Endgame

“No,” Xirol says softly. “The resistance is right here. And I’ll take care of business if he doesn’t want to work with us again. Tie up loose ends, so to speak.” Until this moment, I didn’t know Xirol could be terrifying as well as funny, but a shiver runs down my spine.

“Very well,” the doc snaps.

I say, “Do it now, while we’re here.”

Under my watchful gaze, the surgeon follows my instructions. “Happy now?”

“I’m not unhappy. Call the aircab and have it meet us out front.”

The clinic is housed in an unassuming structure, five kilometers from the Imperial palace. Nicu Quintus doesn’t merit its own emperor, but they do have a ruling governor who takes precedence over everyone else, even princes of noble houses.

With a wave to the annoyed doctor, I draw my coat on. No uniform, just plain black shirt and trousers that could come out of any wardrober in the city. My hair feels odd, silky, on the back of my neck. I give my head an experimental toss, and I’m astonished at how it floats. The esthetician must’ve given me a treatment that straightened and changed its texture.

I don’t like it at all. It’s not me.

But I’ll deal.

Xirol follows me out. The lift is fast; it gives a view of the whole street as I zoom down. By the time I reach the ground floor, the aircar hovers at the platform out front.

He pauses. “This is where we part ways, Jax. I have my assignment waiting.”

“Thanks again for staying with me.”

“You’d do the same for me.”

Absolutely, I would. Because good-byes are hard, even when you expect to see the person again, I run toward the aircar without looking back. Inside, there’s no driver, just a bot built into the front to give the impression that you’re not trusting your life to a VI…though you totally are.

I input the address. I’m committed now. No going back.

CHAPTER 36

Legate Flavius lives well.

His home is three stories, enclosed by a tall stone fence capped with metal spikes. He has top-notch security, drone cameras flying to survey the property and report back to his centurions. This man has people, friends. For the first time, I come near to panic. As a bounty hunter, Vel did this often, but always with more prep time. He spent months learning his prey, discerning the best way to slide into their lives.

I made one stop before coming here. Fortunately, the merchant needed the sale bad enough not to ask for identification when I presented my credit spike. Now I’m wearing a jeweled collar like Xirol described. It’s beautiful, and it covers my tat, but it also makes me feel servile, like someone could hook a ring and leash to it. Which is fine for people who do that sort of thing for fun, less so for those who don’t have a choice in the matter.

Tiana opens the door when I ring. She shows no hint of recognition; but then, why would she? In the days since I saw her last, I have discarded everything that made me Jax.

“I’m here to see the legate.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

I shake my head. “He’ll want to see me.”

Her mouth firms into a white line, and I see her judging the latest acquisition, hating the subservient La’hengrin female she thinks I am, now that she’s free. I’ve found we hate most in others what we can’t stand about ourselves. She received the cure from Farah while I was having the procedure done, and she’s agreed to stay on to help Vel. Though she might disagree, Tiana is already a warrior, fighting for her people in the best way she can.

“I’ll announce you.”

Maybe it would expedite matters, but I don’t tell her who I am. If this goes wrong, she can’t betray what she doesn’t know. Such a pragmatic dispensation of secrets and lies, but it’s the mantra of the resistance. Yet I don’t want her to despise me, so I whisper, “I’m resistance. Here to help.”

Tiana cuts me a quick look, then smiles. I can tell she assumes I’m a free La’hengrin, recruited for reasons unknown to her, but it’s more comforting than thinking I’m a slave. More cheerful now, she escorts me to an enormous room with a vaulted ceiling, decorated in antiques and expensive touches. Reminds me of my mother’s formal salon, before we left New Terra for that extended vacation when I was thirteen. My father hardly ever ventured in there; he said it made him nervous. That’s how I feel right now though not because of the décor. The wait feels interminable before she returns.

“He’ll be with you presently. Would you care for refreshments?” She’s polite even if she despises seeing her sisters in this condition.

“Thank you, no.”

While I wait, I examine various paintings and objets d’art. The legate had good taste in home interiors if he furnished the place himself. If not, he had the sense to hire someone who does.

At last, I hear footsteps in the tile hallway. I turn with a smile that doesn’t feel natural, as if my skin belongs to someone else, and draw up short. The centurion standing in the doorway is most definitely not Vel. He’s short and stocky with broad shoulders and a chest thickened through physical conflict. Pocked skin, a smashed nose, and a thin-lipped mouth give him a sinister aspect.

“You have some nerve coming to the legate’s house uninvited.” I can’t place the accent, but it’s not as refined as most Nicuan voices. This one fought his way up. That makes him tenacious—and a pain in the ass.

Vel needs to get rid of him.

I arch a brow. “Pardon me?”

“You heard me. But since you don’t seem to grasp the obvious, I’ll spell it out. Whores aren’t welcome in the residence during the day.” His muddy gaze rakes me from head to toe, and it’s so intrusive, I feel like covering up. “I can see why you think he’d make an exception for you, though. You’re a pretty, pretty piece.”

I’m fragging exquisite. This face was expensive. But that’s not the point.

He takes my silence for an admission of guilt. “What’s wrong, darling? Did you really think you’d get away with this?”

“The legate is expecting me,” I tell him.

“Of course he is. Don’t worry. If you make me happy, I won’t tell anyone.”

I can’t kick his ass. I mean, I probably can, but I shouldn’t. The legate wouldn’t be interested in a woman with mad ass-kicking skills. By the images the doctor showed me, he went for fragile, helpless types. They likely made him feel less an abject failure as a man. So physical conflict is out unless I kill the centurion, and having a member of the legate’s household go missing so shortly after an attack on his country estate, well, that wouldn’t sell anybody on Vel’s cover.

Think, Jax.

“I don’t think the legate would like that,” I say humbly.

“As if you truly know him, despite that pretty collar around your throat.”

“I can’t fight you,” I say, because that’s how a La’hengrin female would respond. “But you do not have permission to touch me.”

Not that those words have ever done any good.

His face hardens. “Then I’ll have you taken up for trespass. And they’ll be rough on a beauty like you in the penal stations. I can be sweet. Gentle, even.”

I draw in a shallow breath, like I’m scared. And this bastard responds. He likes women to be frightened. It’s disgusting; he preys on the La’hengrin females in his care. I wonder how many times he’s pestered Tiana.

Before I decide what to do, more steps ring out, and the centurion shakes his head. “You’re in it now. Too late to keep this between you and me.”

Vel steps into the doorway, clad in legate skin. He leans with careless disdain, arms folded across his chest. How did he perfect the mannerisms? Maybe there were vids for him to watch, here. The legate strikes me as the sort of man who would document his achievements, however small.

“What’s the meaning of this, Cato?”

“Nothing to worry about,” the centurion replies. “I have the problem in hand.”

“It sounded to me as if you were importuning one of my guests.”

The centurion pales. “I thought—”

“That is the trouble. You did not think. I heard you blackmailing this woman for sexual favors. If you come within three meters of her, I will kill you. Is that perfectly clear?”

“Yes, Excellency.”

“Get out of my sight.”

I swear, the centurion almost pisses himself in fleeing the room. Vel shuts the door behind him, then crosses to me; he looks perfectly at home in the legate’s skin. It’s a gift he has, emulating mannerisms, and his sophisticated vocalizer does the rest.

He moves to embrace me; as he leans in, he whispers, “Glad you’re here, Sirantha.”

I hug him back. “Even if I’m not myself?”

“That will take some getting used to.”

I cock my head, realizing his speech patterns are different. He sounds less like himself, more…human. When he impersonated Doc, his only mistake was calling me Sirantha, as nobody else does. To this day, Vel’s still the only one who uses my first name. With him, I don’t even mind, though it’s a sore point with others because it reminds me of my mother and the way she dropped my full name whenever I pissed her off.

“I hate it,” I mutter. “One look, and your guard assumed I’m helpless.”

“That may come in handy.”

Staying close to him because I don’t know what the situation is, I murmur into his ear, “Is the house secure? Have you swept for spyware?”

He shakes his head, then nods, answering my questions in sequence. Great. That means someone is spying on us already. Well, on the old legate.

“Have you presented your evidence to the prince?” That question I can ask in normal tones. It doesn’t break cover.

“Not yet. It took me several days to get an appointment, but he’s agreed to see me at the end of the week.”

“I’m sure he’ll be fascinated.”

I need to decide what kind of character I’m playing. La’hengrin females aren’t all the same, despite their shared circumstance. So is she quiet, meek, demure, silly? Given what I know of the late legate’s predilections, she’d likely be all of the above—or at least capable of pretending in order to keep him happy. Belatedly, I realize I don’t have a name.

“I hope to earn new rank and prestige with this revelation.”

I hope we learn about weapons caches, troop movements, and planned strikes against the resistance. But that won’t happen overnight. First, Vel has to ingratiate himself with the prince and get appointed to the Imperial War Council. Then we’ll have access to all kinds of data that we can forward to our people—and in time, bring this struggle to an end.

Nicuan forces aren’t numerous, but they control the credits and tech. Once the cure circulates fully, we’ll outnumber the enemy. Sufficiently demoralized, they’ll surrender and withdraw. But not without some bloody battles, first.

All in due time.