Page 41 of Alien Burn

Elevated volcanic activity along the Verrek fault line. Ground operations suspended until conditions stabilized. Aerial observation to continue at a safe altitude.

It sounded responsible. Someone had taken care with that.

Verrek ran southwest of the burn quadrant. A major disturbance could still matter, but his father's monitoring net showed none. Of the instruments cited, one was reading normally. The other was absent from the current register.

He could hear his mother's voice. Check the instrument before you blame the rock.

He had checked.

His request for the readings came back through three offices without a single reading attached. Meanwhile, his father's cleared inspection unit and its operator were still waiting for release.

Dhomhes sent the discrepancies to the search commander and Stron's office, requesting an assessment from the actual feeds. He saved every version of the order before anyone could make the invented instrument disappear.

His next appointment waited on the display.

Head Hawn.

Dhomhes looked down at the sleeve he had rolled to his elbow. A dark smear marked the cuff. He had no idea how long it had been there.

He went to change.

Fiviel's ju-nak hung on the wall behind his father.

Dhomhes had seen it there before. Had heard Fiviel complain about the hours he spent maintaining its blades, then watched him nearly take Stron's fingers off for touching one.

Now the weapon was clean and waiting, and Fiviel was not here to object to anyone looking at it.

Head Hawn stood beneath the long spiral of his family's weapons. His hands were clasped behind his back. He had Fiviel's breadth through the shoulders, the same habit of lifting his chin a little when he expected to dislike an answer.

“Is my son dead?”

Dhomhes stopped a few paces away.

All the careful language he had brought with him seemed shameful now.

“I don't know.”

Hawn watched him.

“There are sections below the platform no one has reached,” Dhomhes said. “The fire and the damaged slopes have made the work difficult. I have no report that confirms his death. Or Graecey's.”

“I have reports.”

“I know.”

“Every day. Very courteous reports. Apparently everything is ongoing.” Hawn's mouth scarcely moved around the word. “I asked for you.”

Dhomhes held his gaze. “The search has been too slow. I am trying to change that.”

“Trying.”

“Yes.”

There was no useful way to make it sound better. He could have named the offices he had contacted, the requests he had filed. Hawn would still be standing under an unused weapon, waiting for his son.

“Fiviel said you could be relied upon,” the older male said. “That if you said a thing, you would stand behind it.”

Dhomhes looked at the ju-nak before he could stop himself.