So that’s how we’re playing it. I’m nothing if not adaptable, a Jax for every occasion. Most people would say that makes me crazy. Maybe they’d be right. I come to my feet, no longer at ease, but I stop shy of a salute. “Hit knew nothing about the mission beforehand. I want her exonerated.”

March nods, agreeing to my terms of surrender. “I’m sure Vel apprised you of the situation.”

“We’re heading for Ocklind, I gather.”

“I have permission for you to get a night’s sleep before you jump us there.”

Right now, I’m the only one who can. “I appreciate that.”

“It was Tarn’s idea.”

Ouch. Now there’s no question where I stand with him. I’ve never seen the man so coldly angry. At this point, I could offer excuses for my behavior, but at base, I would make the same choice again. I feel sick and terrible; I may never shake the weight. But even knowing the consequences, I would sacrifice those three ships for the sake of billions. I carry the guilt for those we lost in grimspace as well, but it was the right choice. I’m sure of it.

But I understand the Conglomerate’s difficulty, as well. I put them in a bad position. If the ships had been destroyed in battle with the Morgut, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. But since I took matters into my own hands, the circumstances are different.

Yet I didn’t know if my idea would work; it wasn’t something for which I could’ve sent warnings ahead. By the time they received them, more ships—and maybe worlds, too—would’ve been lost to the red cloud. I did what I had time to do, what the crisis demanded.

“Are we finished?”

In those three words, I ask about a hundred questions, but I don’t sense him in my head. Probably, it’s better if March keeps his distance. He doesn’t need my shit to splatter all over his pristine uniform.

“I don’t know,” he says softly. “Certainly your military career is over. You may end up with a dishonorable discharge even if you avoid a criminal sentence.”

“That’s not what I was asking.”

“It’s all I feel equipped to answer right now. As your commanding officer, your decision reflects on me.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Instead of trusting me to make the best strategic decision, you went around my authority.” He pauses, his mouth tightening with visible anguish. It’s the first emotion he’s shown, a break from the perfect soldier. “Why didn’t you let me protect you?”

“I didn’t think you’d let me go when there was a good chance I might not come back.”

March pauses, studying me for a moment as if I’m an incomprehensible alien species. “Because we broke regs right before you left?”

Broke regs. Such an impersonal way to describe the way we made love. His touch has always made me catch my breath; he’s capable of phenomenal passion and tenderness, but right now, I’m entitled to neither. March can also be the coldest bastard in the world.

“Partly. I was afraid you wouldn’t be thinking like my commander right then.”

“So you feared I’d make an emotional decision and not a tactical one.”

“I guess I did.”

Though I’m better than most at compartmentalizing my life, before I left, I didn’t look at him in my bed, tousled with pleasure, and see him as my superior officer. I saw him as the man I loved, the one I left behind for the best and most inevitable of reasons. But maybe it was cowardice, too. So I wouldn’t have to face him and speak that good-bye in person. It’s true what they say about the road to hell and good intentions.

“You underestimated me,” he says softly. “To our detriment. If you’d outlined your plan, and I ordered you to do it, then we’d be covered. Instead, you’re twisting in the wind, and I’m faced with the charge that I can’t control my people.”

Oh, Mary. What a muddle I’ve made of things. Another apology seems futile, so I hunch my shoulders, misery draping me like a shroud. Okay, so maybe I would do things a little different. Given a second chance, I’d trust March to let me go, no matter his personal feelings. He’s always been stronger than I gave him credit for.

“If I could go back—”

“Your escort will expect you to be ready at 0700.” He cuts me off, likely knowing my regrets are pointless.

“Could you have Argus join us in the cockpit?”

“Why?” Yeah, he doesn’t trust me a millimeter anymore.

I explain my desire to attempt to train Argus on the new signals before I go into custody. He listens with a half frown, then nods. “I’ll see to it that he’s there. Teach him what you can. It will help your case if we can prove you do not, in fact, intend to hold the galaxy hostage unless your demands are met.”

“That’s what they’re saying?”

He shrugs. “It’s not the first time you’ve been called a terrorist, is it?”

No. But last time it was the Corp’s spin machine.

But it matters he’s letting me take us back to New Terra instead of insisting on a long haul in straight space. That has to mean something—a flicker of faith remains.

“You trust me not to run?” I’m glad he doesn’t think I’ll make a bad jump and attempt to escape justice.

“It wouldn’t serve. You wouldn’t be permitted to get off this ship.”

I find his response chilling, coupled with his dead eyes. “Would you order my execution, Commander?”

“Don’t put me in that position, Jax.”

So that’s a yes. He’d order his troops to kill me rather than let me go. I don’t know if we can come back from this, but I put all the balls in play. He’s only fielding what I’ve set in motion; I’d be surprised with anything else. I always knew how much a soldier he is. After all, he was a merc for more than half his life, where following orders meant the difference between life and death.

“I won’t.”

His eyes ice over. “As I recall, you also promised to respect the chain of command. So I already know what your word is worth. A sentry will be stationed outside your quarters until morning.”

No parting words as he turns, his motion sharp as only a military man’s can be. He stalks from my quarters without looking back. I would’ve given anything for a mental touch, some hint that our relationship isn’t broken beyond repair.

For love to flourish, Kai whispers in my ear, there has to be trust, Siri. Promises don’t matter as much as personal choice. I know he’s right—and I screwed this up. I’m tempted to reply, but it’s not my dead lover, just my memory of him.

I’m lonelier now than I’ve been in a long time. Though I don’t want the rest of my food, I eat it mechanically, knowing I’ll need strength in the days to come. Sleep comes slowly, and I dream of my trial, where dead men sit in judgment, and their families wait beyond the doors, endlessly sharpening their knives.

At 0600, the AI rings me awake, and I dress in a clean uniform. Likely, I don’t have the right to wear it anymore, but I don’t have anything else, so they can take it from me after I’m court-martialed. I pull my wild, damp hair back, so I’m ready when the guard signals; it’s a clansman I don’t know by name, though I’ve seen him around. He snaps a salute as if I haven’t, in fact, betrayed them all.

“Hell of a thing,” he says, shaking his head. “You saved so many lives, and they’re taking you to task for it. That’s the sort of thing we wanted to get away from. It’s why we colonized Lachion.”

But I’m not a victim. I went into this with my eyes open, so I answer, “I went about it the wrong way. Shall we?”

It’s early enough in the shift that there aren’t tons of soldiers standing around. I don’t think I could stand that. My progress to the cockpit passes unremarked, and there, I find March waiting for us to make the jump that will deliver me to New Terra.

He doesn’t look like he slept, though. Dark shadows frame his eyes, and his jaw bristles. So maintaining that icy distance wasn’t easy, and he paid for it. That offers me some comfort as I sit down to check the nav chair. I half expect to find Hon supervising our use of his ship, but I guess he doesn’t want to be a part of this. Or it might just be the hour.

Hon’s an old rival of March’s; we first ran afoul of him on Emry Station, where Hon tried to establish his own space station. Farwan took care of his pretensions to grandeur, and he went back to raiding. Later, he took March up on his offer of amnesty and went to work as an Armada officer for the Conglomerate. I wasn’t too sure how that would work out at first, but he’s been steady, as far as I can tell. It’s a mark of his smuggler’s luck that his ship—the Dauntless—is the one that survived the blitz at Venice Minor. March, on the other hand, has a history of wrecking his vessels, though not through any fault in his piloting.

Silently, we prep for jump. I check the star charts, though it doesn’t matter where we are. Combined with my implants, my natural ability, and the tweak to the phase drive, I can jump from anywhere. It’s a huge stride forward, and it came as a result of numerous factors. Nothing will ever be the same again.

I jack in, and the world winks out. For the first time, blindness is a comfort. I don’t have to see that beside me, March is grieving. His mind touches mine in the nav computer, and only here does he let me see the full scope of it. I appreciate that he doesn’t block me; he has the skill. There are stolen, precious moments, where he’s decided to allow himself this secret intimacy.

I thought I’d lost you. That’s not my commander. That thought belongs to my anguished lover, who believed I was gone for good.

In this neutral space, I admit, I wasn’t sure I could come back. I fought for it, though. For us. For you. And to carry word of the shift in grimspace, so I could save as many lives as possible.

Silence, but warmth purls through me. His love doesn’t waver, regardless of what I put him through this past week. Then he replies, I’ll be waiting.

At last, here’s the answer to the question I asked last night. Knowing helps, even if he can’t speak of his feelings out loud. It’ll help me deal with the difficult days to come. And there’s no question it will be tough, maybe the worst thing I’ve ever faced.

Argus arrives shortly thereafter, and he jacks in using a patch cord. It’s not a suitable solution for training, but it will be enough for me to show him what I need to. The rumble of the phase drive tells me we’re almost ready, and rising heat spills through me. That’s the cations kindling for the jump. The corridor opens; the ship spirals through, then my mind’s full of grimspace. Even to me, the beacons feel strange, and full of unusual echoes.

My apprentice reacts, testing the new signals. In the space of seconds, I show him what I did and how to read it. Realization sparkles through him. Despite the circumstances, he loves the job, and he loves learning new tricks. He’s going to adore playing hero on New Terra.

It takes me longer to feel out the proper course, then move us there. But March isn’t surprised when we slide out of the jump with New Terra spread before us, glimmering with its aquamarine waters. I unplug and sit quiet, waiting for the landing while he negotiates with the docking authority. Before long, the Dauntless receives a priority landing clearance, and we make our approach.

“Dismissed,” March says to Argus.

The kid leaves without another word, doubtless knowing we need a moment. March handles the landing with his usual skill; though with each kilometer, it takes me closer to captivity. Once we put down in the hangar set aside for diplomats and other important personages, he turns to me.

“This is the last time I’m going to see you alone for a while. I’ve already been advised that you will be permitted no visitors apart from counsel, not even me.”

That’s an unexpected blow, but I should have been prepared. The charges levied against me are heinous, and from this point forward, it becomes a media event and a public circus. But I survived incarceration once before—and at least this time I won’t have anyone trying to drive me crazy with dream therapy.

I hope.

To my surprise, he bends and kisses me on the mouth. His lips taste of strong kaf and infinite sweetness. March nuzzles his stubbled jaw against my throat; the scrape feels divine, and that, too, I will carry with me. Lifting his head, he traces the curve of my cheek as if striving to memorize my features. I have no idea what he sees.

“I still love you.”

Thank Mary. I can survive, as long as I know he’s there for me. “And I, you. I’m sorry—”

“No.” He presses a finger to my mouth. “I have my own regrets, you know. Since I got your message, I’ve wondered if there was something I could do differently, some way to make you trust me.”

“I do,” I whisper.

But that’s not the whole truth.

Even if I’d believed he could make an impartial decision regarding my sacrifice in grimspace, it’s not in me to turn to someone else at such times. I refused to put the decision on March and leave him shouldering the weight. By the grim look in his golden eyes, he hears the unspoken reply. I feel him, tender warmth in my head, and I don’t want to be without him.

But I must be.

The chime rings on the door, and March kisses me again, again, as if he can wipe this all away with the heat of his mouth. I cling to him for a moment, before making myself step back. It’s time to let go.

“Vel’s outside,” he says.

He came. Of course he did. I draw in a breath that hurts in the exhalation. “Then let him in.”

When the door to the cockpit swishes open, there is nothing personal between the commander and me. We stand a professional distance apart, as if I can’t feel his pain screaming in my head. Mine amplifies his; they share a joint sound—that of glass breaking—until they swell to a crescendo that deafens.

I want to scream, March whispers. I want to take you away from here.

It requires superhuman effort for me to step into the hall, going away from the man I love and toward uncertain future. Vel knows, I think. He always does. With his unpainted carapace and his near-human mannerisms, he looks nothing like the Ithtorian officers waiting behind him; the Conglomerate has chosen an Ithtorian guard to prevent any accusations of preferential treatment. Vel touches a talon to my cheek and we exchange a wa that says everything.

March signals with a resigned gesture. “Prisoner ready for transport.”

This time, I’m not spared the shackles. I get the full-on treatment, bound at wrists and ankles, with a loose chain connecting the two. There’s no point in protesting; the Conglomerate wants to make it clear they take my trial seriously. I get no special handling. I’m just another criminal.

Each step takes me farther from March; he fades to an echo my head. Our connection grows quieter and quieter with the distance, until the connection snaps, and I take his loss like a knife in the heart.

You seem to have some fondness for Ms. Jax. Would you like me to intervene? I could find some method of corrupting the jury or ensuring that a sympathetic judge receives the case on his docket. Though this is not my normal sphere of influence, I am not without my resources, even here.

As to what I dream . . . in all honesty, dear Tarn, I dream of nothing these days. My sleep is black and empty. But in my waking hours, I think it would be very pleasant to meet you when you have put aside your purple robes, and I am, once more, only a quiet weaver in the shadows.

Dear Leviter, this will be my last message for some time. Our work together is at an end, but I, too, would enjoy a personal meeting. In due course, we may arrange it, and I look forward to that day more than you might imagine.