WAR GAMES

What can you do when you start falling in love with the woman you’re meant to kill?

Laisen Carros is a covert agent of the Fusion, sent undercover to infiltrate the Perlim Empire. However, the years she’s spent as Cheloi Sie fighting Menon rebels on an alien battleground are starting to exhaust her.

To Lith Yinalña, Cheloi Sie is nothing but a war criminal and she considers it her personal mission to kill her.

Unfortunately for Laisen/Cheloi, the Empire and an idealistic assassin aren’t the only things she needs to worry about. A treacherous subordinate—the ambitious Koul Grakal-Ski—is looking for any chance to grab control of the territory. When Laisen and Lith start falling in love, it’s only a matter of time before Koul notices. And acts.

War Games

by

K. S. Augustin

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

About the Author

Other Available Titles

First chapter of Quinten’s Story

First chapter of The Check Your Luck Agency

Copyright Information

Prologue

Day 1,017 of the War:

It was a striking uniform and she looked good in it.

Koul kept his eyes staring determinedly to the front but couldn’t contain the occasional glances to his right, where she stood. Damn her for who she was! And damn her for how she looked! Command had been within his grasp—he could taste it, smell it—then it had been snatched away in a breathless flash.

There was only the usual chatter around them. Commands and counter-commands of the battalion leaders; shouted orders muted to something more bearable, almost soothing in their syncopated rhythm; occasional static as a device’s emissions interfered with the transmission fields; clicks as orders were relayed and communications intercepted. It sounded like a busy place of commerce, except for the signs of raging battle in the distance. Rising clouds that weren’t sand, vibrations that weren’t geological events….

He liked it near the front because he considered himself a good soldier. He liked the energy and the danger. The battle itself was occurring far away, almost at the curve of the horizon, but he knew that there were weapons that could easily reach him and the Colonel at their mobile post, if only the enemy knew they were there. He had proposed the reckless position aboveground as a dare, watching her for a reaction he could use against her. At the suggestion, her adjutant, a young grim-faced man called Swonnessy, betrayed startled suspicion in his brown eyes, but the Colonel had been impassive, carved from ice.

“Arrange it,” she told him in her low dark voice. And he had.

Poor Menon fools, he thought, his attention swerving once more to the horizon. Didn’t they realise what pitting themselves against the Empire meant? No mercy would be shown because all of them, Perlim and Menon, were ultimately irrelevant. It was what the planet represented that was key and what Menon IV represented was a stone on which to sharpen the relentless superiority of the Perlim Empire, a clear and unequivocal example to set for the rest of the systems. And beyond.

He thought of history and strategy but his thinking eventually led him back to the present and to the newly-decorated Senior Colonel standing next to him. The gold scar-raptors on her shoulders were gleaming and pristine, still fresh out of their velvet box.

There must be some way he could dispossess her, he thought. Some weakness he could exploit. But so far, the first twenty days of her command had been an example of fierce restraint and cold efficiency. He wanted to believe that he could do better, that her appointment was a political reward rather than a meritocratic one, but could find no cracks in her façade yet.

Weakness. The word haunted him. He had to find her weakness.

A captain from the Advance Penetrators moved up swiftly, executing a smart salute before launching into his request.

“Colonel,” he said, “we’ve captured the village of Sab-Iqur. It contains civilians. What should we do?”

Koul’s eyebrows rose. This should be interesting. Sab-Iqur was one of a necklace of towns in rebel-held territory. That they were sympathisers was obvious. But what would the Colonel do about the fact that the town contained civilians?

She turned, catching Koul’s look with one of her own. “Colonel, your analysis?”

“It’s a known rebel outpost,” he replied smartly. “We’ve had it under surveillance for four months and have intercepted some interesting conversations.”

Her lips tightened a fraction. “Such as?”

Koul shifted. “They’ve been known to act as a temporary weapons dump and makeshift medical facility for rebel forces.”

“Temporary weapons dumps? Not permanent?”

He should have known. Her female sensibilities were kicking in, looking for an excuse to spare the town’s inhabitants. Maybe here was something he could finally use.

“That’s correct,” he answered.

She turned to the captain. “How many people are in Sab-Iqur?”

“Six thousand,” he replied.

“About six hundred are known rebel fighters,” Koul added. “And two thousand, maybe more, are active sympathisers.”

He was composing the memorandum as he spoke, creating sentences and moving paragraphs around in his head, watching her smooth brow furrow in thought.

Dear Minister, it is with regret that I send this message to you. Sadly, in a recent offensive—during which our forces were victorious—Colonel Sie exhibited a profound error in judgement. Confronted by the town of Sab-Iqur, a known nest of rebel activity, she not only refused to clear the town of all enemies but—

“Eliminate them all.”

“I beg your pardon, Colonel?” Even the young captain looked shocked.

“There are almost four thousand innocents in that town, Colonel,” Koul said. “Do you mean to kill them too?”

A small smile curved her full lips as she watched him. “More than anyone else, I thought you would understand my order, sub-Colonel.”

Yes, he understood it. He would have given the same order himself. But he hadn’t expected it of her. Once more the bitch had managed to upend his plans.

“You heard the Colonel,” he snapped, twisting to face the captain. “Establish a perimeter, lock it down, then carry out your orders.”

“What w-weapons should we use?” the captain stammered.

Two pairs of eyes focused on the Colonel, reading the implacability in her dark, almond-shaped eyes.

“Use whatever you wish,” she rasped. “Just get the job done. Quickly. I expect the report by sunset.”

“Yes, Colonel.”

The young officer didn’t so much leave, as flee.

Senior Colonel Cheloi Sie, Commander of the Perlim Ground Force in Territory Nineteen, turned back to regard the far-off battle front. She stood at ease, feet slightly apart, hands clasped behind her back. Koul ignored the thrust of her breasts and any suggestion of femininity she might have engendered.

The woman was a spraen. A cold, heartless, ravening she-dog. But, she was good…and he hated admitting it.

Chapter One

Day 1,500 of the War:

Cheloi stuck a finger between her neck and the high collar of her tunic, pulling at the material. She had the utmost respect for the camp’s laundry section but wished they didn’t keep using so much stiffener in the uniform.

She gave her reflection in the mirror a critical eye, following the crisp pleats in her trousers, confirming that the thin black stripes running down the outside of the legs were parallel, and that everything metallic on the uniform gleamed. Not a bad job overall, considering she lost her aide almost two months ago. Since that time, the state of her uniform was dependent on whichever hapless enlisted soldier the sergeant frog-marched into her office at the beginning of each day. The results were…inconsistent. This morning, her uniform looked good. Tomorrow, it might not. The unfortunate thing was that she was starting to get used to it.

She walked to her desk to pick up the overnight reports, trying to hide her limp, but was unsuccessful. One foot clumped on the floor with a heaviness she detested. The camp surgeon told her that the lingering unsteadiness was her own fault for refusing to be evacuated to a more modern facility, but Cheloi knew that any vacuum in the territory’s command would be filled in an instant, and by whom. She couldn’t risk it. So, instead, she gritted her teeth and paraded her disability in front of the General Staff every day, forcing herself to put weight on that leg and will precious strength back into the limb.

The weekly command briefing would be starting soon. Cheloi took a deep breath and exited her quarters.

She wasn’t sure how she felt about the loss of an aide. In a way, his absence was a relief because it gave her more privacy but, since taking command of the territory, she had become used to someone picking up after her. She missed that often unseen hand that anticipated her wishes, sourced favourite titbits for the dinner table and delivered crisp clean uniforms and gleaming shoes to her bedside at dawn. Sometime soon, she knew she would have to see about acquiring a new assistant/driver. Not today.

The rough, sandy floor of the underground complex muffled the sound of her shoes as she strode unevenly along the main tunnel. The soldiers liked to slide along the fine grains when they thought nobody was looking, scuffing their footwear terribly in the process. Even the junior officers did it. In truth she couldn’t find it within herself to begrudge them their little moments of fun. All of them were parsecs away from home and not anticipating a victory anytime soon.

Koul told her she was too lax allowing such liberties, that firm discipline in battle began with firm discipline in camp. She countered by replying that she considered it an innocent outlet for pent-up energy. As long as nobody was stupid enough to attempt a sand-slide in front of her eyes, she was content to pretend the practice didn’t exist.

The door to the main briefing room loomed and slid open at her approach. Of course Koul was already there. Koul was always there. It was as if he had a time machine, able to peer one hour into the future, to ensure he would be everywhere ahead of her.

Her lately deceased aide once told her that the soldiers called Koul “Ghost” behind his back, because of his unusual colouring. With his pale skin, burnished silver hair and light grey eyes, one could easily imagine him as an apparition, a manifestation from Perlim fable. The flaxen-coloured uniform of the Perlim Ground Forces, with its high-necked tunic and matching trousers outlined in black and gold, glowed against Cheloi’s darker skin. But on Koul it looked like a cage, imprisoning his ethereal-looking body on the material plane.

Cheloi nodded a greeting to him and he answered. Koul was nothing if not scrupulously polite amidst company. Turning attention from him, she scanned the rest of the table. Most of the sector commanders were already seated, their conversation lowering to a murmur at her entrance. The door behind her slid open again and she knew by the rhythm of the footsteps that her adjutant, Major Rumis Swonnessy, had just entered.

People did themselves a disservice by underestimating Rumis. He was tall, tanned and absolutely gorgeous. Others might think that Cheloi kept him around purely because he was so decorative. They might even have imagined a secret affair between them. With his dark, mysterious eyes, glossy black hair and dimples, it was an obvious but mistaken assumption. Cheloi liked and trusted Rumis, not because of his looks, but because of his abilities. His usually open expression hid a sharp and quick intelligence, and he had proven his loyalty to her in the past, two traits that were hard to find in the present environment. In the tank of sharks currently contained within the meeting room, at least Rumis was one shark on her side.

She walked to her customary seat, again trying to shield her limp as much as possible, and sat down. All eyes turned to her.

“I’ve been through the reports,” she began, putting the documents on the table in front of her.

Cheloi had been holding these meetings every week for more than a year. The format was unchanged. She would begin with a summary of the current conflict, adding directives and requests from Central Control. She would then turn the discussion over to her senior officers for a sector-by-sector outline. Their voices droned in the stuffy air of the closed room but she forced herself to pay attention. There was equally important information in what the commanders didn’t tell her as what they did. She cast a glance around the table, searching each earnest face for subtle non-verbal cues, hints that things may not be going as well as their words indicated.

Sub-Colonel Vanqill, for example, was a young and ambitious officer but lacking the finer appreciation of logistics and human resource management. He was boasting of impressive advances in Green sector but she could tell from the tightness around his mid-brown eyes that he wasn’t telling the full story. Further probing brought out the truth that, once again, his soldiers were outrunning the supply lines, daring the Menon fighters to cut them off. Not for the first time, she was forced to divert troops from the adjacent, relatively stable Black sector to intervene and help hold a route back to the straggling supply transports.

She knew what Koul would have done in a similar position. He would have tolerated one, maybe two, mistakes. But by the third time, Koul would have withheld reinforcements and let Vanqill and his battalions perish. Her second-in-command read her reluctance to let Vanqill charge into death as a sign of weakness but, after the Sab-Iqur affair, he knew better than to harangue her about it.

Diverting a company from the neighbouring Black sector to hold the Green line, however, meant mollifying Black sector commander, Colonel Senel Wakor. Cheloi still hadn’t succeeded in that task when the meeting came to an end.

With cool gleaming eyes, Koul watched his peers leave the briefing room then turned his gaze to his superior. There were now only three left at the table: him, the Colonel, and the Colonel’s adjutant, Major Rumis Swonnessy.

Like a signal, Cheloi heard Rumis’ soft sigh beside her. While she had been focusing on each of the commanders as they spoke, he had been watching the dynamics between the rest of them. His small exhalation told her that an argument was about to begin.

“With all due respect, Senior Colonel,” Koul began, when the door was safely shut, “I keep reminding you that you either need to pull Vanqill into line, or allow the Menons to do it for you.”

“It’s unlike you to mince words, Colonel,” Cheloi rebuked in a calm voice and tried not to notice the slight smile breaking on Rumis’ face. It was childish but Koul always seemed to bring out the worst in her. “What you mean to say is that we should let Vanqill and his soldiers perish.”

“This is not the fourth, nor even the sixth, time he has outrun his orders and his supplies.”

“He is unsettling the enemy by taking the fight to them for a change,” she countered. “While the rest of the commanders tend to a caution that borders on lethargy, at least Vanqill tries to be proactive. He may not always succeed, but at least he’s making the effort.”

“His efforts are turning him into a danger to himself as well as the entire Ground Forces deployment in this territory.” Koul was beginning to lose his temper, his voice rising and his jaw working even when he wasn’t saying anything. “If you don’t do anything about it….”

She raised an eyebrow. “Yes, Koul?”

There was a moment of charged silence, before he pulled himself together with obvious effort. “He is a threat to the war effort,” he concluded in a sullen voice. “If everybody else starts thinking like him, the entire territory will fall apart.”

Koul’s way of looking at a situation was simple. If there was a risk to the campaign, the best way forward was to eliminate that risk and, as he saw it, Vanqill and his foolhardy tactics were the biggest risk to the Nineteen. Unfortunately, Cheloi was privy to certain information regarding the state of Perlim military resources, and the message from Central Control was clear. We are running out of bodies. Preserve the soldiers.

“We are an all-volunteer army,” she cut in, her expression kind, mostly because she knew it annoyed the hell out of him. “That means we conserve forces as much as possible. I agree that Sub-Colonel Vanqill is inexperienced, but he is also energetic. Furthermore, I will not allow an entire sector to be massacred just because you itch to teach a puppy some lessons.” She paused. “Of course, if you disagree with my assessment of the situation….”

This was not the first time Koul had challenged her and she knew it wouldn’t be the last. Every time he did it, it was up to her to slap him down. If he was a pet relehn dog, she would have had him shot by now for his pig-headedness.

Koul grimaced and looked away. “Yes, yes, I understand.” His hands, splayed on the table’s matte surface, pressed down so heavily Cheloi thought they would leave impressions on the metal. “You are in charge of this territory and I bow to the wisdom of Central Control.”

“Very good.” She nodded and allowed herself to relax, leaning back in her chair. “Now, do you have any ideas on how to handle Wakor?”

A veteran and the commander of Black sector, Senel Wakor also disliked the impetuous Vanqill for a number of reasons, including the fact that Vanqill was little more than half Wakor’s years and already a Sub-Colonel. The young commander also had a string of successes under his belt that seemed to defy the accepted and venerated tactics that Wakor had learnt at officer school and an arrogant energy that rubbed most of the senior officers the wrong way. Wakor’s dislike, more than apparent at the briefing table, was compounded by the constant redeployment of his own sector troops to help the younger man.

“Stop Senel from slitting Vanqill’s throat, you mean?”

ll three officers grinned in a rare moment of camaraderie and Cheloi felt the last of the tension bleed from the room.

Koul’s voice softened. “Let me think of something. There’s a reported rebel ammunition dump just beyond Black sector’s current sphere of operations. I think I can arrange a distraction for him.”

“Thank you, Koul.”

She made to stand up, thinking to pay a visit to the Tactical Room next, when Koul said something else.

“I have a surprise for you.”

Cheloi stilled before straightening. “Oh?”

“You lost your aide more than a month ago. Well, I have his replacement. Come, I’ll introduce you.”

Rumis shrugged behind Koul’s back, indicating he had no idea of what was coming. Whatever it was, Koul had kept things very quiet. Cheloi trained her face to impassivity.

“That’s very, considerate of you. Lead on.”

They left the briefing room in silence.

Cheloi heard sounds of industry from the kitchens as they entered the subterranean canteen. It was past mid-morning and preparations were already under way for lunch. For now, all the tables were unattended, the chairs unfilled, except for one.

A frown started gathering on Cheloi’s brow as the three of them approached the canteen’s lone customer, zigzagging through the rows of tables and hastily pushed back chairs. She felt a wave of impending doom lapping at her feet, surging higher the closer they got to the lone, occupied chair.

Had Koul somehow guessed…?

But how would he know? She kept that part of herself bottled up tight, vacuum-sealed against the world.

When they reached the inhabitant, in a rare moment of courtesy, Koul smiled and gestured with his hand. The stranger stood up. Correction, the woman stood up and turned around.

She was as tall as Cheloi with dark blonde hair, olive skin and hazel eyes. Unlike the Colonel, who sported a shorter more military cut, her longer hair was pulled back and pinned in a sleek bun, exposing streaks of pale gold. Cheloi imagined those golden streaks gleaming in the sunlight, as warm as the colour in her eyes, then quickly quelled the thought. What the hell was she thinking? Golden streaks? Warmth? What was wrong with her?

It was only the expression in those eyes that settled her again. She saw wariness, mixed with a degree of apprehension. That calmed her. Dislike, cynicism, anxiety, all these she could deal with, was comfortable with, although it made her wonder exactly what Koul had told her.

She knew what Koul thought of her in his private moments, because there were no truly private moments in the military, only relative ones. If Koul thought he was getting intelligence on Cheloi from intermediaries who were willing to talk, then it would be best for him to remember that it cut both ways.

Spraen. Cheloi’s lips twitched momentarily. Koul might think it an insult, but she enjoyed the comparison to one of the ravening scavengers of Perlim myth.

Coming to pick at your bones, eh Koul?

“Senior Colonel, may I present Senior Lieutenant Lith Yinalña.”

Cheloi clicked back to the present.

“Yinalña.” She rolled the name over her tongue, stressing the second syllable. It didn’t sound very Perlim-like.

The lieutenant, her soft military cap clutched in one hand, saluted smartly. Cheloi returned the salute and offered a handshake which, after a moment’s hesitation, was taken. Yinalña’s hands were warm but rough, indicating that the junior officer often dabbled in manual tasks. There was a sense of strength and capability in the short greeting, two traits that Cheloi usually admired.

Usually. She wasn’t liking any of this. She darted a quick glance at Koul but his expression was open and innocent. Or at least as innocent as an expression got on that particular face. She introduced Rumis, and they began a desultory conversation, but her eyes were still on Lith Yinalña, moving up and down her body in quick strokes, taking in the curves of her breasts and the swell of hips that the jacket couldn’t hide. The lieutenant’s pulled-back hair emphasised her high cheekbones and full lips. They may have been of the same height, but Yinalña was younger and less androgynous than Cheloi. The Colonel felt something flutter again, deep in her stomach. Her hand was still warm from the brief handshake, but the rest of her felt frozen and icy with premonition.

She was going to be trouble. Cheloi could feel it in her bones, a feeling compounded by the fact that it was Koul who brought her here. That figure, that hair, those lively welcoming eyes. Cheloi felt like she was standing on the edge of a dark precipice on a summer’s day, a glowing sun eclipsing disaster.

“Where did you find Lieutenant Yinalña?” Cheloi asked her second-in-command, making her voice casual.

“Quite by accident, while on a tour of Blue sector.”

So, last week. If I can believe him.

“If you recall, you sent me there to carry out an evaluation of the situation.”

Yes. It was not a happy time for the Empire. An entire company had been lured into a rebel ambush and killed almost to the last soldier. Koul had recommended withdrawing the company’s remnant to facilitate a regroup and injection of fresh soldiers. Cheloi agreed.

“Yinalña’s commander died during the retreat.”

“I see.”

“But the company’s Sergeant Major commended her diligence and engineering dexterity to me and I thought you would find that useful.”

It was only a slim straw but Cheloi grabbed it. It was nothing she wanted to articulate, but she had to get rid of her new staff officer as quickly as possible. “Won’t she be missed? After all, it’s the engineers that keep the wheels of the Empire turning.”

“She’s only had informal training.”

“So she’s not a formal member of the Engineers then?”

“No.”

Cheloi tried not to let the disappointment show. “No safer posts available?”

No, that question came out too quickly. She knew she shouldn’t be pushing matters so hard and so soon. Even now, she saw a trace of speculation in Koul’s pale eyes and cursed herself for handling the conversation so ineptly. If she’d been thinking, she would have accepted the driver with an offhand negligence then quietly ordered Rumis to find some way of getting rid of her. But something about Lith Yinalña unbalanced her in a way that more than three years of combat in a war zone hadn’t.

Koul’s words were slow and deliberate, clear signs that there was much more going on in his head than he was willing to admit.

“She volunteered for a posting at the front. I thought it a natural solution to the problem. Was I incorrect in my assumption?”

Koul tried to look puzzled but Cheloi saw behind his gaze to the underlying cold calculation. She knew she was going to have to concede the point.

“As always, Koul, you anticipate my wishes,” Cheloi smiled tightly and raised her voice to encompass the other two. “Perhaps Major Swonnessy can show the Senior Lieutenant to her quarters. We can set up a quick briefing for later this afternoon. Rumis, see to it.”

“Immediately, Colonel.”

Rumis Swonnessy smiled broadly at the lieutenant as he reached for her soft-pack, shrugging the bag’s thick strap lightly onto his shoulder. “Follow me.”

The speculative gazes from two pairs of eyes followed the figures as they wound their way out of the canteen.

Lith looked around her with unabashed curiosity. All the military facilities she’d been assigned to had so far been on the planet’s surface. This was the first time she’d been given an underground post.

“A bit different, isn’t it?”

She looked over at the man who accompanied her and nodded agreement. He was Major Rumis Swonnessy, Senior Colonel Sie’s adjutant. She hadn’t expected such a handsome face to match the reputation he had already built up. And she hadn’t expected such a pleasant personality either.

“The Nineteen, as you already know, is a long and thin territory, and all the transport routes travel quite close to our encampments. Central Control thought that siting our headquarters aboveground would make it easier for rebels to target us, so we were ordered to construct it underground instead.”

“It’s, er, very impressive.”

Actually, the word Lith was thinking of was more along the lines of oppressive, but she couldn’t say that to someone who was showing her around with such obvious pride. The canteen they had just walked from was near an exit, but Swonnessy pointed out corridors that led to other exits aboveground. Lith feverishly memorised their positions, afraid of an imminent attack of claustrophobia.

They passed through the administrative block, where the Tactical and Information Rooms were located, and she was shown where the Communications Room was situated, near the end of a long tunnel. Above her head, square panels of light, evenly spaced, illuminated the regular scraping texture of the walls and the grainy texture of the floors. Small crunches indicated footsteps of soldiers as they passed the pair, intent on their own tasks. It was like being in the belly of some infernal beast or trapped in a military-run underworld. Lith shivered, her guilty conscience prodded by the fact that she was actually where she had originally planned to end up. Her feet slowed as she fought the instinct to grab the bag off Swonnessy’s shoulder and flee. She fought to take in a full lungful of air. Was there a problem with the ventilation systems or was it her own fear, constricting her lungs and making it difficult to breathe?

Oblivious, Swonnessy happily chatted on, pointing out other major points of interest. They passed to the accommodation block.

“This is the Colonel’s quarters,” he said, indicating an otherwise anonymous door. “Most of your time will probably be spent shuttling between here and your own quarters.”

Lith frowned at the seamless black panel. It was strange how it looked like every other door. As though a monster—the Butcher—didn’t weave her plans of death from behind its bland exterior. Just thinking about what went on behind that door, the orders that resulted in thousands of innocent casualties and deaths, was enough to get her blood boiling and give her a much-needed burst of courage.

She smiled into the Major’s dark eyes. “I’m sure I’ll be kept very busy,” she told him.

He laughed and led her further down the corridor. “If you’re working for the Colonel, you don’t have a choice.”

He stopped outside another door and palmed it open. “This is yours.”

Lith stepped into the room that was to be her new home. It was a compact space, with a small bathroom off to one side. The air inside was stuffy and smelt a little mouldy, something Swonnessy noticed as well, because he stepped sideways to the climate-control panel just near the door and activated the ventilation fans. After waiting to make sure the characteristic whirring began, he continued forward and put Lith’s soft-pack down on her bed.

“The Colonel is usually up quite early, but you’re not expected on duty until seven. It’ll be worth your while to get fresh uniforms to her the night before rather than try scrambling around in the morning.”

She nodded.

“I’ll leave you to get settled. Let’s meet for lunch in an hour and I’ll take you through the rest of your duties.”

“Thank you for your help, Major.”

He smiled. “Welcome to Nineteen’s HQ. I’ll see you back at the canteen.”

Lith watched him leave and swiftly locked the door behind him, letting out a long breath only when she was alone.

The day had started out with a flurry, with sub-Colonel Grakal-Ski arriving to pick her up from the shambles of Blue sector command precisely at six. Not that he drove the wheeler himself. It was obvious to Lith that Grakal-Ski thought himself above such petty activities and she tried to smile reassuringly at the nervous-looking ensign who had been ordered to act as the Colonel’s chauffeur.

The Colonel had tried to be courteous to her, but it was a futile effort. No matter how much a smile tried to curve his lips, or how outwardly solicitous his words might be—“Are you sure you have everything, Lieutenant?”; “No, there’s no need for you to drive. I’m sure Ensign Kavky will be more than happy to get us back to HQ”; “Should you have any questions about HQ protocol, please feel free to approach me”—they couldn’t hide the essential coldness, the distinct feeling of aloof calculation, behind his eyes.

Grakal-Ski might be polite to her now, but Lith was certain that could easily turn into a frigid rage should she ever displease him.

Major Rumis Swonnessy, on the other hand, seemed to be no more than he appeared to be. She was surprised by how friendly and courteous he was and by the clear respect he showed the Nineteen’s commander. Lith was sure he was also a big hit with the ladies. Those laughing eyes, dimples, and smooth voice could coax the most reluctant woman (or man, come to think of it) to bed.

Senior Colonel Cheloi Sie, however, wasn’t what Lith was expecting at all. She had been anticipating the reserve, but not the courtesy. And she had certainly not expected to find her…attractive. The Colonel’s short practical haircut emphasised her bone structure, camouflaged by only a light padding of fat that made her seem more approachable and less like a flesh-filleting knife. Her skin was darker than Lith’s but lighter than the dark chocolate of her eyes. Her lips, dark and bluish in tinge, looked like they smiled often. And her voice was calm and melodious. If they had met in a bar somewhere, Lith might have even struck up a conversation with the attractive woman. And that thought scared her.

She grimaced as she flipped open the flap of her soft-pack. She thought she could still feel the impression of the Colonel’s hand against her own. The touch had been firm and decisive and Lith conceded that it was only a touch of immaturity that made her expect something chill, soft and clammy.

“Why couldn’t it have been soft and clammy?” she muttered. She paused in her unpacking, looking down at her upturned hand as if she could see the outline of Cheloi Sie’s fingers etched on her palm. With a rough movement, she rubbed it against the side of her trousers.

“A butcher,” she told herself in a stern voice. “Not attractive. Not interesting. Just a better-than-average mass murderer.”

And concentrated on getting ready for lunch with Major Swonnessy.

Chapter Two

Cheloi thought that ordering Rumis to get Yinalña out of the way till afternoon would have given her some breathing space, but it was a measure of how the small introduction affected her that it took almost an hour before she realised it had the opposite effect. On any other morning, she would have kept her adjutant close by, a useful tool in foiling Koul’s more obvious ambitions. But in the desperate flurry to escape, Cheloi had forgotten it was that time again—the monthly wrangle over the orders from Central Control. And, as Koul accompanied her to the Tactical Room and then onto her rounds with the senior non-commissioned soldiers, she knew he was not going to let her out of his sight.

She tried not to let his presence bother her and led the way back to her office, clicking the privacy indicator to let a returning Rumis know she was not to be disturbed.

Koul Grakal-Ski.

She watched him as he eased himself into the chair on the other side of her desk. He wasn’t classically handsome, but there was something compelling about him, something brisk and refreshing like a dramatic ice-storm from the southern peaks of Perlim Prime. Or there would have been, if he ever wiped the cynicism from his eyes. Like her, he had never been observed indulging in romantic entanglements although there were rumours that he had a wife and two sons on the Perlim home-world. Maybe he didn’t care for his family because he spent more than half of his vacation periods on Menon IV rather than taking advantage of the fast shuttles off-planet. He was, Cheloi admitted to herself with black humour, a truly ambitious career officer.

“You would have received the latest intel-pack from Central Control,” Koul began without preamble.

“Yes. This hasn’t been an easy campaign.” She pulled together a subset of reports and directives from the neat stacks on her desk, and tried not to think of Lith instead. Curse Koul for throwing such a distraction her way.

“We shall prevail.”

Irritated, Cheloi took his statement for the piece of instinctive doctrine that it was and ignored it.

“Since the Empire moved to batched landings,” she began, handing over information as she spoke, “we’ve seen a fifteen percent decrease in individual catastrophic failure incidents. We continue to hold Territory Eight against heavy opposition and have made gains in Territories Thirty-One, Twenty-Seven and Eleven. We’ve lost Territories Two, Thirty-Three and Thirty-Four.”

In his private moments, Koul had to admit that the Perlim Empire was slow and creaky in adapting to the situation on Menon. It had taken months to formulate even the rudiments of a ground-based plan, time that the rebels had exploited to consolidate their own position and bolster support from the local population.

“Central Control still sees Territory Nineteen as pivotal, holding the blocs of northern and southern territories together. They are satisfied that we’ve managed to hold the Nineteen but,” her voice thickened with reluctance, “would like to see more proactivity in routing rebel forces from our sectors.”

“An admirable idea,” Koul commented, his pale eyes gleaming as they met hers. “I suggest transforming the Green sector battalion into small, mobile strike teams. Roving companies.”

“No.”

“Why not, Senior Colonel?” His voice was innocent. “Fight fire with fire. Attack the rebels’ guerilla bands with ones of our own, just as nimble and flexible as theirs.”

“Koul, I know why you’re suggesting this. You can’t get Vanqill any other way so you’re recommending we disband his command structure and scatter his troops throughout the Nineteen.”

“Sub-Colonel Vanqill is always eager to wade into the fray.” Koul shrugged. “Why not let him?”

Cheloi’s lips twisted cynically. “And if he should accidentally get hit by friendly fire, say while his command group is on a mission in the Black sector? What would you suggest then? A military funeral? The Red Comet, awarded posthumously? And who would second the commendation? Your old friend, Senel Wakor, perhaps?” She paused, taking aim with her next words. “I’ve never known you to be quite so transparent before, Koul.”

Her second-in-command slapped the desk hard with an open palm, his gaze boring into hers. That was the nice thing about Koul, she thought, not even flinching. He was so easy to bait.

“Whatever I suggest is for the good of the Empire.” The words emerged roughly through gritted teeth.

“But if the Empire’s high-level aims should coincide with some scheme you and Senel have dreamt up,” Cheloi countered, “then you wouldn’t be averse to executing it, would you?”

His eyes narrowed. “Are you questioning my loyalty?”

“Don’t be stupid, Koul. Your loyalty is beyond reproach and you know it.”

He jerked his head, the gesture equal parts agreement and arrogance.

“What I am questioning is your objectivity.” Her voice was crisp. “I want Sub-Colonel Vanqill right where he is, holding Green sector. We have few enough combat officers as it is who are familiar with the situation on Menon. I see no benefit in needlessly throwing any of them away just because they annoy someone. Do you understand me?”

Their gazes clashed across the desk.

“Yes.” But she read the extended message behind those ice-grey pupils. For now.

“Good.” She really wasn’t in the mood to listen to any more. She felt too unnerved, too restless. “Is there anything else you wish to discuss?”

There was plenty. She could see it in his eyes, speculation and supposition lurking in the shadows like stalking predators.

“I’ve had some requests for additional supplies from Colonel Twol,” he finally said. “The reason I mention it is because he’s exceeded the monthly quotas by a significant percentage.”

“Carry out a high-level audit and take action from there. Let me know if you think there’s anything I should be aware of.”

Her second-in-command nodded.

“If there’s nothing else Koul, you’re dismissed.”

She watched him leave with mixed feelings. Having the insubordinate man around was like having a laser eternally targeted to a spot between her eyes. The energy required to constantly fight him exhausted her on a normal day. In fact, it was only approaching lunchtime and she already felt drained.

She wondered what their working relationship would have been like if there wasn’t so much history to contend with.

A sympathetic member of Central Control had once told her that Koul considered himself the logical choice for the position of Commander of Territory Nineteen. He knew the terrain and had the combat experience. Upon the death of the territory’s previous commander, he had considered his promotion a mere formality and was devastated when he didn’t get it.

He wasn’t passed over because he was a stupid man. Koul exuded intelligence. It sweated out of his pale-skinned pores, a stink nobody interacting with him could avoid. He was also a brilliant tactician. But he was as cold and bitter as murky grey ice floes cut adrift in arctic seas. And if there was one thing Central Control had learnt, it was that soldiers did not like being ordered to their deaths by an iceberg dressed in an officer’s uniform.

Cheloi Sie, on the other hand, was an officer with her own list of impressive battle gains and a reputation for deftness in logistics. When she nominated herself for the vacant command post, it met with little opposition from within the Control. Not that she had many rivals, besides Koul. A century of intermittent, continuously victorious warfare had turned the Empire’s senior officers into military-minded politicians more than experienced combat commanders. Due to their lack of battle experience, the more cynical Perlim referred to such commanders, in hushed tones, as “recliner warriors”, putting their own comfort ahead of the Empire’s aims.

Such officers knew how valuable Territory Nineteen was to the Empire’s war effort. They also pondered on the outcome if they took and failed to hold the Nineteen. The territory was the only way of moving forces by land from north to south and its collapse would inevitably mean a collapse of two continents. If that happened, the recliner warriors knew that the Emperor would not be pleased. Being humiliated and thrown out of the service would be the least of their worries. Only the supremely confident and unflinchingly ambitious saw opportunity in the Nineteen, and Sie and Grakal-Ski had been the only two contenders in the race to command.

Cheloi could have explained this all to Koul when she was first assigned to the territory. She could have sat him down one night and, over a shared bottle of vintage tawny life-water, talked about Central Control’s mindset and the reasons why she had been chosen over him. She could have suggested a partnership. She could have suggested a favourable recommendation upon transfer. She didn’t because she couldn’t. He just wasn’t interested in talking to her on any subject that didn’t directly touch on their daily duties.

Cheloi wasn’t surprised. It was easier to blame an individual than Central Control and not as career-limiting a move. The hostility that began the moment she landed at the Nineteen’s HQ had now settled into grudging and reluctant mutual respect, punctuated by occasional slanging matches, but it was too late to kindle any vestige of cordiality and friendship. That time was long gone.

After more than a year in their respective roles, all bristles and bad temper, Cheloi was convinced Koul’s major remaining goal in life was to make her command of the Nineteen as difficult as possible. Which made the spontaneous move to replace her aide nothing less than extraordinary. Was Koul trying to plant an informant close to her? Both her previous aide (now deceased) and her adjutant, Rumis, had moved to the Nineteen with her, so she knew their pasts and could count on their loyalty. But what about this stranger, Lith Yinalña? Koul claimed to have met her only the week before. Was that true?

The problem was, she had to hold onto Yinalña for the present. In her arrogance, she had neglected requesting a replacement and Koul had outmanoeuvred her, may the Universe tan his pale hide. She needed time to replace his choice and, until that happened, she had to limit the fallout from his latest chess-move.

It wasn’t going to be easy. She had spoken to Yinalña for only a few minutes, and already found it difficult to keep the woman out of her head. Was it those full lips that beckoned to her? Or those large tawny eyes, sparked with fire? Cheloi had felt such pulls of attraction before but not during a campaign. And never while in a combat zone. And now, instead of concentrating on trying to out-think Koul, she was imagining running the back of her hand along Yinalña’s cheekbone. She knew exactly what she would do. She would angle her hand up, past the soft fur at the younger woman’s temple, until they met the fine wisps of hair, taut and golden. She would circle the smooth, sensitive curve of ear, then gently stroke downwards along the jaw. She would lean forward—

No!

Cheloi shut her eyes tightly then, after a long moment, opened them again.

She was here for a reason, not a liaison. She tried thinking of something else, a dry topic far removed from the luscious temptation of her new driver.

Menon IV. It was itself a dry, barren planet and fitted the bill admirably.

The atmosphere of Menon IV was the major source of the Empire’s difficulties, Cheloi recited to herself. She mentally put herself back in one of many briefing rooms, ruthlessly quashing tantalising tangents.

On any other planet, a fleet of cruisers orbiting the planet, pinpointing strategic targets from orbit, would have been enough to quell a fomenting rebellion. With a more resistant planet, simultaneous landings at the world’s capitals would have sufficed. On Menon IV, the Empire could do neither. The hot solar winds from the young yellow star brushed against an idiosyncratic planetary ionosphere to create ionic storms of a magnitude unique to that region of space. The resulting flares interfered with a whole host of the Empire’s equipment. In one swipe, it rendered proven tactics and technologies useless.

Which brought her to her command of the Nineteen and the latest orders she’d debated with Koul. In her opinion, the Empire’s military arm had underestimated the terrain her forces were commanding. The Empire had not fought a land-based campaign in centuries and moving forces in space was completely different to moving them on a planet’s surface. Central Control couldn’t seem to grasp the difference. And now that she had the added burden of trying to preserve the soldiers, it made her job that much more difficult.

Soldiers. Equipment. She preferred protecting equipment. It was easier. Equipment was tougher, came with its own formidable armour and didn’t require food and water every day. Soldiers were fragile, high maintenance and sometimes unpredictable.

A soldier could be a model fighter for months, then suddenly snap….

Pull out some lethal weaponry and blow everyone to pieces….

Turn collaborator at the promise of a juicy bribe….

Assign a new driver to the territory’s commander.

“Aargh!” Cheloi gave herself the luxury of a short, pained cry. She rubbed her forehead with stiff fingers.

Did Koul have any idea how much potential danger the young lieutenant posed to her sanity? Was this another ploy on his part to gain command? If it was, he had just played an extraordinarily smart move. Yinalña was lush, attractive, and diverting. Cheloi’s brain was in overdrive, imagining peeling the uniform from her driver’s body, exposing the smooth curves underneath, running her tongue over the heated skin…and all she’d done was trade one handshake with the younger woman. What would happen if they were thrown together more frequently, as their duties would inevitably demand?

Cheloi groaned and tried hard not to think about that option at all.

It turned out to be a busy day. It was well past the late afternoon rendezvous she had mentioned to Rumis before Cheloi found time to talk to her new aide again. Eliciting answers to a few queries on her possible whereabouts, Cheloi finally emerged aboveground and into a deepening dusk.

This was the first time she had ever commanded a campaign from underground. Usually, she relayed her orders from far orbit or even shuttling between space and planetside, trapped in the small fast shuttles so beloved of military command. This time was different. She felt claustrophobic in the underground command complex. Maybe it was the psychic weight of the compressed silt and sandstone under which she worked. It felt unnatural. Temporarily free of it, she drew a deep breath of relief and looked around.

Headquarters for the Nineteen was in a shallow valley formed by a collapsed and extinct volcano, a natural formation of sheer rock that helped shield any stray electromagnetic radiation from rebel sensors. Its protection was complemented by an invisible dome-shaped shield that heightened the illusion of lifelessness, stopping aimless ricochets of heat, energy and noise from escaping the caldera and giving their position away. At this time of day, much of the terrain was in shadow, the rocks merging with the tough grassy vegetation to form smooth formless swatches of black. On the valley’s rim, Cheloi noted the movement of individual soldiers, moving in and out of shadow as they changed watches.

Along one of the steep craggy faces, a small group was carrying out an exercise in climbing and clearing hostile guerilla crevices. Their sergeant was gesticulating wildly, pointing up and down the small valley. The last feeble traces of sunlight caught the edges of an e-pad hung around her neck. Cheloi could tell from the amount of explaining she was doing that the soldiers were newer recruits, unused to the difficulties of fighting for every centimetre of ground on the ground, scrabbling through the disconcerting novelty of cloying dust, sharp stones and pointy twigs and leaves.

With a relaxed tread, she circled the encampment, activating the ‘scope over her left eye that turned the encroaching blackness to clear blue night vision. The valley was deathly dark and quiet, giving nothing away, except for flashes of light high up in the atmosphere. She had become so used to the ionic storms by now that she tended to filter them out of her view. Manic aurora. The new recruits eyed them balefully, half fearful that some errant beam would blast them where they stood, but old hands like her had seen enough to ignore the impressive light show.

She continued walking, squinting at a point two-thirds of the way up the caldera’s slope, looking for the ammunition batteries she knew had been recently blasted into the rock. They were positioned on both sides of the slope, more of them facing out than in, and she could barely discern their blunt snouts among the careless piles of boulders and tufts of hardy grass that littered the high ledges and scrubby plain. The team had done good camouflage work. Impressed, she moved on.

She found Lith Yinalña with Rumis when she scouted one of the higher command outposts on the camp’s eastern side, halfway up a barren escarpment. The approach to their elevated position was hidden by clumps of serrated-edged succulents and a wizened tree whose narrow twisted branches sprouted dry, sharp leaves. Cheloi slipped past the tree and climbed the last three steps to enter the outpost.

Both officers were talking. She could see their wavering forms and roughly gesticulating arms but didn’t hear a word until she penetrated the zero-detect dampening field—commonly called a “mute bubble”—that surrounded the small post.

“—but of course all brothers tell you that,” Rumis was saying with a smile.

He was regaling her with stories of his family? Already? That was fast work.

Cheloi looked from one to the other, noting the too-casual body language of her adjutant. So Rumis was on the prowl, was he? And why not? He would have been blind not to notice how attractive Yinalña was.

The new aide, however, tensed the moment she noticed who had stepped onto the stony landing. She straightened and that half-fearful look reappeared in her eyes.

Both officers saluted. “Colonel.”

Cheloi returned the salute in an abbreviated gesture. “As you were.”

“I was just telling Lith about my family back on Perlim Prime,” Rumis explained, leaning against the roughly chipped wall, a lazy smile on his face.

“You’ll be the hero of the clan once we secure the Nineteen,” Cheloi commented, and suppressed a twist of guilt at her own words. “I’ll make sure to personally put in for a Black Comet for you.” She cited the Empire’s highest military honour.

Rumis laughed, his eyes crinkling with mirth. “People keep asking me to transfer to their unit. But they don’t offer the same incentives you do, Colonel.”

Do they indeed?

Cheloi wondered who his petitioners were but kept the expression on her face benign.

“I skimmed through your brief record earlier today, Lieutenant,” she said, shifting her attention to the bubble’s other occupant. “Unfortunately, the detailed transcript will take a while to come through. Possibly weeks. Red tape in space is the worst kind.”

She paused.

The fear was still there in Yinalña’s eyes and Cheloi wondered again what had Koul told her? Had he referred to her by his favourite nickname? Conveyed rumours of a bloodthirsty appetite? Exhibited the civilian casualty lists for the past year?

No, she wanted to say. I’m not like that. You don’t understand….

With a quick movement, she clicked off her ‘scope, allowing darkness to envelop the post. Better not to see any expression at all than continue seeing that one. And why was it even of concern to her? She was here to complete her mission and, in the space of a few short hours, her valued focus had already been shot to pieces by a pair of beckoning eyes and hair the texture of golden silk.

“You’re not from Perlim Prime?” she asked, hiding her turmoil with a smoothness born of long and hard practice.

“No.” There was a stammering hesitancy in her answer. “I’m from Laeyek Omni B.”

Cheloi, turning to stare out into the encroaching darkness, knew that of course. She had read through the lieutenant’s truncated dossier as if drinking fine wine, savouring every sip, committing each sparse word to memory.

She nodded at the Lieutenant’s answer. “That’s near the border with the Fusion, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” the reply came quick enough, “that’s correct.”

She didn’t need to see in the dark to know that Rumis stiffened. He was young, intelligent, ambitious, but predictable, and the truncated shuffle of his feet was a dead giveaway. He knew exactly where the conversation was leading.

Cheloi stared into the darkness, listening only to the tone, the intonation, the emphasis, of voice. There was something niggling at her, an intuition that she knew better than to ignore.

“An internal Empire poll of two years ago found that fifty-four percent of Laeyek’s inhabitants would have preferred membership in the Fusion,” she said, blatantly fishing.

“But doesn’t that mean that forty-six percent preferred the Empire?” the darkness countered.

Cheloi heard the thread of directness in Yinalña’s voice and her lips twitched at the filament of refreshing astringency within a stream of warm honey.

“Just so. But that begs the question, which rough half do you belong to?”

Rumis knew better than to interrupt, but Cheloi heard his breathing, quick and indignant. Her adjutant still had a lot to learn.

“Surely my presence here proves that I’m a loyal officer to the Perlim Empire.”

Cheloi liked that answer too. It described her own situation well.

“Colonel Grakal-Ski tells me that you requested a position at the front.” Above her, the dusk had segued to darkest blue. The mute bubble cycled through its frequency range, blurring the sky’s light show to fuzzy streaks of dancing light.

“I believe it’s part of every citizen’s duty to progress the Empire’s aims.”

Did people even believe that any more?

“You could do that behind the front,” Cheloi countered. “Behind the Nineteen. We have the highest casualty rates of any territory on Menon.”

Maybe she could persuade Yinalña to request a transfer herself? Koul would lose. She would regain her focus.

“I know. Colonel Grakal-Ski explained all that to me.”

Did he? Cheloi willed her eyebrows not to launch into the stratosphere.

“But I still told him I wanted to be assigned to Territory Nineteen.”

Nothing. Yinalña wasn’t giving her anything to work with.

“Were you Commander Mazhin’s aide?” Cheloi asked, trying a different tack.

“Er, no.”

Finally! Some hesitation. Cheloi locked onto the falter like a missile on a heat-source.

“I was with the Commander’s staff in an auxiliary position. But,” Lith hurriedly stressed, “in addition to being a competent engineer, I have also driven most classes of vehicles currently in operation on Menon and am familiar with a commander’s routine. Colonel Koul thought those skills would be useful.”

Rumis snorted. “Nice of him to think of the Commander’s needs after all this time.”

Cheloi couldn’t help the smile that curved her lips, knowing it had a cynical tilt to it. She had lost her last aide two months ago in the same accident that had injured her leg. Had it really been a stray rebel missile? Or something else? The investigation had cleared her second-in-command but her doubts remained.

For the time being, Cheloi was conceding defeat. There were too few data points. She would have to wait for the detailed dossier to come through and keep her eyes open in the meantime.

“Your skills are exactly what I need,” she interjected smoothly. “And I’m glad to have you as a member of my staff.”

“Major Swonnessy was briefing me on my duties.”

I bet he was.

“He said I’m to be your driver, oversee your wardrobe and act as general, er, errand-runner.”

“I mentioned that you’re still recovering from your injury, Commander,” Rumis added, “and so need someone to do courier work for you even within the HQ complex.”

“I’m happy to do that,” the young officer said.

From the way Yinalña’s voice changed, Cheloi knew she was looking from Rumis to her.

“You didn’t have much military experience prior to the Menon campaign,” Cheloi said, drawn back to her previous train of thought.

“None,” she agreed.

“Yet….”

Yinalña anticipated the obvious question. “Why did I request assignment at the front? My family thought it was stupid of me but I felt a driving need to do something to help the Empire. And it was a way to get some independence from my parents.”

Cheloi heard the shy laughter in her voice. Here, under a cloak of darkness, if she just controlled her own expression, she could enjoy Yinalña’s rich voice without any painful facts intruding. Cheloi stopped listening to the words, letting only the musical voice with its myriad intonations wash over her. What if they were somewhere else? What if she wasn’t a combat officer with the Perlim Empire and Yinalña wasn’t an aide appropriated by Koul? Under such conditions, was there even the slightest chance in the cold, vast universe that Yinalña would be attracted to her?

“Colonel?”

It was only when Rumis repeated the word for the second time that Cheloi realised Yinalña had stopped talking. She turned and gestured to the two officers with a casual flick of her finger.

“Sorry, I was just thinking over the latest orders from Central Control.”

Liar!

“Rumis, perhaps you’d like to show the lieutenant where we normally take our evening meals? I’ll not join you tonight. Have a tray sent to my quarters instead.”

She heard the scuffing as two sets of shoes moved to attention.

“Yes, Senior Colonel!”

Cheloi stayed in the bubble until she knew the stars that had begun their journey at the horizon were edging almost to the black sky’s zenith.

She needed to remember why she was here and it was all because of the Fusion. The Perlim Empire was overplaying its hand because of the Fusion. It used and encouraged brutal techniques and heartless efficiencies because of the Fusion. And Menon IV was haemorrhaging blood because of the Fusion.

This was the one rare area where she and Koul were in complete agreement. The Fusion was the ahnol-muncher that the Empire was reacting to while pretending it didn’t exist, the Emperor ordering battalion after battalion of his troops to land on the planet’s surface, daring the atmosphere to smash the transports into hard rock. He commanded his soldiers to eat dirt and carry out up-close-and-personal attacks and counter-attacks against the tenacious Menon rebels, apparently mindless of the high casualty rates. And he did this to set an example to the Fusion, to show them that the ageing Perlim Empire was still a force to be reckoned with.

Screw strategy, the Empire was willing and crazy enough to take on the Fusion in an orgy of bloodletting and it didn’t care who in the galaxy knew it. Never mind that it wasn’t true. Appearance was everything.

If Cheloi put the importance of Territory Nineteen together with the proximity of Yinalña’s home-world to the dreaded Fusion, she knew the loyalty of her new aide could not be taken for granted. On the other hand, Koul was the most patriotic officer she knew. If he had vetted Yinalña, then there was a good chance there was nothing sinister and Fusion-like to find. The problem was, there was something niggling at her, an intuition that she knew better than to ignore.

What was Yinalña doing in the misogynistic and homophobic Perlim military? With her intelligence, she and her talents were completely wasted. She must know that. Was her joining the military an act of rebellion against her rich parents, as her truncated details intimated, rather than one of patriotism?

And how should she read her possible liaison with Rumis? As an unwanted fraternisation to be disciplined? Or something she should encourage as a way to keep Yinalña as far away from her as possible?

Cheloi was already juggling enough balls in the air and hardly needed another, especially one as exquisitely shaped as her driver. She had to keep her eye on Wakor, and remember that he and Koul were old friends. She had to keep Vanqill in one piece because he was key to her plans, if he but knew it. She had to find a way to mollify and short-circuit Koul and any game he had currently set running. And she had to carry out Central Control’s orders to their satisfaction. She had no time to think of anything else, certainly not Rumis working up the courage and opportunity to kiss her aide. In a moment of weakness, Cheloi tried inserting herself into that picture instead, but the image was chill and stiff, lacking vibrancy.

Maybe this war had taken more out of her than she thought.

Her dinner was cold by the time she limped back to her quarters but she ate it anyway, and turned in with a tired grimace.

Chapter Three

Day 1,501 of the War:

Lith faced the featureless door to the Colonel’s quarters and stared hard at it. It was five minutes to the hour when she would officially begin her first day as Cheloi Sie’s driver and aide. She knew she should be requesting access but she didn’t want to enter those quarters. It was more than nerves. It was fear.

She swallowed and looked around, trying to give the impression that she had only just arrived at the door and was straightening her uniform. Thankfully, the corridor was still empty. At this hour, most of the soldiers were either in the canteen enjoying their breakfasts or catching some sleep after coming off night duty. Thirty minutes ago, Lith had tried to join the noisy crowd who were busy eating, but her morning meal congealed like a lump of rock in her stomach. She finally disposed of the half-eaten meal with a grimace of distaste before walking back to her quarters to fetch her jacket.

The Major had told her the day before that space limitations meant that the Colonel’s anteroom also functioned as her office. Blue sector had been like that too…but Blue sector hadn’t contained Cheloi Sie. Just thinking about walking into the personal territory of the Nineteen’s commander was enough to make her fingers tremble.

The sound of approaching footsteps finally gave her the courage she needed. She jabbed at the access panel with a rigid thumb.

“Come in.”

Sie looked up as Lith walked through the door. She was seated behind a desk. Lith scanned the room quickly, noting the cramped but tidy arrangement of furniture. To her right, a doorway loomed, probably leading to the Colonel’s bedroom. She swallowed and faced front again.

“Senior Lieutenant Lith Yinalña reporting,” she said smartly, matching words to a crisp salute, her gaze focused on some imaginary object fifty metres in front of her.

“Relax, Lieutenant,” Sie told her, after a small pause. “I’m just finishing up something. I’ll be with you in a second.”

Lith allowed her hand to drop to her side, taking advantage of the relative peace to observe the Colonel more closely. Cheloi Sie exuded a palpable air of power, her movements measured and confident. Lith watched the dexterous fingers as they flicked through a small stack of flimsies before moving to the adjacent keyboard, punching out something with the speed if not the full skill of a trained typist. She muttered to herself when she made a mistake.

So, there were things that even the great Cheloi Sie couldn’t do. Somehow, that made her seem more approachable. The tremors in Lith’s fingertips subsided.

The Colonel was dressed in her uniform with the jacket fully buttoned. She looked formidable, but Lith noticed the small creases cascading down her left sleeve and the crooked placement of the scar-raptors on her shoulders. She could only guess how the otherwise immaculate commander regarded such laxity and repressed a small surprised smile.

Sie finished whatever it was she was doing and transferred her attention to Lith in time to see the slight curve of her lips.

“Has something amused you, Lieutenant?” The words were strict, but the tone flensed them of bite. There was only friendly curiosity in those dark eyes and a mirroring curve of her lips.

All of a sudden, Lith was struck by how open she looked in that moment. Not a cipher or even the emblem of a hated occupation, but a person in her own right. And an attractive one, at that. It was the lock of hair that rebelliously fell forward over her right eyebrow and the air of restrained scruffiness. Her eyes were warm, her fingers lean and capable, her aura one of competence. Lith had expected none of these things. All the characteristics together, wrapped in one living package, were like a punch to a nerve plexus.

“It was nothing, Colonel,” she said. “A mere whimsy on my part. Please forgive my inattention.”

The apology was accepted with a quick nod. “I believe Major Swonnessy briefed you yesterday on your duties.”

“Yes Colonel, he did.”

“And do you think you’re up to the tasks? Aide to a sector commander is one thing, but aid to a territory commander can be much more frenetic.”

“I think I’m capable of handling anything you can dole out, Colonel.”

The words sank between them before Lith realised their impertinence. The Colonel’s eyebrows rose. Embarrassed, Lith lifted a hand to her mouth.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

Sie raised a hand. “No matter. Let’s move on to less, controversial subjects.” Her lips quirked as she reviewed a flimsy, but Lith pretended not to notice. This Colonel Sie was too civilised for her liking. It was too easy to let her guard down around her.

“I’m sure Rumis—Major Swonnessy—told you that part of your duties is to tour the sector’s medical facilities. In addition to supervising any special requests, you are also to distribute the minor citations and record commendations. I tend to reserve the medal awards for a monthly ceremony held here at HQ.”

“Yes, Colonel.”

“Do you know the location of all the territory’s medical facilities?”

“Er,” Lith thought furiously. “I’m familiar with those in Blue sector, of course,” she began, “but as for the others….”

“I would have been surprised if you had,” Sie told her as she petered off into silence. “Central Control considers the locations to be military secrets. I’ll get the Major to forward you a map of the facilities so you can familiarise yourself with them.”

“Thank you.”

The Colonel cocked her head to one side. “I have to say, Lieutenant, you’re not at all what I think of when I consider the typical characteristics of a junior Perlim officer.”

Her gaze was direct but there was something else in those bitter chocolate depths besides the impersonal frankness. A certain heat, a tingle of physical awareness. Lith felt it zipping between them and it made her flush.

“I’m sorry, Colonel. I don’t believe I follow you.”

“Your dossier outlined your family’s background on Laeyek Omni B. It’s unusual, because the children of well-to-do Perlim families don’t usually volunteer for military service.”

“Maybe they just need the proper encouragement,” Lith replied.

“And what do you think that might be?”

You.

The errant thought startled her and Lith felt her eyes widen. In front of her, observing every flicker of emotion that flashed across her face, the Colonel watched carefully. Her eyes betrayed a quick blaze that was gone in a flash.

“The, the reasons for public service,” Lith said in a rush, in a room that seemed to contain too little air, “are as varied as the people themselves. I think. I mean, I’m sure.”

But the Colonel didn’t seem to be listening. There was such a hot intensity in her gaze that it deepened the previously receding flush along Lith’s cheekbones. She felt the heat slash across her face and quelled the urge to wipe the beads of sweat forming on her forehead. A strange flickering erupted chaotically in her belly, as if her stomach had somehow been temporarily isolated and shoved into a zero-gravity field.

The two women looked at each other.

No, she can’t be looking at me like that! As if she…she wants me.

Lith tried to conjure up a sense of distaste, some protective shield of contempt but couldn’t. She swallowed.

The shrill call of the comms console finally broke the frozen tableau and both exhaled quickly, as if suddenly free of an unexpected enchantment.

A man’s voice erupted from the speaker, and Sie reached quickly for the earpiece, jamming it in her ear and dismissing Lith with a languid wave.

“Uniforms,” she mouthed, before redirecting her attention to a point in midair. “Yes, Chinwoh, what can I do for you?”

Lith fled.

Day 1,502 of the War:

“So what do you think of her?”

Cheloi knew she was only taunting herself by talking to Rumis about the matter, but there was method in her madness.

“I like her,” he said simply.

His head was still bent, tallying the supply and expenditure figures for the territory, so he didn’t see the fond look Cheloi directed at his dark head.

In only three years, Rumis Swonnessy had grown into a brother-substitute for Cheloi. She had picked him out of junior officer drudgery during the dying days at the Thirty-Five, promoted and mentored him during her tour at the Eight and he arrived, sparkling and efficient, as her adjutant at the Nineteen. She appreciated his decorative qualities but also warmed to his sense of humour, air of calm, and honesty. It was ironic that she should value what she herself could not share.

By rights, the both of them should have been working in a separate office complex, one focused on the administrative tasks at hand. But the Empire, already reeling from an increasingly expensive war that it had instigated, was not about to manufacture more cavern space for rooms that would remain empty for half of each day. Cheloi had to accept that her office was part of her quarters. In any case, being an officer of the Empire meant that one had to give up all pretensions to a slab of personal space. The policy stood whether someone was off planet or on one. Only the Emperor and the stratum below him, that layer of high-level policy-makers that included Central Control, were entitled to cubic metres of emptiness. If she was honest with herself, the lack of space, and its subsequent privacy, was beginning to drive Cheloi crazy.

Despite the constrictions, she had managed to wedge a desk, some chairs and a bureau into the small subterranean space. Three steps in any direction met either a door or a piece of furniture, but she was pleased that she managed to pack everything vital to how she operated into the one compact area. The privacy she was going to have to do without. At least, until she was off the planet. Hopefully, that day wasn’t too far away.

“Don’t you find it suspicious that Colonel Grakal-Ski found her?” she asked.

He did look up then, his eyes crinkling with a touch of humour.

“I did consider that, but Lith doesn’t seem the type to sympathise with the Colonel. She’s too,” he searched for a word, “open.”

Still, wouldn’t that be something a twisted Koul Grakal-Ski might have considered? Mightn’t he have deliberately looked for someone so obviously his psychological opposite as a ploy to get around Cheloi’s defences? She couldn’t discount the possibility, which made what she had to say to Rumis that much more painful.

“Maybe you should shadow her,” she said. “Find out how she thinks. You’re due to do the hospital rounds tomorrow. Why not take her with you and start training her on her duties? She can take over when you’re satisfied.”

The smile that split Rumis’ face expressed unfeigned delight and Cheloi clenched her jaw to stop her teeth gnashing.

“If you insist, Colonel.”

“Our casualty figures are up,” she said abruptly, and curbed a burst of satisfaction when Rumis sobered. She scanned the figures across several flimsies arrayed horizontally across her desk and frowned. “Hmmmm. I see the same number of sorties throughout the Nineteen. No flare-up of rebel incidents. Yet we’re taking a hit. What intel do we have?”

Rumis, on the other side of the desk, skimmed his security info.

“I read…it was…here it is. Latest intelligence says there’s a new rebel leader in the region. His name is Drel.”

“Drel,” Cheloi repeated thoughtfully. “That’s a southern sounding name, isn’t it?”

Rumis nodded. “He claims to be from the Rardo Peninsula.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “Long way from home.”

Weren’t we all?

Rumis kept skimming the information in front of him. “The upsurge in attacks against our forces coincide with him taking command of the rebels.” He lifted dark eyes to his commander’s. “We have to eliminate him.”

“Of course.” She shrugged. “But how? The rebels are an entirely mobile force. Koul suggested I turn Green sector into a set of dispersed, roving guerilla teams but the only person that would help would be Senel Wakor.”

Rumis flashed her a quick grin.

“The Empire doesn’t really know how to wage a war of this sort,” Cheloi finished.

“We’re used to razing cities from space,” he agreed. He looked briefly at the ceiling. “Not cowering in the dirt.”

“We need strategies. And, to do that, we need to start pooling our knowledge. Rumis, perhaps you can sound out other territory commanders for tricks they’ve used.”

Her adjutant nodded. “I’ll do that.”

She jerked her head at the flimsies he held in his hand. “What does the casualty breakdown look like?”

He glanced down at the figures. “Twenty percent fatality rate. Fifty percent require intense remedial work. Twenty percent can be shipped to local medical units. The rest can be redeployed within two days.”

Cheloi nodded slowly.

“It would help if we had more sophisticated medical facilities on-planet,” he added. “We’re having to ship half our casualties offplanet, with the storms then taking their toll on the evacuee ships. However, if we keep them on the surface, we also run into problems. Menon wasn’t that advanced a planet to begin with. The local facilities are still basic.”

“I’ll suggest setting up advanced surgery and treatment theatres behind the lines. Not that I think it will do any good.”

“Where are the lines?” Rumis suggested blackly with a shrug of his shoulders.

She agreed. “Exactly. All we have are more secure territories and less secure territories. And any one of them could flip into the other given the slightest provocation. The attitude I’m sensing is that the Empire is unwilling to expend significant money on facilities that could easily end up in rebel hands. I’ll make the request. It’s rational and will increase troop turnaround, but I’m sure I’ll be wasting my breath.”

“If it wasn’t for the storms, we’d be winning.”

“If it wasn’t for the storms, Rumis, we wouldn’t be here.”

He couldn’t argue with that.

“And what about the new rebel leader?” she asked, returning to the original topic of conversation. “Drel, isn’t it? What else do we know about him, besides the fact he’s brilliant and cutting through our deployments like a laser through brick?”

Rumis shrugged again, clearly unhappy. “He’s a wild card. We get a lot of them—a rebel leader emerges, gains prominence for a little while, then disappears. The Twenty-Three has been through eight of them alone in the past year. Drel’s different because he’s lasted more than two months, so that’s some kind of record. But I can get very little on him besides the fact that he comes from the Rardo Peninsula, and is short and ugly.”

“The peninsula continues to give the Empire trouble,” Cheloi commented. “Maybe there’s something in the water down there.”

Rumis’ face cracked in a grin. “An anti-Perlim mineral?”

Cheloi sighed. “You never know.”

“I’ll ask around.” Rumis shuffled the flimsies around on the desk. “Could be one of our informants can find out a bit more for us.”

“Ah yes, our informants. Who do they think we are?”

“A small rebel group pinned down in the Five. I got Intelligence to put a couple of our fictitious rebels on the Empire’s ‘wanted’ list, so they have credibility with the groups in other territories. So far it seems to be working. We’re getting a lot of valuable information from the surrounding territories.”

“Don’t overextend us. I’d rather have less frequent, solid intel over a long period of time, than a lot of data that only lasts a month.”

Rumis nodded. “Understood Colonel.”

He stood, saluted and turned to walk away. Cheloi, watching him as she rubbed her thigh under her desk, was once again reminded of how close she’d come to losing him along with her driver. Rumis had been scheduled to accompany Cheloi on a sector inspection that fateful day. Only a last-minute request from Central Control had prevented his attendance.

The door closed behind her adjutant and Cheloi’s eyes narrowed.

The accepted explanation was that her skimmer had been hit by a random barrage from a temporary rebel position. Almost from the moment her eyes opened after the dust from the blast cleared, Cheloi put Koul at the top of her list of suspects. How neat it would have been. One, two, three, all three new transfers out of the equation in a single bloody explosion. It didn’t help that Koul hadn’t made an effort to deflect his dislike of her since she assumed command of the territory. She felt his gaze, like high-powered lasers, boring into her whenever her back was turned.

In the end, there had been too little evidence to go on. Even Rumis had unhappily drawn a blank after carrying out his own private investigation. It could be Koul or it could be as advertised, a random rebel strike.

Cheloi wished she knew the truth of the matter. Thinking too much on it was apt to give her a headache.

Chapter Four

Day 1,503 of the War:

“Please.” Dr. Copan walked across the carpet to two chairs, gesturing to one of them. “Sit down.”

She knew what to expect, but could never stop that first reflexive look around the bare room. The walls were painted a soothing pastel shade of green-blue, matched to the darker carpet. The comfortable chairs were covered in thick black fabric. A clock, always showing the same time, was on one wall, sandwiched between two small square abstract paintings.

The doctor watched her as she sat. He was a tall man, tanned and clean-shaven with straight greying hair brushed back from a high forehead and candid blue eyes. There was nothing singular about him. He was tall but not overly so. His skin was not remarkably dark or pale. His eyes were more a muted than vivid hue. He matched his surroundings perfectly, blending into the room’s microcosm of calm.

“It looks just like your office on Tatrex,” she commented, more to fill in the silence than anything else.

“You always say that,” he smiled. “I can’t recall, is this one of our scheduled visits or a stress-related one?”

She grimaced. “A bit of both.”

Copan leisurely crossed one leg over another, letting his elbows relax on the armrests. His hands hung over the edges, long buff-coloured fingers with prominent knuckles.

“So, how goes the war?”

“Well.” She hesitated. “Slower than I would like.”

“Do you still dream of home?”

“Occasionally. Maybe only twice since my last visit.”

Her sessions with Copan were usually four to six weeks apart.

“And what was the tenor of those recent dreams?”

“Positive. Some childhood memories, holidays by the mountains. The usual.”

Copan nodded. “And how’s Koul?”

She smiled, a mixture of amusement and exasperation. “He’s a very predictable man.”

“Still fighting you?”

“I’m amazed at how much energy he has,” she admitted. “I thought the Sab-Iqur affair would have made us allies, but it hasn’t worked out that way.”

He tilted his head to one side. “Because you thought committing a war crime would strike a chord with the way he thinks. Make him respect you.”

It wasn’t a question. She and Copan had discussed the topic extensively just after it occurred, but she still felt the guilt from the decision she made that fateful evening. A hot flash of anger raced through her.

“You keep bringing up Sab-Iqur,” she protested, her voice tight. “I thought we dealt with that.”

“On the contrary, you’re the one who brought up the subject. Despite our previous discussions, it’s your subconscious that keeps reacting to the reference.”

Copan’s voice was calm and sensible, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that he was somehow judging her, condemning her for her actions. And he was right. She had been the one who initially mentioned the incident.

Incident.

She closed her eyes, cynically admiring language and its ability to deceive. “Incident” sounded like a glass of spilt liquid, or a brief squabble with a friend. But Sab-Iqur was a magnitude, a universe, beyond that.

She reopened her eyes, harnessing her anger and using it to override her guilt. “There were good reasons for doing what I did. To establish my authority in front of Koul. To simultaneously progress the Perlim war effort. And give the Menons another reason to hate the Empire.” She exhaled a deep breath but refused to look away. “All it took was one massacre.”

“It was an extreme act,” he agreed, “but not unprecedented.”

“Nothing the Fusion won’t forgive me for,” she muttered.

Copan eyed her shrewdly. “I don’t think it’s the Fusion’s forgiveness we need to worry about here.”

She had ordered footage from the village to be sent to her because it was too dangerous for her to be there in person. And she sat in the isolation of her office and watched what was sent until her eyes felt seared to charcoal. It helped, a bit, that the dead looked like marionettes. Despite her self-imposed penance, she was able to distance herself from the mass images of carnage by concentrating on their puppet-like poses. It was when those limbs appeared with no distractions—a severed leg, or a hand with rings on the dead fingers—shredded flesh, often surrounded by nothing but stained, bare earth, that the enormity of what she had done hit her. Maybe her darkest thoughts were true. Maybe she was no better than the garbage she was fighting.

Copan used the small silence to shift position. “Are you sorry you accepted this assignment?”

Every session with Copan came back to this one question. It was the axis around which her mental equilibrium spun.

“The Perlim Empire is old and corrupt,” she finally said after a heavy silence. “They don’t believe in a fairer redistribution of wealth, equal participation of their citizenry or equal access to social policy. They can afford all of it, but have made conscious decisions to do otherwise. They are a harsh feudal structure that’s outlived its usefulness.”

“That’s not what I asked,” he rebuked gently.

A small smile flitted across her features, conceding the point. “I won’t deny it’s exciting. Me, against an entire empire. While it’s critical and political to the Fusion, I have to admit I approach it more as a game. No, I’m happy enough that I’m here.”

Then something intervened and she frowned. A face in her mind’s eye.

“There’s another issue?” Copan inquired a split-second later, an eyebrow lifting.

The AI psych-kernel was quick. If this was a physical interaction, she could have masked her reactions. But “Dr. Copan”, a realistic avatar of her Fusion briefing officer, was inside her head in a very complex cognitive construct with links to several areas in her brain. The program wasn’t sophisticated enough to read her mind but it had a good idea when vulnerable thoughts surfaced and took action accordingly.

“I have a new aide,” she finally conceded.

“Long overdue,” he nodded, “considering your accident occurred two months ago.”

“Koul found her.”

Copan’s eyes brightened. “Koul? Her?” He didn’t have to ask how she felt about that. The question was stamped on his face.

“She’s very attractive.”

“Your type?”

She remembered the warm welcoming eyes, the smooth skin and high cheekbones, the full lips and delectable curves. She looked away from the psychiatrist.

“Yes. She’s my type.”

“Unfortunate. One reason we chose you for this assignment, Laisen, was because of your sexual predilections. A heterosexual woman in such a homophobic, male-dominated environment could have led to complications. Ones you, presumably, wouldn’t have caused.”

“I’m well aware of that.”

“And the fact that Koul found her is also suspicious.”

“Yes, I know that too.” Her voice was testy. Irritated.

He paused. “I’m only trying to help. However,” he sat back, “looking at it differently—with the assumption that you’ll not act recklessly, that you’ll be discreet, and maintain your cover—the Fusion has no issue with you establishing an intimate relationship with this woman. You’ve been without sexual contact for several years. As your psychologist, I consider intimacy with another person to be very healthy and grounding.” He softened his voice and she met his gaze.

“To my mind, the fact that you desire someone, find her attractive, despite Koul and despite the war, means that you’re still coping well in a very stressful and isolating environment.”

The mood in the room changed to something approaching camaraderie and she instinctively recoiled. Nothing she said to the AI Copan would be forgotten. Everything, from the words she spoke to the way she said them, would be recorded in a self-contained, removable neural patch for later analysis.

“Are you approving my wish to fornicate with a junior officer, Doctor?” she asked dryly, distancing herself from the AI’s friendliness.

He smiled and shook his head. “This isn’t the first time you’ve handled missions like this. We wouldn’t have put you here if we didn’t have the utmost confidence in your abilities. Pursue a temporary relationship with this woman. You know the risks. The Fusion won’t stand in your way.”

“No, but common sense will.”

“Koul’s involvement is a complication,” he agreed. “Do you think there’s a link between him and your aide?”

“I hope there isn’t, but Koul is as twisty as a grapple-vine. I wouldn’t put it past him.”

“Do you think he knows of your sexual preferences?”

The woman the Fusion called Laisen Carros shrugged in a gesture of ignorance.

“What will you do?” Copan asked.

“What can I do? She’s my aide, so I can’t avoid her. And getting rid of her too quickly will also tip off to Koul that something’s the matter. But, in the meantime, I’ll be watching her very closely.”

And how closely is that, my oversexed Laisen?

Copan nodded. “Sounds like a sensible plan. Good luck.”

She wished she was a soldier.

Cheloi kept her expression serious as she walked the northern edge of the camp later that morning. As a soldier, all she had to do was fight and die. It was straightforward. Simple. With dust in her face and stones in her boots, life had an immediacy that kept other, more disturbing, lines of thought at bay. Having no say in the wider strategy of war was also liberating. Soldiers bitched about everything knowing that they lacked the responsibility to do anything about it. The food, their weapons, the supplies, the weather, the accommodation, their commanders. They could do very little about any of them. Life came down very simply to two paths, live or die.

On the other hand, being a commanding officer was complex, often beyond sensibility. She had that ultimate responsibility. If not for the weather itself, then certainly for the food, the weaponry, the supplies, the accommodation, the exploitation of weather and the commands that would send living beings to their possible deaths. It was up to her to juggle conflicting priorities and strained resources in order to carry out her orders from a cadre of men who were too old, too divorced from reality, to remember what it was like to share a cramped room with nine others, breathing in each other’s air while they waited for the word that could end their lives.

And if that wasn’t bad enough, she was a traitor. She might be a Perlim officer, but she wasn’t Perlim. Instead, she was an operative for the empire’s sworn enemy, the Fusion.

A twisty grapple-vine.

She might have used that term describing Koul to Copan but it also applied to the Fusion. Even though they were rich and powerful, they never directly attacked any of their enemies. The Perlim might fear such a threat, but that was only because they didn’t know how the Fusion really operated. Why initiate a frontal attack when a giant game of strategy could be set up instead? It was like boxing a playful magician. The Fusion danced around pulling tricks out of its sleeves, threatening with one move, feinting with the other. It took more time but they won more times than they lost.

But out of all the missions she had undertaken, this had to be the most audacious yet. She had been planted by the Fusion two territory commands before and briefed on the eventual possibility of taking command of the Nineteen. How did they know she would even get here? She could have been killed at any time over the past two years and the Fusion’s entire plan for the planet would have crumbled.

Central Control could have chosen someone else to replace the then-commander of the Nineteen, an incompetent Senior Colonel by the name of Samnett.

She could have been transferred off planet.

The Nineteen could have been captured by rebels while she was still at the Thirty-Five or Eight.

Yet, here she was, exactly as predicted. In fact, a little ahead of schedule.

The mission the Perlim Empire gave her was clear: hold the Nineteen and repel any rebel attacks.

The mission the Fusion gave her was also clear: bring down the Nineteen and do it in a manner that would make rebuilding difficult, if not impossible.

It was up to Cheloi to find a way to do both before escaping with her life and, while she was pondering the contradictions, her gaze was caught by a movement to one side.

Lith. Cheloi knew that she and Rumis had been on a tour of the hospitals earlier that morning. She turned and waited as her aide approached.

“Colonel.” Lith saluted and snapped her feet together, sending small clouds of dust into the late morning air.

“Lieutenant.”

“We’ve just come back from delivering the minor citations, as ordered.”

Cheloi turned and continued walking. Lith stepped into rhythm beside her.

“And what did you think?”

“Colonel?”

“About the facilities. About the wounded.”

She imagined that she felt, rather than heard, Lith swallow.

“It was, not pleasant,” she said, her voice husky.

“Did you notice the smell?” Cheloi asked.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Lith shoot her a shocked glance, before subsiding.

“Y-yes. Almost immediately.”

“I think that’s what surprises everyone the most. That smell of infection and decay.”

She, who had been on countless planetside missions, could still be startled by it. She could only wonder about the Perlim reactions.

“Our battles have usually been space-based,” she explained, the dry ground crunching under her feet. “Vacuum, temperatures near absolute zero, massive explosions. Fatalities are high and most survivors end up with auto-cauterised wounds. The corpses, what’s left of them, are conveniently frozen by the absolute coldness of space.

“Menon IV, on the other hand,” she said, looking around, “is a hot planet, ripe for the incubation of millions of microbes. Soldiers dodge death when they’re injured, then have to dodge it again while being treated. Fatalities are lower, but we end up sending back thousands of permanently scarred soldiers to their families. In the meantime, they wait here, festering and sweating in primitive facilities, wondering if they managed to survive an artillery barrage only to die from an unchecked infection. The smell of contagion and desperation,” she said, “is…soul sapping. ”

She didn’t need to add that the more expensive options of advanced treatments and integrated AI-prosthetics were only available to senior ranked personnel. Certainly not to the average soldier or junior officer caught by the jagged skewers of combat. Those unfortunates had to make do with whatever meagre help was offered to them.

“You feel sorry for them!”

Cheloi looked at Lith, startled by the surprise in her voice. “Of course I feel sorry for them. I regret the loss of potential of every Perlim soldier.”

But that didn’t seem to be enough. Her aide searched her eyes with an intensity that was disturbing. Cheloi felt as though Lith was trying to peer into her soul.

“Lieutenant,” she frowned, trying to discourage the examination. It didn’t seem to be working. Questing eyes looked deep and Cheloi felt herself being stripped bare. A stroke of pain pierced her chest. “Lith,” she entreated softly.

That did the trick. Lith stepped back, embarrassment on her face.

“I’m sorry, Colonel. I didn’t mean—”

“No, it’s quite all right,” Cheloi interrupted. “Touring the facilities can leave anybody a bit, disconcerted.”

The silence lengthened between them before Lith cleared her throat. “I, er, originally approached you to let you know I was back from the hospital tour. And to ask if there are any duties you have for me this afternoon.”

Duties. Of course.

“You’ll find a series of instructions on my desk that need to be sent to the sector commanders. And, ah, a bottle of something to be taken to Senior Colonel Chinwoh of Territory Seventeen. I’m aware I could send it via the normal service, but I’d appreciate a more personal touch.”

“Yes, Colonel.”

“I think that should keep you occupied for the rest of the day.”

“Yes, Colonel.”

Lith turned to leave but an impulse had Cheloi calling to her. “Lieutenant?”

She ran her gaze down Lith’s face as she turned, noting how the sun lightened her hair and turned the colour of her eyes to liquid gold. Talk of the medical facilities made Cheloi’s mind run riot. She imagined Lith lying mangled and bleeding somewhere. Vivid images from Sab-Iqur superimposed themselves over the lithe figure of her driver.

“Territory Seventeen contains some rough terrain. Please make sure you come back in one piece.”

She tried to make her voice sound flippant. She even smiled, but feared the gravity in her eyes overrode attempts at levity. Lith, too, seemed to pick up on the unspoken plea below the joke.

“Of course,” she replied. After a small hesitation, she turned and strode to the nearest aboveground exit.

Cheloi watched her as she walked away, noting the gentle sway of her hips and the suppressed energy of her gait. Why had she inured herself to the pull of desire for years only to have it tug hard at her groin now? Now, when she was immersed within the most inconvenient intersection of space and time in the known galaxy? Cheloi continued her constitutional but her serene contemplative mood was gone. Shot to pieces by a pair of probing eyes and a light soothing voice.

She looked down at the tremors that suddenly began shaking her fingers and clenched her hand into a fist. The sun was bright and hot and she welcomed its warmth. That was a good start. She was on Menon IV to do a job. Once she did her job, she could go home, although that too was a puzzle. Stay on Tatrex or….

She pulled her focus back to the here and now. She promised Rumis she would petition Central Control for more updated medical facilities and, if she was quick, she could get her suggestion included with the afternoon despatches.

Happy that she had kept her demons once more at bay, Cheloi disappeared into the cool of the command complex.

Chapter Five

Day 1,504 of the War:

They had been separated into random groups for the semi-annual training exercise.

Cheloi checked the charge on her stun-rifle and took a careful look around. Most of her senior officers were on active duty throughout the Nineteen and would have to sign up for a later simulation, but that still left a group of six to slog through the current one.

It was mid-morning and the Nineteen was two territories away to her north. She had been quiet on the way down, mulling over Copan’s words from their last session, and trying to appear aloof rather than ill at ease. She was only a little surprised to see that Yinalña was as competent as Koul had intimated, guiding them smoothly by articulated-wheeler, then medium-speed skimmer, to the designated rendezvous point. Thankfully, with other people in the vehicle, it narrowed the options of her making a total fool of herself, but she couldn’t help the glances she sent to the front.

They disembarked in one of the safest spots on the planet, almost in the centre of Territory Five. The training centre was on the eastern outskirts of the small Menon city of Bul-Guymem. The city had been captured at the very beginning of the planetary campaign and the Empire had subsequently turned it into a continental relaxation hub and exercise range.

Once they disembarked at the entry point, the group was efficiently shepherded to their destination. The administrative lieutenant at the training site referred to his flimsy, reading out the group breakdowns. This time, Koul was going to be partnered with Yinalña, Rumis with Wakor and she with Colonel Prola from Red sector.

The last time they’d run the Bul-Guymem course, Koul had “killed” her and Cheloi was aching for revenge. She watched him now, his head bent as he inspected his own equipment. The sun burnished his hair to a sharp ivory. She was not above taking him out of the equation before the exercise began. Was there some way she could sabotage his rifle before they even got started? Or his sensor harness? Could she persuade Yinalña to do something? She flicked her eyes to her driver and was startled to find herself the recipient of a sharp-eyed gaze.

The younger woman looked away but it wasn’t quick enough. There was more there than the usual anxiety, Cheloi was sure of it. Nervousness yes but also a flash of steely determination, as if she had come to some kind of hard decision. What could have put such an alien expression on her aide’s face?

“We’ve changed the layout since the last time you were here,” the junior officer told them, cutting in on her thoughts, “but the goal remains the same. A minimum of two kills and capture of the white pennant means you win. All pressor fields will be dropped and harnesses initialised one second before the signal to begin. Good luck.”

Cheloi didn’t even try to look through the heavy waver of the forcefield that kept the group from the rest of the simulation exercise. Because most of the Perlim campaign had now devolved to fighting in built-up areas, she knew the exercise would mirror this. Besides, it was impossible to squint through the violent shimmer of the pressors and make out anything useful.

Prola inched closer to her as she approached the massive simulation dome and its sole entrance. She acknowledged him with a curt nod of her head. He was tall, with a square dour face and a slight hunch to his posture. He had been one of Samnett’s promotions, which made his abilities a little suspect but, so far, he had performed his duties adequately. Usefully, he also had some field experience and got on well with Vanqill. All three meant that Cheloi kept him in his position and he was transparently grateful for her largesse. Perlim commanders were notorious for playing favourites and throwing their weaker rivals and potentially disloyal subordinates to the wolves. Historically, that used to literally happen in the empire’s military-run game pits. As centuries passed, the custom became more refined, but no less deadly.

Cheloi gave him a small tight smile of impatience. All they could do now was wait for the lieutenant’s signal. Her weapon was still inactive. She tried to trigger the rifle surreptitiously, hoping someone had overlooked all the safety lockdowns, but it remained stubbornly dead. She would have to defeat Koul during the exercise rather than before.

Pity.

Only a small beep signalled that her harness was activated. The group of six surged forward through the dome’s portal, the pressor slamming back into place the moment the last of them entered. And night fell. A total night, not even relieved by the storm flashes that usually lit up the dark Menon sky. The Empire was obviously ramping up its training scenarios.

Cheloi got one truncated glimpse of a shattered town, upturned wheelers and broken multi-storied buildings before everything went pitch black. She activated her ‘scope, grabbed Prola by the arm and pointed.

“Go right,” she whispered. They scurried to a vehicle wreck on the side of a cratered road, pressing themselves against the twisted metal plates to avoid detection. Behind them, someone had already started firing.

The next time she spoke to Senior Colonel Fein Chinwoh of Territory Seventeen, she’d be giving him an earful. He had gone through his scheduled exercise two weeks before and had not mentioned the night-time scenario to her. The bastard probably had some money riding on the outcome.

As she crouched, breathing as silently as she could, Cheloi realised that her surroundings were not as pitch-black as she had first assumed. She could make out Prola’s outline. Around her, small sources of light weakly illuminated the occasional ruin dotting their course. This was good news because her ‘scope was playing up.

Prola shook his head, then tapped his own ‘scope’s small lens. He pointed his finger upwards under his chin, indicating problems. So, two ‘scopes were out of action. What were the chances?

She deactivated the night-vision and signalled Prola to do the same.

“We depend on the ‘scopes and we’re dead,” she whispered.

He nodded agreement.

“Let’s separate and head to that tall building.” She pointed to a broken tower a hundred metres away to their north, its frame silhouetted by the faint light. “I’ll meet you on the third level.”

Prola headed left, away from her, and she heard him trip over something.

Poor Perlim officers. They were too used to space-faring strike vehicles and voice-activated machinery, smooth floors and sterilised air. She veered right, tucking her rifle behind her back and felt her way forward with cautious hands and feet. For the moment, avoiding detection by the other teams was her first priority. She heard a shout and the sizzle of a stun-round far over to her left but stayed focused, gingerly twisting her boots to follow the ground’s uneven contours as she navigated through broken mortar and cement.

If she believed in an afterlife, Cheloi imagined the hell of sinners to look like the terrain she was creeping through. Religious people might want to scare non-believers and their own disciples with images of acid eating through muscle, extreme heat or cold burning flesh, creatures of nightmare consuming beings alive but, to her, nothing captured the futility of one’s existence, the utter hopelessness of any possible action, better than an eternal bomb-cratered landscape such as the one she was traversing.

Reaching the tower, she climbed the exposed emergency staircase of the designated rendezvous point, stepping softly so she didn’t disturb the crunchy dust beneath her feet any more than absolutely necessary.

She was the first to reach the third level and waited for Prola to join her. Away to the north, like the prize at the end of a maze, one bright light illuminated a stiff pennant, sending a beacon of white into the darkness. She crouched down against a crumbling wall and checked her stun-rifle again for charge.

When Prola arrived seven minutes later, he did so in a cacophony of slithers and crunches that made her wince. She signalled him to lie on his chest and they both peered over the bare concrete edge. They could see nothing for a few moments, then a glint caught Cheloi’s eye.

“There,” she whispered. Down at ground level, some scraps of light were reflecting off the rims of two night-scopes.

“Who are they?” Prola asked. “Koul?”

“Don’t know. Maybe Wakor.”

The two night-scopes remained frozen in position. Cheloi frowned. As if they weren’t being worn, but were only placed there as bait.

“I think we should—”

They caught the nimbus of a stun-rifle’s blast as it splintered the pillar next to them, sending shards of stone flying in every direction. Cheloi bit back an expletive as she hunched upwards and kicked with her feet, launching herself backwards. Prola ducked his head, covering it with his hands as another blast hit the floor a few centimetres away from him.

“Prola!” she called, all pretence at concealment gone. “Fall back. Now!”

To his credit he tried, but it was too late. The third shot caught him square in the chest as he started to rise, locking his harness and limbs, and sending him crashing to the floor.

Cheloi didn’t hesitate. She turned and ran, jumping down the flights of stairs as quickly as she could, and not resting until she had found a large heap of rubble on the ground floor to hide behind. Leaping over the broken pieces of masonry, she hunkered down and steadied her breathing.

Prola, of course, was still alive although, for the purposes of the exercise, he was now registered as a fatality. His harness had locked every movement of his body, a condition designed to stop him interfering any further in the simulation. Cheloi knew that a pick-up crew would be despatched to collect him but, in the meantime, she had to keep quiet and concealed lest she become the second casualty of the team.

She breathed in and out through her mouth carefully. Nothing moved for several minutes and she was just about to raise her head above the pile of rubble when she heard a single, soft crack. Her rifle was not in a good position. She was holding the barrel with one hand in anticipation of standing up and there was nothing else she could do but freeze. She locked her limbs, hoping that whichever party was scouring the building wouldn’t find her. The muscles of her legs started to burn, but she held her position.

She heard a slither, this time from contact on the concrete dust that liberally sprinkled the stairs. They must think she was still above them. What she could have done with a working night-scope right now. Or even a tight-repeat stun-rifle. The thought of straightening and spraying the area with fire was tempting, but the weapon she held was tuned deliberately to be single-shot and slow cycling. No help there.

When Cheloi finally heard the definite tread of two sets of feet on the level above her, she scurried out of the building and melted into the shadow of a bombed-out, single-storey shed, then slowly began heading north.

It was probably Rumis and Wakor who had spotted them on their perch. Koul was the sort of man who went directly for the target. He was single-minded that way. And, as loyal as Rumis was, Cheloi knew she couldn’t count on it during their exercise. He was predictable like that too. It was a shame they were with the Perlim. Given the right circumstances, she could easily imagine herself fighting next to Koul instead of against him.

But that was fantasy. Right now, Koul was most probably heading straight for the white pennant and, if she wanted to nail his pale hide, she should too.

She continued angling north, relying on her memory of the terrain from her previously elevated position. Once she got rid of Koul, she’d lie in wait for Wakor and Rumis.

Almost half an hour later, she approached the final obstacle between her and the white pennant. A maze. It brought all the elements of urban guerilla fighting into one compact space—the lack of clean lines of fire, the sudden possibility of hand-to-hand fighting, the disorientation.

Nimbly, she climbed one of the outer walls until she was on top of it. The tower of light at the centre of the maze provided enough illumination for her to see into quite a few of the labyrinth’s pockets. She started stepping slowly and lightly along the narrow ridge, looking for Koul. Something nagged at her mind, but she put it to one side. Nothing was as important right now as finding her second-in-command.

Ah! There he was, peering cautiously around a corner, facing away from her.

Cheloi grinned as she lifted the rifle. He was going to be completely surprised by what was about to happen. Leisurely, she lined up the rifle’s scope and let out a breath, waiting for him to pull back and present a larger target area.

Then she was hit. She knew the sensation instantly but it still didn’t numb the painful jolt that coursed through her body. Her harness locked almost every joint in her body and she toppled off the wall, her rifle spinning away from her. It was two and a half metres to the sandy floor below and she was helpless, unable to cushion her tumble. Luckily, the rigid harness took most of the impact but contact with the hard ground rocked her from teeth to toes and knocked the breath from her body.

Gasping, Cheloi moved her head out of the dust and sand and saw a pair of boots. Against painful pressure, she forced her head to angle higher.

Lith!

That was what her brain was trying to tell her. In her zeal to eliminate Koul, she had forgotten about her aide. The expression on Lith’s face was intriguing. In the quick glance she’d managed to get, Cheloi saw pride mixed with determination with an underlying thread of horror.

Cheloi could still talk, but Koul arrived at a run before she thought of anything to say. She dropped her head. It was too painful fighting the harness’ rigidity. She couldn’t see Koul but she didn’t miss the pleasant surprise in his voice.

“Well done, Lieutenant. I think I can safely say you’ve just won us the pennant.”

Cheloi scowled, but only the sand beneath her face saw it.

Koul Grakal-Ski flicked the silky white pennant onto his desk as he entered his quarters, a rare grin on his face. That would make two wins, a year of humiliation, for his superior officer in the simulation exercises. Moving to the bathroom, he stripped off his clothes and threw them in the laundry bin just by the doorway. It was already halfway full, and Koul’s expression of mirth sapped away.

Menon IV might be the gateway to his greatness, but it also demanded a sizeable dose of humiliation as payment. Even discounting the repressive presence of the Senior Colonel, he still had to bear the inconvenience of sharing an orderly with the other Sub-Colonels and Majors in HQ. He wasn’t blind. He knew the Empire was hurting in terms of recruitment numbers, but he hadn’t battled his way to his current rank only to be treated like one of his subordinates.

Under the cold stream of water in the shower cubicle, Koul washed the dirt of Bul-Guymem from his skin. He had known that Sie was aching for revenge after his last victory and had rationally concluded that his chance for a second success was slim. But neither he, nor the Senior Colonel, had counted on the Senior Lieutenant.

Koul switched off the water and towelled himself dry.

Lith Yinalña.

What a mass of contradictions that woman was. He didn’t need to be a psychic to know that she had secrets somehow connected with the Nineteen. Her desperation when she approached him in Blue sector was obvious. Normally, he treated the insistence of junior officers with the silent contempt they deserved, but there was an interesting edge of rashness in her request to see him. It wasn’t fear, even though that might have been completely understandable. Caught in the disaster of the rout, watching her commander get killed, both were enough to send any young soldier into wild-eyed hysteria. But there was none of that in Yinalña. She may have tried to play it that way but he saw through her in an instant.

There was something at Nineteen’s HQ that she wanted. Wanted badly enough to lie about the trauma of losing a beloved superior and plead for reassignment. Her request was backed up by the sector’s Sergeant Major, so she’d obviously done her work on him. And, because he had nothing better to do, no current plan to put into play, he initiated the transfer.

On a whim.

Koul dressed in a pair of loose field trousers, but kept his feet and chest bare. Barring an emergency, he had the rest of the evening to relax. Padding back to his anteroom, he locked the door and settled into a chair behind his desk.

Activating his console, he scanned the timestamps and sender identifications for the latest message from his wife, sighing when there wasn’t one forthcoming.

It was approaching Spring Festival on his home planet. Taelsa had probably taken the children to visit her parents. He missed his children. And he missed his stubborn, beautiful, aristocratic wife. She, who had the pick of men paying court to her, had instead chosen a young career officer to make her life’s mate, much to the angry disappointment of her parents.

It was because of Taelsa that he had volunteered for the Menon campaign. He knew what she had to endure because of him. He despised the open scorn his in-laws heaped on him purely because he was a man of humble beginnings and, without him around, they took out their frustrations on their daughter. She tried to gloss over the facts when she sent him a letter, but he knew all the players too well to be deceived by her casual comments. The only way he could exact revenge for their behaviour, short of killing them all in swift strokes, was by being a success. Promotion to General. Perhaps even a junior seat at Central Control. And when he achieved such prominence on a galactic scale, not merely the planetary pond her parents so condescendingly played in, he would exact revenge.

For now, however, it was still too painful to travel home on leave. Pain in seeing what his family had to endure and pain in his inability to do anything about it. In her parents’ eyes, he was still little more than the inexperienced captain who had wedded their rich daughter. The fact that he was now second-in-command to the most vital territory on the planet meant little to them. They wanted titles, nothing less. And he had made a vow not to return home until he had that title in his hand. And when he did, he’d shove it down their throats so hard….

Koul was brought back to the present by the sensation of his fingernails digging into the flesh of his palm. Slowly, he unclenched his fist and looked down at the crescent-shaped imprints embedded in his hand.

But there was nothing he could do about the situation if Sie remained in command. Under orders from certain factions of Central Control, he couldn’t even transfer away to a different territory. Every second Sie remained was one more second Taelsa and the children had to endure the scorn of her parents.

His thoughts turned back to Yinalña.

Why had she helped him at Bul-Guymem? He thought Yinalña was soft and ineffective, but she had shown a surprising edge during the exercise.

In contrast, he hadn’t been fooled by Sie. By the chats with her new driver. Their cosy walks around the camp’s inner perimeter. All this time, he had been looking for a hint of impropriety between her and her adjutant, when it was more a question of gender than looks. On an intellectual level, Koul really didn’t care about her personal proclivities. But the Empire did.

Was evidence of such an abomination enough to destroy an otherwise promising career? Perhaps. But Koul had to make sure he made his plan airtight. A mere suspicion of impropriety was not enough. The Colonel’s record was spotless. Koul had pored over it enough times to have the major entries seared into his brain. He’d get no help from that quarter. And Swonnessy was as clean as he was loyal. Maybe he could get more ammunition from Yinalña herself?

First thing in the morning, he decided, he would put a rush on the lieutenant’s detailed record. Maybe then it might take only weeks for the paperwork to get to him, rather than the usual few months. There might be something in her record he could exploit. There had to be. But, for now, there was little else to do but relax.

He put his feet up on the desk, nudging aside the pennant with his toes, and leant back in his chair. Waiting for the morning.

Chapter Six

Day 1,507 of the War:

Where was Koul when she needed him?

Cheloi ignored the tremor of her fingers as she fastened the button on her tunic’s collar and gave her hair one last cursory brush. There was no reason to be nervous. It was just dinner. So Rumis was on three-day leave and Koul was settling down to drink serious amounts of alcohol with his friend, Wakor. So what?

This was only going to be the first time she had dinner alone with her aide. What was there to worry about? She had been dropped into raging fire-zones, had to crawl through rough terrain with one broken leg, execute people at point-blank range, all without batting an eyelid. So why was her throat suddenly dry and her hands shaking? Was it because she was finally going to spend some personal time with someone she’d been watching for days? Someone who made her heart beat a little faster every time she caught sight of her?

Cheloi frowned at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. She should try thinking of something else, something that would help her focus.

Like the exercise at Bul-Guymem three days ago.

Her hands stilled.

She had seen a different Lith Yinalña that afternoon. The loss of the pennant (again) was a minor incident next to the memory of Lith’s face. There was horror, determination, even a touch of anger, but none of the wariness she was used to. Why? Why the change during the exercise? Had her aide finally come to some agreement with Koul?

Cheloi closed her eyes and took a breath. Here she was, questioning and re-questioning motivations while still lacking hard evidence to prove anything either way. Perhaps it was high time she left the business and let the Fusion use younger, harder individuals to carry out its secret aims. Despite what she had told Copan so flippantly, it didn’t feel like a game any more. She was starting to take things a little too personally, second-guess herself too much. Perhaps this was something she could mention during their next session.

The decision made, a strategy plugged neatly away in her brain, Cheloi felt once more in control. One more time, she checked her clothing then walked out of her quarters to the commander’s dining-room a few doors down the corridor.

It would have been nice to see an encroaching dusk through clear windows or watch the effects of breeze wisps as they rattled through the needle-shaped leaves of the dry-climate trees. Instead, she was stuck underground.

No matter. With any luck, maybe even within the year, she might be able to end all this and head home.

Cheloi was surprised to see Lith already present when she arrived. For the first time she noticed how cosy the room was, with its curved walls, small oval timber table and four matching chairs. The rectangular serving-table, nestled against a panel of scraped earth, closed the space even more, its timber sheen contributing to an air of welcoming intimacy.

“Lieutenant,” she greeted, and deliberately pinned a small impersonal smile on her face, “I hope you had a pleasant day?”

“It was busy, but pleasant,” Lith replied, sliding her gaze away. Her hands were clenched in front of her body, as if she was trying to stop them from doing something. The atmosphere was fraught, which was not what Cheloi wanted at all, but she couldn’t think of a way to break through the tension. She wanted to relax and appreciate the sound and look of her aide. Meanwhile, the object of her gaze looked as though she was about to be thrown into a pit of lava.

The door buzzed and two orderlies entered with a range of dishes. Lith focused on them as if grasping at a lifeline, giving Cheloi the freedom of scanning her aide’s hair and the variety of blonde tones that overlaid each other before being severely constrained and clipped back. The strands looked like spun metal, perfect and shining.

“Would you like some wine, Senior Colonel?” an orderly asked.

“Yes, why not?” It was only regulation, low-alcohol wine, but it suited the scene.

And what scene is that? The seduction of my driver?

The two glasses were filled and, with quick salutes, the two young men left.

Cheloi sat first, as was only proper, then Lith. In order to impose symmetry, the table had been set at the two narrow ends, where Cheloi could watch every nuance flitting over Lith’s face without getting distracted by her intoxicating scent.

“So tell me,” Cheloi asked as she expertly flicked open the intricately-folded serviette and laid it across her lap, “what do you think of being stationed here at HQ?”

Lith unfolded her own napkin with more deliberation. “Sometimes, at night, I can feel the vibrations from exploding shells. They get quite close, don’t they?”

Cheloi nodded while casting her gaze over the dishes on offer. “We’re in a sheltered position here, but the rebels set up random barrages trying to find us.” The noodle-based accompaniment looked particularly tempting this evening. “The Nineteen’s position on a land-bridge means we don’t have many options regarding where we can site our headquarters. Unfortunately, that makes us more vulnerable.”

She heard her own voice, sounding stiff and wooden. Discouraged, she settled into silence. Only the clink of cutlery and the scrape against dishes broke the quiet.

“Why are you here?” The question from Lith was sudden. “Why are y–we making war on these people?”

Ah.

Cheloi, still in the middle of placing some food on her plate, looked over at her. The steam shimmered Lith’s features, emphasising the sadness in those large hazel eyes. She knew in that moment that Lith had nothing to do with Koul. Because Koul, and everyone associated with him, knew exactly why they were here on Menon and were rabid in their enthusiasm for the war and its objectives.

Suddenly, in the space of a heartbeat, her entire world changed. If Lith could ask such a dangerous question, if she wasn’t allied with her treacherous second-in-command in any way, was the way open to further intimacy? Dare Cheloi grab the opportunity that was presented to her?

She put the serving spoon back on its rest and placed her plate on the table in front of her.

“That’s a very provocative question, Lieutenant,” she replied, her tone mild. “It would be grounds for treason in some of the other territories, or even in other sectors of this territory.” She ate a forkful of food. “Are you asking for a history lesson? Or is it more about my personal motivations?”

“Every Perlim who’s fighting the war is a volunteer,” Lith said. “I know that much, just as I know why I’m here. I was wondering why you were, Colonel?”

It was an impudent question, no doubt about it, but it tickled Cheloi’s sense of humour.

“I’m good at what I do,” she explained without rancour. “It’s how I live my life. So my masters sent me here to complete a mission and I’m doing that to the best of my ability.”

“I see.” She paused for a second. “So it’s just a job for you?”

“I’m a career officer. This is my career.”

Lith took a sip of wine and Cheloi watched her throat as she swallowed, the slight undulation as the liquid coursed down to her stomach.

“But what about the deaths?”

Cheloi shrugged. “Every Perlim soldier is a volunteer, as you say. They know that war is a bloody business. Nobody forced them to join up.”

A part of her wondered why Lith had requested assignment on Menon if she was so ambivalent about the campaign. There were many other options for young military officers throughout the galaxy without being nailed down on a hostile backward planet along one of the Empire’s thin fingers of territory. The old suspicious Cheloi would have dug into this a bit deeper, but the new Cheloi was intoxicated on the potential of Lith’s presence. She realised with a start that she was prepared to overlook a lot, perhaps more than she should, in order to slake her thirst.

Lith was persistent. “But what about the people on this planet, the massacres that have taken place….”

She meant, of course, Sab-Iqur, or events very much like it. Would the name of that village end up pursuing Cheloi across the galaxy, screaming vengeance in her ears every night? It was that thought that made her voice a little brusque.

“I have my orders, Lieutenant, just as you do.”

“Of course,” the junior officer replied quickly, dropping her eyes. “I understand.”

The conversation moved to general topics after that, but Cheloi’s focus was sharp.

Lith’s eyes were wide and bright, darting often to her dinner partner across the table, her dark eyelashes fanning seduction. There was a flush along her cheekbones, a hot invitation. She tried to hide it, to keep the self-conscious waver from her voice, but the effort was futile, as if she was straining to keep back a tide of water with a wall made of tissue paper.

Lith didn’t want to like her. Didn’t want to feel this attraction. Whatever the reasons, the outward signs of a fierce internal battle were obvious, and Cheloi watched them closely as she ate. What would happen if one of those restraints broke? If sheer determination wasn’t enough to hold back the chemistry between them? Would the resulting conflagration consume them both?

Something along the same lines must have occurred to Lith, because she finished her meal with hurried gulps and stood up abruptly.

“Thank you, Senior Colonel. I should go.”

And she made a move towards the door. Towards Cheloi.

There were so many reasons why it was a bad idea to pursue beautiful Lith Yinalña. It would put the equivalent of a loaded weapon right in Koul’s hands. It was bad policy to fraternise with people under one’s command. It would dent her credibility as a military commander. It might distract her at a critical moment. It might destroy her cover and end up killing her.

There was only one reason why it was a good idea. It wasn’t because she was lonely. It wasn’t because she yearned for the touch of flesh against flesh. It wasn’t because commanding entire battalions to their deaths, eliminating whole communities, was ripping her to shreds.

It was simply because she wanted to.

That want drove her out of her chair almost as fast as Lith, stopping the woman before she cleared the length of the table. The food, the wine, was forgotten.

“I….” Cheloi tried to find the right words. Failed.

Lith licked her pink-brown lips, making the fullness glisten. Cheloi could breathe in her scent, a slight floral note interlaced with the clean musk from her skin, overlaid with the aroma of young, red wine. They were only centimetres apart.…

There was time enough to pull back, something deep inside told Cheloi, time to retreat from a commitment she might later regret. The seed of doubt took hold, tugging her away from the brink, just as the vibrations from a detonating shell hit them. It must have been close, because even the table rattled, knocking the cutlery and plates against each other with metallic clatters. Lith was thrown forward.

And, with her arms now full, Cheloi had no choice but to kiss her.

To finally touch someone, to feel warm living skin beneath one’s fingers, against one’s lips, was wonderful. Cheloi felt Lith stiffen then yield to the embrace.

Cheloi breathed deep, savouring the myriad scents that comprised Lith. Her perfume, the slight fragrance of shampoo rising from stroked hair, dusty perspiration, and the unique enveloping smell of her. She heard the smallest groan, as if pulled reluctantly from the depths of Lith herself then, to her surprise, Lith took the initiative. Holding Cheloi’s face in both hands, she returned the kiss deeply and passionately.

Cheloi suppressed a sigh when Lith pulled away. Their eyes locked, bitter chocolate against warm caramel. Both of them were breathing heavily, but the lieutenant’s face registered shock. Cheloi wanted to calm her, stroke her cheek and reassure her, but she was too slow. Without a word, the junior officer tore her hands away, wrenched herself from Cheloi’s embrace and fled the room, leaving the commander to lean unseeing against the wall, thumping the earth with a half-clenched fist.

What have I done what have I done what have I done!

Lith locked the door to her quarters with a trembling hand and collapsed against the solid panel, boneless.

“What have I done?” she whispered aloud.

She had known of Rumis’ and Grakal-Ski’s absence from dinner that night. She should have thought up an excuse herself. She knew it would be only her and the Colonel in a small enclosed space. Her and the woman who was coming to dominate more of her waking thoughts. Her and the woman who appeared so self-contained and impervious…yet displayed a touching vulnerability at times.

“I had to tempt fate,” she muttered. “I had to act tough.”

She stopped, cast a panicked look at the door and silently swore, afraid that the Colonel would pursue her to her quarters. She moved away and sank onto the edge of her bed.

So many thoughts swirled through her head. Too many.

Nils.

What would he say? He and Lith were sometime lovers as well as being co-conspirators. They had met when Lith was breaking up with her lover at the time. A woman. While the relationship with Onu had been pleasant, Lith felt life had slipped into schedule. It had become boring and predictable. Stifling.

Not that her parents minded the split. Being old-school Perlim, they tried hard to accept the open sexuality of their daughter, but couldn’t. Women pairing with men was the natural order of things. Women pairing with women was something they considered to be a Fusion aberration. For their daughter to do both…! When, a couple of years ago, Onu drifted out of Lith’s life and Nils drifted in, they couldn’t hide their relief.

If only they knew. It was her connection with Nils, not the more bombastic Onu, that had put her on Menon IV. And now she was trading kisses with her enemy. What would Nils think of her, locked in an embrace with the notorious Perlim commander of Territory Nineteen? Sie was the person he despised above all others, blamed above all others for his own plight. She tried to bring Nils’ image to mind. To remember his laughing amber eyes, a match to her own, slim athletic build and brown shaggy hair….

Lith shook her head. It wouldn’t come. All she could think about was—

The Colonel.

What insanity made her think she could control the obvious attraction that had sparked between them? She had been doomed from the second she stood up and faced the Nineteen’s commander, from the moment she realised it was a sentient being she was dealing with and not the monstrous construct she had imagined.

What Cheloi Sie had wakened in her was an inferno next to what she had felt for Onu. Or Nils.

It was Sie’s eyes, with their lambent hint of sombre melancholy, that melted her resistance; Sie’s voice, dark and calm, that mesmerised her. Lith wanted to talk and laugh with Rumis, go drinking with him, play sport with him. But the one body she wanted in bed, naked next to hers, was the Colonel’s.

Lith tried to hush the moan emerging from her throat but failed.

She had spent almost a year in preparation for this very position and had been more fortunate than even Nils had predicted. Drawn into the little group of refugee planners hiding in one small corner of the Fusion, she had agreed with their aims, and with the summation of the Perlim Empire as a brutal galactic anachronism. Their thought of the Perlim as a corrupt institution was vindicated by the small bribes they paid to help set up Lith as a junior officer of the empire’s Ground Forces. She spent six months training, practising and ridding herself of any Fusion-tainted accent, then she “volunteered” for the Menon campaign, working her way closer and closer to her target. Territory Nineteen. Even Nils, in their private moments together, had not expected such success.

And here she was.

She had studied Cheloi Sie in particular, memorising the Colonel’s biography and military record, and she had studied the minute details of the Nineteen, Sie’s command. It all seemed so straightforward that last week on Laeyek Omni B, where she and Nils had snatched hurried moments of intimacy amid the final lecturing, briefings and bribes, hiding from both the Empire and the Fusion. And wasn’t that the greatest irony of all? That the Fusion, who believed in equality and liberty for all, should be the one body who failed them.

It was all the Fusion’s fault, Lith thought resentfully. If only the Lower Convergence had given some time to the petitions of the Free-Perlim Council, then she wouldn’t be here, trying to contain her desire for an inappropriate woman. Was the Council ignored because they were only a few hundred strong in a galactic union of billions? Did their lack of size mean they didn’t have the necessary credentials or connections? Whatever the reason, the dearth of any meaningful result regarding the rest of the wretched people still caught in the raptor’s clench of the Perlim Empire caused Nils, ex-Perlim himself, to break from the rest of the hapless Council. If nobody else had the courage to even begin chipping away at the monstrous edifice, he declared dramatically, then he would. And he formed his own splinter group, with the one overriding objective of bringing down the Empire. Single-handedly if necessary.

Lith thought that was what she had fallen in love with. He spoke so convincingly that she believed every word that came out of his mouth. He told her that she was the obvious candidate to infiltrate the hated Empire and identified Menon IV as the best location for subversion. He informed her that as a junior officer, as well as being a woman and therefore invisible in the male-dominated Perlim military circles, she would be the perfect saboteur. All they needed was the perfect target.

It appeared no facet of the situation was beyond Nils’ planning abilities and winning rhetoric. Because she admired him, because he spoke so persuasively, because she wanted to do something rather than watch her parents continue to sink in misery-riven nostalgia, she was convinced. She threw herself wholeheartedly into his brilliant strategy.

But that was then, when the excitement of her covert mission still ran hot through her veins. When she still had Nils’ fiery looks and brave words to keep her going. But now….

Now Nils was far away and Lith couldn’t even remember his features clearly. Was the colour of his eyes more brown or green? She couldn’t remember. And what did that say about her? Was she shallow and fickle, attracted only to the nearest strong personality? Did that explain her attraction to Colonel Sie?

“She has blood on her hands,” Lith whispered, trying to bolster her own sense of righteousness. “She’s more than a killer. She’s a psychopath.”

As a member of a militant, breakaway faction of the Free-Perlim Council, Lith needed to remember her mission. She had to focus, and keep all other emotional thoughts at bay. She should concentrate on what she managed to do at Bul-Guymem, build on that, and ensure that nothing else interfered with why she was here. Not pity, not compassion, and certainly not lust.

Because, no matter how attractive she found the Colonel, no matter that the kiss they exchanged earlier in the evening was one of the most tender, filled with the most promise, of any she had ever experienced, she could not run away from the fact that she was not here to fuck Senior Colonel Cheloi Sie.

She was here to kill her.

Chapter Seven

Day 1,511 of the War:

“Why did you join the Covert section of the Fusion’s political arm?”

“We’ve covered this before, Doctor.”

“Humour me, please.”

Why did she think that talking to an AI construct would be any better than speaking to a real person? Maybe it was because she expected to discuss things once, have the artificial wetware record every word, then move on. She should have known better.

“You’ve seen my psych profile, haven’t you, Doctor?”

“You know I have.”

“Then doesn’t that tell you, far more efficiently than I could, why I joined?”

“It only tells me half the story, Laisen. It tells me why we chose you. It doesn’t tell me why you chose us.”

“Is it really that important?”

Copan seemed to consider it as he pursed his lips. “Yes, I think it is.” He tilted his head to one side. “You belong to a family of five, do you not?”

Just like the real Copan, the virtual Copan was relentless. She sighed.

“Yes.” She reeled off the facts as if reciting them from an e-pad. “Two parents, two older brothers. One brother is on the Galactic Trading Board on Anvil. The other is Chief Examiner for an artisan guild, stationed on Roamer Shun. My parents are semi-retired and holding academic posts on the Floks Nine Semi-Dyson.”

“None of your family has a military background?”

“None that I recall.” Her voice was dry.

“It’s strange in a way,” he mused. “With your skills, and your family’s leaning toward service, I thought a career with the Fusion military would have been a more obvious choice. Instead, you chose the Fusion’s covert arm where you’ve been an operative for,” he hesitated, “twenty years, is it?”

“Twenty-one.”

“Just so. Twenty-one. In that time, if you had joined the Fleet, you would have been promoted to a comfortable desk job by now. Instead, you’re still here, in a very hands-on role, risking your life for something you admit you regard more as a game. And with,” he smiled, “an annoying AI program to keep you company.”

She answered his smile with one of her own. “You are annoying, Doctor. Don’t be in any doubt about it.”

He acknowledged her comment with a gracious nod. “So what do you find attractive about such a position? Is it the autonomy? The variety of missions? Are you happy to be away from your family for such extended periods of time?”

“I get on well enough with my family,” she replied easily. “We’ve always been an independent lot, so I see them as much as any of us would want.” That wasn’t strictly true, but Laisen glossed over the thought. “The autonomy? Yes, I suppose that’s an attraction. Maybe,” she blinked a couple of times and tried to get her thoughts in order, “maybe I like it because it’s the ultimate challenge. Every mission is like a puzzle I’ve been tasked to solve. The question is, can I solve it and still get out in one piece?”

“But there are other challenges in the galaxy. Surely you don’t need to feel you have to constantly put your life on the line in order to accomplish something meaningful?”

She knew where this was leading. She had already built up a certain type of reputation within the covert arm. If there was any dirty work to be done, any potential for remorseless execution, nobody could do it better than Laisen Carros. Maybe twenty years ago, at the beginning of her career, she was an agent like any other. But then something happened. Something that flipped her from a cautious agent to someone relentless. If Copan continued this line of questioning, it was inevitable her record would be discussed. And that would wind its way to Eys. She didn’t want to talk about Eys. The Fusion, Copan, knew about her, but the vault that contained her innermost feelings for the woman she’d once loved was locked tight against Copan’s probing. She would happily even discuss Lith, but not Eys. Not yet.

“You mentioned the military,” she cut in. “Can I tell you why I didn’t join the Fleet, Doctor?”

“Please do.”

“Have you ever treated Fleet personnel?”

“A few.”

“Believe me when I tell you that they’re all the same. Whether they’re Fusion, Nedron, Braan, they just can’t keep a secret.”

“Secret?” He looked puzzled.

“It’s the same here with the Perlim Ground Forces. There isn’t a military structure anywhere in the universe that’s airtight. They leak news, gossip and classified orders the way an antique spacesuit leaks atmosphere. When I’m on the opposite side of a proper army, I try to take advantage of it. When I’m in one, it irritates the hell out of me. If I had joined the Fleet, I’m sure I’d be in a very comfortable position right now, but only if I could weld shut the mouths of every subordinate under my command.”

Copan chuckled. “An astute observation.”

She shook her head. “It’s an impossible situation, being placed in a position of weakness through no fault of your own. Every indiscretion, real or imagined, gets passed along, dissected, commented upon, exploited. But here, on a covert mission, the only person who can betray me is myself.”

He sobered. “And that’s a very real possibility. This is the longest mission you’ve ever been on and only the fifth time a psych-kernel has been inserted in an operative’s brain.”

And the time Copan referred to, the years she’d already spent on Menon IV, didn’t include the months she spent waiting for the opening in the first place. It took almost three years before the Fusion found a good enough substitution for her. Three years while she slogged through Perlim language and culture, history and military tactics, absorbing as much information as she could on the prominent political and military players so she couldn’t be tripped up. The last year was the worst because it came down to nothing more than revision and waiting. Waiting until her assigned target could be killed under the right circumstances. Until the secret document traces could ensure proper revision. Until a capable officer with a solid combat record by the name of Cheloi Sie could be replaced by an impostor who would take the Fusion’s objectives to the next level.

If the real Cheloi Sie had died prematurely during the planning stages of the switch, Laisen would have been stood down and someone else closer to the next-best target would have been ramped up and the cycle repeat itself. This was no action from a young and impetuous conglomerate. If there was one thing she could always depend on, it was the thoroughness of Fusion thinking.

From the moment she had been stealth-displaced into the Thirty-Five, all communication with the Fusion ceased, as much for her own protection as for theirs. But for such an extended mission, they didn’t just drop her in and forget her. They knew there would be crushing pressure coming from many sides. So they added a neural psych-kernel to give her an outlet for her thoughts, instructed her on how to activate the wetware in her sleep and, after repeatedly asking her to confirm she wanted to be a part of this, altered her, sent her in and wished her the best of luck.

There was only one circumstance under which she would contact the Fusion again, and that was when she was ready for extraction. The signalling hardware, crafted from bone matrix, was concealed in her left wrist and programmed to burn out in fifteen seconds, after it completed sending three brief bursts of location information into the ether. From the moment she sent the signal, the time to rescue was measured in minutes. She didn’t know how the Fusion managed to pinpoint and remove someone so quickly but they had never failed, never in her twenty-one years of field work.

Days ago, she thought she would ask Copan about the likelihood of finally retiring. But the idea of extraction brought up a subject she felt was much more immediate.

“You’re sure I can’t take anyone away with me?”

She was thinking of Rumis.

“Major Swonnessy belongs to a different society, Laisen.” The real Copan would have been irritated with repeating himself so many times, but the wetware version was relentlessly polite and understanding. Maybe that’s why Laisen kept bringing up the subject. The virtual Copan never seemed to know when to say enough was enough, and she still harboured the faint hope she could talk it around to her point of view.

“I know it’s very difficult to live a life for several years and not become attached to the surrounding people, but you must resist. Perhaps after this conflict is over, you can consider approaching him, but I would still caution you to leave such contact for a few years until he’s had a chance to adjust to a new life and create some mental distance between himself and his past. A personality can become dangerously volatile if confronted by a shocking revelation so soon after a period of extended trauma.”

Extended trauma. That’s how Copan described the bloodbath of Menon. The phrase levelled everyone to the status of victim, whether they were Perlim, Menon…or Fusion.

“And I can fuck Lith but not fall in love with her?” she asked with a twist of her lips.

He nodded, not the least bit offended. “That would be the best strategy.”

She leant back in her chair, clearly dissatisfied. The simulation was so complete, she heard the frame creak as she settled her weight into it.

“At least the Fusion is doing something about the Perlim situation,” Copan said into the morose silence.

Was the program bringing up small talk because it felt sorry for her?

She flicked her hand in a nonchalant gesture. “We have a lot of refugees from along the Laeyek border,” thoughts of Lith surfaced momentarily, “but they’re being treated properly enough as it is, without needing to know any more.” She suppressed a snort. “If only the Free-Perlim Council had an idea of what we were really up to.”

During her training, she had studied the Council, one of the smallest and noisiest of all the Fusion’s many warmongering parties. Their oldest members had fled to the Fusion three generations ago, but they had never fully assimilated. Regardless of how long ago they had fled the Empire, they all wanted the same thing. An all-out war. Perlim versus Fusion, no matter that it was singularly ill advised. The displaced community kept demanding military action, as if every social injustice could be erased through state-sponsored murder, and the Fusion kept ignoring it.

The Free-Perlim Council’s youth arm was particularly strident. She recalled a handsome firebrand…Nees? Nuss? Nils! Much to her surprise, he had dropped out of the organisation just as she had been deployed to Menon. She remembered catching vids of him at various public meetings and had read his fervent, but ultimately unsuccessful, submissions to the Lower Convergence. It was strange because he had such passion and energy. After watching the way he spoke about the Perlim situation and listening to his grievances, she expected him to be spouting vigorous war speeches till his death-bed. He had that sort of look about him. Then click! He disappeared.

Maybe he had grown sick of advocating war. Maybe, she thought dryly, it showed that she was not as good at reading people and their motivations as she thought she was.

She looked at Copan. “You’re trying to distract me, aren’t you? Getting me to think about something else besides Rumis.”

“Is it working?”

“Yes.”

“Then, in that case, yes. I’m trying to distract you.”

His face was serious, but his eyes twinkled.

Day 1,512 of the War:

Lith cleared her throat. In one hand she held the Colonel’s uniform, recently laundered with less stiffening. In the other, she held the late afternoon’s despatches. In both, she held her nervously beating heart.

It was five days since her dinner with the Colonel, and she had thought of little else but the kiss they exchanged. After that night, she had wanted to stay away from her superior as much as possible, and was still amazed at how circumstances conspired to exceed her expectations. The life of a commanding officer’s aide was a frantic one of visits to other sectors, hospitals and administration centres; double-checking of requisition and delivery forms; laundry and driving duties; all on top of whatever else an aide was specifically requested to do by his or her commanding officer. And Sie herself had been absent for two days, occupied by an Intelligence workshop that had been held at the Seventeen.

Thank the universe that subsequent meals had been with company, and she had even missed one of those when Rumis took her out for a relaxing evening at a bar he frequented in Territory Three.

Rumis.

She supposed she would have to do something about him too. At the moment, she was using him as a shield against the Colonel. He was attractive, funny and protective and deserved better than the crumbs of attention she was throwing him. Even Nils had garnered more of her undivided consideration and she was starting to regret giving him so much of her time. What had seemed so simple on Laeyek Omni B had turned completely upside down on Menon IV. Her parents had painted their own unhappy past in strokes of widest black and Nils had not been any better. How strange, then, to be treated with a casual courtesy by most of the soldiers she met. Rumis had extended more friendship and solidarity to her than most of the other members of the Free-Perlim Council. And as for the Colonel….

She pressed the access button and heard a distracted command to enter just as the door slid open.

The Colonel was not alone. She was seated behind her desk, furiously perusing something on an e-pad. Rumis was standing in front and to one side of her. He turned at Lith’s entrance and a broad smile split his face.

“Lieutenant,” he greeted.

“Major, Colonel,” she murmured. Sie accorded her only the briefest of looks before turning back to her paperwork.

Maybe she should hand over the reports and laundry and escape before she got herself into any more trouble. Yes, that was probably for the best.

“I’ll put your clothes,” she began, but Cheloi interrupted her.

“Please stay.” Her eyes were still scanning words. “I have some rough words I’d like you to pass along to the camp laundry.”

Lith saw Rumis grin and wiggle his eyebrows at her. The Colonel had a reputation for not sparing her words when something displeased her.

“Yes Colonel,” she answered.

“Rumis, it looks like you and I will need to pay Colonel Twol a visit next week. I think he’s being a bit too conservative in his sector’s tactics.”

“I’ll arrange it, Colonel. What time would suit you?”

“Try to make it a morning visit. The guest quarters in Yellow sector aren’t very comfortable.”

“Yes Colonel.”

“Dismissed.”

Cheloi looked up then, sketching her adjutant a quick, nominal salute and watching as he passed next to her aide.

“The latest holo-vid will be showing down in Five the day after tomorrow. Care for an evening out?”

Lith swung her gaze from the Colonel to Rumis. “Er, yes. If I’m free. That would be nice.”

“Let me know. I’ll collect you at eighteen hours if you are.” He saluted again and left.

Silence filled the room.

“He likes you,” Cheloi finally commented, her expression bland.

Lith felt ridiculous standing there with her hands full. “I like him too,” she replied, a little defensively.

The Colonel lifted an eyebrow and made an airy gesture with her hand. “In that case, maybe after the war….”

Lith stared at her. What was she trying to suggest? That after the war she and Rumis could settle down and play happy families? She was confused. Had she imagined that impassioned kiss they exchanged? She jiggled the uniform.

“You had something you wanted me to tell the laundry section?” She hoped her voice didn’t sound as desperate as she felt.

The Colonel got up. In deference to the fact that it was late evening, her jacket was partially unbuttoned exposing a neck of smooth brown skin. Lith looked away and felt rather than saw the reports and clothes being taken from her. Part of her wanted to run away. Another part wanted to jump headlong into those arms. She remained frozen to the spot.

She heard the Colonel disappear into her private quarters, and only turned her head when she returned, watching as the commander leant against the edge of the desk. Her eyes caught and locked with Lith’s.

“If you want, you can lock the door.”

Lith’s breath stopped in her throat. Her face flamed.

Chapter Eight

Cheloi could have easily disappeared into a hole in the ground. How could she have even intimated that Lith and Rumis set up home together? She had said it to watch for a reaction, paradoxically half-disappointed when she saw nothing but confusion. If she only knew the power she held, Lith would realise that she was the flame and Cheloi nothing but the hapless moth.

Copan’s words echoed in her head. Have a no-strings affair with her driver? As if it were that easy. Already the Perlim woman had entranced her, to the point that Cheloi could barely spend a handful of minutes together without the thought of her driver intruding. Lith’s sense of energy, her enthusiasm, was out of character in a war zone. It made her stick out like a candle in a dark bombed out landscape. Rumis recognised those qualities too. Was this then, as much a race against her adjutant as herself? Would she win? And, more importantly, what would happen if she did?

If she stretched out her hand, she could touch her driver.

The moments stretched between them, until Lith spun abruptly.

She’s going to leave, Cheloi thought in panic. She’ll walk out.

I’ve lost.

Lith flicked the lock on the door and turned. Her expression was mutinous. “Now what?”

Cheloi smiled, swallowed and tried to look nonchalant. Suddenly, she felt like a lovesick teenager again.

“Would you like something to drink? I have some tawny life-water I keep on hand.” Her lips quirked. “For medicinal purposes.”

“I need something,” Lith admitted curtly, deliberately relaxing her shoulders.

Cheloi nodded and walked over to the bureau, pouring two glasses of smooth brown-red liquid out of a bottle she kept behind closed doors. She carried them to Lith and held out one.

“What should we drink to?” Lith asked, and Cheloi could see from the way her hand trembled that she was a lot more nervous than she appeared.

“How about, possibilities?”

“All right,” Lith said, a beat too quickly. “To possibilities.”

The Perlim life-water burnt fire from Cheloi’s throat to her stomach. If she ever got out of this alive, she had to find a supplier willing to smuggle the drink across imperial lines. The Fusion had nothing like it. When she drained her glass, she put it down on the desk behind her.

“What do we do now?” Lith asked, her voice a little breathless.

Cheloi’s body thrummed. “What would you like to do?”

Lith moved closer, placing her glass on the desk, stepping forward so her feet were on either side of Cheloi’s. She took a deep breath. Her voice faltered only slightly. “I think I would like you to kiss me.”

This time it was Cheloi who sandwiched Lith’s head between her hands, closing her eyes and drinking deeply from her sweetness. The scent of the woman was enough to make her forget Menon, forget Sab-Iqur and why she was here in the first place.

The kiss was as special as the first time, as intoxicating, as encompassing. Cheloi spread her legs apart, forcing Lith’s to open even more, eventually tumbling her blonde driver into her lap. Her fingers were quick and deft as they unbuttoned her aide’s tunic, then they were sliding underneath, capturing the warmth of a full breast in one hand, squeezing it gently.

Lith, fallen sideways, could do little other than offer herself to Cheloi, closing her eyes as Cheloi’s questing hand stroked her body leaving trails of fire in its wake. The colonel set her on her feet again, peeling off the tunic then lifting the undervest up to her collarbone, bunching the soft black material. Lith’s breasts, unfettered by material, were firm and round and Cheloi wanted to dive straight into them, to lose herself in their globular softness, and breathe in nothing but pure, unadulterated Lith.

Slowly, she kissed and licked the warm skin in short strokes. One of her hands was on Lith’s back, fanned out, pushing her forward. The other caressed smooth skin. Under her fingertips, she felt her aide trembling, each movement of her mouth or thumb sending a shiver through the lithe body she held. After many minutes, she lifted her head.

“I want you,” Cheloi whispered hoarsely. “I want to fuck you.”

“Yes,” Lith sobbed brokenly.

“I want you in my bed, your hands on my body.”

Lith’s head fell back as she offered Cheloi her throat. “Yes. Whatever you want.”

It was a handful of steps to the bedroom and Cheloi wasted none of them, efficiently stripping Lith of the rest of her uniform before divesting herself of her own clothes.

How many nights had she dreamt of this? It felt so barren and lonely gasping out a climax in the isolation of her room and now, finally, she had Lith in bed with her, rubbing against her like an impatient cat.

For the first time since she landed on the dustbowl that was Menon IV, Cheloi was feeling joyous. Mindless pleasure was replacing the crushing pressure, distracting her from the politics of her assignment and the cynicism of seeing body after body thrown into the planet’s death-mill.

Lith’s tongue and teeth, moving low on her body, were insistent and Cheloi couldn’t contain the cry that seared her throat as a climax overtook her and she convulsed on its compulsive and persistent waves.

It grew in pleasure until it tipped the balance into pain, and Cheloi quickly moved away, smiling dazedly down into self-satisfied pools of searing amber.

“It’s been too long,” she panted, a little embarrassed by how easily she had succumbed to Lith’s caresses. “What would you like me to do?” She was eager to please.

“Just hold me,” Lith told her. “Can you do that?”

Surprised, Cheloi nodded. Pulling Lith further up on the mattress, she slipped sideways between Lith and the wall, wrapping arms and legs around the other woman and holding her close. She liked the way Lith fitted, tight up against her, her hips curving into Cheloi’s flat abdomen, her breasts resting against Cheloi’s forearm and body.

Idly, Cheloi began running a finger over Lith’s flesh, forming little circular flourishes on her smooth brown skin. She felt her aide’s breathing quicken and suppressed a smile, increasing the urgency of her strokes as she concentrated on one small nub of aroused flesh.

Lith’s eyelids flew open and her body lifted off the bed, a cut-off cry filling the room. Cheloi finally granted her surcease, letting the aftershocks of climax tremble against the both of them.

“I’m sorry it was so quick,” Cheloi said quietly after a few minutes of ragged breathing. “Next time, I’ll take it slower.”

Lith tried to chuckle, but it remained a choked sound stuck in her throat. “I, it still felt good,” she said and her voice was husky with the aftermath of sex.

She wanted her driver again but knew she shouldn’t. Her grip on Lith tightened for a moment, then she relaxed her hold.

“It’s late. You have to go.”

“Yes.” Lith swallowed. “I know.”

The filtered air of Cheloi’s underground bedroom shouldn’t have felt so cold against her naked flesh, but chill emptiness filled the void when Lith rose. She was amused by her driver’s modesty as Lith turned her back and put her clothes on.

“You may want to go into the bathroom and wash your face,” Cheloi suggested gently. “And head back to your quarters as quickly as possible.”

Lith nodded and did as suggested, sluicing her face with a stream of water before donning her tunic. She hesitated after retying her hair into its usual pristine bun, pausing as she took in Cheloi’s still naked figure on the bed.

“I’d…better go.”

Oh, how Cheloi wanted to rip the clothes off her again and spend the next week dipping into Lith’s lithe body, only surfacing for food and the barest minimum of rest. But this wasn’t Ozca Secundus II, or any other resort planet. They were both on Menon IV. Even Cheloi’s friends weren’t really her friends.

“Go back quickly,” she repeated, “straight to your quarters.”

After a terse acknowledgement, Lith left.

Day 1,514 of the War:

It’s just a physical infatuation. No, it’s lust. No, it’s…something more.

The words on the screen danced in front of Lith’s aching eyes. Just thinking about the last two nights made her cheeks burn and the ache in her groin start anew. She couldn’t blame the Colonel for their mutual passion. No coercion had been necessary. No sly shuffle of blame could occur.

Lith grimaced at the columns of text and numbers that slowly scrolled past her. When had bitter chocolate become her colour of choice? For eyes that seemed to hold the entire galaxy in its dark depths. Too shadowed at rest, too cutting at play. There had been nothing deceptive or elusive about Nils, the Fusion lover she’d left behind. He lived on the outer layers of his skin, every emotion flashing across his face with the speed of a laser strike. Nils was crafted for the grand gesture, from the time she’d seen him at one of the Free-Perlim Council rallies to the time he’d thrown the gauntlet down to the Council demanding action and been rebuffed.

She couldn’t imagine Sie operating that way, risking success on a group of people she couldn’t control. In fact, observing the Senior Colonel had shown her what a shrewd operator the woman was, able to sidestep potential objections, negotiate compromises and defuse potentially explosive situations with crisp efficiency. A smile quirked Lith’s lips. It was often instructional, as well as amusing, watching the Colonel in action at the general staff meetings, on those rare occasions she had been given permission to attend.

Compared to Nils, Cheloi Sie was another species completely, both figuratively and literally. She was quietly relentless where Nils was grandiose, silent where he was strident. She was like a cool dark pool of water. Calm and mysterious, with her obsidian-tinted eyes. A Perlim commander, surrounded by thousands of loyal soldiers willing to die at her command, yet so distinctly, so utterly, alone. When she looked at Cheloi Sie, she didn’t see the Butcher of Sab-Iqur any more. She saw her lover.

Current lover. Future lover?

Just the thought made Lith groan and she clicked to the second interminable set of expense records.

She had volunteered for Menon IV to kill the very person she now found so fascinating. How could she even contemplate delivering the fatal shot to a person she had shared such intimacies with? But if she didn’t do this, how could she face herself in the mirror?

Her head ached and Lith reached up to rub her temple, her fingers pulling at the flesh near her eyebrows.

“Is something the matter, Lieutenant?”

The voice behind her, as chill and grey as its owner, made her jump and turn hastily in her chair.

“No, Colonel, not at all.”

Grakal-Ski looked down at her with a paternal look of concern that didn’t fool her for an instant. “It’s just that you look, discomfited.”

Lith pulled her hand from her face and looked at it as if she’d never seen it before, then smiled nervously.

“Sorry, sir. It’s just a headache. I’m sure it will go away soon.”

But the Colonel wasn’t to be placated so easily. He leant forward, focusing on the screen. Lith cringed away as subtly as she could. “What is this? Doing the monthly audit?”

“Major Swonnessy thought I’d appreciate the exercise,” she said. It was easier to frown at the numbers than at the territory’s second-in-command. Better for her long-term health too.

“Hmmm. While I appreciate delegation, I wonder if the Major is adding unnecessarily to your duties. I thought you would have already had your hands full.”

Coming so soon on the feet of her erotic thoughts of the Senior Colonel, Lith couldn’t help the goggling look she threw at the screen.

“It’s, er, no problem, Colonel. I’m, er, interested in what happens at HQ. I believe Major Swonnessy had the best of intentions.”

The silence forced her to turn around…and be impaled by a grey gaze boring into her like a ragged corkscrew.

“I’m sure we’re all very happy you accepted the position as the Senior Colonel’s aide,” he said, his voice smooth.

Lith didn’t have a choice, she had to acknowledge his hand in this. “Only because of you, Colonel. I’d like to thank you again for recommending me for this position. It’s been, more than I expected.” Her lips were dry and nervous but Lith resisted the temptation to wet them with her tongue. The puckered flesh pulled at her mouth until she was sure it had stretched into some kind of grimace.

“Always happy to help the chain of command,” he replied with one of his usual insincere smiles. With a brief nod, he moved away.

Day 1,516 of the War:

The craziness had to stop.

The general staff meeting had finished for another week, but Cheloi felt discomfited and ill at ease. Her attention was slipping, her focus fuzzy. In any other commander, that was the ideal recipe for a mistake. For her, it could prove fatal.

She and Lith had met again in her quarters last night. And the preceding two nights. Once more, they had indulged their passions but, again, there was no pleasurable lingering aftermath. Like a bomb, the minutes they stole together ticked away in the back of Cheloi’s head, making her sharply aware of how much time they could spend with each other, and how much more they could grab before it started looking suspicious. The one, the only, factor she had working in her favour was that the Perlim were a rabidly heterosexually-oriented society. While Fusion-born Laisen knew of other sexualities that existed in the galaxy, Cheloi had not heard about more than the socially acceptable ‘one male to one female’ standard relationship during her entire time in the empire. It was as though only the male-female dynamic existed, and she wondered at the lives of people who didn’t fit into that mould, who had to hide their intrinsic natures in order to survive in a corrupt society.

Maybe it was enough for her to regard her mission as a blow for those of other sexualities. The thought amused her more than the rights and wrongs of universal access to public policy and debate. But she wasn’t going to be striking a blow for any kind of independence if she continued with the kind of woolly thinking that had dogged her for the past several days.

Lith.

No, she had to be honest about this. Blaming Lith was taking the easy way out. She hadn’t asked Cheloi to find her attractive. She hadn’t flaunted herself. In fact, Lith had tried to stay out of the way as much as possible.

No, Cheloi had nobody to blame but herself. When she looked at Lith, touched her, caressed her warm and quivering skin, every other thought fled her mind.

Even with Eys, it hadn’t been like this.

Maybe it was the pressure-cooker environment of the planet. The warren of heavy earthen corridors underground. The unpredictable and lethal ionic storms high above. Whatever it was, Cheloi wanted to fall asleep with that lush body in her arms and wake up to its warmth next to hers, and do it over and over again for day upon day. She didn’t want distraction, she wanted oblivion. The problem was that Cheloi hadn’t come this far, completed years of training and waiting, destroyed entire battalions of soldiers, communities of civilians, towns, villages, animals, crops, infrastructure, just to falter at the last moment.

She clenched her hands as she sat at her desk, grateful for the stabs of pain as her fingernails dug into her palms. She had to remember who she was and what she was doing here. This was bigger than Cheloi Sie or even Laisen Carros. This was the Fusion daintily toying with the empire and she was a very important part of that fragile, perilous dance. And that meant, no complications of the heart.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, there was no way she could resume the relationship at some later point in time. Her mission on Menon, and her eventual extraction by the Fusion, were both one-way trips. She hadn’t brought anything with her, besides her wits, skill and experience, and she couldn’t take anything back. Not Lith. Not Rumis.

I should send her away.

Cheloi gripped the hard edge of the desk. No, even she wasn’t that strong. She knew she had to terminate the affair with her driver, before it got either of them imprisoned or killed, but she couldn’t countenance the thought of the younger woman walking away forever. Maybe that would be enough. All she had to do was avoid all physical contact with her aide and let the galaxy resume its level course.

It’s going to be all right, she told herself, staring down at her hands.

She was representing more than herself on Menon IV. She was representing the Fusion. And, despite their broad-minded attitudes to a lot that went on throughout the galaxy, Cheloi knew that the Fusion hated to lose.

Lith nervously smoothed the hem of her tunic with her right hand. In her left, as usual, she held the Colonel’s newly-pressed and laundered uniform. As she walked to the Colonel’s quarters, she made sure her step was slow and measured. They had been careful, she knew that without a doubt. She and the Colonel didn’t meet every night, one time their tryst was conducted during the day, and they were circumspect and politely distant when together in public. There wasn’t a hint of what went on in the commander’s quarters after the door was locked.

She swallowed. It would happen again tonight. She knew it. She would lose herself in the slim, muscled body of the commander of the Nineteen. She wouldn’t be thinking of the Free-Perlim Council. Or Nils. Or even the Butcher of Sab-Iqur. She would be revelling in the pleasure Cheloi never ceased to give her, her mind instead filled with thoughts of how she could repay such passion and enjoyment. Like a finely attuned instrument of Cheloi Sie’s, Lith felt herself getting aroused just thinking about it.

She couldn’t deny that there were aspects of the relationship she didn’t like. The clandestine nature of their meetings, for one. The hurried way in which she had to pull on her clothes, smooth her hair, and cleanse all scent of lovemaking from her face and hands before she walked out the door. And it wasn’t just the mechanics of their affair. Being of Perlim descent, Lith knew the hatred and contempt with which same-sex relationships were viewed by the empire. Even putting the military aspect to one side, if anybody caught a whiff of something untoward, mere execution was something she could only dream about. The Empire was inventive and ruthless with those it considered to be subversive elements. Sexual orientation was no exception to the rule.

Maybe she should have resisted the Colonel’s advances more. She should have been remembering the dead and burnt-out villages, but all she could focus on were Sie’s dark and mysterious eyes, sad and bitter in repose. Lith couldn’t help it. She knew what Cheloi Sie was but, in all honesty, it didn’t matter any more.

The colonel was in her quarters when Lith delivered the fresh uniform and a sizzle of excitement flashed through her body. Then she stopped. Something was wrong. She could tell by the way she was directed to hang the clothing on the hook that jutted from the bureau in the anteroom.

“Lock the door,” Sie ordered, but there was a different tone to her voice. This wasn’t the voice of someone getting ready for another episode of stolen passion. This was…something else.

Lith flicked the lock on the door and sank into the nearest chair. Her body felt heavy with foreboding. Opposite, the Colonel looked at her for a long moment. Something flashed, deep and hard, across her face.

“I’ve been thinking,” Sie began, then paused. She looked up at the ceiling, as if trying to rehearse in her mind the order of the words she wanted to speak. “About us.”

Lith felt a shiver run up her arms and willed the Colonel to meet her eyes, to explain—quickly now!—what she meant by that cryptic statement. The silence lengthened. Lith wanted to slap the table and tell her to get on with it but her hands were frozen, clenched together tensely in her lap. Her throat was dry.

“What we are doing is wrong in so many ways. And I, I must take full blame for that.”

Wrong. Blame.

The words reverberated in Lith’s mind. The colonel’s image jumped up and down in front of her, as if viewed through a badly aligned mute-bubble.

Sie must have taken her silence for agreement, because she continued. “Even if you were a man rather than a woman, the continuation of our, liaison, wouldn’t be advisable. I’m aware that my rank and position of privilege may have coerced you into actions you normally,” she stopped and cleared her throat, “normally wouldn’t have indulged in. And I would be a poor example of a commander if I maintained such actions.”

Lith stared at her and at the profile of a face that was turned away from her. What she and the colonel had “indulged in” had many names, but coercion was not one of them. A pool of anger started simmering deep in her belly.

“Are you trying to say that you raped me?” she asked hoarsely, her voice high with disbelief.

Damn her for making it so fucking neat! She could understand now why the Colonel was one of the best commanders the empire had. She could take emotions, ethics, bone-shuddering pleasure and reduce them to a cold equation of risk and consequences. She could manipulate reality itself so it conformed to her own objectives.

Central Control must adore the ground she fucking walks on.

Yet the anger couldn’t hide the sensation of being ripped apart. She thought that being in a relationship meant that important decisions were made jointly. All important decisions.

But we didn’t have a relationship, did we?

Yes, they did. It might have not been perfect. Near the beginning, she had flayed herself for being all sorts of a fool for the simmering attraction she felt for her superior officer. But she thought it had grown past that. They had grown past that, nurturing a tender, incredible thing into.… Well she didn’t want to speculate, but certainly something deeper and more memorable than a quick affair.

But now, looking at that set dusky face, Lith wondered if she had been a trusting dupe to even think there was a living heart beating somewhere under that crisp, flaxen tunic. Mutinously, she stared at her superior, daring her to lock gazes.

Rape.

Cheloi resisted the impulse to bury her head in her hands. This was supposed to be a rational discussion. When had it veered into such booby-trapped terrain? She felt the flush dart hotly up her cheekbones, washing her face with red fire.

“Maybe, rape is too strong a word,” she said as calmly as she could, but knew her voice was stilted. The words were aloof and stiff, like little toy soldiers marching on parade. “But you can’t deny there’s an element of duress inherent in our positions.”

“Why don’t we try honesty for a change?” Lith asked with heat, her eyes narrowing. “Are you trying to tell me you don’t want to fuck me any more?”

No.

Yes.

Was there a nicer way she could put this?

“It’s not a good idea,” she finally agreed, striving for a tone of voice that she hoped would give her the upper hand. So far, she felt as though she’d just been caught in a very clever ambush. “We’re in a war zone, both of us in enough danger as it is. Our, our affair adds too much risk to the both of us.”

“Risk?” Lith repeated. “What about feelings? What about passion?”

Sie shook her head. “They would kill us if they found out, Lith.”

“Kill? Is that all you’re worried about?”

Cheloi wanted to hit something. Why now? Why did she have to find such a woman, so passionate and full of fire, precisely when she couldn’t afford to?

“I’m worried about both our lives,” she corrected.

Lith blinked again. She was probably trying to come to terms with the words exchanged in the past few minutes. Cheloi swallowed. This was for the best, she told herself. Why any sentient being would want the attentions of a mass murderer was beyond her. Maybe Lith, caught up in the heat of the moment, could bear such a touch, but Cheloi was sure her driver’s ardour would turn to dust in the end. Those energetic disclaimers would fade into uncomfortable silences. It was better to end things now.

“So that’s it then,” the lieutenant finally said. She sounded angry and exhausted.

“I’d like you to remain in your position,” Cheloi told her quietly, “but I understand if you wish a transfer.”

“Thank you, Senior Colonel,” Lith replied, rising to her feet. “I shall take your request under advisement, and inform you of my decision in due course.”

“Lith—”

Cheloi heard the pleading in her own voice and quickly shut her mouth on it. She wanted to reach out her hand, but how could she extend such support when she’d just, with cool calculation, taken it all away? She watched the deliberation with which Lith turned her back on her, the jerkiness of her retreat. A soft click betrayed the careless flick of a wrist against the lock, then she was gone.

Cheloi was left with the dismal revelation that she had gone and done the stupidest thing in the universe. She had fallen in love.

“Love?” Kyn Behn knocked back a half of beer amid the roaring of her compatriots. She wiped her mouth with her sleeve. “That’s not an emotion. That’s an excuse!”

The people at the table roared again. Some of them reached across with unsteady hands to shove her companionably in the arm or pat her on the shoulder.

Commodore Behn sat back with a smug smile on her face, her gaze moving from one face to another. An onlooker to the action would have said that the commodore was as sozzled as the rest of her drinking party, lately docked at Pier Peer for much needed rest and recreation.

Fleet B had just returned from a tour of the larger Jalean sector, using its small but impressively armed team of ships to keep the Nedron Union from muscling into its territory. Good cheer from a successful tour had naturally lead to a celebratory dinner at The Cube, one of the better dining establishments close to the space elevator that led up to the pier itself, a transfer station perched just beyond the planet’s atmosphere in the dark vacuum of space.

“Did you see the way that Nedron cruiser tried to pretend its sensor systems were giving trouble?” Captain Zik asked.

Even seated, his torso was swaying. Kyn calculated less than an hour before he collapsed and had to be lifted away by the discreet restaurant staff and deposited at the base’s quarters. She always made sure she tipped handsomely when she came to The Cube. Some of their services bordered on priceless.

Two meaty hands hovered in the air in front of him, trying to imitate his ship and the Nedron cruiser in question.

“Sensor systems,” he snorted, moving his left hand so its fingers bumped the thumb of his right several times. “As if the bastards thought I’d swallowed that one. They managed to move out of the way—the right way too—right smart when I came up their arse. Didn’t expect their helmsman to have such good reflexes.”

There was a tinge of regret in the veteran’s voice, despite the fact that his manoeuvres could have sent a major part of both crews to oblivion.

“Ah, who wants to hear about combat stories?” Captain Gyal interrupted.

“I do,” Zik mumbled, but the older woman was in fine fettle and ignored him.

“Combat stories are as plentiful as hydrogen out there,” she jerked her head up, indicating the infinite space beyond the restaurant walls. “What I’m more interested in are the personal stories,” she shot Kyn what she probably thought was a subtle look, complete with a wavering wink that momentarily closed both eyes. “The stories of the heart.”

The rest of the table took this up as a chant. “Heart! Heart!” Their conversation, which had already reached an alarming decibel level, threatened to drown out the rest of the patrons in the establishment. It was just as well The Cube was frequented more by military types than civilians or Kyn might have had to kill all the occupants just to save herself from future embarrassment.

She put up her hand, requesting silence. Or, barring that, at least a decrease in the volume. “I’m not sure what you mean.” At their grumbled protests, she grinned. “I’ve already given you my opinion on the subject, dear officers. What more do you expect me to say?”

“Do you mean to tell me,” Gyal asked, with the single-mindedness of the truly inebriated, “with all due respect, Commodore, that that lovely bit of fluff that devours you whole every time we dock at Peer doesn’t mean a thing to you?”

“Whatever Seren Prie feels for me,” Kyn replied, shouting now above the jeering hubbub, “is her own affair. I haven’t put anything into her head.”

“We weren’t talking about her head,” another of the captains joked raucously.

Kyn grinned again, just as she caught a flash of movement at her peripheral vision. She turned…and the smile slowly faltered on her face.

A bit of fluff that devoured her whole.

Yes, that was a good way to describe Seren Va Prie, daughter of a fellow restaurant owner. Near the bottom of the elevator, hospitality establishments thrived. They catered for a crowd of arrivals who couldn’t wait till they travelled to the capital before sampling the delights of planetside living. The Cube was popular with the military, but the Prie family owned Prie’s Pleasure, an upscale eatery that catered more to the wealthy cruiseliner crowd. What Va found so attractive in a bawdy senior officer more than a decade older than her was a mystery to Kyn. Judging by the ribald comments of her officers, it was a mystery to most of her command structure as well.

She rose as quietly as she could and slipped away while Gyal’s attention was diverted by a quarrelsome Zik. They were the comedy act of the fleet and Kyn would be sad to leave them.

Her long walk across the polished floor to Va wasn’t as faltering as an observer would have expected. Kyn Behn was far from being as drunk as she made out but it went unnoticed amidst the jovial drinking and eating.

Va Prie was a head shorter than Kyn, with pale barely sun-kissed skin and enormous grey eyes that reflected clear mountain waterfalls. She watched as Kyn approached, her brows furrowed with uncharacteristic concern.

Fuck, she knows.

Kyn tightened her lips momentarily then stretched them into what she hoped was a welcoming smile.

“Darling Va,” she said, stopping when they were only a hand’s breadth apart.

“I heard the fleet was back.” Her voice was trembling. “I had expected a call from you.”

Yes. For all the off-colour jokes and lusty commentary, the Jaeleni were renowned as a society that ran on courtesy. Her lack of communication to Va was a serious breach of manners.

“Come,” Kyn said, taking her elbow. “Let’s find somewhere a bit quieter. With a bit more peace.”

With a small movement of her finger, she indicated to one of the wait staff that she was heading to the upper level, a darkly lit lounge level that contained conversation pits of varying sizes. Kyn sought out an intimate corner near the windows that looked out on the lower reaches of the elevator. Its myriad struts were lit up in an intricate web of dotted lines, stretching up into the night sky like a mythic tower of light. Further up, it was swallowed by clouds, the billows glowing brighter where they obscured the framework.

Kyn—otherwise known as Fusion agent, Laisen Carros—looked at the elevator a bit wistfully, dreading the conversation that was to come.

“I missed you,” Va said and Laisen didn’t have to turn in the dim light to know there was a half-smile playing about her elfish face. Laisen gritted her teeth, stifling the impending impulses of a full-blown tantrum at the words.

Copan would have a fit if he knew what she felt like doing. He would probably recommend suspension. It was only that thought that kept Laisen from jumping up, grabbing Va by that intricately sewn collar of hers and shaking her.

She wanted to yell, pounding words with the weight of blows into the younger woman’s face. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, giving me so much power? I am nothing to you! I have treated you with distant kindness and you’ve taken that scrap and built something huge and monstrous out of it. And I don’t want any of it! It’s too soon.”

She wanted to jolt the feelings out of Va, until those enormous grey eyes that seemed capable of swallowing the pain of the universe cooled into something Laisen was better able to deal with. Instead, swallowing her violent impulses, she smiled faintly.

“It was a long and eventful tour this time,” she said, avoiding Va’s statement all together.

But the young woman would not be distracted. “I think I missed you so much because…I love you.”

Laisen’s gaze fixed on the lit struts on the fortieth level of the soaring elevator. Or was it the forty-fifth?

Love? What the hell do you know about love, little girl? Love is having some ravening monster ambush you, rip you to pieces, and leave you gasping on a frigid floor. Love is picking up the pieces, ill-fitting and bleeding, and wondering how you’re ever going to put them back together again. Love is selfishly using another sentient being for physical comfort so you can forget the one person who meant the entire universe to you.

Had it really been only two years?

“What you’re feeling, Va, is more an infatuation. Maybe what you need—”

“Don’t patronise me.” The words were low and ground out.

Startled, Laisen looked over at her and saw the anguish on Va’s face, matched by two perfect teardrops rolling down her pale cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly, but the words were still chill. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“Is it true? What they say? That you’re leaving the service?”

Even the last tour had been an indulgence. Enjoyable but unnecessary. After making sure the Nedron Union was not about to conveniently “annex” any other struggling systems, Laisen’s job was done. But she couldn’t resist the allure of just one more tour in the company of people she had grown to genuinely like and respect. However, in two days’ time, she was out of the service completely with an honourable discharge. And, of course, the military grapevine had carried the news to her young lover’s ears with the speed of ultra-light travel.

“Yes, it’s true.”

Va’s face lit up with hope as she blinked her tears away. “Where are you going after that?” she asked with choked enthusiasm. “I thought that, considering Fleet B is based at Peer and you’re barracked here, that you might consider staying.” She faltered. “I mean, you already know the people around, don’t you?”

The set expression on Laisen’s face wasn’t promising, but Va gamely forged ahead. “There are so many people coming and going, you’d never get bored. And there’s an academy here that would be delighted to extend an instructor’s appointment to you. You could take some time off. You’re always telling me how little opportunity you’ve had to enjoy planetside living. Or-or you could come and work with us at Prie’s Pleasure…I could talk to the family….” Receiving no response, she finally stumbled to a halt.

The cover story had been set, one that Laisen could execute with ease. No hurried displacement manoeuvre was required this time. All she had to do was gently meander to the edge of Jaeleni space under the guise of taking up a new position. Kyn Behn would disappear and Laisen Carros would eventually slip across into Fusion-friendly space. But, in the face of Va’s struggling hopes, the practised words died in her throat.

“The fact is, Va…,” she swallowed. “There’s someone else.”

“Someone—?” Watching the expressions flit across the younger woman’s face was agonising. Incomprehension, surprise, anger, betrayal. Laisen forced herself to look fully at her as a form of penance.

“She’s dead,” Laisen added quickly.

Incomprehension reigned. “I don’t understand.”

Laisen shifted position, picking up Va’s right hand and laying it on her thigh, absently playing with it with her fingers.

“Regardless of what you may have heard down there,” she jerked her head towards the dining hall below, “I was in love with someone very deeply once. And still am.”

Laisen heard the frown in Va’s voice. “But didn’t you say she was dead?” The strident tone of someone desperately willing reality to conform to her dreams crept into her words.

“Yes.”

“But that doesn’t make any sense!”

“No,” Laisen agreed sadly. “It doesn’t, does it?”

“If she’s dead,” Va paused and grimaced, pulling her fingers away. Laisen let them escape. “And I’m sorry, but if she’s dead, what does she have to do with us? You’re not dead. You’re still alive. What about the rest of your life?”

Laisen knew she would have to be much more careful in the future. She had buried herself in Va Prie without thinking of Va’s needs, and now had to reap her lover’s bitterness.

“I wish,” she stopped, trying to pull tangents of regrets and emotions together. Failing. “I already have a new commission waiting for me,” she said, playing the coward. Falling back on the practised lie of the extraction strategy. “Out by Sundi’s World.”

“That’s, on the other side of the galaxy, isn’t it?”

“Near enough.”

A cynical smile twisted Va’s lips, making her look years older. “I didn’t realise I was such an ogre. I must be terrible indeed to make a Fleet Commodore run so many light-years away from me.”

“It’s, I took it before our relationship progressed very far.”

“Relationship,” Va repeated. “At least you’ve gifted me that much.” Her last words were so soft, Laisen had to strain to hear them.

There seemed nothing more to say, so they sat in silence for a while. After many long minutes, Va rose. She hesitated for a moment, as if wanting to add something. In the end, she turned around and left without a word.

Laisen let out the sigh that had been building through the entire rueful conversation.

She would be back down to her usual height soon. That would be a relief, even though she was almost used to avoiding low doorways by now. Her skin would be darkened from its current burnt cream tone to its more natural pigmentation. Her hair and eye colour would also be adjusted and the excess weight jettisoned. Everything that characterised Kyn Behn would be erased.

Except what she had just inflicted.

She might not know exactly what Va Prie was going through, but she knew its rough shape and pinprick texture and she never wanted to be there again.

Ever.

Always be the one doing the leaving. The other way was for victims. And Laisen knew she wasn’t one of those.

Chapter Nine

Day 1,520 of the War:

Lith was hiding out in her quarters.

Cheloi—the Colonel, she corrected hastily—and Rumis were at a meeting with Twol in Yellow sector. To the Colonel’s chagrin, remembering her comment about the accommodations in Yellow sector, they were only due back early the following morning. Lith had been expecting to drive both senior officers to their meeting and was both surprised and relieved when Twol indicated he would send his own driver. The young man was on another errand and it would be an easy detour to pick them up.

That gave her time to think about her original mission.

….

No it didn’t, she conceded, her mind a stubborn blank.

While she tried to cram ridiculous assassination scenarios in her head, most of them evaporated during the quiet hours and she was left with little else but lust and the craving of a murderer’s hands and lips on her body.

“I don’t care,” she muttered. “It’s only physical. Nothing more.” But knew it for the untruth that it was.

She wanted to hate Cheloi Sie, wanted to use that anger to power a ruthlessness that would enable her to kill the Colonel. But she couldn’t. She was an abject failure. How Nils would laugh when he found out. She was the perfect agent in the perfect position, ultimately unable to pull the trigger.

All she wanted now was to run as far away from Menon and the Empire as she could. But how? In all their exultant planning, Nils had never touched on exactly what Lith was supposed to do after she managed to eliminate the Senior Colonel. It was yet another example of his callowness and her own gullibility. Only one thing was sure. Her mission was over. She wouldn’t do it. She couldn’t do it. Her best strategy was to take the Colonel up on her offer of a transfer, get off planet and figure something out from there.

At that moment, her intercom chirped. Later, when she was safely home and away from the war, Lith would wonder whether her fancy that the quick tone sounded angry was some kind of premonition. She frowned and walked to the door, not expecting anybody.

She pressed the access button and restrained a jump as the door slid open.

Colonel Koul Grakal-Ski.

His grey eyes moved up her figure, from waist to hair, and Lith stilled the impulse to zip up her tunic completely. At the moment, only her throat and the top of her black undervest were visible but, in the presence of a predator like Grakal-Ski, she felt stripped down and naked.

“Colonel, what a surprise.” She strove to keep her voice low and even.

He nodded. “May I come in?”

She wanted to refuse him. There was something in his expression, a smug watchfulness, that she didn’t like.

“Of course.” She moved to one side.

Grakal-Ski strolled in, making a show of looking around. His gaze swept past the neatly made-up bed and assortment of cards, pins and buttons on the bureau. It skimmed across to the wardrobe, the door—thankfully!—closed.

“How are you settling in?” he asked, swinging his gaze back to her.

“Er, fine. Thank you.”

She couldn’t forget that it was Grakal-Ski who had physically transported her to the Nineteen, presenting her to the Senior-Colonel as a deal already done. At the time, it had seemed a serendipitous meeting. But Lith was swiftly coming to the conclusion that, where the pale-skinned Colonel was concerned, there was no such thing as chance. There was something about the way he moved around her room, a leashed economy, that told her he was about to spring a trap.

“Your detailed records finally came through from Central Control,” he said, sauntering over to her desk. He used his fingers to casually probe the flimsies and e-pads that lay haphazardly on the smooth surface. Lith watched his hand as if hypnotised, trying to quell the feeling of violation as he touched her belongings. What did he want?

“They take time, these records,” he continued. “People come and go. Transfers, promotions, deaths.”

Lith’s skin suddenly felt cold, a phantom icy chill blasting her body. Was there something wrong with her paperwork? But she’d been assured that everything was fine. Nils promised her that everything would pass a double-level audit.

Grakal-Ski kept walking around, as if slowly working off an excess of energy. Forcing Lith to watch him.

“Promotions. That’s an interesting topic. I almost got a promotion, you know.” He angled a look at her that she would have described as attractive on any other face. An expression that was playful and a bit humorous. “I was after command of this territory but it went to Colonel Sie. Then she had an unfortunate driving accident and I thought it was in my grasp again, but she survived. She’s a very lucky woman. Intelligent too, although I’m sure you’ve already noticed that.”

Why did Lith feel she was wading into quicksand? “Colonel–”

“When I transferred you to the Nineteen, I wasn’t thinking much beyond unsettling her. Making a move she hadn’t anticipated.” He ran a finger along the closed door of her closet, a light delicate touch, not even looking at her. “I wasn’t sure if it would work but it was worth a try. You see, all I needed was one action, one mistake, and command would be mine.”

His gaze shifted and he stared at the wall for a moment. “I remember the morning you met the Colonel,” he said, his voice light. “There seemed to be something, special in the air, didn’t there?” He turned and arched a pale eyebrow at her. “It was the first time I’d ever seen the Senior Colonel so…flustered.”

Why was he telling her this? It sounded sick and sordid coming from his mouth. “Colonel–”

“But I’ll give you both the highest marks. If you have been having an affair, you’ve been discreet about it. With no solid evidence, any complaint I lodged would only be the occasional whine of a thwarted man against one of the most decorated officers on the planet. I had reconciled myself to another loss. Until your transfer papers arrived.”

He went back to the desk, brushing things aside to clear a space then leaning against the blunt edge, watching her. His eyes were as sharp as blades.

“You say you come from Laeyek Omni B.”

“That’s right.” Lith forced herself not to cross her arms or take on any defensive posture.

“And that you graduated with an advanced degree in Social Economics from the University of Jatsdohn nine years ago.”

“Yes.”

She remembered querying Nils about that as well. Wouldn’t people wonder what she had done with her life in between graduating from university and volunteering for the Menon campaign? Nils disagreed. People in the Empire often moved around, he told her, dallying in one occupation after another. This was especially true of the professional classes. Perlim apparatchiks and their children could afford to waste years chasing dead ends.

“I read through your academic transcript. You’re a very apt student,” he commended, then lifted a finger. “There’s only one thing that bothers me.” He paused, spinning the moment out. Lith forgot to breathe. “The university at Jatsdohn didn’t start teaching that course until six years ago.”

Lith’s stomach roiled, sending bile into her clenched mouth. She swallowed acid and couldn’t help an abortive glance to the doorway. The colonel noticed the instinctive move and a thin smile curved his lips.

“Make one move towards that door,” he told her coldly, “and I’ll cut you down in a second.”

She believed him.

“It was a masterful forgery,” he continued. “In fact, if I didn’t have a nephew studying in the neighbouring province, I wouldn’t have even questioned it. And then, after that little incident at Bul-Guymem, I began finding out lots of other interesting things.”

She moved, only a twitch of her muscles, but it was enough. Koul crossed the floor in two angry strides, grabbing the collar of her uniform until it bunched in his left hand and pushing her against the wall as he twisted the material.

“You’re Fusion,” he hissed. “Don’t think I don’t know it.”

The cloth of her tunic pressed against Lith’s throat, cutting off part of her air supply. She wanted to cough and breathe at the same time, and felt the rigidity of Grakal-Ski’s knuckles behind the scratchy softness of the material.

“Why were you sent here?” he demanded. “Are you on a covert mission to sabotage the Menon campaign?”

He was half-right but Lith didn’t know how to answer. Then she felt something else, hard and inexorable, pushing under her ribcage. In one smooth motion, Grakal-Ski had withdrawn a weapon with his free hand and was pointing its barrel up into her torso. Lith tried not to think of how many of her vital organs were in its line of fire.

“Who sent you?” he hissed. “Was it the Fusion’s Higher Convergence? Their military intelligence section?”

Still half-choking, Lith shook her head.

The colonel’s eyes narrowed. “But you are from the Fusion?”

She nodded in one jerky movement.

He was silent, his jaw working, while he thought through her answers. His grip never wavered.

“What is your mission?”

“Kill…,” she gasped.

“Who? Me?” His grip tightened once more and Lith saw a red haze in front of her eyes. She thought her head would explode. A loud pounding thumped through her skull.

Lith shook her head. “Colonel…Sie….”

The two hoarse words had a magical effect on Koul. He widened his eyes and a slight smile curved his lips. With a nonchalant twist, he abruptly let go of her throat although the blaster was still jabbing into her flesh. She sagged against the wall.

“Why?” he asked, but his voice was a bit more relaxed now. “Why kill the Colonel?”

Lith wanted to stroke her throat, massage away traces of the painful grip, but she didn’t dare. Grakal-Ski might misinterpret the movement and blast her innards all over the subterranean ochre rock behind her.

“We think she’s one of the most important,” she coughed and the weapon’s butt stabbed into her, “important figures in the war. The Fusion won’t do anything, won’t interfere.”

“‘We’?” The blaster’s barrel pressed further.

“We’re a small group. We believe in more direct Fusion dialogue,” she coughed again, “with other systems.”

“More interference, you mean,” he growled.

“We’ve tried several times to speak to the Lower Convergence about this,” she said, naming one of the Fusion’s two legislative assemblies, “but they refused to table our petition.”

Grakal-Ski relaxed momentarily and Lith pushed her advantage, her tone changing from desperation to explanation. “Each appeal was met with refusal. A-a group of us finally decided that the only thing to do was take direct action.”

“Come to Menon IV and do your own dirty work, you mean.” His eyes, pale and glittering, watched her intently.

“I really do come from Laeyek Omni B,” Lith continued, her voice quick but still hoarse. “I wasn’t lying about that. But it’s at the edge of Perlim space. When I was young, my parents left the planet to make a new life in the Fusion. But they still taught me the Perlim tongue. I can speak it fluently.”

“And that’s why you were chosen?”

She nodded.

“And who are you people, if you’re not part of the Fusion government?” The barrel of his weapon prodded her again.

“Originally we were part of the Free-Perlim Council. But,” Lith lifted her hand cautiously and rubbed her throat, “they did nothing. I belong to a splinter of the main group.”

“And does the Fusion know about you?”

Lith shook her head slowly. They would have shut them down in moments if they had. That was the beauty of the strategy, Nils told her. They were small enough not to be noticed and smart enough to figure out that all it took was one carefully placed person at the right moment to achieve their goal. Stop the campaign, save the planet, and start the downfall of the Perlim Empire.

“So how were you planning to kill the Colonel?”

“I–we didn’t know. I was just supposed to wait for an ideal opportunity.” He looked puzzled. “To use my initiative,” she added.

“That seems rather foolish. What if I hadn’t toured Blue sector the day we met?”

“I had already put in for a transfer to the Nineteen’s general staff before Commander Mazhin was killed.”

“And did you kill him?”

Lith’s eyes widened with shock. “No!”

Koul regarded her coolly. “If it frightens your Fusion sensibilities to kill someone less important in order to further a mission, how can you possibly kill the Colonel?”

“Th–that’s different. Commander Mazhin wasn’t in charge of the most important territory in the campaign. Colonel Sie is.”

“I see.”

He hesitated for another second then put away his weapon with a practised move. When he walked back to the desk, showing her his back, Lith knew she had found an unlikely ally.

“Then you and I are in agreement,” he said. “We would both like to see the Senior Colonel out of the war.”

Lith let the wall take her weight as the full import of his words hit her. Grakal-Ski as an ally? For a mission she had already given up as impossible? She had already created several excuses to feed Nils. The opportunity never came up. The Colonel was too well guarded. Everyone within HQ walked around armed.

Knowing her previous sincerity, he’d believe her and probably come up with another half-baked plan to deliver the galaxy from the Perlim Empire. One he could act upon himself. There might be many contradictions and suppositions floating around her at the moment, but Lith was firmly of the mind that her ties with Nils were at an end. He just didn’t know it yet.

But now, with the formidable Colonel Koul Grakal-Ski supporting her…. In one violent move, he had just resuscitated a corpse.

She looked at his back as he fiddled with the trinkets on her desk, the uniform accentuating his breadth of shoulder.

After a minute, he turned to face her.

“What if I manufactured a trip that you and the Colonel needed to take? One that would result in capture by the rebels? Would you do it?”

Lith hesitated.

“If you can prove you’re Fusion, the rebels will let you go,” he insisted. “But I’m sure they’ll take care of the Colonel for you. There’s a substantial bounty on her head.”

Grakal-Ski packaged it all up so neatly. A way to accomplish her task and get away, while leaving him in charge of the Nineteen. A win for him, a win for her. And if she refused, she knew she’d be turned over to the Perlim authorities as a Fusion spy. It was like cutting a deal with a scorpion.

“All right.” She didn’t even realise the words had left her mouth until she saw the smile widen on his face.

She had wanted to refuse. She couldn’t.

“Very good, Lieutenant. In that case, I’ll be in touch.” He walked to the door and paused just as he reached it, sending an oblique look her way. “And Lieutenant, please don’t discuss this with anybody. It can take hours to clean blood off these walls.”

Even from a distance, the spraen taunted him.

Koul forced himself to calmly walk back to his quarters, even though he was nursing a heady mix of anger and excitement.

So, some amateur terrorist Fusion group thought Sie was a critical resource. True, the commander was brilliant and ruthless. Koul himself had pored over her record. It had been solid but lacklustre until the defeat in Territory Thirty-Five more than two and a half years ago. There had been sparks of sound tactical thinking leading up to that debacle, blossoming into a terrible searing flame when she was reassigned to the Eight. He had seen it happen before. Not often, but occasionally a combat officer found his or her true calling only when he or she was knee-deep in blood and looking death in the face. It was a baptism forged in the underworld itself.

After her battlefield conversion, Sie quickly became the poster-child for Central Control. Koul had heard of her formidable reputation. By that stage, who hadn’t? But what did he care? All he had to do was wait out his incompetent commander at the time, Senior Colonel Samnett, and ascend to leadership of the Nineteen after the man’s inevitable court-martial.

It was there, a bright shining light, the pinnacle of his career, the pennant to shove into his in-laws’ faces. Until Cheloi Sie arrived and snatched it away from him.

Koul reached his quarters, entered and locked the door behind him. He needed privacy to ensure his thinking was crystal-clear.

Despite what Sie’s loyal adjutant, Swonnessy, thought, he had nothing to do with the Colonel’s accident several months ago. But that didn’t mean the seed of an idea wasn’t planted in his mind. He already knew he couldn’t get rid of the Colonel through conventional channels. His personal anguished pleas to Central Control had fallen on deaf ears and he was afraid he was starting to sound like a whining pup. Maybe if he switched to less direct methods….

With the identification of Lith Yinalña as an enemy of the Empire, an entirely new strategy had opened up.

Lith Yinalña, a Fusion spy. How much more delicious it would be to use the Fusion to destroy his greatest enemy. He could destroy her, using Yinalña as the catalyst, all while keeping his own hands clean.

One blot marred the glorious horizon. If people found out that it was Yinalña who betrayed the Nineteen’s commander, delivering her into rebel hands, obvious questions would be asked. Matters might lead back to him and the fact that he was the one who had moved her from Blue sector to HQ in the first place.

Koul bit his lip, thinking. It would be better all round if, like her commander and perverted lover, Yinalña also met with a fatal accident. He would have to think more on how best to achieve that but maybe the rebels might take care of the problem for him. After all, what rabble leader would take time to verify the ravings of an hysterical woman?

Lith Yinalña.

Who had sent her on such a mission in the first place? Didn’t they see that she had no spine for taking a life? No matter. Fate had dealt him a strong hand of cards and he wasn’t about to fritter away such a rare advantage. If everything went according to plan, she didn’t even need to aim a weapon or pull a trigger. All she had to do was follow one simple order. Nothing clumsy and nothing that could be traced back to him.

Koul smiled.

It won’t be long now, Taelsa my love. Just wait a little while longer and I’ll come home to you covered in glory.

I promise.

Chapter Ten

Day 1,530 of the War:

“So what do you think will happen, Rumis?”

The young man picked up one of the two small glasses of life-water on the Colonel’s desk and took a sip. He looked deeply unhappy.

“I think my sister will marry him and I’m not even there to vet her choice.”

It was after dinner and Cheloi and her adjutant had retired to her quarters for one of their occasional sessions of light drinking and heavy talking.

The Colonel smiled. “So you think the war has dragged on too long?”

“I think all wars drag on too long.” He sighed. “But yes, this one bites especially deep.”

“There are some who say,” Cheloi chose her words carefully, “the Empire should come to some diplomatic negotiation with the Menon. Maybe even change their status from vassal to semi-autonomous.”

Rumis laughed. “Is that a trick question, Colonel? If the Emperor does that, he might as well hold elections on every one of his planets. Or join the Fusion.” He laughed again. “That would be funny, wouldn’t it? The sops wouldn’t know what to do with us.”

She pinned a look of sceptical consideration on her face. “The Fusion is a big galactic body. I don’t think they could have grown so much, achieved so much, if they were a bunch of cowards.”

“Not cowards,” he corrected. “Hedonists. I wasn’t born into the Empire so I could see it crumble into the grasp of those selfish pleasure-seekers.”

She nodded slowly. “You’re probably right.”

Her door chimed and, after a quick flick at her console, Koul entered.

“Colonel,” Cheloi greeted, “what a surprise.”

“I brought some late despatches,” Koul explained with an incline of his head. His left hand held several flimsies.

“Bring them here. Would you care to share a drink with us?”

Koul looked from one officer to the other. “Why not?”

“Excellent.” Cheloi walked to the bureau to get another glass. “We were just talking about that perverted body called the Fusion.” She returned to her desk and poured a shot for her second-in-command, taking the opportunity to refill the other two stubby containers as well. “We’ve decided that they’re formidable but soft.”

Koul pulled the second chair in front of the desk towards him and sat down. Reaching for the glass, he sipped deeply of his drink, draining half of it in one swallow. He lifted an eyebrow in appreciation.

“That thinking, Colonel, if you forgive me for saying so, is a little too simplistic.”

Cheloi sat back, watching him. “Oh?”

Rumis grinned, deeply dimpling his cheeks. “Are you a Fusion sympathiser, Colonel Grakal-Ski?”

Koul didn’t rise to the bait. “I don’t have to be a sympathiser in order to respect them, Major. You may see the Fusion as soft and flabby, but they are also cunning and multi-tentacled. It doesn’t serve the Empire well to belittle our strongest foe.”

“But they haven’t made a single move against us,” Rumis argued, “beyond hurling sanctimonious sermons at our heads. Doesn’t that indicate they don’t have the stomach for a fight?”

“What it indicates,” Koul replied, enunciating each word clearly, “is beyond any of us in this office to speculate upon.”

Her door chirped again.

“Busy night,” she murmured.

Her aide entered and Cheloi had to hold herself still to stop from reacting. She looked into those hazel eyes and tried to convince herself again that, yes, she had done a good thing in terminating their brief relationship. No, not just good but necessary. Lith was easily as corrosive to her resolve as the strongest acid.

She watched as the Lieutenant looked from one face to another.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“That’s quite all right, Lieutenant,” Cheloi answered. “We’re just debating the finer points of interstellar politics. How may I help you?”

Thankfully she was far enough away that Cheloi couldn’t catch her intoxicating scent or she would have been over the desk, crushing the young officer against the wall, before anyone could draw a breath.

“You asked for a report from the field hospitals, Colonel.” Lith held up a e-pad. “I have it here.”

“Fine–”

For the third time, the door beeped, and Cheloi threw a hand up in exasperation. “Rumis, are you expecting anyone?”

“No, Colonel.”

“Koul?”

He shook his head but continued to sip the remainder of his life-water.

“Come in.”

It was one of the junior officers from Communications. With a startled glance, he looked from one face to another then hurriedly handed a note to Cheloi, saluted quickly and exited.

Cheloi looked down at the small sheet in front of her and frowned.

“Vanqill wants to meet me tomorrow. He says he has urgent business he needs to discuss.”

“Can’t he come here?” Koul asked.

“Seems not. And he says it’s too hot to even send encrypted. He emphasises that it’s of the utmost importance that he speak to me in person.” She scanned the short series of numbers that accompanied the message. “At a set of coordinates he supplied.”

She hesitated for a moment then looked up. “Lieutenant, sign out a skimmer for tomorrow morning. Make it one of the latest models. We’ll take it low and fast.”

“Do you need me along?” Rumis asked, his body tensed as if it was about to vault out of the chair.

Cheloi shook her head. “I can handle him.” She lifted her glass with her free hand. “Let’s find out what Sub-Colonel Vanqill has to say that can’t be trusted to our regular despatches.”

Day 1,531 of the War:

Cheloi referred to the navigation e-pad on her lap and frowned. She raised her head and pointed to the left.

“Maybe he’s waiting further west. Damn this dust!”

They were travelling through one of the driest border areas of the Nineteen. The skimmer, speeding fast and low, kept throwing up clouds of fine desiccated brown soil that obscured everything but the way directly in front of them, kept clear by jets of compressed air.

“I’m going to have Vanqill’s balls for this,” she muttered, “asking for a meeting this far out. What could be going through that man’s head?”

Lith let the Colonel’s words wash over her, hoping the white noise would soothe her jangled nerves and fill the rip inside her. It wasn’t working. She poured as much concentration as she could into piloting the skimmer, leveraging what flat ground she could to maximise their speed, before moving to the more shielded rocky terrain. Under any other circumstances, without the tension tagging along for the ride and squeezing her head whenever it had the chance, she might have even enjoyed the irregular manoeuvring between tors.

In the end, it was all for the best, she kept telling herself. What was she thinking getting intimately involved with the woman she had sworn to kill? There would be other people in her life, other men or women to fall in love with. Ones that she might even consider as a life partner, rather than a hurried screw in a fucking war zone!

Her knuckles tightened on the controls. She was so filled with anger, she wondered how her body could contain it. She wanted to hit the controls with the heel of her palm but knew that would start a discussion for which she was ill prepared. She had been so proud of her strength and sense of conviction. Yet, at a critical point, she had let her own desires rule over her head. And, worse still, it had taken the self-restraint of a mass murderer—not a rational and moral being like herself, but a fucking mass murderer!—to put a stop to it. Lith didn’t know who she despised more, the Colonel or herself.

The sun was arcing through the sky and the temperature was rising steadily outside the skimmer’s air-conditioned bubble, adding to her unease. Her mind segued back to the strangely-intimate meeting in the Colonel’s quarters the night before: the concentration of senior officers and the look on Grakal-Ski’s face when the courier interrupted them. Even though the message from Vanqill in Green sector seemed to arrive as a surprise to all, she wondered about the glint she saw in his eye. Was this the opportunity he had alluded to in their previous meeting? Was she actually leading Cheloi into a trap?

And if she was, what could she do about it? As the sub-Colonel had pointed out, capture by rebels was an elegant solution to both their problems. She would be set free the moment her Fusion credentials had been confirmed. Perhaps she could even negotiate a quiet exit off the planet with the rebels as a reward for delivering Sie into their hands. Grakal-Ski would gain command of the Nineteen and the Colonel….

It had to be done. She had promised Nils and the rest of the faction.

“I’ll give it ten more minutes,” Cheloi was saying, “then we’re turning back. We’re too close to the boundary of secured territory as it is.”

Lith opened her mouth to confirm the order…and their world blew apart.

The dust obscured the source of the missile but Lith felt the hard shock of impact on the underside of the skimmer’s right side that sent the vehicle spinning through the air. She could only clench her fists, holding onto the controls with white knuckles, while scenery flashed chaotically before her eyes. They were airborne, she could make no sense of the blurry colours flying past, then they impacted the earth with a crunch that shattered part of the skimmer’s clear bubble.

The blast echoes died down to an eerie silence and Lith thought she had lost her hearing completely. Then, as if coming back from a distant place, she heard the sounds of small stones rolling off the underside of their vehicle. An underside now baking in the hot sun. A large arc of the passenger bubble kept the skimmer at a precarious lean, stopping them from being buried completely under the immense weight of metal but, as she blinked her eyes clear of dust, Lith saw small cracks appear where the ballistic glass met the ground. It would only be a matter of time before several tonnes of metal came crashing down on them.

While she was still thinking that, someone was working at her harness, fingers deftly releasing the lock points. Still stunned, she looked over and focused on the Colonel’s face, grim and forbidding as she freed the clasps. The world had morphed into some kind of hyper-clear scene where Lith could even trace individual, glinting motes of dust dancing in the air between them. At the same time, every action seemed mired in some kind of clear gel, slowed down to a fraction of normal speed. Lith had time to look down as she heard the clack of her harness fall free, wondering why it was taking so long for the straps to separate from the central locking mechanism. She wanted to tell the Colonel that it was all right, she could do it herself but her mouth refused to cooperate.

“Come on,” the Colonel directed tersely. At the sound of her voice, everything jerked back to normal. The colours faded, the action sped up and the sound in Lith’s ears was her own laboured breathing. They both dropped unceremoniously to the concave arc of the bubble and, feeling herself pushed, Lith crawled out from under the skimmer through a large jagged hole in the canopy, her body scraping against the uneven edges of the glass. She scrambled away on all fours, only rising to her feet when she was free of the vehicle.

Both women looked back at the upturned vehicle when they were a few metres away. Not even a tremor rocked the metal shell. Cheloi narrowed her eyes.

“I wonder if I can work the radio free before–”

A sharp snapping filled the air. With another crash, the skimmer collapsed to the ground. Scuds of fine dirt engulfed them.

“Maybe not.” The Colonel’s laconic voice penetrated the clouds of dust.

“We could have been killed,” Lith choked out, holding her throat while she coughed. She waved her hand around her face until the air started to clear.

The Colonel shook her head. “That was a tipper missile, not an incendiary. And a low-impact one at that. Whoever fired that,” she looked around at the surrounding boulders and up into the sky, “wanted survivors.”

“What do we do now?”

“We head back to the nearest outpost as fast as we can. Try to find our people before our attackers find us.” She knocked the dust from her clothes. “Come on.”

Lith wasn’t sure how the Colonel was going to negotiate their way back without any equipment. Equipment? They didn’t even have any hats to shield them from the early afternoon heat. Or food. Or water. The sun was so bright, it eclipsed the telltale signs of the ever-present ionic storms, bleaching the sky to the palest blue.

She dropped her gaze, watching the air shimmer hotly above the large rocks, and grimaced. The Colonel led the way in front of her. The woman was unstoppable. Their vehicle had just been attacked, overturned and transformed into a brick of high-value scrap, and she hadn’t even paused for more than a few bracing breaths.

They had been walking steadily for twenty minutes when she heard a sound behind her. She spun around and almost collided with the barrels of several weapons aimed right at her. Her eyes widened. She was about to give a shout when something caught her just behind her ear and everything was enveloped in a quick blackness.

Cheloi felt the coolness before anything else and knew she was underground. There was no other environment that combined chill and moisture the way a subterranean room did. The right side of her head ached and it was only when she tried to touch it that she discovered that her hands were tied behind her back. She was on her side.

She blinked open her eyes. Thankfully, it was dark. The only illumination came from outside the room, diffuse lighting that slanted yellow beams through an open doorway. She tipped herself onto her back and took a few deep agonising breaths, moving her elbows apart so the small of her back rested on her clenched hands. It wasn’t a comfortable position but afforded her a better view of her surroundings. She appeared to be in a storeroom, surrounded by columns of roughly-stacked boxes that towered over her.

Wouldn’t it be ironic, she thought, if after all she had gone through all these years, she got crushed by a box of rebel supplies? She recognised the scraps of Menon writing visible on the sides. Years of Fusion training, the most fiendish and underhanded plot against the Perlim Empire, all destroyed by a crate of bearings. She would have laughed if her face didn’t hurt so much. As it was, only a few coughs emerged from her dry and raspy throat.

There must have been someone outside waiting for sounds of life, because two hulking figures shuffled into the room soon after. With the light behind them, she couldn’t make out any features, only their tall broad forms. They grabbed her by each conveniently placed elbow and levered her upright then dropped a small thick bag over her head.

The feeling was instantly claustrophobic and Cheloi fought it, shaking her head from side to side, but the movement, on top of the pain, was disorienting, and she only succeeded in stumbling to her knees. Her feet pinched at the floor and throbbed in protest. Her bare feet. The bastards had taken her boots too.

Her guards were not patient. They dragged her along a quiet corridor and she had to take a series of half-jumps to finally get ground under her soles again. The fine gravel felt like the same kind of soil as HQ’s. Or perhaps she was jumping to conclusions. How long had she been unconscious? Was she still within the Nineteen’s boundaries?

In any case, that was balance solved. Next on the list was self-control. Ruthlessly, she tamped down the overriding waves of anger and the desperate urge to escape. She needed a clear head now more than ever before. When her breathing calmed, she heard faint conversations emerging from doorways she passed. Not just one or two conversations, but at least half a dozen. She wondered if she was in the rebel equivalent to her own headquarters at the Nineteen. The guards descended stairs, causing Cheloi to stumble again, her feet jarring against the rough stone.

Where the hell was Lith?

Whose doing was the tipper strike? Was it a lucky hit or had she been lured into a trap? She instantly dismissed Vanqill as a suspect. She had more or less turned the Nineteen into his personal playground and he was having far too much fun to betray her now.

Koul. The obvious choice but, again, she had no evidence to back up that supposition. Still literally in the dark, all she could do was wait and see how the situation was going to play out.

They kept going down. How deep was this place anyway? She was thirsty, disoriented and hurting.

She could have coped admirably with all three afflictions. After all, she’d been in several situations similar to this during her career. But the addition of Lith to the equation threw her equilibrium completely. Where were they keeping her? What had they done with her? What were the chances of her being set free? Theoretically at least, a release shouldn’t be out of the question. Cheloi started assembling the plausible excuses in her mind.

She’s only a junior officer. No, she’s not my regular driver, merely a temporary replacement from the canteen crew. I can’t even (laugh) remember her name.

But a thick tendril of fear wrapped itself around her spine. She didn’t know what she would do if anything happened to Lith.

Finally, they approached their destination. She stumbled up one step, a heavy door was flung open (Flung? Not sliding? Primitive, no electronics, an ancient warren of converted irrigation tunnels perhaps?) and she was thrown to the floor. Unlike the storeroom, this floor was smooth and she slid along it on her side until something hard and boot-shaped stopped her. She grunted and her hood was removed by another set of hands.

Tiles. The smoothness she had traversed was glazed tiles. They even covered the lower half of the walls. That was not good. Cheloi knew what tiled rooms meant. When she looked around, taking in the row of naked lights above her and the drainage hole in the centre of the floor, her worst fears were confirmed.

Fuck irrigation tunnels. Welcome to the interrogation room.

The man standing in front of her was of medium height and stocky build. Even the loose clothing he wore, covered by a sleeveless cowled cloak, couldn’t hide his impressive musculature. His skin was the colour of stained weathered timber, almost as dark as his hair and eyes. He had thick lips, the lower one protruding, and asymmetrically placed eyes. One of them was also significantly larger than the other, both of them staring balefully at her.

Cheloi, her hands still tied behind her back, struggled to her feet. She was taller than the man in front of her but that meant nothing. It was plain from the way he stood, motionless yet brimming with leashed energy, that she was facing a person every bit as professional as she was. Her private odds of surviving this particular adventure plummeted.

“Do you know who I am?” he asked. His voice sounded like gravel churning in a barrel.

She shook her head, although she had a fair idea.

“I’m Drel. I’m Menon leader of this part of the continent.”

Short and ugly, Rumis had told her. Well, he certainly was that. She remained silent, although her internal eyebrows rose at his words. She thought that Drel only commanded the rebel territory within the Nineteen, yet here was the man himself, claiming a significantly larger jurisdiction. Either he was lying or her own data were sorely out of date.

“Our Intelligence says you’re the Butcher of Sab-Iqur and commander of Territory Nineteen. Senior Colonel Cheloi Sie of the Perlim Ground Forces. Is this correct?”

“Our Intelligence”? Not “informants” or “friends”?

“Yes, I’m Cheloi Sie.” The information was so easy to verify, it wasn’t worth the breath spent on a futile denial.

His expression didn’t change but she heard the shuffling of the guards’ feet behind her, smooth scrapes along the glazing.

“Thank you. I hadn’t expected such quick confirmation.”

“Where’s my driver?” Cheloi demanded, moving straight to the attack.

“You mean the other young woman? She is being held somewhere else, not far from here.”

“If you harm her, Drel,” the words were out of her mouth before she could stop them.

An unholy gleam lit his eyes.

“You’re in no position to make threats, Senior Colonel,” he remarked. “However that doesn’t mean I’m not amenable to negotiation.”

She stared at him balefully. “What kind of negotiation?”

Drel laughed, a sudden explosive sound that echoed off the shiny tiled walls. “The Butcher, negotiating in my work room?” He opened his arms in a sweeping gesture. “And they told me you were ruthless, Senior Colonel. Impervious to blandishments of any kind.” He sobered, the grin disappearing from his face in a flash. “If you give me the information I want and you can convince me that your driver is merely that—a driver—then I may just let her go in a prisoner exchange and kill you quickly.” He paused. “Believe me, it’s much more than you deserve.”

“And what information might that be?” she asked.

He smiled slightly, stretching a small cut on his bottom lip. “Troop movements. Strategic plans. The usual.”

There was only one answer to that and, despite her personal feelings, Cheloi had to make it. She smiled back at him, showing her teeth. “Throw yourself into the abyss, Drel.”

His mouth widened once more into a grin. “You first, Senior Colonel.”

Chapter Eleven

Day 1,532 of the War:

“I strongly disagree!”

Rumis was unaware how loudly he was speaking until, in the sudden silence that followed, he looked around the Tactics Room and saw heads hurriedly bowed in studied inattention. The room was bathed in blue light emanating from the myriad displays that lined its circumference. To his side, one of three large clear rigid panels displayed the Nineteen, the territory now expanded so it filled the screen. Flashing points of different hues highlighted Perlim and known rebel positions. In front of him, Grakal-Ski glared. Rumis was just as happy glaring back.

Koul flushed but his voice was tight with anger. “You’d do well to watch yourself, Major. An adjutant is easily replaced.”

“Speaking of replacement, I think your assumption of command is just a little premature, Colonel.” Rumis tried to keep the sarcasm out of his voice but failed.

“As is your grasp of reality, Major. The Nineteen is too valuable for us to leave leaderless while you scurry around looking for conspiracies that don’t exist.”

Rumis would have attacked the bastard then and given it a good try at pounding him into the ground. It was only his training that held him back. Still, he felt his body thrumming like a high-tension wire.

“It’s entirely reasonable for me to begin an independent investigation into the circumstances leading to Colonel Sie’s disappearance,” he began stiffly.

“Just as it’s entirely reasonable for me to take command of the territory in the meantime.”

Rumis gritted his teeth. “I have already found discrepancies regarding the communication the Colonel received the night before last.”

Was it really less than two days ago? Rumis felt he had aged years in those intervening hours. After almost three years of being at her side, losing the Colonel was like losing a part of himself. He thought they had grown to be friends as well as colleagues. He trusted her implicitly. And now, to find that her skimmer was destroyed and both she and Lith were missing? It was unthinkable. Such things happened at the front, were expected at the front, but not to the Colonel. Never to her. She was invincible.

“I tracked the message back to Green sector, but Sub-Colonel Vanqill denies ever sending such a request.”

“Maybe the rebels jacked into our comms net.” Koul’s voice was emotionless, but he was watching the younger man intently.

Rumis nodded, conceding the point.

“Yes, that was my thought as well,” he mused. His eyes flicked up to the other’s face. “Until I discovered that the encryption protocols were updated only last week. Even the most motivated rebel can’t crack our codes that quickly. Unless they had help.”

Where was the Colonel when he wanted her? She was the one with the cool provocative eyes and dark steady voice that could manipulate Koul until he was a spluttering idiot. In contrast, his own frantic questions made him look a bumbling child. If it had been he who had gone missing, he was sure she would have had Koul shackled and drawn tight against something uncomfortably sharp by now. That was her style. Meanwhile, he could only use a cudgel instead of a scalpel and hope it was good enough.

Both gazes locked on each other. Rumis’s words, implicit with accusation, hung between them.

Koul was the first to break the blinkless stare. He scanned the room then jerked his head to a doorway that led to a private meeting room. “In there. Now.”

Rumis went first, stiff with simmering anger, circling the room with a frustrated excess of energy. Koul followed, locking the door behind him before whirling around.

“How dare you!” he growled, his pale eyes flashing. “Your statements out there were tantamount to accusing a command-level officer of treason.” A tic worked at his jaw. “If you want to commit career suicide, Major, I suggest you do it in private and preferably without taking the name of the Ground Forces down with you. But while you’re under my command, note that I will not have my authority, and that of the sector commanders, undermined in public.”

“What’s the matter, Grakal-Ski?” Rumis taunted, taking a step to the circular table between them. He clenched his fists and rested them on the metallic surface. “Losing your nerve?”

“I could have you court-martialled for this, Swonnessy.”

“Yes you could. And wouldn’t it start looking like a viable conspiracy then?”

Koul’s face reddened. “You dare accuse me of complicity in the Colonel’s ambush?”

“You’ve resented the Colonel from the moment we set foot in the Nineteen,” Rumis shot back.” I’ve spoken to the other officers here. You were just waiting for Colonel Samnett to make a misstep so you could take over as territory commander.”

Koul leant forward, mirroring Rumis’ posture across the table.

“Yes,” he hissed. “Samnett was a fool. And yes, I was expecting to be offered command after he died. But the Colonel proved to be every bit as efficient as Samnett wasn’t.” His pale gaze bored into Rumis. “Do you honestly believe I would sabotage someone who makes me look so good?”

He paused, letting his words sink in. “Active service in the Nineteen under her command almost guarantees a promotion upon transfer. Or, to put it in terms you’re more likely to understand, being associated with Colonel Sie is as useful to my career as it’s been to yours, Major.”

Rumis blinked. That was one angle that hadn’t occurred to him. He had always thought Koul was aching for command, furious with anything and anybody that stood in his way. In fact, he had been confident of another attempt on the Colonel’s life the moment she survived the first one and the pale angry officer in front of him always at the top of his list of suspects.

But he couldn’t deny the obvious. It was true the Colonel made people like him and Koul look good. He already had several commendations that he would have never received under another’s command. And on his recreational trips down to the Five, there was always a commander or two who made half-joking suggestions to him about a possible transfer with prospects of promotion.

The Colonel herself encouraged study, urging him to take the sub-Colonel’s exam within the next two years. He was young for such advancement, he knew that, but the backing of the now legendary Senior Colonel Sie was no trivial thing. He had even started harbouring ambitions to be the youngest sub-General in the empire. All such thoughts were thanks to his present commanding officer. Her command, her head for tactics, her intuition for logistics, washed over the entire territory, tinting everybody with success. Had Koul realised this too and managed to repress part of his fierce ambition in order to ride on the Colonel’s reputation? Was it so difficult a thing to believe when he was doing the same thing himself?

“Vanqill got in touch with me this morning,” he said quietly, the anger slowly draining from him. “One of his comms technicians was found last night on the outskirts of Sab-Baqdil, with her throat cut.”

“Eliminate the village,” Koul answered without missing a beat. “The only reason a Perlim officer approaches a village alone is if she’s taking bribes from a rebel sympathiser stationed there. This sounds like a classic damage-control strategy by the local guerilla force.”

Rumis took a breath. Yes, it sounded plausible. Why else would a communications officer be so far away from safety? And on her own?

No.

Colonel Sie had always told him to trust his intuition and right now, it was yelling in his ear. The explanation Koul gave of bribes and money changing hands in Sab-Baqdil sounded rational, but something about it was too convenient.

What if, despite Koul’s protestations of innocence, he somehow was mixed up in the disappearance of the Colonel? What if he then wanted to get rid of the evidence, meaning the only other person who knew of a fraudulent message sent from Vanqill’s sector?

Rumis wavered. Both lines of reasoning made sense. Koul had clear motive to get rid of Colonel Sie. But the story of infiltrators and collaborators in Sab-Baqdil was also feasible. Unless he himself took command of the entire Nineteen and diverted resources to ferreting out any speck of evidence, there was no way he was going to get closer to what had really transpired. And how could he do that with Koul and a whole cadre of sector commanders outranking him?

“The patrols we sent out found the Colonel’s vehicle,” Rumis said.

“And?”

“There was hope that they were trapped under the canopy.” Although they probably would have roasted in such an oven. Rumis wasn’t sure whether he was disappointed or relieved when the squad leader told him the vehicle was empty.

“We found their tracks,” he continued, after a long pause. “But they disappeared a few hundred metres from the skimmer. If they headed for the nearest hill, there’s no evidence they made it there.” He wondered if his expression mirrored the bleakness he felt.

“I understand your loyalty to the Colonel, Major Swonnessy,” Koul said gently into the silence. “In your position, I’m sure I’d feel the same way. Perhaps we both need to take a step back. Regain some equilibrium. Forget what happened just now in the Tactics Room and start over.”

What was the alternative? A mutiny? For an officer like Rumis, that was tantamount to slitting his own veins. And with most of the Nineteen’s commanders either friends or acquaintances of Koul’s, success was slim. Besides, the Colonel had been gone barely two days. There was still a little time left to wait. To hope.

Rumis stared at Koul for a long moment. Then, lowering his head, he nodded.

“This is a bit earlier than I was expecting. Is something the matter?”

“You could say that.” She hesitated before leaning back in the chair, and did so gingerly. “I’ve been captured.”

“By the rebels?”

“None other than Drel himself, the continent’s rebel leader apparently.”

Copan’s eyes narrowed. “The new rebel leader? How did you get caught?”

“Now there’s the question.” Laisen rubbed her back against the chair. “My skimmer was hit by a tipper while heading for a rendezvous. We were captured not far from the wreck. It all seemed a little too well practised to be an accident but I’m still thinking that one through.”

“What have they done to you? Are you hurt?”

“Drel turned me over to a couple of guards who lost family at Sab-Solin,” she said with a tight smile. “They’ve been…less than gentle.”

“Tell him you’re Fusion.” There was no hesitation in Copan’s voice.

“Is that you or my subconscious talking, Doctor?”

“It’s the voice of pragmatism, Laisen. If you tell them you’re Fusion, they’ll release you. They’ll not want to antagonise us.”

“I don’t think I can do that.”

“Why not? It will only be a minor setback.” He shrugged. “We’ve aborted other missions before on lesser justification.”

“But this one has a lot more at stake.”

Copan looked annoyed. “Your psych profile indicated a latent capacity for martyrdom. Is that what you’re manifesting now?”

She laughed. “Nothing so noble. I’m thinking of the mission.”

“I told you–”

“Hear me out. Please.” She paused and only continued when he lapsed into a grudging silence. “If I admit to Drel that I’m Fusion, what does that mean for the future of this decime? The Fusion is banking on Menon prevailing as the first step towards the destruction of the Perlim Empire. Even the border planet of Laeyek Omni B is too tough an obstacle for us, with a military shipyard and two permanent garrisons stationed so close to it. We have every possible factor in our favour at Menon.”

She ticked off each point on her hand. “The Menon have always been a thorn in the Perlim side and they’re an adept fighting force. The planet’s ionic storms have helped eliminate Perlim air and space advantage. The lack of Perlim expertise in ground-fighting is working against them. We can’t give up now.”

“I admit that there are unique factors at play–”

“If the Fusion admits that it’s had a representative on Menon all this time,” she cut in, “what are the rebels going to think? What more will they think if they find out that it was, in fact, the Fusion representative who was responsible for the slaughter of their civilians?”

Copan remained silent.

“Doctor, if I own up to being a member of the Fusion, then I will also have to own up to massacring Menon women and children. Under such circumstances, the rebels might quite legitimately decide that they’re better off with the drain-sahmpren they know.”

“And sue for peace with the Perlim.” He looked like he’d just swallowed something very bitter.

“Yes.” She was glad he was finally beginning to see her position. “And if that happens, the Fusion may never get the opportunity to manipulate another Perlim planet. Underground news travels fast. Such a loss here could mean we forfeit our best chance of bringing down the Empire.”

Her liaison shook his head after a long pause. “I’m most uncomfortable with this. My oath was to heal people, not approve rationalisations for suicide.”

“It’s the only strategy that makes sense,” she insisted.

Copan remained unconvinced. She could see it in the droop of his shoulders and the dour expression on his face.

“Have they offered you any inducements?” he finally asked.

“Yes. They say they’ll release me if I share our troop movements, inventory levels and general strategies with them.” For the moment, she wanted to keep Lith out of the equation completely.

“Which you could do. In fact, wouldn’t that help us by giving the rebels a wealth of information they wouldn’t have normally had?”

Laisen shook her head. “I could tell them that water is for drinking and they wouldn’t believe me. The only person more mistrusted than an enemy is a turncoat and Drel isn’t the trusting type. Without the ability to verify everything I say, they’d end up discarding most of what I tell them. I am, after all,” she said with a twisted smile, “the Butcher.”

“What is the extent of your injuries?”

“I have severe bruising on my back.” She flexed her back and sighed. “As well as on my face and body. A couple of broken teeth and fingers. Perhaps some cracked ribs.” She smiled faintly. “I’ve had worse.”

But he refused to be drawn by her attempt at levity.

“According to your reasoning then, if you live, you feel you can continue your mission. And if you die, everything remains as it was.”

She nodded. “A fair summation. Of course, if the rebels decide to carry out a proper autopsy on my body, they might find some puzzling irregularities. But I’m not expecting them to produce any surgeons after they kill me. The medical facilities on this planet are rather basic.”

“What would you say are your chances of escape?”

“At the moment? Maybe twenty percent.”

“And what are you expecting to happen next?”

“I have one, perhaps two, days before Drel will be forced to kill me. That’s my window of opportunity.”

“I don’t know why you wanted to talk to me,” Copan complained. “You seem to have figured everything out already.”

She grinned. “I’ve always valued our talks, Doctor. I just wanted to make sure, in case we don’t meet again, that I told you that.”

Laisen had faced death before, but not since Eys.

The rebels had thrown her into a bare room after the beating without even a thin mattress or torn blanket to cushion her fall. They hadn’t risked untying her hands, which were now secured in front of her. It was as if a hungry, exhausted, suffering Cheloi Sie could still pose a threat to them. In a way, the thought was flattering.

Laisen lay on her side, skirting the edges of consciousness, the darkened surrounds flashing in and out of focus through mists of black and red. Her breaths lifted small particles of dust that tickled at her nose. She didn’t care.

She thought of Eys. That she had to be almost at death’s door to finally relive those moments was telling. Those memories were held in such a deep, dark part of her that she didn’t think even the wetware connections of the virtual Dr. Copan could tease them out.

Not till now. Not until she faced the fact that she might not see it through to the end of this particular puzzle and had to make peace with the remembrance of a woman who had meant more to her than life. The first woman who had meant more to her than life.

Eys Ttulon.

Eys was already an experienced veteran of the Fusion’s covert arm when Laisen joined. She was exactly the opposite of what Laisen was expecting. Instead of a serious, cautious, introspective personality, Eys was the life of every occasion, the sparkle at the party, the laughter at the celebration. She was vibrant, with black flashing eyes, long straight dark hair and skin the colour of luscious burnt caramel.

Laisen didn’t have much to do with her during her initial training but they met, by accident, after her fifteenth mission and were inseparable soon after that.

Both had known that their liaison was a bad idea. The life of a Fusion covert agent was unpredictable at best. But in the end, neither could resist the compulsion that pulled them together

As she lay on the sandy floor in her subterranean cell, Laisen remembered a very different place. Different places.

The yellow sun that warmed their skin on the holiday world of Ozca Secundus III. Frolicking in the freshwater oceans by day. Travelling to a different continent as whim took them. Firing their insatiable desire for each other by night.

The gas-giant gliding they did on Ruar Six. Armoured against the crushing gravity. Their visors tuned to a different electromagnetic setting so they could see the full wonder of the multi-hued clouds through which they plunged.

They bought a place on the Floks Nine Semi-Dyson so that, as Eys had playfully teased, she could be near Laisen’s parents and their wonderfully eccentric senses of humour. Eys was the flourish at the end of every mission, the festive glass that increased the joy of each success and mitigated the failures. Laisen adored her with every speck of her being.

Her parents loved Eys too. Hell, everybody loved Eys. People panted and trailed after her like puppies, hoping for a mote of attention. Men and women, it made no difference. But she was Laisen’s. Only Laisen’s. And the younger woman could not believe the sense of pride that filled her every time she and Eys appeared anywhere.

She called Eys her “dark star”. In a moment of poetry even she couldn’t believe, she told Eys she was like that exotic interstellar body, her pull inexorable even when she seemed not to be there. And it was true. Even when they were apart, as circumstances and work often dictated, Laisen thought she could feel her as an almost-tangible presence, guiding her and providing silent advice in difficult situations.

The tragedy of it was that, despite her romantic fancies, there wasn’t a single trace of premonition before Eys’ mission to the 2 Feldaen Cluster. Laisen remembered their last night together as if it were yesterday, both of them still awake as their sector dome lightened to simulate sunrise on the Floks semi-dyson.

Eys ran a finger up Laisen’s naked thigh which quivered in response.

“If you keep doing that,” Laisen warned, her eyes still closed, “you won’t be able to make your flight.”

Eys chuckled, a warm bright sound. “And wouldn’t you like that?”

Laisen opened her eyes and jackknifed into a sitting position. “Actually, I would,” she said suddenly.

The older woman reached up to nuzzle her ear, licking the sensitive patch of flesh just behind the jawline. “Mmmm. And what would we do with ourselves then, my darling? Join a university? Start a business? Move into politics?”

“Any or all of the above.” The tickle at her ear made it difficult to concentrate. “Between us, we have enough social credits saved up to do nothing but relax for a few years.” She turned and kissed Eys full on the lips. “What do you think? Let’s resign. Let’s sleep as much as we want to, wake up when we want to, go wherever we wish. Doesn’t that sound more attractive than another mission with some opaque objective at its end?”

Eys, her dark star, forced her back on the bed. Flesh against flesh. “But wouldn’t you miss the excitement?”

Laisen tried to avoid her lover’s lips but failed. She kissed her quickly. “Y-es,” she slowly conceded, spinning out the word. “Maybe.”

“Besides, you’re still fairly new. The job only gets better from here.” Eys kissed each of Laisen’s nipples, gentle affectionate pecks. “I have a counter-proposal if you’re interested.”

Laisen groaned.

“Let’s give it another five years.” She kissed her neck. “Save up some more.” Her nose. “Enjoy ourselves.” Both eyes. “Then we’ll call it quits forever. Okay?”

In the sunlit chaos of their bedroom, it sounded innocuous and reasonable enough. Laisen nodded and, with the bedsheets still tangled around her naked form, watched her lover get out of bed and begin packing.

Eys left with a wave, a flying kiss and a quick grin.

There was no reason for Eys Ttulon to be anything other than supremely confident about 2 Feldaen. It was a simple snatch-and-grab task, one of the easiest classes of mission there was. Only the Fusion hadn’t bargained on a renegade Jesse mercenary team crashing in and killing every person in sight, regardless of sides. Laisen, with another three more weeks until redeployment, was still on Floks Nine when she got the news.

Devastated didn’t cover how she felt. The frosted walls of the meeting room at the local Fusion administration office, the sympathetic officer, the sparse yet stylish furniture that Laisen had been admiring only scant minutes before, all of it disappeared into a pit of blackness that yawned wide before her eyes.

Not Eys. Not dead. The woman contained enough life for several ordinary mortals. Besides, they had plans. They were going to go rock-hopping across the Olmara Belt. Take part in a scavenger hunt in that barren eerie place called The Zone. Make a long overdue trip to the embassy hub world of Anvil to visit one of Laisen’s brothers.

Dead.

Laisen remembered whispering the word in that terrible and cheerful room. And what came after made it seem so much worse. Eys’ testament. Who would have thought that such a vibrant woman would have given death a single thought, much less think to keep her wishes updated? Everything went to Laisen—her credits, her half-share of their Floks habitat, even a small beat-up scout ship that she had laughingly bought on a whim and planned to renovate.

Laisen didn’t want to keep anything, even though it made her one of the most asset-rich individuals she knew. It all felt tainted and corrupt, as if she had swapped her lover’s life for a pile of material possessions, a kind of infernal pay-off. But as the objects were now her only link with Eys, she also couldn’t bear to give any of it away.

In the end, she locked everything up, left a rough inventory with her parents, and ran as far away from the semi-dyson as fast as she could. She had never gone back.

Now, a decade later, here she was, dying for the Fusion. Her only crumb of comfort was that Eys’ death must have been relatively quick. Mercenaries were usually on a clock.

She shifted on the cold floor. Mercenaries were the opposite of ideologues. Rebels like Drel, unless under direct attack, liked to spin out the moment. They liked messy, prolonged deaths that suited their sense of justice.

With a sigh, Cheloi dropped her head, trying to relax the pain-induced tension in her body. Was there anything different she’d do in her life, knowing she would finally reach this moment in time? No, not really.

Lith. Where was she? Was she being tortured as well? It angered Laisen that she could do nothing, broken and bleeding as she was. Now in the present, she had so much more to regret than what lay in the past.

Her head was pounding like a terraformer’s tecton-sledge. Just six months ago, she would have died happy. Or at least more content in the knowledge that she had achieved everything she wanted to in life. But now, that satisfaction was ripped from her grasp.

Even with her eyes closed she could see Lith’s face, those soft lips and aristocratic cheekbones. She remembered that lithe body grasping and trembling beneath her, her warm eyes wide and unseeing as she was locked in the throes of a climax. Then it segued to a slimmer face, to darker eyes, glowing dark skin and an infectious laugh.

She never even got the chance to say good-bye.

“Oh, Eys,” she whispered into the dark and tears rolled silently down her cheeks.

Chapter Twelve

Lith had fantasies of remaining strong and resolute against the rebels, especially considering whose uniform she was wearing. When she woke, alone and in the dark in the tiny suffocating storage room, she entertained images of standing tall and demanding her rights as a prisoner. Chief among those demands would be some pain relief, she thought, as she rubbed at the source of a painful throbbing on the side of her head.

Her fantasies sustained her until two guards entered her cell, bringing their own starkly illuminating lamp. They shut the door firmly behind them. That was a hint that something unpleasant was about to happen and Lith tried to suppress a shiver. Her visitors were large grim-faced men and she hurriedly got to her feet, holding her position even though her first instinct was to run.

But where to?

The expressions on their faces were menacing although she knew she shouldn’t have expected any less.

Lith thought she knew about war. Part of her duties was to tour the territory’s medical facilities and the looks of pain on the faces of the injured, the sutures caked with blood, the missing limbs and mutilated faces clearly showed her the personal toll of combat. Even though she was moved to sympathy, a kernel within her remained aloof and coldly satisfied. Nobody had asked the Perlim to invade Menon IV. It was an act of aggression, pure and simple. And although she sometimes winced sympathetically, she thought that all these people would have been better off if they hadn’t volunteered for such service in the first place.

In comparison, she viewed the rebels with more empathy. If Laeyek Omni B had such fighters, maybe her homeworld could have torn itself free of the Empire sometime in the past and formally petitioned the Fusion for admittance.

The Menon rebels were a metaphor of her own state of mind. They were doing something distasteful, fighting and killing other beings, in order to achieve the higher goal of freedom. Despite the ambush on their skimmer, and the ache in her head from the blow that knocked her out cold, that opinion remained strong in her mind.

Until the first backhand caught her across the face.

Stars exploded in front of Lith’s eyes as she fell backwards against a wall, her shoes skidding along the dry earth.

What was happening, she thought in shock. Didn’t they realise she was a woman? And she was on their side!

Lith opened her mouth to say something and a short punch caught her in the midsection, dropping her to the ground.

They hadn’t even asked any questions, she thought in terror, clutching at her stomach as she moaned. Her body curled itself into a foetal position. All the two men seemed to be interested in was a sense of satisfaction from beating the breath from her body. She wheezed in painful gasps of air. Would they even let her live when they were done?

“What are we supposed to do with her?” one of her attackers asked the other, as if reading her mind.

“Doesn’t matter. Both of them are supposed to be killed.”

Killed!

But Grakal-Ski said—!

Lith’s mind flashed back to the look on the sub-Colonel’s face when he invaded her quarters. He told her she would be safe and Lith had believed him. But that was assuming that the rebels would ask the relevant question in the first place. Too late, she reinterpreted the look on his face from concentration to smug satisfaction.

The second-in-command of the Nineteen liked things neat. No loose ends, whether a scrap of thread…or a Perlim junior officer. Across whatever distance separated them, she knew it was his fist she felt in her abdomen, partner to the pain radiating from her head. Too late, she appreciated the total precision of his thinking. If her capture was part of a plan to get rid of Colonel Sie, then wouldn’t it make a tidy little present if everyone in his plot came to untimely ends? She wondered if the two rebel soldiers knew they were acting as proxies for one of their most hated enemies.

She couldn’t let that happen, couldn’t let the duplicitous bastard win. Choking amongst the gritty floor of an underground chamber, Lith battled to draw breath.

“Maybe we should call in the rest of the crew,” one of them said. “No reason why they can’t join in the fun.”

“N-no.” Her voice was thin and choked. An incessant scratching at her throat made her cough as two sets of booted feet approached. She couldn’t—

It hurt too much—

She had to—

“Few,” she croaked urgently, still doubled over on the floor. Thankfully the boots paused. “Fu-sion.” How could two syllables hurt so much to say? “I’m Fusion.” She repeated the words as if they were some kind of mantra. “Fusion.”

“What did she say?”

“Just some lies from a Perlim bitch. Go get Juar and the others.”

Lith swallowed, trying to get as much saliva down her throat as she could. She tried again.

“Fusion,” she croaked. “Reward. For you.”

She didn’t know if she could negotiate anything, didn’t know if the Fusion even cared that one of their own had deliberately placed herself in the middle of a war zone, but Lith would have said anything to stop the physical abuse. With a Perlim uniform on her body, the Fusion was the only card she could play.

“Fuck her,” the second one said loudly. “She’s lying.”

“What if she isn’t?” The objecting voice was strident in its doubt.

“What if she is?”

“What if she isn’t?” the voice repeated, louder.

“Yeah?” The answer was shouted. “Well what if she is?”

Lith didn’t know how long the argument would have continued if they weren’t interrupted by a third rebel. She heard the door open. Thankfully it remained open this time. Looking up as much as she dared, Lith saw another set of boots quickly join the original two.

“What are both of you up to?” a harsh female voice demanded. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s this Perlim bitch,” the second thug said, prodding Lith’s body ungently with his boot. “She says she’s Fusion.”

The resulting silence was charged.

“Do you think she’s telling the truth?” the woman asked.

“No. She’s just trying to save her own skin.”

“Yes,” the first one cut in. “I think she’s telling the truth. The scum don’t like the Fusion. No right-minded Perlim would ever admit belonging to them.”

Lith kept as quiet as possible, swallowing convulsively to stop the scratching in her throat from growing into a coughing fit. She had never felt so helpless in her life.

“Take her to one of the meeting rooms,” the woman finally decided. “Get the new medic. He can run some tests on her.”

“Telkin, you can’t be serious! Would you take the word of some—”

“Drel would have our heads if she’s telling the truth.” Two hands reached down and dragged Lith to her feet. She stared into the dark expressionless eyes of the woman who had temporarily spared her. “We’ll give you a chance, bitch. But if you’re lying, I’ll throw you to the men without a moment’s hesitation. And it won’t be pretty.” She shook her, and Lith’s head bobbed around alarmingly. “Do you understand?”

The junior Perlim officer kept her mouth shut. And nodded.

Day 1,533 of the War:

The guard was rough but Lith knew she could have been rougher.

After the aborted assault from the two heavies the previous day, Telkin put her in a meeting room to await the medic. When he arrived, he took a blood sample and some tissue swabs with a minimum of conversation. Telkin also ordered that Lith be provided with two small meals and an equivalent number of toilet breaks, a command that elicited much grousing from several rebels.

The next day she was led, by a bunched up collar and on her tiptoes, along a series of short corridors before being unceremoniously shoved into a room. Nobody said a word to her along the way. The door slammed shut behind her.

Lith stumbled as she was pushed, then regained her balance and straightened. The room was large, the largest she had yet seen, with a curved ceiling above her head. After a cursory glance, her attention was drawn to a long table centered in the space. On it, Lith saw detailed maps of the Nineteen and surrounding territories. It seemed incongruous that such information was in physical form rather than on giant displays. At HQ every piece of data was a bright pinpoint of light on one of many panels. Then it occurred to her that hard copy was easier to move around and evacuate with.

There were no seats around the long table but as she lifted her gaze, Lith saw a small metal desk shoved against a rough rock wall in the far corner. From one of the three chairs surrounding that small desk, a figure stood.

“Come here and have a seat.”

The voice was guttural but the tone was pleasant enough. Not knowing what else to do, Lith walked over to him, keeping her steps slow and deliberate. From a distance, the man at the desk looked short but massive. Close up, he was also one of the most unattractive men she had ever seen. His eyes were lopsided. His eyebrows were stiff, wiry and bushy. His lips were thick and fleshy. But there was a gleam of razor-sharp intelligence in his gaze.

“Sit down,” he said when she was within arm’s reach. He gestured to a chair.

Primly, Lith perched herself on the edge of a bare metal seat. She felt grimy and her body ached, but she refused to brush the errant strands of hair away from her face or wipe down her obviously dirty uniform.

“I’m Drel,” he told her, lowering himself into an opposite chair. Dispensing with the niceties, he launched straight to the core of their conversation. “You told my soldiers you’re Fusion.”

She nodded feeling nervous and distracted. “Yes, I’m Fusion.”

Wasn’t this where she wanted to be? In the safe arms of the rebels? Why was she so jittery then?

And what happened to the Colonel?

It appeared that it was everybody’s sworn mission to kill Cheloi Sie. Hers, the rebels, even Grakal-Ski’s. Did the woman stand even the slightest chance of getting out of this alive?

“The medic forwarded me the results of his tests,” Drel said slowly, his eyes watching her intently. “He confirms your story. He tells me there are traces of Fusion biogenetics in your blood. But also older Perlim traces.”

Lith tried to stem her obvious relief.

“My parents escaped from Laeyek Omni B when I was a child,” she explained. “We were processed by the Fusion and given their standard medical treatments.”

“Yes, that would explain some things,” he agreed, “but not all. If you’re Fusion,” his gaze flickered over her jacket and the markings on it, “Senior Lieutenant, what are you doing on Menon IV in that uniform?”

The words, so easily formed in her mind, were too difficult to speak. They just wouldn’t emerge. Drel’s strange eyes narrowed in impatience and Lith took a deep breath. Where could she even begin?

“There’s a body that’s trying to help bring down the Empire,” she finally said. “They call themselves the Free-Perlim Council.”

Drel shrugged, indicating that he had not heard of them.

“They, well, a small section of them, decided that the best way to make that happen was to sabotage the empire’s efforts on Menon IV.”

“How?”

Lith swallowed. “By killing Colonel Cheloi Sie.”

Drel sat back in his chair but it wasn’t a sign of relaxation. He continued to watch her face.

“You were sent to get rid of my arch-enemy? That seems…very convenient.”

“It’s, it’s all part of a larger plan. I was originally supposed to kill the Colonel. Then it changed to delivering her into your hands.”

“By whom? The Fusion? This Council of yours?”

Lith licked her lips. “No.”

Drel remained quiet and silence filled the room.

“Colonel Koul Grakal-Ski,” she finally whispered, her voice barely carrying across the table.

Drel rocked back in his seat.

“Sie’s second-in-command wants her dead? So he gets a Fusion assassin to deliver her to me in one convenient package?” The shouts of laughter from deep within Drel’s chest echoed in the empty room.

Lith, nervous and strung out, jumped at the sound. She was so far out of her depth she felt like she was drowning. Her chest was tight and painful, squeezing her lungs to tiny points.

He stopped laughing but a smile still hovered on his lips.

“The Perlim animals will eat their own young,” he told her sagely. “They can’t help themselves. But this is still a little too convenient, Senior Lieutenant. A Fusion agent conveniently appearing in the middle of a war zone, handing me my greatest enemy on the orders of the Butcher’s second-in-command? Can you see how unlikely it all sounds?”

He spread his hands. “Convince me you’re telling me the truth.”

It was difficult at first, but eventually the entire story tumbled out. From Lith’s parents fleeing the brutality of the empire to her burning desire to do something that would hurt the Empire. From meeting Nils to her placement on Menon IV. From her work as the Colonel’s aide to the blackmail plot of Grakal-Ski. She told him about everything except her physical intimacies with the woman she was betraying. And the feeling of being shredded with each sentence she uttered.

Her own feelings thickened her recital, sometimes even stopping them. She was forced to take shuddering breaths in order to continue. A voice in her brain shrieked that she should not be doing this to a woman she feared she had fallen halfway in love with, but she closed her eyes and continued with the narrative.

Drel, who interrupted her with questions from time to time, was nodding by the end of it. The grim lines of his face relaxed into softer ones as he eyed her with interest.

“And where would you like to go now, Lith Yinalña?”

She stared at him dry-eyed and he shrugged.

“You’ve completed your mission. The notorious colonel is now in our hands and justice will be served. Your part is done. Would you like to go back to the Fusion? I’m happy to offer you what assistance I can as a reward for handing the Butcher to me.

“I can contact a counterpart in another, less heavily guarded territory and organise an offplanet stealth-lift but that will take some time. Until then, you’re welcome to stay here as my personal guest. I’ll organise a room for you, share what little hospitality we have and, er, something a bit more appropriate to wear.”

Lith was only half-listening. Did she want to go back to the Fusion? Yes, of course. Back to her family, to safety and a predictable life, proud of the fact that she had finally done something to avenge the cruelty that had led thousands to flee their homeworld.

“What will happen to the Colonel?” The question was ripped from her.

Drel smiled. “I think you already know the answer to that.”

Day 1,534 of the War:

It was eerie how similar Lith’s room at Drel’s base was to her quarters at the Nineteen’s HQ. It didn’t have the private attached amenities but the amount of space available to her was almost equivalent. Her new quarters had been used as a storeroom and a four-bed cell in the past. She could see this by the dark dusty outlines against three of the walls, black against ochre. For now, the room only held one narrow bed and a small dark cupboard on uneven legs and Lith half-expected to see the regulation Perlim military-issue laundry basket sitting sedately in one corner.

After their meeting, Drel had personally taken her to one of his subordinates. The rebel got her some nondescript clothing to change into and she was told where the toilets and canteen were. But there was no mistake that she was anything more than a tolerated, still mistrusted, guest. She wasn’t shown around the entire underground complex, for example. And many doors, open on her way to Drel’s office, were shut on the way back again.

She clutched at the clothes, their rough texture digging into her hands, and stood just inside the doorway.

Where is the Colonel?

She felt as though she had just bartered an armful of textile and a few nights on a thin mattress for somebody’s life. The weight of it dragged at her feet, making it impossible to take one further step, either into the room or out of it completely.

What have I done?

Someone walked past her in the corridor at her back, breaking the paralysis. With a quick movement, Lith stepped forward and turned to swing the incredibly heavy timber door shut, giving it one more push with her elbow even after the primitive lock latched shut with an audible click. The privacy wasn’t complete, she could still see the shadow of movement under the door and hear the gravelly shuffle of feet, but it was the best she was going to get.

She was going home!

Surely that should fill her with elation? After a year on Menon IV, she would be seeing her parents again. And Nils. What would she say to them?

I’ve done it! I struck a blow against the Empire by turning the Butcher of Sab-Iqur over to the rebels on Menon IV!

No, that wasn’t true. If it hadn’t been for Grakal-Ski’s machinations, she wouldn’t have got this far. But once the news got out onto the planetary nets, she knew the honour would be hers. Grakal-Ski, safe in the promotion he hungered for, wouldn’t gainsay anything that left his own hands spotless.

For a change, she would be the one held responsible for the death of another. Was this what people meant when they spoke about fighting destruction with destruction? Orators appeared so strong, so invulnerable, when they pronounced upon such matters. Even Nils, during his fiery and ultimately unsuccessful speeches to the Free-Perlim Council, had used such language. Had any of these people actually taken a life to know what it was they were talking about? Did Nils know what it was like to hold someone’s existence in the balance? To snuff out a life with only one word or gesture? Or, even worse, by doing absolutely nothing?

Lith stumbled to the bed, drawing shuddering breaths into her body. Under the pile of thick clothing flopping over her arms, her fingers were frigid and shaking. Her legs trembled with the thought that Cheloi Sie would soon be dead and her stomach churned with bile.

She had no doubt that Drel would eliminate his Perlim enemy. That was his role and she noticed the glint of happy anticipation in his dark, heavy-lidded eyes at the prospect of it. But what was her role? At one time, she thought it was destroying the Colonel. Then it segued into comforting her. And now, it seemed to have seesawed back to retribution.

Where was the accompanying feeling of triumph? She clenched the clothes with strong bitter fingers. Nils would have been turning celebratory cartwheels and composing triumphant speeches by now. But Lith felt sick and hollow. Just the thought sent bile rising up to her throat.

How would they kill the Colonel? Would they form a squad of weapon-bearing rebels to shoot her? Inject her with a poison? Suffocate her in an hermetically-sealed cage? Leave her to dehydrate and die under the harsh Menon sun? Would they execute her in public? Or record it in private? Lith’s imagination conjured up an alarming number of images, a relentless barrage of unspeakable options.

And she was responsible. Not through words, but by agreeing to Grakal-Ski’s scheme in the first place.

He would have killed me.

That was the only excuse saving her sanity. Not the justifiable shock at the callous way the Colonel had dissolved their relationship, nor even the simmering anger afterwards, but the mortal choice. Her life against that of the Colonel’s and she was so desperate to keep living. Did that make her a bad person?

Was there really a better option waiting for her? Didn’t she deserve this chance to return home? And if so, were the tears running down her cheeks ones of relief? Or something else?

“Does the Perlim Empire know how stupid it’s been?”

Drel paced the floor of the interrogation room in front of a standing, swaying Cheloi. She wasn’t in very good shape and she knew it. One side of her face was bruised and swollen and she suspected that she was now definitely sporting several broken ribs. Despite the pain, she felt exhausted enough to go to sleep right there on the hard tiled floor.

She knew she wouldn’t last another few days of similar treatment. Her jacket was long gone, probably being touted as a trophy or demoted to dishrag duty. Her gold scar-raptors, symbols of her rank, were probably dented and crushed under someone’s contemptuous heel by now. Her pants were filthy, covered in dust and dirt and stained with blood and patches of perspiration. Her feet were still bare, leaving her psychologically naked.

“Where’s my driver?” she croaked for the tenth time. She had tried everything to get news on Lith, from asking Drel a plain question to shouting in the face of every rebel that came near her. Neither tactic had yielded any concrete results.

“Your driver?” He finally paused and seemed to consider something. He opened his mouth then closed it again and shook his head with a smile. “Never mind. She’s in far better shape than you, Senior Colonel.”

“Let her go.”

“In good time. Once we explain the situation to her.”

Cheloi stared at the rebel leader through her spiky fringe of hair. Her experience of having the situation “explained” to her involved torture and pain. She wanted to step forward. Her hands were tied behind her back but maybe if she concentrated, she could at least get in one good kick before she was brought down. She lifted a leg, tried to walk, but the effort defeated her and she crashed to the floor, landing on already bruised knees. To top it all off, she was hungry, a black gaping hole where her belly should have been. Head down, she drew in shallow breaths, only noticing Drel’s approach by the pair of boots that appeared in her view.

“So this is Senior Colonel Cheloi Sie, the scourge of Menon IV. Central Control’s most beloved weapon. Brutal and stupid. Cruel and sadistic.” He lowered his voice, all the better to emphasise the acid in it. “What did you think my people would do if you attacked our homes? Sab-Iqur, Sab-Solin, Sab-Supehn. Did you think we would crawl to you like beggars? How long did you think you could get away with such wanton murder?”

Cheloi took one more breath to steady her voice. With the eye that wasn’t swollen shut, she looked up at the man who towered over her. “Why don’t you stop the nagging and kill me, Drel? I’m sure that would be a relief for both of us.”

“You’d like that.” His voice shook with emotion. It emerged in tight bursts through gritted teeth. “A quick end. Mercy taken when you have given none. Oh no Colonel, you won’t get away from me that easily. We have something special planned for you.”

Not a trial, she thought with weary humour. Please, spare me the justifications of freedom-fighting fanatics. She knew she had killed civilians, Drel knew she had killed civilians. What more was there to explain?

“My peers have demanded a trial.”

Cheloi couldn’t help the sharp bark of laughter that escaped her lips. “Your people are so predictable, Drel. Originality isn’t one of your strong suits, is it?”

Even awake, she could suddenly hear Copan screeching with disbelief in her head. Maybe the level of stress hormones surging through her system had triggered his presence in her waking mind.

~ What do you think you’re doing? Do you want him to kill you right now with his bare hands?

That wouldn’t be such a bad way to go. And it would be a lot more private than the gala event he’s planning.

~ How could you insult him like that? At least before, you said you had a slim chance of survival. But now?!

It’s over. I’m too tired.

~ You want to die?

I’m too exhausted to live.

~ But to die as Cheloi Sie, the war criminal of Menon IV? Doesn’t that bother you when you know you’re really Laisen Carros of the Fusion?

It’s too late. Cheloi is the identity I’ve taken now and if I’m going to die as her, then I get to do it my way.

~ Foolishly?

My way. It may be foolish but it won’t be cowering.

The meaty backhand caught her just below the eye and sent her sprawling to the floor amid a shower of stars and jagged streaks of colour. But it was only sensation not hurt. Her ribs were biting into her like jagged teeth, making even the shallowest breath an agony to draw, and the pain of that consumed her.

“We will peel the flesh from your body in strips,” he warned her, “and send your bleached skeleton back to your headquarters in a box.”

Cheloi thought about that for a second, about Rumis opening an anonymous crate containing dozens of bones, curved and straight, long and short. Would he think of putting it together? Hanging it in his office?

~ You’re losing your mind, Laisen.

Under the circumstances, I don’t mind in the slightest.

She stayed where she was, lying on the smooth tiled floor, gasping in air through her mouth. Nobody moved to help her up.

Angling her head, she looked at the unfocused man-shaped blob that represented the rebel leader, spitting out her words in quick gasps. “If I’m going to be your star celebrity, Drel, you’d better find me a cleaner uniform.” She swallowed, trying to lubricate her scratchy throat. She wanted to make sure Drel understood every word that emerged from her mouth. “At least think about giving your circus an air of legitimacy, even if you can’t manage the substance of it.”

She tried to keep up the laughter as she was dragged back to her cell but her ribs began hurting again.

She heard the guards talking and now, in the deathly quiet of night, she almost regretted the brash words she had thrown at Drel. But a way of escape eluded her and if she managed to inflame the rebels against the Perlim even more, then that was a good thing.

Maybe she and Eys weren’t so dissimilar after all. Like her dead lover, she made sure she had a testament drawn up before the Perlim mission. It was a document of cowardice, leaving everything to her parents to dispose of as they saw fit, but at least it meant that loving hands would touch Eys’ possessions one more time. Or maybe she should have just directed that everything be crated up and shot directly into Floks’ star. That would have been cleaner in so many ways.

This was it. Her last night as a living person. She could have recited the agenda of the following day to any interested bystander. They would try to spruce her up and she was positive they would manage to materialise a cleaner uniform to slap on her body. The trial would be held in the afternoon, to enable the other rebel leaders time enough to attend the show. It would be recorded and a copy left somewhere on the edge of the Nineteen’s territory for Perlim forces to find after a tip-off.

By that time, she would be dead.

She could easily guess the rough characteristics of her execution area. It would be in the biggest space Drel could find, so as many as possible could watch. A town’s public square would be the logical choice, surrounded by buildings that the people could melt into should they be prematurely discovered.

Even in the dark, Cheloi could imagine the heat beating down on her head. The ground would be sharp and hot beneath her bare feet. Between the pain and the afternoon sun, she knew she would feel like she was on fire even before the first killing beam reached her body. Or maybe Drel would go for something a little more low-tech and theatrical? Impaling? Beheading? She hoped whatever method Drel chose would be quick, although she was sure it wouldn’t be.

And what of Lith? Cheloi had the feeling she had somehow broken a sacred trust, a charge to protect the other woman. There wasn’t a thing she could have done to change the outcome, but she couldn’t help the guilt eating away at her. The realisation that she had somehow led her aide—her lover—to her death.

If I wasn’t the Butcher, I might have been able to negotiate a prisoner exchange.

But she was, and every association of hers seemed tainted by the same dark blemish.

And wasn’t that the story of her life? That every person she ached for was destined to die. The only consolation was that she wouldn’t need to put the pieces of her heart back together again. There was something to be said for oblivion.

Now, near the end, her mind was blank when it should have been full to overflowing. She had regrets, but none that she could do anything about lying injured and wheezing on the sharp stone floor.

She shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position, one that didn’t put so much pressure on her ribs. They had tied her hands in front of her body but she had them resting high, near her throat. It hurt too much getting them down past her chest. Her backside felt on fire.

Between the sharp ache travelling down her back and legs, and the grim prospect of the following day’s trial, she almost hoped some vengeful relative would take matters into his or her own hands, storm the cell and end matters once and for all.

Then, as if in answer to her prayers, Cheloi heard some scuffling outside and the muted sizzle of an energy weapon on a low setting. She took a deep breath, trying to compose her body into some form of dignity, trying to ignore her injuries.

The door opened. Just that one movement gave her pause. The door didn’t slam open in one vengeful burst. It swung inwards quietly and cautiously.

Not a survivor then, bent on revenge. An assassin?

It was too dark to see the colour or particulars of the hand that gripped the door’s edge. The figure slipped in and Cheloi held her breath.

She would know that posture from anywhere. But what was she doing here?

“Get,” Cheloi wanted to whisper but the word came out as a barely intelligible single sound. Didn’t she have enough to worry about without adding Lith into the mix? She could barely save herself. How could she also save her driver?

Lith crouched down next to Cheloi’s reclining figure and switched on a small light. Cheloi heard her gasp and saw the horrified expression on her face before she firmly looked down to a large satchel she carried into the cell with her.

Cheloi felt like hell. Judging by Lith’s reaction, she must look it too.

“What hurts?” Lith asked urgently, digging around in the bag.

Cheloi tilted her head to one side, ignoring the question, and a small smile curved the side of her mouth that wasn’t swollen and bleeding. Against the dim blue light, she watched Lith’s profile, her expressive face frowning as she searched for something. Was this the universe giving her one last chance to say good-bye? To give her something that had been denied with Eys? Lith wasn’t even dressed as a Perlim officer any more but an anonymous Menon woman. Where had she got her clothes from? Where had she been for the past two days?

Lith pulled out an analgesic spray and set to work on Cheloi’s face, touching her with light sure fingers. Through the broken skin, Cheloi could only feel pressure and not the intimate signature that identified Lith’s touch as her own.

“Too late,” Cheloi rasped quietly. “You go.”

“No.” Lith finished with her face and ran her gaze down her superior’s figure, tightening her lips as she saw the outward signs of ill treatment. “I’m not leaving without you.”

“Lith–”

“Do you have any bones broken?”

“Ribs. Fingers.” She tried again. “Lith–”

“Barbarians,” she muttered. “Everyone’s a fucking barbarian.” She raised her gaze, shooting Cheloi a look that was almost hateful. “Even you.”

“Time,” Cheloi said, because her throat didn’t seem to be functioning and she couldn’t think of any other way to convey the urgency of the moment. They were still being held in Drel’s cellars, with an undefined number of enemies between the cell and the surface. And that wasn’t counting the people and obstacles they might further encounter before reaching safety.

If that’s what Lith had planned.

“Just shut up,” she was told. “Not another fucking word.”

That was one request Cheloi could carry out. She relaxed and watched Lith, admiring the quick play of emotions over her features and the deft touch of her hands and fingers as she ripped the undervest upwards from the bottom hem and sprayed quick-set over the bare torso underneath.

Cheloi hissed in a breath at the sensations. There was quick pain at the biting cold of the alcohol in the medicated quick-set. Lith didn’t seem to notice. She replaced the torn fabric and cut the tie off a pair of boots that hung behind the satchel’s strap.

They must have been banging against her legs during her entire trip to the cell, Cheloi thought. How annoying.

“Here,” Lith said, cutting Cheloi’s restraints with a sharp blade and shoving the footwear at her. “You’ll have to stand and walk. If you can’t keep up, I’ll leave you behind.”

Cheloi couldn’t believe the feeling of wry tenderness that welled in her as she listened to Lith’s words. By themselves, they weren’t very encouraging. But if love and hate were two sides of the same coin, then Lith’s words meant that she felt more than indifference toward her. That the heat that simmered between them was more mutual than even Cheloi suspected. Her driver needn’t have come looking for her. But she had.

Cheloi knew she still had traces of a stupid smile on her face as Lith shoved the boots on and helped her to her feet, until pressure against her back caused her to twitch and wince.

Lith swore quietly, an impressive and eclectic litany, as she swung a faded rebel jacket over her superior’s body.

“I’ve seen some wheelers on the surface,” she said, “and I’ve got a map of the area. If we can get some transport going, we should be able to get to a Perlim-held village in a day or two.”

Cheloi tried to take a deeper breath, to sustain a more meaningful exchange, but her ribs still hurt, forcing her to breathe in shallow gulps. “Guards?”

“Busy. They’re on light shift tonight because there’s a big dinner on and, besides the catering, a number of soldiers have been assigned the job of looking after visiting rebel leaders.” Her voice faltered. “For your trial tomorrow.”

Lith might not have been aware of it, but her brief explanation threw up several questions in Cheloi’s mind. Was Drel really so confident that he could afford to downgrade security of his territory? Considering how careful and precise he appeared to her, that move didn’t make much sense. Maybe it was a show of prestige on his part, a way of reassuring the other leaders that they were safe. That he had things totally under control, especially with the Butcher in captivity. Maybe his intelligence sources had passed on information about something happening at Nineteen’s HQ.

Cheloi had no doubt that Rumis would have mobilised the entire territory looking for her, but he was outgunned and in a vulnerable position. He could count on Vanqill, and perhaps Prola. The other senior sub-Colonels had been fixtures from Samnett’s command and knew Koul well. They weren’t about to contradict a colleague they had worked with for longer than they’d known her. As for Koul himself, Cheloi had no doubt he would have moved swiftly to take command. He wouldn’t be very interested in finding his missing commanding officer, not when he had finally managed to achieve his goal.

No, she was on her own and Drel probably knew it.

And where had Lith been? She looked in much better condition but what had happened to her? Had she been beaten? Tortured? Had she managed to escape and only now snuck back into Drel’s base to rescue her? Cheloi longed to launch into a barrage of questions but her vocal chords refused to cooperate. She had to use every gram of her will to put one foot in front of another.

They slipped out of the makeshift cell and, for the first time, Cheloi was able to examine the tunnel complex where she had been held prisoner. She knew from the echoing sounds and texture of cold that it was underground. It was also old, judging by the rough chip marks that scored the sloping walls and the uneven illumination. Energy lamps were awkwardly positioned, as if by whim, some in a cluster high up along the arched ceiling, others strung out many metres apart, tacked to the walls. She and Lith hurried past them, clinging to the wells of darkness in between, while trying not to make it obvious that they were doing so.

Cheloi couldn’t speak a word now even if she tried. The analgesics had started doing their job but pain still laced her body. She gritted her teeth hard, held onto Lith with a death-grip and kept her eyes focused on the dark ground beneath her feet, trying not to collapse with each step.

She had been so ready to die before. Now, a handful of hours later, she was clutching at a chance of escape with talons as equally tenacious as those that belonged to the scar-raptors she used to wear on her shoulders. The fact that she couldn’t hear the good doctor’s voice any more indicated that she had subsided below the stress level trigger point but she knew she was in for a tough session the next time she activated the Copan wetware.

Lith negotiated the tunnels smoothly. When they emerged into a still night, up flights of stairs that she thought would never end, Cheloi couldn’t help taking in as deep a breath as her ribs could stand. To her surprise, they were on the outskirts of a small town, the lights from houses splashing on the ground only metres from where they stood. That made sense. There was nothing like a populated area to mask guerilla movements. Above her head, the night sky continued its impressive light show. Sparking streaks of colour shot across the firmament, obscuring stars.

“You’re going to slow me down,” Lith whispered. “I’ll leave you here and pick you up when I’ve found some transport.”

“Here” meant beside an emergency water-well, an insurance policy against infrastructure failures and the arid unforgiving planet. It was some distance from the nearest row of houses and its circular wall was wide, high and cool to lean against. Cheloi sagged against the well with a sigh and shut her eyes, blissfully revelling in the soft tufts of fresh air that caressed her cheeks. She didn’t rate their chances of escape very highly. Despite the lax, almost-festive circumstances Lith described, they could still be discovered by a walking patrol or arouse the suspicions of a sympathetic local out for an evening stroll. Lith might not find a transport. Or they could run out of fuel and be recaptured. Or the Perlim forces might spot them and decide to shoot first and ask questions later.

Cheloi squeezed her eyes tightly shut then relaxed them again. What was the matter with her? Was she still so enamoured of the idea of dying that she couldn’t envisage escaping? After all, there were two of them running now, not just one. A doubling of chances.

Lost in her thoughts, fading in and out of lucidity, Cheloi didn’t hear the vehicle until it was almost on top of her. It was an archaic-looking dusty wheeler being erratically driven by a hunched old man. Even though she could barely move, Cheloi’s Fusion training kicked in. Could she work up enough energy to jump the man? Or would she be better off taking him hostage, forcing him to drive around so she could find Lith before dumping him? She knew she wouldn’t kill him. She had her fill of violence for now.

The old man stopped and his figure straightened. Cheloi widened her eyes in surprise. This was no ancient villager, but Lith. And it struck her that the antiquated vehicle and matching driver would be less conspicuous than a screeching modern vehicle tearing across the landscape. Cheloi’s lips twitched with pride.

“I’ll put you in the back,” Lith told her quietly, but her voice was still like a rod of iron. “Think like a sack of grain.”

Cheloi nodded. After some fumbles, she settled down on the flat surface behind thse two front seats, her head resting on a makeshift pillow. The air was dusty and smelt of lubricating oil but at least the bare metal was covered by something that felt like sacking. She lay on her back and prepared herself for a bumpy ride, trying not to breathe too deeply.

Lith disappeared for a few minutes then reappeared, holding two small, low concrete blocks. She placed them on either side of Cheloi’s arms. “Rest your forearms on these. It may give you some relief. Do you understand?”

Cheloi nodded. If she had known what she might have had to endure on Menon, she would have requested fortified bones before mission insertion, but that might have somehow tipped off the Perlim to her alien origin. And there was the chance that the rebels wouldn’t have left her alone until they’d heard the tell-tale snap of a bone or two.

Never second-guess anyone. Least of all yourself.

“I’ll be covering you with supplies and bits and pieces of junk. Try not to move. I’ll be going slowly so we probably won’t make it to the nearest Perlim outpost till the day after tomorrow.” Lith’s sentences were clipped and fast, efficient in a way that the fuzzy-headed Cheloi appreciated…until she focused on the actual words. The day after tomorrow. That was a day later than she’d been anticipating but there was nothing she could do about it. Lith’s plan made too much sense.

“I’ll drive through the night and tomorrow as well, if you’re up to it. We’ll stop at dusk and take shelter somewhere.”

There were hidden depths to Lith Yinalña, Cheloi realised. The fraught situation had brought out a steady strength that Cheloi couldn’t help but fall more deeply in love with. But how could she say those words when her throat didn’t work and it was an effort just to draw breath? She closed her eyes again as Lith tented lightweight alloy struts above her before covering the whole construct with a blanket of some sort. The air around her became thick and trapped. It was uncomfortable and claustrophobic but better than a cloying mask over her head and a gang of rebels surrounding her.

The wheeler jolted. And they were away.

Chapter Thirteen

Day 1,535 of the War:

Sab-Inuk.

There was nothing here that could later haunt Cheloi because the village didn’t exist any more. Like a skeleton bleaching in the sun some walls were still upright and solid. Others had crumbled into dust. It looked like it had been cleared years ago, swept clean of even the usual people-detritus that cluttered an abandoned site.

They had been travelling for an entire day. After the last toilet break, Cheloi had insisted on sitting up front, next to her driver. She had enough of dusty suffocation to last her entire life. Lith had reluctantly agreed after confirming their position and adjusting their bearing.

The setting sun cast red shafts of light against the ruins of the village, accentuated by the storms’ growing flashes of colour across the sky. To Cheloi’s eyes, the crumbling walls looked like blood-soaked relics. She got a quick glimpse of all this before Lith bundled her into the most complete building she could find. Yet another basement. She would have laughed if it didn’t hurt so much. She took in two quick gasps of air before they disappeared beneath the ground’s surface again, finding shelter for the night like animals while the rebels used the cover of darkness to come out and play.

Even sitting up in the passenger cabin, the trip had not been pleasant. The wheeler had only a conventional roof, no air-conditioned bubble, and the air Cheloi jerked into her lungs was hot and smothering. The terrain was also rough, jolting the vehicle with every sudden move. Cheloi wanted to scream, wanted to stop and storm out of the vehicle but, like the good soldier she was, she remained in place. She had to trust her subordinate to use her own initiative to get them out of the rebel’s grasp and smiled encouragement whenever they stopped for a quick break. Her teeth were chattering but she gritted them shut. The day’s travel had been completed with hardly a word shared between them.

Now they were in the shell of what used to be Sab-Inuk.

Cheloi noted with relief that their refuge turned out to be only a half-basement. The narrow windows, set high and peering to the outside, were long gone but the gaps the frames used to sit in remained. Lith forced her to lie down on a makeshift cot she threw together from some boards of wood and two blankets. Cheloi eased herself down carefully and watched the red of the sun’s rays on the ceiling, gazing at them as they deepened amid the scuffling sounds of Lith’s fussing.

Cheloi felt like she was somehow floating in a world divorced from reality. She could feel the pain of her own body but no awareness beyond that. She didn’t know what temperature the room was or what she was lying on. And she didn’t care. The errant flashes from the ionic storms were quick in the darkening sky but everything else seemed to move more slowly and it was still black at the periphery of her vision.

“I’ll give you another shot of analgesics,” Lith told her in a more normal tone of voice.

She had been terse and muted until now, as if afraid the rebels could pluck their utterances from the air. Cheloi thought that was a possibility…if they had a circle of appropriately-specified satellites orbiting the planet. And if Menon IV didn’t suffer from the kind of storms that reduced most advanced technology to the level of atomic-age savagery.

“And a broad-spectrum antibiotic.”

“What for?” It seemed to take ages for her neurons to fire, for her mouth to form the question. After speaking, Cheloi clenched her jaw to stop herself from shaking but Lith had already noticed.

“Pneumonia,” she replied shortly. “You’ve been drawing in shallow breaths and liquid could have built up in your lungs. I don’t think you’ve got a punctured lung but you have a fever, your eyes are too bright and you’re shaking.” She dug through the emergency medkit she must have stolen from Drel’s lair. “I wonder if I have anything for that?”

In the end, Lith came up with her own concoction. “Antibiotics to stem the pneumonia, analgesics for the pain, muscle relaxant for the spasms, but not too much. It’ll have to do until we can get back to friendlier territory.”

Cheloi tried to watch Lith as she worked, but it was too much effort and strained the wrong set of muscles. She lay on the makeshift pallet. Staring up. Blinking slowly. Listening to the scrabbling sounds as her driver got organised.

Maybe she was going insane, but the sounds of another person moving about purposefully around her was reminiscent of home. Love. A partnership. Remembrances of Eys walking from one room to another, picking up something she’d forgotten, checking the latest events at Gaard’s Sub-Prime, or welcoming the odd visitor. Cheloi missed those innocent reminders of domesticity. Beloved yet taken for granted at the same time. If only she’d known that they would be the last sounds of joy she’d hear for more than a decade.

“You know. A lot,” Cheloi croaked, trying for a tone of friendly reassurance. Beyond some basic field treatments for trauma-related wounds, she wouldn’t have been able to figure out with any confidence what to use when. Her skills lay in other directions.

It was too dark to see if Lith blushed. From her tone of voice, Cheloi thought it a distinct possibility. “I’ve dabbled in some medical courses,” she replied, moving closer with the hypodermic. It hissed with a sibilant whisper. She moved away.

Cheloi continued staring at the ceiling, watching as the red of the setting sun slowly faded. The darkness in their small shelter increased. Her meditation was interrupted by Lith returning with a flask. A straw, inserted into the container and bent near Cheloi’s face, indicated how she was supposed to drink from it. The medical cocktail was taking effect. After only a few minutes, Cheloi started feeling halfway sentient again. As an added bonus, her throat was lubricated enough to enable more normal speech.

Lith had retreated to the other side of the basement without setting any illumination and Cheloi declined to ask for any. If it wasn’t for the physical circumstances in which she found herself, she could almost believe this was a replay of their first dusk-shrouded conversation in the mute bubble high on one of her headquarters’ escarpments.

“How were you treated? At Drel’s camp?” Cheloi asked, when it seemed Lith would be content spending the night in complete silence. It was her burning question of the moment.

“Not as badly as you.” Lith’s voice was soft and lilting.

Cheloi closed her eyes. “I was the star attraction, but you were my accomplice. I’ve been wondering…why they didn’t treat you worse.”

“They did.” There was defensiveness in her voice. “I’ve got bruises and contusions all over my body from their rough handling.”

“Lith.” The one word stilled all movement from across the room. Cheloi gathered the little strength she had. She had noticed more than just their surroundings during their escape. Like the fact that, besides one fat bruise on the side of her head, Lith’s face was untouched. That she was walking without effort. That her appearance was still too neat for someone held in a dungeon and interrogated for two days. “I’ve got little enough time for any bullshit. Why did they leave you alone?”

Silence.

“Did you…tell them something?” Cheloi prompted. “Share intel? I wouldn’t blame you. If you had.” She tried forcing breaths deeper into her lungs but her body was resisting such overtures. She had to gasp out her phrases quickly, in between shaky inhales of air. “If you gave them information. In an attempt to negotiate a prisoner swap. It was a wasted effort. Nothing. Short of your miraculous escape plan. Would have saved my life.”

When Lith eventually answered, it was as a disembodied voice from the darkness.

“Saving you was the last thing on my mind.”

Cheloi frowned at the sardonic thread in her voice.

“Then why did you?”

She was uncomfortable. Cheloi could tell that by the abrupt sounds as Lith changed position. She was making short jittery movements denoting discomfort and an internal struggle. Cheloi steeled herself for what she was about to hear.

“You’re known throughout the galaxy as the Butcher of Sab-Iqur.”

Cheloi was arrested by the unexpected statement. Throughout the galaxy? Throughout the system, she could understand. Throughout the Perlim Ground Forces. But throughout the galaxy?

“Responsible for the slaughter of thousands of innocents,” Lith continued. “How do you feel about that…Cheloi?”

She was using the darkness as a form of camouflage, Cheloi thought, using the cloak of night to say all the things she thought she couldn’t say in daylight. If they were ever to get back to the Nineteen in one piece then this night in Sab-Inuk was probably going to be the most private moment they would ever share. The realisation made Cheloi weigh her words before speaking.

“The massacre at Sab-Iqur was,” evil. A travesty. A crime, “a necessity.”

“And how can it be a necessity to kill children?” There was a choked sob in the question. “Can you tell me that?”

Cheloi sighed even though it hurt to do so. “Lith—”

“I saved your life,” she cut in savagely. “I think that gives me the right to ask some questions and get some fucking answers. Don’t you?”

Yes, she supposed it did.

“So you want to know about Sab-Iqur?” She paused. “In that case, you should also know what led up to Sab-Iqur.”

Cheloi had never spoken about this to anyone other than the Copan avatar. She tried to put her thoughts in order. Already, she found she could breathe a bit easier. That would make the narration of her tale smoother. She took a deep swallow of water through the straw. It was important that her words be as clear as possible.

“At the time of Sab-Iqur,” she began, “I was newly promoted and just assigned to command of the Nineteen. There were questions around the death of the Nineteen’s previous commander, Senior Colonel Samnett. To be honest, from the reports I read, he was an incompetent commander, lazy and wasteful, so his death wasn’t the issue. The rumour that kept everyone whispering was that both sides of the war, Perlim and Menon, had reason to want him dead. Looking through his record, I had no doubt that was true.”

She paused to take a few breaths before continuing.

“Although nobody could prove a thing, several people within Central Control suspected that Koul Grakal-Ski had him assassinated. I think that’s why I eventually won command rather than Koul. Central Control doesn’t trust him as much as he thinks they do.” She smiled briefly into the darkness. “It was a very volatile time for the territory and for the Perlim effort. When I assumed command, it was very important for me to gain control and keep it.”

Exhausted by the effort of speaking for so long, Cheloi dropped her head back and closed her eyes.

“So your idea of gaining control was by murdering civilians?”

Cheloi didn’t try to deny the charge. “What else could I have done?”

It wasn’t just the Perlim who had run through the scenarios on Menon. The Fusion had done so as well, coolly and dispassionately. Better minds than hers had tracked multiple scenarios years into the future, including the outcome of putting Koul in command of the Nineteen.

“I don’t know what you should’ve done,” Lith told her savagely, “but nothing, nothing, excuses what you did at Sab-Iqur.”

Koul would have turned the Menon even more against the Perlim, that much was true. That was an action in the Fusion’s favour. But because of his inherent brutality—if Koul knew how finely dissected he was by the psychoanalysts of the Fusion, he would have blown his brains out in horror—he would have inevitably gone too far.

“But it’s not just Sab-Iqur, is it?” Cheloi murmured to herself.

The Fusion figured that Perlim losses under Koul would have risen to indefensible levels, leaving only one way out. He’d be ousted by Central Control within six months, no doubt aided along by a juicy promotion off planet, and replaced by an unknown quantity.

“Sab-Solin, Sab-Supehn, Bul-Vehim.” She recited them slowly, not caring if Lith heard, lost in her own thoughts.

Six months was not enough time to both weaken the Perlim and rouse the locals, especially when there was no guarantee of what would follow. What the Fusion wanted was a slow burn over a couple of years before the explosive conflagration, not merely the conflagration itself. That was how they trained her for the job. Even if she couldn’t be transferred to the Nineteen, she could still carry out part of her mission in one of the other important territories. That was the backup plan: get command of one of the other centres of action as quickly as possible.

“You murdered civilians,” Lith cut in, her voice choked. “Children. You killed children.”

Cheloi thought it was luck as much as skill that finally placed her exactly where the Fusion wanted her to be, although she knew the analysts would have disagreed with her. And the rest of her mission wrote itself.

“I know.” She let the silence lengthen between them. “I’m sorry. It was a mistake.”

Telling Lith that such actions were considered normal by the Perlim would have made things worse. The Empire claimed no adherence to any rules of morality when suppressing a revolt. Her own rationalisation at the time of the massacre was that what happened at Sab-Iqur would bring a quicker end to the war and, eventually, to the Empire itself, but the thought held little comfort.

She heard Lith’s quick, angry intake of breath. “A bit late to be sorry now, Cheloi.”

Yes, it was. The lives lost could never be brought back, thrown into entropy forever. The only slight sliver of hope she had was a long-term view of the ultimate consequence of her actions. The nightmares that haunted her about the hapless village were almost balanced by her conviction that that small action had resulted in one more crack in the edifice of the Perlim Empire.

“It still stands, Lith. For what it’s worth.” She let her driver think on that for a while. “Now it’s my turn. Why did you rescue me?”

Why did I rescue her?

How could Lith even begin to explain the morass of emotions Cheloi Sie had roused in her? The frustrating contradictions, the faltering hesitations, the feel of hands on her body and the lap of a tongue against her sensitive wanting skin. How could she balance that against the cool aloof tones of command and the casual ability to send hundreds to their deaths?

“I wanted to hate you,” she said softly, almost to herself. “I came to Menon prepared to hate you, for all you did to the people of this planet.”

“You wanted to hate me?”

In the darkness, it was easy to imagine that the voice only sounded like Cheloi without it actually being her.

“Yes.”

It was easy to imagine a kinder, more supple character behind those words, slightly slurred through the effects of medication. A voice that didn’t belong to the person who could anger her to a frenzy while seducing her with tenderness.

“If you hated me, why would you want to work for me?”

Grakal-Ski knew the answer to that one. And it suddenly occurred to Lith that, by rescuing the Colonel, she had just put herself in grave danger when (if) they ever made it back to Perlim-controlled territory alive. The sub-Colonel would not appreciate being betrayed.

“Maybe I was curious,” she answered, trying to sound unconcerned while thoughts careened through her head.

But she could tell Cheloi was unconvinced. “Curious about a murderer?”

Lith licked suddenly dry lips, glad of the cloak of darkness that surrounded them. She changed position, pulling her legs up underneath her sitting figure. How could she have forgotten Koul Grakal-Ski?

“I wondered–I wondered what you would be like, how you would act.”

“And have you come to any conclusions?” The voice was dry.

How could she possibly ask such a question? Wasn’t her own physical abandonment to the Colonel an answer in its own right? Lith clenched her jaw, tightening her lips. Did nothing reach this woman? Their stolen kisses. Their heated coupling. The rescue. Could nothing rock her contained and impersonal demeanour, even lying injured as she was? In that moment, she understood how Koul could so thoroughly hate the rational and efficient Cheloi Sie.

“Grakal-Ski wants you dead,” she said abruptly, changing tack.

“Yes, I imagine he’s been having that fantasy for the past couple of years.”

“I mean, this was one of his attempts.”

She heard one slight movement and imagined Cheloi was trying to find her in the darkness.

“Our capture?”

Lith nodded, even though she knew Cheloi couldn’t see it. “I don’t have definitive proof but….”

“But?” Cheloi prompted.

“I think it was him.”

“How?”

How. What was Lith supposed to say? That she knew about an “accident” and the happy discovery by the rebels and agreed to the scheme to save her own skin? That she was sent by a disillusioned splinter of the Fusion to try righting an obvious wrong?

“He–he approached me one day. In my quarters.”

If anything, the silence deepened, adding its own ominous accent to the conversation. Lith looked through one of the broken windows, high up near the ceiling. She saw the cold glitter of faint stars through the opening, obscured every few seconds by the pastel flashes of the eternal ion storms sweeping the planet’s atmosphere.

It had all seemed so clear-cut and simple when Nils explained it to her. This was her chance to do something for the homeland her parents had escaped from. Her chance to start righting the wrongs that an older generation couldn’t.

“What did Koul say?” Cheloi’s voice was unsurprised.

And what had happened when the chance finally arrived? She didn’t have to raise a weapon. Didn’t even have to open her mouth. All she had to do was let the situation play out and save herself. Drel, and justice, would have done the rest. But instead of leaving the Butcher of Sab-Iqur to a brutal but well-deserved fate, she rescued her. Was there any penance in the galaxy that would wash away such culpability?

“He told me he expected a promotion after Senior-Colonel Samnett was killed.” Lith’s voice was dull with remembrance and the self-accusations running through her head. “That he was a certainty for command, until you came along.”

Cheloi coughed out a laugh, a rasping sound that made Lith move towards her until she checked the action, coming to a sudden stop metres from the Colonel’s pallet.

“Trust Koul to blame someone else for his own shortcomings.” Cheloi took a breath. Across the room, Lith heard its shallow wheeze. “The man’s an able thinker, but he’s never going to get anywhere if he doesn’t develop any self-criticism.”

That was the thing that stunned Lith. She didn’t even sound angry. She took it in stride, as if Lith told her Grakal-Ski had purchased new supplies rather than plotted to get her killed. Was everything a game to her? Did she regard their liaison the same way? Look at their passionate interlude with the same coolness with which she eyed the daily despatches? Did anything make any difference to this woman?

“But why you?” Cheloi mused, aloud. “Why not approach Rumis? He’d be the more likely target.”

“Rumis is very loyal to you,” Lith answered in a faint voice, seating herself again. “Everybody knows that. Whereas I’m the newcomer. And he was responsible for my transfer to your staff. Maybe he thought I owed him some loyalty.”

“True enough,” Cheloi conceded after a short pause. “Where did he first approach you? At the Nineteen? Or before that?”

“We met for the first time in Blue Sector. After our forces were routed.”

She wished she could see the Colonel’s face. See for herself if the dispassion in that calm dark voice was matched by the look in her eyes.

“That recently?”

Lith heard surprise threading through the words.

“I would have thought he knew you for longer,” Cheloi continued, half to herself, “especially if he depended on you as a co-conspirator. Koul doesn’t trust easily. Unless….”

Lith closed her eyes and rested her head against the cold rough wall behind her.

It was over. All over.

“Did he find out something about you?”

“Yes.” Her voice was dead. Listless.

“Was he blackmailing you, Lith?”

“Yes.”

“With what? What does Koul know?”

Lith swallowed but kept her eyes shut. “He knows I’m from the Fusion.”

The Fusion! How could this be? Cheloi knew the way her masters thought, the way they operated. A second person was never dropped into a covert operation like hers. To do so was to invite chaos.

But another part of Cheloi’s mind was dancing with joy. She would have done cartwheels on the floor if her body didn’t hurt so much. Lith’s from the Fusion!

There’s still a chance of seeing her again after this whole business is over!

Her heart leapt at the words before she could stop it. Maybe there was a future for her (for them!) after all. She felt her self-discipline weakening, giving in to images of Lith’s delectable form laid out naked on snow-white sheets. Her eyes gleaming, her arms beckoning. Those full and firm breasts with nipples puckering, those long legs slowly spreading, inviting her—

No!

A sharp stab of pain pulled her back from her daydreams and focused her thoughts.

There was too much at stake. Too much training, too much knowledge, too many moves already in play. She smothered all carnal thoughts associated with Lith’s revelation. Trying to breathe deeply helped because it hurt like hell. What were the consequences of Lith’s revelation?

The first one was all too apparent. Unfortunately.

“What about Drel?”

That would explain why Lith was relatively untouched while she felt like she’d been put through a coarse shredder.

“Did you tell him you’re from the Fusion?” Cheloi added.

And her optimism began to crumble when Lith said: “Yes.”

Chapter Fourteen

Day 1,536 of the War:

“Laisen, you made it.” The smile on Copan’s face was understated but sincere.

Cheloi couldn’t repress an answering smile. “It was a near thing, Doctor.”

“Sit down. Tell me about it. We have lots to discuss.” There was an edge to his voice. “But before we get to that, where are you now?”

Cheloi eased herself into the familiar armchair.

“I’m at the Nineteen’s headquarters, at the clinic. Thankfully I have no organ punctures or they would have shipped me to one of the major medical centres.”

He nodded. “Where a deep scan could reveal your non-Perlim origins.”

“Quite possibly. The Fusion can work wonders but not genetic miracles.”

The knowledge-immersion was undoubtedly the easiest part of any mission. At least that was something Cheloi could control. Unlike the operations to physically alter her, internally and externally.

This time the Fusion’s bodywork specialists had left her a bit shorter than her usual height, modified her features and lightened her skin. They opened her up, fortified her anatomy and moved organs around, keeping them in their new positions with barely-visible fat-skein nets. Despite their wondrous technologies, however, the Fusion was not infallible. If Cheloi was to keep up the masquerade, she had to stay as far away from a fully-equipped hospital as possible.

With this in mind, the Fusion waited until the real Cheloi Sie had passed all the deep scans and was already on Menon IV before murdering her. Laisen replaced her at the tail-end of a battle where most of the senior commanders had already perished. It was as neat an insertion as anybody could have wished. And it kept her secret safe.

Until now. Lith’s secret had the potential to blow her entire mission six ways past the Menon sun.

Cheloi briefly related to Copan what had happened in Drel’s underground tunnel complex and the method of her escape. He pursed his lips thoughtfully, but said nothing until she ground to a halt.

“So the rebels know Lith is Fusion?”

“Yes.”

Cheloi thought she might have been able to salvage every situation, except the one she now found herself in.

“What do you see as your options?”

She shook her head. “None of them are good. I could expose Lith as a Fusion agent.”

“Except you’ve developed feelings for her.”

Cheloi looked sharply at the psychiatrist, who smiled. “Come now, Laisen, did you think I wouldn’t know? I’ve been living in your cortex for years now. I know your responses the moment a synapse fires.” He looked at her, not unkindly. “You’re in love with her, aren’t you?”

“I didn’t want—”

“I don’t think it’s ever a question of want. You’ve fallen for Lith because she’s intelligent and passionate and you’ve been keeping yourself aloof from romantic entanglements for too many years. In my report on your suitability for this mission, I pointed that out as one of your vulnerabilities. Unfortunately, you have a singular inability to fuck then walk away. I tried suggesting that as a strategy for you, but should have known it was a doomed hope.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Yet you did encourage me to start a physical relationship with Lith in the first place.”

Copan shrugged. “That was when I thought she was Perlim. In the end, you would have had no choice. You would have been forced to leave her. But in the meantime, it would have kept you balanced and mentally healthy.”

She looked at him for the space of two heartbeats. “You’re a bastard, Doctor.”

He ignored the remark. “What are you going to do?”

Her gaze bored into his for a moment before she set aside her anger. “If I expose Lith as Fusion, the mission can be saved.”

“But she will probably be executed.”

Cheloi exhaled. A long slow breath. “Yes, that’s true. Or I could kill Drel to keep him quiet.”

“And how would you find him?”

“I don’t know. Set up a barrage of the area and hope it gets him. I think I can pinpoint where I was being held.”

“You would be killing a lot of other people.”

“I know.”

Sab-Iqur all over again.

“I could spread disinformation,” she said absently. “Say that was a lie, a ploy, on Lith’s part to escape.”

Copan brightened. “Would it work?”

“No.” She paused and straightened. “Maybe. After all, the reason I doubted her loyalty in the first place was because her family came from a world just on the border of Fusion space. The medical facilities on Menon are known to be basic. Nobody would believe a guerilla leader would have access to sophisticated medical tests to be able to verify her statement.”

“So you’re thinking that what made you doubt her, may have reassured Drel. Which is why you were able to escape?”

She grimaced. “Possibly.”

“What if,” Copan said slowly, “she’s playing you both for fools? Telling both you and Drel what you want to hear?”

That was a truly unpalatable thought.

She shook her head. “If I start down that path, I’ll be creating conspiracies within conspiracies.”

“Just remember,” he warned. “If your disinformation plan doesn’t work, you may have to make the hard decision, Laisen. Lith Yinalña or the Fusion.”

“I’m well aware of that, Doctor.”

“And speaking of hard decisions,” he paused. “You’ve no doubt guessed about the trigger of my program during abnormal times of stress.”

“Your voice yelling in my head is not something I’m liable to forget.”

“The trigger happens for a reason. And one of them is when an agent is thinking of committing suicide.” He searched her face. “If it was up to me, I’d pull you from the mission right now.”

“No,” Cheloi objected, her voice sharp. “I’m too close now. It’s all about to come apart for the Empire, I can feel it.”

“Really? In which case, why were you so ready to throw it all away just two days ago?”

She remained silent.

“Unfortunately,” he said with a sigh, “I’m not in a position to act on my inclinations. We’re too far away from the Fusion and I can’t force you to activate the displacement signal in your wrist.”

Cheloi brightened. “No, you can’t.”

“But I still have grave concerns regarding that episode in Drel’s interrogation room. It will be part of my official report, Laisen Carros.”

Hopefully, by the time the wetware module was extracted and downloaded, it would be too late to do anything.

“Whatever you say, Doctor.”

And he had to be satisfied with that.

“No.”

Rumis took a deep breath. “Colonel—”

Cheloi plastered the most forbidding look she could muster on her face. “No, Rumis. For the tenth time, I’m not getting shipped to Regional Medical.”

Rumis’ lips twitched. “I’m sure that was only the sixth time, Colonel.”

The bed was so comfortable, Cheloi thought, she could close her eyes and sleep for days. Her eyelids fluttered briefly as they matched action to image. There were no windows in the underground infirmary, but she was being well looked after. There was no bare ground under her fingers, no rough burlap to lean against, no teetering boxes to watch out for.

She and Lith had made it to the nearest Nineteen Perlim outpost during the early hours of the previous morning and had been transported immediately to the territory’s HQ. There was a flurry of activity and both women were separated. Cheloi knew she should have been worried about such things but she was too tired to care. As she told Copan, there were no serious injuries to treat. The rebels had wanted her in reasonable shape for her show-trial, and the slight anatomical fortifications the Fusion had given her had worked well. She was confident she could get all the medication and treatment she required locally. Anything the Perlim doctors missed could be put right by the Fusion later on.

“What if you need a treatment we don’t have?” Rumis asked, pressing the point. “Maybe your leg will give you more problems? Why take the chance, Colonel?”

For more reasons than you’ll understand.

Cheloi gazed at her adjutant and once again felt that uncomfortable mixture of affection and despair. The time would come when she’d have to leave him behind. Would he remember her with affection? Would he want to remember her at all?

“Because my cynicism knows no bounds, Rumis.” She flicked her eyes meaningfully to the open door of the small room. He tightened his lips and nodded, unhappy that she had chosen to delay the conversation by implying there were other ears listening to the conversation. Delay, because Cheloi knew the subject had only been filed away for future retrieval, not discarded. Rumis’s tenacity was a two-edged blade.

“How is the lieutenant?” Cheloi asked.

She had been waiting to ask that question, had choked down waves of impatience so she sounded concerned rather than frantic. Rumis’s eyes lit up briefly.

“Doing well.”

“She’s in the dormitory ward?”

He nodded. “There was an accident with one of the explosives teams. It was nothing fatal,” he hastened to add, “but she’ll have company for a few days. She, er, didn’t seem to be in as bad shape as you when you came in.”

“They wanted the Butcher of Sab-Iqur, Rumis,” she reminded him gently, “not a lackey.”

But she could see he remained unconvinced.

“We didn’t get much time to talk.” She shifted position and winced at the sharp pain. “Maybe when I’m feeling better, we can organise a debriefing session.”

“Colonel Grakal-Ski has already asked me to set one up between him and the lieutenant for tomorrow.”

Suddenly, Cheloi was wide awake.

“Tell him I’ll join him.”

“But Colonel—”

“I have just as many questions for Koul as he has for me. You have your orders, Rumis.” Cheloi’s voice was brisk as adrenalin pumped through her system. She couldn’t allow Koul to get Lith alone, especially not in front of any other loyal Perlim officer. “Let me know the details of when that meeting’s going to be held and get a damned doctor in here. Now.”

Effectively dismissed, Rumis had no choice but to obey. With a smart salute, he spun on his heel and left.

Lith had filled in a few more details during their journey back to Perlim territory. As Cheloi gritted her teeth and concentrated on the pale emerging dawn, Lith had shared some of her family history. Cheloi could tell it was torn from her, as though she didn’t want to say a thing but was under a compulsion stronger than her will. It wasn’t hard to put the scattered pieces together.

Cheloi sighed. She had gone ahead and fallen in love with an idealist. How Eys would laugh if she were still alive to hear about it. The cynical Laisen Carros, head over heels for a woman who thought she alone could somehow right an interplanetary wrong centuries old by taking a single, isolated action. But Lith was also passionate and, as wrong-sighted as she was, Cheloi wouldn’t—couldn’t—take such fire away from her.

When the doctor arrived, Cheloi was blunt with her orders. There was a meeting scheduled for the following day that she absolutely had to attend. Pain-killers, stimulants, she didn’t care what it took, but she wanted a viable cocktail of drugs that would keep her upright and lucid by the morning. It was only after he beat a hasty retreat under her barrage of clipped words that Cheloi allowed herself to relax. With other inmates in the dormitory, Lith would be safe until the debriefing session in the morning. Then the battle would begin.

Day 1,537 of the War:

The briefing room was already occupied when Cheloi entered. She walked in, hoping that only her relatively slow walking pace gave any indication of her injuries. She took a deep breath and made a mental note to commend the doctor on his efficiency. She barely felt a twinge as her lungs filled.

Koul’s eyes widened at her entrance before he shuttered them. He was not pleased to see her.

Good.

Like a physical manifestation of the symbolic fight that lay ahead, the combatants arranged themselves according to their views. Koul was at one end of the small oval table. Lith, obviously discomfited, was at the other. Rumis sat in the middle, facing the door.

Cheloi flashed everyone a quick impersonal smile and sat down opposite Rumis. To her right, Koul cleared his throat.

“Colonel, it’s not necessary for you to be here.”

Not only was he right but it was a breach of protocol for her to even attend. As the other person involved in the escape, her attendance at the debriefing could indicate a clear conflict of interest. But she couldn’t just throw Lith to her officers. Even Rumis wouldn’t hesitate if he found something amiss in her story.

“Considering the fact that I was conscious almost during our whole adventure, Koul, I think my presence is most necessary.” Her voice was smooth and slightly bored. “And by speaking with both of us, we might be able to clear this up as soon as possible and get back to work.”

He wanted to argue with her. She could see that by the way he held his head and narrowed his eyes. But she had the weight of numbers in the room. Rumis was on her side and Lith would be too, once she caught on to what was happening. So Cheloi watched Koul and didn’t allow even a breath of noiseless satisfaction to escape her lips when he eventually sat back, resigned.

Rumis took the movement for assent and began with their version of events. He covered a comprehensive timeline, from the time the junior communications officer arrived in her quarters with the meeting request, to the loss of contact mid-morning that fateful day.

“I remember the wheeler overturning,” Lith answered. “The Colonel said she thought it was a tipper missile.” She flicked an uncertain glance toward her superior officer but Cheloi kept her face impassive.

“So neither of you were hurt in the explosion?” Koul asked.

Watching him, Cheloi could see that Lith was right. Koul was definitely involved in the accident. Cheloi noted the merest sheen of perspiration on his upper lip. A nervous ghost? The edge of her mouth twitched. Four people in the room, and at least three sets of secrets.

“No,” Cheloi answered. “Although they managed to club us unconscious while we were walking back to the nearest Perlim location.”

“And you don’t know where they took you?”

Cheloi let Lith answer that one. “No.”

“How long were you unconscious?”

“It–was difficult to say.”

Koul frowned. “Difficult?”

“Like us, Drel hides himself underground,” Cheloi explained. “I woke up first and realised we were in some kind of subterranean complex. It looked old.” She hoped Koul would draw the obvious conclusion from her statement.

“First? Were both of you held in the same room?”

“Almost all the time,” Cheloi answered easily, not even daring a glance at her driver. She willed Koul to keep his eyes on her.

Yes, Koul. Come along the path I’ve prepared for you. I’ve even sprinkled crumbs to make it easier to follow.

“Did you meet the rebel leader?”

“Drel? Yes I did. Although the lieutenant,” she paused and looked at Lith then, pouring every scrap of a casualness she did not feel into that gaze.

“No, I didn’t meet him,” Lith said faintly.

“Was Drel responsible for your mistreatment, Colonel?”

Cheloi lifted her eyebrows. “Actually, no. He was surprisingly civil. He mentioned something about a show trial, so I assumed he was keeping me in good condition to show what a fair and civilised man he was. In contrast to us Perlim scum, of course.” Her quick grin was without humour.

“How long were you in Drel’s custody?”

“Almost a day.”

Rumis shifted and Cheloi saw he was uncomfortable with what he was about to ask.

“A day?” he repeated. “But Drel said he had you for three.”

That news would have come from their informants.

“Of course he’d say that, Rumis. What would happen to his reputation if he admitted that two Perlim officers managed to escape him and his rebels within a day? Has there been any corroborating evidence of his claim? Eyewitness accounts of us from any of the other rebel leaders he boasted were to attend my show trial?”

Rumis’ eyes cleared as he shook his head. He started looking happier by the moment.

“So you have the lieutenant’s and my word that we were held for a day. And the word of Drel and his propaganda machine that we were held for three days. Is that the sum of it?”

“Yes, Colonel.”

A fluttering began in her stomach, but Cheloi fought to keep herself relaxed. She kept her shoulders loose and her posture relaxed above an increasing tension. Were her meds wearing off? Her head pounded and she was pressing her feet into the floor.

I can’t let Koul win, she told herself, keeping her gaze steady and the faintest of smiles on her face.

Her second-in-command flicked a glance to her hands as they rested on the table, but the fingers were lightly curled and relaxed.

“Then where, and how, were you injured?” he asked when Rumis appeared satisfied with the answer.

“I forget the name of the village. Lieutenant?”

“I believe it was Sab-Inuk, Colonel,” Lith supplied softly. Again, Cheloi didn’t dare look at her.

“We cleared Sab-Inuk more than a year ago,” Koul countered. “Razed the village to the ground.”

“They could have come back,” Rumis suggested. “Maybe they thought it would be safe again, especially if we weren’t actively monitoring it.”

“We thought it was safe too, but I was obviously mistaken. We were caught in an ambush.”

“Yet you were apparently injured in that ambush, while the lieutenant was hardly touched.” Koul’s voice was as silky as a predator’s. “Any idea why that might be, Colonel?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“How many of them were there?”

“They came out from behind the ruins so I’m not sure. Perhaps five or six.”

Koul turned to Lith. “Lieutenant, was that your recollection?”

“It was difficult to say,” she replied. “When they started attacking, I–I reacted instinctively. There were people everywhere, moving in and out of cover. I can’t give you an exact number.”

Cheloi’s feet still threatened to descend to subterranean depths but she stripped her voice of any tension. Koul was no fool. “There were a few close calls. A couple of times, I thought the lieutenant was trying to kill me instead of our attackers. They captured us, held us for a few hours but we managed to exploit a lapse in their concentration.”

She saw Rumis smile and answered it as if they were all colleagues sharing another war story.

Nothing here but another blackly humorous close call.

She knew Koul well enough to know he would hunt down Lith and demand that she tell him her version of events but Cheloi hoped she had set up enough of a framework for her driver to successfully embellish.

“You killed them?”

“What did you expect me to do, Koul? Of course we killed them. I couldn’t move for two days after that but the lieutenant patched me up and we got going again.” She gestured with her hand. “And here we are now.”

“So if we go back to Sab-Inuk now, we’ll find five or six rebel corpses?”

“They’ll be cold and rotting by now. As Rumis points out, Sab-Inuk probably isn’t the safest destination at the moment. But yes, if you’re feeling foolish you could certainly take a trip there and verify what we’ve said.”

Gazes locked, Cheloi and Koul looked at each other, both searching for a weakness, a lie, a loose thread. He was more flustered than he wanted to admit, Cheloi noted, her eyes drawn to a slight irregular twitch under his left eye. If he wanted to play this game, then she could have told him he was nothing but a rank amateur. He was only the most ambitious and ruthless officer in the Perlim Empire, while she was a trained Fusion operative.

“Is that all, Koul?”

“We want to set up a barrage of the position where you were held. The lieutenant mentioned it was near a village?”

“That’s right. Lieutenant, give the Colonel our starting coordinates. Let’s teach the Menons the price for abducting two Perlim officers.”

If Drel was as smart as he appeared, he would have abandoned his complex as soon as he found she and Lith were missing. As for the hapless town or village that was chosen for bombardment…. Whether as joyous survivors or martyred innocents, the fate of the inhabitants would also boost Drel’s reputation as a determined rebel leader. And it wouldn’t hurt the Fusion’s grand strategy either. Again, all it would take was another massacre.

Koul nodded and took down Lith’s subdued reciting of coordinates with tight and bloodless lips. He wanted to say more but finally satisfied himself with a closing comment through gritted teeth. “It was a most fortunate escape, Colonel. My compliments.”

Chapter Fifteen

Day 1,539 of the War:

Her door chirped, as she knew it must. With tightened lips, Lith moved to grant access, turning carefully as Koul strode past her. There was no pretence of courtesy.

She touched her hair. She had just finished her shower and it was loose and damp, not yet coiled into its customary bun. The lack of preparedness made her feel vulnerable. It made her want Cheloi there in the same room with her.

How strange for her to think of Cheloi Sie as her refuge and Koul Grakal-Ski as her nemesis. His name never came up much in the discussions she had with Nils or with the rest of his cohorts. She knew Grakal-Ski was the second-in-command of the Nineteen, but there was little information available beyond that. At one point, when he discovered her in Blue Sector and had her moved to Headquarters, she had entertained the slight notion that he was an ally, but that was when she was young and foolish, filled with idealism and fire and Nils’ simplistic solutions.

In the end, she had hidden in the infirmary for another day, happy to remain quiet and listen to stories from other injured soldiers. The fact that the small ward was always occupied short-circuited any ambitions Grakal-Ski might have had to confront her while she was still in a hospital bed, but she knew the refuge couldn’t have lasted forever. And she was right.

The Sub-Colonel whirled around, pinning her with a glare.

“What happened?”

“What do you mean?” Lith kept her voice even.

“I’m talking about that nonsense the Colonel fed us in the briefing room the other day.” Grakal-Ski spat out the words. “What really happened?”

“It was as the Colonel said,” Lith told him firmly.

“No, it can’t be.” Lith got the feeling he was rehashing an old argument as she watched him pace the room. She could see now the immaturity in the man, illuminated by Cheloi’s dry comments on his character.

“How did she manage it?” he muttered. “Drel is easily as bloodthirsty as any Perlim.”

Lith wanted to twist her lips in a cynical parody of a smile. It wasn’t her, you fool, she wanted to say. Cheloi didn’t free us from the rebels, I did! But it was obvious that the Colonel had assumed enormous stature in Grakal-Ski’s mind. As she watched him pace, Grakal-Ski diminished himself in Lith’s eyes and her fear of him began to recede.

He spun suddenly, facing her again. Disbelief was etched on his face. “Didn’t you even try?”

There was no need to elaborate on what she was supposed to try. She was sure that Grakal-Ski’s recollection of their last meeting was as crystal-sharp in his mind as it was in hers. Just the thought of that conversation, with the hard butt of his energy weapon angled up against her body, made her quietly angry.

“I tried.” She enunciated clearly. “Twice. But, as the Colonel said, I missed.”

She heard her own words only when they left her mouth. Cheloi had given her the perfect way out. The commander had joked to the two men in the briefing room that she thought Lith was trying to kill her instead of shooting at their non-existent attackers in the ruins of Sab-Inuk. But that meant….

“And was that the only chance you had?” Koul was visibly upset.

Lith froze as the import of her thoughts hit her.

She knew.

The Butcher of Sab-Iqur knew Lith’s mission was to kill her. But how?

“Things moved so quickly.” That much was true. “The wheeler, then the rebels’ underground complex, then,” she swallowed, “our escape.”

“The Colonel was injured at the ruins of Sab-Inuk.” It was a half-question.

“Yes.” Lith didn’t think she could have added anything more to that one word.

“That spraen has more luck than the Emperor himself,” Koul spat out, and Lith knew the immediate danger was past. She could tell from the preoccupied frown on his face and the way he chewed his lower lip, that his thoughts were turning inwards. Putting together another scheme perhaps? She hoped not. But now that she had fallen in with his plans once already, she knew he wouldn’t hesitate to put her in a similar situation again. And what would she do then?

Absently, he lifted his gaze and frowned, as if only now aware of where he was. He directed a hard look at her.

“I’ll be in touch,” he said abruptly and exited with a quick slap on the door’s access panel.

Lith made sure the door was locked before she let herself relax. She knew her mission was dangerous but this was so far beyond that that she could barely wrap her mind around it. She walked over to her bed, closed her eyes and threw herself back onto the mattress.

What had she been thinking? Had she really been so stupid and idealistic?

“Yes,” she murmured.

Both she and Nils thought it was difficult, but not impossible, to get close to Senior Colonel Sie and blow her brains out. Did Nils even wonder how she was going to extricate herself from the situation when the job was done?

“No.”

It was no use blaming him too much. To be honest, she hadn’t thought of it either. Both of them fed off each other, supported each other in their mutual blindness. It was like one rotten tree trunk collapsed against another.

Only two things occupied their minds. Infiltrating the Perlim military structure, and a distant future free from Perlim influence. Everything in between didn’t seem to exist. Did Nils even expect to see her again, she wondered bitterly.

She jackknifed into sitting position, burying her head in her hands and letting her damp hair fall forward over tense fingers.

“Stupid, stupid,” she repeated to herself softly.

Why had it taken so long to understand the complexity of the situation? Of course there would be other dynamics at play beyond her own simple-minded assassination plans. Games within games being played out in the most strategic territory on the planet. And she had betrayed herself into becoming Grakal-Ski’s pawn.

Lith felt the heat of her cheeks through her hands. All she could do was wish again that she could have her time over again. She wished she was more sensible and less idealistic. She wished she had never even heard of Cheloi Sie.

And she definitely wished she wasn’t in love with her.

Day 1,551 of the War:

Cheloi slowly walked the circumference of the camp while her mind worked furiously. She took a deep breath, expecting the customary jab in her chest, but the doctors had patched her up well. Even her limp was better, improved by rest and a strict medication regime she had been forced to take.

More than twelve days had passed since she and Lith reached Perlim territory and there was still not a breath of scandal around their return. Could it be that her luck was holding? She had half-expected Drel to appear on a national pirate broadcast, denouncing her driver as a Fusion infiltrator. She didn’t know what she would have done in that case. But there was only silence. With nothing to imply otherwise, Koul was forced to accept her story at face value.

But now there were other more significant events unfolding. In another twenty plus days, she was expecting a member of Central Control to pay a rare visit to her territory. And from more than two years of wearing another’s skin as her own, Cheloi knew what that meant. A major offensive of some sort was in the works.

Time to start the end-game rolling?

She smiled to herself, turning it into a public acknowledgement as she passed a small group of soldiers. After so long, she should be glad of the opportunity to leave the dusty tempest-laden planet behind her, but there were still so many unresolved issues.

Koul was the easiest. Although one of the more ruthless opponents she had faced, he was nothing more or less than the kind of ambitious officer she had years of experience dealing with. She’d be able to leave him behind without a backward glance and might even reminisce fondly on his arrogant foibles should she ever stumble across his name in the future.

The soldiers. Soldiers were soldiers. They were worth a bit more in this war because of their relative scarcity, but that only meant that they were more expensive to replace, not irreplaceable.

Rumis. Now it was starting to get difficult. Despite Copan’s rebuttals, she felt there should still be some way she could ease him into a better life, some loophole she could exploit. Rumis was important to her. There had to be a way she could free him of the Perlim. But he compounded the problem by being a loyal officer of the Empire, damn his sense of honour. And even if she did manage to transplant him to the Fusion, what was she going to do about his family? He was part of a close-knit network of relatives. What about his sister’s wedding, which he was probably going to miss? The annual gatherings? The opportunity to settle down in a familiar and comfortable environment? No, the obvious solutions didn’t work. She still needed to think her way around her adjutant.

And that left—

Lith. Fusion, originally from Laeyek Omni B, but where did she call home now? Was their aborted passion for each other just a result of the war, or was it a sign of something deeper? Maybe there was a lover waiting for her back in Fusion space. Maybe she was merely dallying with Cheloi because she saw this as a transitory thing, doing to her what Copan had recommended she do to her aide.

What a shame Cheloi didn’t agree. She had not felt so heart-poundingly distracted since Eys. She thought her heart had petrified into a small, hard lump when she heard of her beloved’s death. And now, here she was in enemy territory, thinking too much of a particular warm and lusciously honeyed body and wondering if they would ever have a future together.

Gravel crunched beneath her feet, the sound only impinging on her hearing when she paused in her thoughts. The sky was darkening, readying itself for its night-time show. It would be time for dinner soon. Ever since she returned from Drel’s clutches, the commander’s table was always full. Koul, previously an occasional visitor, now rushed to the evening meal. Cheloi, attuned to his body language through years of observation, could read the unsuccessful quelling of his agitated breathing. Rumis hadn’t missed many dinners either. Whether he was still contemplating the pursuit of Lith, or wished to keep either Koul or herself under his watchful gaze, Cheloi didn’t know. Lith herself probably and quite rightly saw the dinner as a refuge from further harassment from her second-in-command. It was the one place where she could not be intimidated or coerced by him.

The dinners were courteous, sometimes serious, sometimes entertaining, but always with an undercurrent of wary suspicion. Koul had done this with his plot to remove her from command, and she had done it with an explanation for their escape that all present knew skirted the bounds of probability. It was just as well that Central Control was visiting soon. Cheloi didn’t know how much longer she could have held out under such circumstances. Months perhaps, but certainly not years.

So where did that leave her for the next few weeks?

In Lith’s bed?

The errant thought popped into her head with the power of an incendiary bomb.

No.

She might think there were only weeks to go before the Nineteen unravelled but Cheloi knew that a lot could happen in only a matter of days. Koul would try to kill her again. She didn’t know when, but the man didn’t understand the concept of giving up. It was both a weakness of his and a strength. What if he decided to make his move while she was distracted, indulging herself in the honeyed warmth of her aide? More to the point, just because Lith had rescued her, it didn’t mean that she would be amenable to the resurrection of a relationship Cheloi herself had ended.

Stupid, stupid, she told herself. Although she knew she had the best of reasons for doing so, terminating intimacy with Lith was like hacking off one of her own limbs with a blunt saw. Just watching the younger woman as she moved around the complex was enough to fill Cheloi with a surfeit of tenderness. She couldn’t not watch that golden figure, a compulsion beyond her self-discipline to rein in.

But.

What was the alternative? Knowing the chaos of warfare, Cheloi knew she was just as likely to be blown to bits by a stray rebel missile. Her mind circled back to the original question. How would she rather die? As a frustrated Fusion agent? Or a satisfied woman?

And Lith comes from the Fusion!

If anyone could keep a secret, Cheloi reasoned, it would be another member of the Fusion. Especially one who had been trying to kill her. Her lips quirked. She should feel insulted, but instead only felt a strange sense of pride. More than anything else, that told her how besotted she was with her driver. But who couldn’t love a passionate, idealistic woman? One who believed principles trumped reality?

I think I want to keep this one.

She was through with denying herself. For once, Cheloi decided, she would follow her heart and to hell with the consequences.

Chapter Sixteen

Day 1,558 of the War:

The door to Lith’s quarters was down the corridor. It might as well have been on a different planet. Usually, an aide’s quarters were attached to his commanding officer’s. But with a female commanding officer and an initially male driver that had to change. Cheloi had smirked but allowed the prudish mores of the Empire to hold sway, and her driver had been billeted sufficiently far away for propriety to reign.

Little did she know that the time would come when she would curse that very arrangement. It had been seven days since she made the self-indulgent decision to bed Lith again. The problem was, the opportunity never seemed to present itself. With Koul still on high alert and Rumis watching everyone like a hungry predator, she could barely take a breath in peace.

It would have been easy for her to relieve herself, to let her fingers roam her naked body at night and find some peace in a short intense orgasm, but that was not what she wanted. She wanted someone else’s hands stroking her skin and puckering her nipples, someone else’s mouth darting into her mouth and sex, someone else’s body rubbing against hers. Almost every morning now, she woke up with moistness between her thighs and the aching recollection of hot carnal dreams.

As Copan pointed out, this was the longest anybody had ever been immersed in a mission. Maybe that’s what ate away at her usual objectivity. For years, Laisen had thought of herself as encased in ice. And now, on the most dangerous mission of her life, she finally felt herself thawing.

She wondered what a woman like Lith would want with the Butcher? Lith had said it with such bitterness in her voice during their time in Sab-Inuk that it bit Cheloi to the quick. What could she say in her defence? That she was an agent of the Fusion? Would admitting that she was an ex-killer, ex-manipulator, ex-burglar be any better than being the Butcher? And surely beautiful, honey-spun, luscious Lith had her own line of paramours waiting for her to return. Paramours that weren’t war criminals.

Cheloi gritted her teeth. But they weren’t back in the Fusion yet. Right here right now, there were only the two of them in an alien war zone. The future would still be there after Menon. She hoped. She would tackle its complexities then.

It was with a twinge of interest that she noted Rumis’ impending absence that evening. He had two days of leave owing to him and was taking full advantage of it by booking a skimmer down to the Five. And Koul, after another week of eagle-eyed scrutiny failed to pay off, was temporarily conceding defeat and planning to pay his friend, Wakor, a visit. He would be back early in the morning, but that left one night free from interfering eyes.

Cheloi could barely hold back her grin. At last, dinner alone with Lith. Despite the intense temptation, she restrained her excitement. There would be no calls to the chef with requests for special dishes. No change to her evening dress. Nothing that would cause anyone to even catch a breath of something different.

When Rumis bounced in near the end of the afternoon, Cheloi plastered a faintly disapproving expression on her face.

“So I have to do without you for two days,” she remarked.

“If you’d rather I didn’t leave, Colonel….” His voice was earnest.

Cheloi shook her head. “Recreation is as important to efficiency as work, Rumis.” She glanced at the chrono on her desk. “There doesn’t seem to be much going on today. Why don’t you leave now? But I’ll be expecting you back on time.”

He executed a smart salute and grinned. “Absolutely, Senior Colonel. And thank you.”

She contacted the kitchen, to let them know to set one less place for dinner. If she knew Koul, he wouldn’t let the kitchen know of his absence either. For her second-in-command, it was an omission due to power rather than forgetfulness. She shook her head. Koul liked his authority too much to appreciate that it was sometimes more beneficial to use less of it.

The minutes dragged by like hours. Lith was making one of her semi-regular spot checks of the artillery batteries in the territory, a sideline assignment from Rumis, and was only scheduled to return just before dinner.

Cheloi supposed she could take another tour of the HQ grounds, but she wasn’t in the mood to play the senior commander. Not tonight. She glanced at the pile of work that still needed doing. In twelve days’ time, a civilian adviser from Central Control would be visiting and she had to make sure that everything was clean and sparkling for his visit. She hadn’t been given a name yet but knew it would be a man. While the Perlim had opened their military hierarchy to females a little more than a century ago, the policy making levels of both military and civilian life were strictly off limits to women, droids and other genders. Males still made all the important decisions.

With an hour still to go before she got ready for her evening meal, Cheloi penned several orders. She wanted a double-complement of teams on the assault course during the advisor’s visit. She wanted all broken equipment in the kitchens and infirmary fixed and the storerooms and their contents polished to within a nanometre of their lives. She wanted the paths swept clean and mathematically straight. She’d send Koul to do the inspections. He loved that kind of work.

And while she was planning, time crept up on her, surprising her with its swiftness, and it was time to change for dinner.

She was the first to the dining room. As she surmised, Koul had not informed anybody of his planned absence because three places were set. Lith was next, her hair still damp from her shower. Even sitting across from her, Cheloi could smell the clean floral scent of the toiletries she had used. Cheloi saw her eyes dart to the other spot, obviously wondering whether she would be sharing the table with the personable Rumis or the repressive Koul.

“Actually, it’s just us for dinner,” Cheloi told her, trying for an air of casualness. “Rumis is on two days’ leave and Koul is most probably conspiring with Wakor over the circumstances of my next ‘accident’.”

Lith’s initial look of relief was swamped by a blush that tinged her cheekbones red. Cheloi knew what she was thinking but didn’t regret her statement. A perverse part of her wanted to punish Lith as much as she wanted to fuck her.

When the server arrived, Cheloi instructed him to remove the third place. Conversation was light in tone but valuable. As a lieutenant, Lith often heard things that wouldn’t be repeated within earshot of the commanding officer, and she was an intelligent and observant woman. Even if Cheloi hadn’t developed feelings for her, she still would have valued her as an important member of her junior staff.

The meal segued to dessert and Cheloi started feeling the waves of tension shimmering over the table. This was the first opportunity they’d had since returning from Drel’s hideout to share a private moment. It was strange that the rebel still hadn’t made any further statements about her escape, but Cheloi didn’t want to think about that. Ignorance truly was bliss. She looked at her driver’s uniform, at the curves her pressed tunic couldn’t hide, and felt a quiver in her abdomen.

When the server came to clear the plates, Cheloi instructed him to bring a bottle of life-water, two glasses, and then leave them in peace. There would be nothing beyond an amused acknowledgement of this in the kitchen. They were well used to Cheloi sitting and drinking away the hours with Rumis. She could easily imagine them sympathising with Lith, listening to the Colonel’s tales while her adjutant was away.

Cheloi didn’t ask but poured two glasses of life-water when it arrived. The server took the hint, dashed off a quick salute and hurried out.

“We haven’t had a chance to talk,” she said as she sipped her drink. The fiery liquid slipped down her throat.

Lith gulped at her glass, as if happy for the additional psychological prop. “No, we haven’t.”

“Has Koul been to see you? Since we came back?”

She could see the expressions flit across her driver’s face, as transparent as a pond of clear water. Discomfort, a brief flirtation with untruth, decision, then resignation. Wherever Lith had come from, it was an amateur outfit.

“Yes,” she answered. “He came to my quarters. He wasn’t very happy.”

“I’m sure he wasn’t.”

“I told him the same thing you did.”

Cheloi refilled her glass and sipped at the amber liquid. “I’m sure he was doubly disappointed. One, that the rebels didn’t kill me. And two, that you didn’t manage it either.”

Lith opened her mouth, but no words emerged. Cheloi was left experiencing both intellectual satisfaction and outright lust at the same time. The satisfaction she could deal with. It was the lust that continued to bother her.

“How did you know?” Lith finally asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I know Koul.” She stood up, reached across and splashed more liquid from the bottle into her subordinate’s glass before seating herself again. “You told me that he knew you were from the Fusion, yet he didn’t expose you. That meant he had a plan. When you mentioned that our trip to see Vanqill might have been manufactured, I put myself in his shoes.”

She looked up at the ceiling, its surface rough from the excavation work that had carved the room from solid rock. “What would Koul do?”

She lowered her eyes, capturing Lith with her gaze. “Koul would make things as vacuum-sealed as possible. It was one thing to depend on the rebels to find us, but he couldn’t control them, couldn’t directly tell them what to do. What if they didn’t come through the way he expected? What if the rebels didn’t kill me? He needed a backup plan. And you were it. If we both got killed then all of his problems were solved. But if, through some magic, we somehow survived, then you’d be primed for another effort that,” Cheloi lifted her glass in a wry salute, “I hope you’ll inform me of next time. Preferably before everything explodes into oblivion.”

“Why aren’t you turning me in?” Lith asked bluntly. “You know enough to have me executed for trying to kill a superior officer. Even if you didn’t have any hard evidence, your suspicions would be enough to imprison me.”

It was a good question. What was she supposed to say? That she wanted to fuck her driver more than kill her? That she was already tired of all the deaths? That, as Fusion, Lith deserved to go back to a promising future? That, in the back of her mind, in the warm embrace of night’s still darkness, she harboured fantasies of settling down and living a more normal life? With her?

“I, don’t always agree with the direction the Empire has taken,” Cheloi said, choosing her words carefully. “And I think the loyal service I have given so far entitles me to a few favours.”

That was something everyone understood. It was a rule of war millennia old that able commanders were allowed their eccentricities. The brilliant strategist, General Unse Sev of the Alpha Ozca Territories, used to take his team of pet klee into battle with him. Supreme Commander Naurie had an armoured shirt handmade from the teeth of her enemies. In Cheloi’s case, she was only talking about a light case of nepotism. Something so slight it paled into insignificance next to more flamboyant oddities.

The only problem with her explanation was that it added an undesirable element of pressure to their relationship. She could already see her driver follow the statements to their logical conclusion. If, as a lieutenant, she refused to meet the demands of her superior officer, there was the tangible risk that she would be tried and executed…if the commander was so inclined.

Cheloi didn’t like it, never liked her partners to feel that they were coerced in any way, but she had no choice. She had to keep her cover. And she was determined to have her driver however she could.

“But you were already determined to kill me, weren’t you? Even before Koul approached you?”

It answered so much. Lith’s strange apprehension when they first met, the determination on her face during the military exercise at Bul-Guymem, the struggle Cheloi could feel that went on inside her, as if resisting the Colonel was more than just a matter of propriety. Koul had catalysed Cheloi’s musings and everything clicked precisely into place.

Lith leant back against the chair with closed eyes. She looked exhausted. “I was so stupid,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I walked into this without thinking. Nils kept telling me about the cruelty of the Perlim, showing me vids and reports. Things my parents refused to talk about. And, being a child of refugees myself, I wanted to do something about it.”

Cheloi controlled the start that twitched her body at Lith’s mention of someone else. She knew that name and, within a few seconds, she had it. Nils was the young firebrand who had left the Free-Perlim Council. She thought he might have moved on to other things but it seemed not. Lith was tied up with him? It certainly seemed so from a professional angle. Was it the same personally as well? Cheloi gritted her teeth as imagination put Lith next to the handsome young orator she remembered from her briefings. They looked perfect together and a stab of jealousy hit deep in her belly.

“He trained you to infiltrate the Empire?” she asked shortly.

But Lith didn’t notice the tone, lost in her recollections. “It wasn’t just him. Nils had a group of friends who helped him. Militants like himself who thought the Fusion’s Free-Perlim Council liked the sound of their own voices more than true justice.” She snapped her eyes open. “And I still agree with that,” she added mutinously.

Cheloi admired her courage, even if it was more than a little foolish. In years past, she would have laughed at someone like Lith, equal parts bravado and ideology. But now she could only sit and be fascinated by her, wondering what it would be like to be defended by someone so strong and righteous. She could never be sure whether Eys would have ever caught her if she stumbled. That was part of the dizzying excitement of being around her. But she knew without a doubt that Lith would. Lith would be there for every trip, every fall, ever vigilant and supportive. What would it take, she thought, to call such a woman her champion?

The Colonel rose and, with measured steps, walked to the door and locked it. Behind her, she heard a quick intake of breath.

She hated herself as she walked back to the table, skirting the edge so she was standing in front of Lith. Reaching past her, she moved the empty glasses and bottle to the bureau before extending both her hands, palm ups, to her driver.

In a delicate move, Lith placed her hands in Cheloi’s and stood.

Cheloi moved close, shutting her eyes and nuzzling Lith’s cheek. It was soft and downy, fragrant and warm. “I don’t–”

I don’t want it to be like this. I don’t want you to feel forced to do this.

“Hush,” Lith soothed quietly. Then she took Cheloi’s face in her hands and kissed her.

Cheloi felt she had been starved up till that moment. The Perlim, the Nineteen, faded into the distance as Cheloi pressed herself against the other woman, moving her hands down to pull her closer. She felt a shiver race through Lith’s body.

She pushed Lith backward against the table, then further until she was lying on the table. She wanted to rip the clothes from her body and bury her face in scented flesh. Undo the composed neatly pulled-back hair and run her fingers through their burnt-honey length. But she knew she couldn’t succumb to such rash actions.

With sure movements, she pushed up her driver’s tunic and undervest. Her hands, trembling and a bit rough, caught against the smoothness of skin, eliciting a small moan.

That sound broke Cheloi’s mesmerised reverie. She took a step back, undid her own tunic with unsure fingers and threw it over the nearest chair, leaving her vest on. She attacked the rest of Lith’s uniform next, stripping off shoes and trousers. How she wanted to bury herself in Lith. Her nose, her tongue, her fingers. She wanted to lick the woman from head to toe and then do the same thing in reverse. But she just didn’t have the time.

She bent and licked, smiling as—after many sultry, salty minutes—the other’s convulsions rocked the table. If she could not be with Lith, skin against heated skin, then this was the next best thing. When her driver finally subsided, Cheloi kissed her then straightened.

Lith’s eyes were glazed and heavy-lidded but she had enough presence of mind to notice the tenor of Cheloi’s movements.

“What—?”

“You need to get dressed.” Cheloi bent over and kissed her bare torso.

“But I–”

“Now.”

Gently, as if assisting a child, Cheloi pulled her driver from the table and helped her dress, holding her as she stepped into her trousers, sliding on the undervest and buttoning the tunic, tucking a scrap of lingerie into a pocket. Performing such mundane tasks was comforting because it took her mind away from the willing flesh so close to hers.

Cheloi ran a critical gaze down Lith’s figure when she was done. She stepped closer only one more time, to restrain a tendril of hair that had worked loose of its confining bun.

“Leave the door unlocked when you go,” she said.

“And what are you going to do?” Lith whispered.

Cheloi smiled tightly, the shutters that walled off her feelings from the rest of her now back and well and truly in place. She headed for the bureau and picked up the bottle and one of the glasses.

“I think I’ll get drunk.”

Chapter Seventeen

Cheloi stretched out in bed slowly, as if in pain. She had turned down the climate control in her bedroom hours ago, when she first entered, and it was now cooler than normal. She thought the heavier brush of air would soothe her overheated skin, but she was wrong. There was too much going on for a mere tendril of cool, filtered air to solve.

The dinner hadn’t turned out the way she’d anticipated at all. Instead of receiving, she gave. She hadn’t thought about it much at the time, beyond the overriding desire to see Lith’s body again. Then, when it was unfolded before her, like a present from one of her lust-driven dreams, she wanted to touch. Kiss. Rub. Then, while she was doing that, she wanted to see her lover explode in orgasm, jerking to a physical imperative beyond her control.

She had wanted to feel Lith’s mouth on her own. She had mental images of both of them naked against the cool timber of the table. But instead of mutual release, she had been snared by the danger of their position and the urgency of action. In the end, only one of them could shudder and thrust with release and, with responsibility weighing heavily on her shoulders, it could only be Lith who found such a release.

What had happened? She had made a decision, had the perfect opportunity presented to her and then, instead of slaking her carnal thirst, had indulged in a hasty, one-sided session of lovemaking that no doubt left Lith as unsatisfied as herself. She wanted to wrap her limbs around that warm, lissome body, lay down next to it, whisper sweet words of apology and promise into Lith’s ears. In the end, she had done none of those things.

Because her training kicked in.

She must really be in the job too long, Cheloi thought, if physical yearnings couldn’t circumvent her ingrained sense of politics, timing and the risk of being discovered. After days of fantasies and worldly thoughts, the reality of what she did fell far short of what she had wanted to do. She felt like a failure and wondered if Lith thought the same.

“I wouldn’t blame her,” she said into the darkness, her voice bleak.

She tried searching for a slumber that her recuperating body still needed, but it was still more than an hour before she fell into its embrace.

Day 1,570 of the War:

Cheloi looked around as word came of the heavy skimmer’s approach. The afternoon was hot and dry and her soldiers were starting to wilt in the heat. Beside and half a step behind her, Rumis was relaxed but attentive. She knew he would snap to stiff regulation stance the moment the skimmer appeared above the rim of the collapsed mountain. Koul, formal and aloof, stood slightly more than the regulation distance away.

Arrayed in front of her, the platoons were ramrod straight. Infantry, Strike, Artillery, Counterstrike, Engineers, Intelligence, Communications, Medical, Support. Because she had asked for a delegation from each sector to be aligned front and centre, their traditional pennants formed a swathe of colours across the troop mass…or would have done if there had been even a wisp of breeze dipping into the rock-hewn bowl. In the still air, the flags fell limply from the top of their tall blue poles.

Behind her, the sector commanders were also present: Wakor from Black, Mazhin from Blue, Pish from Red, Twol from Yellow. Even Vanqill had taken a break from his marauding to make it to the event. Not that he had been given a choice. She had surreptitiously inspected his form when he first arrived and was pleased with what she saw. His black hair gleamed in the relentless sun and his pale skin glowed almost as much as the polished buttons on his tunic. He looked every bit the determined and competent Perlim officer, which was important because Cheloi’s entire gambit depended on him.

The heavy skimmer eschewed grace for a sudden descent through the anti-detection field. First, there was a bleached blue sky above and a patch of bare ground before them. Then with a low crack, a large ovoid ship appeared. The heat from its engines baked the already hot air.

Cheloi heard the sound of hundreds of boots as they snapped together. She straightened but kept her eyes focused directly in front of her, confident that her subordinate commanders were following suit.

The small ship hovered for a moment then landed. A thin seam appeared along its side, outlining a door, before it fell forward, forming a ramp with four shallow steps. Flanked by two Senior Colonels, the representative of Central Control—the brain of the Perlim Empire’s military arm—descended to the barren earth of the Nineteen.

Cheloi stepped forward and saluted. “Rep Kodnell, I am Senior Colonel Cheloi Sie in command. Welcome to Territory Nineteen.”

He must come from the same planet as Koul, she thought. There was no picture of Kodnell that accompanied the news of his visit. The Perlim obviously thought him a critical resource and kept him as anonymous as possible. But now that he was here in the flesh, she could see the species similarities between him and her second-in-command. They were both pale with a skin hue that looked unnatural, resembling translucency, and they both had the same colourless eyes. But Koul’s characteristic coldness was replaced by an intelligent, openly curious, briskness in the other and Cheloi knew that the most difficult part of her mission was still ahead of her. This man would not be easy to fool.

“Senior Colonel Sie.” He returned the salute and her hand dropped to her side. “You are highly regarded at Central Control.”

She nodded once, quickly. “Thank you, Rep Kodnell. May I introduce the senior officers and my staff.” She turned and indicated Koul with her right hand. “This is my second-in-command, Colonel Koul Grakal-Ski.”

Kodnell’s eyes flickered before he acknowledged the officer.

It was the briefest of movements, and Cheloi pretended she hadn’t noticed it as she introduced the rest of the men, then moved onto the general inspection. But she had. That one quick dart towards and away from Koul, just after she said his name and before Kodnell nodded…that barest hint of recognition spoke volumes.

It told her that Koul had not been content to merely conspire in her death. He had been also working a parallel track of somehow discrediting her by going over her head and sending reports about her. But where? Directly to Central Control and Rep Kodnell? The look that flashed between them was one of a fellow conspirator acknowledging a source or peer. Was anyone else privy to these backstabbing communications? Wakor or one of his cronies:? Some other intermediary further up the command chain? Whoever it was, it made Cheloi angry. She didn’t begrudge Koul his ambition but loathed his sly cunning. When the time came, if she could, she’d do something about that.

By the time the introductions and mandatory inspections were complete, two hours had passed. With relief, Cheloi led the way underground for the major briefing session. With the exception of her first day of command, which had been unseasonably rainy, she had never been so happy to descend into the rough-hewn tunnels.

It was a cosy fit in the largest of the complex’s briefing rooms. With a nod, Cheloi directed Rumis to lock the door before they began. She watched the two officers who had accompanied Kodnell. Their faces were as impassive as his, their postures equally rigid. Did he depend on them for advice? Or did they have their own orders to meander around her camp, casually picking up tasty scraps of information, the same way a skullpecker picked up remnants of carrion? While she had been expecting the Rep to have company, she hadn’t expected two officers of her own rank. With Senior Colonels looking over their shoulders, soldiers instinctively gave answers where none were sought, and not necessarily the correct ones either. She’d have to set Rumis on their tails to make sure nothing untoward happened.

Kodnell directed one of the officers to dim the illumination then began his briefing.

What followed were three hours of depressing news accompanying an array of charts that revolved sedately in the air above the long desks. Depressing for the Perlim, that is. Cheloi quelled a start of happy surprise and forced herself to pay attention. Her mind was taking each piece of information Kodnell was presenting and running away to formulate a new way of bringing the whole war to an end. She twisted each piece of data this way and that, to see if there was a better way of accomplishing her mission. The danger was that she would be so caught up with new ideas that something vitally important might slip past her. Kodnell, like the rest of Central Control, was too elusive to leave a record of what he was saying, so she would have to depend on her memory for recollection of important facts. And that meant paying attention.

Amazingly, Kodnell told everyone in the room, despite the best intentions of the planetary commanders and more effective tactics, casualty rates were up. The beautiful and destructive ionic storms that ravaged Menon’s upper atmosphere were particularly virulent of late, the result of an increase in solar flare activity within the system. That had led to compromise transports, where fewer vehicles ferried more people to and from the surface. Recent transport accidents were resulting in greater deaths.

The solar physicists had predicted a small window of relatively clear weather before the storms started up again with a fury. Kodnell, with no trace of embarrassment, admitted that his trip had been timed to coincide with such a window and that he would be getting the hell out as soon as possible, just before a complete and temporary halt to all transports. There was a low animated hum at that revelation.

“You’re speaking of an embargo,“ Mahzin remarked. “May I ask how long it will last, Rep Kodnell?”

The sector commander was obviously perturbed, shifting in his seat and fidgeting with the sleeves of his uniform. Kodnell impaled him with a piercing glance.

“The Perlim ground forces will be required to make do with whatever supplies are already on the planet for one full month.” He waited for the renewed hubbub to die down. “At that point, the ban will be reconsidered.”

One month with no supplies. Cheloi let that thought bounce around in her head for a little while before putting it to one side.

There were also heavy casualties from increased rebel activity, Kodnell continued. Somebody was starting to pull the fragmented rebel groups together. The Perlim were now securely holding only forty percent of Menon’s territories.

And if all that wasn’t bad enough, the Fusion was causing problems by harrying the fringes of the Empire itself and threatening to use a combined force to take over systems along the Perlim’s tattered edges.

In truth, the Empire would have been happy to get rid of its poor planets. They drained more resources than they gave back. But it was a matter of galactic pride that they did not succumb. As a result of this new action, the Emperor had ordered a diversion of valuable resources away from Menon and towards the boundaries, where they reinforced a straggling defence line. If the Fusion made good on their promises of invasion, Kodnell told them, the Empire was ready.

Once more, soft low voices filled the air at the news. Cheloi knew what her officers were thinking. A prepared Empire was all well and good, but not when it threatened their own actions on Menon IV. And why divert resources when Menon was supposed to be the most critical conflict? Varied opinions reached Cheloi’s ears. One of her sector commanders was adamant that a war with the Fusion was inevitable while another scoffed at the idea, pointing out that the Fusion had not engaged in any direct military action for centuries.

Kodnell cleared his throat. The muted discussions died down.

“There is another complication,” he added grimly.

The tide of public opinion, despite the stranglehold the Empire held on communications, was also slowly turning against the Emperor. Leaked figures of deaths, equipment mishaps and lost battles had begun appearing on the underground nets. Subjects were starting to get angry, some even going so far as to unfavourably compare the military dominance of the Empire with the more pacifist Fusion.

“Central Control has decided that what’s needed at this point is a major event, something that can’t be argued or contested by any subject. A glorious reaffirmation of the superiority of the Empire.”

“Do you have anything in mind, Rep Kodnell?” Koul asked from somewhere on Cheloi’s right.

“I’m glad you asked, sub-Colonel,” Kodnell replied. “That’s why I’m here, talking to you today.”

He gave a signal and the room’s illumination returned to normal. “We believe the impetus for this event must come from the Nineteen, as it’s critically placed between the two continents of major conflict. We believe that an attack blitz from the Nineteen will shake the rebels, embolden our own troops, and turn the tide of war in our favour.”

Cheloi tightened her lips. They’d done it again. Once more, the faceless analysts of the Fusion had predicted this precise turn of events. She knew it was childish but, just for once, she would have liked the Fusion to be mistaken in their planning.

Except they were wrong once, remember? And Eys died.

Cheloi continued staring straight ahead, not liking that errant thought, and tried to get her thinking back to the situation at hand.

A decade ago, the Fusion had identified the Nineteen as the Perlim’s critical battleground. Its analysts had formulated a plan then gone hunting to find the individual to carry out that plan. And after years of looking, observing, and training, Cheloi was here listening, as the representative from Central Control stated what the Fusion had known all along.

Kodnell’s gaze locked on hers. “You don’t believe me, Senior Colonel?”

She lifted her eyebrows innocently. The man must have wide-angle cameras for eyes if he’d picked up on her fleeting facial expression.

“I was just thinking, Rep Kodnell,” she said slowly. “Your presence at the Nineteen indicates to me that you believe Drel is the rebel leader who’s uniting the opposition forces?”

“Correct.” He nodded. “Drel is in this area, is he not?”

“Yes,” she agreed. “My driver and I had a fleeting, clash with him and his forces when we were captured. We set up a barrage of his last known position as soon as we returned to friendly territory but, unfortunately, did not manage to target him successfully.”

“So I read.”

There it was again, that little flicker toward Koul then back again. Opposite her, Wakor shifted and coughed noisily. So the link between Kodnell and her second-in-command was obvious to others as well. Cheloi settled back in her chair, forcing herself to relax, hooding her eyes.

“One of our major objectives, then,” she continued, “is the elimination of Drel and his forces?”

“That’s correct, Colonel Sie. Your analysis has been confirmed by others from the surrounding territories. This rebel leader Drel is building up a continental force in an effort to match ours. We want to smash his army and send a message to all rebels once and for all that it’s futile resisting us.”

Kodnell looked around the table once more, but Cheloi wasn’t falling for that trick a second time. She schooled her features into impassivity.

“I’ve come here to garner suggestions from the senior staff on the structure of that one unstoppable attack blitz,” he continued. “As our officers on the ground, Central Control believes you are in the best position to suggest feasible strategies. I’ll make my decision tomorrow, authorise the orders then leave.”

Cheloi knew what that meant. She would be lucky to catch an hour’s sleep before he departed.

Koul, of course, volunteered his opinion first. His suggestion was a wholescale destructive wave of fission bombs, flung and detonated across almost all the major population centres in the territory.

Kodnell pursed his lips as he thought. “But a barrage of that magnitude over such a large area would deplete your reserves considerably. Wouldn’t it, Senior Colonel?”

Koul had no choice, he had to defer to Cheloi. He eyed her deliberately, his pale eyes blazing, but she ignored him as she agreed with Kodnell. “Yes it would.”

“And would you do in the case of a counter-attack?”

“I don’t think there would be a counter-attack,” Koul cut in. “Not if we planned it well enough.”

Kodnell smiled and it was strange to see such a Koul-like curving of lips mirrored on another’s face. “Do you really believe so, Colonel Grakal-Ski? It might pacify the Nineteen, but what would happen in the other territories? Might it not provoke other leaders to emulate Drel? Might it not look overeager? Desperate? And with no guarantee of quick supply drops during the month-long blackout, what would you rely on if you had no weapons left, all of them having been detonated in that first barrage?”

“Nothing.” The voice that interrupted came from the normally quiet Mazhin. “As you say, Rep Kodnell, we are headed for another season of high-intensity ionic storms. We can’t afford to squander armaments under such conditions. Not when re-supply isn’t guaranteed.”

The representative nodded. “You’re correct, Colonel Mazhin. You forget, sub-Colonel, that you are assuming prior production values in ideal environmental conditions. As I mentioned earlier, the Emperor has decided that we need to fortify our border with the Fusion. That leaves reduced inventory for the Menon effort. Which,” he added with a hiss, “should have been concluded long before this.”

It was stupidity. The Empire was expecting the Nineteen to launch some kind of glorious one-off offensive while keeping most of their resources in reserve in case of a counter-attack. And with no guarantee of supply replenishment. It would be like throwing snowballs in a desert. The missiles might be compact, pretty, novel even, but were completely useless.

However, Cheloi thought, looking from Koul to Kodnell with interest, if there was one thing she knew, it was timing. She had survived two decades of life as a Fusion spy knowing when to do something.

“I have a suggestion, Rep Kodnell,” she said in her smooth dark voice.

And tried not to smile when he turned to look at her.

“I didn’t want you at the Nineteen.” Kodnell took a sip of life-water and looked around the cramped office.

It was well past midnight and only Kodnell and Cheloi were in the anteroom of her quarters. It had been a long afternoon followed by a tense evening meal. The officers had taken several short breaks to stretch their legs but the air in the briefing room was close and sour by the time their business was completed. The aromas of the working dinner added their own greasy overtones to the mix and Cheloi swore to herself that she would not enter the room again for the next few days, regardless of how well the ventilation systems worked.

She was aware that the informal part of such meetings was even more important than the formal segment, so she invited Central Control’s representative to her quarters for a drink before he retired, knowing he wouldn’t refuse. She hadn’t even had time to swallow a pill to keep her awake and would have to rely on nervous tension to keep her alert. She hoped Rumis, comprehending the undercurrents and sent on his mission to tail the two Senior Colonels with barely a flick of Cheloi’s finger, had found some time to rest, because she feared she would be watching the sun rise before she fell into the crisp folds of her bed.

The conversation had started with the usual quasi-interrogation, the probing to make sure that Cheloi knew as much about the Nineteen as she claimed she did. She kept her voice even, her expression open and her tunic buttoned up as she answered. Although she was technically off-duty, her posture was erect yet relaxed, as if she was ready to spring into action at the slightest opportunity. She had been in too many armies to be caught by the off-duty minor transgression that usually ended in a court-martial. Or worse.

“I voted for Grakal-Ski to take command of the territory.”

Then you’re a fool.

That was not a wise thing to say out loud, so Cheloi merely took a minute sip of her drink.

“I thought he’d be ideal for the Nineteen. Ambitious, intelligent, loyal. The others voted for you, after your campaigns in the Eight. I hated you for that. A woman, in charge of one of the most important territories in the war. I wondered whether we had descended to the perversity of the Fusion.” He finished his drink in one gulp and jiggled the empty glass, silently asking for a refill. She obliged.

“So I watched you, Senior Colonel. Watched and waited for the smallest mistake, the tiniest misstep. But you didn’t make one.”

“Thank you, Rep,” she said smoothly.

He shook his head. “Don’t thank me yet. That got me thinking of the exact opposite. What if you were,” his eyes brightened, “a Fusion robot of some kind? A bio-mechanical contraption sent to lull us into error?”

He paused and held her gaze with one of his own, probing and inquisitive. As if, through a mere look, he could determine the extent of her alien biology. Cheloi returned the look calmly, willing herself not to flush, not to tremble, not to send tremors through the liquid she still held in one hand.

“Then your driver died. And you were injured. I saw your medical report. Requested it personally.”

This is it. They did some deep scan extrapolations. They know I’m not one of them.

She forced herself to blink slowly, to convey the impression she was curious, interested, yet tired.

“I half thought we’d find steel instead of calcium in your bones.” He shook his head. “It was one of my favourite pet theories, Senior Colonel. But do you know who saved you from being hauled into HQ Medical for a molecular-level physical?”

Blink. Had she really been that close to being discovered?

“I’m sure I don’t know, Rep Kodnell, although,” she smiled, “I probably owe them a drink. Molecular-level physicals are quite uncomfortable.”

Kodnell barked a short shout of laughter. “They’re a semi-annual event at Central Control. You get used to them.”

Are they really? How interesting.

Did she imagine that his eyes softened? “It was Koul.”

Cheloi frowned. “I’m sorry?”

“My favourite attack dog. Grakal-Ski.” He exhaled, a noisy yet oddly comforting sound, considering the tack the conversation was taking. Cheloi hoped his spoken confidences meant his attitude towards her had changed.

“I know how his mind works, Senior Colonel. He would have been livid missing out on a promotion. I myself was angry enough on his behalf. And if I knew my ravening throat-ripper well enough, he would be watching your every move. So I resigned myself to losing the command battle but, as a consolation prize, ensured that Koul remained here as your second-in-command rather than shifting him to another territory where he would have been promoted. In the end, it was better than being here and watching you myself.”

Cheloi flicked up an eyebrow while, inside, she seethed. So the pale anonymous man sitting in front of her was the one person responsible for the bane of the last two years. He had forced Koul to remain in a subordinate position then watched the entertainment as her second-in-command tried his best to rip her to shreds. She wondered what the penalty was for killing a member of Central Control. She knew it was death, but what kind of death? Depending on the method, it might be faintly worth it.

“And if Koul couldn’t find anything wrong with you, Senior Colonel,” he said with a broad smile, “then I couldn’t either.”

“I’m pleased that you think so, Rep Kodnell.”

He laughed again at the stiffness in her tone. “You’re not as good a liar as you think you are, Sie.”

Oh you don’t know the half of it, you bastard.

Kodnell drained his glass again, asked for another refill, then stretched out a hand to encompass the underground complex. “But we’re here now, all happy and on the same side. And I like your idea.”

Yes, she supposed she could grasp at that rather than Kodnell’s pale neck. It had always been her plan to use the unpredictable Vanqill, hair-trigger commander of Green sector, to precipitate a collapse of the Nineteen. That’s why she had been busy encouraging his more reckless exploits over the past couple of years. Sometimes his antics made her grit her teeth and agree with Koul that he should be terminated, but there was no doubt that Vanqill had the touch, the beginnings, of a brilliant strategist.

In capable hands, he could have been moulded into a first-rate commander. What he needed was someone to cut out his ineffective, impulsive tendencies and foster his more critical thinking. Unfortunately, Cheloi was the exact opposite of what he needed. Instead of tempering his excesses and correcting his mistakes, she had subtly goaded him on, making him feel more invincible than he had a right to be, slowly building him up until she could unleash him on an unsuspecting empire. And right now, listening to Kodnell, she could ignore the twinges of guilt over what she was doing to Vanqill and wish them all a pleasant journey into the galactic abyss.

“It’s bold, unprecedented,” he mused, obviously replaying her suggestion from the meeting in his head, “but I think it could work.”

Cheloi nodded. “With the current complications of the Fusion snapping at our heels, it occurred to me that we need to maximise our effect.” She took another tiny sip of the life-water. “And, with limited resources, the only way we can do that is to change the way we think.”

“The rebels will not be expecting us to fight them the same way,” Kodnell mused grimly. “Thanks to you, Senior Colonel, we could be looking at a true turning point in the war.”

Definitely. But not the way you think.

He looked down at the golden liquid in his glass, shifting it so the ripples caught the beams of the overhead illumination. “How long will it take for you to organise the offensive?”

Cheloi’s voice was crisp. “Ten days. But I’ll need ironclad orders from you, Rep Kodnell. The change in thinking may not sit well with all my sector commanders.”

“Of course. You’ll have it.” He gave her a long look. “Pull this off, Sie, and you’ll be looking at the first female generalship in Perlim history.”

“I know that, sir.”

“Fail, and we’ll skin you alive and feed you to the Emperor’s zoo animals.”

“I know that too, sir.”

“Good.” He paused and, with a sigh, settled back in the chair. “Was there anything else you wanted to discuss?”

“Just one little thing, Rep Kodnell.”

Chapter Eighteen

Lith entered Cheloi’s office with a perfunctory buzz.

“You wanted to see me?”

Cheloi didn’t even look up. Her fingers were flying over the keys at her console and she examined the resulting flimsy with a critical eye even as she stifled a yawn.

“Close the door.”

She didn’t need to look up to see her driver’s hesitation, could almost hear the cautious questioning in the way the door slid shut. She scowled and made one more modification before reprinting the flimsy and nodding with satisfaction.

“Here,” she said, sliding the slip across the desk. “Take this and go pack.”

“Go…pack?”

“Don’t take everything. Just enough to make it look like you’ll be gone one or maybe two nights. Then meet C-C Rep Kodnell’s entourage. They’re leaving in thirty minutes.”

Cheloi didn’t want to look up. She busied herself checking that what she’d written was already queued for transmission to the central data centre. She looked for, and failed to find, dust on the console’s slim keyboard. She noticed the coolness of the metal-topped desk beneath her wrists and even glanced at the subtly rippled matte surface. But she knew she was delaying the inevitable. Eventually, she knew, she would have to raise her head.

She looked up and their gazes clashed.

“What’s going on?” Lith asked, her eyes bright with tension.

“You’re leaving.”

She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

Cheloi bit her lower lip then, with a sigh, rose from her chair and walked around the desk. Lith turned to face her.

“It’s not safe here any more,” Cheloi told her. “You need to get out while you can.”

“Cheloi—”

Was that the first time she had used her name? Or perhaps it was the first time she had said it normally, without mindless passion or bitter censure. Whichever it was, it sounded wonderful on her tongue, and she wanted to hear it again and again until the universe died.

But not her mission name.

“Laisen,” she interrupted gently, the words leaving her mouth before she could pull them back. “My name’s Laisen Carros.”

“What?” Lith’s eyes narrowed in confusion.

Cheloi could tell this was all going too fast for her. Which was good. She had the feeling that if Lith kept up with her current maelstrom of thoughts, she’d dig her heels in and refuse to leave.

“You’ve got to leave,” she repeated, picking up the flimsy and shoving it into Lith’s stiff hands. “I can’t,” complete my mission, “command this territory and protect you from Koul at the same time. He has to make another move soon but I can’t afford to think about that, so I’m getting you away from him. C-C Rep Kodnell has agreed to take you to the Five’s spaceport. From there, I’ve requested priority clearance to Laeyek Omni B. I’ve told everyone your mother is dying.”

Lith was still looking dazed, although a spark of spirit was beginning to reassert itself. Cheloi could see its embers springing to life behind her eyes. She grabbed her aide by the shoulders.

“Lith, you need to go,” she told her urgently, not giving her time to think. “I’ve made up a story and cleared passage off-planet, but this will be the only chance you have before this whole territory gets blown to oblivion.”

“Why would it get blown into oblivion?”

A short, humourless bark of laughter escaped from Cheloi’s mouth. Why? Because this was the end of things. Because she had organised everything on a hair-trigger and couldn’t even guarantee she herself would get out alive.

“It would take too long to explain.” Already, she thought she could hear the rush of precious seconds as they trickled through her fingers. “From Laeyek, get to the Fusion as fast as you can,” she said in a low urgent voice. “The Perlim will be asking questions after this and you don’t want to get caught by them.”

Lith’s eyes widened as her brain reached conclusions she wasn’t meant to reach. Cheloi cursed to herself.

“You’re Fusion too, aren’t you?”

Cheloi knew she paused for too long.

“I—yes.”

She didn’t give Lith time to reply. With fierce hands, she captured her face and kissed her, softening only when she felt those soft, generous lips part for her. If there was only one moment from her life she could live over and over, Cheloi thought, this would be it.

She poured every drop of love, longing and regret into that embrace. She wanted to deepen the contact, hold that body against hers, feel Lith’s heat warm her own nervous too-cold body, but there was still too much at risk. The door was only closed, not locked, and nothing prevented someone from entering. Not Rumis. And, more dangerously, not Koul.

With reluctance, Cheloi pulled away.

“You’ve got to go. Now,” she said huskily.

Lith lifted fingers to her lips, now flushed and a little swollen.

“What about you?”

Cheloi knew what she was asking but chose deliberately to misinterpret the question. “Lith love, I can’t think clearly when you’re around. There’s something I must do and I can’t do it while you’re here. Do you understand?”

Her driver, her heart, nodded.

“Get packed. Avoid everyone as much as you can. Don’t say a word, not even to Rumis. Get in that skimmer and don’t look back until you’re safe in Fusion space.”

“I’ll find you,” Lith promised in a half-whisper as Cheloi shepherded her to the door.

“I know,” Cheloi said, because she didn’t want to lie. She looked once more into those eyes, burnt the image of their warm intensity and bright intelligence into her brain, then pushed her out the door. And, with a swallow, returned to work.

Day 1,573 of the War:

“This is preposterous!” Koul exclaimed.

Yes it was. Even Cheloi could see that. But it was her preposterous, so that made it all right.

Kodnell had left two days ago, taking Lith with him, and Cheloi had waited those two days before springing her trap. She had been watching the transport nets and knew the moment her aide set foot in the Five. Lith must have told the C-C rep a good story on the way down because she snagged a top-priority transport off-planet, cleared a lull in the storms and was away. Even Cheloi, as territory commander, didn’t have the authority to endorse such a high-speed mode of flight. There was still the faint chance that Lith might be intercepted by the Perlim military and somehow sent back to Menon, but Cheloi was betting that her driver was smart enough to get off the military transport when it touched down at its first stop and make her own way back to the Fusion, regardless of the transit passes she had in her possession.

“Which part are you referring to exactly, Koul?”

With Lith free and on her way home, Cheloi could get back to concentrating on the task at hand. She felt it again, that cool surge of power that settled in her, sharpening her senses and clearing her mind. Her doubts, her conscience, would come back later and haunt her. It always did. But for now, she was a highly-trained organic piece of weaponware with her target in sight.

“Putting Vanqill in charge of half the sectors is bad enough,” Koul spat, “but putting his subordinate—a Senior Major—in charge of the other half is sheer madness.”

They were back to their routine, she, Rumis and Koul sitting around the table in one of the smaller briefing rooms, as she prepared the orders for the major offensive.

“If you disagreed with the plan, you had a chance to object during our briefing with Rep Kodnell,” she pointed out calmly.

“The plan at that time did not specify command by junior officers. This is not the way the Perlim operates.”

He was correct. Which was why Cheloi had ensured Kodnell’s orders were laser-proof before he left.

“And which way would you rather the Perlim operate, Koul?” she asked calmly. “The way it has done for the past several years? The entire Empire bogged down in one war on one atmospherically unstable planet?

“I’ll admit that Kodnell may not have described the plan to such a level of detail but his orders were clear. I ran my plans regarding deployment and resource allocations with him before he left, and he’s confident that the major objectives of the strategy can be achieved as I’ve ordered.”

Her dark gaze drilled into his. “Koul, let me ask you this. Do you have confidence that this plan, as it stands, will achieve our major objectives?”

There was a slight risk he would say no. Cheloi could see the flaws herself. And Kodnell hadn’t really agreed with what she was planning to put in place. That was an outright lie. But she made sure Koul saw her share a light breakfast in the canteen with the Rep before he departed, playing up her newfound camaraderie with the man who had made her life on Menon such a misery. She smiled at his jokes and even knocked her cup lightly against his before taking a sip. Hopefully, that convinced Koul that, rather than being in opposition, she and Kodnell were now bosom buddies, almost as if they’d been hatched from the same egg.

But was it enough?

If Koul used his brain instead of his eyes…. If he turned around and point-blank refused to carry out the madness she was about to unleash….

Her second-in-command was good friends with a couple of other commanders, relationships that preceded her posting, and if he expressed his discontent more widely, planted the seed of doubt in their minds, she would be at a distinct disadvantage. She was banking on the rigidity of Perlim military training, the perception of Central Control as the ultimate in military authority and her perceived cosiness with Kodnell, to carry the initial part of the plan through. What happened after that, when boots actually hit the battleground, was another matter.

She held her breath, watching him as he thought. He fidgeted and exhaled sharply. Once, he looked at her with such loathing, she felt almost at home. After long drawn-out minutes, he conceded.

“Kodnell has a stellar reputation within Central Control. He is an exemplary tactician.”

She decided to throw him a bone. “It’s a unique situation, Koul.” She softened her voice. “We’re not just dealing with the Menon problem any longer, and we can’t afford to linger on this forsaken planet.”

Which was true, but not for the reasons he thought. As Kodnell briefed the officers on the state of the empire that last afternoon, it was as if the Fusion had sent Cheloi a message written in the clusters of stars on the projected stellar maps.

The Empire is on the edge of toppling. It is poverty-stricken and overextending its reach.

The harrying of the Fusion at the border of imperial space was a directive to her. Even the underground gossip nets that Kodnell mentioned were probably another facet of Fusion infiltration.

We’re here, we’re distracting them. Move in and shut down the Nineteen.

“If we have to take an unconventional approach to win this war, then I’ll do it.” She glanced at her adjutant. “There’s still the Fusion border waiting for us. I’m sure that will be the next campaign. And, before that, I think we all want to go home. For myself, it would be nice to see the stars clearly again.”

Koul didn’t agree. Cheloi could see that clearly. He loved it in the thick of war, wielding his authority as if it were a bludgeoning sword. She wondered what it was that motivated him to such excess. An imbalance in his brain chemistry? A traumatic childhood? She wished she knew. Whatever it was, he loved it on Menon, where a planetside conflict offered more visceral pleasures than a silent space battle.

Despite his feelings, Koul knew what was expected of him. “Of course. Home.” His voice was deadpan.

Looking to the other side of the table, she saw the exhaustion in Rumis’s eyes and knew the keenness with which he missed his family. She had to end this, not only for the Fusion, but also for the Perlim pawns who deserved better. People like Rumis, whose only crime was to be born on the wrong side of the galactic divide.

“The change in the command chain will only be temporary, and it will only be for a week. That will give the regular commanders enough time to absorb Vanqill’s lessons, then take over and execute them across the territory.”

Koul had good instincts. Cheloi could see in his changing expressions that he knew there was something wrong with the plan. But his mentor and champion, Kodnell, had signed off on it so that must mean everything was okay. In the Fusion, such doubts would have led to open discussions, but this was the Perlim Empire. Not even the Emperor expressed doubts. And if the Emperor didn’t do it, then his mere subjects didn’t do it either.

Cheloi knew enough about the textures of silence to know the moment when Koul segued from disagreement to resignation. She turned her attention to her adjutant. “Rumis, is everything prepared?”

He nodded. “The orders have been drawn up and sealed. Couriers are standing by to deliver them this evening.”

“Three weeks,” she said, looking from one man to the other. “That’s all it will take to determine whether we succeed or fail in this endeavour. And I personally think I will succeed.”

The use of the personal pronoun didn’t escape Koul and the edge of one lip curled. She had meant it as a small, privately grim joke. He took it as yet another sign of her rampant egotism.

“There’s just one more thing, Senior Colonel.”

“Yes, Koul?”

“You’re moving our local battalions out as well.”

“Yes.”

Rumis spoke up, his handsome face creased with worry. “If Colonel Grakal-Ski is thinking what I think he is, then I agree with him on this point, Colonel. Leaving our base undefended isn’t a wise move.”

“Vanqill already analysed and cleared the immediate vicinity, as you know.” What they didn’t know was the background discussion. Her cajoling of Vanqill. Her twisting of him, drawing on every gram of loyalty he had toward her, every drop of gratitude, until he agreed that HQ was one small patch of the Nineteen that needn’t be crawling with as many Perlim as standard protocol warranted. “Central Control wants a clear victory without supplying further soldiers. The only logical choice is to deploy what we can spare.”

“But can we spare our own battalions?” Rumis pursued.

“It’s a single explosive offensive,” she explained. “Kodnell made that very clear. Besides, you’ve been overseeing the armament upgrades along the rim, haven’t you Rumis?”

Her adjutant nodded.

“We have top-line tracking and missile defenses,” he added. “And our HQ-wide mute shield is impervious.”

“If the rebels decide to attack anyway,” Koul began.

“If the rebels attack, they’ll be throwing themselves against a wall of ballistic defence.” Cheloi made her voice crisp. “And that’s even if they can pinpoint our exact location. If they survive the initial onslaught, they’ll need interstellar-grade munitions to blow a hole in the shield. They don’t have it. If they break through, they need numbers to even begin matching our remnant. They don’t have those either. Although,” she paused, “I concede you may have legitimate concerns regarding our defence grid. Why don’t the both of you tour the circumference this afternoon? If you find a weakness, report it immediately and I’ll rescind orders to mobilise the base’s troops.”

Koul’s eyes narrowed. “Rescind completely?”

She smiled confidently, knowing she had out-thought his potential reservations months ago. He just didn’t know it. “Completely, Koul. You have my word. Our battalions will remain here. I’ll even hold back all the couriers until I hear from the both of you.”

It was done. The defence systems had been deemed adequate by her two reluctant officers. The couriers had been despatched. The offensive would begin at dawn. Vanqill had already received his orders via secured comms that afternoon and, effusively grateful yet more than a little arrogant, had divided his subordinate officers by sector and sent them off to their various assignments all over the Nineteen. The other Colonels would be puzzled by the strange influx of Green Sector officers until they received their orders. By then, it would be too late. Vanqill’s men were already there, the orders were clear, and the offensive was scheduled to begin within half a day. If she survived the action as a Perlim officer, then she knew the way she executed the strategy would result in an extremely uncomfortable military inquiry somewhere down the line. But she had no intention of still being on Menon in three weeks’ time.

Cheloi rested against the rock in the mute bubble halfway up the inner slope of the mountain and watched the fuzzy globes of stars jiggle through the field’s interference.

There should have been blood pounding through her veins, sending tingles of excited anticipation to the ends of her fingers, spinning her head with the momentary rush of it all. There was a vestige of intellectual satisfaction, the feeling of pride from a plan slowly executing as it should, but it was swamped by a soft cloak of sadness she had never felt before.

It was Rumis.

He had stopped before exiting the briefing room that morning.

“I haven’t seen Lith for a couple of days,” he said, puzzled.

“She had a family emergency,” Cheloi answered. “She asked me not to tell anyone about it, but her mother’s dying.”

Rumis’ eyes darkened with sympathy and Cheloi could have happily killed herself in that moment for being able to lie so well, so consummately, to the person she valued above all else.

“This bloody war,” he said, with feeling, and she knew he was thinking about his sister’s wedding and the betrothed that he had not had time to vet. “Do you think she’ll make it home in time?”

“I don’t know. Rep Kodnell was kind enough to smooth passage for her once I told him her situation. I don’t think a driver is a critical resource for me right now.”

“No, of course not,” Rumis answered, but he was distracted. Lith had treated him with respect and affection and Cheloi knew he was eager to pursue a deeper relationship with her driver. She saw the wheels turning in his head as he wondered how he could track her and when she would be returning.

Too late, Rumis. I got there before you.

He finally nodded briskly. “Well, I’m sure she’ll be back soon.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “I’m sure she will.”

It was Koul.

The problem with Koul was that he had potential. She could have matched him hate for hate, viciousness for viciousness but she knew his type too well. In a perverse way, she had a strange affection for him. He had come closer to killing her than anybody else had across dozens of worlds. And if it hadn’t been for a miscalculation on his part regarding Lith, he would have succeeded. He was intelligent and fiercely loyal and she could even ruminate on what it would be like to work with him rather than against him all the time. What a shame that he was such a loyal cog in the Perlim Empire’s set of decaying wheels, twisted into a psychopath by a governing structure that didn’t deserve to exist.

If Koul had been born in the Fusion, what would he be now? If that fire, steadfastness and ambition had been channelled in a different, healthier and more open environment, who would he be now?

It was Vanqill.

Cheloi had used him like a pair of boots and was about to discard him just as easily. She had taken his energy and enthusiasm and twisted it to suit her own ends. Would any future historian understand that she had targeted Vanqill almost from the moment she arrived in the Nineteen? She had closely observed him, quizzing him at meetings, inviting him for command presentations, soliciting his opinion, so she’d have a better idea of the material she had to work with and how she could deform it to her will.

He looked to her as a mentor and a commander, singularly unashamed to put such trust in a woman. That one fact, especially within the Empire, was a rare and precious gift. And she was using it to betray, not only him and his soldiers, but the entire Perlim effort.

It was Lith.

A few years ago, she might have discarded Lith’s sensibilities as a sign of weakness. Ignored them. But now, she wasn’t sure. It was as if, along with her enticing scent, some of Lith’s own ethics had rubbed against her, irritating her with prickly and uncomfortable thoughts. Her time with Lith had turned the faint doubts about her job into something more concrete and distasteful at a time when she could least afford such qualms.

When she finished this, if she lived, she was finally getting out, like she and Eys once promised they would do. Maybe it was twelve years late, but it was better than nothing.

Until that time came, however, there were still one or two more distasteful things she had to do.

Chapter Nineteen

Day 1,574 of the War:

The rout had begun.

Cheloi gazed at the three-sided holographic map projected into the middle of the tactical room and pointed out areas of concern. Communications officers took her clipped orders and forwarded directives to the appropriate commanders. In some sectors, things were going to plan. The sudden blitz of troops and artillery had driven back known rebel positions in several areas. In others, the situation had stalled. Black sector was one case in point. Rather than putting Wakor under Vanqill’s command, Cheloi had deliberately put him under that of Vanqill’s subordinate and the results were predictable. There was open mutiny going on and reports coming in of shots being fired within the vicinity of Black HQ.

Koul stared at the map directly in front of him, and the stream of information that sped across the top edge, with barely suppressed fury.

“What is he doing? He’ll undermine the entire strategy!”

Cheloi looked over at him, unwillingly impressed. Despite his long friendship with Wakor and their unspoken alliance against her, Koul was berating his friend’s actions because he was disobeying orders. There were only a few people at such a senior level who would put their orders ahead of their friendships and she felt a twinge of regret for what might have been. Ignoring it, she signalled Rumis with a quick movement of two fingers.

“Rumis, contact Black sector. Ask them what the fuck they think they’re doing.”

“Yes Colonel.”

“I should do that,” Koul cut in. “Wakor will listen to me.”

Which was exactly what she didn’t want. “You’re too worked up Koul and I need you here. Rumis, use the appropriate language. Tell Wakor to follow orders. Go.”

With a quick salute, Rumis left.

“We’re doing quite well in the other sectors,” Cheloi commented, but Koul only snarled silently, his gaze glued to the displays. “Rep Kodnell was right. In less than a day, we’ve achieved more than in the previous three months.”

But Koul was focused on the Black sector, shifting his head to watch the pinpoints of light as the projection rotated. Dots blinked on and off as individual teams advanced, retreated, engaged with the enemy or died.

“If only we could call in our heavy strikers,” Koul muttered. “We’d get the bastards then.”

Cheloi mentally disagreed. The use of heavy military power may have led to a quick victory but not a lasting one. She could see why the Fusion had focused their undermining efforts on Menon. The planet was the ultimate test case of whether they’d get more deeply involved in the whole Perlim affair. The massive brutal force that normally worked in the Empire’s favour was thwarted by the planet’s eccentric atmosphere. What would the Perlim do? Obviously, they continued with the invasion. But when things dragged on, instead of rethinking their strategy, they stubbornly continued with an arrogant belief in their superiority. The Perlim had the same problem with the rest of their empire as they had with Menon IV, if they had the clear sight to see it.

“Unfortunately the strikers are out,” she answered. “The storms play havoc with every type of shielding we’ve tried. Maybe we could have developed an alternative, but it looks like the Emperor has other problems at the moment.”

The only thing that held the Perlim Empire together was their military superiority. Where they couldn’t depend on that, they were doomed to failure. Cheloi was on Menon IV to make sure that the failure came sooner rather than later.

“They wait until we’re distracted before they attack the border, the Fusion cowards.”

Cheloi didn’t want to think that the Fusion’s entire plan revolved around her, but it was hard to come to any other conclusion. The harassment along the Perlim border that Kodnell mentioned was brilliantly timed, giving her the perfect opportunity to initiate the end-game and bring this whole sorry mess to a conclusion. Sapping Perlim energy helped her enormously and while she knew the war would continue to drag on for many more months, this was a decisive moment she could point to and say, “There, that’s when it started. And I helped start it.”

“Take a look at the other sectors, Koul. I want you monitoring Green and Yellow for me. Rumis will take care of Wakor.”

But as she and Rumis walked the perimeter that night, using the time to stretch their legs and clear their minds, it was obvious that Wakor was out of control.

Cheloi breathed in the cooling dusty air and let it out slowly. She was savouring the sensations of her stroll and Rumis’s warm presence beside her, because she could already see through to the end. To a time when she would be somewhere else, far away from the deserts of Menon IV and the heartbreaking beauty of its treacherous storms.

“He’s not listening to anyone,” Rumis told her in a quiet voice. “In the end, even Colonel Grakal-Ski spoke to him but he seems beyond reason.”

And of course he would be. A senior veteran of multiple campaigns. Resigned, if not happy, with his lot as a Colonel. Forced to take orders, not from his hated and more flamboyant peer, Vanqill, but from one of Vanqill’s inexperienced upstart Majors. Oh yes, Cheloi could see how that would bite, and hard.

“Maybe I should send you to Black sector to talk some sense into him,” she said abruptly.

“Colonel?” She heard the surprise in his voice even if she couldn’t see it. And suddenly, as it was with Lith, she wanted Rumis as far away from HQ as she could send him.

“I’ll compile a report,” she continued briskly. “You can go to Black, add your observations, and take them to Central Control’s base at the Five.”

“What about the offensive? Who will help coordinate our efforts here?”

“I have Koul. He is clever and efficient.” There was a thread of dry humour running through her voice.

Rumis was having none of it. He stopped, forcing Cheloi to stop as well.

“Colonel, has my performance as your adjutant disappointed you in any way?”

He was mostly a silhouette against the sky but Cheloi knew him well enough to know the expression on his face. The frown on his wide forehead pulling down straight dark eyebrows. Brown eyes filled with a puzzled hurt.

“Why would you say that, Rumis?”

“If there was any moment during my assignment that my services were needed most, I believe it’s this one. I believe we’re at a critical point in the war and if you’re sending me away on a courier errand,” his tone of voice indicated what he thought of that task, “then I can only conclude that I have somehow failed in my duties.”

Cheloi was silent for a moment. “I told you in the past that an able commander must be prepared to do whatever is necessary, didn’t I?”

“Yes, Colonel.”

“Patch injuries as well as order advances, help cook the evening meal as well as oversee the territory’s budget.”

“Yes, Colonel.”

“Can’t you see this as just another facet of that? Travelling to Black sector is not a picnic, Rumis. It’s a dangerous journey, especially now that we’ve stuck a giant stick in the rebels’ nest. And even you admit we need to do something about Wakor.”

“I do Colonel but, with respect, wouldn’t Colonel Grakal-Ski be the better choice? I believe that if Colonel Wakor listened to anybody, it would be him. And a face-to-face confrontation between them might achieve what distance communications have not. I, on the other hand, don’t have the same kind of relationship with Colonel Wakor. It would, in my opinion, be a futile errand.”

Cheloi couldn’t believe the depth of affection she had developed for her adjutant, which was another sign she was long past retiring from her career. There was an insane desire to blurt out who she was and why he must get as far away from the Nineteen as possible, because she was about to turn HQ into a fission device just waiting to detonate. She even opened her mouth to say something, anything, but common sense kept her mute.

“I wouldn’t want to begrudge Koul his moment of glory at the centre of operations,” she finally told him.

“Then don’t begrudge me mine either, Colonel. If I have served you well these past years, then please allow me that moment too.”

Clenching her jaw, Cheloi turned away and continued walking, her boots crunching rhythmically on the gravel strewn ground.

“Have you heard from your family recently?” she asked, when she once more felt she had control over her voice. “Your sister will be getting married soon, won’t she?”

“Next month. If Rep Kodnell is right about the transport blackout only lasting a month, I hope to be there in time for her wedding. That is, if you’d approve some extended leave for me.”

“You deserve at least that, Rumis. If not more.” Her voice was heartfelt.

“I’ll hold you to that, Colonel, once this offensive is over.”

They lapsed into companionable silence and Cheloi only stopped when they reached the western edge of the camp, just below the lowest point of the mountain’s encircling rim.

“Tomorrow will be another busy day, Rumis, and I’m sure I’ve already missed several critical despatches from our sector commanders. Could you do me a favour?”

“Yes, Colonel.” Anything.

“Go back to the tactical room and summarise the most urgent of those pleas, and send them to my office when you’re done. Then you had better get some sleep. I–I think I’ll walk for a bit longer.”

“As you wish, Senior Colonel.”

Cheloi heard his brisk steps as he strode away, receding into the night. Cheloi left the path and scrambled ten metres up the inner slope of the mountain’s rim. She knew the terrain of the camp intimately and had chosen the spot carefully.

When she turned and looked back from the narrow ledge she had climbed onto, the camp was spread out in front of her in all its camouflaged glory. She knew which set of boulders constituted the entrance to the canteen and laundry sections and which tree marked the officers’ entry. She knew where the exits were and the most probable hole Rumis used to disappear into the underground complex.

With the local battalions deployed elsewhere, she knew there were only enough details to watch outwards from the rim, not inwards. Anybody observing her from below would think the territory’s commander was merely taking a break, pondering the resources available, glorying in the obvious superiority of the Perlim, perhaps even gaining inner strength from the sight of its expansiveness cocooned safely within the embrace of a collapsed mountain-top.

Cheloi snapped her ‘scope down to make sure nobody was aboveground who shouldn’t have been, then knelt, ostensibly to adjust the hem of her trousers. She had already slipped into the defence junction room a few hours ago and flicked a small switch, turning off low-level error reporting. Now she had to execute the second part of her ploy. Scrubby weeds hid her fingers as she pried open the cover of one of the mute-shield projectors that dotted the inner slope at regular intervals.

Each projector had a backup unit and, together with all the other projectors, they formed the dome-shaped mute-shield that kept HQ secure. Should one of them fail, a crack would appear in the blanketing shield, enabling any scanning rebel sensors to find them. With quick movements, Cheloi snapped the major and backup relays and replaced the cover.

Then, standing once more, she brushed her hands on her trousers and headed back down the slope.

Day 1,575 of the War:

The rocking of an explosion woke her early the next morning.

Fuck, that was fast!

Cheloi was up and dressed in minutes, sprinting down the corridor to the Tactical Room while she buttoned her tunic.

“What’s happening?” she demanded as she skidded through the door.

“Our perimeter’s been breached,” Rumis told her tersely. “The shield is down. We don’t know how.”

At the other end of the room, Koul was shouting orders into a comms unit, his voice loud but steady. Another explosion shuddered through the complex and a shower of sand fell on the equipment consoles. Impervious, the projection in the room continued to revolve.

“Attack is mostly by artillery but one of our watchtowers notes a break-in by a small band along the western side of the camp.”

Hand-to-hand combat in the middle of an artillery’s target zone? Cheloi stared at Rumis. Their attackers were insane as well as committed. But something like this was just what she was expecting and she didn’t have time to ponder rebel tactics at the moment.

“Who’s the closest to us?” she asked.

Rumis would have the answer at his fingertips and he did. Her respect for him, calm even under direct attack, increased. “Colonel Pish has three platoons within twenty minutes’ skimmer range.”

“Koul,” she shouted above the occasional percussive thump. “Contact Pish. Get him to divert one, or more if he can spare them, of his platoons here as soon as possible. Tell him we have a small incursion and are under artillery fire. I’m going to check the communications junction for signs of sabotage.” She lowered her voice. “Rumis, get the backups going. Re-establish that shield perimeter as quickly as possible. Manufacture one of those bloody units yourself if necessary, but get it going.”

Both Rumis and Koul nodded quickly as Cheloi left the room. The explosions became more frequent. Even through the earth, Cheloi felt the thuds of their answering weaponry vibrating through the ground. She headed for the junction room in a hurry, yelling at soldiers to get armed and get out of the way as she ran.

She reached the room in question and punched in her access code, steadying herself against the rough wall as the heavy door slid open and another tremor shook the ground. There was nobody inside. There shouldn’t have been. Quickly, she locked the door behind her. The equipment stored here, bank upon bank of slim tall boxes of electronic wizardry blinking green and blue, was supposedly fail-safe.

Cheloi switched on the illumination and started scanning the metal cases. Somewhere, there should be…yes, there they were. The external communications units. She unclipped the side of the unit and swung open the front hinged cover. Three thick bundles of cables, gleaming silver in the light, snaked through the case’s interior, edging aside narrower tubes of white light. She didn’t know what any of the cables did but, then again, she didn’t have to.

Stepping back, Cheloi pulled her blaster out in one smooth movement and fired it into the centre of the box. Sparks rocketed out for a second, and she put her hand up in front of her face to protect herself from the glare and incendiary flashes. Loud pops and sizzles filled the air.

“I think we should—what the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

She spun around. And confronted Koul in the open doorway. Of course, he would have the access codes. And a good dose of bad timing.

He looked stunned as if even he, filled with loathing for her, couldn’t believe what he saw. There was a moment of frozen disbelief before his training kicked in. With a snarl, he surged forward, knocked the blaster from her hand and threw her up against the banks of equipment. Cheloi’s head hit the metal and she saw stars dance in front of her eyes.

“You bitch,” he growled. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Koul I can explain,” she gasped, as his hands grabbed her collar and started to twist.

But she knew she couldn’t talk herself out of this one. Koul was going to kill her and, this time, he was going to do it himself.

Another explosion rocked them both and Cheloi took advantage of the momentary instability and the slight easing of his grip to deliver a short vicious uppercut to his ribcage. He spluttered and let go of her completely and Cheloi angled her right hand up, past his head before chopping across his face with a downward blow. The force of it sent him to his knees. As he reached for his own blaster, Cheloi stepped up. Grabbing his head with both fists, she kneed him in the face.

That should have been enough for anyone but Koul was tougher than he looked. Wavering but conscious, kneeling and steadying himself with one hand on the ground, he shook his head.

“Koul, you bastard,” she muttered, “why won’t you stay down?”

She grabbed two handfuls of his hair, preparing for another strike, but he moved before she did. As the complex rocked and showered them with more fine sand, he jerked forward and to his feet, head butting her in the chin and sending her bouncing against the cases before crashing to the floor.

“You traitorous bitch,” he hissed, as he crawled on top of her. “I should have killed you the moment I first saw you.”

Koul was a heavy weight pinning her down and Cheloi knew she couldn’t get in a good enough hit, not one with enough momentum to shift him. His legs had also pinned hers, effectively stopping her from kneeing him.

“Koul–”

She couldn’t see him properly. The room’s bright illumination, directly above her head, hurt her eyes. In desperation, her right hand scrabbled around for something—sand, a piece of wire, anything. Her hand curled around the barrel of a blaster. She didn’t have time to turn it over, so she used it to hit the side of his face as hard as she could.

He flinched and she used the split-second of freedom to bring her knees up and half-shove, then kick, him off her.

“You don’t know when to quit, do you?” she asked, scrambling to her feet. She took her eyes off him for only a split-second, to flip the blaster in the air and catch it again, this time by the grip. She didn’t have time to do any fancy sighting and the weapon in her hand gave her only a split-second’s advantage. She took it, aiming quickly at his body and let off a shot.

Koul, halfway to his feet, collapsed to the ground, landing hard on his knees. The smell of burnt flesh filled the small equipment room. He wasn’t dead. Without a proper aim, she had only managed to drill through his shoulder. Disbelieving, his eyes wide, he looked down at his shoulder then up at her.

With cold eyes, Cheloi checked the blaster settings, eyed down the barrel, met his gaze, and shot him again. This time, when Koul hit the floor, he didn’t get up.

With a muttered oath, Cheloi turned her back on his still-warm body. She flung open the doors of the other cases and started methodically firing into each one. When she was done, she was panting from an exertion that had little to do with physical effort.

It wasn’t necessary, but she couldn’t resist one more effort to muddy the waters. With a grim smile, she put the blaster in Koul’s dead hand, not yet stiff and cold, holstered her own, and hit the button on the side of the wall.

The door slid open again to a cacophony of sound. The emergency lights screwed into the ceiling flashed yellow and a klaxon blared down the corridors. The whole complex was on emergency power. Above it all, she heard Rumis’ voice over the loudspeakers.

“The complex is about to collapse. Evacuate immediately. I repeat, the complex is about to collapse.”

She took off for the Tactical Room, finding three junior officers and Rumis still in there. The relief on her adjutant’s face was palpable when he looked up and saw her. The far part of the room had already caved in, and the apparatus projecting the holographic map was hanging from several cables, dangling precariously above their heads.

“What’s the situation?” She couldn’t help but ask the question.

“All communications have been cut. All power is down. I’m sorry, Colonel, but I was unable to re-establish the perimeter. There are rebel reinforcements coming through from the west . We don’t have enough soldiers to man all the defensive cannons and most of the armaments are pointing the wrong way. The teams are trying to target rebel artillery positions but the enemy is highly mobile. We’re being overrun.”

Amid the dust and noise, Cheloi’s thoughts were crystal-clear. It was time to leave. And it was time to take Rumis with her. She would knock him unconscious if need be, but she was not leaving him to face the wrath of the Empire. Especially not when Koul, the next obvious scapegoat, was dead.

“Let’s go.” She raised her voice. “All of you. Get out of here.”

“Colonel—”

“That means you too, Rumis. You’re still with me. Let’s go.”

He hesitated, looking for a moment as if he would like to disagree then, with a tightening of his lips, he dropped the comms equipment he still held in his hand and moved towards her, shepherding the others out before him. Cheloi waited for him.

“Did Colonel Grakal-Ski find you?” Rumis asked her as they jogged toward the eastern exit.

“Yes he did. He’s concentrating on something else at the moment.”

There was a heavy whoosh and part of the corridor collapsed behind them, sending a rush of dust and air swirling through the tunnel.

“We go south-east. Rumis—”

“How did they break through?” he asked aloud. “How did they even find us?”

Cheloi decided not to answer.

They drew their weapons as they exited the complex and took a quick look around. Already the slightly uneven ground was riven with collapsed tunnels that both the Perlim forces and the rebels were using as trenches to hide in.

Cheloi stared towards the east, spotting the ledge halfway up the slope. That was where she, Rumis and Lith had conducted that first evening talk so many weeks ago. The space had its own mute bubble, which might offer a little protection from rebel scanners. If they could get there, they might stand a chance of surviving this. And the path up to that bubble was better camouflaged than most, meandering behind trees and clumps of long grass.

She pulled him along with her till they gained the cover of some boulders.

“Rumis, we’ve got to get to the eastern mute bubble.”

“Mute bubble?” He peered around the rocks. “What about the rebels? We should be fighting them.”

“It’s too late. We’ve lost.”

He looked at her then and frowned. “Lost?”

She shook her head. “Now’s not the time to explain. We both need to get out of here. I’ve arranged for transport.”

“But the landing pad is by the northern end and the rebels have already swarmed that position.”

“I don’t mean regular transport, Rumis.” She tugged at his sleeve. “Come on, we’ve got to get moving.”

Cheloi’s plan was clear. The moment they cleared the mute bubble, she’d activate the transponder in her wrist. In the three or so minutes of relative peace between the signal and the arrival of the ship, she would explain to Rumis the realities of the situation. If he agreed with her, all well and good. If he didn’t, she would stun him and take him to safety unconscious. Whichever way it turned out, he was coming with her.

The shooting in the caldera was as crazed as in any battle situation throughout known space and Cheloi kept her head down as she headed for her goal. Rumis tagged dutifully behind her. She knew she was in as much danger of being shot by a Perlim soldier as by a rebel. There were screams of agony, sounds of rocks and trees exploding and strangled cries for help, swiftly silenced. When they finally reached the escarpment, Cheloi gritted her teeth and started climbing. Her progress would have been quicker but she had to stop every now and then to pull her reluctant adjutant along with her. They didn’t speak, concentrating instead on staying hidden.

After five long minutes, she dared a look up the slope and was gratified to see they were almost halfway to the ledge. Not long now.

“Colonel….”

It was nothing more than a strangled cry.

They had just moved behind a stand of tall spiky grass when Cheloi looked back.

The fierce look of cajoling she had plastered on her face faded away, smoothed into slack-jawed horror as her eyes refused to take in what they saw.

“No,” she breathed, her eyes wide.

“…I….”

“NO!”

She screamed, uncaring of how far her voice carried. The sounds of battle, the cries of people, faded into oblivion. All Cheloi heard was the erratic thumping of her heart in her ears as she carelessly slid the two steps down to Rumis, sending a shower of dust down the slope.

He was lying on the baking earth, a wide black gash cut across his entire body, the centre a sticky bluish red with his oozing blood. The cut was so deep she could see into his body, to the purple sheen of his organs as they rose and fell in a bath of his own fluids. She put her blaster down and swallowed, helpless. There was no temp-suture that could fix this, even if she had thought to bring a basic medkit with her.

She lifted her hands. Made a move. Towards what? Bringing the torn edges of skin together with her fingers? Cupping the blood that spilt down the sides of his body and emptying it back into his body in some grotesque parody of bailing out a boat? She had seen the dying before, but never face-to-face with someone she…loved. She swallowed convulsively, her gaze darting all over his body and the surrounding ground, but there was nothing she could do.

With shaking hands and a shuddering breath, she smoothed back the hair from his forehead, tears forming in her eyes. With her other hand, she groped for his, holding it in a tight and trembling grip. He squeezed her fingers, and she swore she could already feel them get cold.

“Rumis,” she whispered through bloodless lips.

“Will we prevail?” he asked in a choked whisper as his body started shaking. She knew he was going into shock.

She met his cloudy brown gaze as openly as she could. “Good will come of this, Rumis,” she told him. “Believe me.”

He nodded once and looked like he wanted to say more. He licked his lips….

His mouth was still open when he died. She knew he wanted to relay a message to his family but it expired with him. His grip slackened and his eyes lost that bright spark of life that she had cherished so much. He was reduced to a piece of meat, staring sightlessly up into the pale hot sky.

Cheloi swallowed again as tears streamed down her face. With a sob, she grabbed blindly for her blaster and continued up the slope, scrabbling and slipping as she choked in clouds of dusty air, oblivious to the continuing carnage around her. The sounds of immediate battle were trapped distantly at the end of a long tunnel, too far away to touch her.

She stumbled into the bubble and activated the transponder in her wrist with a savage jab, sorry when she didn’t draw blood. She didn’t want to look down the slope to where Rumis’ body lay, but she couldn’t help herself. She wasn’t sure whether she was happy or sad when she saw nothing but a body-shaped blur through the interference, a wide line of darkness slashing through its—his!—middle.

She kept watching, Rumis reduced to an abstract cipher through the bubble’s filter, and thought she saw his blood form a stream and trip falteringly down the slope. A dark red ribbon in the bright morning sun.

She only closed her eyes when she felt the tingle of the extraction ship’s displacement device lock on her and begin transport.

Chapter Twenty

The moment she was displaced to the Fusion evacuation ship, Laisen knew she was through with her job. That resolve hardened to cold steel by the time she met up with Copan a week later.

After having him in her subconscious for almost three years, she was startled when she saw him again in person. She noted further signs of his ageing. He was a bit thinner, his large knuckles even more prominent, his hair a bit greyer around the temples. Or maybe he had always been like that. The Fusion’s longevity treatments were legendary and three decades hardly made a difference to someone’s appearance. Maybe some bright coder had brushed up his avatar before inserting him and his blue practice room, complete with non-functional clock, into the middle of her neurons.

Despite her private reservations, she had no real grounds on which to object when they removed the construct module and forwarded the information to Copan. She had never had one of those devices in her head before, which might have explained her feeling of violation during removal, made more complete by the clinical and aloof operating procedure. She stayed under observation for a day and a half, staring at the ceiling. She relived Rumis’s moment of death. She wished that, out of all the memories she took away with her from her Menon mission, that was the one the Fusion would somehow botch up and end up erasing while they tinkered with her brain. It was a futile hope. As she ran through the recollections of the past three years, coached by post-recovery questions and exercises, she was depressed to note that they were all intact. She would have to live with her memories of Rumis until the day she died.

At the start of the mission, with no previous experience to guide her, she had viewed the AI construct as nothing more than a tool. Now she felt as if she had unwittingly forwarded a most intimate diary to a stranger. She hadn’t been talking to this Copan while she was trussed and bleeding, believing she was about to die in Drel’s underground chamber. And it wasn’t this Copan who had encouraged her to have sex with Lith. When she walked into his real office on the real Tatrex four days after the operation, she felt as though an important slice of her life had been passed to an impersonal panel, to be flicked through and discussed by people she didn’t know for purposes she could not subvert. And when she saw the subtly different Copan, the feeling increased.

“Laisen, please have a seat.”

His smile was the same but Laisen couldn’t shake the feeling of disconnectedness. She sat down without returning the greeting. The chair creaked as it took her weight, the sound an uncanny echo from her mind.

“It’s been a long time,” Copan began with a sad tilt to his lips. “I gather from the construct that a lot happened.”

“It did,” she agreed, eyeing him brazenly. “So what would you like to talk about first?”

“Lith is the obvious choice. But let’s talk about Rumis.”

Laisen couldn’t help it. Her fingers tightened on the armrests.

“You reported, and despatches from the Perlim have confirmed, that a Rumis Swonnessy was found dead at the Nineteen’s headquarters.” He paused. “You were trying to displace with him, weren’t you?”

And she saw again her adjutant’s empty eyes.

His blood seeping into the dry earth.

The scent of metal and death.

“I know you told me not to,” Laisen replied quietly, “and I know it’s against all protocols, but I couldn’t help it. Rumis is, was, like a brother to me.”

But Copan was already shaking his head. “Why do you think we have these rules? Do you consider yourself the only agent who’s contemplated such an action?” He paused, searching her face. “The results are disastrous. We put those protocols in place for a reason. Before they were enforced, most of our mission rescuees committed suicide within a year due to anger, resentment and disassociation. It was almost a foregone conclusion, so we had to be firm: no evacuation of non-Fusion personnel.”

“Fusion technology keeps advancing in leaps and bounds.” Her voice was sullen. “There could have been some way to make it work.”

She moved in her chair, uncomfortable with her thoughts, not wanting to admit that Copan was right. She knew it herself, which was why she kept silent that morning as she dragged Rumis up the eastern escarpment. She could have told him aboveground, or even in their underground headquarters, who she really was, but she knew what he would think. It was only her stubbornness that made her cling to a lie, where Rumis would be grateful and she could continue mentoring him. In reality, Rumis would have killed her. In anger, in disbelief, in utter despair, but ultimately as a loyal Perlim officer. He could have done no less.

Copan sighed at her apparent intransigence. “He’s being called a deserter.”

“A—?” Laisen’s head jerked and her eyes narrowed in pain as the words struck home.

Of course. With the way it looked, it was the obvious conclusion. Rumis’s body would have been found high on a ledge on the opposite side to the action. Koul’s would have been discovered in the communications relay room. Protecting the equipment perhaps?

Result? Rumis deserter, Koul hero. She couldn’t save her adjutant in life and now it seemed he was irredeemable in death. She swallowed a lump of grief but it kept rising in her throat, bitter bile to choke on for the foreseeable years.

“Senior Colonel Cheloi Sie is believed to be vaporised and at the bottom of a maze of collapsed tunnels.”

“You’re punishing me,” she accused, her voice thick.

“I’m debriefing you.”

Laisen jerked her head but said nothing.

“The captain of the Dare to Live told me you’re thinking of leaving the service.”

That was the name of the stealth ship that had evacuated her from Menon IV. It was so ironic, Laisen almost went into an hysterical fit right there on the displacement coils. She thought she had pulled herself together but noted that the small crew watched her intently for the rest of the voyage. Obviously, she was not as convincing at feigning sanity as she’d thought.

The captain, a brusquely cheerful man whose name she didn’t bother remembering, managed to trap her into several brief conversations, but Laisen was adept at avoiding most other contact. She remained in her cabin for almost the entire trip and kept the door locked. She never answered any chimes from would-be visitors. She spent much of the shipboard time eating, watching vids or sleeping, and deliberately avoided initiating the Copan construct.

On the couple of occasions she and the captain met, she remembered uttering bitter words to the effect that she and the Fusion’s covert intelligence service were going to part company as soon as possible. He’d obviously sent that little snippet along when he delivered her to Tatrex.

“We’ve discussed me leaving before.”

Copan’s voice was puzzled. “Have we?”

Yes. No. No, not with this Copan, but with the other one, the one in her head. But that wasn’t quite right either. She had meant to bring up the topic but never did. The capture by the rebels had cut short that resolution.

“Perhaps not,” she conceded. “But I meant to.”

Suddenly, it was all too complicated. Skeins of plots that she had previously been able to keep effortlessly apart were now tangled into a hopeless mess. People she had spoken to were either artificial, dead or missing. (Lith, where are you? Did you get away?) Right now, the most important task of any she accomplished in the past twenty years seemed trivial, minuscule, barely above a childish prank.

“And what would you do if you left the service? Transfer to another section? Leave the intelligence service altogether?”

“Leave.” Laisen was firm.

“And go where? The Floks Nine Semi-dyson? You haven’t been back since Eys died.”

Laisen looked at him sharply but didn’t say a word.

“Your experiences would be highly valuable if you remained with the service,” Copan continued, “even if it wasn’t with the active deployment teams.”

“I’m too old,” she said. “Too tired.”

“We wouldn’t put you in deep-cover assignments. Not if you didn’t want to.”

And that too was an issue. How could Laisen be content with an analysis or policy position, working beside people who’d be dropped into covert assignments she had refused? She was also afraid that the constant lure of danger and excitement would prove too much. Perhaps, in her current frame of mind, she’d be able to resist it for a year, but not much longer than that. And what if she went back to missions and got an attack of conscience at an inconvenient moment? Again.

“Let’s talk about something else,” she said. “Do you know if Lith Yinalña managed to escape?”

“We’re tracking her movements now.” Copan’s voice was noncommital.

“You didn’t know she was Fusion, did you?” Laisen asked wolfishly and was amused by the barely-disguised discomfort on his face. “How did they get past our intelligence, Doctor? I thought we were watching the Free-Perlim Council closely. I even had briefings on them. How did Nils and his little band of confused freedom-fighters get past the mightiest body in the galaxy?”

It was only a small act of defiance and it didn’t last. The Fusion was relentless in its efforts to rehabilitate her and even Laisen’s reservations and spirited sarcasm weren’t allowed to stand in its way.

Copan kept repeating that the mission was considered a complete success. Two of Menon’s top commanders were out of action—the real Cheloi Sie was dead and the would-be tyrant Grakal-Ski was also dead. Territory Nineteen was in tatters, their experienced command structure gutted. The entire region had been claimed by rebel forces, cutting the imperial force in two. It was the ideal outcome.

The Perlim Empire was now caught between salvaging an impossible guerilla war and containing the pinpricks of distraction along the protracted Perlim-Fusion border. In the Fusion’s opinion, the ultimate downfall of the Empire was still at least a decade away, but an important first step had been made and Laisen had been an integral part of that.

As for her disillusionment, she was met with a soft understanding that continually absorbed her outbursts of pain, giving nothing back. Copan understood her anger and considered that a natural outcome from such an extended mission. He was so understanding, so compassionate, so willing to open himself up to every criticism Laisen could throw at them that she felt more incensed at the end of each of their sessions.

It didn’t matter. The Fusion were appreciative but unmoving. In a fit of wrath, Laisen had even demanded a meeting with the Strategy Panel. They gazed at her with compassionate but detached expressions as she paced and ranted before them. They regretted that somebody she cared about got killed, but that was how wars went. And, on a smaller version of the scale the Fusion used to quantify the effectiveness of its campaigns, wasn’t Rumis’s death balanced by Koul’s? Yes, Rumis Swonessy’s life was cut prematurely short, but could she imagine what life would be like for the Menon, or any other unfortunate species, if Koul Grakal-Ski had survived?

Their sophistry was maddening, but Laisen had three years’ experience in hostile isolation. She used the self-discipline she had honed during that time to fiercely clamp down any further outbursts of righteous anger. Not only wouldn’t it do any good, but the last thing she wanted or needed was a diagnosis as a psychotic. The kindness exhibited by the Fusion under such circumstances didn’t bear thinking about.

The only scrap of satisfaction she could salvage was on the topic of Lith. Even the Strategy Panel had been discomfited when she bought that up. The Fusion had known about the Free-Perlim Council and had kept careful tabs on it but, while they knew Nils had broken away from the organisation, his entire plot to have Cheloi Sie killed completely bypassed them. They didn’t like to admit that they had overlooked something, especially something that had the potential to upend their carefully laid plans, and Laisen smiled when she thought of how much agitation that little conspiracy must still be causing them.

Even with her mind made up and Copan finally acquiescent, it still took six months to fully extricate herself from the clutches of the intelligence service. She hadn’t known how much baggage she had accumulated until it was time to shed it all.

Her very first mission for the Fusion had been a simple burglary on one of the Nedron worlds. From that simple task to the last psychological disaster on Menon IV, Laisen had to plough through every record to verify that everything was as complete as she could remember it. Everything she had done as an agent was kept in an extensive knowledge base for use as reference and training material. The Fusion also appreciated post-factum analyses of her past missions and, if she was now bereft of ideology or optimism, the one thing Laisen did not run low of was a supply of opinion. She knew the Fusion took her work seriously, that every word she appended would be read, analysed and commented on by others, and that made her think as comprehensively and dispassionately as possible as she trawled through the records.

Even though she was still angry with how it had turned out, the Fusion decision about the desert planet had been the right one. She bore that in mind as she relayed her experiences and conjectures.

Over the years the Fusion had shortened her, lengthened her, bleached and darkened her skin. In a couple of missions, they had even changed her sex. Her gender had been the only obstacle to an otherwise excellent match for two deployments and the Fusion let little stand in their way.

Looking back on those memorable assignments in the soft quiet expanse of the main intelligence library was soothing, and it was difficult for Laisen to keep her amusement in check. It had been an interesting experience being male. The change in hormonal balance altered the very way she looked at the galaxy. There was none of the almost-obsessive introspection that had been so important on Menon IV.

In contrast, her missions as males had been delightfully and ruthlessly direct. She’d even had sex as a male, pursuing attractive females with verve and no small amount of flattery, honed on what previously had best worked for her. Plunging fingers into a willing orifice was one thing, but plunging an erect and sensitive penis, once she remembered it was there, was something else. She remembered the sensation, the ripples of orgasm joined by the novel sensation of spurting alien ejaculate into slick and eager cunts. It had been an interesting set of experiments. And a pair of memorable missions.

It was two seasons on, a cool and sunny spring on Tatrex, when she finally finished. She had grown strangely reluctant near the end and had to force herself to keep up the pace of work.

“Where will you go?” Copan asked during one of their last face-to-face sessions. The worry was still evident on his face.

Laisen knew he was still unconvinced of her complete rehabilitation.

“Floks,” she said.

Near the end of their long relationship, she had become as uncommunicative as possible. She saw it as protecting her mental privacy. She knew he saw it as a hurdle to healing. Laisen felt there was no common ground without her compromising her very thoughts.

“Your family will be happy to see you.”

Yes, she owed her family a lot. Perhaps even a decade of her life spent roaming all over the galaxy, just so she could avoid confronting the memories of Eys.

“Yes.”

“You never got around to cleaning out your house, did you?”

Laisen looked at him and frowned, eliciting a small deprecating smile.

“Did you think we didn’t know? The flurry of missions we sent you on after Eys’ death was as much for you as it was for us, Laisen. It was something we never discussed.”

So much for thinking she had kept her heart-rending passion for Eys Ttulon secret while she was in Drel’s dungeon. It would have already been old news to the Copan construct. The Fusion had its eyes and ears everywhere.

She knew his last remark was one of Copan’s opening gambits. Even near the end, he was determined to delve into her psyche one more time. She couldn’t help the smile that curved her lips.

“And now we have others,” she replied, and her voice and expression were pure Cheloi Sie. Cool, dark and impenetrable.

He had to be content with that.

She spent the rest of the day, and the next one, tying up the administrative details. Almost the last thing she did was transfer possession rights of her small apartment on Tatrex to the planet’s governing body for reassignment to future residents. The unit held nothing of value, although she hoped the new owners would like her taste in furniture. Or maybe, she looked around at the muted colours and slanted angularities, it would be too severe for them. She had instructed the apartment to switch off the heating and it was already starting to get cold.

She had taken possession of the apartment after Eys, when she had run away from Floks and needed another bolt-hole in which to hide. The tidy space was virgin territory, unsullied by a presence other than her own. After Eys, she had let nobody enter her private domain. Even the women who wanted to get to know her more intimately were shepherded to their own residences or private hotels and Laisen made sure she always left before the sun rose the next morning.

The string of casual affairs and physical couplings had lasted for years. Until Lith came along.

Copan had told her they were tracking Lith. Laisen wanted to follow up on that statement, use Copan’s Fusion contacts to find out more about her lover, but her liaison was inexplicably tight-lipped on the subject. In order to gain knowledge from him, she had to give him some. Offer more insight into what she was thinking and feeling. Laisen wasn’t willing to go that far. She could have tracked Lith down from the depths of the intelligence library but she knew that her queries could be tracked, and she was even less comfortable laying out her thoughts for some nameless analyst to ponder.

In any case, what could she possibly tell the woman she had loved then sent away? How could she explain herself or what she did? There was still a gaping hole inside her when she thought of the beautiful honey-blonde but, like Eys, she knew the pain would eventually fade. Wouldn’t it? Lith was ultimately better off with someone more balanced and complete. Wasn’t she?

Maybe if she could find something else to think about. What she needed was some other career, equally exciting and stimulating, but not as dangerous. That would enable her to put those short chaotic months of her life to one side, wrapping it in forgetfulness and locking it in a mental cupboard. She would leave Lith in her past, hope that the pain in her heart subsided, and start a new life.

So she tied up her affairs on Tatrex and paid one last visit to the administrative centre. And it was there that her world shattered again.

Chapter Twenty-One

It was her last visit to Tatrex as a Fusion operative. She hoped. The long, low-slung administration building of the intelligence services gleamed silver and white in the slanting morning sun. Its curves caught the bright chill rays of sunlight, throwing them onto the wide pavements that radiated from the building like broad metallic beams.

The morning was still young, well before the workday formally started, but the Fusion was galactic and there were always some staff on duty. By visiting early, Laisen hoped to avoid running into anybody she knew. She had made all the explanations she was prepared to and wasn’t willing to indulge in any further questioning, no matter how friendly it might be.

Copan had pleaded and cajoled her to remain with the service, but his entreaties fell on deaf ears. Eventually, he told her that, by leaving, she was running away from the situation. He was right. Like a disillusioned lover, she was finally fleeing the Fusion’s covert service, breaking off a long and intimate relationship that had suddenly turned tragically bitter. But she was also running towards something. For almost a decade, she had harboured a nagging incompleteness regarding Eys and the place they had built on Floks Nine. Finally, she was going to come to grips with an earlier phase of her life and actively search for some peace.

Being a natural planet, the weather on Tatrex was less regulated than on an artificial construct such as Floks. The morning was chillier than she’d been expecting. Laisen burrowed her hands into the pockets of her jacket as she headed across the massive quadrangle, to the hidden side entrance only employees knew about. The air was bracing and made her feel alive again, even if the tips of her fingers were feeling a bit numb.

There was only one more task left on her list. In fact, her visit was spurious, but she needed definitive confirmation that the next day’s passage had been booked for the semi-dyson and not for one of her usual off-mission destinations. After more than ten years of not wanting to be anywhere near it, Laisen was now adamant that Floks was the place she had to be.

She visited the transport office, checked the details and confirmed the departure for Floks Nine. Mollified, she was on her way out, walking back along the silvery path ,when she saw him. It was another early-riser heading along the wide avenue between buildings. He was tall and lean and the way he walked…

…the way he walked….

He turned, perhaps sensing another’s gaze on him, and theirs met. Met and held. His walk slowed to a crawl but he continued moving. As did she. That he was there, calm and alone, sauntering easily across the paved expanse, told her he had done this before. Like her, he was an agent of the Fusion.

She frowned as her gaze skimmed his regular and attractive features.

If she chopped some length from his legs….

Changed the colour of his skin….

Thickened his lips….

Twisted his features….

Drel.

Her feet faltered to a stop as she stared at him openly, her entire body shivering suddenly in the watery sun. After a brief sardonic salute, he broke the connection and continued on his way, letting her dark gaze bore into his back.

She thought only one person was ever dropped into a covert mission. She thought she was the lynchpin of the Fusion’s Menon campaign. She thought she was critical to how the events unfolded on that dusty, scrubby planet. That was how she managed to rationalise Rumis’s death.

She was wrong.

The bastards had managed to outwit her again.

Her first instinct was to rush after the familiar stranger, the Fusion/Drel spy. He had recognised her too, the quick acknowledgement before he continued on his way was proof of that. She wanted to stop him, spin him around, probe his features, shake him, yell at him, and convince herself of what she already knew.

But to what end? Like her, he was a pawn in a much bigger game. What did she expect he would say? With the Fusion’s longevity treatments, it was difficult to tell, but he looked to be the same age as her. He was probably still in love with the Fusion and the job he’d been given to do. Would he even understand what she would incoherently try to explain? Or would he dismiss her as a washed-out intelligence has-been?

Laisen thought she knew the answer to the last question.

All right then. If not Fusion/Drel then maybe Copan. Did he know about this? He must have. Laisen was disoriented and angry enough to burst in on him, regardless of whether he was in consultation with another agent or not. But, as the silver rising sun beat down on her, she knew it would be like exposing her belly to a predator.

With dull eyes, she headed back into the centre of the city and stopped at the first bar she came across, briskly ordering a drink while she thought through her experiences on Menon. Of course. That answered the only outstanding question. Why hadn’t Drel denounced Lith as a Fusion spy after their escape from his camp? Because, dear Laisen, he was Fusion as well and probably thought he was protecting a colleague. Game, set and fucking match.

She nursed a succession of drinks and thought she looked morose and bitter enough to be left alone but that wasn’t the case. A bright and brash young tourist from one of the belter communities bought her a drink. Laisen knew she had been watching her as she downed the Plasma Breaks, one after the other like they were beakers of distilled water. When she was finished, they went back to her hotel room for a quick fuck.

It was so unlike her lovemaking with Lith. There was no threat of discovery here, just a cramped and strangely-shaped room, with ropes and ledges jutting out from every angled wall. It looked eerie and incomprehensible until her young seducer switched off the gravity control and they twirled in weightlessness, bumping into the soft upholstery that covered every surface.

Her lover—she never did ask for her name—was slim, androgynous and eager to please. With cheerful tolerance, she unclothed Laisen then herself, secreting their garments in a concealed compartment beneath one ledge, then floated toward her, rich and lithe with lust.

They grappled and she was ruthless, stabbing with tongue and fingers. She invaded the other’s warmth, licking saltiness and sourness with no thought beyond her own needs. She bit at flesh, suckled and tongued as if possessed, her energy not abating until the young woman screamed out her climax, convulsing for several minutes, and pushed her away.

“I’ve never had it like that before,” the beautiful svelte tourist panted, after she got her breath back. “Up till now, I’ve only had sex with men. Do you live in the city? Do you want to have dinner together?”

Laisen smiled and kissed her tenderly on the cheek. “Why don’t you get some sleep?”

She waited until her contented lover drifted into unconsciousness, then hunted for her clothes. After half an hour of fiddling with the controls, she gently landed the young naked woman on the floor, dressed and left.

Almost two years later, the evenings still hurt.

Laisen rested her forearms and elbows along the smooth bronze-coloured handrail, the heavy metal tube held in place by a pressor field, and looked down upon the darkening outline of Gaard’s Sub-Prime. It was a small city, patterned along the layout of some medieval town of a civilisation she had barely heard of. From where she stood, the design resembled a gigantic wheel. There was a large circular space in the middle, filled with restaurants and shops. Fanning outwards from there was an interspersing of official buildings and multi-level residence towers. Like spokes, wide boulevards ran from the perimeter to the centre of the city. The residents had elected to erect ancient replica lights—on tall physical poles no less—along the boulevards. At times like this, with the day dimming, the warm yellow lights looked ancient and welcoming against the fading sunlight.

Eys had been particularly happy when she’d obtained permission to build their house within reasonable distance of the city, known throughout Floks Nine as the oldest artisan hub in the semi-dyson. She had an eye for scouting out unusual and breathtaking locations, and this was no exception. Who else would have thought of approaching one of the local agricultural unions for building approval?

A breeze caressed Laisen’s cheek, lifting the hair from her forehead and rattling through the surrounding fields of sevet grass. The long stalks drooped, heavy with ripe red-yellow grain, resembling ripples of fire as the wind blew through them.

The house was built well above the fields of grain. It rested on poles so ethereal-looking that, from a distance, it looked like there were none. A casual observer would see a levitating timber box, surreal and angular, hovering above the swaying fields. Eys had actually considered using propulsive technologies to permanently float their home above the ground, but the union was adamant that it would interfere with their harvesting machines. The couple had to settle on the skinny columns that looked like insect legs and gave the machines something tangible to avoid.

The debate currently consuming the semi-dyson was the perennial one of whether or not to have artificial starscapes projected onto the atmospheric shields during slices of night. Because people lived in a half-clear tube that encircled the sun and not on a revolving planet, they were constantly facing the light. Night and day were artificially created and maintained by Floks’s general administrative body. Several bands of night rippled along the massive, slowly-rotating, constructed ribbon, bringing a configurable circadian rhythm to the entire system. Night was the blocking of sunlight by the shields. Day was the unblocking. The semi-dyson was even large enough, and the created topography turbulent and varied enough, to sustain its own weather patterns. There were clouds, wind, rain, storms but there were no stars.

One group preferred it that way. After all, it was part of the reality of living on such an artificial edifice. Another cited the psychological comfort of looking up into the night sky and seeing blinking dots of light. Laisen thought that if that was all people had to worry about—not even the gigantic countervailing forces that kept the giant tube in one piece, or the banks of endlessly working pressor fields that kept the bodies of water more or less stable while allowing people to go frolicking in them with little loss of life, but whether fucking lights should be pinned to the interior of the skyside half of the tube—then maybe the Fusion really was as soft as the Perlim accused it of being.

The wall to the interior of the house had been folded back completely, blurring the lines between inside and outside. The feeds Laisen subscribed to were soft and unobtrusive in the background. She tuned her ear to snippets that sounded interesting, then tuned them out again when they proved to be the same boring threads of news.

“…as more prefects have been implicated in the illegal tournament series. The Higher Convergence stressed that the actions of consenting adults are their own affair, however the misappropriation of funds….”

“…action against the Lasc Prein has once more dominated debate within the Lower Convergence’s Emergent Committee. The plea, this time from the Fa-Drunn system….”

“…the Perlim Empire continues to face heavy casualties across its governing territory, losing two more systems to independent control. The rout at Menon IV that began almost two standard years ago….”

“House,” she finally called out in irritation, “can’t you turn that off?”

“But you requested it on, Ed Laisen,” the house protested.

“I’ve changed my mind. Switch it off.”

She knew she sounded rude, but the house was only an AI. So what if she hurt its feelings?

“As you wish. Would you like something to replace it? Music? An educational seminar? The latest schedule information for the upcoming festival at Gaard’s Sub-Prime is available. You expressed interest in some of the events.”

Laisen softened her voice, repentant. “Silence will be fine.”

The sounds from the news faded gradually, as if she was receding from them.

If only she could turn off the rest of her thoughts so easily.

The nightmares had lessened in their frequency, although Copan still expressed worry every time he contacted her. It was as if he was trying to take over in person the intrusiveness of his brainware self. He had taken to calling her every two or three months under the flimsiest of pretexts, searching her face anxiously.

In a way, she was sorry she treated him so abominably. That his concern transcended his duty was obvious. After being her main liaison for two decades, a bond had formed. He was genuinely interested in her welfare. But he was also a member of the intelligence services and that was something Laisen couldn’t forget.

She would fob him off with remarks bordering on the facetious. He would drop the call, dejected, only to call again two or so months later, with hope in his eyes and confidence in his voice.

After two years, there was still nothing she wanted to share with him.

There was the nagging feeling that she was somehow still under surveillance. That she was a file closed but not lost, still scattered on the desk of Fusion strategy, to be opened and delved into once again if the need arose. The Fusion had emptied her of all knowledge and opinion, filling their knowledge base with the totality of her wisdom, yet there was still the lingering feeling of being the continued subject of distant consideration. Was this what all washed-out agents went through? Maybe it was nothing more than a phantom pain, imagining her employer was still interested when they had forgotten all about her. Either way, it was a depressing thought.

She dreamt of Rumis of course. To a lesser extent, Koul as well. It hadn’t really mattered that she couldn’t see Rumis’s dying body clearly through the mute bubble’s haze that morning. She had seen enough death to know what it looked like in all its permutations. That razor-sharp mental vision of her former adjutant, his dark eyes wide with betrayal, his mouth mute with pain, his body almost sliced in two, was what continued to haunt her sleep. In her dreams, Rumis was staring upwards, his eyes already glazed and vacant, his blood spilling in a giant ruby river down the slope, but his mouth was still moving, words still emerging despite the blankness of his expression.

“I trusted you, Colonel. How could you do this to me? I was the brightest and the best. You knew it. And you killed me. Was this all part of your plan? Were you laughing at me while I scurried around under your command? I trusted you, Colonel.”

It was worse than the Copan in her head because she couldn’t turn him on or off at will. She would get nights of peace then suddenly Rumis would be back, quietly vengeful and remorseless.

She knew she shouldn’t have even thought of doing it. Knew it interfered with her own recovery. But on several nights, soaked with alcohol and in an effort to banish his ghost, she had the house record a letter to Rumis’s parents. By now, almost two years after she had been evacuated by the Fusion, the house had fourteen drafts saved in its memory. Laisen knew she couldn’t send any of them but, conversely, she didn’t want to delete them. She didn’t want the galaxy to forget that someone like Rumis Swonnessy had ever lived. Somebody had to know the truth, even it was beyond her lifetime. Someone had to remember his steadfast loyalty, his sharp intelligence and his unerring sense of discipline and integrity.

The nightmares of Koul trying to kill her were trivial by comparison.

It was ironic that the escape from one nightmare had led her to another, and she was saddened by the fact that she felt only a twinge when she finally approached the boxy house, high above the grain fields of the semi-dyson, after such a long absence. Because her parents held positions of influence on Floks, she had been allowed to keep the house as her primary domicile, rather than have it given to someone else. Of course it also helped that Floks was a little out of the way of main Fusion traffic and there were few transient inhabitants. Most people seemed to prefer natural planets to live on rather than the artificial habitats that dotted Fusion space.

She had been expecting a belated, organ-rending grief of loss over Eys when she first saw the house again, an explosion of utter misery and bereavement that she had been associating with the place for twelve years. She felt guilty that she didn’t. Her grief was muted rather than combustible, a steady regret, and she started cleaning the house of its layers of fossilised memory quietly and methodically.

The house itself had kept the space clean and aired, recording one visit from her brother who was normally stationed at the embassy hub world of Anvil. But only she could move through each room, separating possessions into piles. What she would keep. What she would discard.

The things she kept were some keepsakes that had belonged to Eys and the joint art purchases from several trips together. She held onto the old, broken flitter that was currently stored in a warehouse at Gaard’s Sub-Prime, confirming the ownership and extending the length of safekeeping. Maybe she’d even start the renovation of the vehicle itself. Some day. But for most of it—Eys’ clothes and her personal files—she instructed the house to recycle or destroy. Some of her own things went too, mostly work-related information, and she fervently hoped that she was closing that part of her life forever.

It was like beginning again. She had not come back to Floks for more than a decade and knew few people on the giant ring. That made her happy. Her parents knew she was back but they were circumspect and unobtrusive in their communications, more so than Copan. She was reminded again of how much she missed them and how she would need to pay them a visit soon. Start explaining what had happened to her in the past decade. What she had gained. What she had lost.

As part of rediscovering a life outside subterfuge, she thought she would take a trip down to the small city. Maybe tomorrow. The house was always nagging her about the forthcoming art festival. It would be an ideal opportunity to introduce herself to life outside the intelligence service’s convoluted machinations.

If only she could forget Lith, she might almost call herself…happy.

“You have a visitor, Ed Laisen.”

Laisen looked out into the filtered darkness and frowned. Whoever it was must have arced in from the rear, landing at the small clearing behind the house, positioned there deliberately so it didn’t spoil the expansive view towards the city. Or maybe it was one of the occasional walkers who had taken it into his or her mind to cover as much of the entire inside perimeter of the semi-dyson on foot as they could. That was a fairly common pastime. According to the unwritten rules of Floks, she was duty bound to offer such pedestrians at least a night’s hospitality before cheering them on their way, watching as they trampled more sevet on their onward journey. Or—

“It’s not Copan, is it?” Her words emerged, fearful yet comical, before she had time to think.

“No, the female—”

Laisen’s heart gave a leap…

“—introduces herself as Uin Szolt.”

…and settled back down to its steady beat again.

“Is she after Eys?”

“No, Ed Laisen. She mentioned you by name.”

“Is she related to my family?”

There was a small pause. “She says not.”

Laisen knew it was unbearably rude leaving a stranger outside a residence in the dark, but she couldn’t think of anyone who would track her down to Floks of all places. With the exception of sending a quick burst to her parents on the other side of the sun, she had deliberately remained anonymous for the past several months.

Could it be the young experimenter from Tatrex? That angry, sexual wrestle one and a half years’ ago had been the last time she was intimate with anyone. But she and the young belter hadn’t exchanged names. Besides that was a casual encounter, the unsuccessful exorcism of ghosts, and she was sure the point was driven home when the woman in question woke up and found herself alone in that strange and comfortable room.

Someone from Floks’ administration? That was more like it. A bureaucrat perhaps, with some kind of task that couldn’t be handled over a communications channel and who was now confronted by a deepening dusk and locked doors. That was unheard of on the creative and bohemian semi-dyson, where one’s home was normally open to everyone who wandered past.

“Weapons?” She knew she was delaying the inevitable but couldn’t help herself.

“No. Bioscans indicate no communicable diseases either.” Was there a hint of testiness in her house’s AI?

Laisen quirked an eyebrow. “In that case, House, let her in.”

She turned around and leant against the handrail. Whoever the stranger was, she would have to walk the breadth of the house before reaching the balcony, giving Laisen time enough to see who had punctured her bubble of isolation.

Her breath caught as the woman cleared the stairs and entered the living area.

Lith Yinalña was even more beautiful out of uniform than she was in it. She wore a long flowing tunic of pale yellow, with russet and black embroidery decorating every square centimetre of the material, above a slim skirt of black velvet. Gold embroidered slippers peeked from beneath the skirt’s hem.

“House,” Laisen whispered, afraid that if she spoke any louder, the mirage might disappear, “get me a tawny life-water. Make it a double.”

She was content to watch Lith from the balcony, remaining still to escape notice. She observed her visitor looking around, a slight frown marring her forehead, taking in the eclectic pieces of furniture that dotted the room. Laisen wondered whether they were to her taste. Maybe the chairs were too deep? Or the wrong colour? She wondered how long it would take to get a new set ordered and delivered.

Her gaze followed her visitor as she moved to the ladder-like steps resting against one wall, looking up to the loft space that housed the main bedroom.

I could take you there. Guide you up the steps, unclothe you reverently and worship your body while the universe turned over our heads.

After a long hesitation, Lith moved her head and kept looking around.

It was the tray that finally gave Laisen away. It caught Lith’s attention as it whizzed out of the kitchen and she followed its progress to the balcony, her steps slowing as she finally took in Laisen’s figure, merging into the approaching night.

Feeling suddenly, unaccountably, fearfully nervous, Laisen straightened and took a sip of the life-water then put the glass back on the tray. It followed her as she walked towards the woman who had been her driver, her heart, in a life she otherwise wanted to forget.

Lith searched her face and Laisen forgot that she must look a little different to how she did two years ago. She had decided to keep Cheloi’s height as her own. She had always felt too gawky at her natural, taller, stature. Otherwise, the surgeons had reverted her to her normal biology. Both inside her body, which meant she didn’t have the mutated blood, organic buttresses or those psychologically uncomfortable fat nets any more. And outside of it, with her skin darkened to its natural hue, almost matching the bitter chocolate of her eyes. They had also removed the padding from her cheeks, jaw and forehead, making her look leaner, and more in proportion. Would Lith like the changes? Or did she find the slightly plumper Cheloi version more to her liking? Laisen wanted to ask, wanted to say something, but the words were stuck in her throat, suddenly full with a ball of emotion that only let quick breaths through.

“Laisen?”

“Lit–House gave me a different name,” and she winced at the accusatory tone in her voice. She was useless at these personal interactions, she decided. Where was a straightforward fire fight when she needed it?

“Uin Szolt,” Lith said.

“Is that your real name?”

Lith laughed, a strange sound in a house not used to such noise. Laisen liked the difference. Perhaps she could convince Lith to stay and fill the void with further cadences of life? Or was that just her stupidity taking over again?

“No. Lith Yinalña is—was—my real name. But the Fusion organised the other name for me and,” she tilted her head, “their reasoning made sense, so I accepted it.”

Really? Because it wasn’t making any sense to her.

Why did you come? Are you all right? Are you living with anyone? I’ll wring his, or her, neck if you are.

She gestured back into the house and followed after, the tray limping obediently along.

“And what reasons would they be?” she asked, picking up the dropped thread of disclosure.

As owner of the house, she should have offered Lith—no, Uin, no, Lith!—some refreshments but the rational part of her didn’t want her to stay. Lith staying meant them talking, it meant truth coming out. And Laisen was quite content with her fantasies, where Lith loved her, in spite of who and what she was. She was curious about Lith’s visit but under no illusions that it meant a happy-ever-after ending.

“The Perlim might come after me,” Lith replied easily, settling into a pod-seat. She gestured to the balcony. “This is a beautiful location for a house. I could see all of Gaard’s Sub-Prime as I landed. Did I get the name right? It’s a very pretty city. Not quite what I was expecting.”

Laisen nodded, lowering herself more slowly into a less comfortable chair opposite. She had thought of the Perlim tracking Lith down. That’s why she had been so adamant that she get off Menon as quickly as possible, focusing on a direct escape route straight to Fusion space. But she had not expected Perlim repercussions even into Fusion territory. She herself shed identities with each mission, so never had to worry about an enemy coming after her with revenge on their mind. But she remembered that Lith’s parents were Perlim. And if she retained their name, that meant she would be easily traceable. Perlim assassins? The thought of some agent, stalking Lith, watching her every move, preparing the most efficient form of murder…. Laisen shut such thoughts from her mind, too badly shaken to continue the conjectured fantasy. She loosened her death-grip on the armrests and swallowed, but remained silent.

“I’ve never visited a semi-dyson before,” Lith said, obviously trying to change the topic.

“My parents live almost directly opposite on the other side of the sun,” Laisen answered with distraction.

Had the Fusion given Lith any other protection other than a name change? Was that why she was at Floks, because it was far from Perlim penetration and one of the few safe places she could run to? How could she check if the security service was doing its job when she wasn’t part of its hierarchy any more? Dammit, why the fuck was Lith here?

“They teach at one of the universities there.”

“Oh.” The conversation spluttered into silence. “That must be nice,” Lith said faintly.

“How did you get away?” Laisen asked, deliberately softening her tone.

Whereas she was physically a different person from the role she played as Cheloi Sie, Lith was exactly the same. Maybe her face had thinned slightly in the two years they had been apart, throwing her cheekbones into further relief. But she still had the same olive skin that contrasted so beautifully against her own and the same honey-coloured hair, still shot through with those streaks both Laisen, and Cheloi, ached to touch.

“Rep Kodnell gave me a priority pass when we reached the Five,” Lith told her. “I rode an empty supply shuttle the next morning and got off Menon. Two days later, I took a transport from Station Three at the system’s border. I ended up at Laeyek Omni B a week after that. As you probably know,” her voice faltered, “there’s a Fusion underground ring on the planet.”

“A Free-Perlim Council offshoot?”

“Yes.”

“Was Nils there?”

Lith widened her eyes with surprise for a moment before dropping her gaze to the hem of her shirt. She plucked at a nonexistent loose thread. “Yes.”

“And?” It wasn’t suave or collected or rational to pursue that particular line of conversation, but Laisen wasn’t feeling any of those things.

“I didn’t tell him you were working for the Fusion.”

Dammit, that wasn’t what she meant.

“So you did meet up with him?” Laisen asked, flailing herself. She wasn’t blind. She had seen the flash of remembrance in Lith’s eyes and had known what that meant. Had Lith gone back to him? Was his the neck she would have to squeeze the life out of? A flash of cruel pleasure coursed through her fingers and she flexed them slowly.

“We met.” And the non-committal tone gladdened her, even as she railed at the incompleteness of the answer.

What do you want, Lith?

She even opened her mouth to ask that exact question, when she was interrupted.

“What happened with you?” Lith asked. “After I left?”

I had a piece of my heart ripped out. By you. By Rumis. I’ll be lucky if I can draw a clean breath ever again.

“The Fusion is very happy with how things went.” It was more than a year after her discharge and Laisen could afford the hint of dryness that threaded her voice.

“And you? Are you–getting ready for another mission?”

Laisen shook her head. “I’m well past that, I think. Used up, wrung out and tossed away. I couldn’t contemplate another mission, even if I wanted to.”

“So, you think you may settle here?” Lith’s hand swept the room. The house had some sense and had lit the space subtly so it didn’t resemble an interrogation chamber. Small mercies. Outside, there was only a slit of brightness at the horizon simulating a planetside sunset. In a few minutes, maybe ten, it would be gone.

“It’s a good place to start,” Laisen said, trying for a tone that didn’t sound so abject. So pathetic. “I’ve neglected a lot of my life. Maybe it’s too late to start again, but I’ll try.”

Lith rose to her feet in one sudden movement, smoothing her already creaseless skirt with one hand. “I’ve been thinking.” She looked at Laisen, then away, and took a step towards the balcony. “It may be best if I stay as far away from the Perlim Empire as possible. As well as anything associated with the Perlim. The Fusion intelligence service was quite honest with how they saw things and…and I think it would be best if I found another line of work.”

Fusion intelligence service? That was her! Copan must have known something after all, the bastard.

“Did they hurt you?” she asked urgently. Laisen was one of the service’s own murderers, safe in their keeping, but Lith had almost destroyed more than a decade of careful planning single-handedly. Suddenly, the number of people wanting—requiring!—elimination increased alarmingly. Would she turn on her own colleagues? Laisen looked at the woman she loved and instantly knew the answer.

In a heartbeat.

Lith flicked her gaze down to the tense knuckles of Laisen’s hands as they tightened on the padded armrests.

“No, no,” she said quickly. “It wasn’t like that at all. They were very kind. And courteous. But also,” she smiled faintly, “quite insistent. And, considering I took their advice regarding a name, it seemed churlish ignoring everything else they said.”

“Such as?” Laisen was sure Lith had mentioned the other advice, but she couldn’t think straight for the moment. Perlim assassins, Fusion “advice”. What was next, a miniature black hole displaced into her home?

Lith swallowed. “Such as settling far away from Perlim space. I, ah, hear that Floks administration has some vacant and non-committed residences available. I, I was thinking of taking one.”

Menon had turned her into a mess. That was the only reason Laisen could think of for the tears that sprang to her eyes. No, this was worse than a displaced black hole. Much worse. This was Lith on her very doorstep and Laisen didn’t think she was strong enough to stand even the thought of her within travelling distance much less the image of her so close and yet in someone else’s embrace. Was Nils coming too? Following behind with their joint possessions? She couldn’t bear to imagine them together, much less steel herself for the shock of reality. Slowly, Laisen shook her head.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Lith was stunned. Every speck of resolve and restraint dissolved the moment she saw wetness fill Laisen’s eyes.

She paused for only an instant before moving forward and crouching down in front of the Fusion agent.

She had planned everything so differently in her head. She was filled with a confidence she didn’t have when leaving Menon IV. The woman who had first landed on the planet was different to the one who had left. The idealistic naïf had been replaced by someone wiser and more conflicted.

Exploiting Nils’ contacts, she escaped Laeyek and made it back across the Fusion lines to safety. When she saw her firebrand lover again, less than a month after fleeing the Nineteen, it was like looking into the face of a stranger. Nils’ flashy sense of the dramatic and his pronouncements of justice now failed to impress her. He seemed no longer a passionate activist but a lost and rather scared young soul. Lith felt older than him in ways she could barely comprehend.

He spoke about death and retribution, but he had not visited the military medical complexes as she had. Technology was advanced, but it still couldn’t veneer the pain and hopelessness she had seen, the confused despair of people who thought they had taken their last breath on an alien planet, only to find themselves still alive, patched up and being prepared for more campaigns. Lith had listened to them for months as she walked the wards. The guilt at surviving while friends perished. The hopelessness of seeing any end to the conflict.

The rebels, through some sparse conversations and more extensive actions, had spoken to her of their own cause. She knew clearly that their sense of justice was founded in blood and murder, surrounded by ruin and uncertainty.

Neither position. Perlim nor Menon, came from empty words trumpeted from the safe, protective arms of the Fusion. She felt for both sides of the conflict, the people defending their homes and the soldiers sent to bring them into line, and could draw no straight line between which was good and which was evil. At that point, with right and wrong merged into tones of grey, she thought she understood Cheloi Sie and Laisen Carros better than she’d ever done before.

“You’re leaving the group?” Nils had asked in disbelief after wringing every reluctant detail from her. “But you can’t! You came the closest of all to the Butcher. You even,” he shuddered, “ate meals with her. Think of the media coup we could pull if you went public with what you saw!

“I know you didn’t manage to fulfil your mission,” he said with a shrug that didn’t quite conceal his censure and Lith would have happily brained him with a conveniently near and heavy object if she didn’t have other things on her mind, “but we can still salvage something out of this.”

Salvage. Her mind thought over his choice of words. As if she had destroyed something instead of managing to escape with her life. As if her life wasn’t worth anything beyond thirty seconds of a stirring anecdote orated from a public platform. What had she ever seen in him, she wondered bitterly?

His eyes became crafty as his gaze slid towards her then away. “Think about what we could achieve, Lith. We could take it to the private nets first, if you like. If you’re feeling nervous. We’ll practise what to say and how to say it. And once we’ve polished our appearances, we’ll hit the Lower Convergence and the main public nets at the same time. We’ll be celebrities!”

Lith wondered why she had never seen his overriding urge for recognition before. It was the major consideration that motivated all of Nils’ actions, something the now more experienced Lith spotted in a second. She regarded him sourly, tallying his character and finding it wanting. With a maturity she had not asked for, Lith turned her back on him, walked out of the group and off the planet and began searching for the woman she had fallen in love with in the middle of a treacherous and fraught war.

What she had told Laisen was the truth. She had been detected by agents of the Fusion intelligence services not long after she returned from Menon IV, soon after her falling out with Nils.

Detected, briefed, proposed and requested.

That was one thing she, the child of Perlim refugees, appreciated about the Fusion. They were always so straightforward, so open about the choices available to their citizens. She thought she even saw faint similarities between the agent who was her main Fusion contact and the woman she had known as Cheloi Sie. They both exhibited a certain calm capability and amused professionalism, as if there was nothing in the galaxy they hadn’t seen.

But Bihn Jare’s eyes didn’t hold the sadness or strange vulnerability that Cheloi’s did and the remembrance made her heart ache.

Agent Jare was courteous but firm during all their dealings. Lith could either retain her name, with the attendant risk of being tracked down and executed as a traitor by the Perlim Empire, or she and her parents could accept entirely new names with new pasts, generous credit compensation and relocation away from the border. The choice, and consequences, was entirely theirs to bear.

She had wanted desperately to see Laisen again, to determine whether what she felt was the result of a pressure-cooker environment or the beginning of something more profound. She wanted to live, so she said yes to the identity scrubbing. Uin Szolt was born.

Armed with enough credits to see her through half a decade of decent living, she started her digging.

The Fusion databases were extensive but the Fusion itself was large, spanning almost a third of the galaxy. It took her months to find even a hint of who the mysterious Laisen Carros was. She had to go through several naming permutations before a title on the Floks Nine Semi-dyson was mentioned and knew she had finally discovered a tangible lead to follow. Using that as a base point, she tracked the name through two decades of appearances, disappearances, visits, and vacations that hopped all over Fusion space like an irritable flea on an animal.

But that only gave her a clue as to how widely travelled her war-zone lover was. It still didn’t tell her exactly what Laisen Carros was. She dug deeper for the answer to that one while still tracing the meanderings of a name that she may, or may not, have remembered correctly. She found the links she had forged through her studies of politics stood her in surprisingly good stead. She approached researchers, who freely discussed with her the intricacies of Fusion involvement in other galactic conglomerates. She shared their tut-tutting reports on their government’s interference and manipulation of some of those conglomerates. She even managed to write a couple of essays on the topic that were well received, leading her to the thought that she could find a position in teaching or research when her quest ended. As she worked through the data, sifting through rod after rod of intel, she discovered that the woman who had lifted her to the heights of delirious passion was also an agent of the Fusion’s intelligence services, just as Bihn Jare had been. Maybe that’s why he seemed so familiar. Both were spies.

More than a year passed before Lith finally put both sets of pieces together, Laisen the person with Laisen the wanderer. And it was only done that quickly because she had the covert arm of the Fusion and its cadre of critics to help her.

All that was left was to find out where Laisen lived. Not ten or five years ago. Now. Assuming she was still alive after the rebel overrun of the Nineteen.

Lith saw replays of the carnage when she got back to Fusion space, sitting next to her parents as they trawled through the nets for news of Menon IV. She had been frozen in position while she watched the images flick across the screen. That was where she had taken her first walk with Cheloi around the camp perimeter. That was the northern entrance to the camp, now nothing more than a gaping hole in the ground surrounded by collapsed tunnels, like the excavated routes of giant earthworms. Lith saw stained earth, recognised it for what it was, and walked away before she could see or listen to any more, barely keeping herself from throwing up. Cheloi had to be alive, she thought fiercely. She couldn’t have gone through so much, endured so much, found so much, only to lose it forever. And no death notice with the name of Laisen Carros had been issued anywhere in Fusion space.

Finally, a “living” alarm pinged at Tatrex, but the planet was well-known to be one of the largest administrative centres for covert action in the galaxy. Lith laughed when she thought on that. Trust the Fusion to have a famous ‘covert’ administration hub. But whether with humour, or without it, the idea of facing Laisen in the middle of such focused bureaucracy depleted her courage.

The next ping came from the Floks Semi-dyson. It was the second data point from that destination, dated more than ten years after the first. A stop-over perhaps? But when the signal remained static for several months, Lith knew her time for dithering had come to an end. She settled her parents on one of the outer planets of the Free Threwtin Organic and Mechanical Coalition, a cheerful and far flung group of Fusion techno-agrarian enthusiasts, and set off for Floks.

Her plan was simple. Both she and Laisen had done questionable things on Menon, but both of them had also found a surprising passion for each other. Surely it was logical to discuss the first and further explore the second? If things turned out, all well and good. But, if they didn’t, the semi-dyson would still be a nice place to settle. It was also well beyond the reach of a crumbling and corrupt empire. And if she “accidentally” bumped into Laisen, that would be entirely understandable. Maybe she could eventually convince the spy that she couldn’t live without her?

It sounded like a workable plan. Until Lith’s flight approached Floks and she saw exactly how unimaginably, stupendously, frighteningly large a semi-dyson was. An entire planet’s surface area barely marked a small fraction of the habitable ribbon. The population it could sustain easily numbered into the hundreds of billions with room to spare. That was the first shock.

Her data point had told her that Laisen was on Floks, but had neglected to tell her that it would still be the work of a handful of weeks to track her down to one small speck on that habitat. By then, half of Lith’s initial courage had fled.

Her second shock was catching sight of Laisen herself at the end of her house, looking like she was the merest step away from hurling herself into a field of grass that resembled a gentle, dying, inferno. The woman who was her commander looked so still, so mysterious. So unbearably sad. With a dry throat, she realised that what she felt for Nils was a pale shadow next to how she felt about Laisen, and the rest of her bravado evaporated into nothingness.

“Lith, please don’t do this to me.”

She was used to seeing Laisen always in control. Smooth, cool and lethal like a spike of ice. Without the trappings of Cheloi Sie, could still discern those elements as an intrinsic part of the woman she loved. But her heart broke when she saw the tears, knowing it was only a handful of words from her that had caused such anguish.

At that moment, she was also rocked by the amount of power that gave her. She was full of the knowledge that she could destroy Laisen with a careless word and hated the jolt of satisfaction that pierced her. The part of her that wasn’t part of a rational being—the part that yearned for Laisen’s touch and the feel of her body, relaxed and satiated, next to hers—noted the animal advantage this gave her and urged her to use it to its fullest.

She crouched down in front of Laisen, catching her cold limp hands.

“I don’t understand,” she said softly. “Do what to you?”

“A shell,” Laisen murmured. “I’m just a shell. And you wound me too easily.”

There were other things here too, not just her words. Had something else happened after she left the Nineteen? Was Rumis okay? Had Grakal-Ski been court-martialled? Maybe she should have stayed till the end of that vid on the Menon debacle…. No, she wouldn’t get sidetracked by that. This was her future she was fighting for. If she won, there was time enough for all the other questions she wanted to ask.

“Laisen,” she pleaded, pulling on her fingers, “what do you want from me?”

Tell me, her heart shrieked. Tell me you can’t live without me. Or if you can’t do that, tell me at least that you want me to stay.

Laisen wordlessly withdrew her hands and stood up. Shattered, Lith remained crouching. She heard steps leading out to the balcony and a muffled quality to Laisen’s voice that indicated that their backs were to each other.

“If I believed in happy endings. Oh Lith, if I believed in happy endings, I’d believe you were here because you discovered you couldn’t live without me.”

Lith spun and jerked to her feet. Did she imagine those words? Laisen too had turned. She put her hand up to forestall any words. More than mere distance stretched between them.

“Please, let me finish. You’d think I would have had all that blind optimism kicked out of me by now, but it’s a stubborn and tenacious beast.” She shook her head. “Lith, I don’t know why you came here, but you can’t stay. Not on Floks. I know I can’t force you but if it must be here, please not near Gaard’s Sub-Prime. If you want the truth, I don’t think I’m strong enough to be so close to you while you live out your own life.”

“Why not?” Lith asked. She injected a touch of belligerence in her voice. It was the only and desperate way she could think of to provoke a deeper response from the woman she loved.

“Why aren’t you strong enough, Laisen? Does it have anything to do with the fact that you never searched for me after you returned to the Fusion?” She quelled the sob, but its traces were still evident in her voice and the words that were choked out. “That you made sure I had a clear escape and then forgot about me in a heartbeat? Could that have something to do with why you don’t want me living near you?”

Laisen turned and struck the handrail with an open hand, the slapping sound of flesh against metal carrying through the open house. “Curse you, Lith, do you want me to debase myself? Truly, I never thought you were so cruel, so relentless.” There was bitterness in the response but Lith ignored it. Once, such a tone would have been enough to send her cowering. Now, she revelled in its vehemence as a sign of strong emotion. If only it was the right emotion, she would dance right over that bitterness and straight into Laisen’s arms.

“Tell me,” Lith insisted. “I think you owe me at least that.”

She wanted to rush over to the railing, to turn Laisen around, look deep in her eyes and force her to say the things Lith desperately hoped to hear. But, clenching her fists, she made herself stand still, giving Laisen the time she needed. Lith had waited more than a year for this moment. She could afford to wait a few more minutes. But only a few. Even as she stood there with her breath caught in her throat, her self-restraint was sapping away.

Don’t make me turn away, Laisen. Please.

“I’m so afraid. I love you.” It was a whisper. A thin silken thread on the night breeze. But it was enough.

Lith crossed the space in a heartbeat. Without a word, she pulled Laisen around and kissed her, using her lips to convey what she felt. Her passion, her need. She forced Laisen’s mouth open and invaded it with her own heat, willing her to understand that this particular equation involved two people. Willing her to understand that she wanted to stay. With her.

When Laisen eventually tore her lips away, she was breathing heavily. Her expression was serious, but there was a light in her eyes Lith had not seen when she first entered the house.

“Why did you do that? Don’t you—”

Lith smiled with relief as she took in Laisen’s stunned expression. “For a smart ex-Fusion agent, Laisen Carros, you can be incredibly stupid at times.”

“You care for me.” The words were torn from her, wondrous and disbelieving. “But, but didn’t you go back to Nils?”

“Nils and I,” Lith said dryly, “didn’t have as much in common as I thought.”

“And we do?”

Was there a trace of playfulness, of wry self-deprecation, in her voice? There, beneath the overtone of despair? Yes, Lith decided, there was. Her body started to relax.

“I think so. At least, there seems to be enough in common to begin a promising exploration.”

Laisen, ever the opportunist, moved her hands to encircle Lith’s waist. Pulling her forward. Tightening her grip as if she would never let her go. “Are you sure?”

“If I wasn’t,” Lith looked deep into her eyes, “what would you say to convince me?”

Laisen blinked at her then smiled. It was more a curve of lips than an obvious sign of happiness, fragile and hesitant in its tension. “I’d ask you to stay for dinner.” Her tone was still a bit unsure, disbelief turning each sentence into a question. “As incentive, I’d tell you that I managed to find an illegal supplier of tawny life-water.” She stopped, unsure of what to say next. It was a move so unlike the woman she knew that Lith almost laughed and kissed her again there and then.

“There seems to be an open bottle in the kitchen right now,” Laisen said, after a long pause, her voice still faltering, “and it would be a shame to waste it.”

“What about food?” Lith teased.

Laisen mirrored the smile on Lith’s face but Lith noticed it didn’t reach her eyes. She inclined her head. “Oh, I’m sure the house will come up with something while we have a drink.”

“And afterwards?”

Laisen swallowed. “There’s a guest room on this level. Or…there’s the main bedroom. The bed there,” she cleared her throat, “is much too large for one person.”

Lith pursed her lips, pretending to consider the offer. “Sounds promising.”

“Then you’ll stay?” Laisen’s gaze bored into hers.

There were still shadows there behind the smile, and the smile itself was small and reserved. The shadows would take time, love and trust to erase. The spontaneity would take equal effort to encourage. But it was a better beginning than many Lith had contemplated in the past.

“Thank you,” she said. “I think I will.”

About the author

K. S. “Kaz” Augustin has loved science-fiction since she was little. She also comes from a military family. Her father, a highly-decorated career officer was an instructor at Officer Cadet School and, from a young age, Kaz got used to being around soldiers and weaponry.

You can reach her via email at ks@KSAugustin.com

She also has Twitter, Google+ and Facebook accounts (under the name “KSAugustin”) although she knows she doesn’t update them as often as all the social media handbooks tell her she should.

At her website (www.KSAugustin.com) you will find full first chapters of all her releases. She keeps an opinionated blog at blog.KSAugustin.com and is always on the lookout for new newsletter victims, er, subscribers. The sign-up page, should you wish to join the masochism, is here.

Other available titles

On Bliss (Total-E-Bound)

The Dragon of Ankoll Keep (Samhain Publishing)

Prime Suspect (Total-E-Bound)

Combat! (Samhain Publishing)

Guarding His Body (Total-E-Bound)

In Enemy Hands (Carina Press)

Singapore Sizzle (Total-E-Bound)

Europa Europa (Total-E-Bound)

Anthologies

Cougars & Cubs (Total-E-Bound)

Seeing Stars (Total-E-Bound)

Coming soon

Cloaks and Daggers anthology (Total-E-Bound)

Genesis: Republic Diplomatic Corps (Sandal Press)

Tainted Love (Total-E-Bound)

Quinten's Story (Sandal Press)

Writing as Cara d’Bastian

The Check Your Luck Agency (Sandal Press, coming soon)

Return of the Hantu (Sandal Press, coming soon)

Quinten’s Story

One

The call was waiting for Quinten in the morning, bounced off his carefully constructed piggyback network of commercial feed points, scientific arrays and even—like a tongue childishly stuck out at the Republic—some military outposts. He might be described by most people as grim but, underneath the scar tissue, Quinten did have a sense of humour. It was emaciated and under-nourished, beaten to within a nanometre of its life, but still stubbornly alive. And it made him twist his lips in cynical amusement when he read the entire message, pieced together by the bitcrypt spiders while he slept.

“So the pirate kids want to meet,” he said to himself.

He wondered what they wanted. His last trade with the Neon Red cartel had been more than a year ago. He found them a skittish lot in general, too nervous to deal with goods of any real value, and ill-suited to the lifestyle of freewheeling racketeers. At times, he felt that the purchases he made from them amounted to little more than charity, a way of sustaining some tiny needles occasionally pricking the Republic’s tough hide.

“And maybe that’s enough,” he muttered.

He commanded the ship to prepare the return message, indicating a rendezvous near Port Tertiary in six hours. That would barely give the Perdition time to get there but, if it was going to be a rush for him, then hopefully it lessened the chances of the Republic staging an ambush. And if the cartel couldn’t make it in time…well, he wasn’t in this for the popularity. Quite the opposite.

With the order received and in processing, there was nothing left to do until the ship entered normal space near the rendezvous point. Quinten looked around the cockpit of his pride and joy. The command centre was originally created with many more staff in mind—eight, to be exact. In the almost four years since he’d acquired the Perdition, he’d made extensive modifications to the original battle-scout design. He installed expensive, black-market AIs, paid handsomely for a string of labour-saving modifications, and incorporated the latest in shielding and sensor technologies. It might still resemble a Republic ship from the outside, but the Perdition’s innards were pure Quinten Tamlan.

Restless, knowing the time had come for him to exercise, he muttered a quick curse and rose slowly to his feet. Some days were better than others, but this wasn’t one of them. He thought his body creaked as it moved, aching and already weary, to the back of the cockpit. There was experimental surgery available that could give him a cyborg body…for an astronomical sum. But the procedure was risky and there were too many good memories still associated with the hulk his mind was still encased in, for him to seriously consider it.

Although officially classed as a “scout”, the Perdition was almost one hundred metres long, a knobbly, clumsy-looking ship that dished out death with ease. Its primary cockpit was buried just forward of centre, with a secondary cockpit in the rear, up near the skin, in case the sensor feeds to the main hub of operations got cut during an attack. Bulbous protuberances marred the ship’s surface, containing accommodation quarters, the ship’s canteen, and cargo bays. Quinten converted those areas to hydroponics, and used one cargo bay to receive the rare, and only ever invited, guest. He cut through bulkheads, forming two long thoroughfares from the tip of the scout to its stern. It would make it easier for any enemy soldiers to barrel through the ship, but he knew he was in no physical shape to give them much competition anyway. If the enemy was ever in a position to set an armed and armoured foot on the Perdition, then the game was over, and he was probably already dead.

The rumble beneath his feet changed tempo, became a jolt, then nothing—just an unnatural smoothness—and he knew he was in hyperspace. It would take more than five hours, and four jumps, to make it to Port Tertiary. The journey would entail a litany of trembles, jolts and the absence of movement completely, leaving him with little to do, except trust the navigator to do its job while he worked his body into some semblance of suppleness.

His limbs were stiff, as they were most mornings, and he limped badly. Part of one cargo bay had been turned into an exercise area, and he had deliberately chosen the one closest to the stern so he would need to walk some distance to get there, damn his self-knowledge. He knew his tendency to prevaricate too well.

It took him almost five minutes to walk the forty-metre distance, but he tried to keep the bitterness out of his thoughts. It could be worse. He could be floating in a bowl somewhere, condemned to a half-life peering at the universe through a mist of pastel rejuv-gel. He could be on Bliss, the Republic’s hell-hole prison planet. Or he could be dead. All those options made the agony of fifty sit-ups insignificant. With gritted teeth, he disrobed, sliding his gaze past the one mirror in the room, and began his regime.

He worked out for an hour, and was shaking and sweating profusely by the end of it. It took effort to merely lift himself from the exercise chair, and the steps to his quarters were truncated and staggering. He knew he could fall—had done so several times in the past—but he refused to give in to his body’s frailties. Not yet. If he could not exercise just a small degree of self-discipline with his body, then it was no use being alive.

He turned the shower as hot as he could stand it, letting the steamy heat massage his aching muscles and wash away the stink of his sweat. The water streamed over a bare chest, criss-crossed with surgery scars, a pale shadow of the muscled bulk he used to carry with pride. His arms, once bulging, were withered remnants, his legs—well, to call them maimed would have been a compliment. The only things that remained in perfect working order were his mind and his damned libido.

His mind, to force his body to do his bidding, and his libido, to remind him of all he had lost.

He remembered an ancient joke. If you lie on your hand for a while, it’ll get numb and feel like somebody else. Even without that temporary anaesthesia, the fingers that touched himself, on the rare occasions when he gave in to the itch, still didn’t feel like his. But who else would have him? An attractive woman, of her own volition? He grinned savagely as he laboriously dried himself. They would run parsecs in the opposite direction the moment they saw his unadorned form. He could pay for sex—he appreciated the no-strings aspect of a commercial transaction—but could never be sure that while the women sold one part of their anatomy to him, they weren’t using another part to betray him to the Republic. That only left his hand, thin yet loyal.

Moving to his wardrobe, he asked the ship for a progress report. Still three hours to go. He used the time to make sure that the Perdition was in full fighting trim. He primed the sensors to operate to their maximum limit, much further than that of the normal commercial craft that cruised the spaceways, and even a bit further than the run-of-the mill Republic battle craft. Or, rather, he tried to prime the sensors, and met with only sparse screens, bereft of their usual crowded detail. That indicated another problem, too worryingly close to the last. The solution would be something easy, he had captained the ship for long enough to get an intuition for that kind of thing.

Only two weeks ago, the missile bay doors had jammed shut. Thankfully, the failure hadn’t happened during an actual emergency, only in one of the monthly simulations, but it still took him more than a week to laboriously hunt down the problem—an overloaded secondary relay—and thirty minutes to correct it. Now some of the sensors weren’t functioning properly. His body wouldn’t thank him for putting it through its paces again, so soon after the last bout of bending and crawling.

The Perdition was too big for one person to maintain for any length of time. He had known that when the opportunity arose to capture a battle scout almost whole, more than four years ago, and had still talked himself into claiming it as his own. He had worked hard to get it spaceworthy and modified to his exacting requirements, but the time for continued delusion was gone. If he wanted to continue piloting the Perdition, while staying out of the Republic’s ever-alert gaze, he was going to have to either take on crew or...get rid of the ship.

Neither option was attractive. New crewmembers could betray him as easily as making a stealth comm call. And, after getting the Perdition in exactly the kind of shape he wanted, he was loathe to part with it. It would take almost as much time removing all traces of his modifications as it did installing them in the first place. And the thought of trashing such expensive, hard-won equipment was one he couldn’t even begin to contemplate.

He stared at the uninformative screen. The front and back sensors seemed to be operational, with standby power below their maximum, but the side, top and bottom arrays appeared totally out of commission. He was hoping that the readings were false. Maybe everything would snap back into peak efficiency once he jumped out of hyperspace and had time to properly calibrate them.

Yeah, and the Neon Red cartel might actually have something worth selling for a change.

One hour out from Port Tertiary, Quinten started getting ready. He walked the corridors of the Perditionunencumbered when he was by himself but, for guests, he made sure he looked as formidable as possible. The exoskeleton, graphite grey and gleaming, may have struck a note of ostentation, but only Quinten knew how necessary it was to his wellbeing. Out of the soft armoured suit, he was a limping and crippled man but, once inside, the finely tuned groups of micro-servos ensured that he could lift incredible weights, crush steel in his fist and run faster than a human. It was almost like being a cyborg, without the attendant risks. He hadn’t chosen the full body cover, so the armour reached only up to the top of his neck, fully encasing him in a cloak of darkness and forcing his head erect. It looked constricting and uncomfortable. It wasn’t.

Once in his quarters, he took the suit off its harness and stepped into it, pushing his arms through the loose sleeves and fastening the front at three points. Reaching down, he touched a small indented point on his right thigh, and the suit’s memory got to work, tightening against his skin and forming a profile of the man he used to be before the Gilgan disaster. The suit recreated the bulges of a chest that his body no longer remembered, the ripple of a taut torso, and the strong muscles of proud arms and two evenly-matched legs.

Fortified, he walked to the cargo bay, unable to stop his mind from contrasting the hobble from the exercise room to his current distance-eating stride.

Why am I doing this? Why not just give in and get a cyborg body, 80% failure rate be damned? Kiel wouldn’t care. Kiel’s past caring.

But he knew he couldn’t. The worst part of it was, he loved life too much to give it up. Coward that he was.

He reached the bay just in time. With a practiced flick, he activated the filtering sensors and made himself comfortable on the modified gantry high up near the ceiling, its edge bristling with rows of serious firepower. The weaponry, and his position, masked a clear view of him, accentuated by the distinct lack of lighting near his position. His voice was captured by a mic in his suit and amplified through different points of the bay, also confusing his exact position. Of course, he could have transacted the entire visit remotely, from the comfort of his own cabin, but Quinten liked the personal touch. He felt it added a note of courtesy, even when dealing with pirates.

“Coming out of hyperspace in ten minutes,” his ship told him in masculine tones. He’d had the original, more soothing female voice replaced, soon after losing Kiel.

“Destination confirmed?” There had been unsettling rumours recently, of ships ending up at different places to their originally logged destinations. Whether commercial, private, or Republic craft seemed to make no difference. There had even been cases—ones he’d been able to confirm—of ships disappearing completely, lost in that chaotic trans-universal plane commonly known as hyperspace. Although he wasn’t sure there was anything he could do about it, it still paid to stay alert.

“Port Tertiary trajectory confirmed. Crease operating within normal parameters.”

He rubbed his cheek, careful to do it softly so he didn’t accidentally break his cheekbone.

“Initiate scanning upon insertion,” he told the ship. “Set up a tumble algorithm, using front and back sensors as primaries, full spherical coverage, artificial gravity axes calibrated to this position.”

“Continuity cannot be guaranteed. Periodic disorientation probable.”

“Acceptable. Scan for all ship signatures while tumbling to the rendezvous point. Plot and execute an escape route in case of confirmed Republic signatures.”

“Destination?”

“Make it Tor Prime.”

That was the very heart of the Republic. With any luck, any ambushers would be expecting him to jump away from the heart of evil, rather than towards it. And, like his current route had been, it would take multiple jumps to get there. More than enough time for him to come up with an alternate destination. It didn’t worry him to have the ship execute a plan autonomously. His reflexes couldn’t match the Perdition, and he knew it. His strengths lay in other directions.

“Orders confirmed.”

He sat in the chair at one end of the gantry. It ran on a rail so he could choose where, along the length of the metal platform, he wished to greet his guests. This time, he decided to stay in the corner. He strapped himself into the harness and tried to relax, while waiting for the insertion and the tumble to begin.

No matter how much stability the Perdition attempted to maintain, Quinten knew the short jaunt to the rendezvous point would be uncomfortable and disorienting. But it was either that, or be shot into scrap through his carelessness.

The ship jolted, then the spinning began, and Quinten felt bile rise in his throat. Grimly, he kept his mouth shut and swallowed hard. Eyes opened or closed, it didn’t matter. The cargo bay would settle into familiar lines for a second, then blur into nonsensical diagonals, and the vertigo played havoc with his sense of balance. It seemed to continue for an eternity, a brief reprieve followed by a dance of lines. If there was good news in the vertigo, it was that no ambushers appeared to be close to his position.

“One ship within scanning range.” The Perdition voice was smooth and unconcerned, while Quinten’s own fingers clenched the alloyed armrests of his chair, the suit’s strength almost forming furrows beneath his hand. “Ship identified as God’s Harness, belonging to the Neon Red cartel.”

So they still had that hulk, he thought, while the world spun around him.

It’s probably in better shape than mine.

Then the physical spinning ceased, although the after-effects kept going for far too long. Quinten knew he either had to fix the sensor problem soon or resign himself to a constant state of budding nausea.

While he willed his stomach to some semblance of normalcy, the ship picked up and reported on a small pod that had detached itself from the God’s Harness, traversing the distance between the ships carefully, as if a two-person shuttle could simulate walking forward with bare hands stretched into the air. Quinten grunted in satisfaction. The craft was obviously piloted by someone who knew the routine. Good. He hated breaking in new guests.

The clang, as the pod docked with the circular hatch embedded in the bay doors, echoed through the void, then the unlocked hatch turned and opened inwards.

Quinten’s finger was literally on a hair-trigger, waiting to blast whoever appeared into their component atoms. His touch relaxed fractionally when he recognised the second-in-command of the Harness, Setino Shaw. The man looked as he always did, like he’d woken up to find himself robbed and dumped naked in some spacer alley. The sour look on his face didn’t change as his pale gaze scanned the bare bones of the cargo bay.

There was a flash of white—Quinten’s finger spasmed—that resolved itself into a woman, stumbling then catching herself as her bare feet touched the cold floor. She was tall, with short white hair and pale skin that looked like it had never been exposed to a planetside sun. Despite her appearance, however, there was something strange about her. Quinten kept quiet and observed her for a moment longer, taking in the jerky hesitation in her movements. Her dark, fathomless eyes looked around, much as Shaw had done, then her gaze narrowed in on Quinten’s figure, unerringly finding him amid the high tangle of metal and weaponry.

Only one other person emerged through the hatch after the albino, Ifola Breit. It must have been he who pushed the woman through, causing her to trip.

Somehow, life had just got more interesting.

“Tamlan, you here?” Shaw asked belligerently, but Quinten detected the note of anxiety beneath the bluff.

“I’m here,” he answered quietly, and had the satisfaction of seeing both men spin around crazily. He thought they would be used to his amplification system by now. Something else must be making them jittery. “How can I help you gentlemen?”

“We’re here to sell something.”

Breit jangled a nerve-chain, a combination restraint and control method for delivering excruciating pain to a captive’s skin through their nerve-endings. Quinten’s eyes followed it, from the small control pad in Breit’s florid hand, down to where the chain’s slack curved gracefully, and up to the wide collar that fitted snugly around the woman’s neck, like a grotesque form of jewellery.

“What is it?” Quinten asked, although he was reasonably sure of the answer.

“Not sure. Type B humanoid, we think.”

Yes, that would explain the subtle differences in how she moved. The Republic hated to admit it, but occasionally breeding occurred between humans and the rest of the galaxy. The results, classified as Type Bs, were hated by both groups, regarded as too alien to exist in each other’s communities. They often turned to crime to make a living. As Quinten was sure the young woman in front of him had done.

“So?” he drawled. “Why sell one to me?”

“You’re probably the only person we know who can control it.” Shaw snickered. “It tried to commandeer the Harness. It took four of us to restrain it until Ifola grabbed the nerve-chain and latched it round its neck. It hasn’t been out of the collar since. And that was a week ago.”

“Language?”

The pirate spokesman shrugged. “Don’t know. She may be deaf. Stupid. Playing stupid. She’s cunning though, like a Republic strike fighter. You know what these Subs are like.”

Quinten started assembling the little facts together in his mind.

Perceptive. Female. Strong. Hated.

“Where did you catch her?” He wasn’t going to play along with Shaw’s petty xenophobic digs.

Shaw shifted his feet, his posture relaxing with each sentence he spoke. He even lifted his hands onto his hips and slouched a bit. It was obvious he thought he had this deal sewn up. In the darkness, Quinten’s eyes gleamed.

“She was in a small passenger craft near the inner edge of the Chimpect sector. Must’ve killed the crew, some gentry family joy-riding around the galaxy, before taking control. We didn’t find any bodies, but there was enough blood to supply a hospital.”

Breit chuckled and jiggled the chain again, as if proud of some favoured pet’s antics.

Ruthless. Determined.

The Chimpect sector was solidly in Neon Red territory. No surprise that they had caught her. No surprise, too, that they couldn’t keep something like her. And what Shaw said was true. Quinten was probably the only one among the cartel’s even semi-regular customers that wouldn’t turf them out on their ears the moment they caught sight of the cargo.

“Why would I want a Sub?” Quinten asked, idly. “Don’t you think I have enough to worry about without adding one of them to my problems?”

In the back of his mind, however, there was something strangely compelling about the deal he was being offered. If there was any person, or species, more reviled than him in Republic space, with the exception of shapeshifters, it was the Type B humanoids. Their ability to act with total implacability, their physiology—sometimes exceeding human norms—and their propensity to wreak havoc within governed space, were legendary. Whenever a Sub community was found, the Republic either killed them all or shipped them to Bliss, depending on how much trouble they turned out to be. There was no love lost between the two groups. Only shapeshifters were treated with equal ruthlessness.

It occurred to Quinten that the solution to his nagging problems was staring him straight in the face.

Not hearing a response, Shaw put a wheedling tone in his voice. It was his equivalent of exhibiting intellect.

“She could be useful to you.” He looked around. “On this ship. Pretty big for just one person to handle.”

So, it was obvious to them too. That wasn’t welcome news.

“As long as you keep her on the nerve-chain, she’ll be as passive as a lump of putty, and not likely to betray you. And if you get lonely,” Shaw shrugged, “well, with that chain around her neck, she’s not going to be too―”

Quinten unlocked his harness in one movement, and vaulted over the gantry’s railing, landing hard on the floor. The thick metal vibrated with the force with which he hit the deck. He had towered over Shaw by a head when he was whole, and he looked down on the pirate now from that height.

“Too what, Shaw?” he growled.

Shaw’s eyes tightened and he looked away, but whether it was from the expression in Quinten’s eyes, or the remnants of jagged scars that radiated from his right cheek across his entire face, didn’t matter. Breit remained as still as a rodent, not drawing attention to himself. Only the Sub dared look him in the face and he was surprised to see that she was taller than he thought, the tip of her head just brushing his bottom lip. Her expression was impassive, detached, as if the men were discussing something other than her life.

“I was going to say, she’s not going to be too resistant,” Shaw muttered. It was a lie.

Fussy. The bastard was about to say, fussy.

Quinten made a show of walking around her. Probably to safeguard their own security, they had dressed her in little more than what was strictly necessary. The tight, short-sleeved suit hugged slight curves, the leggings ending above her knees. Her toes, like her fingers, were long and lean, tipped with short, colourless cuticles. Everything about her form was bland and pale, except for those huge angled, dark eyes that looked at him as if he was nothing more than an interesting biological specimen.

“We’ll throw the nerve-chain in,” Shaw added. “No charge. We reckon you’ll need it.”

“And what are you asking for in return?” Quinten took a step back and cocked his head, watching her intently.

“Captain Mestoo wants some shield technology.”

“You can buy your own shield technology.”

“Not like what you got. Not the stuff that can evade the military’s sensors.”

“I can’t evade all their sensors.”

“But you can evade more than most,” Shaw insisted.

Quinten considered the deal. The shields on the Perdition were his own refinements built on a very promising kernel. Even if he traded an older version of his customised technology for the Sub, there was still the slight chance that somebody could reverse-engineer what he’d done and find a vulnerability.

He shook his head. “Forget it.” And turned to walk away.

“Wait!”

Shaw’s frantic voice stopped him in his tracks. He slowly spun around and lifted an eyebrow.

“We don’t know what to do with her,” Shaw admitted with a hunched shrug. “We don’t want the entire fucking government after us just because we have her with us. It’s dangerous enough as it is for the cartel. Once word gets out that we have a Sub, one that murdered some fucking gentry family with more money than sense, everybody’ll be wanting a piece of us.”

“But you obviously don’t mind if they have a piece of me?”

“Anyone with sense already knows to stay away from you.” Perspiration started beading on Shaw’s upper lip. He was fighting for the continuance of his, and his friends, lives. If Quinten had been them, he would have shoved the Sub back into the passenger craft the moment he’d discovered her, and given her three minutes to either take off or be blown into oblivion. Human-alien hybrids were more trouble than they were worth.

“And it’s much harder to just go after the Perdition than the five ships that make up the cartel. None of our ships are as fast as yours.” Shaw was almost begging by now. “Give us something, Tamlan, and we’ll be happy with that.”

“You shouldn’t have caught her.”

“We didn’t know there was a fucking Sub in that ship! We thought it was easy pickings for us. Looting, ransom, then a quick escape.”

Silence filled the chill of the cargo bay.

“I have two military-grade sensors in storage,” Quentin finally told them. “Republic sourced, version five kernels. They’re still working, but I upgraded my systems three years ago, and they’re now obsolete.

“They’re still more powerful than any of the commercial stuff that’s selling nowadays,” he added, holding up a hand to forestall their objections. “That’s my deal. The two sensors for the shapeshifter.”

He might still need replacement sensors for the repair job he knew awaited him, but the two he was trading wouldn’t set him back significantly. Besides, he still had the feeling that the current malfunction was minor.

Shaw and Breit looked at each other.

“The Harness is one of the fastest ships the cartel has,” Quinten told them. “And it can’t outrun a Republic striker. Help yourselves. Take the deal. Increase your chances of survival.”

“There are five ships in the Neon Red,” Shaw said.

“I only have two sensors.” He waited for three heartbeats. “If that isn’t enough for you, then take the Sub back to your ship.” The alien shifted at the words, and Quinten wondered how much of the conversation she understood. “Try selling her to someone else.”

“We did,” Breit remarked, before Shaw could stop him. “Nobody wanted her.”

A cruel smile lifted the edges of Quinten’s mouth, made even crueller by the pull of scar tissue on the right side of his face.

“Two sensors, Shaw,” he repeated. “That’s the offer. Take it or leave it.”

“Damn you, Tamlan.”

And that’s how Quinten knew the deal was done.

Intrigued? Read the rest when the book is released in late 2011.

The Check Your Luck Agency

Chapter One

There’s one thing I hate more than being wrong, and that’s being right about presuming somebody is as big a scumbag as they turn out to be.

“Are you sure about this, Xiao Chong?”

A small cherubic face looked up at me and nodded vigorously.

Looking at us together, a casual passer by—if they noticed us at all in the crush of people—would think I was merely placing a takeaway order from one of the nearby stalls. The covered open-air food court was noisy with the chatter of hungry diners and the hard surfaces of concrete, plastic, steel and melamine kept all those voices bouncing off each other until they combined and reached a crescendo of sound. It was late, I was hungry and, between my growling stomach and the clattering din, I was getting a headache.

I hate eating when everyone else does, shoving elbows out of my personal space and my meal. I hated the case Fiona had handed me. But most of all, I hated that I was right.

“I was sitting next to them at the same table,” Xiao Chong explained. He held up a small vinyl bag full of round bulges, his gaze guileless. “Playing marbles.”

Xiao—or Little—Chong is one of my best assistants. Yeah, that’s what I call him. I’m sure others might have different names for it, usually incorporating the words “child” and “exploitation”, but he’s smarter than a lot of adults I’ve met. He has the face of an angel and the deviousness of a, well, child, and he can appear completely innocent in places where I would stick out like a sore thumb. I keep such assistants in most of the major food junctions around Singapore, like Chomp! Chomp!, Maxwell, Newton’s and Lau Pa Sat, but Xiao Chong is, without a doubt, the best of the lot.

Crap. What he’d just told me put a whole other spin on the situation. I almost wished I could blame everything on a ghost instead.

“Thanks Xiao Chong.”

I slipped him ten dollars and walked out of the food court, glad to leave the bustle behind me.

What my little nine-year old friend had told me wasn’t enough to solve the case, but it told me where to start digging to nail the real culprit. I could’ve gone back to Fiona with my news and that would have been the end of it, but I pride myself on my attention to detail. I like my cases closed so tight there are no little doubts hissing as they escape. In this particular case, I doubted the client would thank me, but that’s just how I work.

Considering the crush at Lau Pa Sat, Robinson Road was quiet and serene. On either side of the road, tall office buildings loomed, now half-emptied of their quota of wage-slaves. I had thought to be one of their number once, ascending the corporate ladder no doubt on the heads of those slower than me, but that was in a different life. I’ve become a woman of much simpler needs.

Speaking of which, it was high time I went home. At this time of night, just past seven-thirty, most of the Malaysian workers would be back across the border and at home, enjoying an evening meal with their family. The Causeway joining both countries would still be busy, but would have lost that anarchic edge from a couple of hours ago. I walked to the nearest MRT station and took the train up to Kranji.

Kranji is a strange kind of place, an anomaly in super-populated Singapore. Its only edifice of any note is the immaculately landscaped racetrack complex that takes up hectares of valuable land. The station and its surrounds were built with only one purpose in mind, and that’s to divest punters of as much money as possible as fast as possible. Competing with the long gleaming row of automatic turnstiles at the station’s boundary is a long row of ATM machines just beyond it. Having had opportunity to use one of them in the past, I noticed that they hand out more money than the machines in the rest of Singapore. I suppose fewer trips to the machine means fewer betting opportunities missed.

Usually the area is as quiet as a graveyard but, when my travel schedule coincides with race day, the truth is that I can hardly move in and around the station. The huge paved area that I normally consider obscenely large gets turned into a tightly squeezed mass of excited humans. People spill in and out of the brightly-lit shops along the short arcade and even the spaces along the walls are marked out by hawkers. Unfortunately, such people are not easy to spot until I’m almost on top of them, especially when there’s a crowd obscuring my progress.

The budget-price entrepreneurs are usually elderly. The women dress in their Chinese floral pyjama outfits and the men in their white singlets and navy blue shorts. They stake out their space with a rug or sheet of plastic about a metre deep and a metre and a half long and arrange their knick-knacks on top of it in an orderly fashion. Packs of tissues, wind-up toys, herbal tinctures, small gee-gaws. I’ve never seen anyone actually stop and buy anything from these grandparents, but they appear like clockwork every race day, so they must be able to make a living somehow. I’m sure that it’s actually against the law to sell things from a cheap synthetic blanket on the floor of a public thoroughfare, but if the Singapore government decides to turn a blind eye to the practice, who am I to complain? I have enough gripes about what they do notice.

Tonight was not race day, so the station was its usual eerie quiet. Only three of us got off on the platform and the two young boys in front of me, laughing and still in their high-school uniforms, were energetic enough to make me feel old and jaded. They bounded down the stairs while I took the elevator, listening to the rhythmic whine of each mechanical wheel as it bore me down to the ground floor.

By the time I reached the turnstile the boys were long gone, although I could still hear their good humour receding into the distance. I slapped my card on the access panel, walked around the corner and came across a large food place, its white fluorescent lights obscenely blinding in such stillness. I called it a food place because calling it a restaurant, or even a café, would be gracing it with more ambience than it had. It was a place of cheap food on cheap furniture in cheap surroundings. I had passed it numerous times without a second glance but tonight was different. My stomach was rumbling and I was still an hour from home.

I looked in through the large windows and noticed that, as usual, the place was three-quarters empty. Dallying for a while with indecision, I finally succumbed and entered.

The floor was cheap vinyl, blackened at the edges where it met the walls. The few customers already in the shop didn’t even look up as I walked to the counter. Behind the stretch of scratched white, the serving woman jerked her head sharply upwards in the universal signal for “what do you want?”. She looked tired and angry. I didn’t blame her.

After a quick perusal of the menu on the back wall above her head, I ordered a nasi lemak and iced lemon tea, figuring it was a combination that was hard to screw up. The food came while I was still fishing for change and I took my tray to an empty table next to the wall but still close to the counter. From that angle, I could see everyone entering and leaving through the door and even movement at the cash register. Of course if someone decided to climb the glass display case at my back, they’d be in a great position to ambush me, but I figured they’d slip on the ever-present layer of grease and do themselves an injury before they got within striking distance.

The food, presented in the traditional pyramid of a folded banana leaf, was surprisingly good. The ikan bilis sambal, made from dried anchovies, was the right mixture of hot and sweet. Of course there weren’t enough peanuts to accompany the coconut-milk rice (there never are) and the egg was fried. That bothered me because I’m a traditionalist who likes my nasi lemak with a hard-boiled egg, not this quick and dirty fried version but, for a couple of bucks, what could I expect? The iced tea was too astringent, with a bitter after-taste. Either they were using low-quality tea or it had been sitting there for at least half a day. No matter, it filled a hole and meant I didn’t have to go scavenging when I got home.

I left my tray on the table after I finished and walked out towards the road. The air was still hot, with little relief from any stray breezes, and there was the ever-present aroma of diesel fumes in the air. The road around Kranji is always busy with buses and lorries plying their route between Singapore and Malaysia, and a lot of the vehicles were not that well maintained, but the smell always made me feel nostalgic. It’s the smell of home, a scent that was written into my very psyche during my formative years, just before my parents emigrated to the United Kingdom, taking me with them. I breathed in the smoke. Between the heat, lush greenery and the smell, it somehow felt…right.

It was getting dark fast so I hurried to the tall pedestrian bridge and descended to the far side of the road just in time to catch one of the fuel-belching monsters on its way back across the Causeway. Mine was the last stop in Singapore so it was obvious I wouldn’t get a seat. I stood, jammed up against other impassive workers on their way home, watching the monotonous darkness go by.

There are two points of near-panic during any journey across the Strait, both at the border points. It doesn’t matter which way. In this particular case, the first occurred as the bus neared the Singapore Customs & Immigration stop. There are always the craned looks from the passengers up front, sizing up how many buses are ahead of theirs and how it will translate to waiting times inside the building.

Sometimes the bus will stop metres away from the platform and people will dash madly from the exits, dodging between scooters and other pedestrians on their way to the checkpoint. On the approach to the Singaporean checkpoint, eagle-eyed officials stand and watch the hordes mill past. Sometimes the guards are accompanied by several German Shepherd dogs straining on the leashes beside them. Everybody is careful not to run if the dogs are there.

I’ve always wondered why the young men with severe crew-cuts care so much. After all, we’re leaving the country. But this is Singapore, so appearances must be maintained. After navigating the concrete pathway, there are the escalators. At least they work, which is more than can be said about the Malaysian side of the border, and we are finally disgorged into a giant processing area.

Despite the number of people wanting to get out of the country, not every Immigration booth is manned. Sometimes the officials like to toy with the crowd, making it appear that they are getting ready to open another aisle. They have their little cases of stamps with them, a clipboard, maybe a binder or two. They approach a vacant booth, stare at it for a few minutes, then move off. The more experienced travellers will shuffle their feet and take furtive looks around, calculating their chances of being first at the new queue, should it open. I’ve seen old white-haired grandmothers wrestle with the best of them in such a melée. With age comes sharp elbows. And surprising nimbleness. Must be all those tai chi classes.

In the meantime, the Immigration official can feel the desperation in the hot air as something tangible, something to feast upon. He or she will cast a bored look around, as if contemplating the architecture, then retreat to a point near one of the far offices. Sometimes this ploy of forward, pace, touch barrier, retreat, can occur several times, an exquisite torture for all those waiting in lines that easily stretch fifty or more individuals long. And while we wait, the buses fill up outside the complex and carry on their journey across the border to the next Customs and Immigration complex, but this time on Malaysian soil.

I had only come to Singapore that night on a hunch, so I wasn’t carrying any bags or backpacks with me. That meant that, once I was through the formalities, I could dodge through the workers who were more exhausted than me.

As I reached the top of the queue, I took a look around. Towering above the majority of people were Western tourists, pale and sweating even in their strappy tops, thin t-shirts and cotton shorts. They looked shell-shocked, as if they had been expecting the cool efficiency of Changi airport and had instead got…us. I remained impassive while the Immigration official checked my passport before waving me through.

The air in the transport bays felt even hotter after the feeble air-conditioning in the building, compounded by the smoking exhausts of the idling buses.

I scrambled my way onto the closest one taking passengers, flashing my paper ticket at the driver as I boarded, sank onto the nearest seat and headed home.

Want to read more? Read the rest when the book is released in October 2011.

Copyright information

ISBN: 978-0-9871445-0-8

WAR GAMES

Copyright © 2011 by K.S. Augustin

Cover art: Tibbs Design

Editors: H Hammond, John Young

All rights reserved. This ebook has been made available without DRM, subject to individual retailer conditions. Please don’t reproduce in any form. (An exception is the use of brief quotations for the purposes of critical articles and/or reviews.) That includes printing, photocopying, scanning, uploading to torrent sites or any other practice that is somehow meant to circumvent a royalty being rightfully paid to the author. If you have received this book from a torrent site or through any other means of communication that has bypassed legitimate sales and lending protocols, please contact us at Piracy@SandalPress.com with the relevant details. Sales of this ebook support the living expenses of several individuals.

All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation to anyone living, dead, undead or residing in this, or another, galaxy or metaverse.

Visit us at Sandal Press Online for more news of upcoming books.

* If you've really read down this far, you need to go buy another book. Seriously.