Endgame (15 page)

“Dinner will be ready at the church by now,” Darana says, packing up the supplies. “Nothing fancy, but I hope you’ll come.”

“Are you kidding?” Xirol grins at her. “My belly thinks my throat’s been cut. I haven’t worked this hard since I left my master in Jineba.”

Farah makes a scoffing sound, as he’s propped up the wall for the last half hour. Since Xirol came down from the roof, he’s been watching Bannie, who pretends she hasn’t noticed. This could be entertaining.

Darana puts a hand on Xirol’s arm, staying him. “What’s it like?”

“What?” he asks, clearly thinking about food.

“Being free.”

“Indescribable.” This is the first time I’ve ever seen Xirol dead serious. “It’s like having your heart unchained because nobody can make you do anything ever again.”

“How did you get up the courage to take those shots, knowing you could die? You started a whole new life…” Her voice trails off as she shakes her head in wonder. “I don’t know if I could ever be that brave.”

“You don’t have to make up your mind right now,” Farah says.

Darana nods. “Let’s get something to eat before it’s all gone.”

When I leave the clinic, Loras is waiting outside. He’s not wearing his helmet, and his cheeks are red with the cold, his eyes sharp and sad. I can tell there’s something on his mind, so I wait until the others are out of earshot.

“These people need care, Jax. Some of them are really sick. There’s a little girl, not more than nine, with such a terrible cough…”

Bluerot.
For the first time in my life, I wish I weren’t a jumper. Right now, I’d prefer to be a doctor. Or better yet, Doc should be here instead. If I could go back, if I could swap places, I would. Because he’d do so much good here.

“Don’t.” His azure eyes read my regret, and though he doesn’t know the whole truth, I’m sure he senses my remorse.

I choke it down. “We’ll do our best for them.”

He nods, and I follow him to the church, where the La’hengrin have set up a small feast. The fact that it’s their best, offered freely, when they have so little, chokes me up. I feel bad eating a bowl of the thin but delicious soup, mostly reconstituted vegetables with grain to add heartiness. The room is loud and crowded; so many bodies make for warmth, driving away the chill of the cold mountain night.

I wonder what March is doing right now, if he’s thinking about me. He might be eating, too, joking with Sasha and talking about the day. Company will be scarce at base since the majority of the personnel shipped out in various cells.

After the meal ends, Xirol gets the entertainment center working. That means the church has power as well as the
clinic. On the first day, we’ve made some improvements. Xirol finds a program on the memory core and turns it on. I shouldn’t be surprised that it’s all about the Imperials; they control everything else, so why wouldn’t the vids be about them, too? This is some kind of drama that makes the life of a centurion look exciting and romantic. Before the show is half-over, the La’hengrin are booing, and Xirol switches it off.

“Is there anything about
us
on there?” a young girl asks.

The question is heartbreaking. This is their world, and yet they have been erased from it. Their culture has been undone, buried beneath wave after wave of invaders and occupations. For countless turns, the La’hengrin have served their various overlords.

Xirol says, “I’ll check.”

But he’s seen more of the world than she has, and his mouth compresses, for once unable to find the humor. I share his consternation. Later, as everyone files out, I notice the girl who asked about La’hengrin vids can’t take a step without coughing. Her lips are blue-tinged, and the cloth she holds to her mouth comes away tinged in red. She won’t live to receive her first kiss or plan for her future. There’s no limit to the number of things wrong with this scenario.

Since the cottage is too full of medical equipment to have room for ten of us, Loras asks permission for us to camp in the church. If we’re sticking around a while, I see the need for a more permanent solution, but until we find one, this will do. The La’hengrin agree it’s all right, so we bed down after everyone clears out. It’s colder in the church than the cottage with the others gone, because our bodies aren’t sufficient to warm the space.

I shiver as I remove my armor and crawl into the bedroll. So far, the rebellion has been different than I expected. Based on what I knew in the Morgut Wars, I thought we’d see more fighting early on. But I suppose if we did, then the effort would end before it began. They have far more centurions than we have free La’hengrin…but that will change, in time.

In the morning, I have more paste, bathe with cold water Vel supplies, then head to the clinic, where Farah is already set up.

“Would you like to help me?” she asks.

“I’ve never taken blood before.”

“It’s like using a hypo, only in reverse. Just press here and the device does the rest. And this is how you change the vial inside.” She shows me how to pop the polymer tube out of the chamber.

It takes me a couple of tries, but I get the hang of it. “Yeah, I can do this.”

She taps her comm. We use a short-range frequency that doesn’t extend far enough for Nicuan forces to hear our chatter. “Loras, can you round up our volunteers, please?”

He replies, “Consider it done.”

The townsfolk come in for testing a few at a time, so
Farah and I are never overwhelmed. I’m nervous the first time, but I watch Farah smooth an antiseptic pad over the phlebotomy site, so I do the same. Then the gizmo does the work, and it’s quick. Afterward, I fumble only a little in getting the new vial in place.

All told, it takes an hour to take the genetic material we need. Farah feeds the samples into the machine one by one, as this isn’t a sophisticated piece of equipment. In hospitals, they have the capacity to analyze in batches. There was no call for that at the mining station. At least it’s fast, however. Five minutes later, the first result appears on screen.

She skims it, then turns to me. “Everything looks good. Some readings are in the low range, but nothing that makes me think she’s a poor candidate.”

We work side by side for a couple more hours. At the end of the session, she’s disqualified seven people, due to irregular white-blood-cell counts, anemia, and a couple of problems that might indicate something more serious.

Farah gnaws her lip. “I wish I was qualified for diagnosis and treatment. I feel so
useless
. Did you know that La’hengrin
aren’t allowed to go to university unless it’s to study languages or communications?”

I hadn’t, though I did wonder why so many served as translators or communication specialists aboard ships. It seemed that was the only way to get off world, and even then, they could only travel under someone else’s aegis.

“Otherwise, you’re stuck on La’heng.”

“Living like this.” Her mouth firms into a taut, white line.

This must be hell. If they don’t travel with their
shinai
, then most La’heng don’t even know the rest of the world is like this. They only see what they’re shown.

“I had a friend who could’ve helped,” I say softly.

“What happened?” Evidently, she can tell by my tone that he’s gone, not just far away.

“He died in the bombing of Venice Minor.”

“You were there, I hear?” It’s not a prying question though it is a leading one.

I nod.

“Loras said it was bad. I guess you’ve had some adventures.”

“I’ll tell you about them sometime.” We’ll have ample opportunity as we go village to village and liberate the La’hengrin.

“I’d like that.” She pauses, her expression becoming shy. “Women don’t usually like me, you know.”

“How come?”

She shrugs, by which I infer she doesn’t want to talk about it. Fair enough.

Farah’s not just lovely; she’s also a nice person. But maybe other females don’t take the time to get to know her. They just look at her face and decide she must be a bitch and treat her accordingly. That would be lonely.

I change the subject. “Do you think we have time to start the treatments?”

After checking the time, she nods and calls Loras. “These folks don’t seem healthy enough to withstand the cure.” She reads the names. “You get to break the news, boss man. Can you send the rest of the volunteers in groups of ten? It should take us about fifteen minutes to handle them, so send them at regular intervals.”

He cocks a brow, leaning toward her just enough that I’m intrigued by what his body language communicates. “Anything else, your majesty?”

She laughs, and genuine delight adds a sparkle to her green eyes.
Loras and Farah?
I’ve never seen Loras interested in a woman before, but he’s spent most of his life off La’hengrin. It’s possible that other species don’t appeal.

“That should suffice for now, but I’ll keep you posted.”

“Do that.” There’s a hint of a tease in his voice, a small smile playing at the edges of his mouth. For those seconds, I’m sure he’s forgotten I exist.

Once he heads out, I ask, “So what’s the deal with you two?”

Hot color washes her cheeks, the shade of tropical flowers that grew in my mother’s garden on Venice Minor. “What makes you think—”

“I know what I saw.”

She gives up the pretense. “We’re just flirting now, but I really like him. He’s…different than most La’hengrin males. More confident.”

I’m curious about something, but I can’t think of a tactful way to ask this. If I want to know, I suppose I just need to come out with it. “Would you ever consider hooking up with someone who wasn’t La’hengrin?”

Farah arches her brows. “Where are you going with this, Jax?”

A laugh escapes me. “Not why I’m asking. I just wondered because I’ve never seen a mixed couple—”

“Ah,” she says. “Prurient curiosity. There’s no taboo against it precisely, but it’s impossible for love to flourish in an unequal partnership.”

“Loras said that about friendship.”

She nods. “He was right. Servitude aside, our physiology makes it impossible for us to crossbreed with other species.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Why would you? The first conquerors tried to dilute us with their offspring, but our bodies look on alien material as viruses, and our immune systems react accordingly.”

“So to start a family, you need another La’hengrin.”

“Yes. I suppose someone with a sophisticated lab might
manage to combine genetic materials, but no one has cared enough to try.”

“If you want Loras, I hope you get him. He deserves to be happy.”

Before Farah can respond, the first volunteers enter the clinic. They break into groups of five, forming lines before us. I’m ready with my hypo for the first shot.

“There will be seven injections,” I say, loud enough for everyone to hear me. “On the last day, we’ll find out if the treatment worked.”

“What if it doesn’t?” the woman before me asks, rubbing her arm.

I glance at Farah. Surely the news will sound better coming from her. She has an indefinable quality, along with her rare beauty, that combines to make her captivating. Add those to her kindness, and she’s damn near irresistible.

“When the cure fails,” Farah says gently, “all our repressed rage rushes in at once. It drives us mad.”

“Can it be fixed?”

She shakes her head gravely. “No. There is actual damage to higher neural functions. All that remains is the urge to kill.”

“So you’ll put us down,” a man says.

It’s the cleanest solution. Adaptive physiology makes it difficult to devise treatments for the La’heng, and since they’re not a wealthy people, medical companies have no motivation to help them. Which is
wrong
, but it’s how the universe operates.

The resistance lacks the resources to run an insane asylum. Volunteers in the clinic seem to realize as much, and they fall quiet, waiting. No more hard questions. As I work, I try not to remember that one or two of these people will die a week from today. They all wear somber looks as they move in and out of the line, as if they’re aware of the same thing.

As Farah requested, Loras sends them in waves. Two hours later, we finish the first round of injections. Only six more days until we find out who lives and dies. That leaves me feeling grim. So I murmur something to Farah and head out into the crisp dusk. Sunset in the mountains is dramatic; the light
drops away with little notice. One moment the sky is bright, then the ground drowns in shadows.

I find Vel working on a roof, not installing a solar panel, but mending it. Since I’ve known him, he has ever been a fixer of that which was broken. Even me. Maybe especially me. It might be wrong for my heart to be so cleanly divided, but I don’t hurt as much with March gone as long as Vel’s here. He only left that one time under the most dire circumstance—with my blessing—to serve his people. Like me, he resigned at the first opportunity. He is my true north, my compass for what’s right. If ever I chart a course, and he will not follow, then I’ll know it’s wrong and turn back.

“Are you done for the day?” I call.

“Nearly. It is becoming difficult to see.” He leaps nimbly from the roof and comes toward me. “Did you enjoy playing doctor?”

“Not really. They need more help than I can give. And I keep thinking about day seven.”

“It is a terrible choice,” he says.

“What would you do if you knew you only had a week left to live?”

“There is no way to avoid my fate?” he asks, canting his head. Generally speaking, he’s not given to hypothetical speculation.

“None.”

“Then I suppose I would get my affairs in order and spend my remaining moments with those most dear to me.” It’s a prosaic response but perfectly Vel.

Xirol comes up behind me, joining the conversation. “I’d find a girl and spend the week drunk and naked. If I was lucky, I’d die before I sobered up.”

The old Jax would’ve approved of that plan heartily. I’m not sure what I’d do in the La’hengrin’s position. What an awful blade to carry on your shoulders.

Soon, the rest of the squad has assembled on the green, a humble place to start a revolution. Until this moment, I don’t think it occurred to me how much downtime there would be, how much waiting. But we can’t do anything until this time tomorrow—at least that’s what I’m thinking when Loras says: