“This is becoming far too familiar,” he tells me.

I manage a smile. “I’ll try to cut back.”

“They intend to release you today.”

“How’s Hit? None of this blew back on her, did it?”

“No. Since she only piloted the skiff, in the initial hearing, she was judged not liable for the deaths that resulted from your shifting the beacons.” Then my deal with March held.

“I’m so glad to hear that. And Dina’s all right?”

“They are happy to be together.”

Shortly thereafter, the doctor comes with my release documentation, and I’m permitted to dress in the fresh street clothes Vel brought with him, as the suit I wore in the courtroom has a big singed hole in the chest. I can tell that the medical staff will be glad to see the back of me; they all wear identical expressions of muted tension and dislike, whether for what I did in grimspace or for the mess I made of their hospital, I can’t say for sure.

“Where to now?” I ask, after I’ve been discharged and am ready to go.

“I have been asked to convey you to a ceremony formally relieving you of rank in the Conglomerate Armada.”

Smart. That way, any mess I get into from this point on, they’ve officially cut ties with me. I understand it, even as I feel a little betrayed by it. I wonder now what happened to Jacob Kernak, if he was murdered in his bed or if he ate his gun after turns of living with the memory. But either way, I just know his story doesn’t have a happy ending. For the moment, I decide not to ask Vel to look it up.

“Am I getting a DD?” Dishonorable discharge.

“Since you were cleared of all criminal charges levied, you will receive all regard for your rank and thanks for service rendered.”

I nod. “I’m ready to go if you are.”

“This way, Jax. I cleared a path out the back. The front is rather a mess.”

That’s an understatement, I suspect. Before the press and the protestors realize I’ve left, Vel spirits me away through service tunnels, out to a waiting vehicle. Wearing dark glasses and a hat over my distinctive hair, I feel like a vid actress who specializes in dirty scripts. Some people love you; some hate you; but everyone knows who you are. It’s way less delightful than the fame hounds imagine.

The hovercar lifts us out of the madding crowd, hurtling toward the hall at the government center, where the armada can wash its hands of me. Vel rests a claw on my hand, silently telling me he knows how bad it is, and he’s still here. Some of the tension drains out of me. For me, a normal life won’t be possible for quite a while, if it ever is, but there are still people who care.

At the government center, we take the back hallways again because the front of the building is jammed with people. More signs. More screaming. It’s not quite as crowded as it was at jurisprudence, mostly because people are already starting to forget. Scandal has a short life span, and only those who were personally injured remember past the next shocking event.

Inside, I spot Hit and Dina, who both stand to salute me. Mary, I thought I was beyond any emotional reaction, but that chokes me up. Fighting tears, I follow Vel up to the front of the chamber, where Chancellor Tarn waits. Really, as my superior officer, March should conduct the ceremony, but he’s on indefinite leave.

Tarn greets me with an uncertain expression and a two- handed handshake. “I want you to know I understand what this cost you . . . and I will be forever grateful. We wouldn’t have won this without you.”

But he couldn’t come out and say so, against popular opinion. He had to hedge his bets and work with the prosecution because people always need a scapegoat when things go wrong. In that, the Conglomerate is not so different from Farwan after all—and for that reason, I’ll never work for them again. From this day forth, I am a private citizen, and I will do as I think best.

“I understand your position,” I say coolly. Though he may be a fairly honest politician, he’s still a politician, and I am done with them.

“We’re ready to begin.” He can likely tell I want to get this over with.

The ceremony is quick; it involves long-winded thanks and the playing of music. I don’t really pay attention until Tarn speaks the words I have been waiting for:

“From this day forward, First Lieutenant Sirantha Jax, you are relieved of duty and obligation to the Conglomerate. Thank you for your service.”

More salutes, more music. I let it wash over me, and it’s like freedom, only heavier. Dina and Hit push through the crowd to my side, and they both hug me. As always, the blond mechanic smells of flowers, a minor tweak to her apocrine glands, as I recall. Hit is smiling, though I glimpse residual guilt in her eyes. She knew what I was planning to do before we left, but I let the tribunal think I didn’t tell her. No need for her to get the negative press, too.

“I should’ve been right there with you,” she says then. “In prison and on trial.”

I shake my head. “It would’ve been worse for me, knowing I’d pulled you into my mess.”

“Our mess. I didn’t make my choice blind.”

But she acknowledges I had the right to make the call. I was her superior officer, after all, and maybe the Armada would disagree, but I feel like I need to shield my people whenever I can; the blame stops with me. Listen to me—my people. Thank Mary, I don’t have subordinates anymore. I’m just Jax, whatever that means.

Dina says, “You should get over to the training facility. I know Argus could use your help . . . It’s slow going with him working alone.”

I’m not eager, but it’s my responsibility—one more step toward the time when I can keep my promises, first to myself about Baby-Z, the Mareq newborn I failed to protect, then to Loras, whose homeworld has been occupied for as long as anyone can remember. Maybe that’s not my fight, but I will make it so, the last thing I do, before I take off for the great unknown. I keep a mental checklist in my head, and once I’ve satisfied all those obligations, then I’m adrift from my moorings—free to explore the universe and chart new beacons. I dream of that like some people do of finding the perfect lover. I hoped March would be my partner in that adventure, but now I’m not sure. He will likely come to the end of his quest with obligations, and I can’t search for him before I clean up my mess.

Fortunately, Vel plans things down to the millimeter, and he has a private hovercar waiting outside. The back entrance to the jurisprudence center hasn’t been completely overwhelmed, so with Hit and Dina helping to clear a path, we manage to get inside the vehicle with a minimum of trouble. Of course, the press still scream their questions. I try to ignore them, but this one burrows into my brain:

“What are you going to do, now that you’ve gotten away with murder?”

“Ignore them,” Dina says quietly. “They’re assholes. They have no idea what you did for them. Not really.”

It means a lot to have her support, but I must look terrible if she’s abandoned our normal mode of interaction, which is pure sarcasm. I know prison honed me, leaving me thinner and more muscular. The death toll probably shows in my eyes as well. They will ever remain on my conscience, those six hundred.

“I need their names,” I tell Vel. “Could you please pull up a list?”

“Are you sure that is wise, Sirantha?”

“No, but it’s necessary.”

He complies then. And soon, I’m staring at the long, long roster of people who died because of me. This will be my bedtime reading for turns to come. Hit and Dina exchange a look, like I can’t interpret their silent concern, but neither of them argues with me, a fact for which I’m grateful.

“Thanks for standing by me,” I say to both of them.

Hit nods. “Thanks for protecting me.”

Really, it could’ve gone much worse for me if I’d had a less talented barrister. I hope Nola can do as much for Pandora. Speaking of which . . .

“Vel, I don’t know where you found Nola, but—”

“Chancellor Tarn recommended her,” he interrupts. “And he transferred the funds from his own accounts for me to cover her fees.”

Huh. So the Conglomerate prosecuted me, but Tarn paid to get me acquitted. I like him a little better right now. It’s not the credits; I could have afforded to pay for my own defense, but this makes me feel less like they used me and cut me loose when I became inconvenient. I understand why he couldn’t take a public stance supporting my actions, but deep down, he’s an honest man. He knows I did what I had to, no matter how ugly it looks on the outside.

I fall quiet, pensive, watching the buildings blur into lines of color as we travel away from the city center. Ocklind is a beautiful city, temperate weather, semitropical beaches. If I hadn’t acted as I did, New Terra might, even now, be swarming with Morgut. I see scenes superimposed from Emry Station. So much blood. I squeeze my eyes shut, but it doesn’t help because these images are memories.

Vel touches my arm lightly, grounding me, and by the time we land, I have it under control again. The Morgut won’t be landing here. Between the standing Armada, the Ithtorian fleet, and the fact that there’s a shipyard producing more vessels as we speak on Nicu Tertius, the Conglomerate will never let itself be caught off guard again. We will defend our territories to the death . . . and our enemies will have to parlay with us to learn the new secrets of grimspace.

The new training facility is a building comprised of a series of interlocking domes, visually interesting, but I wonder if it’s tough to navigate. The bot puts us down outside, where there are no crowds at all. I don’t delude myself that I will never see the media again, but they haven’t anticipated my movements to this point. It makes for a welcome break from all the shouting.

“Comm if you need us,” Dina says.

Right. There’s no reason for everyone to come inside; there’s no work for them to do here. Lifting a hand in farewell, I go into the complex and am impressed when they test me for contaminants at the entryway. This is nothing like the Farwan academy where I studied; it has a more ominous feel. But since they converted a former asylum in short order to establish this training program—which is more apropos than they realize—it’s not surprising. Once they determine I carry nothing that will harm the students within, the doors unlock, and I am permitted my first glimpse of the complex.

Halls lead out from the main hub in six different directions. Luckily, there’s also a map on the wall, identifying who has offices in the building. I find Argus’s name near the center. He’s been appointed as director, despite his relative lack of experience, by virtue of his crash-course training before I turned myself in. I hope he’s glad to see me.

I navigate the corridors alone, trying not to attract attention. A couple of the students give me a second look, then shake their heads, as if to say, Nah, couldn’t be. I’m grateful for the rare anonymity as long as it lasts.

Argus answers my knock, wearing a harried look, and an expression of profound relief dawns on his young face. Despite my dark mood, I can’t help but smile. He looks like he’s in over his head.

“Oh, thank Mary they didn’t kill you,” he breathes. “Maybe I’ll survive this job after all.”