Katz stood in the place that Vicenta had stood, pushing a bloody handkerchief into his pocket and pulling out his pocket watch checking the time, looking up at the newcomer entering the room.
He studied the face, the walk, taking it all in as he gauged the arrival.
The door was open, you heard what happened, he said simply, sinking his hands into his pockets and bouncing on the balls of his feet lightly, as behind him through the shattered glass panels, maintenance crews were trying to put out a burning console in the CIC. The Coalition is a harsh place, why do you think we need to be so careful about who we allow into the Fighter Corps?
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