CHAPTER 13

Wordless, Loras follows me to a small conference room, which has escaped Kora’s touch, so it’s as gray and soulless as Farwan left it. There aren’t many such rooms on station, which means we’re going to be hard up for space once the Armada starts growing, but for security, we couldn’t do better. And ideally, we’ll start rotating ships out, so we won’t have the whole fleet docked here at the same time.

That would sort of defeat the purpose.

“Here,” he says, getting right to business. He shows me a few images on his handheld. “Something like this could be adapted with a new logo designed to integrate the Conglomerate’s symbol and something new for the Armada.”

With an inner sigh, I realize he doesn’t want to get personal. Fine, I can be patient if I must. Resigned, I examine some of the designs before tapping a forefinger lightly on the screen. “This is good, don’t you think?”

It’s a sleek uniform in midnight blue with fitted trousers, shiny black boots, and a plain shirt, covered with a matching jacket cut in relaxed but tailored lines. I’d wear it—and look good in it, too.

“That’s the one I would pick,” he admits. “Shall we work on a logo?”

“The Conglomerate symbol is a stylized sun crowned with a laurel leaf. Rather than change that, I’m thinking we should just add something to it.”

We toss ideas back and forth for several hours, each subsequently worse than the other. I eventually patch Constance into the meeting via my handheld and she projects atop the table in a tiny version of the body that went defunct back on Ithiss-Tor. She listens to all of our terrible ideas, including flora and fauna, then offers a verdict:

“You are not thinking in terms of symbolism,” she chides us. Or maybe I’m the only one who feels chided. Loras seems to be entranced. “Solar representations offer varied meaning in semiotics, heraldry, astrology, and many religions. In ages past, the Conglomerate chose it because it represents life, promise, and strength.”

“What about the other part of the design?” Loras asks.

Well, I would have, too, given the chance.

“The laurel wreath represents victory or conquest,” Constance tells us. “And the Conglomerate selected it for that association, though their conquests have long since been relegated to history.”

“It’s time to change that,” I say with determination. “So looking at symbolism that fits, what can you offer?”

“Searching,” she says.

“What’s that?” Loras whispers, as if he’s afraid of offending her.

“My PA,” I say, sheepish.

“From Lachion?” His azure eyes widen. “Mair’s old unit?”

How to explain? Well, it’s better to just tell it all. So I do, summarizing our adventures since we parted ways, and that includes Constance’s evolution.

“Is that legal?” he asks, when I’m done.

I shake my head ruefully. “Probably not. You gonna report me?”

He looks away. “You’re Hon’s allies. It would gain me nothing and incur his displeasure were I to do so.”

Okay, that’s it.

“You ass,” I growl at him. “What does it take to get through to you, man? I thought you were dead. And don’t give me any shit about shinai this, or in-your-debt that. You were my friend. I hope to Mary you still are.”

If he says it is impossible for friendship to thrive when one person is wholly subservient to another, I don’t know how I’ll keep from smacking him. I never treated him like a slave. But then, I don’t know how Hon’s treated him.

Loras hesitates, staring at his hands, then finally: “I don’t know what I am. It was different on Hon’s ship.”

I tense. “Different, how?”

Please don’t let anyone have hurt him. Though I might’ve had an angry thought out of exasperation, I’d never harm him. If you have any decency, you can’t lift a hand to the utterly defenseless.

“Hon said it best,” he tells me tonelessly. “I belong to him. I do as he asks, whenever he asks it.”

Oh. Not physical abuse, then. But a reinforcement of his belief that he lacks intrinsic value—that he’s lesser because he can’t bludgeon someone with a spanner in a fit of rage. Mary, I have to fix this.

“Loras . . .” I take his hand between the two of mine, marveling at the artistry of his fingers. For pure beauty, I’ve never seen any male anywhere to match him, not even the pleasure toys on Venice Minor. “If I could go back, if I could do it over, I wouldn’t leave you there. I’d get ordnance from the ship and blow that door. We’d fight every last raider for you. And maybe you don’t believe me . . . maybe you think I’m full of shit now, but I’m going to prove it. You’re not just a bond servant to me.”

He offers a very gentle return pressure before he slips his hand free, his face distant and cool. “The only way you can prove that is to set me free.”

Shit, surely he doesn’t mean he wants me to kill him. Fear jolts through my system. I can’t do that—there’s just no fraggin’ way. I’m so unsettled that it draws March’s attention, whatever he’s doing now.

Jax? You all right?

I think so, I tell him. Shhh.

He quiets, but doesn’t withdraw all the way, instead keeping half an eye on me.

“How?” I ask unsteadily.

He shrugs. “That’s for you to worry about. But it’s the only boon that will mean anything to me.”

So saving his life is out. All that will do is transfer ownership back to me. He doesn’t want that; he’s sick to his soul of that. I’ve never met any others of his race, so I don’t know if they all feel this way, or if Loras has extra steel in him that doesn’t let him accept the yoke. Regardless, I have to try.

The obvious answer comes to me.

“Doc could try to work up a treatment,” I say then. “It’d be risky, and no guarantee of success, but he’s the original mad scientist. He’s all for doing what’s never been done before.” And thank Mary for it—otherwise Argus and I would be doomed. “If it’s proven to work on you—”

“The Conglomerate could offer it to my people.”

“Along with abject apologies and reparations,” I say quietly. “It’s the least we owe. I can’t make promises, mind, because I don’t have any formal authority in this. But I swear to you I’ll try.”

Warmth surges through me. Well-done, Jax.

For the first time, Loras smiles. “That’s all I could ask. You almost persuade me that I matter, Sirantha.”

The pain behind his beauty makes me want to punch something. “You do.”

Constance cuts in with, “I have resolved your query.”

“I’m all ears,” I tell her.

A beam of light skims over me. “You have only two, Sirantha Jax. Shall I present my findings?”

I’m hard-pressed not to laugh. Sometimes I swear she does stuff like that to be funny. “Please do.”

“I recommend a lightning bolt. This has long been used to suggest authority, such as the gods themselves might wield. It also signifies power and knowledge. In a less abstract sense, I consider the symbol representative of Armada ship lasers standing ready to protect all Conglomerate citizens.”

“That’s perfect,” Loras says. “We could tweak it, and add a line here to suggest the lasers themselves, and—”

“Two lines.” I point to the left of the image. “And maybe it should pierce the sun?”

Constance brings up a three-dimensional logo beside her, incorporating our feedback until we have something that we agree is suitable for our purposes. I nod at the symbol. Right now, only the three of us know what it means, but one day, people will associate this abstract design with safety and security. That gives me an odd feeling.

I share a look with Loras, who seems to share my sense of wonder.

“That’s it,” I say at last. “Perfect.”

“Saving,” Constance tells me. “Shall I research the company best suited to fulfill a substantial order for the uniform emblazoned with this logo?”

I consider that. “Go ahead. But don’t buy anything without checking with me first. We need approval before it’ll become official. Just get me some numbers.”

“Acknowledged. Is there anything else, Sirantha Jax?”

“Not right now. Thanks.” Silly though it might be, I can’t break the habit of treating Constance like a person, albeit one who lives in bytes instead of blood.

Then it’s just Loras and me again.

“This will pass muster,” he says with confidence. “We just set the tone for a new military presence in the galaxy. How does that feel?”

“Pretty damn good,” I admit.

Not a thrill like jumping, but there’s satisfaction in it nonetheless. For once, I’ve had a say in something important; I didn’t shrug my shoulders and pass the grunt work off on someone else. I’m proud of myself for that.

I’m also stiff, sore, and hungry.

“Let’s get something to eat,” I add. “And then I’ll talk to Doc.”