Chapter 04
“Lament.”
I hurry after him as he marches out of the study and down the hallway, practically jogging to keep up.
“Lament, wait.”
He’s ignoring me, his shoulders set, his strides long and urgent. My mind is smoldering like paper on fire, eating its way toward the center. What was that creature? How did it get into the detachment? And where is Lament going now?
It’s not until we reach the common room and Lament approaches the elevator that I finally grab his arm, which is a mistake.
He swings around, turning the full force of those blue-green eyes on me.
I can feel the tendons flex under his sleeve, the hard length of muscle.
He jerks away, breathing hard, and I find that suddenly I am, too.
“Go back to bed, Hartman.”
“Tell me where you’re going first.”
“No.”
He says this like he said it earlier, no pretense, no explanation. Something about his single-word answer—and his defiance, his lifted chin, the pulse beating in his too-pale neck—has me forgetting Lament did just save my life, and I have no right demanding anything.
“You’re heading to the flight deck,” I guess.
“How perceptive.”
“I’m coming with you.”
But he’s already shoving my ray gun back into my hands, twisting away, jamming the elevator’s glass button. “Not a chance.”
I should let him go. Turn around, head back to my room, forget this entire mess.
Except, Lament and I are supposed to be partners.
And obviously that’s meant nothing so far, less than nothing, but if I can’t find a way to change his mind about me—to prove I belong here—my future in the Sixth is going to be hell.
Then again … maybe it’s not even about that. Maybe I don’t care about proving myself. I just want to stop him from walking away. I sense it within me: that gut-deep urge to reach out and hold on.
I know this feeling.
I hate this feeling.
But I’m helpless to stop it. There’s this relentless sensation of, like, need that’s groping at my heart, making me dizzy and achy and stupid enough to say, “Lament, please, just—”
“Are you broken?” He whips back around. “What part of no don’t you understand?”
“Is everything okay?” Vera appears around the corner wearing a hair scarf, bright yellow pajamas, and slippers shaped like llamas. She looks remarkably alert for someone who’s clearly just been pulled from bed. “I heard gunfire.”
The elevator doors spring open with a little ding to reveal a smooth metal carriage, but Lament hesitates. He might be willing to blow me off, but he won’t do that to Vera. The two of them lock eyes and Lament’s expression changes, shifting from anger to unease to just … pain.
I don’t understand his pain. I don’t understand why the sight of it seems to call forth my own pain, pulling it flush to the surface of my skin.
Lament exhales a tight breath. “We were attacked by a cave raptor.”
“What?” Vera makes a face. “Here?”
“It came out of a vent.”
She pads closer, looking uncertain. “But how did a raptor get onto Skyhub?”
He shakes his head. He doesn’t know. “And that’s not all.” Lament turns to me. “Did you see the raptor’s eyes?”
“Yeah. They were weirdly blue, but what—?”
“It’s the mist.” He looks between Vera and me expectantly, and when we fail to supply the desired reaction, he makes a frustrated noise.
“The space mist. The same one that overtook my spacecraft on the day—the day that—” He swallows.
“That’s how Bast looked. That’s what happened to his eyes right before he… ”
“Lament.” Vera.
Lament masters himself, visibly, before continuing.
“I think whatever killed Bast got ahold of that raptor, too. There’s a documented colony of cave raptors on the planet Purvuva.
It’s the only one within range of Skyhub.
” He’s speaking calmly now, almost mechanically, yet I can sense the energy he’s keeping tapped, live wire buried underneath.
“If the mist infected one raptor, it might have infected others. And if that’s true, this could be our chance to understand what happened to Bast. To uncover the mist’s source. I’m going to investigate.”
“All the way to Purvuva?” Vera sounds skeptical. “Why not just examine the raptor that attacked you here?”
Lament’s eyes flick to me. “Not possible.”
“Why not?”
I wince. “My ray gun might have … mangled it a bit.”
“Hartman’s carrying a 20–88 Blaster,” Lament clarifies. “As in, a gun that was minted before they invented automatic target volume adjustments. I didn’t realize that in the moment and let off a full blast.”
I cover the hilt with a protective hand. “That’s not the gun’s fault.”
“Really?” He squares off, already geared up again. “Why do you even have that thing? It’s ancient.”
“An heirloom.”
“It belongs in a junkyard.”
“It belongs on my hip.”
“It could hurt someone.”
“It’s a gun,” I exclaim. “Of course it could hurt someone.”
We glare at each other. Yes, my ray gun is old.
Finicky, even, with a permanent black singe around the muzzle and a trigger that clicks.
Its beam is green, which is less stylish than the more modern blue or red, and its loading lights are broken so you can’t ever tell when it’s fully charged.
The Legion has already tried to replace it—they’ve shipped me at least three upgrades—but I’ve had this gun since before the Academy.
Since before I even knew I wanted to join the Academy. It’s never failed me.
“Regardless,” Vera interrupts. “Even if investigating the raptor colony on Purvuva wasn’t a long shot—and I hate to say it, Lament, but it really is—I don’t think leaving right now is the best idea.”
Lament’s attention shifts back to her. “Why not?”
“Because you already have a red card on your file, and taking off on an unapproved mission in the middle of the night seems like a good way to earn another.”
“Wait,” I blurt. “Lament has a red card?”
Lament’s jaw ticks. “Don’t look so surprised.”
“I just … red cards are kind of serious.”
“Thank you for that observation.”
“But”—it’s like my mouth has detached from my brain and is now hellbent on sabotage—“why?”
“That’s really none of your business.”
I continue to stare. Red cards are part of the Legion’s disciplinary system, and they’re not handed out lightly.
It’s possible to have the card removed from your file with good behavior, but if you get two in a row, you’re grounded from future spaceflights until you knock one down, and if you get three, you’re kicked out of the Legion. Like, forever.
Lament’s eyes return to Vera. “This is the best lead—the only lead—we’ve had since the accident. What am I supposed to do? Let it go?”
“We could report it.”
He gives a hard laugh. “To who? Sergeant Forst? You know we can’t trust the Legion to investigate this themselves.”
“No, you’re right, it’s just…” Vera grimaces. “This doesn’t change the fact you should be keeping your head down right now, and I just think rushing off to Purvuva isn’t the way to do that, especially when it’s not going to lead anywhere.”
“Not going to lead—?” Lament’s expression hardens. “How can you say that?”
“He’s gone.” Vera’s voice comes out strangled. “Bast is gone, Lament, and going on this … this wild goose chase isn’t going to bring him back.”
Lament flinches. “You don’t understand.”
“I understand you’re not thinking clearly. I understand things have been so hard—”
“Stop.” He closes his eyes. “Just—stop.”
“But—”
“You’ve said what you need to say. And I hear you, all right? But I’m going anyway.”
He steps into the elevator. The doors start to slide together, sweeping Lament from view.
Just before they close, Vera and I simultaneously jut out our hands to halt their progress.
Lament inhales sharply, but Vera cuts him off.
“Fine,” she says. “Fine. If you’re seriously set on doing this, I’m coming with you. ”
“I don’t need—”
“It wasn’t a question.” She takes a deep breath, like she’s mentally readying herself.
“It’s after hours, meaning we can disable the flight deck alarms and skip the official sign-out, but that doesn’t mean Sergeant Forst won’t notice a missing spacecraft.
We go quickly, we go quietly, and we return before Skyhub-dawn, yes?
” Lament gives a reluctant nod. Vera’s eyes cut to me. “Are you in?”
There’s a moment—quick, fizzy, like the crack of a soda can—when I imagine saying no.
It’s what my Academy officers would choose for me.
What Master Ira would, too. He used to say Recklessness is the quickest path to self-destruction.
But what Master Ira could never understand is that I am reckless.
Wasn’t it recklessness that pushed me to demand an Academy entry test after my application was denied?
Wasn’t it recklessness that spurred me to go against Master Ira’s wishes and apply in the first place?
It ruined our relationship, but rather than make me more careful, it’s only driven me further down this path.
I don’t have a support system to fall back on.
No parents, no family. Even Master Ira’s patronage—the security of the children’s home—can’t help me now.
Joining the Legion, belonging to a Starfield Fleet …
What do I have, if not this?
What do I want, if not this?
I give Vera a nod. “I’m in.”
Vera does something with her watch, sliding her finger across the touch screen before ushering me into the elevator.
A short ride later, we’re stepping onto a wide flight deck currently housing a dozen different spacecraft.
Some of the models I recognize (the UA-460 Sky Runner, the 1080 StarBattle), but most are foreign to me.
I want to gawk, but I want to keep up with Lament more, and he’s already halfway into the cockpit of a sleek little skimmer.
She’s beautiful, all clean lines and smooth edges.
As I approach, Lament shoots me a look. “You’ll fly with Vera.”