Later that night, March and I are in Tarn and Leviter's guest suite, not just a room, as it has a kitchen-mate and full san facilities. The room is lavishly appointed in neutral natural fabrics, no cheap synth, which means they have money. Guests could closet themselves in here for days-and maybe that's the point. The convenience reduces the disruption to the household; such efficiency rings of Leviter to me.

When I mention it to March, he agrees. "In the gospel according to Leviter, visitors should be neither seen nor heard."

I nod. "It's probably best if we aren't roaming around the penthouse. I hear the centurions are doing spot checks."

"True. They're looking for rebels under rocks these days. Fortunately, they don't have the manpower to cover all the territory in the provinces."

They have technology, though. And they're doing terrible things with it. I can't count the nights I've gone to sleep listening to bombs detonate in the distance. Nicuan has unleashed a bloody countercampaign, and the results haunt me. The grimmest aspect comes in knowing it will get worse.

This luxurious room doesn't feel real. It's odd to have a bed waiting; I wonder how the surviving members of my squad are doing, if SpecForce has run ops while we were on mission elsewhere. I'm afraid of what news awaits us on our return. It seems the situation just keeps getting darker; I tell myself the horizon seems most grim just before first light, but in truth, I don't know how much more of this I can take. Sometimes, the war seems endless.

"Can we really win by persuading Nicuan that La'heng is too costly to keep?" I ask.

March nods. "It's a sound principle, proven effective in past conflicts. The insurgents just need the resolve to stick it out, no matter what it takes."

In my present frame of mind, that's a scary thought. How much worse will get it get? "Loras won't stop. He can't. Otherwise, all this has been for nothing. He's sacrificed so many lives already-"

He touches my mouth to stop the desperate flow of words. "I don't know if you've noticed yet, Jax, but...he's changed. The time you were gone with Vel, we took some hard losses. Not just the base though that was a factor."

"Changed how?"

"Just...don't be surprised at any decision he makes, going forward. He's a lot harder than the man who came to La'heng with you."

I don't want to think about how the war has changed Loras-or any of us, for that matter. "We haven't talked in a while...about us. Last time, we left things up in the air. I shipped out, and you never had a chance to answer me about Vel." I gesture at my face. "Now there's this, too. I feel like there's a lot to say and not enough time."

"You haven't pressed me...and I appreciate it." He pauses to study my features. "Would I have chosen this? No. But it doesn't matter. You're still you."

"I might get some tweaks later, so I don't look so La'hengrin." But it's low-priority. I don't think I'll ever want my old face back; I'm ready to cut ties and disappear.

"Your looks are the least of my concerns," he says, opening his arms.

I curl into him, fighting the urge to demand an answer. He was jealous of Vel before...and I'm afraid one day, he'll feel like, Enough's enough. I prefer to have some forewarning if he's approaching maximum density on that head.

"Did you make up your mind?" It's been hard as hell to live in the moment and just be with him, as happy as we can manage under the circumstances. It's offered freedom, certainly. We have little experience just being together, but this time, neither of us is in charge; there's no imbalance of power. Just March and me, learning how to be a unit. If I'm honest, we never have been. Our timing has sucked, all the way through, but I think this round, we might get it right.

He nods. "I did some thinking while you were on assignment. I realized I can't ask you to forsake all others. I won't always be around...and you'll need somebody to help you through after I'm gone."

I don't want to think about that, but clearly March has. He's considering what's best for me, long-term, not what's easiest or most comfortable for him. Which means he loves me a crazy amount. But then, I already knew that. He's the one who waited, even long after a sane, reasonable man would've given up on me and moved on.

"Thank you for that. I know it can't have been easy to come to that conclusion...and I promise that Vel and I, we're not-"

"He's your best friend. I get it. It was just...when we were fighting so much, it was hard to see how easily he relates to you. It's always been tougher for us."

"We were both pretty broken," I say honestly. "We had to get our heads in order before we could make a go of this. Then we had old grudges and insecurities eating at us."

He nods. "Love is the start, but it's not everything. Tell me, do you trust me now, Jax? Could you lean on me?"

Given that my head's on his chest, it might seem like a silly question, but I understand where he's coming from. "See for yourself."

He's kept out of my head during this conversation, not taking what I haven't shared, but at my invitation, he slips in, and I bask in the resultant warmth. I hope he sees what I mean to show him-that I have no doubts about us. I believe in him. March rubs his cheek against the top of my head.

"I miss your hair the most," he confesses. "It had such personality."

Which is an odd description, but I get it. "When this is over, I'll see what I can do."

Jax...The fact that he whispers in my head alerts me this is important; he must not feel comfortable saying it out loud.

Yeah?

I want something from you.

Anything, I promise instantly.

He's been so patient and understanding, even when the situation got complicated. Another man would have walked ages ago. So whatever he needs, I'll make it happen.

A sheepish feeling accompanies his request. I'd like us to get matching tatts.

Everything clicks into focus. In order to feel on even footing with Vel, he requires an equivalent symbol of my commitment. Kai whispers in my ear that such gestures are meaningless, but for the first time, I dismiss his ghost; I loved him with all my heart when we were together, but he's gone. I will cherish his memory, but all my relationships will not be driven by his tenets. I am not his Jax anymore.

If you want, we'll go to Gehenna to the same shop where Vel had his done.

March shakes his head. I'd prefer for us to find somewhere new.

On a symbolic level, that makes sense. And it's more of a promise than I've ever given him. The fact that I'm willing comforts him; the last of his tension drains away. Our immediate future may be uncertain, but if we survive, we'll be together. He sees that certainty in my head.

"That works for me," I say aloud. "Since I'll never settle down or have offspring, a few centimeters of my skin seem like a fair trade."

"Centimeters? I'm having my face tattooed across your back."

I grin because a playful March is irresistible. "But you said you wanted us to get matching tatts. You really want your mug back there?"

"I won't have to look at it." He winks, as if I didn't already know he was teasing.

"On me, you will," I point out.

"True enough. We'll figure out the design when the time comes." He sobers. "Right now, we should probably get some sleep. No telling how long it will be until we see a bed again, after we leave."

For two days, we're hiding with Leviter and Tarn, as it doesn't make sense to try to slip out of Jineba at the height of the manhunt. We have orders to rejoin our squad after the furor dies down, at a given time and place. If our luck holds, we'll slip out of the city on foot, as public transport has been locked down. There are checkpoints all around the city; and if you're stopped, you need a foolproof identity kit. Nicuan masters have chipped all the La'hengrin in the cities, a particularly disgusting measure that proves ownership. Obviously, I don't have one, so if we're stopped, it will mean combat.

But I won't contemplate possible pitfalls tonight. March and I have forty-eight hours of enforced R&R, and I intend to make the most of them.

La'heng Liberation Army signal-jack ad: Final Profile DEVEN.

[A man with sunburnt skin and dark eyes gazes at the camera, his expression flat.]

Female interviewer, off-screen: Are you ready, Deven? If this is too hard- [He makes a curt gesture, silencing her.]

Deven: It was difficult to live it. Words are nothing.

Female interviewer: Then proceed when you're ready. We're rolling.

Deven: I was born in a small mountain village north of Jineba. We had little...the whole town economy was driven by the mines. We worked them to survive, providing ore for Nicuan factories closer to the city, but they also killed us. I had three sons once. At ten turns, the youngest died, coughing blood. Bluerot. He died in my arms. I sent him to the mine to work because if I had not, the Nicuan governors would have reduced the amount of rations my family received, as it is Imperial law for all La'hengrin to "engage in productive labor for the good of the empire" after the age of eight.

Female voice, gentle: I'm sorry for your loss.

Deven: Save your pity. The worst is yet to come.

Female voice, subdued: Please continue.

Deven: My wife, Darana, was crushed. I was heartbroken. But we pressed on. We all worked in the mines that killed my boy until the LLA arrived in our village.

Female voice: What happened then?

Deven: I took the cure. Survived it. So did my oldest sons, then fourteen and sixteen. My wife was not so fortunate. She, too, died in my arms.

Female voice, obviously moved: Are you sure- Deven, ignoring her: My sons and I joined the LLA, determined to fight for La'hengrin freedom. They're both dead now.

Female voice: Do you regret your choices?

Deven: I regret that my family is gone and that my people are still enslaved.

Female voice: Will you fight on?

Deven: Only death can stop us. La'heng will be free. I have nothing now but the cause and what remains of my unit. I will see my world liberated or die in the attempt.

Voice-over: And that's the LLA, fighting for you. Contact the comm code at the bottom of your screen to find workers with the cure or to join the resistance.

CHAPTER 51.

Two days later, there are a couple of dicey moments as we sneak out of Jineba, but good timing and March's reflexes drive us into hiding until we find a path around the checkpoints. Occasionally it means backtracking or circling around the long way, but eventually, we clear the last obstacle and emerge into the countryside. It's not as peaceful as one might hope, though.

I hear detonations in the distance, and it's not our forces since Loras hasn't given the order to strike the cities yet. We're entrenched in the provinces, building troops and supplies, before we commit to the final phase. Which means the Nicuan are responsible. My stomach feels leaden as I fall in behind March. The rendezvous point is a day's hike, and we'll be crossing dangerous terrain alone. Drones do low buzzes overhead, scanning for hostiles, and some of them carry ordnance. If Sasha were with us, he could take them out, but that would also report our position. So long as we don't assault their tech, the drones won't register us. We're not carrying any weapons it would detect, nothing with a power source. That leaves us with primitive methods of self-defense, however, until we rejoin our squad.

Over the next rise, I learn the source of the noise, and I freeze with shock. Then, instinctively, I start forward, as if I can save them. March catches me, draws me back against him. I want to fight him, but there's no point. I can only watch, helpless with pain and rage, as Nicuan bombards a civilian target. The town is full of elderly La'hengrin who have been retired from public service. Their protectors don't want them anymore because they've committed the ultimate sin; they've aged and are no longer beautiful. So they're banished to this village to live out their remaining days in loneliness and squalor.

"We don't have any forces there," I protest.

"Doesn't matter. This is supposed to break our will to carry on."

No screams are audible, but I imagine them. March and I crouch, unable to pass, until the Nicuan drones cease the onslaught. The machines gun down survivors below; anyone who runs, dies, and I can't look away from the carnage. I don't know when I've felt more helpless or more horrified.

This is the longest hour of my life.

Eventually, the drones complete their programming and veer away, off to another target, probably to rain more destruction on innocents. I've never hated like this before, but as I run down to the hillside to check for survivors, it boils in me like lava. March follows me, more cautious in his approach, but I have to know.

Bodies are everywhere. One old couple died wrapped in each other's arms. His face is lined; so is hers, and they cling to love even in death. His legs are gone. As I stumble through the wreckage, I see more and more death. Nobody's breathing. I stagger away from the broken buildings and lose my field rations. This is worse than Venice Minor-and I thought nothing could ever be so bad. But I didn't see Doc and Evie's corpses, afterward. The Morgut missiles burned everything to ash. This ordnance is different, leaving carnage calculated to dishearten the most determined foe.

"We have to move, Jax. We can't save them."

"All right." I pull myself together with some effort, but I can't compartmentalize. Not this. It's too big. I have no secret spaces in my head large enough to hold it. So the horror sits in the front of my mind as I walk, replaying constantly.

"Don't," March says softly. "It'll drive you crazy."

"You must've seen that before. How do you stand it?"

"Similar atrocities. War is never clean." He doesn't stop, even to comfort me.

I understand why. That hour cost us; if we don't reach the rendezvous point in time, we'll be alone behind enemy lines. And we can't get the job done that way. It has become more critical than ever to remove Nicuan from this world. The crimes they've perpetrated against the La'hengrin will cease-and they will be punished. I'll see to it. Now I understand what March meant when he said Loras had changed; I feel like I have ice in my veins. What do the Nicuan care about some old people? Maybe it'll teach the slaves their place.

Six hours later, we arrive at the agreed location. It appears to be deserted. At first, I think they've gone without us, and my heart drops. Then I spot movement; Loras, Vel, Zeeka, and the others are wearing armor with camo paint, perfected when Constance was head of R&D. I can't believe she's gone. Never got to thank her...or say good-bye.

"Glad you could make it," Z says cheerfully.

Vel greets me with a particularly eloquent wa. Now white wave can rest. The tides were restless while brown bird flew. His way of telling me he was worried about me.

I don't have the patience for pleasantries, however. This time I don't return the wa. Once he hears, Vel will understand. Immediately, I corner Loras and give him the intel on the devastation; his jaw clenches as he listens to my report.

Then he circles his hands in the air, signaling Farah. "Get our gear packed. We need to clear the area."

"That's all?" I demand.

"We don't want to be here when they come back for round two," he tells me. "It serves no one if we die before we're through. I'll send a comm out, advising civilians to get to one of our fortifications if at all possible. That's all I can do right now."

"But..." It seems wrong to walk away from this, yet I know he's right.

We have to bide our time until our forces are ready. The guerilla war will continue in the provinces. We'll keep stealing supplies and shipments while holding the ground we've taken. If we could get some defense towers up, drones would have no way to assault us. But at the moment, our resources are insufficient to protect civilian targets. There are strongholds in the north and west, where Nicuan hasn't been able to penetrate our airspace in a while, but those safe zones are few and far between.

Over the next six months, I learn that the hard way. We run missions constantly, high-risk scenarios on various targets: raiding, stealing, and harrying the enemy. This particular day, I'm riding high, as the factory burns in the distance-Zeeka's handiwork-and the squad is cheerful. We just cost the Nicuan nobility a billion credits in ruined drones. Ceepak is cracking wise, promising even more destruction, and we echo his cockiness with an approving rumble. These days, there's no base, but Tarn is coordinating strikes. When we lost the ops center, he stepped up, offering his experience during the Morgut War to keep each individual cell harassing the Nicuan giant.

But then everyone falls quiet. Because...there's a smell in the air, one I've grown too familiar with over the turns. Death. Death on a grand scale. I've seen some terrible things, and the bombing of that village was among the worst, but this? I have no words.

There's a gaping hole in the earth, purposefully dug, but the enemy didn't have the decency to bury the dead. And the madness has method. The sign posted near the pit reads: DEATH TO THE CHILDREN OF INSURGENTS. THE FAMILIES OF ALL TRAITORS TO THE EMPIRE WILL BE EXECUTED.

This mass grave is full of children. I can tell that by their size though they've been dead for days. So many of them, I lose count in those first ghastly seconds, but each small face imprints in my head. I squeeze my eyes shut, but I can't stop seeing this. Shakes overtake me, and I drop into a squat, breathing too fast through my nose.

Someone's hands are on me, soothing, and I slap them away. There's no solace for this. Sasha, who isn't much older than the kids in the hole, is here. He shouldn't be exposed to this. Part of me wishes he and March had never come to La'heng, despite what they've given to the cause. I wish I weren't here; I long for the fierce colors and the scintillant beauty found only in grimspace.

"It doesn't matter what their families did or didn't do. They were children. How do you fight an enemy who will do this?" I ask of nobody in particular.