I regret nothing.
In stories, the hero can enjoy a constant stream of revelations and clues. In real life, Tobias spent the next two hours first having Domaine look for reports of anything else missing (Choudry’s surface suit was in fact absent from its locker). After that, he went back to his real job, which was coordinating the desperate escape of humanity from an increasingly hostile Moon.
The current plan had an acceptably percentage that could be saved, but too low a chance that they would be saved. The alternative barely got five percentage off the moon safely: and Tobias couldn’t even complain about either scenario, because they were both better than the ones he had been given last month. The almost-giggling, almost-sociopathic statistician now modeling the escape scenarios was certainly giving it his all.
Tobias had just caught up on his review when Ward called him. “Commander, Tam Stuart’s dead. Murdered.”
“Of course he was,” Tobias muttered, then cursed himself. “Sorry. Long day, dealing with Pickman’s models. I’ll be right there.”
Probably I could have just gotten the report, and stayed here, he thought to himself. And then stare at the survival numbers until my nose bleeds. Taking the report in person sounded like the better call.