Endgame

She replied, “Now that I’ve known both, I prefer being a person, where I can interact in a more meaningful manner.”

And here we are.

“On a scale of one to ten, how much hope do we have of pulling this off?”

“Negative two,” Vel replies. But his mandible quirks, telling me he’s joking.

“I’m not kidding.”

“What do you mean by ‘this’? The infiltration or the war effort in entirety?”

“Both.”

He gives the question solemn consideration. “As to the former, I have done it many times. People never want to believe there could be something wrong, so they write off any behavioral changes, ascribe it to stress.”

“So you’re telling me not to worry.”

“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.”

CHAPTER 11

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.