CHAPTER 6

Our arrival at Emry the second time is much different from the first.

The station looks different now; more lights have been welded to the exterior. Though I know it’s false cheer at best, the place no longer looks so forbidding. Kora has probably transformed the inside as well. If they have to stay there with their daughter for the next several turns, there’s nothing wrong with making it homier. Sirina won’t be old enough to survive a jump with her brain intact for a while yet, and we don’t have toddler protective gear on board.

Surge answers our first call within seconds. “You made good time. I’ll open the docking-bay doors for you.”

In a larger vessel like this one, the long haul doesn’t bother me as much. There’s more to do on board, and of course, I keep busy with Argus. He’s going to be good someday; I can already tell that much. The kid has great instincts, and I’ll add in the additional factor of navigating the right beacons when we get a little further along.

At this point I’m just keeping March company. There’s no reason for me to be in the cockpit, which is three times bigger than I’m used to. This ship will be great for testing the apprenticeship. There’s room in here for an extra chair, which could be used for a trainee pilot or jumper. We’d just need an extra jack.

“Standing by,” March tells him.

I imagine the clunk of metal as the massive door rolls back, then he guides the ship smoothly through the gap. Even the bay area has been renovated to some degree. Last time we were here, this station looked on the verge of going derelict; but they’ve deployed bots to sand away the worst of the rust from years of spillage and coated the metal with fresh sealant. The ship sets down, taking up almost the entire compartment.

“Good work,” Surge says. “You didn’t even scratch the paint.”

March smiles, and it does something to my heart to see the light in his eyes. Oh, he’s not healed completely. The war he fought on Lachion—up close and personal—nearly cost him his soul. He came back to me broken almost beyond repair and ready to take up his old life as a merciless killer. Lucky for him, I don’t give up easy. His complete recovery will take time, of course, and he’ll have fresh emotional scars, but he’s on the path. He can laugh now, at least, and stand to be touched again. For my credits, that’s worth everything.

He taps a panel and switches from outbound comm to shipwide announcement. “We’ve arrived at Emry Station. Any crewman who wishes to disembark for R and R may do so. There’s not much to do here, but you’re welcome to it.”

I hear laughter in the corridor beyond, greeting his words. For the first time, I realize I’m serving on a ship where everyone present volunteered. Nobody was drafted, assigned, or picked from a pool, and there’s a camaraderie present like nothing I’ve ever known before.

“Ready to go?” I ask him.

March nods. “Let’s locate our crew.”

He doesn’t need to tell me he means Dina, Hit, Doc, and Vel. Argus might tag along, and so might Rose, but they don’t comprise the core of us. They haven’t come through fire with us and emerged whole on the other side.

Things have been cool between Doc and me after the way I threatened him on Ithiss-Tor. The fact that he didn’t have to do what I asked doesn’t change the fact that I asked it. I know what I did—and for March I’d do a whole lot worse. I’m not sure if I should apologize for that.

We step into the hallway, and March shakes hands and pats shoulders in passing. They’re mostly clansmen who wanted to see a little of the universe before settling down on Lachion. Right now they seem so young, full of conviction in their own immortality. And they scare the shit out of me.

They don’t realize what he suffered for their sake, or how he clawed his way out of hell twice over to keep a promise. To them, he’s simply their captain. That’s all they need to know, and they’d follow him into the pit if he asked it.

He catches my expression, and I feel the telltale warmth that says he’s reading me. I don’t even mind anymore. Once you get used to it, there’s a certain comfort in not having to explain yourself.

“Don’t,” he says quietly. “I’m no hero.”

I smile. He really has no idea.

“You are to them.”

What is it they say? History is writ by the victors, and in the legends of Lachion, March will be known as their crown prince, a chieftain who never ruled and who will come again in times of need, or perhaps simply the savior that came from the skies. It’s a romantic fable. Even now I can see its genesis in the admiring eyes of young men who strive to walk like him.

His arms go around me, and though we have things to do, I stand quiet while he sinks his hands into my hair. I’ve learned what some people never do—not to take for granted what I have, while I still have it. I came within a whisper’s breath of losing him, so if he wants to hide his face against my head to cover his embarrassment, I’ll let him.

I feel his heart thumping steadily against mine. The sounds aren’t quite in rhythm. His comes slow and steady while mine has a funny little skip every fifth beat. I could probably ask Doc what that means, but I don’t need to go looking for trouble when I already have a heaping helping on my plate.

March raises his head, and his eyes search mine for a long moment. His lips brush mine in a prelude to sweeter things, but we both know we have to belay the urge to retreat to our cabin for a week. Our cabin.

Simply thinking it sends a little ripple of pleasure through me. He’s mine again. Maybe even more mine than he was before because I certainly did my best to emblazon myself into him so deeply he’ll never be free. Was that wrong, I wonder?

“I don’t mind,” he says softly.

I grin. “You wouldn’t. You’ve been trying to tie me down since the minute you set eyes on me.”

“Not quite,” he answers. “Close. I think from when you first thought about dropping a giant rock on me.” He traces the pattern on my throat and shakes his head. “If anybody else had done this to you, I’d be asking you to get it lasered off.”

On Ithiss-Tor, Vel put a tattoo around my throat as camouflage for marks March left during one of his nightmares. If I’d shown up to a council meeting so damaged, they would’ve taken it as a sign of weakness, and it would have hurt my status. From what other Ithtorians said, I think the pattern and its placement might have some deeper meaning, but I never asked Vel what it signifies. I figured he’d tell me if he wanted me to know.

“Just as well you’re not asking. I wouldn’t do it. Call the others?”

With a nod, he does.

Our crew meets us at the door. My gaze touches on them one by one: Hit in her dark beauty, with Dina pale as the moon; Doc, stocky and broad enough to bear any burden, with red-haired Rose by his side. Vel stands slightly apart, listening to them talk, but I can tell he’s attentive.

As we exchange greetings and make ready to head on station, Argus comes down the hall toward us. His stride slows as if he’s afraid of presuming too much. I don’t think for a minute he intended to join us. I think he just wants to explore the station. He’s a navigator to the bone. Since I understand him so well, I smile, seeing myself in him.

“You ready?” I ask him.

March raises a brow. It’s not sexual jealousy. He’s secure enough for that. Instead he’s curious at why I’ve included the kid. Argus hasn’t seen enough of the universe to be useful yet, and he’s not a trained jumper, so strategic deployment is out.

I shrug. He’s my apprentice. That makes him one of us. I can’t offer more explanation than that, but it seems right that he attend the meeting with us. My gut feeling’s apparently enough.

“Let’s move out,” March says.

In an hour with Surge, we’ll get more straight talk about galactic affairs than we would in a year of working for Tarn. Placed at Emry, Surge and Kora have been monitoring the bounce satellites that cover the region. At this point, they know what’s been going on close to New Terra better than the Conglomerate.

Of course, that’s not saying much.

I’m braced for the worst. We were here; we saw the evidence of Morgut passage. But braced isn’t the same thing as prepared. You can never be prepared for that.

With the exception of those looking after the kids, the rest of the crew will enjoy some time off, doing whatever they damn well please. As for us, we’ll be planning for war.