Endgame (25 page)

This feels like when he went off to command the Ithtorian fleet, only a thousand times worse, because he won’t have warships at his fingertips. This time, he only has his own ingenuity and the help of a frightened servant. How I wish I could slip into a new skin as easily he does, but even if I could, that wouldn’t help him. He needs Tiana’s inside knowledge of how the legate’s household functions.

“How about ‘I will see you soon’?”

“But is that true?”

“I intend for it to be so. How much would you give to be with me, Sirantha?”

For a few startled seconds, I’m not sure what he means, what he’s asking. I leap to the human interpretation of
be with me
, but this is Vel. Not March. Therefore, he’s talking about the mission.

“I’d feel a lot better if I could watch your back.”

“From what I have gleaned from his private correspondence—and a few formal reprimands—the legate spread his attentions far and wide. That will be…awkward for me to maintain, at length.”

“So you want me to play significant other, once you have a chance to sell the story that he’s met someone? I don’t think that would work. My face is too well-known—”

“Yes,” he says. “Your face. Are you willing to give it up?”

The question sends a shock through me. I’m not beautiful, but I am comfortable in this skin. Changing my face would leave me with a stranger in the mirror. I hesitate, considering all the factors in play. Part of me is loath to sacrifice my identity even for Vel, but another half thinks this might be a fresh start. There would be no more paparazzi, no more people on news net following my every move. For the first time in ten turns, it would mean privacy.

“Would cosmetic surgery even work on me?” I wonder aloud.

“The nanites repair damage…they are not programmed to safeguard your appearance. So theoretically, they should speed your recovery, not impede superficial changes.”

“Theoretically,” I repeat wryly.

A new face would change everything…but if I’m offered the choice between helping Vel and wondering if he’s all right, then I’ll do whatever it takes to back him up. Even this. Mary knows how March will feel, but it’s not like I can ask him, and I wouldn’t even if I could. This is my decision, my body. I hope he can adapt to the change; but if he loves
me
, not my skin and bone, then it shouldn’t matter. He’ll adjust. No matter what I look like, I’ll be the same person.

“You discussed this with Loras?” I ask.

Vel inclines his head. “He knows someone in the city willing to do the work.”

“What’s involved? I mean, how long will it take, how much will it hurt…?” I grin, but the truth is, doctors give me the shivers these days. I’m always afraid they’ll lock me up and run experiments.

“Everything is done with sonic shapers, some minimal laser work. There will be some pain and swelling, but you could expect to resume a normal routine within forty-eight hours. Perhaps less, depending on how your nanites respond.”

Taking a deep breath, I make the decision. “Of course. If you need me, I’m there, whatever face I have to wear.”

“Thank you, Sirantha. Loras will explain further.”

I back out of the room, taking care with my injuries, and navigate the steps with utmost caution. Everyone else has assembled downstairs. Farah sits on a chair with her hands folded in her lap, eyes still red and swollen. The squad seems subdued, each dealing with loss in his or her own fashion.

Xirol glances up at my approach. “Glad we didn’t lose you, Jax.”

I’m about to make some smart-ass remark to break the tension, but I think better of it. Some things can’t be dissolved with a joke. So I just incline my head. I don’t sit down because it would hurt getting back up again. My pack will sting going over my shoulders, but it can’t be helped. I’ll march out of here along with everyone else even if it kills me.

Six days later, I’m sitting with Xirol in a black-market
medical facility. The place is clean, though not fancy. Plain block walls have been painted institutional gray, and the equipment, a bit battered and scarred, has seen better days. The doctor is a nondescript man with shorn hair and a quiet manner.

My injuries have healed, so far as I can tell. Even the twinges are gone. In a few seconds, the equipment validates this expert self-diagnosis. I do have scars where I was shot, but the nanites will take care of those in time. They don’t tolerate imperfections in the body they’re maintaining, which makes it pretty ironic that they ended up inside someone as flawed as me.

“You’re in top shape,” the doctor says.

“That’s not what I heard,” Xirol jokes.

“Are they passing around naked pictures of me again?”

The doctor looks marginally interested in Xirol’s reply. “Nah, just topless ones.”

I laugh. Then the doc gets down to business. He doesn’t call me by name because he doesn’t know it. I have no idea who he is, either, except he’s willing to turn me into somebody else. I
can tell he’s not native from his features. My best guess is, he’s disgruntled Nicuan, looking for payback on those who cast him in disfavor over some petty politicking. Whatever. He’s taking my money through a complex circuit of intermediaries. Officially, it’ll look like I donated these credits to charity.

“I’ve examined the stills,” the doc says. “And created a composite of the ideal feminine face, based on the accumulated data of the target’s preferences.”

“This should be good,” Xirol mutters.

“Let’s see it.”

The doctor activates a screen built into the wall, and the image appears. I stare at her, thinking,
This will be me
. Nothing about her says Jax. Her features are fine and delicate, with a small, pert nose and pointed chin. Her eyes are almond-shaped and slightly tilted at the corners, giving her a feline air. Only her lips have anything in common with mine, full and long, but shaped into a kissable bow.

“She’s beautiful,” I say.

Xirol stares at the screen. “That’ll take some getting used to.”

“Why, because I’ll be so different?”

“No, because you’ll look La’hengrin.”

He’s right,
I realize. The fine features and the shape of the eyes are right, but since the doc’s created a composite, I’ll look even more native, the epitome of all feminine La’hengrin qualities. Yet she’s not me. It shouldn’t matter, giving up this so-recognizable face, yet it does, a little. Since Vel needs me to explain the change in the legate’s behavior, I’ll do it, no question. Odd. I didn’t expect it to bother me at all. But I’ve been Jax so long that I clutch over giving up my identity, even for Vel. Then I set aside my reservations.

“Will that be a problem for you?”

Xirol shakes his head. “Look, I know you have a thing for me, but you’re just gonna have to accept that it can never be.”

“Alas, I know. You and Bannie, right?”

To my surprise, color washes his handsome face. “Shut up.”

The doctor isn’t interested in wasting time. “You have the choice between red hair and blond.” With a few taps on his handheld, the screen responds, splits, showing me what the woman looks like with both colors.

“What do you think?” I ask Xirol.

“If I say I like redheads better, will you tell Loras I’m after Farah?”

“What would Bannie say? She’s a brunette.”

“Brunette isn’t a choice on the table,” he points out.

“True.” I glance at the surgeon. “Break it down for me. I’ve always had dark hair.”

“Well, 45 percent of the legate’s companions have been redheads; 55 percent were blondes.”

“So he likes both. No brunettes?”

The doctor shakes his head.

“Asshole.”

“Quite. He likes them young, too, so you’ll need a course of Rejuvenex along with the procedure.”

Dammit.
Anger sparks through me. These days, I don’t age much, or at least, not like other people.
Now
I have to reverse the turns I’ve already earned? I like my laugh lines and little crow’s-feet. They give me character. When I get this new face, this smooth, young face, nobody will ever take me seriously again.

And March? He’ll hate this
so much
. I already look fifteen turns younger. People will think he’s a dirty old man. Granted, in this day and age, it can be hard to tell how old someone truly is. I knew a couple with a seventy-turn age difference between them, and it truly wasn’t noticeable.

Xirol grins. “This must be a dream come true for a withered old thing like you.”

“Fine,” I mutter, realizing they’re waiting for a reply.

The doc arches a brow. “You seem displeased. Most women would love a fresh start. The Rejuvenex will perk everything up, tighten your skin—”

“I know how it works.”

Obviously, he doesn’t understand my complaint, so he asks, “What about your hair? I don’t handle that aspect myself, but I can have an esthetician come in. There is one I trust.”

Frankly, I don’t give a rat’s ass. I want to keep
my
hair. I haven’t been this upset since I had to shave it all off. But that won’t work. My coarse, curly hair doesn’t suit this face. But otherwise, I don’t know what I’m talking about; let’s be honest.

Aloud, I wonder, “Maybe I could combine the two. Red with pale streaks? Strawberry blond?”

“Red with pale streaks would be hot.” Clearly, Xirol’s expert opinion will make all the difference to the success of the mission.

But the doc agrees. “Yes, deep auburn with highlights would be most pleasing.”

“Bring your friend in and add it to the bill.” I pause. “Can I keep my eyes?”

“They’re gray…” A few taps for analytical comparison, then he nods. “Not as common as blue or green, but not so remarkable that you need new irises.”

“I was thinking more about
lenses
,” I say, horrified.

Xirol shakes his head. “That’s disturbing. You’ve seen how we live…so before a couple of turns ago, I didn’t even know people could get new faces. New eyes. It’s kind of…creepy.” He’s unusually serious, but I nod my agreement.

It
is
creepy.

“No need for either.” The doc doesn’t notice my reaction. “I’ll also need to remove those scars. They’re unmistakable. Memorable.”

The nanites nibble at them, slowly. Doc suspected in time they would heal; but I can’t wait for nature to take its course. People have told me before that it’s a simple laser treatment to take them away, make my skin perfect and unblemished. I always resisted because I felt like it would be a betrayal, erasing Kai from my body. I carry him in my flaws just as I do in my memory. It’s time to let him go. He wouldn’t want me to wear his death in my skin. He’d want me to remember his life; that’s the sort of man he was.

Despite my tight throat, I answer, “That’s fine.”

“Do you want me to remove the tattoos? They’re fairly recognizable as well.”

“No,” I say. “Leave them. I’ll wear something to cover them.” I glance at Xirol. “Is that a thing here? Do the Nicuan ever collar their La’hengrin to show possession?”

A flash of pure pain washes over his features. “Yes. When a Nicuan male takes a particularly beautiful female La’hengrin in a sexual
shinai
-bond, sometimes he dresses her in a
jeweled collar that reflects his ownership. It discourages other nobles from making offers.”

“You sound like that’s personal for you.” Hard to explain, but his tone isn’t just general offense. It’s old pain.

“My sister,” he says softly.

He doesn’t need to say more. I picture a beautiful girl who looks like Xirol, collared by some bastard who uses her as a sex toy. And she has no recourse at all.