At the best of times, I don’t like children. They’re messy, noisy, and they’re always poking around where they don’t belong. I was just like that, once, but I grew out of it, and I prefer dealing with people who’ve completed their neurological development.

Zeeka is with Hit and Dina, exploring the wonders of the dome, and later they’ll take him to Carvati for testing. Vel has gone to meet with scientists, scholars, and collectors, so they can examine his Maker sample in order to decide how high they’re willing to bid. He doesn’t need the credits, but he’s too much a businessman to take less than the best possible offer. He’s promised me half the amount from the sale, which I intend to use to keep my promise to Loras, and the La’hengrin. No more servitude, no more shinai bond. I have a gift for wrecking the status quo, and I intend to aim that capacity at the infrastructure on La’heng.

Once he concludes his business, Vel intends to get his talon replaced with a prosthetic. Afterward, I’ll meet him at Carvati’s to talk about the cure I commissioned five turns ago and have the good doctor check out that terabyte of data.

With the others engaged this morning—intentionally, I suspect—that leaves me to breakfast with March and Sasha at a café near Mikhail’s. As always, the weather is temperate on Gehenna because they regulate it with a complex computer algorithm dedicated to giving the denizens of the dome some variety, but no extremes.

And I’ve been lost in thought too long, letting Sasha gaze at me worriedly. Right now, the silence is awkward, and I can’t let it stand, seeing the sadness dawning in March’s eyes. He wanted us to bond, I think, but the child is scared of me, or maybe it’s more accurate to say he’s afraid his world is about to change for the worse.

“So how old are you?” I ask the kid.

“Ten,” he whispers.

Frag. I’d rather be back in the jungle, fighting those plant-tentacle monsters or trudging through that Maker catacomb, than trying to make conversation with a child. Adele would argue he senses my discomfort, and I should try to relax. Mary, that makes me miss her even more. The world lost a bright, bright spark in her.

In her honor, I keep trying, though this ship is sinking fast. “And you go to school on Nicuan. How do you like it?”

A quiet shrug comes in reply. Shit, how do you talk to kids? Asking about friends and hobbies doesn’t seem likely to yield fruit, so I wrack my brain for other topics. I glance at March for help, and he slides into my head.

I missed you, too, Jax. Try asking him what he likes to study. He’ll open up. There’s no way he won’t love you like I do. When he draws back, he does so with a slow reluctance that leaves me warm and tingly.

“What’s your favorite subject?”

“Maths.” He picks at his breakfast, eyes wide and sad.

I hate math. Well, that went nowhere. At this point I give up and finish my breakfast. This isn’t how I imagined things would go; March and I should still be making love.

He’s never been off world before, March explains. He needs the reassurance of routine.

“I can’t keep him out of school long,” he says out loud. “So we need to leave soon, much as I hate to.”

Sasha brightens. “We’re going home?”

“I’ll come to Nicuan after I wrap things up here,” I promise.

To what end, I don’t know. But I want to spend more time with March, and it’s clear he can’t take off with me as he once would have. He’s not free to roam the stars with me anymore. That bothers me more than I’d admit out loud.

I admire his commitment, of course. I just don’t share it. This child isn’t blood of my blood, bone of my bone. Mary forfend. I’ve no doubt I’d be a worse mother than Ramona. Some females should not breed, and I am one of them.

“Why?” The kid’s voice rises with pure fear. “She doesn’t work for Psi-Corp, does she? I’m not allowed to leave Nicuan. I’m not fully trained.”

That’s not a logical question, but kids aren’t. I sure wasn’t, as I recall.

Before March can respond, our table quakes in response to Sasha’s state of mind. This isn’t just an ordinary, run-of- the-mill scared child. He’s a TK 8, a powerful telekinetic, and his emotions have significant consequences. Those tremors fling me out of my chair, and I slam my head on the side of the table going down. It’s a solid hit; blood trickles from my temple. I lie there a minute, listening to the breaking dishes while March tries to calm Sasha down. Other patrons scream in terror because Gehenna does not suffer earthquakes, at least not inside the dome, where everything is artificially stabilized. Eventually I climb to my feet.

Amber eyes frantic, March signals for the bill, his hand fast in his nephew’s. “I have to get him off world before they figure out who did this. They’ll detain him if we stay. He’s not supposed to be away from the Psi academy right now.”

I grab his hand, keeping him a moment longer. “Come with me,” I say on impulse. “If you expect trouble, wait for me in orbit . . . I won’t be on Gehenna that long. You can train Sasha yourself, right? Teach him not to lose control. And then, once I finish on La’heng, I can do whatever you’d like. We can see the galaxy. That’d be a great education for a kid.” My tone turns coaxing, and I hate myself for it.

“I wanna go home,” Sasha whispers, his tone thick with tears. “Please take me home, Dad.”

The word eviscerates me. It represents a bond I can’t touch, nor would I want to. It’s immutable. Forever.

His expression tight with regret, March shakes his head. “He needs stability, Jax. I can’t.” He pauses, assessing the wound on my head. “Are you all right, though? Do you need me to take you to the clinic?”

Since Sasha’s only here because March couldn’t wait to see me, this knock on the head is practically my fault. I don’t blame him, or the kid. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”

“Are you sure?” He’ll do it, I know. Put this child in danger to get medical care for me.

I won’t let him make that choice. Psi-Corp is run by Farwan personnel, and I know what they do to people who break their rules. March and Sasha need to scramble off world before they get caught.

So I nod. “I’m fine. You’re leaving, then?”

It’s too soon. Things aren’t supposed to be like this. I want to believe we can take up where we left off, but I don’t know if it’s that simple, and my heart aches.

Our love consists of stolen moments, but maybe I should cherish them instead of fighting for the impossible. We’ve ever been out of step, a beat ahead or a beat behind; I long for the day when our lives synchronize as our hearts and minds did long ago. March leans over and kisses me soundly, passionately even, but I can’t focus on pleasure with a child crying silently beside me. Even I’m not that selfish.

With obvious reluctance, I pull back, searching for a napkin. Head wounds bleed like a bitch. A spreading red stain covers the white cloth, and March regards me with quiet despair. I know just how he feels that it’s come to this. Sometimes, love isn’t enough, even when it’s all you have.

“I’m sorry.” He drops a credit spike on the table and takes Sasha’s hand. “I hope to see you soon, Jax.”

“You will.” As if I could stay away.

I just don’t know whether I can stay for good. By his bittersweet smile as he leads his nephew out of the café and onto the sidewalk, March knows that. He doesn’t look back, but I watch them go, a tall, strong, dark-haired man with a slight blond boy clinging to his hand. There was no other choice this time, as there wasn’t before. Things never align the way I want them to, but as I’ve learned to my cost, I’m not the center of the universe.

All around me, they’re trying to set the café to rights, servo-bots sweeping up the wreckage. I wish I could be fixed so easily. New flowers are placed on the tables, and the remaining patrons resume their meals. My hot choclaste has spilled across the remainder of my sweet sliced kavi, leaving a pink and brown mess on my plate.

The manager or owner touches my shoulder, likely worried that I intend to blame his establishment. “Are you injured?”

How funny. It’s been long enough that they no longer remember my face. I’m not famous or infamous any longer. I’m not the Butcher of Venice Minor or the legendary Sirantha Jax. I’m just a wounded woman in a random café on Gehenna. I marvel at the anonymity of it. There’s a clean and lovely symmetry in it. I feared Vel’s discovery would put me center stage again, but at my request, he has managed to keep all but a few whispers of my involvement from all but the most dogged bounce stations, and even then it’s just speculation. On one feed, I was amused as hell to hear them refer to Vel as my “longtime Ithtorian companion.” Idiots. He’s so much more to me than that. There are no words for it.

“Not badly.” Answering him belatedly—and I’m sure he now thinks I’m concussed—I pull the cloth from my temple and check it with my fingertips; the cut has already clotted, thanks to the nanites that render me not-quite-human.

“Your son’s adorable,” a woman says as I pass by. “But he doesn’t look much like you or your husband.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to deny the connection; instead, I merely accept the compliment with a mute nod and join the throng. Today, I face an unpleasant truth; March has family, and I do not. I am adrift, cut free from my moorings. I walk aimlessly, needing to get my emotions under control before I face the others.

My path takes me through the market and into the poor quarter, where I spent so many peaceful hours with Adele. I wish she were here; Gehenna is painful now that she’s gone, but I come to stand outside her building anyway and gaze up at the window that used to be hers. Did she live here when she was with Vel? It’s so hard to imagine him settled, spending quiet evenings with her when she was young. Even he has his secrets. Boiling with pain, I move on.

Eventually, I make the meeting at Carvati’s, where I find my “longtime Ithtorian companion” waiting on the platform. It’s an amazing view from the aerie, breathtaking even.

Vel knows me too well to accept the assurance that I’m fine. “He hurt you?”

He’s not talking about the wound on my head, either. “No more than he had to. His nephew comes first.”

He offers a mute nod, then changes the subject, more of his quiet perception. “The implant went well.”

I watch as he flexes his claws. “It doesn’t show.”

“Carvati is good. And it appears that Zeeka does, indeed, possess the J-gene.”

I wonder if the fact that we jumped while he was a tiny hatchling has anything to do with his yen for grimspace. If he’d been a human child, we wouldn’t have done it. Long ago, I discriminated against Loras because he’s not human. Frag, I hope I don’t do that to Vel.

“That’s good news for Z. He’d be crushed to fail his test.”

Vel tilts his head toward the clinic. “Shall we go talk to the man?”

The bot in reception is different from the one Carvati used the last time we visited. Not surprising, I suppose, that he would upgrade in five turns, but it’s another reminder of how long we were gone. Vel shares a look with me that tells me he feels it, too, that sense of being unconnected to the right time stream. Maybe it’s a side effect of gate travel and will wear off soon. I hope.

Once he hears we’ve arrived, Carvati comes to greet us personally. “So good to see both of you. I’d heard you were lost.”

“It’s a long story,” I say, not that I’m eager to tell it again.

But he’s a businessman and respects my reticence. “Understandable, and we have more important issues at hand.”

“Right. How’s the cure coming along?”

Carvati sighs. “Stalled, I’m afraid. I’m missing some vital link. I’ve tried 285 different formulations, and so far the results in the simulations have varied from awful to catastrophic. Our knowledge at this time is insufficient to fix what we broke in the La’heng.”

“It’s not your fault,” I say, heavy with disappointment. I’d hoped this quest could distract me from the wreckage of my personal life. “If it can’t be done with current data, it can’t. I never expected the impossible.”

Except from me, Doc says in my head. Ten times before breakfast.

“Do you have time to evaluate the Maker data we retrieved?” Vel asks. “There might be something that could illuminate your work on the cure.”

“That would be nice,” Carvati mutters.

I decide not to badger him. That never helps. “Then we’ll talk about it after you check the Maker archives.”

“I’m honored you’re permitting me a look, but you understand it will take some time for me to sort and analyze. Do you trust me not to retain a copy and attempt to undercut you?”

Vel’s mandible flares. “I will trust you as soon as we work out a contract with suitably severe penalties if such an unfortunate incursion of my intellectual property should occur.”

Carvati laughs, unoffended by this caution. “I would act the same. Shall we meet with my solicitors?”

“Will you excuse us, Sirantha? This could take hours.”