“—we would need to file an official request, which must be approved by the Board—”
“It will be denied,” Morton says.
“—followed by a new assignment of funds—”
“Impossible,” Morton says.
“It seems,” the sergeant says in a voice that has reached a dangerous pitch, “we will not be able to finish this meeting, given that our observer continues to speak out of turn. I apologize on his behalf for the lack of respect he is showing you here today.”
Morton blinks. “I hardly think—”
“If you have further concerns, we can discuss them at a later date,” the sergeant continues through her teeth. And then, in a voice that makes evenmequail: “You are dismissed.”
22
On silent agreement, ourgroup heads straight from the sergeant’s office, down the hall, through the common room, back up the adjacent hall, and into the detachment’s library. The cave raptor guts have been scoured from the wall, the air vents screwed back into place. As soon as we’re inside, Lament kicks the door closed and rounds on Vera. “We agreed not to bring up Mount Kilmon’s fumes,” he growls. “Wedefinitelyagreed not to bring up Bast.”
“But this is getting out of hand,” Vera pleads. “Sergeant Forst is our commanding officer. We finally have solid evidence—something that could explain Bast’s death. Who else are we supposed to tell?”
“No one.”
“But the sergeant shouldknow.”
“Why?” Lament demands. “Bast is dead. He was killed in a freak accident by a poisonous gas leaking out of an ancient mountain. We went hunting for answers, and we found them. Case closed.”
“You don’t believe that,” I say quietly. Lament rounds on me next, looking about ready to pop a blood vessel, but I continue. “You said it yourself. The timelines don’t match.”
“I was wrong.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Don’t you?” Lament snaps, in a voice that’s growing harder by the second. “Isn’t this what you’ve all been thinking? That I’m grasping at straws? Hunting for closure where there is none? Letting grief cloud my thinking?” He glares around the room. “Well?Haven’t I?”
The others drop their eyes. I almost do, too, because the last time we talked about Bast, Ididthink that. And I regret it. And I want Lament to know that.
“No,” I say, “you haven’t.”
Lament’s lips get even more sneery. “Really?”
“Ran Doc Min said the voroxide won’t spread until the eruption,” I continue, undaunted by his anger, because I understand his anger. “That’s how he’ll have time to deliver his neutralizer—it’s kind of the crux of his whole story. Only, Moon Dancer went down months ago, just like you said. So either Doc Min is wrong, or we’re missing something.”
“Lament?” Vera asks cautiously. “Is that what you think? That we’re missing something?”
Lament looks mutinous for about point five seconds, then drops his shoulders and gives a very Lament-like sigh. “Maybe. Yes. FPS is supposed to be infallible—Doc Min wouldn’t have gained such a huge following otherwise—but there appear to be inconsistencies in its predictions.”
“Something odd is going on here,” I add, “and I think Trey Morton is afraid we’re going to figure out what.”
That earns me some stares. “What are you talking about?”
“The professor is a Determinist. I had the displeasure of learning that when he cornered Lament and me on our flight deck. It makes sense that Morton would be quick to defend Doc Min, seeing as he’s his leader. What doesn’t make sense is why Morton was so fast to shut Vera down when she brought up Bast’s death today. For some reason, Morton doesn’t want the Legion reopening Bast’s case. He’s hiding something, and he’s using his influence as a Director to block the sergeant—and us—from finding out what.”
“He can’tblockthe sergeant,” Vera says. “He’s a Board-appointed civilian. He’s not even Legion!”
“Unless he’s holding something over her,” Avi suggests.
“Blackmail?” Vera is looking more distressed by the second. “You know Sergeant Forst. She’s clean.”
“No one is clean,” Avi says. “Speaking as your spymaster—”
