“SIR? ARE YOU ALL RIGHT?”
—Jeremiah, standing in the doorway, appearing utterly relieved—and utterly stupefied.
“I ... I don’t know,” says Patrobus, staring straight ahead, staring into space. “I just don’t—”
There is a burst of static as Aluka comes over Jeremiah’s radio: “I’m still waiting for an answer,” he says—stirring Jeremiah from his trance, causing him to look at Patrobus instead of the witch. At last he straightens and offers the Captain his weapon. “Sir, I am officially relinquishing command—and handing it back to you. It has been an honor.”
Patrobus just looks at the thing, at the fire-breathing musket, his eyes still distant, his mind clearly elsewhere.
Aluka comes again: “Well, what do I do?”
Patrobus doesn’t move. At last he says: “What—what does he want?”
Jeremiah st
