He has had two days to prepare for this moment. 

He spent those days sick. 

No room in the shuttle was spared. Everywhere he went, he could hear them. Every viewport he passed, he closed. It never ceased. It never stayed the same. One, continuous riot, composed of a thousand boiling horrors. A crushing wall of violence, and his ears could pick out the bumps in the mortar. Remarkably akin to working with a fresh bird. He washes his hands, again. 

He has had two days to prepare for this moment.

Ask 20022 what to expect when the airlock opens, and 20022 will stir his tea, sniff it gingerly, and add just a splash more honey to the brew. Request a briefing on 20022’s mission, and the protocols of first contact with Biomancer General Liquid Bronze, and 20022 will smile, and 20022 will fetch the slides. 

20022 answers every useful question asked of him, to the fullest. 20022 did not say it would be two days. Maybe members of the Service are to ask wisely. Maybe 20022 is still angry. How does he focus on the sheep inside the shuttle and ignore the death outside the shuttle? Dolce does not ask him.

He had only two days to prepare for this moment.

It is the first time he remembers waking. Previously, awake and asleep sounded the same. Now, there is only silence. Now, the only sounds are the ones he remembers. Within the hour, he is expected by 20022’s side, and he is not to be violently ill. Two days. It is time.

The Summerkind find a sheep of a different hue behind and beside their guest. He is dressed in what clothes have been provided him; simple formalwear, not as nice as 20022’s uniform, by a few noticeable degrees. He observes them. He observes his superior. His gaze is attentive, but dull. Docile. Obedient. 

They do not see the lioness standing behind him. He does not see the lioness standing behind him, because his eyes are set forward, always. But he hears her. He hears the soft whisper, the dampening of her voice that somehow leaves all its warmth and power intact. His ears tingle, waiting for the breath to steal over them that must be coming as she reminds him. [i]“Go along. Be obedient. Observe. There is too much wrong here. You cannot help them right now. Survive this; there is nothing more you can do.”[/i]

He inclines his head deferentially, that not a speck of undeserved praise may fall on him. “My apologies for the confusion; I am a new hire, studying under and assisting 20022. I have yet to earn a number. My name is Dolce.” 

When he looks up, all he can see are bloodied knuckles.

[i]”Be obedient. Observe. Nothing more.”[/i]