Endgame (17 page)

That prompts a smile, lessening the ache in my chest. I only mean to close my eyes for a few seconds, but the next thing I know, it’s morning. We haven’t slept together since we came back from the other world, through the gate, where we lost five turns. You’d think it would be uncomfortable, but as I shift, I notice the pillow he tucked beneath my head. He’s still out, with an arm curved about me, his talons in my hair. There are weapons on the floor beside him on the other side within easy reach. If anything tripped his perimeter alarms, he’d have been up and shooting before I could unstick my eyes.

I watch him for a while, knowing Loras must be wondering why the hell we spent the night at the mining station. Zeeka probably told him I was looking for Vel, so hopefully, he thinks we were working. Which we should’ve been. There’s
still the matter of the shipments to sort out. Maybe Vel can hack a warehouse to show the cargo received, then diverted elsewhere. It’d be funny if this phantom ore was just constantly bouncing around the planet.

As I ponder the problem, feeling a little stronger than yesterday, he stirs. I can’t remember ever watching Vel wake up before. Through the gate, I relied on him and vice versa, but I sprang up tense as a knife blade. There was no opportunity for stillness and intimate observation. That’s the word. “Intimate.” I shy away from it a little, but not from Vel.

His eyes flicker open. I consider how many Jaxes are there, greeting the day.

“I did not mean to sleep,” he clicks. Irritation colors the glottal stop at the end.

I lift a shoulder. “We needed a break. I’m not a good soldier. I hate the makeshift accommodations and the uncertainty and—”

“Precisely so.” His irritation with himself melts into amusement.

In response to that display of humor, I touch the spot just above the curve of his mandible. I know he can feel it. Before, he told me about places where there are gaps in the chitin, spots Adele touched because she knew he enjoyed the contact.

He stills, startled. It’s not something I’ve done often, and never after a night like this one. “Sirantha.”

But that’s all, just my name. I don’t know what to make of that, so I take refuge in a joke, ignoring the complexities. “Do you think we’ve been reported AWOL?”

Vel cants his head, mandible flaring in silent laughter. “An excellent question. How do you suppose Loras punishes deserters?”

“By making them plant a victory garden for the villagers,” I mutter.

“I would agree with you, but it is not the season. And we have no seeds.”

“Be thankful for small blessings.”

“We should move, Sirantha. Don your armor.” Though he doesn’t intend it unkindly, it means the barriers need to come up between us, so we can do our jobs.

I slide out from under his arm, but I must have revealed a
flicker of reluctance because he catches my shoulder gently. His claws prick but don’t break the skin. “It is not my desire, you understand, but my duty that beckons.”

“Yes,” I say softly. “Mine, too.”

“I am glad you looked for me, Sirantha.”

So am I.
But it’s time to get back to business. Since he’s been analyzing the shipment patterns, I hope he’s sorted out how we can screw with the Nicuan nobles as well as keep them out of the village.

“Have you figured out a solution to the shipment yet?”

For obvious reasons, we don’t want the Imperials to get the ore. Anything we can do to disrupt their society will benefit the resistance down the line. I put on my armor while he does the same. The weapons go on last thing, with him contemplating the problem.

“I might have, but it is risky.”

“That seems to be our mantra these days. Tell me what you have in mind?”

“The La’hengrin simply turn the ore over to us. Then Leviter seeds the Imperial bounce with stories about shipments being stolen.”

“Are there any drawbacks?”

“The possibility that additional centurions will be sent to secure the mines.”

“They can call us in to deal with it, if need be?”

He nods. “Should I advise Loras?”

I’ve learned my lesson about going outside the chain of command. “Probably. It won’t do to piss him off if things go wrong.”

In the rebellion, there’s no risk of a trial or a court-martial, but it might be difficult to serve if Loras thinks Vel’s undermining his command. The La’hengrin need to know that Loras is the strong one, and that it’s possible for him to lead after turns of taking orders. They need that confidence in their own self-reliance.

He taps the comm, but there’s no response. The short-range frequency we use doesn’t extend up here. So I say, “I’m heading down. I’ll send him to talk to you.”

“Thank you, Sirantha.”

“Thanks for making me feel better.”

In reply, he offers a
wa
, and the sight gladdens my heart.
Fair winds carry you from my side and back again, brown bird.
Instinctively I know this is both a gentle farewell and a wish for my safe return. It’s Vel’s way of saying,
I wish you didn’t have to go
. But we both have work to do.

Farah will be expecting me to begin the final round of treatments. Soon enough, we’ll take what volunteers we can muster, give them rudimentary training, then move on to do it all over again. Without March beside me and with such work ahead, it will be a long turn.

My prediction turns out to be more accurate than I expected.

Over the next six months, I repeat the pattern with Farah until I have enough experience to work as a medical assistant. The death toll rises, but so does the number of free La’heng. Occasionally, I catch the news on vid, usually days old, but other cells keep the Imperials hopping in the capital, where most legates believe the resistance is centered.

I’d like to harry the establishment, but there’s more important work for us to do right now. The task seems daunting, utterly time-consuming, but there’s no easy fix. We can’t send out a comm message inviting all enslaved La’heng to turn up for treatments. So it has to be this way: slow, secretive, and steady. My one consolation is that we’re gaining momentum.

Not every village empties out as a result of our work there, but the numbers definitely thin. For every hundred and fifty we set free, forty of them join us. Loras divides them into teams and sends them to base for orders and equipment. That way, like everyone else, they know only one fact that could be revealed during capture. I suspect most La’hengrin would die rather than yield anything that could help their oppressors.

At last, Loras tells us our orders have changed. “There are now enough other La’hengrin in the field to free us up for other duties.”

A ragged cheer goes up from the whole squad. None of us are happy about the lack of action. What we’ve done might be necessary, but it also had tragic moments. I get the shakes now when I pick a hypo to give that last treatment because ten of my patients have been put down. Loras always does it. Like he told Deven months ago, he takes that failure seriously.

“First, we’re going back to base for some R&R,” he goes on, pitching his voice to carry above the celebratory hoots. This time, the noise gets so loud he can’t talk over it, so he folds his arms and waits. Eventually, his pointed look sinks in, and we all shut up.

“Afterward, we’re heading to the capital to wreak some havoc.”

The outcry becomes deafening, with the La’hengrin chanting some cry they heard in one of Xirol’s period vids:
Ah-ooh, ah-ooh, ah-ooh! Ah ah ah! Ah-ooh, ah-ooh!
To me, they sound like higher primates who have lost their words, but they’ve earned the right to sound that way. Nobody can tell them to shut up and get back to work. Well…Loras
can
, but that doesn’t mean they have to listen.

“How long before we move out?” I ask Loras.

“A couple of hours. We’re packing up here and heading to secure transport for our volunteers.”

“How many are joining up?”

His smile reveals pure pride. “Half the village. The more the story grows, the more the centurions seem disturbed by the scope of the LLA’s reach, the more people believe.”

I nod. “It’s kind of a self-fulfilling prophecy. You tell them we can do it, something impressive happens, the Imperials react, the ones we haven’t cured yet hear about it, and they think we’re some massive planetary invasion force.”

“We’re getting there,” Loras says.

As a commander, he keeps a tight schedule. Everyone is ready to go at the appointed hour, waving good-bye from the shuttle. It seems like forever since I’ve slept in the same bed more than one night. Shit, half the time on this assignment,
I’ve had a bedroll on the ground. Considering how much I hate dirt, that really sucks.

I’m looking forward to a hot meal, programmed however I choose from the kitchen-mate, a hot shower, and a kiss from March. Not necessarily in that order though he may demand I take care of the second thing before I get the third.

My heart soars right along with the shuttle, firing as the thrusters do. I burn hot and fierce, knowing this is an interlude in a long and brutal war. But if I lose my ability to appreciate the little things, there’s no way I can bear the big shit. Behind me, the rest of the guys chatter about the first thing they’re gonna do, curiosity about how much the base has changed since we left, who might be around…a lot of questions that have no answers, really, but I share their excitement.

“How are the readings?” Loras asks Vel.

“Stealth field holding, sir. No emission leakage that I can detect.”

“Good. There aren’t supposed to be any ships in this area.”

Vel flies is in low through the mountains. After dark, the ranges all look the same to me. Even though I’ve been here multiple times I doubt I’d be able to repeat the flight pattern without exact coordinates. I skim the ground for signs of trouble, but it looks like, so far, the base has gone undetected. That’s a lucky break; otherwise, we’d be fighting for our lives with no place to go.

Instead, the shuttle zooms into the lit cavern, and the door shuts behind us. It’s quiet in the hangar, missing the hum of activity that characterized the place before everyone deployed. There’s only one other skimmer present, so the facility will be
really
empty inside.

After climbing out, I stretch my legs; and then, without waiting for the others, I head toward the main corridor at a dead run. Logically speaking, I know if they’ve been holed up in here, March and Sasha may be testy, but they should be safe. But I won’t believe it until I see it with my own eyes. Compartmentalization has permitted me to do my job without obsessing, but now that I’m back—

I run faster.

March meets me in the hallway and grabs me around the
waist. He spins me until I’m dizzy. I wrap my arms about his neck and get the kiss I thought I might have to shower for. When I draw back, I note his pallor. The vitamin D in the bulbs can’t compensate for pigmentation.

“It’s been a long eight months,” he mutters against the curve between my neck and shoulder. “And I can’t say I care for being a military spouse.”

I laugh. “Hey, it’s not too late to join up. See the world, kill some guys.”

“Can we?” Sasha demands.

Turning, I spot the kid lounging behind us. He’s taller than he was last time though maybe if you were with him every day, you wouldn’t notice. He’s going to be tall, like March, but built on lankier lines. Puberty might dump a ton of heavy muscles on him, though.

“How’ve you been?” I ask.

“Bored. This place sucks.” But he sounds grouchy, not traumatized, so that’s something. “In some cultures, they consider a kid a man when he turns twelve. So I’m more than old enough to enlist.”

Loras has recruited La’hengrin who are thirteen and fourteen, but I keep that information to myself as March levels a warning look at me.
Got it, this is father-son business. I’ll keep quiet.

“We’ve had this conversation,” March says patiently.

Sasha flashes a roguish grin. “I keep hoping I’ll wear you down.”

“You’re young. Hope springs eternal.”

“Eventually, he’ll forget his original objection,” I assure Sasha with a teasing grin at March. “He’s getting older every minute.”

March narrows his hawkish gaze on me. “Is that right?”

Sasha spreads his hands, disassociating. “
She
said it…not me.”

“I don’t notice you springing to my defense,” March points out.

The kid smirks. “You look great…for an old man.”

I laugh. I love the cockiness. It was just starting to peek out when I left. It looks like he’s been developing the ’tude. The
girls are going to love it—should he ever meet any. Inside the base, that’s not likely.

“Listen, I can’t stand myself, so I bet you’d both thank me for cleaning up. Afterward, you two want to get some dinner?” I’m surprised how natural that feels. I’m not one to raise a kid, but now that he’s of an age where reason and humor work on him, it seems less terrifying and awkward. I can talk to him like he’s a person who might become a friend someday.