Septu’s core-temperature rises as soon as he steps out of the wind. But he keeps his eyes to the ground. The trembling of his father’s hand has nothing to do with the heat and everything to do with gathering other Master-Miners every sevenday.
“Get them in the pointers, you noobs! In the pointers!”
Dunno how many times I’ve screamed that. A real bunch of gap-toothed, pants-pissing noobs they’ve given me this time. But the Risen have already taken the west Atlantic, so maybe HQ doesn’t have anybody better to give.
It was a deathbed recantation. The Astronaut lay, sunken and frail amidst his bedclothes, as they set up their equipment. There was a window on the other side of the bed, framing a portion of the nearby mountain range.
“Beautiful view you’ve got,” said the man from NASA. “Peaceful.” Remote.
Gerrard goes down on one knee to tie Junior’s shoelaces. He double, then triple-knots the things, and wonders what else she’s left deliberately undone.
“Did Mommy tell you why I wanted you to come today?” His voice is low.
The stink’s been bothering me since I stepped into the box. It’s mostly the same stink you get in all unpriv’d boxes, sweat and plastic-seal and unwash. Not my problem, really, I’m just here to mop the floors, make the foodprepper counter all cleaned up. But there’s something under the regular smell, and it’s coming from the wall.