What would Ladia say? Would she be proud that I waited, that I never forgot about us? Maybe. But what did I do while I waited? I changed for the worse and became focused on—no, obsessed with getting back to her. It’s been her, her, her. My friends weren’t the only people who abandoned me after that summer.

I abandoned myself, too.

Chapter Sixteen

It’s a new day, the first full day of the expedition. I’m a new person. I’m going to make Orcher proud and become the guy that Ladia will love again. She’ll never know how horribly I’ve lived.

I meet Orcher on the Bridge. He takes one look at me and perks his eyebrows amusedly. “I thought you kids were supposed to hate mornings?”

He chuckles and motions for me to sit in the seat beside his desk. Below us, the station pilots who work the morning shift tap on displays in Station Control. The Bridge is surprisingly empty, changed from yesterday’s commotion.

Orcher opens an application on his holotab hands it to me. The display reads:

Station Archivist

Archivists are responsible for researching and documenting the following information:

1. Daily checks on station operations and outputs.
2. Notable data collected during expeditions.
3. Events of historical value.
4. Personal, relevant observations.

An extensive knowledge of the Modern Embassy Program is required.

“Sound like something you might enjoy?” Orcher asks when I hand back the holotab. “Your father said you like to work with facts.”

“He was right.”

“Good. We need someone like you. Captain Blitner… He’s a capable man, dedicated to his duty, but I’ll need someone to work in his stead soon.”

Orcher downloads software onto my holotab, explaining that when I document information, it will automatically transfer to the station’s data storage processors. He gives me a list of instructions. I’ll work eight to ten hours a day, excluding today, my training.

When I leave the Bridge, the gate seals shut and locks me in silence. Only the hum of the engines and the steady pat, pat, pat of my feet against the floor reach my ears. I ride down to Floor 7 and find the sector’s main office. Inside, a man is tapping away at his work panel. He turns around when I knock.

“Mr. Lance!” He sidesteps the desk to shake my hand. “Captain Marcus Crowe. If you would…”

He leads me down the hall to a lab. A few of the officers are standing around, conversing or drinking steaming mugs of coffee. Others are bent over long tables, examining data orbs. A chorus of ‘Morning, Crowe,’ greets us when as we walk across the lab.

Captain Crowe activates my workstation and hands me a pair of tendril gloves from a compartment below the display.

“Ever do this kind of work before?” he asks.

I nod. “For Gray Wall.”

“Then you should catch on fast.”