I'm getting mad all over again, just thinking about it.

"Easy, Jax," Tarn says. "Save that fury for the enemy."

I muster a half smile. I'm tired, cranky, and missing March. But there's more work to be done.

"Are you two heading back to Jineba?" I ask.

"Soon," Tarn replies.

Nodding, I push to my feet. "Be careful. They'll be looking at all air-traffic logs. And thanks again for your help."

Leviter smiles once more, and it's fairly alarming. "No thanks needed, Ms. Jax. We're just getting warmed up."

Once I leave the conference room, I go looking for Vel. As I expected, I find him with the prisoners, who are awake...and in a fury over their incarceration. "When my prince hears what you've done, he'll make you beg for death."

On another planet, serving a prince would be impressive, but in relation to Nicuan, such claims to royalty mean less than nothing. There have been so many emperors over the turns that pretty much all the noble houses can claim royal blood. His boss is no more important than any other.

I address Vel instead of the captives. "The tall one, right?"

To replicate somebody's face, Vel needs to study it. A glance from across the plaza in the dark won't suffice. Once he's perfected the man's appearance, he can slide into his life. Hence, Slider, the somewhat derogatory nickname for Ithtorians...but when I first met him, that's exactly what he'd done with my now-deceased friend, Dr. Solaith. Doc.

Mary bless and keep you, Doc. Wherever you are.

"That's the plan," he answers.

Of course. That will be easier for him and less painful.

But the centurion he indicates looks terrified, not as full of bravado as his squad-mate. He glances between us, trying to figure out our plan. It won't help.

"Have you checked his personnel file?"

Vel reminds me, "Communications are down."

Right. I touch the intercom. "Constance, we're ready for you."

My PA has been at the base since March left, facilitating completion and organizing resources. She's also the head of R&D, along with a number of other responsibilities. Only a VI-or maybe AI is more accurate-would be capable of multitasking with such efficiency.

"On my way."

"Who are you people?" the smaller soldier demands. "Torture won't work. We will never reveal any of our prince's secrets."

Oh, the poor bastard. He still thinks this is some petty, house-related coup. If he had any inkling just how big the plan is, he'd piss his pants. I smile at him, which seems to make his fear worse. They're bound to their chairs, with wrists lashed together behind their backs. If I hadn't wasted a turn of my life trying to reason with men just like them, I might feel a flicker of pity.

Before I can reply, Constance arrives with an armload of machinery: cords and discs and a console to monitor the whole process. The guards go from anxious to terrified, but it's not what they think. In some ways, it's worse. This is an insidious device, certainly, but not for the reasons they believe.

"Which one first?" she asks.

"The tall one." I turn to the La'heng waiting just outside. "Take the other one back to his cell. We'll deal with him presently."

Separation will ratchet up his fear as he tries to envision what horrors his friend is suffering. If we let him watch, that mental preparation might give him an edge later. Not that I've ever seen anyone resist this machine. Still, there's no point in bettering the man's odds.

Once the La'heng guard hauls him off, struggling and kicking the whole way, Constance gets to work. She attaches wires to the centurion's skull in proximity to the various pleasure centers of the brain. Then she discovers the perfect current through trial and error. There's no pain, only incredible pleasure of varying levels.

Oh, there are various truth-serum drugs, but most of them have side effects, and they leave the person hostile once the effects wear off. With this device, by the time we're finished, this centurion will think we're his best friends. He'll believe anything we tell him-anything at all-to keep the pleasure coming. And that's why I called it insidious. When Constance concludes this session, she will have added a loyal foot soldier to the La'heng Liberation Army. In theory. This is experimental tech, so we'll see how well it works.

The first jolt startles a sensuous moan out of the prisoner. His eyes go glassy, his mouth slack-too intimate an expression to see on a stranger's face. She'll continue the treatment until he's utterly seduced and ready to tell us anything at all. I leave Constance to it because she doesn't need my supervision. She's willing to do whatever it takes, so long as Nicuan forces occupy La'heng. I will not pity them.

Vel accompanies me back to my quarters. The space I've been allotted is small and sparsely decorated in shades of gray; it's all one room, with a bunk, a comm terminal, and a sitting area comprised of a small sofa and one chair. It's been a long night, the first of many. He settles on the couch and invites me to join him with a flourish of his talon.

Many would find this scene oddly domestic, especially the easy way I curl up beside him to better view his handheld. We're close enough to touch, but I don't. Sometimes even I'm not sure where the boundaries between us lie.

He's captured several images of the man he will replace. Later, he can spend more time in the centurion's company, memorizing the angles and lines, to reproduce them perfectly. For now, the pictures will get the process started. The guard is nearly two meters tall, with dark hair, gray eyes, and a weathered complexion. He has squint and frown lines, more than those that come from laughter.

"Will you have any trouble?"

Vel glances at me. "No."

"I've never understood how it works."

Skin is one thing, but hair has a different texture. I've seen him become someone else, but watching it doesn't help me understand. Once, I'd have felt unable to pry, worrying that he'd take it the wrong way. Now I understand there's nothing I can't ask of him.

"The human body creates different types of matter," he says. "Usually with the intent of cleaning or eliminating waste."

I nod. I'm with him so far.

"What I do functions on a similar principle...I simply have better control over what form it takes."

"So you command it, like on a cellular level." That's pretty damn cool.

"Essentially, yes."

"Wow. No wonder Ithtorians think humans are savages."

"We have had longer to evolve," Vel says modestly.

"What do you think of the target?"

He considers. "He is a serious soul."

Or he used to be, before Constance got ahold of him.

Everything she does, she does at my behest. She's still my PA, no matter how sophisticated she's become. When I first reactivated her, after the time she spent locked in Dina's data chip, I asked if she was sure she wanted to return to human form. She'd seemed content as a ghost in the machine-first on the ship, then on Emry Station. I'd worried I was being selfish by wanting her back in my life in a more tangible way; maybe she was happy manipulating those vast data streams, and it would be wrong of me to make her go back to a limited life.

She replied, "Now that I've known both, I prefer being a person, where I can interact in a more meaningful manner."

And here we are.

"On a scale of one to ten, how much hope do we have of pulling this off?"

"Negative two," Vel replies. But his mandible quirks, telling me he's joking.

"I'm not kidding."

"What do you mean by 'this'? The infiltration or the war effort in entirety?"

"Both."

He gives the question solemn consideration. "As to the former, I have done it many times. People never want to believe there could be something wrong, so they write off any behavioral changes, ascribe it to stress."

"So you're telling me not to worry."

"Precisely."

"I can't help it." I feel odd and raw. "I don't know what I'd do if I lost you."

"You won't. This is my forte, Sirantha."

Knowing that intellectually doesn't dim my worry any. Because after he goes inside, Vel will be out of touch, beyond my help. As a copy, he'll live this centurion's life while the original babbles Imperial secrets as fast as we can record them. And if this guard doesn't know what we need, then we'll take someone else. This is only the first sortie in the war.

"I know. But imagine if it were me."

"I could not bear it," he says quietly.

"But I'm expected to? Not fair, Vel."

He furls his claws in subtle response. "That is a childish complaint, Sirantha."

"Sorry." But I'm not, really.

Constance interrupts before this can become an issue. Vel feels like the last person in the universe who belongs to me. There's March, of course, but he's gone, and not all mine. There's a large portion of him bound up in raising his nephew, and I have no role in that.

"There's a small problem." She never wastes time on a greeting.

I invite her to make use of the other chair. "What's up?"

"Infiltration of Titus's life may prove problematic."

"Why?" Vel asks.

"He is recently married."

CHAPTER 11.

This is indisputably a snafu.

A new bride pays attention to things a wife of many long turns ceases to notice. She'll expect regular sex from Vel, as they don't call it the honeymoon period for nothing. There will be little in-jokes that he's expected to remember and understand.

"Damage control," I mutter. "How do we fix this?"

"He'll be useless as a centurion," Constance replies.

True. The machine she used on him is wildly addictive. If we cut him loose at this point, he'll go mad wanting that pleasure again. He's ours to keep, now.

"The solution is simple," Vel says, after a few moments' thoughtful silence.

"It is?"

A flicker of amusement twitches his mandible as he reads my doubt. "I can take the second one's place," he offers.

Since the man is short and compact, as Doc was, it will be physically painful for him to compress his body, but he's done it before. Vel is willing to suffer for the cause. I just wish he didn't have to. But our first choice is off the table, so we'll work with what's left.

"Constance, see to the second prisoner," I order. "Find out if he has any dangerous demographics. Then report back."

"At once, Sirantha Jax."

After she departs to deploy her infernal device, I sigh. "All told, it's not too bad."

"There are worse disasters that could befall us," Vel points out.

"Will the op require surveillance?"

He lifts a shoulder. "It might."

Someone should watch his back if he's in the field alone. Unfortunately, Vel has the most experience stalking targets, but he can hardly guard himself. Which means I'll do it for him. I can be quiet and patient, if I have to be; I just can't get too close or arouse suspicion while I'm there. Whatever the mission requires, Vel will do it properly. I can count on him. Vel's here because of me, and I didn't even have to ask. That's a type of friendship of which I've known little in my life.

Constance returns an hour later. "The second centurion is single. He has no close family on La'heng. He was recently punished for something he did not do, and he has a mild addiction to chem."

Nothing in those facts will make Vel's mission more difficult. It's within acceptable parameters, so we'll greenlight the mission. I turn to him, but he's already come to the same conclusion.

He says to the PA, "I need detailed images of the subject, and take some molds, if possible. I will also need to study him at length once I process the initial data. So keep him in good condition for a day or two."

Stay of execution for the centurion. He won't be beaten or killed while Vel needs to learn the lines of his face. Still, that's a pretty grim reason to be alive, and if the soldier's not connected to Constance's device, it will be hellish. His addiction proves his brain chemistry tends toward dependency already; that inclination will worsen his final days. I can hear him screaming now that she's stopped as his body deals with the sudden loss of dopamine.

"Acknowledged," Constance says. "I will prohibit the free La'heng from making sport of him until after you complete your assessment."

After all the La'hengrin have suffered at Nicuan hands, I don't blame them, but I still shiver at what lies ahead for that centurion. I turn to Vel. "Are you good with plan B?"

"I will make it work, Sirantha." That doesn't tell me anything about how he feels about going undercover alone, however, or how much pain he'll experience compacting his form for long periods. I've noticed he's never chosen such a build, apart from that one time with Doc, when it was unavoidable.

Shortly thereafter, Vel excuses himself. There are nights when I wish he didn't leave, but if he stayed, it would cross a boundary in my head. Right now, the only reason I don't hate myself for loving two such different males is that the relationships operate under disparate parameters. Vel cuts me a look as he goes, like he suspects some of these inner workings, but he doesn't call me on it.