Keith looked up from locking his room door to find one of the senior instructors waiting for him. "With me, Kogane," the man snapped. "Commandant's office." Without another word the man strode off, leaving a thoroughly bewildered Keith to catch up.

Five minutes later, Keith stood at rigid attention in the Commandant's office, waiting for the man to finish the phone conversation he was having. Finally it concluded and the Commandant looked up at him. "At ease, Cadet Kogane," he said quietly, toying with a file on his desk. "I didn't want to tell you this until the rest of the corps found out at assembly tomorrow. But . . . you're listed on Lieutenant Shirogane's paperwork as next of kin, so. . ." he took a breath and finally met Keith's gaze. "All contact with the Kerberos mission was lost as of 1700 hours last night. They've now missed two mandatory check-ins. I'm afraid that Commander Holt, Mission Specialist Holt, and Lieutenant Shirogane are missing and presumed dead. You have the Garrison's condolences, Cadet."

Keith staggered, collapsing into a chair in defiance of all military protocol. The room spun around him as he tried to speak, failing several times before he managed to squeak, ". . . How?"

The Commandant cleared his throat. "Understand that this is classified information, Kogane. We're still analyzing the telemetry, both from the lander and the orbiter. However, preliminary evidence suggests that pilot error is most likely to blame."

"WHAT?!" Keith shot to his feet, furious. "No way, that's BULLSHIT . . . uh, sir," he finished lamely, blushing as he remembered where he was and who he was talking to.

The Commandant merely raised an eyebrow. "There is no other explanation, thus far. All the telemetry shows optimal operation from the equipment. Lt. Shirogane undoubtedly made a miscalculation in his piloting." He picked up some papers, clearly ending the interview. "Memorial service will be in three days; mandatory attendance, dress uniform. Dismissed."

"Sir," Keith ground out, saluting and fleeing before his mouth could get him in any more trouble. He wasn't paying any attention to where he was going, and so was surprised to find himself in front of Shiro's room. Which, of course, wasn't Shiro's anymore; two weeks after he left, it had been assigned to a new cadet. All of Shiro's things were in storage. Sighing, he turned and walked away.

Once safely locked in his room, Keith sprawled across his bed and picked up the picture Shiro had snapped their last night together. "Aniki," he whispered, closing his eyes against the tears that burned them. "I don't care what they say; I don't believe you screwed up. I won't give up, aniki. I'll find you, I swear it." He didn't want to admit Shiro was gone, but his training forced him to face facts. Even if Shiro HAD survived whatever happened, the simple fact was that there was no way to rescue him, or his crew. "But it wasn't his fault, it couldn't have been," Keith whispered to himself. The beginnings of an idea sparked in his mind and he dove for his computer, hoping that Shiro's logins weren't disabled and the tech geeks were too busy to notice them being used on Earth. For what felt like an eternity, he was unable to breathe, until the computer connected to Garrison's classified system and he located the Kerberos mission subsystem. First he downloaded the telemetry, saving it offsite, then he got to work analyzing it, looking for the flaw he KNEW had to be there. Shiro wouldn't make an error that cost lives.

Two hours into his work, a knock came on his door, followed by the sound of the door opening and footsteps entering. That could only mean one thing, and Keith turned to see a senior instructor behind him. "Kogane," the man ground out. "Accessing classified data without authorization. Did you really think Shirogane's login wouldn't be flagged? Your ass is in a sling now, boy. You're out of Garrison, effective as soon as the memorial is over, and lucky you aren't going to Leavenworth. Until then, you're confined to quarters."

Keith spun back to his computer, shutting it down and starting to pack it up. "Let me save you some time," he said in a low voice as he threw his things together. "I'm not going to the memorial service. I'll be damned if I'm going to listen to old men who really couldn't give a fuck rattle on and on about the 'senseless tragedy' and 'noble sacrifice', blaming my brother when we haven't got a damned clue what happened. Fucking spare me, OK?" He didn't own much, and by the time he ran out of words, he had everything thrown in his bag. With a final eye roll, he pushed past the gaping instructor, walking out of Garrison without a single look back.