“Hon said it best,” he tells me tonelessly. “I belong to him. I do as he asks, whenever he asks it.”

Oh. Not physical abuse, then. But a reinforcement of his belief that he lacks intrinsic value—that he’s lesser because he can’t bludgeon someone with a spanner in a fit of rage. Mary, I have to fix this.

“Loras . . .” I take his hand between the two of mine, marveling at the artistry of his fingers. For pure beauty, I’ve never seen any male anywhere to match him, not even the pleasure toys on Venice Minor. “If I could go back, if I could do it over, I wouldn’t leave you there. I’d get ordnance from the ship and blow that door. We’d fight every last raider for you. And maybe you don’t believe me . . . maybe you think I’m full of shit now, but I’m going to prove it. You’re not just a bond servant to me.”

He offers a very gentle return pressure before he slips his hand free, his face distant and cool. “The only way you can prove that is to set me free.”

Shit, surely he doesn’t mean he wants me to kill him. Fear jolts through my system. I can’t do that—there’s just no fraggin’ way. I’m so unsettled that it draws March’s attention, whatever he’s doing now.

Jax? You all right?

I think so, I tell him. Shhh.

He quiets, but doesn’t withdraw all the way, instead keeping half an eye on me.

“How?” I ask unsteadily.

He shrugs. “That’s for you to worry about. But it’s the only boon that will mean anything to me.”

So saving his life is out. All that will do is transfer ownership back to me. He doesn’t want that; he’s sick to his soul of that. I’ve never met any others of his race, so I don’t know if they all feel this way, or if Loras has extra steel in him that doesn’t let him accept the yoke. Regardless, I have to try.

The obvious answer comes to me.

“Doc could try to work up a treatment,” I say then. “It’d be risky, and no guarantee of success, but he’s the original mad scientist. He’s all for doing what’s never been done before.” And thank Mary for it—otherwise Argus and I would be doomed. “If it’s proven to work on you—”

“The Conglomerate could offer it to my people.”

“Along with abject apologies and reparations,” I say quietly. “It’s the least we owe. I can’t make promises, mind, because I don’t have any formal authority in this. But I swear to you I’ll try.”

Warmth surges through me. Well-done, Jax.

For the first time, Loras smiles. “That’s all I could ask. You almost persuade me that I matter, Sirantha.”

The pain behind his beauty makes me want to punch something. “You do.”

Constance cuts in with, “I have resolved your query.”

“I’m all ears,” I tell her.

A beam of light skims over me. “You have only two, Sirantha Jax. Shall I present my findings?”

I’m hard-pressed not to laugh. Sometimes I swear she does stuff like that to be funny. “Please do.”

“I recommend a lightning bolt. This has long been used to suggest authority, such as the gods themselves might wield. It also signifies power and knowledge. In a less abstract sense, I consider the symbol representative of Armada ship lasers standing ready to protect all Conglomerate citizens.”

“That’s perfect,” Loras says. “We could tweak it, and add a line here to suggest the lasers themselves, and—”

“Two lines.” I point to the left of the image. “And maybe it should pierce the sun?”

Constance brings up a three-dimensional logo beside her, incorporating our feedback until we have something that we agree is suitable for our purposes. I nod at the symbol. Right now, only the three of us know what it means, but one day, people will associate this abstract design with safety and security. That gives me an odd feeling.

I share a look with Loras, who seems to share my sense of wonder.

“That’s it,” I say at last. “Perfect.”

“Saving,” Constance tells me. “Shall I research the company best suited to fulfill a substantial order for the uniform emblazoned with this logo?”

I consider that. “Go ahead. But don’t buy anything without checking with me first. We need approval before it’ll become official. Just get me some numbers.”

“Acknowledged. Is there anything else, Sirantha Jax?”

“Not right now. Thanks.” Silly though it might be, I can’t break the habit of treating Constance like a person, albeit one who lives in bytes instead of blood.

Then it’s just Loras and me again.

“This will pass muster,” he says with confidence. “We just set the tone for a new military presence in the galaxy. How does that feel?”

“Pretty damn good,” I admit.

Not a thrill like jumping, but there’s satisfaction in it nonetheless. For once, I’ve had a say in something important; I didn’t shrug my shoulders and pass the grunt work off on someone else. I’m proud of myself for that.

I’m also stiff, sore, and hungry.

“Let’s get something to eat,” I add. “And then I’ll talk to Doc.”

CHAPTER 14

“Is there anything else, Jax? Perhaps a cure for Jenner’s Retrovirus between now and breakfast? Would you like me to make the dead to rise again?”

Since we disperse the molecules of our dead, I know that’s sarcasm. “Are you saying you can’t do it?”

I don’t want to tell Loras he won’t even try when Saul has attempted so many other impossible things over the course of our acquaintance. If I had any skill with an imploring look, I’d employ it right now, but my face doesn’t slant that way. So I regard him steadily.

While I wait, I take in the facilities. The ship they brought from Lachion is well provisioned, and he’s set up an excellent mobile lab with machines and tools that I can’t identify. If anyone can do this, he can.

“No,” he says at last. “And since we’ve shifted away from the idea of engineering a new species, I will have the time to consider the problem.”

“That’s no longer on the table?” I ask, interested.

Doc shakes his head. “After extensive research I think it would be best to come at the problem via your mutation. If that proves efficacious, I might attempt to strengthen it with DNA strains from . . .” He pauses, his face softening. “Well, Baby-Z.”

Once, I would’ve made a joke about his planning to turn jumpers into some freakish frogman hybrid. Not now. We made Marakeq our first stop when we were gathering samples, so Doc could devise a better breed of jumper. DNA samples taken by Fugitive scientists had indicated that the genetic composition of the natives would offer a valuable longevity boost to those who possessed the J-gene. We’d only meant to take some samples ourselves; instead we wound up with a newborn hatched out of season, and our only choice had been to take him with us or let him die.

In the end, he’d died anyway—and I carry that failure close to my heart, where Baby-Z once rested. More than anything, I want to make that right.

“This can’t be high on the agenda right now, but . . . eventually, I’d like you to clone him.”

He quirks a brow at me. “If you wish to reproduce, Jax, there are easier methods.”

“Funny.” I hesitate, not knowing if he’ll understand. “I want to take him home, if we ever get the chance. Once the war is over . . .” I trail off, thinking it sounds stupid.

But in order to move on from that loss, I have to make some attempt at restitution. I know it won’t be the same, but I can’t imagine turning up on Marakeq empty-handed. And I cannot imagine what other solace I can offer his bereaved mother. Maybe it won’t be enough; maybe it’s wrong, but I don’t know what else to do.

“I understand. And yes, I can do that . . . someday.” He doesn’t mention that it’s likely to be far in the future, when all we need to worry about is reparations, not plan for the destruction of our enemies.

But I understand that very well.

“Thanks. I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

“Sometimes I wonder.” I turn to go, but he stops me with a tap on my shoulder. “Jax . . . how is Loras, really?”

“He’s tired of being property.” There isn’t a lot I can do to dress that up.

“Then I’ll give his problem equal time,” he promises.

I nod in acknowledgment and step out of med bay. The ship lights have dimmed, simulating a more natural cycle, so I know it’s late. At this point, I’m not sure if I should be in my quarters on the ship or if we’ve taken a berth on station. I’m too tired to hunt March down myself, but I don’t want to go to bed without him, either. I’ve spent too many nights wishing for him by my side to let even one slip by now.

So I tap my wrist. “Constance, where’s March?”

“Searching,” she tells me. There’s a brief delay of a few seconds, then: “I have located him in the officers’ lounge on station. Shall I contact him for you?”

“No, I can do that.” Well, I could if I wanted to. I think I’ll surprise him. Looks like I have one last thing to do before I get some shut-eye.

“As you prefer, Sirantha Jax. I will return to my research now.”

There’s no end to her usefulness. Smiling, I make my way off the ship, through docking and into the corridors. Once, these halls were dark, guttering lights overhead, loose wires hanging. I remember the sickly sweet smell and the bodies. A little shiver rolls through me. Even with all the changes, it’s still hard for me to be here by myself. More images fight to the forefront of my brain.

My knees feel like they’re melting. Vel jerks me upright and gives me a shake that rattles my teeth in my head. When that doesn’t help a whole lot, he slaps me full across the face. That stings enough that I try to fight back.

And that’s when the things drop down from the ceiling.

My head spins too much to count them. When Vel knocks me flat, I have the sense to stay down, though the blow feels like it may have cracked a few ribs. Ironically, the pain clears my head to some degree.

I try to breathe through my shirt, and that helps a little, too. On my belly, I crawl along the floor, taking refuge behind a crate of machine parts. The fighting seems blurred and distant, too far away for where I’m hiding.

My vision can’t be relied upon. I hear March swearing steadily as he fires. He’s taken cover somewhere nearby. I hear the wet, splattering sound of the disruptor rearranging meat. The Morgut don’t scream when they die; they keen.

Without March, it’s harder to battle the memory back. I can still see the blood-spattered room and the monstrous Morgut with their bulging bodies and multiple hinged limbs. I’m safe, I tell myself. Safe. Now, keep moving. Officers’ lounge. I know where that is. Everyone else seems to be asleep by now or at least retired to quarters, so I don’t pass anyone as I make my way through the station. It’s eerily silent, and I find myself making a game of trying to keep my footfalls quiet. That’s why I can hear the voices long before I reach my destination.