I wish I could give him so much as a twitch, a tiny return of pressure to let him know I’m still in here—not a sea cucumber—but I can’t. Though the need to weep clots my throat, I can summon no tears. My eyes remain closed and dry as bone.
“With all due respect, I don’t see how you could have stopped her.”
“Doc, if I was to tell you something . . . a closely guarded secret . . .”
No. March, no. Don’t tell him. The more people who know, the greater danger that someone will come after you. Psi-Corp is still up and running. They must still have enforcers on staff, hunters they send after rogue Psi. Don’t do this. You’ve kept your secret this long; don’t do this for me.
“I don’t like the role of confidant,” Doc says. “And I don’t like being put in the position of telling people they’re being foolish when my opinion will not change their minds. Perhaps you could handle this some other way.”
He knows, I think, astonished. But he doesn’t want it confirmed. He wants to maintain plausible deniability.
March laughs, but the sound is devoid of amusement. “Give me five minutes with her, please. Alone. Then get me Evelyn Dasad.”
Heavy footsteps retreating tell me that Doc has gone. Mary, I hope March doesn’t fall upon me and weep because I don’t think I could bear it. But no, he touches his forehead to mine again, and there’s a warm prickle at the nape of my neck. Doc should’ve warned him that there was a chance he could be trapped in my body, if I wasn’t here to receive him. Despite the risk, despite the uncertainty, he’s coming in after me.
Jax?
I’m here.
His relief drowns me in a golden wave. Don’t ever do this to me again.
Amusement. You know I can’t promise that.
He’s too shaken to yell at me, and besides, I’m not out of the woods yet. Just because he can talk to me, it doesn’t mean anyone else can. Doesn’t mean anyone else ever will. At least, unlike most jumpers, I’ll get to say good-bye, after a fashion.
A horrifying thought occurs to me. Maybe Farwan knew about this. Maybe this is burnout, and all those lifeless shells actually have a person trapped inside them, unable to communicate. Did they ever bring anyone over from Psi-Corp to find out?
Even if they did, I doubt they would have told us about it. They made their fortune by spreading propaganda and half-truths to keep us trusting and compliant. There’s no point in the revelation if they don’t know how to fix it. The facts would just get us worked up, after all.
Do you know what’s wrong?
No. I just came to a few minutes ago. I’m not sure why I’m stuck like this.
I’ll keep Doc on it, he promises. I won’t let him give up on you. We’ll get you well. His arms go around me then, and I can feel his warmth, feel him holding me, but I can’t respond to it. You have no idea. Grief blazes in him. Right after we brought you back, I came inside, Jax. And you weren’t here.
Sorrow. Remorse. I’m sorry I put him through that—and since he’s part of me, he knows—but I can’t offer any explanation as to where I was. Maybe I was still roaming around outside my body, watching them, but I don’t remember anything after the cockpit, after it all went dark. Maybe locked in the recesses of my poor, damaged brain, there’s some record of what lurks beyond that door that’s not a door, far on the grimspace horizon. Maybe that’s where I’ve been.
Do me a favor, I beg of him. If you can’t fix me, if it comes down to me being stuck like this forever—
No.
I don’t have the heart to ask again. Then keep me drugged so I don’t realize I’m imprisoned. Something psychedelic would be nice.
I’ll see what I can do. I love you, Jax.
And I, you. Though in my mind I’m sobbing and begging him not to leave me, none of it manifests. He slips out, then he’s only beside me, not part of me. I hope they’ll believe him when he says I’m still salvageable. Right now, I’m not even sure I believe it.
Two sets of footsteps, one light and one heavy, come down the hall toward med bay. I know that’s where I am from joining with March. This has to be Doc and Evelyn.
“You wanted to see me, Commander?”
I imagine March nodding. “Yes, have you had a chance to look at all the data?”
“I have.”
“Your conclusions?” he asks.
“I posit that the blood loss can be attributed to Sirantha’s using her body as a conduit for the phase drive. I think the device converted her erythrocytes directly to fuel needed to complete the jump, which offers an intriguing hypothesis as to how the ancients utilized this technology. Were they a fully integrated biomechanical race?” The enthusiasm in her voice reminds me that she’s a specialist in the field.
“It’s a sound theory,” Doc offers.
Impatience colors March’s voice. “I’m less interested in the why of the damage than in how to fix it. Can your nanites do the job?”
Evelyn points out frostily, “They’ve never been tested on human beings, Commander. That would controvert the fifteenth article of the Genevra Proclamation.”
“I don’t care,” March snarls.
“If her catatonic state has been induced by some damage too minute to register on our scans, then yes, the nanites could repair the affected synapses. But I don’t know for sure that she’ll wake up. This is experimental technology, and something could go wrong.”
There’s a long silence. I can only guess he’s weighing the pros and cons. At last, he says, “She wouldn’t want to live like this. She’s a gambler, so when the tech’s ready, put her under and do it.”
“She’s already comatose,” Evelyn points out. “What need has she of anesthesia? Even were she fully conscious, the introduction of nanites to her system would cause no pain, no more than receiving a dose of any medicine. That’s how small they are.”
“Microscopic,” Doc agrees. I can tell he’s vastly intrigued at what they’re going to try with me, as soon as they finish the nanites.
For a moment, I think March is going to explain that I’m wide-awake inside this coma. But both Doc and Dasad are too clever to be fooled by anything less than the full truth, so March simply says, “Indulge me. And give her a shot now, please.”
Muttering about emotional entanglements, Evelyn complies with his request.
Gratitude swells within me. Since he refused to kill me, at least he’s doing the next best thing. Final thought: I hope I don’t wake up, unless the procedure succeeds.
A hypo aligns against my neck, then, thankfully, my brain clicks off.
.CLASSIFIED-TRANSMISSION.
.FIELD INTEL AND CASUALTY REPORT.
.FROM-EDUN_LEVITER.
.TO-SUNI_TARN.
. ENCRYPT-DESTR UCT-ENABLED.
Truth is relative. I do not mind working in the shadows. In most situations it is preferable. People target the man upon the stage. I prefer standing where I cannot be seen. If it comes at the cost of glory, so be it. As to the power of my name, it will fade in time. In twenty turns, no one will remember. It is better that way. I wish I had better news to report.
Field Intel
The specimen should have arrived, and you ought to have had opportunities to test the toxin by now. The troops will appreciate this boost.
Our attempt to analyze the salvage failed. Once activated, the apparatus self-destructed, resulting in the loss of two key personnel. We will need to approach all Morgut technology with extreme caution henceforth.
To date, we have been unable to locate a downed Morgut ship for study. I am monitoring all satellite transmissions in the hope something will shake loose. If I locate a crash site, I’ll dispatch my team at once to take control of the scene.
Casualty Report
Colonies destroyed: 4
Lives lost: 2458
Ships lost: 28
Damage to property: In excess of 34 million credits
I must also report that one of our satellite training facilities was attacked. Fortunately, the first recruitment class had already shipped off station and gone to join their assigned ships. Still, we lost nearly 250 volunteers in the raid. Intel indicates it was a Syndicate strike, looking to undermine our war efforts. I outline retaliatory action in the attached proposal. If it meets with your approval, I will set the plan in motion.
.ATTACHMENT-OPERATION_HYDRA-FOLLOWS.
.END-TRANSMISSION.
.COPY-ATTACHMENT.
.FILES-DOWNLOADED.
. ACTIVATE-WORM: Y/N?
.Y.
.TRANSMISSION-DESTROYED.
CHAPTER 26
Weeks pass.
During that time, I’m incapacitated, and it’s galling to depend on machines to perform my bodily functions. Locked-in Syndrome, they used to call it. Anything I see, it’s because someone opened my eyes for me. March told Doc I’m conscious, just trapped in my body due to brain damage. Anyone else would’ve asked how he knew, but Doc prefers to operate on a don’t ask, don’t tell policy, where unregistered Psi are concerned; after all, even with Farwan gone, it’s still illegal. In an earlier period in history, my prognosis would have been grim, and though they try to be positive in my presence, nobody is sure I’m coming out of this.
Not even me.
Right now, I can blink—and that’s all. We’ve devised a system that lets me answer yes or no if March isn’t around to make my wishes known. But it still sucks beyond my ability to express. I want more than anything to climb out of this bed. And I can’t.
My sole entertainment is being propped up to watch the vid and, let me tell you, the news is grim. Respect for the law has all but disintegrated, and raiders own all space close to New Terra while Morgut ships prey on outposts and colonies. As I stare at the screen across from my bed, a pretty, brunette presenter beams at the camera. I’ve seen her before, but I can’t remember her name.
“The death toll rises. The fourth human colony went dark at Ibova two days ago. By the time Conglomerate officials sent a rescue team, it was too late.” She leans forward. “What happened? What has been happening? The Morgut.”
Ibova. I have—had—a friend there, one of the few I’ve made outside Farwan. I hadn’t seen Sharine in a couple of years, not since before Kai died, but we’d always planned to get together later. Take a vacation and catch up. When her work slowed down or mine did. But that won’t happen now. I almost can’t process it. How can a whole colony be gone? But then, Ibova was small and struggling, out near the Outskirts, where patrols ran thin even in Farwan’s day. Now we don’t even have patrols.
And I am helpless to stop any of it. I can’t even go to the bathroom on my own. Tears well up in my eyes and trickle down my face. Where they dry, salty on my cheeks, because I’m unable to wipe them away. Impotence stings.
A man joins the woman on the screen. She flashes him a dazzling smile. “Here to give an editorial opinion is Kevin Cavanaugh.”
“Thanks, Lili.”
Lili Lightman. Now I remember her.
Kevin dons a grave expression. “We’ve lost four human settlements in all. Who’s going to help us? The alien-settled planets have powered up their Strategic Defense Installations, and they’ll leave us to fend for ourselves.”