct?”
“Yes,” Lament says, without emphasis.
“Has there been any word on finding the rioter who assaulted you?”
I almost blurt out aWait, what rioter?but catch myself at the last second. Lament wasn’t hurt by a rioter. He was hurt by a rabid ape. It only takes a moment for me to remember why he wouldn’t want the sergeant to know about that—Lament is forbidden from investigating Bast’s death, and admitting the truth about the ape would mean admitting what we found at Mount Kilmon—but still, I can’t help but feel another pang of resentment. If he planned to lie again, wasn’t he going towarn me?
I am hanging on to the final threads of my patience.
“We will continue to pressure Soto’s law enforcement,” the sergeant says. “Assaulting a Legion member is a Class III offense, and it’s the duty of city enforcers to hunt down the perpetrator. I am glad, however, yousuffered no lasting damage. That’s thanks to you, Ms. Urvurana.” She nods at Illiviamona. “We are lucky to have you.”
“There is no wound,” replies the Lorian, “I do not enjoy. Tending.”
“Indeed.” The sergeant makes an aborted motion, like she means to glance at the man behind her but catches herself. She leans her hands against the desk instead. “I am ready to hear your report.”
Vera gives it. She relays the story of our trip to Soto, Ran Doc Min’s hologram, the riot. She explains (honestly and accurately) the ensuing fight, how Randomists turned against Determinists, how the whole episode ended with Avi’s use of the Time Stopper.
“Ran Doc Min’s predictions were clear,” Vera finishes. “He claims Mount Kilmon will spread a poisonous gas called voroxide across the planet during this year’s eruption. Given our investigation, we believe he’s telling the truth.”
“Of course he’s telling the truth,” Professor Morton says. Like before, he’s dressed in a tweed jacket and a pair of tortoiseshell spectacles, his hair somewhat askew, though his goatee is neatly styled. It makes me wonder what kind of professor heis, exactly. Assuming he’s even a professor at all. Maybe not. Maybe he just introduces himself as Professor Morton and banks on the fact no one will double-check. “FPS has correctly anticipated a dozen such planetary events with pinpoint accuracy. If Ran Doc Min announces a prediction, we have every reason to trust him.”
The sergeant’s fingers flex against the desk. “Mr. Morton, while your presence at this meeting is permitted, I would ask that you not interfere with my debrief.”
The professor (?) sits back and crosses his hands over his stomach, giving a slight smile. I look between them, feeling surprised. I thought, given the way my red card hearing went, Sergeant Forst and Trey Morton were chummy. It’s only now that I take a true look at the sergeant’s posture, her pinched mouth, the tightness around her eyes.
What’s going on here?
“Miss Bergmont.” The sergeant nods at Vera. “You were saying?”
“Oh,” Vera squeaks. “Right. Um. While on Venthros, the Sky Runner’s air quality instruments picked up a change in the atmosphere. Jester ran the report. There are indeed fumes leaking from Mount Kilmon. Though we’ve never seen anything like this gas before, we have reason to believe it’s the poisonous vapor that Doc Min predicted, and…,” Vera hesitates, then rushes on quickly, “it’s also the same unidentified space mist that killed Bast.”
Lament’s eyes fly to Vera. His expression hardens in betrayal, but before he can speak, Professor (?) Morton says, “Mr. Vinicchi’s case is closed. That investigation is over.”
“Mr. Morton,” the sergeant warns. “I asked you not to interrupt.”
“Bast’s case was closed before we knew about the voroxide,” Vera presses, ignoring the furious look Lament is shooting her, or the way her words seem to wind the room tight with tension. “Given this new information—”
“I understand the death of Mr. Vinicchi has been difficult,” Morton says, with the air of someone who has had this argument many times and secretly enjoys it, “but the Board of Directors has already made up their minds on the matter.”
“Trey,” the sergeant snaps, spinning to face him. “It’s not your place to speak here.”
“I am merely setting the girl straight.”
“These aremyfleet members.Iwill set them straight.”
“I am a Director.”
“And as such, your duty is to oversee higher issues brought to the attention of the Board, not to meddle in my fleet meetings.”
The corners of Morton’s mouth kick up. “Careful, Helda.”
The sergeant turns back to us. She takes a deep breath that seems to do nothing to quell her anger and says, “I hear your concerns, Miss Bergmont, and I take them seriously. However, to reopen Mr. Vinicchi’s case—”
“You can’t,” Morton says.
