Killbox

“Then I’ll tell you what I want.” I press myself against him fully, whispering.



He listens, quietly avid. A shiver slides through him at my breath against his ear. “I’ve never done that.”



“Then it’s fitting that now should be the first time—and the last.”



March skims away my clothes gently, and I offer him the same service in silence. There’s no urgency yet, but our movements have purpose. We’re consciously constructing a memory, for who knows how long it will need to last?



When skin touches skin, he comes into me, filling my head with his warmth, and oh, yes, that’s what I want. Body to body, soul to soul—I want everything, and all of him, simultaneously. March rises up over me, bronze and strong. My hands skim down his sides. His pleasure is mine. His anguish and regret, also mine.



You’re so lovely. There’s utter heartbreak in him. I wish now I hadn’t tormented him with the idea of someone else. I try to apologize in soft, silent kisses.



There can be nobody else for me.



He’s hot and fierce, trembling against me. At my slightest touch he gives away, pulling me atop him. I tell myself it’s better for my head, but the truth is, he likes it when I master him. He likes being the quiet recipient of my pleasure.



Easing down, I take him, his thoughts swirling wildly in my head. His moan pushes past my lips. The heat of my own body arouses me fiercely, his love and longing pouring through me in waves. With this intensity, his yearning spiking mine ever higher, we cannot hold it long.



We shake together, utterly one.



.CLASSIFIED-TRANSMISSION.



. OPERATION HYDRA.



.FROM-SUNI_TARN.



.TO-EDUN_LEVITER.



. ENCRYPT-DESTR UCT-ENABLED.



Apologies if I presumed too much, sir. I only spoke so because I know your reputation. Most people would say you earned it through brutality, but I wonder if that’s entirely accurate. From what I have learned of you, it seems to me, you might have as easily earned that reputation via suggestion and misdirection. One whiff of your assistance in these matters would ruin me, toppling this administration, and yet I cannot regret bringing you on board. The past is past, but I would be a fool if I forgot its lessons. I think you understand this as well as me.



The statistics you report are grim indeed.



Your intel always arrives before any of my official sources. Thus, you advised me of the attack on the satellite training facility a full twelve hours before it came through channels. You will have seen my response on the bounce, but angry rhetoric can only carry us so far. If they are to believe I will strike when I curl my hand into a fist, I must deliver the first blow.



Therefore, I have reviewed your proposed offensive. Though there is some chance of harm to civilians, I judge it an acceptable risk in times of war and authorize you to proceed. You will, of course, be operating silent, and should your endeavor fail, I will deny everything.



Brighter news: the clinical trial went better than expected. The specimen reacted as predicted; there was no harm to the human control group. They were well compensated for their time. Thus, the first of our Armada ships have received the first shipment of Morfex. I look forward to hearing how it performs in battle.



Finally, I am still awaiting your input on the fiduciary issues. Please send it at your earliest convenience, bearing in mind that matters discussed above take precedence. The wolf is not at the door just yet, but I fear I hear him howling in the trees.



.END-TRANSMISSION.



. ACTIVATE-WORM: Y/N?



.Y.



.TRANSMISSION-DESTROYED.



CHAPTER 31



So I’m a war widow.



Well, technically, we never married. And allegedly, after the war, we’ll be together again as we were, but I’m afraid to hope for it. I can’t dwell on it, either.



Like the other assembled soldiers, I’m in formation now and waiting for the commander’s address. We’re all in uniform, which gives us a sense of unity. The design came out better than I dared hope. In this midnight blue with our insignia sewn on the left shoulder in silver thread, we look confident; we look capable. We will become a force to be feared by our enemies.



March paces along, inspecting the troops. We hold ourselves to attention, shoulders back, eyes straight ahead. At last he seems satisfied, and he returns to his position at the center of the mess hall. It’s the only room large enough to hold all of us at the same time.



“I will not lie,” he says then. “The galaxy needs us desperately. In the months we’ve been training, two worlds have fallen. Our people are dying. But you’re well trained and courageous, and I’m proud to serve with each and every one of you. It’s imperative that you bounce messages quickly, ship to ship. The responsibility for that falls on the comm officers . . .” Though I can’t pick them out of a crowd, March knows all their faces, and his gaze touches on them one by one. “Your diligence will mean the difference between victory and abject defeat.



“We face a cunning, merciless enemy, and our allies are few. I would not have it said that I glamorized our mission. And yet, if we succeed, we will make history. Your names will be remembered, your deeds sung. I believe we can defeat them with ingenuity, skill, and audacity. Now, troops, we have a war to fight. Are you with me?”



For long moments, there’s only silence. His troops are not battle-hardened soldiers. Instead, we have smugglers and thieves, rebels and outlaws. They probably won’t react well to hearing the odds given straight-out. Maybe he’s erred, overestimating their nerve.



Then, from the back, I hear what sounds like a few feet stomping in unison. The cadence is rhythmic, intentional, and it gathers volume. I don’t dare break formation, but I find myself joining in, becoming part of the whole. Soon, we’re all doing it without knowing why; and then a lone voice sings:



To arms! To arms!



Oh, heed the warrior’s drum.



Rise up! Rise up!



Our enemies are come.



They ask from us our blood and bone



Next they look to steal our homes.



But that we claim, we keep



And all we want, we own.



Fighting men, stand forth!



Stand forth!



Lachion tried and Lachion true,



We will bring the war to you.



Proud and tall, these Lachion men



We fight until the bitter end.



We have never known defeat



In bitter cold or crushing heat.



Now we fight among the stars



Soon the universe will be ours.



Sound off!



A different voice bawls out, “Sweet Sensation, ready, sir!”



Hon calls, “Dauntless, ready, sir!”



One by one, the captain of each ship shouts his affirmation of the mission. There’s no telling if this display was arranged in advance, but I have no doubt it’s effective. I can feel morale being buoyed up by show of solidarity and the comfort of marching in cadence. Even I can take solace in knowing I share the danger with like-minded individuals.



“You make me proud,” March says quietly, when silence falls again. “You have your orders, men. Report to your ships. Patrols begin at once.”



We snap a salute in unison and fall out, heading to the docking bays where our ships are waiting. I don’t speak to anyone, too busy hoping I can be as professional as I need to be. It’s hard when the relationship isn’t over, nothing so clear-cut as an ending, but more of a hiatus. I don’t do well with gray areas.



Before boarding the Triumph, I look up Surge, who’s looking after the children. We still haven’t heard from their parents, assuming they ever had any. They seem like normal kids, and they’re happy enough on station. We’ve set up a small school, run by Constance. I’m going to miss her, but there’s more for her to do here. She can coordinate communications faster than anyone else, so that’s another private loss for me. I’m trying hard not to tally them, or I may fold.



“Will you be all right?” I ask Surge.



“I’ll miss Kora,” he answers, looking up from his work. “But I know better than to argue with her. I’ll keep Siri safe and look after the other kids.”



“Right. Constance, keep a sharp eye out.”



“I always do, Sirantha Jax.”



That’s it, then. We’re all going our separate ways. I leave without looking back.



The docking bays are pure chaos, full of people hugging and saying farewell. During our training friendships sprang up between people who are now assigned to different ships. Searching, I find Loras nearly ready to board the Dauntless. Mary, how I wish he were going with us.



“Loras!” I call. “Loras!”



He turns as I push through the press of bodies. “What is it?”



“Don’t you dare leave without saying good-bye to me.”



“I am La’hengrin,” he says. “That is my lot.”



“Not anymore. I haven’t forgotten what you asked of me. I want you to know that.”



“You spoke to Doc?” He seems afraid to believe in me, but I can understand that.



“I did.”



“Thank you.”



I hug him quickly, knowing we both have places to be. He’s one of the comm officers responsible for quick deployment of ships.



“Take care.”



My last farewell finished, I board the Triumph.



Dina’s the first person I encounter in the corridor. She looks smart and skillful in her new uniform, but her eyes are red-rimmed. Without a word, I put my arms around her. It’s a testament to her emotional state that she hugs me back.



“If anything happens to her . . .” Her words trail off in a shuddering sigh.



Unfortunately, I don’t have any assurances to offer. We’re at war, and the chances are good that we’re going to lose some ships before winning this. The Morgut are too dangerous for it to be otherwise.



I can only offer my pain in answer. “March ended it. Said he can’t be both my lover and my commanding officer. It would open him up to charges of nepotism and cause dissent among the ranks.”



“He’s right,” she says quietly. “But, Jax . . . I’m sorry.”



Now I have tears in my eyes, too. I didn’t spend my last night with him weeping, but I feel like I could now. Good thing I have more important things to do.



“We’re a pair, aren’t we?” I step back and swipe the heels of my hands across my eyes, just in case. “Is the ship fully prepped?”



Dina shakes her head and sighs. “I still haven’t perfected the uplink between the phase drive and the nav computer. I have a feeling that’s going to cost us.”



Yeah, because without her technology, the Triumph is the only ship that can direct jump, courtesy of the new hardware in my head. There simply wasn’t time to train and take the other combat jumpers through gene therapy, then fit them for their own versions of my implant. It took Doc and Evelyn months to configure one for me, based on DNA and brain waves. Though I don’t understand all of it, apparently the brain emits a unique magnetic field, which must be imprinted successfully on the implant for the installation to occur without risk. Without the implant, there’s no way I could conduct those cations safely. Frag, look what happened last time.



So that just leaves us as the cavalry, riding to the rescue.