Chapter 25 #2
A single lamp illuminates the room. I see long limbs tangled with mine, white-blond hair, pale skin—
“Lament?”
He’s asleep beside me. We’re still in his room, in his bed, the door closed, everything quiet.
I don’t know how long we’ve been sleeping.
I don’t know how we got so … entwined. Because we are.
Very entwined. As I take stock, the situation shifts from bad to very bad, because my body is waking up for real now, and I’m acutely aware of the way he smells, the fact that I’ve somehow got one leg thrown over his hip, the two of us knotted together like a pretzel sandwich.
My face is burning. My brain is crying abort, abort.
I shift slowly, holding my breath, careful not to make any sudden movements.
The more I look, the worse it looks. His shirt is untucked.
We’re sharing a pillow. Did my subconscious mind hatch a plan to maul Lament in his sleep?
Is this some yet undiagnosed aftereffect of shock?
Post-stupefaction cuddle syndrome. It hardly seems to matter that Lament and I are both fully clothed.
I get myself up on my elbows and attempt—with a care normally reserved for angry children and wild animals—to remove my leg from his person without waking him, but Lament is Lament, and even in sleep, he remains committed to thwarting me.
The bed creaks. Lament stirs, then freezes beneath me. “Keller?”
I wrench backward, but this only tightens the knot of sheets, wedging us closer. My brain is short-circuiting. I am on fire. “Shit,” I croak, flailing. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
“Hartman.” Lament’s voice is hoarse. I’m still thrashing, growing more panicked by the second. Are these sheets trying to bind us together? “Hartman, stop, you’re going to—”
I give a final jerk, untangling from Lament and tumbling off the bed.
There’s a heavy thump as my back hits the floor. The comforter avalanches down on top of me, pooling over my face. The bed creaks again as Lament (presumably) comes to peer over the bedside. “Are you okay?”
“Peachy.”
He tugs the offending fabric off my head. “You don’t sound peachy.”
I sigh. “I was hoping you’d say That’s great and leave me to my mortification.”
He arches a brow. “I can’t tell if you’re being dramatic or sincere.”
“Can’t I be both?”
“Of course,” Lament replies, in a manner that suggests he’s used to my antics yet still finds them unimpressive. “Come on. I’ll help you up.”
“Why?” I ask, flopping out my arms. “I like it down here. It fits my aesthetic.”
A tentative smile hangs around his mouth. “I take this renewed sense of humor to mean you’re feeling better?”
“I’m lying on the floor after having just accidentally big-spooned my fleetmate during a shock-induced exhaustion nap. How do you think I’m feeling?”
His smile falters. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“No, no.” I rise into a sitting position, rub a hand down my face. “You’re right. I’m … I’m not okay, but…” I take a moment to get my bearings. The clock on the nightstand reads nine at night, which means I slept for at least eight hours, and my mouth tastes like paste and my head hurts and …
How am I, exactly?
Shaken. Afraid for the future, both my own and that of the galaxy.
But I feel a little less breakable now, a little less alone.
I think about how Lament came for me even though I said he didn’t have to, how he must have wanted to be there anyway, how he found me, how quickly he reacted when he saw something was wrong. Vera and Caspen, too.
“I’ll be all right,” I finish. “I mean, this is what I signed up for, right?”
“Keller.” Lament looks like he’s debating saying whatever he’s about to say. “I know you sometimes find it easier to make light of hard things, and if that’s how you want to handle this, that’s how we’ll handle it. But if you want to talk about what you’re really thinking, I’m here for you.”
I stare at him. It’s—there are so many—I’m all feelings. And he’s right. I was going to deflect, but I force myself to swallow and nod and say, “Okay, yeah. Thank—”
The door bursts open.
“We heard movement!” Avi announces, dragging a whiteboard on wheels into Lament’s room. A band of Sixers shuffle in after her: Toph, the Youvu Hums, Illiviamona, Caspen.
I wrestle a weird mix of relieved disappointment. “Movement?”
“Vera said we had to wait until you were awake again to start planning Operation Infiltration,” Avi continues, “and look, you’re awake!” She frowns like she’s only just noticed I’m below eye level. “Why are you on the floor?”
Fair question. “I … sort of fell.”
“Well, sort of un-fall.” Avi spins the whiteboard dramatically, sending it whooshing in a circle. It clocks Illiviamona in the thigh. She gives a muffled ow. “We have work to do.”
“Sorry,” I say, because my brain still hasn’t caught up with the sudden influx of Sixers. “Work to do on what?”
“On infiltrating The Parallax,” Avi replies in singsong, with jazz hands.
“Lament told us what happened with Rudy Rivon and your mother,” Toph supplies, claiming Lament’s desk as a seat since the twiddly office chair would likely snap under his weight.
I look at Lament, and he shrugs. “We were texting earlier. After you fell asleep.”
“How are you feeling?” asks a Youvu Hum as the other Youvu Hum says, “This has all been quite the revelation.”
“This is our opening,” Avi belts while drawing haphazard shapes on the whiteboard. “This is our opening.”
“All right,” Lament tries, but the group is too wound up, everyone talking over everyone else.
“Please, just hang—oh, for crying—” He sticks his thumb and forefinger between his lips and gives a shrill whistle.
The chatter abruptly dies. “I can see you are all … excited. And that’s …
what it is. But Hartman has been through a lot today, and he only just woke up.
He is surely not ready to talk about the plan. ”
“What plan?” I ask.
Lament makes the universal cringe face for whoops, but Avi jumps in. “The plan where you finally speak to Ran Doc Min about his simulation and get to the bottom of his motives. I mean, you were invited to join his movement, right? He even offered to meet you personally!”
That, if nothing else, snaps everything into focus.
“Avi.” Lament is frowning. “What part of Hartman has been through a lot did you not—?”
“Hang on, hang on.” Time to get off the floor.
I scramble to my feet, though the sudden shift from down there to up here sends spots across my vision.
“You’re right, Avi.” I brace my hands on my thighs to send blood back to my brain.
“Nina asked me to join the Determinist movement. She said Doc Min wanted to speak with me, which would probably happen on The Parallax, seeing as he never leaves it. And if that’s true… ”
I trail off, catching their knowing looks.
After weeks of searching, we’ve finally been handed an opening.
I could question Ran Doc Min about Mount Kilmon and Trey Morton and the voroxide and his motives.
I could sneak into the simulation room and see FPS for myself, figure out how it works, whether its data source is unethical or illegal or both.
“This is our chance,” I say. “I don’t—” I run a hand down my face, trying to wipe away the cobwebs of sleep and exhaustion and twenty-four hours of surprises. “I don’t know how I didn’t realize it sooner.”
Lament is frowning. “I might be able to name a few reasons.”
“I could contact Rivon,” I continue while the others nod eagerly. “Say I want to take Nina up on her offer.”
“For the record,” Lament says, frowning harder, “I do not like where this is going.”
“In all fairness”—Avi twirls a finger at Lament—“you’re the one who wanted to talk to Ran Doc Min in person and get to the bottom of the space mist.”
“Not if doing so means sending Keller on a suicide mission.”
“It’s not a suicide mission,” I say at the same moment the door opens again, admitting Jester and Vera who asks, “What’d we miss?”
“Keller just realized Nina’s invitation to speak with Ran Doc Min is the opportunity we’ve been waiting for,” Avi says in a rushed breath, “and Lament is going to try to stop him from risking himself because he cares,” (she brings her clasped hands to her cheek) “and Keller is going to do it anyway because, revenge,” (stabbing motions) “and this is just like last season’s finale of Hippie Days! ”
Vera makes a confounded motion. “Are we concerned for her? I’m concerned for her.”
“She’s just summarizing the situation,” Toph says in defense of his partner. Then, sheepishly, “Though we probably could have done without the pantomiming.”
“This is basically the perfect opportunity to get some answers,” muses Youvu Hum.
“It’s too perfect,” says the other Youvu Hum, which makes everyone’s heads turn. The Youvu Hums never contradict each other.
“I just mean,” Youvu Hum continues, “doesn’t anyone else find it odd that the moment we need to get on Ran Doc Min’s ship, Hartman’s long-lost mother reappears offering him an outlandish opportunity to get on Ran Doc Min’s ship?”
“You think it’s a trap?” Toph asks.
“Doc Min could be stimulating us,” Vera says.
You mean simulating, Jester corrects, with typical nonchalance.
“So, like, what?” I ask. “Doc Min has us plugged into his simulation, and he knows we want to get onto his ship, and he’s just … giving us what we want?”
“When you put it like that,” Vera muses, “it doesn’t sound very plausible.”
“Two cats in a trench coat,” Caspen agrees.
“Unless Doc Min has an ulterior motive,” Avi adds.
“You’re making my head hurt,” Youvu Hum complains.
“Even if Doc Min wants to use our own plan against us,” Toph says, “an opportunity is an opportunity. We’ll just have to be smart about it.”
“If Keller is up for the mission,” Vera corrects.
Everyone’s eyes turn to me, but I’m already nodding. The despair isn’t gone. It’s still there, lurking darkly under the surface. But mercifully, there’s anger there now, too. Purpose. “I’m up for it.”
This elicits a general murmur of appreciation, the excitement that comes from a plan being made. Of the ten of us, there’s only one person who doesn’t seem pleased by this turn of events.
Lament has grown quiet. He isn’t looking at me. At anyone, really. He’s just standing there with his arms tightly crossed, radiating heavy vibes of … pissed-off-ness.
“Just so we’re clear,” he says slowly, “we’re talking about sending Hartman onto an enemy spacecraft we know nothing about, to trick the Determinist leader into spilling his secrets, while evading detection and possible capture, while tricking his absent mother into believing he forgives her, while grappling with the reappearance of said mother, all to find answers regarding a computer simulation that may be able to predict our entire plan? ”
Avi holds up a finger, “Alone.”
“Right,” Lament growls. “Alone. I agree with Youvu Hum. This all feels too easy, which does makes me worry about the possibility of a trap.”
“A trap to do what?” I ask.
“Doc Min could kidnap you,” Lament says.
“Kidnap me?” I start to laugh but stop at Lament’s glower. “Oh. You’re serious.”
“He could hold you hostage and start making demands.”
“I doubt he’d go to the trouble.” I make the sort of motion that suggests this is already obvious. “I’m not worth anything.”
“You’re worth something to me,” Lament snarls, and the room goes deadly silent. Avi hiccups. Vera’s mouth forms a little o. Lament jerks his gaze away, like he’s just realized how loud his voice had grown. I stare at Lament. My heart is a bird beating against the cage of my ribs.
“Do you two, um”—Avi points between us—“need a minute?”
“Avi,” Vera scolds, in the tone of someone who is determined to at least try to herd the wayward sheep back to the flock, “what have I told you about discretion?”
“That was discreet!”
“All I mean to say,” Lament continues in forcibly calmer tones, “is that when I suggested confronting Ran Doc Min, I meant we would all go. Together. This … isn’t that.”
We’ll wire Keller. Jester scratches his neck thoughtfully. We’ll be able to hear everything that happens while he’s on board The Parallax, and we can intervene if things get out of hand.
“And,” Lament starts in his most sardonic voice, “do you really think they won’t catch a wire?
The Parallax isn’t some flimsy starship.
It’s remained entirely off the map, for years.
The Legion can’t track it. The Randomists can’t track it.
Even you, Jester—arguably the best intelligence officer in the galaxy—haven’t managed to unearth a single lead regarding the ship’s coordinates.
Doc Min isn’t a rookie working out of his uncle’s basement.
He’s a highly specialized mastermind who’s managed to grow his entire movement without ever once showing his face in person.
They’ll check Keller for wires as soon as he steps onto that ship, and when they find them, the game will be up. ”
This speech is followed by another silence.
“Well,” Toph tries, “does he really have to go by himself? Maybe one of us could tag along. Provide backup.”
“Unfortunately, I think that’ll only raise suspicions,” I say. “Nina’s offer was for me alone.”
Still, Jester says, that doesn’t mean you have to go unprepared.
They’ll send you the coordinates to get to the ship.
Once they do, I’ll be able to draw up a heat map of The Parallax.
Everyone leans in as Jester continues, concentrating so as to not miss the words scrolling across his visor.
I’ll plot the interior, estimate where the simulation room might be, as well as all the exits.
You’ll memorize it. That way you’re not going in unprepared.
And in the meantime, he raises his brows at Lament, seeing as I’m the best intelligence officer in the galaxy, I’ll work on creating an undetectable wire.
I nod at this. “So I’ll have a floor plan of The Parallax and a way to signal for help in case things go wrong. Then, once I’m…” I trail off. “Oh.”
Vera frowns. “What?”
All the wind leaves me, like air leaking from a balloon. “This plan won’t work.”
“Why not?”
“Because even if Doc Min decides to let me aboard his ship, how are we supposed to get there? Lament and I are still DNA-barred from unsanctioned missions, remember? And Moon Dancer isn’t finished.”
Everyone turns to look at Lament. They’re all waiting for him to speak, but he doesn’t. Just clenches his jaw and glares.
“Lament,” Avi prompts.
“What?”
“Aren’t you going to deliver your line?”
“No,” he says through gritted teeth at the same time I ask, “What line?”
“While you were off being tricked by your mother,” Avi supplies, “Lament’s friend Archmon delivered the compounder. We all worked together to add the final panels to Moon Dancer, then did a test run.”
“But…” I blink. “How? I thought she was still weeks away from—”
“Not weeks,” Avi interrupts. “Hours. Moon Dancer is finished, Keller. We got her flying.”