Endgame (8 page)

This is a new flag for an independent La’heng. We spent
hours designing it, just as we did the Conglomerate uniforms, and I’m positive we got it right. It also provides the perfect backdrop for our opening salvo.

Quickly, he changes from his black-ops gear into less sinister, more neutral attire. “How do I look?”

“Like the perfect spokesman for the rebellion.”

He frowns at me. “I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

“What if I screw this up?”

“You won’t. You’ve practiced the speech a hundred times, a thousand even. Now you’re going to say it with more conviction than you ever have, knowing that in a few hours, people all over La’heng will be hearing you…and seeing what you can do.”

“That’s not helping.”

Oh, shit, stage fright?

“Take a breath, then, and pretend you’re talking only to me.”

Loras relaxes visibly. “Better.”

“Camera’s recording in three…two…” I hold up one finger so my voice doesn’t wind up on the sound track, and the red light comes on.

“This is the first communiqué from the La’heng Liberation Army,” Loras says, gazing directly at his audience—or at least, that’s how they’re going to feel, five hours from now. I wonder if they’ll have shivers, too, like I do.

“Humanity has stolen everything from us: our self-sufficiency, our pride, our cultural heritage. They have enslaved us. Oh, they call it by benevolent names, but in truth, they have turned us into helpless children. But there is a solution, called Carvati’s Cure. I’ve taken the treatment, and I say to you, my brothers and sisters, be slaves no longer. I will show you the way. I will show you proof.”

That’s my cue. I splice in the clip of his fight with Hon, courtesy of Dr. Carvati on Gehenna, and then training clips later on. It’s indisputably Loras, fighting, impossible for a La’heng. Yet, he’s kicking the dread pirate’s ass.

I imagine the impact this footage will have on the rest of La’heng.

And then it gets better.

Zhan steps into the room, his face in shadow. This is scripted, but the audience won’t know that. They throw a few punches, live and streaming; there’s a distinctive watermark on a live broadcast so the audience knows there’s no special effects involved.

Perfect.

Because when they conclude the match, Zhan faces the camera and bows, making it clear that, he, too, is a free La’heng; and then he steps out of frame. Loras goes on, “You want what we have. There’s so much hopeless anger trapped inside you. I can help you. But you have to be brave. You have to reach for it. Watch the comms for more instructions on how to join the La’heng Liberation Army.”

Grinning at him, I turn off the cam, cutting the bounce-feed. “That was amazing. You just started a revolution.”

After the broadcast, I run into Tarn in the hallway. “Did
it work?” I ask.

“I timed the message perfectly,” Suni says. “My old Conglomerate contacts will hear straightaway about the tremendous civil unrest.”

I fall into step beside him. “Will that, coupled with the damage from the attacks, be enough for lockdown?”

“It should be once Leviter finishes spinning it.”

“He could get the planet coded red with a vid message,” I mutter.

“Probably,” Suni replies seriously.

“How did you meet him?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” There’s an intriguing softness in his smile.

Tarn leads me to a conference room, where Leviter is waiting. It’s a small risk, permitting them to know the location of the base, but one worth taking for their help. Leviter needed a secure site to work his magic, somewhere his efforts can’t be traced. Besides, if it comes down to interrogation, Leviter can probably kill people with a sharp look, and I’ve no doubt he’d end anyone who so much as stared sideways at Tarn.

“It went smoothly,” he says without looking up from his handheld. “Well done.”

I acknowledge the praise with a nod. “You did your part?”

“I lit up the bounce-feed, as promised. They’re already talking about the rebellion in the forums and the news-net channels. It helped that you hit several different installations, giving the impression of large, organized resistance.”

“You can really make so many people off world believe the situation is dangerous, unstable, and dire?”

But Tarn wouldn’t lie. He’s not that kind of politician.

Leviter tilts his head back to study me, his expression quietly amused. He has the eyes of a shark, flat and hard, with darkness at their depths. “One doesn’t need to control reality, only the
perception
of it. And I’m not doing it alone. I have agitators with various Conglomerate officials, reporting ‘firsthand’ information from the attacks.”

Mary, I’m glad Leviter’s on our side. “What’s the next step?” I ask.

“I’ve requisitioned buoys, warning all vessels away from La’heng space. They should arrive within the next twenty-four hours.”

Tarn nods. “In anticipation of the Conglomerate ruling.”

“Will that work?” I imagine a beacon that shouts,
Go away
, into the silence of space, while ships ignore it.

“The buoys are also SDIs,” Leviter explains, as if I’m slow. “Any ship that attempts to violate the Conglomerate edict will be blown to bits.”

Aha. That makes all the difference,
I decide. “So the space above the planet becomes a minefield. Nice.”

Leviter continues, “Once the Conglomerate codes La’heng red, if the Nicuan Empire attempts to breach the no-fly zone, it will be tantamount to an act of war against all Conglomerate worlds. They have a fine fleet, but they can’t take on all the tier worlds.”

“Excellent. The centurions must be cut off, left to the mercy of the legates on La’heng.”

“Who are all morons,” Tarn mutters.

Yeah, mostly.
This is the assignment older centurions on Nicu Tertius beg for because there’s no actual fighting—or there
hasn’t
been in many, many turns. So it’s a cushy gig,
where they get to attend parties as show dogs in dress armor while their employers eat and drink like swine, all while plundering La’heng and stealing from its rightful rulers, while the La’heng serve and follow orders.

I’m getting mad all over again, just thinking about it.

“Easy, Jax,” Tarn says. “Save that fury for the enemy.”

I muster a half smile. I’m tired, cranky, and missing March. But there’s more work to be done.

“Are you two heading back to Jineba?” I ask.

“Soon,” Tarn replies.

Nodding, I push to my feet. “Be careful. They’ll be looking at all air-traffic logs. And thanks again for your help.”

Leviter smiles once more, and it’s fairly alarming. “No thanks needed, Ms. Jax. We’re just getting warmed up.”

Once I leave the conference room, I go looking for Vel. As I expected, I find him with the prisoners, who are awake…and in a fury over their incarceration. “When my prince hears what you’ve done, he’ll make you beg for death.”

On another planet, serving a prince would be impressive, but in relation to Nicuan, such claims to royalty mean less than nothing. There have been so many emperors over the turns that pretty much all the noble houses can claim royal blood. His boss is no more important than any other.

I address Vel instead of the captives. “The tall one, right?”

To replicate somebody’s face, Vel needs to study it. A glance from across the plaza in the dark won’t suffice. Once he’s perfected the man’s appearance, he can slide into his life. Hence, Slider, the somewhat derogatory nickname for Ithtorians…but when I first met him, that’s exactly what he’d done with my now-deceased friend, Dr. Solaith. Doc.

Mary bless and keep you, Doc. Wherever you are.

“That’s the plan,” he answers.

Of course. That will be easier for him and less painful.

But the centurion he indicates looks terrified, not as full of bravado as his squad-mate. He glances between us, trying to figure out our plan. It won’t help.

“Have you checked his personnel file?”

Vel reminds me, “Communications are down.”

Right.
I touch the intercom. “Constance, we’re ready for you.”

My PA has been at the base since March left, facilitating completion and organizing resources. She’s also the head of R&D, along with a number of other responsibilities. Only a VI—or maybe AI is more accurate—would be capable of multitasking with such efficiency.

“On my way.”

“Who are you people?” the smaller soldier demands. “Torture won’t work. We will
never
reveal any of our prince’s secrets.”

Oh, the poor bastard.
He still thinks this is some petty, house-related coup. If he had any inkling just how big the plan is, he’d piss his pants. I smile at him, which seems to make his fear worse. They’re bound to their chairs, with wrists lashed together behind their backs. If I hadn’t wasted a turn of my life trying to reason with men just like them, I might feel a flicker of pity.

Before I can reply, Constance arrives with an armload of machinery: cords and discs and a console to monitor the whole process. The guards go from anxious to terrified, but it’s not what they think. In some ways, it’s worse. This is an insidious device, certainly, but not for the reasons they believe.

“Which one first?” she asks.

“The tall one.” I turn to the La’heng waiting just outside. “Take the other one back to his cell. We’ll deal with him presently.”

Separation will ratchet up his fear as he tries to envision what horrors his friend is suffering. If we let him watch, that mental preparation might give him an edge later. Not that I’ve ever seen anyone resist this machine. Still, there’s no point in bettering the man’s odds.

Once the La’heng guard hauls him off, struggling and kicking the whole way, Constance gets to work. She attaches wires to the centurion’s skull in proximity to the various pleasure centers of the brain. Then she discovers the perfect current through trial and error. There’s no pain, only incredible pleasure of varying levels.

Oh, there are various truth-serum drugs, but most of them have side effects, and they leave the person hostile once the effects wear off. With this device, by the time we’re finished, this centurion will think we’re his best friends. He’ll believe
anything we tell him—anything at all—to keep the pleasure coming. And that’s why I called it insidious. When Constance concludes this session, she will have added a loyal foot soldier to the La’heng Liberation Army. In theory. This is experimental tech, so we’ll see how well it works.

The first jolt startles a sensuous moan out of the prisoner. His eyes go glassy, his mouth slack—too intimate an expression to see on a stranger’s face. She’ll continue the treatment until he’s utterly seduced and ready to tell us anything at all. I leave Constance to it because she doesn’t need my supervision. She’s willing to do whatever it takes, so long as Nicuan forces occupy La’heng. I will not pity them.

Vel accompanies me back to my quarters. The space I’ve been allotted is small and sparsely decorated in shades of gray; it’s all one room, with a bunk, a comm terminal, and a sitting area comprised of a small sofa and one chair. It’s been a long night, the first of many. He settles on the couch and invites me to join him with a flourish of his talon.

Many would find this scene oddly domestic, especially the easy way I curl up beside him to better view his handheld. We’re close enough to touch, but I don’t. Sometimes even I’m not sure where the boundaries between us lie.

He’s captured several images of the man he will replace. Later, he can spend more time in the centurion’s company, memorizing the angles and lines, to reproduce them perfectly. For now, the pictures will get the process started. The guard is nearly two meters tall, with dark hair, gray eyes, and a weathered complexion. He has squint and frown lines, more than those that come from laughter.

“Will you have any trouble?”

Vel glances at me. “No.”

“I’ve never understood how it works.”

Skin is one thing, but hair has a different texture. I’ve seen him become someone else, but watching it doesn’t help me understand. Once, I’d have felt unable to pry, worrying that he’d take it the wrong way. Now I understand there’s nothing I can’t ask of him.

“The human body creates different types of matter,” he says. “Usually with the intent of cleaning or eliminating waste.”

I nod. I’m with him so far.

“What I do functions on a similar principle…I simply have better control over what form it takes.”

“So you command it, like on a cellular level.” That’s pretty damn cool.

“Essentially, yes.”

“Wow. No wonder Ithtorians think humans are savages.”

“We have had longer to evolve,” Vel says modestly.

“What do you think of the target?”

He considers. “He is a serious soul.”

Or he used to be, before Constance got ahold of him.

Everything she does, she does at my behest. She’s still my PA, no matter how sophisticated she’s become. When I first reactivated her, after the time she spent locked in Dina’s data chip, I asked if she was sure she wanted to return to human form. She’d seemed content as a ghost in the machine—first on the ship, then on Emry Station. I’d worried I was being selfish by wanting her back in my life in a more tangible way; maybe she was happy manipulating those vast data streams, and it would be wrong of me to make her go back to a limited life.

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.”