#we are picking up so many people in this hallway. sifo went 'well i need to build a support system so i'm calling in all my corps kids'

[dapurinthos]

i found another corps member under the couch. i think they're recruiting.

Jace rolls his eyes and the end of his lekku, as if he’s using them to underline his opinion on the necessity of getting into specifics, which seems to be that it’s optional. The looping white tattoos crinkle up together. “A body on his doorstep. Then he went on to say that we’ve had more people killed in the last twelve years over the previous half-century.” Sifo-Dyas stops. I stop. Jace keeps walking until he realises he’s the only one doing so, and then swings back around, one lek curling around his neck while the other one tumbles behind his shoulder from the momentum. “Jace.” “Yes, Master Sifo-Dyas?” “Did he say ‘killed’ or just that there’s an increase in general Order deaths?” “There’s a difference?” “Jace, you're MedCorps.” “Yes.” An obvious ‘and?’ is absent. “There’s always a ‘cause of death' box to fill out. I can't just put ‘life’ in there, even though it is a terminal STI.” I try to hide my laughter in a cough but only end up trying to breathe consciously and mistime the inhale/exhale movement. It doesn't matter that the cough started off fake; it's real now, and painful. “Breathe it all out,” says MedCorps Jace, brisk and efficient. “Push the air out through your mouth and nose and ears until you don't have any left, and then cover your mouth. Swallow. Breathe in only through your mouth, slow and smooth for thirty seconds.” My throat convulses, but I do what he says. I clamp my hand over my mouth and nose to keep air from getting in while I swallow nothing. “Not so tight. You still need some air to get in.” I loosen my grip and breathe like I'm sucking oxygen in through a straw for the next thirty seconds, counting them off in my head. One hyperlane, two hyperlane, three hyperlane … After counting thirty hyperlanes, I switch my focus to a different number. Twelve years doesn’t feel like the right number. It’s not just that it’s a strange number to count to, with ten and fifteen right there on either side. It’s blurry, out-of-focus, one of those letters on an eye chart that’s going to turn out to be something completely different than what you thought it was when it’s magnified. Sifo-Dyas seems to agree with me. His tone is politely baffled. “Why twelve years ago?”