I out-line the circumstances, and he inclines his head, making some notes on his handheld. “I will file the report, then.” So that’s it. Official news. I promised Mac on Perlas that I would look out for Evie—that I was saving her by taking her away. Hurt jabs my stomach in shrapnel shards, splinters of failure. Mary, he’ll want to shoot me when he hears, but he’ll have to get in line. The ship goes up and up while Vel tells us of other losses—Torrance, the scout, and Drake, the medic. So many clansmen followed March into the stars to die, but I didn’t know them well. Their losses feel different; I have some distance from them. No losses hit so close to home as the two scientists. They say funerals are not for the dead but for the living. Those rites are what permit you to move on, so if you don’t deal with the remains, you can never deal with the memories. That might be true; we may have walked in their dust down on Venice Minor, but it’s not the same as a proper good-bye.
