grimspace. Even to me, the beacons feel strange, and full of unusual echoes.
My apprentice reacts, testing the new signals. In the space of seconds, I show him what I did and how to read it. Realization sparkles through him. Despite the circumstances, he loves the job, and he loves learning new tricks. He’s going to adore playing hero on New Terra.
It takes me longer to feel out the proper course, then move us there. But March isn’t surprised when we slide out of the jump with New Terra spread before us, glimmering with its aquamarine waters. I unplug and sit quiet, waiting for the landing while he negotiates with the docking authority. Before long, the Dauntless receives a priority landing clearance, and we make our approach.
“Dismissed,” March says to Argus.
The kid leaves without another word, doubtless knowing we need a moment. March handles the landing with his usual skill; though with each kilometer, it takes me closer to captivity. Once we put down in the hangar set aside for diplomats and other important personages, he turns to me.
“This is the last time I’m going to see you alone for a while. I’ve already been advised that you will be permitted no visitors apart from counsel, not even me.”
That’s an unexpected blow, but I should have been prepared. The charges levied against me are heinous, and from this point forward, it becomes a media event and a public circus. But I survived incarceration once before—and at least this time I won’t have anyone trying to drive me crazy with dream therapy.
I hope.
To my surprise, he bends and kisses me on the mouth. His lips taste of strong kaf and infinite sweetness. March nuzzles his stubbled jaw against my throat; the scrape feels divine, and that, too, I will carry with me. Lifting his head, he traces the curve of my cheek as if striving to memorize my features. I have no idea what he sees.
“I still love you.”
Thank Mary. I can survive, as long as I know he’s there for me. “And I, you. I’m sorry—”
“No.” He presses a finger to my mouth. “I have my own regrets, you know. Since I got your message, I’ve wondered if there was something I could do differently, some way to make you trust me.”
“I do,” I whisper.
But that’s not the whole truth.
Even if I’d believed he could make an impartial decision regarding my sacrifice in grimspace, it’s not in me to turn to someone else at such times. I refused to put the decision on March and leave him shouldering the weight. By the grim look in his golden eyes, he hears the unspoken reply. I feel him, tender warmth in my head, and I don’t want to be without him.
But I must be.
The chime rings on the door, and March kisses me again, again, as if he can wipe this all away with the heat of his mouth. I cling to him for a moment, before making myself step back. It’s time to let go.
“Vel’s outside,” he says.
He came. Of course he did. I draw in a breath that hurts in the exhalation. “Then let him in.”
When the door to the cockpit swishes open, there is nothing personal between the commander and me. We stand a professional distance apart, as if I can’t feel his pain screaming in my head. Mine amplifies his; they share a joint sound—that of glass breaking—until they swell to a crescendo that deafens.
I want to scream, March whispers. I want to take you away from here.
I know, love. I know.
It requires superhuman effort for me to step into the hall, going away from the man I love and toward uncertain future. Vel knows, I think. He always does. With his unpainted carapace and his near-human mannerisms, he looks nothing like the Ithtorian officers waiting behind him; the Conglomerate has chosen an Ithtorian guard to prevent any accusations of preferential treatment. Vel touches a talon to my cheek and we exchange a wa that says everything.
March signals with a resigned gesture. “Prisoner ready for transport.”
This time, I’m not spared the shackles. I get
My apprentice reacts, testing the new signals. In the space of seconds, I show him what I did and how to read it. Realization sparkles through him. Despite the circumstances, he loves the job, and he loves learning new tricks. He’s going to adore playing hero on New Terra.
It takes me longer to feel out the proper course, then move us there. But March isn’t surprised when we slide out of the jump with New Terra spread before us, glimmering with its aquamarine waters. I unplug and sit quiet, waiting for the landing while he negotiates with the docking authority. Before long, the Dauntless receives a priority landing clearance, and we make our approach.
“Dismissed,” March says to Argus.
The kid leaves without another word, doubtless knowing we need a moment. March handles the landing with his usual skill; though with each kilometer, it takes me closer to captivity. Once we put down in the hangar set aside for diplomats and other important personages, he turns to me.
“This is the last time I’m going to see you alone for a while. I’ve already been advised that you will be permitted no visitors apart from counsel, not even me.”
That’s an unexpected blow, but I should have been prepared. The charges levied against me are heinous, and from this point forward, it becomes a media event and a public circus. But I survived incarceration once before—and at least this time I won’t have anyone trying to drive me crazy with dream therapy.
I hope.
To my surprise, he bends and kisses me on the mouth. His lips taste of strong kaf and infinite sweetness. March nuzzles his stubbled jaw against my throat; the scrape feels divine, and that, too, I will carry with me. Lifting his head, he traces the curve of my cheek as if striving to memorize my features. I have no idea what he sees.
“I still love you.”
Thank Mary. I can survive, as long as I know he’s there for me. “And I, you. I’m sorry—”
“No.” He presses a finger to my mouth. “I have my own regrets, you know. Since I got your message, I’ve wondered if there was something I could do differently, some way to make you trust me.”
“I do,” I whisper.
But that’s not the whole truth.
Even if I’d believed he could make an impartial decision regarding my sacrifice in grimspace, it’s not in me to turn to someone else at such times. I refused to put the decision on March and leave him shouldering the weight. By the grim look in his golden eyes, he hears the unspoken reply. I feel him, tender warmth in my head, and I don’t want to be without him.
But I must be.
The chime rings on the door, and March kisses me again, again, as if he can wipe this all away with the heat of his mouth. I cling to him for a moment, before making myself step back. It’s time to let go.
“Vel’s outside,” he says.
He came. Of course he did. I draw in a breath that hurts in the exhalation. “Then let him in.”
When the door to the cockpit swishes open, there is nothing personal between the commander and me. We stand a professional distance apart, as if I can’t feel his pain screaming in my head. Mine amplifies his; they share a joint sound—that of glass breaking—until they swell to a crescendo that deafens.
I want to scream, March whispers. I want to take you away from here.
I know, love. I know.
It requires superhuman effort for me to step into the hall, going away from the man I love and toward uncertain future. Vel knows, I think. He always does. With his unpainted carapace and his near-human mannerisms, he looks nothing like the Ithtorian officers waiting behind him; the Conglomerate has chosen an Ithtorian guard to prevent any accusations of preferential treatment. Vel touches a talon to my cheek and we exchange a wa that says everything.
March signals with a resigned gesture. “Prisoner ready for transport.”
This time, I’m not spared the shackles. I get
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