His mouth curves into a half smile. “So are you.” Jael cracks his eyes open to study me. For the first time I notice they’re a pale, icy blue, like frozen rivers in the Teresengi Basin. “I figured you’d freak when we vanished, but March said no.” He hesitates. “I’ve run with some tough bitches in my day, fought under a couple who were scarier than any men I’ve met, but they were mercs. I’ve never known a civchick to handle herself like you did. You were cool, Jax, dead cool.”

Is that a compliment? “I’m not at the top of my game right now.”

His eyes drift closed. “You should let the bot take a look.”

As I consider that, the workstation beeps, indicating an incoming transmission. To my surprise, when I accept the message, I find Vel’s face on-screen. “I got the comm channel back online, and I’ve sent a message to Chancellor Tarn, explaining the delay to our mission. He’s promised to get a cleanup crew out here as soon as possible.” Vel pauses. “His exact words were: ‘What the devil are you doing at Emry Station! You’re weeks off course!’ He doesn’t seem overly impressed with our heroism, Sirantha.”

I snort. “He wouldn’t.” The man’s a politician. They don’t give a shit about the welfare of individuals, only electoral points and obscure polls. A thought occurs to me. “Hey, if he cans me, would you serve with another ambassador, Vel?”

The bounty hunter considers. “No. From our past dealings, I know you are honest, and I could not bring such assurance to my kinsmen about another candidate.”

“I guess that makes me uniquely qualified, doesn’t it?” Talk about job security.

“It would seem so. Everything all right there?”

I nod. “We may as well choose quarters and get comfortable. It looks like we’re going to be here awhile. Did you get in touch with Dina?”

“Affirmative. The purge is complete as well. Emry should be secure now.”

March steps around the partition, looking damp and battered, but inexpressibly dear. “Much better. How’s our girl?”

“Still sleeping. How do you feel about station life?”

He cocks a brow at me. “It tends to be slow and boring. Why?”

“Because we’re in charge until the cleanup crew arrives.”

Jael and March swear in unison.

* * *

CHAPTER 22

Thus commence the longest days of my life.

There’s nothing like running an emergency station to make you feel like you’re alone in the universe. At first I live in fear that another Morgut ship will dock, and then I’m afraid New Terra will never send the promised crew.

By day eight, I’m genuinely worried we’ll be stuck here with dwindling supplies and a couple of kids. Staying much longer will drive me nuts. If I wanted this kind of life, I would’ve stayed where there’s a whole world to move around in. I need new sights and sounds, constant change, in order to keep from feeling twitchy, and the fact that I haven’t jumped in weeks only exacerbates my station fever.

To make matters worse, March insists on having the med-bot run some tests on me. I suppose it makes sense, but nobody on board can interpret the results, which leaves a diagnosis up to the emergency medical AI. Maybe it’s primitive of me, but I would feel better if Doc were here. I don’t think technology can figure out what’s wrong with me.

Until it does.

“Acute degenerative bone disease of unknown origin,” the AI says. “Recommend immediate and aggressive treatment via daily injections of vitamin D3, calcium, and phosphorus. If underlying cause cannot be determined, however, this regimen may provide only limited long-term therapeutic value.”

Bone disease? Jumpers don’t die of such an old woman’s illness. And I’m not that old. That can’t be right.

But a few days ago, the med-bot set the broken bones in my left hand. I’m wearing a small brace now to keep them in place while they heal—and that could take a while. No wonder Kora snapped my fingers like dry twigs.

March tries to smile, but I can tell he’s troubled. Well, that makes two of us. “Take your medicine. I’m sure you’ll feel better in no time.”

Maybe I don’t always eat right, but there’s no logical reason why I would come up calcium deficient. While undeniably disgusting, nutri-paste provides all necessary nutrients to maintain good health. And I suck down the stuff more than I’d like to admit, so it’s not like I’m living off cheap homebrew and sweets.

“You can’t possibly trust that thing,” I protest. “It’s probably a hundred years old. It’ll poison me.”

“It’s a sound program, Jax. And that thing saved Tiera and Vel.”

Tiera is the little girl. She has terrible nightmares, but she took to Kora straightaway. I hope she won’t remember much of this ordeal as she gets older.

We found the duty roster. Twelve souls died here, including her parents. Tiera doesn’t seem to understand the idea that they’re gone for good. She’s too young to learn something so painful—that sometimes people don’t come back.

Like always, I think of Kai. Part of me will always ache for him. A divided heart offers a strange sensation. I love March enough to die for him, but I still miss Kai. Is that wrong? Do other people feel like this? Sometimes he feels agonizingly close, as if he’s watching me, as if I could touch him. I never would have believed it possible before. Medical science disproved it. But I’ve seen miracles in my day.

By his taut expression, March knows what I’m thinking, but he doesn’t say anything. It’s impossible to lie to him, and I wouldn’t want to, even if I could. He has to take me as I am, broken bits and all.

“I do,” he says. “But you’re not going to get better by ignoring the problem, and I won’t lose you.” His voice comes out raw.

Dammit, he’s right. Maybe the workstation itself is a bit antiquated, but the database updates frequently via bounce uplinks. Besides, I do feel like absolute shit. Maybe this will help.

I sigh. “Fine. I refuse to be stupid on principle.”

“Yes,” he says, dark eyes twinkling. “You always have impeccable reasons for acting like an imbecile.”

Why do I put up with his shit? I grin reluctantly. “Damn right.”

With poor grace, I let the droid do its thing. I refuse to linger in Med Bay, though. The bot might decide to turn me into a man.

“Mary forefend,” March says, following me out.

I have no idea where the others are. With two levels, it’s easy to lose track, but I feel reasonably safe. Vel has done four purges, just to be certain, so if there was anything left in the vents, he fried and then spaced it.

This isn’t the first station the Morgut have ravaged, and unless the Conglomerate pulls its head out of its collective ass, it won’t be the last. They don’t fear us. They see us as food, and you don’t respect something that lets you eat it.

I stride along the corridor toward the lift. The dull gray-green walls offer little in the way of cheer, but nobody expects to find that here. This is a last resort, a place nobody comes by choice. Not even the crew that mans it.

“Where we going?” he asks, as we step into the tube.

“Up.” I smile, knowing he hates when I’m cryptic.

A smile begins in his eyes and works its way down his mouth. “Private quarters are located on the second level.”

“So they are.”

But when we step off, I don’t turn toward them. I’m sure he’s disappointed when I stop outside the training room. We haven’t had sex in quite some while, and now I hesitate. I don’t want him to see me like this, so thin and sickly. I couldn’t bear it if desire transmuted to pity somewhere amid the kissing.

“That would never happen,” he assures me.

“You say that now.”

The door slides open to admit me, offering us free use of limited equipment. A serious health enthusiast would be appalled, but I just want to burn off some nervous energy. I feel trapped, as if even my skin’s too small. I need to run until I can’t think about how much I want to jump.

I miss the colors and the astonishing splendor of the universe rushing through my open mind like wildfire. My chest hurts. If I didn’t know better, I’d call it a cardio problem, but I’ve been through withdrawal before. It’s bad this time, and it’ll get worse. I’ve seen jumpers who opt out devolve into screaming fits before they burn it out of their system, before the memories fade enough to be bearable. The ones who recover make fine teachers.

I’m sure March would rather I fuck him senseless to help me through this, but I just can’t. Not now.

“I’m going to use the treadmill a bit. You’re welcome to join me if you like.”

“Is that a metaphor?” he asks. “Just when I think I’m about to get somewhere, you invite me to run in place.”

I misunderstand deliberately. “It’s good for you.”

“Is it?” March raises a brow. “I expect certain ascetic brotherhoods would agree with you.”

“What are we talking about again?” I begin my stretches, careful not to look him in the eye.

“You know perfectly well.”

Well, of course I do. He’s my pilot, isn’t he? I just don’t want to deal with it. Avoidance isn’t my style, though. Never has been. I need to bring it out in the open.

“What do you want me to say?” Sufficiently limber, I climb on the machine. It registers my height and weight, and then sets my initial pace accordingly.

“I want to know what the hell’s going on,” he bites out. “I thought we were—”

“Together?” I supply.

“Yes, that. And we make decisions as one, don’t we? When did we decide on celibacy, exactly? I’m dying to touch you.”

I don’t look at him as I run, arms curled high against my sides. “It wasn’t a decision. It just happened. First they separated us, and then—”

I got sick.

No. I just can’t say that aloud. But he’s strong and fit, whereas I’m fragile. I can’t wade in beside him with a shockstick and a kiss-my-ass smile anymore. I don’t have the stamina or the speed. I can’t be an equal partner to him now. Maybe I never can be again.

The old Jax wouldn’t have cowered with Vel in the med center. She’d have found a way to do both, somehow. She’d have saved Vel and managed to find March, too. I can rationalize it, but I’ve changed. I’m not up to my old weight.

Weak.

Before I can alter the status quo, I need to hear what Doc has to say. It’s not fair to tie March to someone who may have a shorter life expectancy than your typical jumper—and that’s saying a lot. That truth hurts so much that I’ll never be able to speak the words. Not to him.

But he knows.

Deliberately, March steps off his machine and heads for the door. Even though I’m not Psi, I feel the pain rolling off him in raw, angry waves. Without turning, he says, “I had no idea you were such a fucking coward, Jax. You think you love me enough to die for me. Big fucking deal; you don’t love me enough to live for me. You’ve quit on us before we ever began.”