Endgame (Sirantha Jax 6)

Over the hum of muted voices, he orders, “Break into your units.”

Since I’m standing with two of my cell and we’re easy to spot, I remain where I am. Loras comes over to join us; soon, the others find us. My cell consists of Vel, Zeeka, Loras, and six La’hengrin I don’t know well. That’ll change over the course of the assignment. I’m looking forward to some action, even if it’s risky and against impossible odds. Maybe especially in that case because the danger makes it more interesting, more like jumping.

In addition to ops management and R&D, Constance will also tutor Sasha. He’s not thrilled about hiding, but then, he’s twelve. He doesn’t get to fight. March will have his hands full, dealing with a disappointed kid with incredible TK power. Hopefully, he won’t shake down the mountain while we’re gone.

“That’s all,” Loras calls.

He was the first to receive—and survive—Carvati’s Cure. This is his cause. I’m backing his play because he’s my friend, I owe him, and this is the right thing to do: three compelling reasons to kick some ass. Once the squad members depart, heading to their missions in groups of ten, I turn to Loras.

“Are you ready?” I ask.

It’s a big question for three words. He gets that…and takes his time replying. “I’m not sure anyone can ever be prepared for such an immense undertaking. But it’s time.”

“We’re meeting the others in the docking bay at 20:30?”

He nods. “Vel is making some last-minute adjustments to the shuttle.”

We’re lucky; we get the ship with all the bells and whistles. The other cells all have transportation, but not like ours. While Vel and I have deep pockets, we don’t possess unlimited resources. And there are other purchases to be made. Floating mines for the air lanes, weapons, armor, rations, field kits, and the list goes on. I’m tired just thinking about it.

And we’ve only just begun.

“I’d better get my bag and say my good-byes. We won’t be back for a while.”

If ever.

That part goes without saying. But Loras understands the stakes, just as I do. I’ve never fought a ground war before. The centurions have; they’re all experienced mercs, having put in their time on Nicu Tertius. On the plus side, by the time they earn the right to serve on a cushy colony like La’heng, they’re all getting on in turns, and they’ve been out of the field a while. So that’s an asset; it’ll be up to us to exploit it properly.

I head for my quarters, don my set of camo armor, and grab my kit. Next, I strap on my weapons: laser pistol on my hip, shock-stick on the other side, and a field knife strapped to my thigh. One last time, I check my equipment.

Constance is working in comms when I find her. Some might find it odd that I’d look for my PA, who—on the surface—is little more than a VI, but I don’t think of her that way. However humble her beginnings, she’s a person to me.

“Look after March and Sasha for me,” I say softly.

She turns, her face set in solemn lines. “I will, Sirantha Jax. And you take care of yourself for me.”

“I’m not the one you should worry about.”

“Nevertheless, you will do as I instruct.” She even sounds like a mom.

“I wouldn’t dare do otherwise.”

Then, to my surprise, she hugs me. Constance doesn’t feel like a machine, all gears and rotors beneath the bioware. I huff out a choky breath and stand there imagining this is what it would be like to have a mother who worried instead of conducting illegal arms deals. Eventually, she steps back, hands on my shoulders.

“Did I do it correctly?”

I arch a brow. “What?”

“Display warmth and concern?”

It would be more effective if she hadn’t questioned her mastery of the concepts, but I nod. “It was perfect. Thank you, Constance.”

“You are welcome.”

“Do you know where March is?”

She jacks into the computer with a touch of her fingertip, what a marvelous wireless interface. After a few seconds scanning the vid feeds, she replies, “In your quarters, Sirantha Jax. Shall I tell him to wait?”

“Please.”

He must have come looking for me, and I just missed him as I headed to comms. This time, I don’t run. In fact, I can barely put one foot after another, knowing what’s waiting for me at the other end. I want him fighting beside me but he can’t. He’s all Sasha has. Being stuck here doesn’t change that.

I don’t know if I can say good-bye to March under these circumstances. He’s never had to send me off to war like this; I don’t know how he’ll handle it. When battle looms, it’s usually him leaving me. The time I took off during the Morgut War, I sneaked off while he was asleep.

“Jax.” He steps into the hall to greet me as I arrive.

“I’m leaving soon.”

March fills my head with warmth and aching regret. He wants to don armor and join the battle. The soldier in him is sick to his soul that he has to be a father instead of a warrior. I’ve never seen him in such desperate conflict with himself. Tears glisten in his hawk’s eyes, shining molten gold. He blinks, so that the dampness tangles his long lashes. Not a single droplet falls. I can feel him swallow it back until it becomes a knot in his stomach to match the one in mine.

“I wish you weren’t stuck here,” I whisper.

“It’s worse,” he says, closing his eyes. “If I were far away, on Nicuan, I could pretend it wasn’t happening. But here, I feel so helpless. I want to come with you.”

“You can’t.”

“I know.”

He hauls me into his arms so I can feel him shaking, or maybe that’s me. We kiss; and it’s salty, bittersweet, heat preceding the ice of separation. Our love is chased by endless farewells, like a sweet shot of liqueur with bitters at the bottom.

I don’t say good-bye to him. Once we break apart, I just turn and move in the opposite direction. He’s in my head until the distance grows too great. As he slips away, I hear, Stay safe, my love.

The scene in the hangar reminds me of when we all split up on Emry Station. So much has changed since then, so many lost. Dread twists my insides. This could be the last time I see some of these people. I no longer think about dying; instead, I fear being left behind. Even Vel, with his built-in chitin armor, though he’s long-lived, can still die. And Loras, upon whom every hope is fixed, is merely flesh and bone.

CHAPTER 17

The shuttle puts down near a town too small to deserve the name. There’s little Imperial presence because it’s rural and remote, too far from the capital to offer any prestige as a post. Those centurions assigned here are atoning for some misdeed, like sleeping with a nobleman’s wife or skimming from the legate’s till. They’re stationed at a mining outpost, as that’s the industry that keeps this village going. The La’hengrin work the shafts, repairing equipment and doing hard labor.

It’s a poor community; that much is obvious as I step off the ship. I’ve never seen such conditions on a world that wasn’t class-P, which means it’s too primitive to have developed spacefaring technology on its own. While the outpost manned by the centurions has every modern convenience, including a comm array on the roof, the houses down the mountain are humble, made of mud and stone, and they don’t seem to have power: not solar, electric, or any other modern amenity. I cannot believe my eyes.

“Was it always like this?” I ask Loras.

Fury clenches his jaw, and he speaks through gritted teeth. “No.”

Confronted with what my people have done to his, I feel sick to my stomach. It’s not like this in the capital, although the La’heng are certainly subservient to the Imperial forces who protect them. But I didn’t know it was like this in outlying areas.

“I don’t see any Nicuan presence at all. How do the people survive?” Loras told me, long ago, that he required a protector—that the bond was necessary. Obviously, for traveling, he needed somebody to protect him physically, but I recall the way he spoke, as if it were a physiological imperative.

“There are protectors in the cities. They hold bonds in abeyance.”

“Sort of like absentee landlords?” I ask, puzzled.

“Yes. It should be a personal thing of honor and promises, but it has dwindled to this, handled by proxies. Protectors hold massive rosters of those they ‘safeguard.’”

“From the comfort of their palaces in the cities.”

“Yes,” he says through clenched teeth. “And then, when someone wishes to pick a pet for personal use, they apply to the protector to take the bond.”

My head feels like it’s going to explode. “That’s disgusting.”

“Let’s go,” Zeeka interrupts.

Just as well. I need to think about something else.

His armor has a special solar-heat feature since he’s not warm-blooded, and the mountains get cold at night. According to all the treatises Loras has read, it’s easiest to fight a superior force in such terrain. So that’s where we begin.

The others fall in. As we get a few steps away from the ship, it blends with the rocky hillside, so that, from a distance, it’s indistinguishable from the landscape. I’m really pleased with how R&D perfected the camo paint. As a unit, we close our helmets so that we fade in the same fashion. Movement gives us away, of course, but there’s nobody on watch.

They’re all inside drinking and watching vids, commiserating on drawing such a shit post. Loras chose our initial targets well. We fired the first salvo already, but we’ll fight the war out here in the provinces. As with all great guerilla generals, he’s determined we must win the hearts and minds of the people. Later, they will support us. They will hide us.

I’ve memorized the names of my new teammates, at least; we accomplished that much on the way out here. There are four males, two females, one of whom is breathtakingly beautiful—Farah, whom I met at the secret conclave in Jineba.

The other female is called Bannie. With brown hair and eyes, she’s pretty, of course, but not awe-inspiring. She’s capable, though, which is more important. I hear she did particularly well in the martial-arts portion of March’s crash training course. It’s impossible to tell the four La’heng males apart with their armor on, as they’re all of a height. One of them is Farah’s brother, Timmon, who resembles her somewhat. The other three are Rikir, Eller, and Xirol.

Loras leads the way up. The terrain won’t permit a clean landing, so we come in on foot. Soon, over the next rise, I spot the mining station. It’s all corrugated metal, ugly as hell, and hard to heat. Quickly, I skim the outpost for assets we can repurpose. Aha. The comm tower on the roof will prove useful once we take out the skeleton crew.

It’s nearly dark; therefore, the workers have all gone home. Inside the fence, the compound is full of machinery and mining equipment in various states of disrepair. In a glance at Vel, who’s easy to ID given the shape of his helmet, I ask a silent question. He inclines his head to confirm that he can do all kinds of interesting things with this stuff. Loras urges us toward the gate with a gesture.