Endgame (9 page)

“Precisely.”

“I can’t help it.” I feel odd and raw. “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”

“You won’t. This is my forte, Sirantha.”

Knowing that intellectually doesn’t dim my worry any. Because after he goes inside, Vel will be out of touch, beyond my help. As a copy, he’ll live this centurion’s life while the original babbles Imperial secrets as fast as we can record them. And if this guard doesn’t know what we need, then we’ll take someone else. This is only the first sortie in the war.

“I know. But imagine if it were me.”

“I could not bear it,” he says quietly.

“But I’m expected to? Not fair, Vel.”

He furls his claws in subtle response. “That is a childish complaint, Sirantha.”

“Sorry.” But I’m not, really.

Constance interrupts before this can become an issue. Vel feels like the last person in the universe who belongs to me. There’s March, of course, but he’s gone, and not all mine. There’s a large portion of him bound up in raising his nephew, and I have no role in that.

“There’s a small problem.” She never wastes time on a greeting.

I invite her to make use of the other chair. “What’s up?”

“Infiltration of Titus’s life may prove problematic.”

“Why?” Vel asks.

“He is recently married.”

This is indisputably a snafu.

A new bride pays attention to things a wife of many long turns ceases to notice. She’ll expect regular sex from Vel, as they don’t call it the honeymoon period for nothing. There will be little in-jokes that he’s expected to remember and understand.

“Damage control,” I mutter. “How do we fix this?”

“He’ll be useless as a centurion,” Constance replies.

True. The machine she used on him is wildly addictive. If we cut him loose at this point, he’ll go mad wanting that pleasure again. He’s ours to keep, now.

“The solution is simple,” Vel says, after a few moments’ thoughtful silence.

“It is?”

A flicker of amusement twitches his mandible as he reads my doubt. “I can take the second one’s place,” he offers.

Since the man is short and compact, as Doc was, it will be physically painful for him to compress his body, but he’s done it before. Vel is willing to suffer for the cause. I just wish he didn’t have to. But our first choice is off the table, so we’ll work with what’s left.

“Constance, see to the second prisoner,” I order. “Find out if he has any dangerous demographics. Then report back.”

“At once, Sirantha Jax.”

After she departs to deploy her infernal device, I sigh. “All told, it’s not too bad.”

“There are worse disasters that could befall us,” Vel points out.

“Will the op require surveillance?”

He lifts a shoulder. “It might.”

Someone should watch his back if he’s in the field alone. Unfortunately, Vel has the most experience stalking targets, but he can hardly guard himself. Which means I’ll do it for him. I can be quiet and patient, if I have to be; I just can’t get too close or arouse suspicion while I’m there. Whatever the mission requires, Vel will do it properly. I can count on him. Vel’s here because of me, and I didn’t even have to ask. That’s a type of friendship of which I’ve known little in my life.

Constance returns an hour later. “The second centurion is single. He has no close family on La’heng. He was recently punished for something he did not do, and he has a mild addiction to chem.”

Nothing in those facts will make Vel’s mission more difficult. It’s within acceptable parameters, so we’ll greenlight the mission. I turn to him, but he’s already come to the same conclusion.

He says to the PA, “I need detailed images of the subject, and take some molds, if possible. I will also need to study him at length once I process the initial data. So keep him in good condition for a day or two.”

Stay of execution for the centurion. He won’t be beaten or killed while Vel needs to learn the lines of his face. Still, that’s a pretty grim reason to be alive, and if the soldier’s not connected to Constance’s device, it will be hellish. His addiction proves his brain chemistry tends toward dependency already; that inclination will worsen his final days. I can hear him screaming now that she’s stopped as his body deals with the sudden loss of dopamine.

“Acknowledged,” Constance says. “I will prohibit the free La’heng from making sport of him until after you complete your assessment.”

After all the La’hengrin have suffered at Nicuan hands, I don’t blame them, but I still shiver at what lies ahead for that centurion. I turn to Vel. “Are you good with plan B?”

“I will make it work, Sirantha.” That doesn’t tell me anything about how he feels about going undercover alone, however, or how much pain he’ll experience compacting his form for long periods. I’ve noticed he’s never chosen such a build, apart from that one time with Doc, when it was unavoidable.

Shortly thereafter, Vel excuses himself. There are nights when I wish he didn’t leave, but if he stayed, it would cross a boundary in my head. Right now, the only reason I don’t hate myself for loving two such different males is that the relationships operate under disparate parameters. Vel cuts me a look as he goes, like he suspects some of these inner workings, but he doesn’t call me on it.

I don’t know what I’d do if he did, if he said,
Let me stay, Sirantha.

It wouldn’t be for sex, but maybe in some regards, my pleasure in his presence might be worse. Because it means it’s real and lasting because I feel better just knowing he’s beside me, and March must’ve seen as much before he left. We didn’t talk about it. At some point, we must, rather than tiptoeing around our issues like we live on a thawing iceberg.

Vel once told me that the heart isn’t like a cup of water. You can’t drain it dry. It’s more like an endless well, and the more you love, the more it pumps out. I’m remembering imprecisely at the moment, but it’s late, and I’m tired. That’s the gist.

Once he’s gone, I wish he hadn’t, but I’ll never say otherwise. I can’t be the woman who loves the one she’s with. I don’t want to be fickle and inconstant; I don’t want it to be true of me that the longer the object of my affections is out of proximity, the less I think about him.

But maybe it is.

Maybe, no matter how I try, I’m not destined for a great love. I’m just constantly compartmentalizing and adapting, and it prevents me from giving my heart completely. In one way, that’s good, I suppose. It means I can survive anything.

I put those melancholy thoughts aside and get some sleep.

In the morning, I rise and eat breakfast with the La’hengrin
and our few human supporters. Since we brought the cure and started the formalities to begin large-scale testing, others have flocked to our banner. They treat me with an awe that makes me uncomfortable. Here, I’ve made no friends like Dina, Argus, and Hit. I have only the ones I brought with me: Loras, Zeeka, Vel, and Constance.

The Mareq jumper joins me before I finish eating. Because I know it bothers him, I refrain from praising the successful mission or his safe return. He wants me to treat him like any other soldier, but it’s so hard when he’s been a child with me twice; the last time, he actually ate from my chest. Is this how
normal
mothers feel?

It’s the closest I’ll ever come, I suspect.

“Good morning,” Zeeka says.

He’s assimilated human customs as best he can though his appearance marks him as other. Fortunately, most people don’t realize how rare he is, the only Mareq ever to venture off world. Z says it was his destiny, and that if we hadn’t come, someone else would have. Maybe somebody who wouldn’t have felt guilty enough to give him a second chance. Cloning is a tricky business. It’s not like he’s the same person that the original Baby-Z would have been, but he has identical DNA, and he had the same environmental markers. To
his
mind, he is the same person, reborn, and I don’t feel qualified to argue.

Doc would have, I suspect.

I miss him. Along with Rose and Evie. If Mother Mary has a sense of humor, they’re all together in the afterlife, and Doc has some explaining to do. What I wouldn’t give to hear it, too. But it’s not my time, and if the nanites have anything to say about it, I’ll have many turns before my body wears out. Vel’s remarkably cheerful about that. I suppose I would be, too, if I’d lost as many friends as he has.

“Morning,” I reply.

“I heard you’re going back to the city with Vel. Complications?”

“You could say that.” I fill him in as he eats, explaining how the first choice was a no-go, and we’ve had to make do with the second centurion.

“Have you scouted a location where you can watch over him?” Z asks.

Unlike Vel, he has a modern vocalizer, which translates with less formality. It makes him more approachable, I think. Less intimidating. Plus, it’s hard to be frightened of anyone with such liquid eyes. Zeeka radiates innocence; by looking at him, you’d never guess that he laid the charges that took down an Imperial installation last night.

“No, all our intel and preparation was for the first target. But I’ll figure it out when I see where the guy lives.”

It was an unfortunate turn of luck that resulted in the first centurion’s having gotten married since we observed him last. Nothing in his behavior led us to believe a happy event was imminent. The man got up, went to work, and socialized little. From a distance, he seemed like the perfect choice, down to the correct build.

Because I can’t help myself, I add, “You don’t have to be here, you know. You’re qualified to jump on your own, now.”

Z laughs. “Grimspace isn’t going anywhere, Jax.”

I accept that as truth. How amazing; he has the skill set without any hint of addiction. Since I’ve never raised a Mareq, I don’t know if I should insist on pushing him out of the nest, so to speak. He’s so eager to learn—and to help—that I’m unwilling to crush that spark. I can’t tell him,
Get lost, kid. We don’t need you.

We do. Or the La’heng Liberation Army does. At this point, we’re so few against so many that all are welcome, whatever their species or motivations.

Things just get more complicated.

Constance pokes me awake in the middle of the night—not that you can tell what time it is outside the mountain except that we’ve programmed the environment to match planetary cycles. The lights inside the LLA base have a special fuse that compensates for lack of sunlight. Those with skills unsuited to combat will be here a long time, running support on missions, and we had to factor that into the design.

I sit up, shoving the hair from my eyes, and frown up at her. “What’s wrong?”

“Urgent message, Sirantha Jax.”

What the hell…nobody has the codes here. This can’t be good. I sit up.

“Do I need to—”

“No, I recorded and downloaded to my internal systems.”

Even with that warning, it’s still a fragging terrible shock for March’s voice to come out of Constance’s mouth. I stare, unable to believe what I’m hearing.

He’s too smart to identify himself, but it’s definitely him. “We…missed our flight. It’s complicated. I’ll explain when I see you. Now the spaceport’s locked down. I went back to
the house, but you’ve already vacated. I need to get Sasha someplace safe. Come when you get this. We’re not going anywhere.”

“How did this come in?” I demand.

“It was bounced to the shuttle’s comm code.”

Right.
I remember now. Vel took Sasha to see some ruins in the mountains; the kid rang the house to tell March how awesome it was, but we scrubbed all records from the comm suite before we left. Which means one of them remembered the codes on screen from that single call. It’s the kind of thing I expect from March, actually, attention to detail that makes any operation he plans go smooth as silk.

Constance goes on, “A maintenance worker forwarded it to me. He guessed it was important though he didn’t know the particulars.”

Mary bless you, sir.

I can’t risk sending a return message, but there’s no question I’ll go get them. Shit, March must be so pissed. I thought they were long gone.

The days we spent together during his visit let the Imperial forces drop their guard after the final ruling. The centurions spent a week and a half on high alert, and just before I dropped March at the spaceport, the Imperials reduced patrols and went back to business as usual, assuming our group had been defeated. People who file motions generally don’t have a backup plan that involves destabilizing the government.

“Wake Vel,” I tell Constance, who looks worried. “I’ll throw some clothes on and meet you in comms.”

The Paula unit is capable of fifteen basic human facial responses, and she’s programmed herself to reflect the one she deduces is most suitable for any situation. She’s come a long way from the little round gizmo I first encountered on Lachion. Most people can’t tell she’s a bot, in fact, unless they’re familiar with the model.

She doesn’t argue, just leaves my quarters without wasted words.

It takes me only a few seconds to throw on black trousers and a light-armored flex-shirt. It’s formfitting but provides great ease of movement. Quickly, I strap on my weapons and tie my hair up. I need to be ready to move once I get Vel.

There are few people in the dimly lit halls. Most went to sleep hours before; there are just a few wildly dedicated La’heng who have barely slept at all since they took the cure. I understand their feverish devotion to the cause; if I were them, I’d feel the same way.

“Is he on the way?” I ask Constance as I stride in.

“There was no answer. I have tried several possible locations—to no avail.”

If he’s not in his room, he’s awake. He’s not in the docking bay, tinkering, or he’d have heard the incoming message himself, and he’d have woken me. It’s not the sort of news he’d trust to an intermediary. The base sprawls over a kilometer of ground, with different areas of concentration.

After a moment’s thought, I say, “Buzz R&D.”

“This is Devries,” a male voice replies.