I refuse to think about alternative outcomes. We’ll do this, and I’ll be a real ambassador. I’ll do anything to make this work with Ithiss-Tor. I’ll even stick to Tarn’s script if I have to, because I finally understand what’s at stake.

I wish the bastard had leveled with me before we left New Terra. Then again, maybe I would have taken his fear as political maneuvering. Maybe I wouldn’t have taken the threat seriously without seeing the carnage on Emry Station.

I push to my feet. “Come on, Constance. Let’s go make you a new outfit. You can’t wear that to diplomatic functions.”

The droid tips her head, studying her shiny silver halter dress. “It does look more appropriate for one who makes a living selling sexual favors, does it not?”

She startles a laugh out of me although she wasn’t joking. The Lila unit does precisely that, so she was stating a fact. Constance watches us, as if trying to puzzle out why Jael, Dina, and Hit are laughing along with me, but she and Vel are not.

“Yep. Let’s meet back here in six hours. Get your stuff, take a nap, but one way or another, we’re out of here.”

“Ideally, Tarn will flag a ship already in the area,” Jael puts in. “Send someone to snag us.”

“Let’s not think about everything that could go wrong.” Hit makes herself comfortable on Dina’s couch, so I guess she doesn’t need to pack. Or maybe her stuff’s already here. Not my business, but I admit to a certain amount of curiosity as to how Dina seduces every other woman she meets.

I mean, she’s strong rather than svelte, with broad, muscular shoulders and a thick build. She does have gorgeous green eyes, though, and hair that shimmers like gold silk. Maybe it’s the contrast between strength and softness.

“Keep staring at me like that, Jax, and I’ll think you see something you like.” She raises her gaze to give me a smoky half smile.

Okay, even I register a small spark when she levels that look on me. I don’t even try to play it off. I flirt back a little. “Nice try. But I’m not having you break March’s heart by being irresistible.”

The mechanic grins. “It’s a curse.”

“We meet back in six hours,” Jael cuts in. At my arched brow, he shrugs. “A guy can only take so much.”

“That’s right,” Hit says. “They always picture themselves in the middle of the action, whether it has anything to do with them or not.”

Leaving them to bicker, I head for the door. Constance falls into step beside me; already she moves with more assurance. “Getting the hang of it?” I ask her.

“Of what?”

“The whole having-a-body experience.”

She considers that. “I find it difficult to judge distances. I keep walking into walls where I should turn.”

“We’ll work on it.”

The halls remain eerily empty as we make our way back to my suite. First I show Constance how to use the wardrober, and leave her looking at patterns. Then I make myself a snack. She looks so real that I’m tempted to offer her something to eat.

So I ask about that. “Can you eat? As part of your companion function?”

She pauses, tilting her head in a way that tells me she’s accessing secondary systems. “This casing has a receptacle for masticated foodstuff, which needs to be emptied within twenty-four hours, or I would become malodorous.”

Everything a rich, lonely man needs in order to pretend he has a real woman by his side. “Don’t worry, I won’t need you to use such social functions.”

“I am not worried,” she tells me. “I am here to facilitate all matters for you, Sirantha Jax. If that should involve simulating social intercourse, I am happy to oblige, now that I have a casing designed for such work.”

I don’t quite know what to say to that. Does that mean she’d let me pimp her out? Then again, she’s still an AI, no matter how fond I may have become of her. There’s a thin gray line between sentient and self-willed. The wardrober hums as it produces a sober black suit. My PA has a strict sense of business attire, I guess.

With no sense of decorum, she immediately begins disrobing. “You may not want to do that with anyone else in the room,” I advise.

She peers at me through a white blouse. “It is impolite?”

“Something like that.”

I start going through my clothes, picking out the ones that look sophisticated enough to pass on any world, regardless of local fashions. Lots of black, some silvery gray, and a filmy white outfit that does nice things for my newly tanned skin. That will have to do for now. I wonder how March will like the new me.

Where is he now? Lost in the war he shouldn’t have chosen? Does he ever think of me? And will I recognize him if he comes back to me?

I touch the gaudy ring he gave me as a promise, now suspended around my throat on a thin golden chain. That contact doesn’t give me any sense of him, not a magical talisman, or a link to what we’ve lost.

He might be dead. For a moment, the need to have March by my side overwhelms me. The longing steals my breath, nearly bends me double.

“Keep an eye on things,” I tell Constance. “I’m going to get some sleep.”

It’s that or weep, and I need to keep it together. I sprawl on the bed.

The next thing I know, my comm beeps red with an incoming message. I have no way of gauging how long I’ve been out. “Accept,” I call to the terminal.

Then a disembodied voice—no accompanying image— says, “Jewel will see you now.”

* * *

CHAPTER 51

As catastrophes go, this one is fairly dire.

“Warn the others,” I mutter to Constance.

I honestly thought we were being held indefinitely. I didn’t think there was any such person named Jewel, and if there was, based on what Grubb and Boyle said, he had no intention of meeting with me. We didn’t factor this eventuality into the plan. And we’re just forty-five minutes from departure, too.

I try to calm down. The others will figure out a way around this. Nobody will interfere with a pleasure droid roaming the halls, so she’ll get word to them. I just need to stall for time.

When I come out into the pale, cool corridor, I find Keller waiting for me. “Did you enjoy your party?”

There’s definitely an upside to being portrayed as a brainless thrillseeker on the news vids. Generally, my reputation works against me, but here, it serves us well.

“Very much.” I offer a sweet smile. “You should have come along.”

“Unfortunately, business arose from my employer’s imminent arrival. You’ll wait in the central salon.”

Right. That shuts me up as nothing else could have. Instead I listen to our footsteps echoing ahead of us. All too soon, Keller deposits me in a large, overly empty lounge, complete with ornate floral arrangements and a rushing fountain in the center of the room. The chairs grouped here and there look stiff and formal, more for show than comfort.

“Would you like refreshments?” Keller asks, suddenly obsequious. “It shouldn’t be long now.”

I feel oddly like the prisoner whose last request cannot be denied. So I refuse everything and elect to remain standing. I’d rather be ready to run.

Keller nods, heading for a hallway other than the one we entered through. I wander the room while trying to pretend I’m not conscious of the minutes ticking away. I hope Constance has gotten word to the others by now.

I don’t hear any footsteps beneath the rushing fountain, but I sense I have company. Pinning on a smile, I turn— and find my mother standing there. Shit. I didn’t see that coming.

“They’re holding you, too? Are you all right?” I’m not the most dutiful daughter, I admit, but we’ll take her with us when we go.

As she glides closer, I see she looks different than she did at the coffeehouse. She carries herself with an indefinable air of confidence down to her perfectly manicured fingertips. Today she’s not a trembling bundle of nerves, fearing for her life. Ramona Jax lent me my bone structure, but she fills out a dress better than I do. Rejuvenex treatments have left her smooth-skinned and ageless.

“I’m surprised you haven’t put it together,” she says with a faint half smile.

“Put . . .” And then it clicks. “You’re Jewel. There’s no man behind the mirror, or rather . . . he is you. How the hell—”

“Did you think your father’s pathetic little art gallery funded our lifestyle? Honestly, Sirantha, sometimes I think you’re more his child than mine. If I didn’t know you’d gotten your need for adrenaline from me, I’d suspect the worst.”

She’s good, amazingly good, if she fooled March. Maybe she’s like me, completely compartmentalized— maybe that’s where I got the ability. So she can be the terrified victim one moment and a ruthless Syndicate boss the next.

I don’t even know what to ask first. No wonder Jewel didn’t want me harmed. Whatever else can be said of my mother, she possesses enough vanity not to want to erase her own genetic legacy.

Unless she has to.

Looking at her now, I can honestly say I’ve never seen her true face before. She’s only ever shown me the feather-headed socialite. But in reality, she’s pure steel wrapped in shiny paper.

“What do you mean, I got that from you?”

“I always wanted more, too,” she answers. “I was always after the next thrill; I just hid it better, that’s all. I still can’t believe I convinced your father to . . .” Ramona lifts her shoulders in an eloquent shrug. “During a jump. It’s no wonder you love grimspace so well.”

I actually stagger back a step. “I was . . . conceived in grimspace?”

As if I haven’t spoken, she bypasses me in a cloud of expensive perfume, programming a serving droid with a drink order. “Do you still like that dreadful Tokaji Cuvée?”

Fine, I’ll pretend this is a reunion. For now. My head reels with the implications. It’s a wonder I’m not brain damaged, if that’s where I got my start. Mary, Doc would have a field day with this info.

“I haven’t had it in years, too dear for my blood these days.”

“Come, darling, don’t be coy. You’ve done quite well for yourself, considering the initial course you chose.”

Knowing this will irk her, I say deliberately, “I don’t have a single credit to my name, Mother. Simon managed to snatch it all, and now my personal assets are tied up in the Farwan financial debacle.”

She dismisses that with a wave of the hand. “Nothing a good barrister can’t sort out. I meant in terms of prestige, Sirantha. I have use for an ambassador.”

“I’m not going to let you use me,” I bite out. “Those days are done. They have been for a while.”

The bot returns with our drinks, its abdomen opening to reveal a silver tray. I accept mine, but I don’t know if I should drink it. Would she stoop to drugging me? I honestly don’t know.

I hold the glass to the light, admiring the burnished gold of a good sweet wine. I spoke the truth—haven’t had this vintage in years—made from grapes, raisins, peach, apricot, and underlaid with eucalyptus. Everything I drink is either synthetic or some horrendous homebrew that burns like acid going down. Gets you drunk just the same, though, which was my goal back then.