“Clear skies,” she whispers. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
The girl grips her brush, tongue poking out the corner of her mouth as she focuses on the page in front of her. The trick with calligraphy is to commit to the stroke. Her hand can’t waver or the ink will blot. The beauty will be lost.
She needs to write a note to the green-eyed boy, and it cannot wait.
But her fingers tighten around the brush’s handle until her knuckles whiten, and she’s pressing too hard. The characters writhe on the paper and weep fat tears of ink so they blur into one another. The girl can’t read them, and she can’t remember what she meant to write.
She stares down at the paper, the urgency beating through her in time with her heart, the memory hovering just out of reach. What did she need to tell the boy?
The blurred letters fade out as the girl watches, and soon the paper is blank.
“CAPTAIN CHASE, YOU’RE LATE.” Commander towers is glaring at me. But I don’t care. I can’t find my apology—I can’t even find a salute. I’m too busy staring at the man standing on the other side of her desk. He still sports a holstered Gleidel at one hip, too long a soldier to come to a place like Avon unarmed despite having resigned from the military. He’s wearing clean and tidy civvies, practical and suited to Avon’s muddy surface: boots, trousers, a fitted T-shirt, like the most casual version of our uniform. With my hair hastily pinned up under my hat and my buttons in severe need of polishing, I feel like an idiot.
But mostly, I feel relieved. Because of all the people I expected to be escorting around the base, Tarver Merendsen was the absolute last on the list.
“I was just telling the commander that you and I have served together in the past,” he says, turning to face me. His mouth twitches, the barest hint of a familiar smile visible there. “It’s good to see you again, Captain.”
“Sir.” I’m struggling to speak—struggling to breathe. It wasn’t so long ago I was calling him Captain.
Commander Towers turns off the e-filer in her hand and tosses it down on the desk with a clatter. She seems agitated, her typically frosty exterior cracking as if under some unseen pressure. “Merendsen’s here to evaluate base security in light of recent events,” she says, her gaze snapping between me and the man by her desk. “Someone raised a concern with TerraDyn that the military isn’t holding up its end of the bargain, and because of his experience, they’ve taken him on as an independent contractor to review our arrangements.”
I can read the annoyance in Towers’s voice. She doesn’t like the implication that she can’t do her job.
“I have some experience with life on Avon,” says Merendsen easily, turning to nod politely at Commander Towers. “I certainly understand the challenges you face, Commander. I’m sure a lot has changed since I was posted here, though. Perhaps Captain Chase could give me a brief tour?”
Commander Towers is no more immune to Merendsen’s charm than anyone else. A bit of the tension leaves her shoulders and she gives a flick of her hand, dismissing us both. “Go right ahead. If you need anything while you’re here, Captain Chase is your man, understand?”
It’s an unspoken order to me to play nicely. Towers’s eyes shift toward me, stern and piercing. So I straighten as if suitably chastised and toss off a stiff salute. Merendsen simply nods, and then we’re both headed for the door.
“One moment, Captain. Mr. Merendsen, do you mind waiting outside?”
Her referring to Merendsen as a civilian makes my muscles twitch, but he doesn’t seem fazed. His gaze flicks from Commander Towers to me, and I realize he’s wondering if it’s safe to leave me with her. He still doesn’t know why I called him here or who he can trust.
I don’t even know who to trust.
I give the tiniest of nods, and Merendsen reaches for the door. “Of course, Commander. I’ll have a look around out there.”
Commander Towers waits until the door closes behind him. I can’t look away from her—there are circles under her eyes more pronounced than the ones I see in the mirror each day, and I can see minuscule lines around her mouth, like the past week has aged her.
“Captain.” The intensity in her eyes frightens me more than anything else, like she’s exhausted but too wired to switch off. She’s unraveled since her strange debriefing, when she shut everything down as soon as I asked about the sector to the east, where I saw the ghost of Flynn’s secret facility.
I wait, but she doesn’t speak. “Sir?”
Her lips press together, a struggle taking place behind her expression. Finally, she says softly, “Don’t tell him what’s been going on here.”
My heartbeat quickens. “Sir—sir, he knows what’s been happening, that’s why he was sent. The attacks—”
“Not that,” Towers interrupts, giving a dismissive jerk of her head. “Don’t tell him everything. Let him do his job and then get out of here.”
I’m fighting to stay casual, to play dumb. “Sir, I don’t understand.”
“Just—use your best judgment,” Towers snaps. She pauses, getting control of herself with a visible effort. She draws herself up, straightening her shoulders. “Don’t tell him what you’ve heard about there being a secret facility east of here.” Her eyes meet mine.
“I’ll do my best, sir.” The lie comes so easily to me now—how quickly I’ve grown accustomed to deceiving my superior officers. The thought makes my stomach twist, sick.