Page 177 of Reaper Said Mine

The memory of Horus IV rises. Smoke fills my nose. Distant artillery echoes through my head. For an instant I'm twelve years old again, watching adults make decisions that turn entire neighborhoods into graveyards.

I shove the memory aside and keep walking.

My compad vibrates.

Bellamy's name flashes across the screen, and homesickness hits me so suddenly it steals my breath.

I answer immediately.

His holographic image appears, and he squints at me.

"You look terrible," he says.

I snort. "You called me to tell me that?"

"No. I called because every executive at the network is losing their minds."

"That's not exactly breaking news."

"Fair point."

He glances away from the camera. Voices shout somewhere behind him, and I catch the familiar chaos of a newsroom in full panic mode. For a moment I miss it.

Then I remember Dawson, and the feeling fades.

Bellamy looks back at me.

"How bad is it there?"

I angle the compad toward the market. Several people are loading crates of supplies onto a grav-cart.

"People are stocking up," I tell him.

The humor leaves his face.

"That bad?"

"Yeah."

He rubs a hand over his face.

"Dawson's already talking about war coverage packages."

"Of course he is."

"He wanted casualty projection graphics before breakfast."

My stomach twists.

"Jesus."

"That was my reaction."

For a moment neither of us speaks. Then Bellamy leans closer to the camera.

"Ursa."

"What?"