Endgame (4 page)

But it’s still not all right.

Farah watches my face while these thoughts tumble through my head. What she sees makes her smile. “I wanted to thank you for that.”

“Really?” I ask, surprised.

“Yes. If not for you, I wouldn’t be free. Your guilt drove you to help your friend, and the result makes up for what came before.”

From her insight, it’s clear that Loras confides in her. She’s somebody I need to get to know better, when time permits. But he’s already at the door, beckoning me, every bit the impatient general. I murmur my excuses and stride away.

“Come,” Loras orders. “I’ll brief you on the way.”

After I hear him out regarding the interdiction on La’heng’s ports, I nod. “I’ll contact Leviter and Tarn tonight.”

“Excellent.” He turns to Zeeka. “How are you coming with the demolitions training? I need a specialist.”

The Mareq gives his wide, openmouthed smile. “As best I can. It’s hard to locate helpful texts. The ones I do find are old or outdated.”

Yeah, for obvious reasons, the Nicuan nobles don’t want the La’hengrin having access to that kind of information. Though they can’t fight, I’m not clear on how far the boundaries stretch. Could they trap an expanse of land? The result would certainly be aggressive, but since they wouldn’t be doing it directly…well, I’ll have to ask Loras. It might be a loophole we can use out in the provinces.

Zeeka goes on, “But Vel is helping me.”

On some planets, you could totally get an annex class in
How to Blow Things Up
, but La’heng isn’t one of them. The nobility controls credits, policy, and education, all the better
to keep the natives ignorant and subservient. There’s an underclass among the Nicuan, too, but they had the opportunity to learn before they arrived on world, along with the rest of the house retinue.

Loras nods. “Keep at it. I need you ready to go in three weeks. Will you be set then?”

“I will be.” This kid—he’s an adult, but it’s hard for me to think of him as such since I’ve known him since he was a tadpole—gives 110 percent.

The Mareq have relatively short life spans. They’re grown by five, middle-aged by twenty, and die between forty and forty-five turns. Fortunately, they breed and gestate fast—and in large numbers. They also possess the J-gene, which is rare and lets them navigate faster-than-light ships. Few humans have the capability, and NBS—Navigator Burnout Syndrome—has led to a dearth of jumpers who can take ships safely through grimspace. It’s possible that in a hundred turns, the Mareq will solve the navigator shortage; the star roads will be full of Mareq. When I realize I’ll likely live to find out—via the experimental nanites that prevent normal aging—the epiphany startles me.

Damn.
Loras is talking, and I’ve missed half of it. I glance at Vel, who inclines his head. He’ll catch me up if I pretend to be current for the rest of the conversation. I tune in with renewed focus.

“…so it all hinges on Leviter and Tarn. This attack, in and of itself, won’t be enough to get the planet locked down.”

“There will be damage on multiple fronts,” I say, “but not the kind that closes ports.”

“Exactly. We need spin.”

I nod. “Leviter’s specialty.”

“March is coming, isn’t he?” Loras asks. “Four or five days from now?”

Oh, March. At last.
Mentally, I do a happy dance, but I don’t show any of my euphoria or trepidation. Outwardly, I’m cool.

“His visit won’t affect the timetable. He’s staying for two weeks, and you have us scheduled to move in three.”

“I wasn’t questioning your right to have visitors, Jax.” Loras aims a smirk at me.

“I sounded defensive as hell, didn’t I?”

Zeeka says, “Pretty much.”

This can only lead to ribbing, so I zip my lips for the remainder of our walk. When we get back to the house, Vel updates me with the rest of Loras’s strategy, and it’s solid. Though I’m not a tactician myself, I appreciate a cunning plan.

In the morning, I set up a meeting with Tarn and Leviter. It doesn’t take long to explain what we need, and Leviter agrees to do his part. On the bounce, he can make the attacks look worse than they are, and he can pull the strings on high-ranking officials to push for getting La’heng classified as a red port, no ships in or out.

Without a single shot fired, the war has begun.

March strides toward me like a conquering hero.

Instinctively, the people between him and me clear out of his path, recognizing the determined demeanor of a military man even if he doesn’t sport a Conglomerate uniform anymore. I quicken my pace toward him, a walk becoming a run, until I close the distance between us. He catches me up in his arms and swings me around.

I’ve dreamed of this moment for a turn.

Vid-mail tided me over until the next time I could see him, touch him. He waited so long for me, five times this long, in fact, but I’m impatient as hell, and it feels like an eternity since I walked out of his apartment on Nicu Tertius. He promised we’d comm—that he’d visit—but this is the first time I’ve seen him since that day. Work kept me busy, but deep within their compartmentalized slots, my yearning for him—and grimspace—never faltered—twin insatiable addictions.

He cups my face in his hands and kisses me like my lips will save his life. An ache springs up, and I wrap my arms around him, heedless of the jostling passersby in the spaceport. He tastes of mint and a darker tang, expensive liquor.
I lose myself in March, as I’ve always done, then I hear his voice in my head:
Mary, I missed you.

Me, too,
I think.

March leans his brow against mine until the kid, his nephew, intrudes. “Are we going to stand here all day? People are staring.”

Stepping back, I glance around March to greet Sasha. He’s less timid than he was when I came by for dinner. Taller, too. I don’t know enough about kids to be sure if he’s big—or small—for his age, but I glimpse the gangly promise of the young man he’ll become—he’s twelve now—and definitely not as childish as he seemed before.

“Sorry,” I say. “I really missed your uncle.”

“I get that,” he mutters, but it’s not fear or even hostility I see in his face this time. It’s just simple distaste for being part of a public spectacle.

“It’s good to see you,” I say because it is, as it means March is here.

At last.

First order of business is to get out of the spaceport and take him home. We have
two
glorious weeks together before Sasha’s school term resumes; he’s doing well enough for Psi Corp to sanction a trip. Unlike when March dragged him to Gehenna, this journey’s been vetted and approved. This holiday falls during the calm before the storm. Since Flavius forewarned me with his taunts, I know it’s going to come down to my lack of citizenship. When they block my latest petition—and I foresee no other outcome—then we have no legal recourse. Which leaves illegal ones.

Loras has always been prepared for that eventuality. He understands that you can’t negotiate with those determined to strip a planet of its resources and who prefer to keep the native populace in chains. Historically, no homeworld has been occupied so often.

Putting those dark thoughts aside, I lace my fingers through March’s, noting he’s got their bags slung over one shoulder. He’s taller than I remember, but just as ugly-handsome, with a strong, harsh face, golden hawk eyes, and the bumpy, oft-broken nose. It doesn’t look like he’s cut his hair in months; I wonder if he did that for me. I’ve always preferred it long.

Of course,
he tells me.

A warm shiver quakes through me. Two weeks aren’t enough. It’s going to half kill me when he leaves, but until then, I have fourteen days with him. Resentment flares that he can’t stay—just a spark—quickly quelled. Intellectually, I understand why he must go. He has to look after Sasha. So I’ll store up memories to last. I tell myself I’ll be busy forging ahead in the liberation of La’heng, then put the prospect of another farewell, another separation, from my mind.

I smile up at him.
The things I’m gonna do to you in thanks…

“You’re talking silently,” Sasha guesses, as we walk. “That’s rude, you know.”

March grins down at the kid, and my heart actually stutters a little. I’ve never seen him so…free. Words like contentment and peace didn’t use to apply to March, but they do now. My resentment fades; it’s impossible for me to doubt his choices when parenthood so obviously agrees with him.

“We’re not talking about you,” I assure him.

“Then it’s sex stuff.” Sasha sighs.

I’m not sure if I should show amusement, but March gives me permission with a nudge in my head, and pretty soon, all three of us are laughing like mad, loud enough to draw a few looks from other travelers, but this time, Sasha’s in on it, too, and he doesn’t mind the attention. From what I remember of being a kid, mood swings like that are normal. You’re surly, then not-surly, all within half an hour, thanks to the crazy hormone cocktail running amok in your bloodstream.

“So where are we going?” March asks, for Sasha’s benefit. He’s gleaned everything he needs to know, and more besides, hanging around my head.

“I’ve got a place.”

Guilt surges. I refused to stay on Nicu Tertius with him, but here, I have my first dirtside residence since Gehenna, when I worked at Hidden Rue and lived in a garret above Adele’s place. I miss her so much; and I know that Vel is still hurting. It’s ironic that the same woman meant so much—in different ways—to both of us; doubtless she would argue that’s evidence of the divine. For him, the pain bleeds on and on until such a time when he doesn’t feel like it’s killing him,
measured in tens of turns. He’s good at covering, but he’s heartbroken, and I make an imperfect consolation prize.

I wonder what March will make of the fact that Vel and I are roommates. It made sense to take one place, divide up the space, and share costs. Loras, Constance, and Zeeka are there, too, so it’s not like it’s a romantic arrangement.

It’s all right,
he tells me silently.
I understand
why
you’re here.

Right. There’s a mission involved, and he knows that. It’s not like I decided to ground myself because the weather’s nice, and the scenery’s pretty. La’heng is a cold world; the flora and fauna are pretty uniform. The trees go brown if it’s dry, but they don’t shed leaves. Instead, needles drop during the drought. There are four seasons: Warm (Ferran), Cool (Ayfell), Dry (Taivan), and Wet (Shoofu). The weather definitely isn’t the same as New Terra’s because the patterns are more consistent, something to do with the moon and tides.

In fact, I’m already going nuts here. March senses it. If I hadn’t augmented all the filing of motions with training Zeeka to jump, I might have lost my mind entirely; Dina was kind enough to provide us a nav-training chair and simulator before she took off. All told, it’s been a long, fruitless turn, and I can’t
wait
to get March home alone. That thought cheers me as I step out of the spaceport and fasten my jacket.

“Is this yours?” Sasha asks, when a silver aircar zooms up to the platform.

“Yep.”

“I’ve always wanted to ride in one of these!”

It’s a sleek model, sexy and aerodynamic, not boxy like some of the hover cabs. You feel like a million creds when you’re driving this thing, not that Vel let me more than once, after I scraped the paint. He’s rather possessive of this ride—and I don’t blame him. March cuts me an amused look. The door lifts up with a hydraulic hiss, so we can get in.

“Good to see you again, Commander,” Vel says.

“It’s just March now. And you, too, Vel.” He chucks the luggage behind the rear seat.

“Sit up front,” I tell Sasha, who’s bouncing.

I hope he’s learned better TK mastery in the last turn.

“Really?” He doesn’t wait for confirmation, just scrambles
into the seat next to Vel. He’s definitely braver than the kid I met, because the Bug doesn’t spook him a bit. Instead, the kid studies the buttons and lights on the control panel, then he turns to Vel with a bunch of questions.

Hope this won’t be awkward. I don’t want it to be.

For a second, I forget that March is in my head. His surprise feels like a cool chill, then he asks,
What?

Vel and I came to a new understanding. It’s not the same relationship I have with March, but there are
feelings
, and we’ve been together for the last turn. I’m not sure how March is going to react to that, if he’ll think he’s got competition, which seems silly, considering Vel and I aren’t even the same species. It’s just not the same. Hopefully, March is enlightened enough to get that.

He skims these messy thoughts, and then there’s silence. Not an exodus, but he locks down like he doesn’t want me to feel what he does. And that worries me.

March?

I’m jealous he gets to be with you,
he says finally.
But I’m not upset that you care about him. You care for Loras and Zeeka and Constance, too. I don’t want to keep you in a glass box, Jax. You’d never survive it.

There’s a pause.

Unless you want to sleep with him. In which case, yes, I mind. I mind to hell and back. I’m not
that
enlightened. Your sainted Kai probably would’ve given his blessing.
Touch of ire, there.

How funny, he’s still envious of a dead man.

It’s
not
funny.

He wasn’t a saint,
I point out.
Kai would’ve said my desire for someone else meant our time together was finished. He wouldn’t have fought for me.
You
would. You have.

March turns to me, smiles, and laces our fingers together. For a few moments, I just listen to the ask and answer going on up front. Maybe I should have expected it, but Vel is good with Sasha, patient without being patronizing.

We’ll make it,
March promises me.
I know there are challenges, but we’ve come too far together to give up now.

He’s right. We’ve faced worse than this. And the next two weeks will be glorious.