It was the right call at the right time. It’s been long enough since they took out the base that they can’t mistake this for wrath. It was a calculated maneuver, and that will scare them even more. Anyone can push a button in anger. It takes particular strength to do so when your head is cool.

I’m not sure I’d call it strength.

Resolve, then.

Hearing validation of the strike from both March and Vel doesn’t erase my pain at the loss of life. I glance over at Zeeka, wondering how he keeps his spirits high. The Mareq seems cheerful all the time—happy to be here, happy to be included, happy to be fighting, learning—pretty much anything that’s going on, he’s glad about it. His people were like that, as I recall. When we landed on Marakeq to bring back Baby-Z2, instead of responding to the unknown with fear, hostility, and aggression, they acted like we were a joyous surprise.

Finally, I ask Z what I’ve wondered for turns. “Why doesn’t anything get you down? After what we just did, so many people died—”

His wide mouth falls into amused lines. “Everything dies. There’s no way to stop that tide. In the end, all we have is the pleasure we take from life. For my people, it’s not long. I can spend my time crying or I can live. I can seek wonder. Haven’t you ever noticed that people tend to find what they’re looking for, my friend?”

The truth of his words takes my breath away. How unexpectedly profound. I suspect I’ll learn so much from him in the thirty turns he has left. I suspect they won’t be nearly long enough. Tears prickle in my eyes, but I don’t let them fall. I don’t want Z to think I misunderstood.

“Thank you,” I whisper. “I don’t know when I ever needed a lesson more.”

He’s puzzled, but glad. He turns to speak with Ceepak, not realizing what an impact he’s had on me, this Mareq who once took nourishment from my bare skin.

“He is wise,” Vel observes. “I lived a great many turns before I internalized that particular lesson.”

“I wonder if the Mareq have genetic memory, so they remember things their ancestors learned. To make up for such short lives?”

Vel says, “It would explain much.”

Before I can reply, the shuttle puts down three klicks from our next target. It’s another estate raid. You’d think the nobles would stay out of the provinces, but even in wartime, they think they’re above commonsense precautions. Who would dare attack Legate Whoever in his own home, right?

We would, obviously.

“Ceepak, stay with the shuttle,” Loras orders.

That makes sense because he’ll hear anybody coming. He has to guard the MO at all costs. Without it, we become toothless hounds.

He adds, “The rest of you, move out.”

Another battle, another scar. He was right, the one who first said War is hell.

Imperial News Bulletin

[The presenter on screen is an older male, losing his hair in the subtle pushback of hairline toward his temples. He wears a dark suit and there are shadows beneath his eyes.]

I will now read a prepared statement from the governor of Jineba.

At this time, I must report with a heavy heart that the terrorist group known as the LLA has detonated a weapon of mass destruction in Kayro. There were no survivors. All travel to the region has been discontinued; no public transport or private air travel will be permitted because of the complete irradiation. Groundwater will be contaminated for turns to come.

If nothing else, this attack should convince you that these people are monsters. They murder their own without regard. They have no care for those who have done their best to shepherd this planet. The LLA is full of bloodthirsty extremists who care only for the abstract tenet of freedom and nothing at all for the welfare of this world.

The empire will retaliate. We have destroyed important LLA installations, and we will continue to fight until this threat has been contained. Even now, your legates are planning a counterattack. This tragedy will not stand.

Grieve for your loved ones. Hate those responsible. And have faith in your government. We will not fail you. Justice will be served, and the guilty will pay.

CHAPTER 54

The battles blur together.

Death. Blood. Dirt. Mud. Pain.

Last night, Deven executed an entire noble family on Loras’s orders. The commander was adamant that we send a message to Imperial forces. And so it went out on our next signal-jack broadcast. They must believe we have the will to do what is necessary, and nothing frightens civilians more than the death of children.

In truth, I’m losing heart. It’s been two turns since we left Jineba, two turns of wearing the wrong face and living a life I loathe.

When will it end?

The provinces are battlefields, but we must take the cities if we hope to dig the Nicuan out of here. Otherwise, this war never ends. Loras is prepared to bomb four more cities; we have the capacity, which would severely cripple Nicuan nobility. It would also significantly reduce the La’hengrin population. I don’t want him to do that; once was enough. There has to be another way.

“This is the shittiest sixteenth birthday ever,” Sasha says, breaking into my thoughts.

He’s been fighting for an eighth of his life. That’s so wrong. But no question, he’s strong and brave, a credit to March. Few young men his age have the same grasp of suffering and sacrifice. I’m just not sure that’s a good thing.

“Hey,” Ceepak protests. “This is the finest mudhole credits can buy.”

The kid has a point, I admit. We’re entrenched fifty klicks outside the city. Other cells have joined us. Since the Imperials have lost all their heavy installations, they can’t target us. The fighting is limited to waves of centurions who push, then fall back, trying to keep us out of the capital. It doesn’t matter, though.

The enemy’s already behind the lines. By my calculations, the cure has just about saturated the populace. Everyone has had a chance to take it…or decline. Some have; they fear freedom and self-reliance, or else they fear death. They’ll wait for a version of the vaccine that’s one hundred percent effective. But those La’hengrin are the minority.

“I made you a cake,” Farah says.

Sasha brightens, his expression hopeful even through the rain. His face has become less elfin and delicate over the turns. Now he needs to shave, and he has March’s stubborn jaw though still his mother’s fair hair and sea-hued eyes.

Farah grins; she can be evil as hell. “Not really. But I did steal you one at the last estate we raided. It’s probably stale and smashed by now.”

“Let’s have it,” Sasha demands.

So, between booms of thunder, Farah portions out the treat, giving Sasha the biggest chunk. He stuffs it into his mouth with both hands, and his eyes close. I can’t remember the last time I had something sweet. No choclaste, no kaf. For months, we’ve been living on paste, what we scavenge from the estates, and sometimes fresh meat, which grosses me out.

“You’re a man now,” March says, deadpan. “I need to find you a joy girl.”

Even Loras hoots at this, and Sasha covers his face in mock-embarrassment. He mumbles through his hands, “You know I can crush your skull, right?”

March grins. “And I can make you not want to anymore.”

“I hate you.” Sasha makes a rude gesture, which I’m pretty sure he learned from Ceepak, as it’s a La’hengrin move. “You’re such an ass.”

“We’ve got incoming,” Shelby shouts.

He must’ve glimpsed them with his gift. At this point, they’re far enough away that Ceepak can’t hear them, so that means we have a little time.

Hammond grouses, “I might as well go back to my bunk in this rain. I’m useless.” It’s kind of a cliché, since he’s Pyro, but he’s the unit hothead.

“Use your weapon,” Vel reminds him. “Some of us kill without any powers at all.”

Shelby laughs, and Hammond slugs him. Sometimes, I see very clearly how young the SpecForce team is. Sometimes, they remind me of boys on a field trip, and yet they’re tough, dedicated, and disciplined, all of them.

“Wrong,” Z says. “You do have a power.”

“I do?” Vel’s mandible flares in surprise.

“The power of being awesome!” Z’s thrilled with his translator, I can tell. He pulls off the slang and bumps chests with Ceepak, who’s been teaching him this shit.

Thunder booms overhead; lightning cracks the sky. And I hand Sasha my soggy cake. “Here. You only turn sixteen once.”

He grins at me. “Or you’re doing it wrong.”

“Have you thought about the future at all?”

“A little, I guess. Before, back on Nicuan, Dad and I talked about me going to the engineering academy on New Terra.”

“Is that what you want to do?”

“I think so. I definitely don’t want to be a soldier. I’m glad I helped…I still think it was the right move, but doing this forever would seriously screw you up.”

“No shit.” He’s seen things no kid should see. And I wonder if he can possibly be as healthy as he seems. “Your dad’s got some issues.”

“He’ll be all right. He’s got you.” That’s the nicest thing Sasha has ever said about my relationship with March. Mostly, he ignores the intimate aspect of it.

“You’re okay with us? You hated me at first.”

He scoffs. “I was ten, what did I know? I was also scared of the dark, and I collected little army men.”

“Heh, when you put it like that…”

“The weirdest part of it, to be honest, is now you look like somebody I should be dating. That’s gotta freak the old man out some.”

I laugh. “When the war’s over, I’ll change it up a little.”

At the moment, that’s the least of my concerns. I’ve been wearing this uniform for days. I can’t remember the last time I bathed. Oh, wait, yes, I can. It was after the estate raid, a month ago. I jumped in the san-shower and steam-cleaned everything, clothes and all. At night, when bunking on the cold ground, I dream of a dry bed and hot food. I dream of grimspace and the rumble of a ship engine lulling me to sleep. They’re not big dreams, but they’re mine. They get me through.

“I hear them,” Ceepak says, sobering us. “Fifty, coming in quiet.”

March nods. “They’re using the storm as cover. Not a bad move. I’ve used it myself a time or two.”

Zeeka’s already trapped the whole perimeter. A number of centurions will go sky high, but some will break through. Loras organizes us in lines, and I end up in the trench between Sasha and Vel. He wants March up front, helping with tactics.

“Did you hear?” Z asks, raising his rifle.

The cold rain sluices down his armor. Because I can’t help it, I wonder for the thousandth time if he’s warm enough.

I shake my head. “What’s up?”

“Tomorrow’s the day of reckoning. We march to the city, and Loras is calling all the free La’heng to active service.”