“Our job will be similar to his. We search through the records, find relevant information, and organize it for Lucas and the towers to use. There’s not much else we can do while we fly, because we’re cut off receiving new information out here. Once we reach Belvun, there will be more interesting work.”

Captain Blitner straps on his own pair of tendril gloves and shows me how to find information. Facts and data and historical records about every planet, logs about every repair ever done to every station, the names of people who did certain tasks. Most of it, I discover, is useless information. It’s our job to find data that can be used for future reference.

Captain Blitner finally pulls over his own seat to help me. His hands move across the screen in the repetitive patterns he’s grown accustomed to over the years. Some paragraphs and words and documents are highlighted with different colors. Green highlights represent information that’s new or updated within the last two years, yellow highlights represent the information updated in the last two to eight years, and red highlights represent data added eight or more years ago, and is most likely outdated. Anything highlighted white is permanent information, such as Slater’s development of the Embassy Program and the exact dates of certain events.

At one point he asks me to bring him a glass of water. I go to his desk and wait for the dispenser to fill the cup that’s already sitting inside the machine. When I turn back around, I see a framed picture propped up on his desk. It’s a picture of him, Orcher, and Father. I can’t tell when it was taken, maybe five or six years ago. Both Orcher and Father are holding a hand on one of Captain Blitner’s shoulders.

I look up at the real Captain Blitner: his back is to me, hunched over the panel as he swipes and taps and highlights sections of text. He raises one of his aged hands to his collar—which has become crinkled again—and pats it back into place.

“Thank you,” Captain Blitner says when I return with the water. He takes a long drink, gulping loudly. “If you are hungry, you may have something from the dispenser.”

“I’m good.”

And it’s true: my anxiety caused me to lose my appetite. He nods and faces the panel again. I take my place over his shoulder, and he resumes his work.

Chapter Seventeen

I stay until Captain Blitner decides we’re finished, and try not to look too eager as I leave. I draw out every movement, from unstrapping my tendril gloves, to giving him a deliberate, lengthy goodbye. When I finally escape the room, I shut the door and stand there for a moment, my entire body tense.

Why him?