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we’ll need to take your blood.”
    Zubren let them draw a sample from his shoulder as he browsed the file. Black lines obscured most of it.
    “Hey, how can I learn anything from this?” he protested, shoving the folder back to the field operator.
    “You can’t,” he said. “But it makes the blood drawing a little easier.”
    “So I’m being kept here until further notice?”
    “Once we analyze this we’ll know if you can be released.”
    Zubren spent the next few hours trying to piece together everything he could. It wasn’t until Lieutenant Maxforth showed up with two guards that he got any real answers.
    Tossing him a military grade uniform, Maxforth and the other field operators stood like sentinels.
    “Good to see you awake,” Maxforth said. “Get dressed.”
    “What's the rush?”
    “We need to sanitize this room for its next guest.”
    Zubren started to slip off his medical gown. “And why was I here in the first place?”
    Maxforth averted his gaze. “Turns out the Crawlers had an answer to our exosuit army.”
    Zubren tossed the medical gown aside and sat there, frozen. This made no sense.
    “Gilm and I worked on those things for three months. We tested them against all the Crawlers’ combat capabilities and they passed. How can you tell me the Crawlers had an answer for them?”
    The lieutenant threw up his hands. “You think I know?”
    He let the words hang in the air. Finally, Zubren zipped up his uniform, grabbed the gown, and gave it to a field operator.
    “Can I go?”
    Maxforth nodded. A grizzled stubble surrounded his mouth.
    “Sir, how long have I been out?”
    “Five days. You suffered a severe concussion. Welcome back.”
    “Whatever those Crawlers have, Gilm and I can figure out a way past it. We’ve come this far, haven’t we?” Zubren asked, not sure why he was talking with such determination. Maybe because he knew this was what Maxforth wanted to hear. Or maybe they’d doped him up too much.
    Maxforth put his hands on his belt and led them into the hall. He blinked as if he’d forgotten where they were.
    “When your exosuit died up there, Gilm rushed out in the advanced speed model to save your bacon. But like you, Elton, and Derith, that exposed him to a severe case of radiation.”
    “Is he alive?”
    His lieutenant grimaced. His uneasy tone told Zubren what was coming. “Our assault on the Haze seems to have changed the spore clouds. They filter sun in a different way now. Certain bacteria that would’ve normally died out are popping up. It isn’t the radiation that’s harmful. It’s the virus these bacteria have created. Gilm was the first victim, but he won’t be the last.”
    The words burned like acid on his skin.
    “But I didn’t even destroy one Crawler satellite. We couldn’t have changed the spore clouds.”
    “I guess it depends on how you word it.”
    “You mean the Crawlers responded to us.”
    Maxforth nodded grimly and ushered him to move on.
    “And why can’t we deploy more suits to the Haze?” Zubren inquired.
    “The radiation levels are too strong,” Maxforth said. “We’ll have to redesign the armor. But we’ve already got our plates full with the Crawler virus.”
    Zubren glanced inside one glass room and saw masked men placing a body into a black bag.
    “Isn’t there anything for me to do?”
    “I have a few ideas,” Maxforth said.
    * * *
    Zubren tried to tell Maxforth that Gilm didn’t believe in the Maester teachings, so they should find a more neutral location for his funeral. But it became clear that Maxforth and Fleet Services weren’t interested in honoring Gilm. They wanted to use his death as a symbol for the Union. So they settled on the Maester Temple at the edge of Oras-C8.
    Zubren flexed and unflexed his fingers along the edge of the podium, the sea of attendees calm before him. He estimated at least three hundred, but only a fifth had actually known Gilm. The rest were either Fleet Services stand-ins or members