CHAPTER 15

There’s a crash from within the room, and I figure that’s my cue. Pushing away from the wall, I head for the lounge at a dead run, and when I come in, I find March on the verge of pounding Hon’s face in. Probably out of respect for March’s shock, the pirate isn’t fighting back, but he’s not going to take a beating docilely, nor should he.

“Let him go.” My tone brooks no refusal, but I’m still a little surprised when he listens to me. “Now, you two want to tell me what this is all about?”

March spares me a scathing glance. “Cut the crap, Jax. Do you really think I don’t know anytime you’re nearby?”

I hadn’t, actually. I didn’t realize his Psi worked in that way. Sheepish, I duck my head and shrug. “I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“Better to spy,” he growls.

But I know he’s just angry, not necessarily with me.

“Let’s sit down and talk about this.” I put my words into practice.

Hon straightens and gives March a narrow-eyed look. “You go after me again, for any reason, and I’m outta here, bwoy.”

“I’m sorry,” March says grudgingly. “I was just . . .”

“Shocked?” I supply, when it becomes obvious his clenched jaw it makes it hard for him to speak.

“What else can you tell me?” he asks at length.

Hon spreads his palms in a universal gesture. “Nothing. I never saw her again. Later, I heard she went to work for Farwan.”

“Why didn’t I know?” March whispers, looking inward.

“So you don’t know what happened to the child.” She might’ve lost it or had the pregnancy terminated.

“No.” The pirate seems sorry, but he’s telling the truth. There’s no satisfaction in Hon at leveling March like this, which raises him in my estimation. “I think you two have some things to talk about. I’m gone.” So saying, he makes good on the words and slides out of the lounge.

March buries his face in his hands, and though it’s late, I take the precaution of securing the door. I don’t want anyone else listening in like I did. Do as I say, not as I do.

Coming up behind him, I sink my hands into his hair, shaping my fingers to his skull. The warmth feels good, and he rubs his head against me like a big cat.

“Why didn’t she tell me?” he asks.

“I don’t know. Where were you, five turns ago?”

His jaw tightens. “Lachion. Mair had me on the road to recovery by then, but I hadn’t earned off-world privileges yet. She didn’t trust me not to return to Nicu Tertius.”

Mair was Keri’s grandmother, and the onetime leader of the Gunnar clan. She had saved March’s sanity—and possibly his life—when her Rodeisian second, Tanze, stole Hon’s ship with March aboard. Instead of just ending him, she’d worked to heal him and turn him from a ruthless killer to a decent human being. Being Psi had driven all the empathy out of him from years of unshielded exposure to people’s worst natures. When you’re fed nothing but ugliness, that’s all you have to give back.

“That’s why, then,” I say aloud. “She couldn’t get in touch with you.”

“Whose fault is that?” he rages. “While she was growing up, I spent more time away than I did with her. And when she needed me most, I wasn’t there, either.”

Mary, this is going to bury him. I lean down and press my cheek against the top of his head. In answer, he tips his face back, arms curling around me from an awkward angle.

“I think you’re asking the wrong questions,” I say softly.

“Oh?”

“You can’t help Svet. There’s nothing you can do for her now, and it doesn’t matter why she acted as she did. You can’t impact that.”

“So what should I be asking instead?” Anyone else might be surprised to see him look to me for guidance; I’m the only one he’d let see him like this.

“What happened to her baby.”

“Mother Mary,” he swears, bolting to his feet. “Is it possible?”

By his expression, he’s ready to take the ship and leave right now. I stay him with a hand on his arm. He looks at me, muscles coiled.

“There’s nothing we can do tonight,” I tell him, hating that it’s so. “Put Constance on the problem, and maybe she’ll have an answer in the morning. In the meantime, maybe you can look at this as a good thing?”

He considers, then shakes his head. “I can’t see it.”

“If you can find him . . . or her, this child will be like having a little of Svetlana back again. You won’t be completely bereft of family anymore.”

His arms enfold me then. “I’m not, Jax.”

Well, I’m not sure if we could call ourselves family. After all, we’re not married, and I don’t want to be. That didn’t work out so well the first time, and I have enough of Kai left in me that promises kept through desire mean more to me than those imposed by law.

We stand like that for another moment before I pull back. “Do we have a berth here, or should we head for the ship?”

“The ship,” he says.

That’s right; the kids are sleeping on the station.

As we walk, I fill him in on everything I’ve accomplished. Though he’s still obviously distracted, he agrees the uniform is a step in the right direction. Knowing he won’t get any sleep until I do, once we reach our quarters, I ping Constance one last time. How did we ever get along without her?

“Can you do me a favor?” Pointless—it’s not like she can say no.

“Of course, Sirantha Jax. What do you need?”

“Can you do some digging on Svetlana March? She signed with Farwan . . .” I glance at March, who supplies the date.

That’s when it occurs to me. March must be his last name. I’ve been with him this long, and I don’t even know his name? The absurdity amuses me.

“Find out if there are any records of her giving birth. You may have to search a lot of different databases, so we understand if it takes time.”

“Does this take precedence over the compilation of suitable manufacturers?”

I don’t even need to look at March to answer. “Yes. The sooner you can tell us, the better off we’ll be.”

We get ready for bed. He doesn’t have to tell me there isn’t going to be any rolling around tonight. Hon killed the mood, as they say, but it’s fine. I’m tired anyway. March is quiet, his face heavy with old regret.

Into the silence, Constance says, “I have the answer to your query.”

I pause, shirt half over my head. Struggling through the black fabric, I glance at March, who’s frozen in place. He looks half-sick at what he may hear.

“What did you find?” I ask.

“Svetlana Holder March spent four days in a private Farwan medical facility on New Terra on . . .” Constance names a date consistent with Hon’s recollection. “Records indicate she bore a boy child, who tested Psi positive at four days old. Highly unusual for the gift to manifest so soon. The infant was remanded into Farwan’s custody for crèche-rearing and eventual induction into Psi-Corp.”

“I have a nephew,” he breathes. “Where is he now?”

“I am sorry,” she says, at length. “The data trail ends there. There are no records that I can access regarding his placement.”

I watch him pace our quarters, not enough space to offer an outlet for his frustration. His deltoid muscles bunch with each movement. Finally, he slams a fist into the wall. The material dents, then flows back into shape. Starships have been designed to weather the occasional outburst.

“He could be anywhere,” he bites out. “Constance, alert the crew. We’re—”

“Belay that order.”

March draws up short, his amber eyes sparking gold in his fury. His hands curl at his sides, and he’s imposing as hell, but I stand my ground.

“You better have a damn good reason for that, Jax. That’s my flesh and blood we’re talking about.”

“I know,” I say softly. “But be rational. Where would we go? What can we discover by running around that Vel and Constance can’t dig out in time?” I shake my head, sad that I have to be the one to point this out. It requires a deep breath and determination for me to go on: “We can’t do this now; we’re committed elsewhere. Your nephew or not, he’s one child. Right now, we’re looking after the fate of the human race. What’s going to happen to that kid if we fail?”

For a moment, I fear he’s too maddened to hear it, then the tension slides out of him in terrible, defeated resignation. I hope to Mary I never see that look on his face again, like an animal that’s been wounded to the point that it expects nothing more.

“Good of the many versus the few,” he murmurs. “I’m familiar with the concept. He’s probably fine, whatever Psi-Corp training facility he wound up in.”

“With the war on, he’s better off on New Terra for now.” I pitch my voice low, trying not to show how much it hurts that I can’t wave a hand and fix this for him. “When we fight through, we’ll find him, I swear, and make sure he’s all right.”

“And take Baby-Z home,” he says bitterly. At my shock, he adds, “Oh, I know all about dreams deferred. But how much do we have to sacrifice before we’re done?”

The question leaves me uneasy because I truly fear the answer.

.CLASSIFIED-TRANSMISSION.

.FIRST STATUS REPORT.

.FROM-EDUN_LEVITER.

.TO-SUNI_TARN.

. ENCRYPT-DESTR UCT-ENABLED.

 

 

Recruitment and War Effort

The campaign is going well. As Minister of Diplomatic Relations, I have access to all documents. At this time, we have nearly ten thousand bodies willing to go to war. The shipyards have started production, and the vessels will be built by the time the volunteers have completed their basic training. Allotment of seized Farwan resources should be sufficient to cover the first year of salary for all of these men, but alternate sources of income will need to be found. A recommendation on tariffs is attached. Said policy should not be implemented until the war is won. Should the war take longer than one year, other measures will need to be employed.

 

Syndicate Activity

Sigma Psi has the highest concentration of activity. A cadre of at least twenty ships hunts this sector; they appear to be interested in the same type of cargo though they are not above jacking whatever wanders into their web. In main, they target supply ships. By now the colonies are feeling the pinch, and a rescue mission here would go a long way toward repairing the Conglomerate public image.

Such a coordinated effort is unusual in independent raiders; therefore, it stands to reason that this group is affiliated with or contracted to the Syndicate. To date, these twenty ships account for 67% of all lost lives and loss of property in this region. Ship names and identification numbers are attached. Routes and plans will follow once I confirm the intelligence. You should feed this information to your commander, so he can schedule patrols accordingly.

 

Raiders

Since Hon-Durren went underground after the destruction of DuPont Station, they lack a unifying figure. Consequently, they’ve devolved into a disorganized group of thugs and ruffians. Their threat levels are insignificant compared to other factions in play. At best, they account for 15% loss of life over several galaxies. Because of limited resources, I suggest they are a minimal threat and should be recruited whenever possible.

 

The Morgut

All signs indicate they are mustering at a level we’ve never seen before. This is not a minor conflict. By my next report, I will be able to confirm whether I currently hold a piece of Morgut technology. They rarely permit their vessels to be taken. If it looks as though they will lose a conflict, sources report that the Morgut destroy their own ships to prevent their technology from falling into our hands.

I have pinpointed the location of their homeworld with reasonable surety, and all signs indicate this migration is not random chance but a calculated maneuver, a movement in some larger pattern. Experts state that this surge in Morgut activity indicates a great exodus. They do not plan on returning home again.

Against human beings, the Morgut have a 97% kill rate. This statistic includes both ship-to-ship combat and hand-to-hand encounters. More alarming, heretofore it has not seemed to matter whether they were facing a trained soldier or a civilian. A file detailing their physiological vulnerabilities is attached.

According to ancient Ithtorian writings, dating from before the Axis Wars, the Morgut are known to have four castes: workers, drones, hunters, and queens. More information is needed in order to properly assess the threat levels of each. I posit that the hunters are the ones currently terrorizing our colonies while the others move in once the local populace has been cleared and devoured. As to how this pattern works long term, I can only speculate.

One of my experts has synthesized a toxin he posits will reproduce the effects induced by contact with Ithtorian blood. Cost analysis of mass-producing said toxin follows, including components required. You will wish your troops equipped with it.

To date, information on the Morgut has been scarce. They are not a social race, except among their own kind. They are not hive-mind like the Jhihezu. To the best of my research, they exist to eat, breed, and claim territory. Their instincts seem primitive, but what we understand of their technology demonstrates they have capabilities superior to ours. Agents have retrieved miscellaneous apparatus from a dealer in such rarities, and analysis will tell us more.

 

This concludes my initial report. Please review the information and advise where you would like to focus our resources.

 

 

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.ATTACHMENT-PHYSIOLOGICAL_VULNERABILITIES-FOLLOWS.

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