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Jane had told them they'd get a month of rest and that the month of rest would be attended with bonus pay if they kept their weight down. Apparently "pod duty" counted as "rest" and Taym sat with his feet up reading Pnin and chewing on a thumbnail and wondering when he'd get relieved for a smoke break when the alarms came, the insistent, unhurried beeps. Always on my ******** shift, he thought, with a pang of guilt that he hadn't yet checked up on Wyatt. Maybe other hunters washed their hands of recruits once they'd pointed them vaguely in the direction of the Cove, but Taym inevitably felt proprietary, protective.

So another item for some future to-do list, which was not an entirely unattractive prospect even though he hated this, and had never hated it more than now, when he wanted to tell every sleeping face: boy, you really ******** up this time.

He gathered up the clipboard and unhurriedly set off to find the new arrival, intentionally making more noise than his usual catlike silent prowl because the last thing he needed was to scare the s**t out of someone. He materialized at the end of the row of pods: skeletal even under the outlines of his coat, which looked vaguely military save that there was a frowning face stitched not-very-neatly onto one shoulder, where an insignia of rank ought to be. The haircut, too, seemed military-issue--freshly-grown stubble--but the five o'clock shadow certainly was not, and neither was the tremor that wracked his hand as he tapped a pen impatiently against the clipboard he was carrying and surveyed Ever like he was assessing a newly-born calf at the beef ranch.

"Morning," he said, and the voice was softspoken and faintly nasal and it was hoarse and rasping. The reason for this was obvious when he stepped closer: above the edges of a dark red scarf a mostly-healed and incredibly angry gash stretched from beneath one ear straight across to the other. If Ever had seen Inglourious Basterds he might find himself vaguely reminded of Brad Pitt's scar. Taym hadn't. He felt it looked like someone had tried to cut his throat with an exceptionally blunt weapon which was, to be honest, not far from the truth. "Or afternoon. Name?"

He gave him a long, flat, unimpressed look, and there was something in it of the stare a quiet and unhappy dog might give a much smaller trespasser through a fence. It didn't bristle because it didn't need to. It fairly dared Ever to come out with the cockiness again.

"The goal isn't to make sure I know it, Ambrodiel," he said finally, glancing back down at the clipboard to check off a few mysterious boxes. "But since you recognized it, we'll skip that question. Do you know where you are yet?" Normally he'd have offered this. But Ambrodiel was going to be difficult.

He thought, uncomfortably, of the quarantine period he'd been subjected to after the Sahara, and then almost immediately of a Life tech idly chasing a worm around under the skin of his arm with a pencil eraser.

"Right, good to see you come pre-installed with standard issue smartass. So the rest'll come back eventually," he said drily instead of answering the question. "You signed up for this, you'll remember it. Give it time. Welcome to Deus Ex Machina," he added, and it sounded rote and recited. "You have a few things to do before you remember, and one of them's kind of insane, so take a breather if you need it because things get a little crazy once you leave this room, but at least you missed the Sahara field trip. Do you smoke, Ambrodiel?"

"Only for you," he answered pleasantly, and he stifled a cough into his fist, grimaced, looked more irritated than pained. "And luckily for you, only later." He dug in his pockets and found a box, tossing it across. "Not here, I've already caught s**t for giving smokes to the new kids once. I'd ration that box if I were you, it's probably the only one you'll get for a while."

He finished up whatever mysterious thing it was that he had to do with the clipboard, ticking boxes and scribbling a note or two. When he'd visited the infirmary Sunny had hand-drawn a checkbox labeled "a*****e" and ticked it for him, and he resisted the urge to do the same now. Standard-issue wasn't far from the truth: at least this had not already gone the way of a fist fight, like it had with Leslie.

"First thing we're going to do is arm you. This is kind of a bizarre ******** process." He indicated the exit with his elbow. "Just let things happen naturally, and don't worry if you don't know what to do, and don't worry that you're crazy--you aren't, or at least not more than the rest of us. You'll come out the other side and we'll get you a room and some necessities, and you'll be getting a phone. I'll send some information to it, and I'll be around if you have any questions." He shifted the clipboard under his arm and stuck out one trembling, bony, callused hand. "Obadiah Thompson, by the way."

He watched, and he recognized that little motion for what it was, one that he'd made a hundred times.

"Don't be a d**k," was the brief answer, and the handshake was surprisingly firm, surprisingly professional, and felt much stronger than it should have. "And make yourself useful, but that's a good idea regardless. The last time I gave a new kid cigarettes," he added, fixing Ever with that same flat, faintly-disgusted stare, "he thought that meant he could break into my room and liberate more whenever he wanted. I have the feeling that if that kid doesn't learn, he's going to end up a bloody stain in the hallway, and ******** tragically, I am not speaking in a metaphor. Be careful who you trust around here, and don't take anything for granted. You aren't in the real world any more. Most of the s**t you've learned no longer applies. You caught your breath yet?"

"My condolences," he answered without a pause. "You get used to it eventually. Saves on the shampoo, too." He'd rather have seen the newcomer submissive and meek or even rebellious like Leslie had been (because rebellion was necessarily against that which was perceived as authority), but on the other hand, an awakening going smoothly was a relief, especially right now. Deus would wipe that smug ******** grin off his face sooner or later.

"This way," he said, jerking his chin for him to follow. "Remember what I said: you aren't losing your mind, and you won't know what to do. It's fine."