Author: Jenn Burke
Date: 2015-10-05 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Science Fiction; M M Romance; Romance; Aliens; Military Fiction; Lgbt; Space Opera; Space; M M Science Fiction; Futuristic
Description: Book three of Chaos Station Zander Anatolius has been revived from the fatal effects of the super-soldier program, but now he has to face his estranged family and tell a story few would believe. With his lover and the crew of the Chaos at his side, Zander returns home to a media frenzy, threats from the military and pressure to join the family business. Felix Ingesson still struggles with the horror of believing Zander dead. And no matter how strong their emotional connection is, Felix feels out of place in the glittery world of Zander's rich family. His lover would be better off without a bro
Publisher: Carina Press
Rights: Copyright (c) 2015 by Kelly Jensen & Jennifer R.L. Burke

Skip Trace

By Jenn Burke and Kelly Jensen

Book three of Chaos Station

Zander Anatolius has been revived from the fatal effects of the super-soldier program, but now he has to face his estranged family and tell a story few would believe. With his lover and the crew of the Chaos at his side, Zander returns home to a media frenzy, threats from the military and pressure to join the family business.

Felix Ingesson still struggles with the horror of believing Zander dead. And no matter how strong their emotional connection is, Felix feels out of place in the glittery world of Zander’s rich family. His lover would be better off without a broken, low-class ship’s engineer holding him back.

When the crew receives word that another of Zander’s former teammates needs rescue, Felix travels with the Chaos...setting Zander free. But when Zander is arrested for treason, the men realize they need each other as much as ever—not only to survive, but to make their lives worth living.

76,000 words

Dear Reader,

If you’re in North America, you’re heading in to that time of year when you grab a cup of hot apple cider, bundle up with a warm, fuzzy blanket and grab your phone or e-reader to snuggle down with a good book on your couch. This October, we have a few books that will make you want to do this every day. Go ahead and tell your day-job boss that you have a note from the editor excusing your absence.

Don’t you just love Lauren Dane’s books and her feisty heroines? We do, too, and we’re excited for the next Goddess with a Blade paranormal romance installment, At Blade’s Edge. Rowan Summerwaite sneaks into London so she can begin to unravel just who and what is behind the rot within Hunter Corp. It’s not so much that someone ordered her assassination—people try to kill her all the time—but it’s the risks faced by those she cares for and the growing instability of relations between humans and Vampires that make her so angry.

Joining Lauren on her release day is HelenKay Dimon and her next contemporary romance. Those who read Chain of Command (and if you didn’t, why not?) have been clamoring for this story. We fell in love with Jason and Molly as secondary characters and you’re going to adore following along with their love story in Line of Fire. Former special ops marine Jason McAdams spent most of his adult life running from trouble and fighting his attraction to his best friend’s baby sister, Molly Cain, but when she makes it clear she’s tired of games and ready to move on, he has to decide if he can break the curse that has left his personal life in shambles and free them both from the secrets that have kept them apart.

There have been more than a few emails in our inbox telling us to hurry up and release Skip Trace, after readers consumed Chaos Station and Lonely Shore by Kelly Jensen and Jenn Burke. Now Zander is finally healthy and ready to track down his super soldier teammates, and he’s counting on his lover Felix to be at his side. But Felix, overwhelmed by the events that led them to this point, isn’t sure what he wants—or if he even deserves a chance at happiness with Zed. Pick up this male/male romance today!

Alyssa Cole’s characters are getting Mixed Signals in her newest stand-alone postapocalyptic romance. Maggie Seong survived the apocalypse, but going off to college—and being torn between her lost love and the man she’s spent years pining for—might just be harder.

Craving a great romantic suspense to get your heart pounding and nerves racing during these cool fall nights? A dying woman, desperate to live, and a solider, desperate to die, join forces to stop a madman before he can unleash a devastating biological weapon in Julie Rowe’s Lethal Game, book two in her Biological Response Team series. And once you’ve devoured this one, go back and pick up Deadly Strain.

We welcome Jonathan Watkins to the Carina Press publishing team with his fantastic, previously self-published mystery series. Kicking things off in Motor City Shakedown, unexpected danger and unlikely romance converge on rookie criminal lawyer Issabella Bright when she partners with the reckless and charming Darren Fletcher to unravel an insidious Detroit conspiracy of drugs, lies and murder in book one of the Bright & Fletcher mysteries. Look for the next book, Dying in Detroit, coming next month, with books three and four to release in January and February 2016.

Coming in November: Three debut authors bring us their fantastic new novels, Josh Lanyon’s new adult male/male romance is finally available and Piper J. Drake busts out her new pen name and her new romantic suspense series. If you love Maya Banks, you’ll want to pick up this series for sure!

In the meantime, I hope you enjoy the fantastic lineup of books this month and that your boss doesn’t give you too hard of a time for missing work. No one should get in trouble for reading when they should be working!

Happy reading!

Angela James

Editorial Director, Carina Press

Dedication

For Felix, our porcupine.

Our heartfelt gratitude goes out to all soldiers, particularly those who are scarred by war.

Contents

Epigraph

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

Excerpt from Chaos Station by Jenn Burke and Kelly Jensen

Acknowledgments

Also by Jenn Burke and Kelly Jensen

About the Authors

Epigraph

New beginnings are often disguised as painful endings.

~ Lao Tzu

Chapter One

Alpha Station, 2269

“Does Zander have a large family?”

“Hmm?” Felix glanced up from the holotext he’d been skimming. Docking protocols were the same at all Anatolius stations. Of course, Alpha being the oldest, and home base to the Anatolius family, there were several hundred extra cautions. But really? He could land a battlecruiser on a comet; he didn’t need to be reminded of the buoyancy of a gravity differential.

Qek had a blue finger pointed toward the forward holoscreen, which showed a magnified view of their designated pier. “None of the seventy-three people waiting at Beta Twenty-Five bear a familial resemblance to Zander,” she said.

No one else in Zed’s family had ever worn an Allied Earth Forces uniform, either.

Felix studied the small crowd depicted in the holo. The front line shone with brass. The AEF had turned out a general to honor Zed’s return home—well, to the station where his family lived. To be reunited with the people he’d avoided after the end of the war, because he hadn’t been able to face them after the AEF had fucked him over so badly.

“That’s not his family, Qek.” Felix’s ire rose quickly and reliably. He stabbed the holo, bent finger of his crooked left hand sinking through the image. “Turn it off—”

“What the fuck?”

Too late. Zed had arrived on the bridge and stood openmouthed in the entry. The panel beside the open doorway flashed in irritation as his bulk prevented the hatch from sliding closed. Resisting the urge to chew on his lips, Felix studied his lover’s face, looking for clues on how to handle this particular situation. Swear? Throw out an off-color joke? Blame the alien? No, Qek had done nothing wrong—except indulge in her habit of using the forward-view screens when they could rely on sensor data to dock.

“Is this what you would call a welcome wagon?” Qek asked. “There appear to be no wagons attached to the contingent, but human idioms often account for factors not present.”

A muscle jerked along the tight line of Zed’s jaw, and that damned crease teased the middle of his dark brows. Felix hated the crease. Back when Zed had been on a sharp decline to oblivion, that line between his brows had been a permanent furrow.

“Only my family knows we’re arriving today.” Zed stepped forward and the door slid closed with a sigh of relief.

Felix turned back to the copilot’s console. “I’ll contact Docking Control, request a new berth.”

“Don’t bother. We’re obviously on approach. If we change course, they’ll follow. And it’s likely someone in Docking Control leaked the information in the first place, because my family sure as hell wouldn’t give me up.”

“Y’all need a private dock or something.” Felix reached over to kill the display.

Zed arrested his hand halfway. “We have one. But with the whole family here to meet me, the private dock is full, and I thought we’d draw less attention this way. The Chaos isn’t registered to me or anyone related to me.”

No, it wasn’t. Despite having thrown enough credits at the small corvette to replace every system—and she still looked as if she’d flown through a debris field backward—Zed did not own the Chaos. Felix did...half of it, anyway. The other half belonged to his business partner, Elias Idowu, who captained the vessel. Felix kept engineering humming. Qek was their pilot, which was awesome as the Chaos had an ashushk star drive and no one handled jump-space like the little blue aliens who’d figured out the best way to traverse it. They also had a doctor on staff, and Zed served as their security officer.

Given the events of the past few months, however, it would be reasonable to assume that Zed had become linked with the Chaos. The AEF had followed them to Ashushk Prime when they were trying to save Zed from the effects of the experimental training he’d undergone during the war with the stin. Other aliens. Not blue, not friendly.

The AEF also must have followed them to Alpha. Or made the assumption they would stop here before resuming business as usual—shipping shit from one end of the galaxy to the other, tracing the occasional skip or bounty, or—

“You don’t think this has to do with the project Marnie’s working on for us, do you?” Felix grabbed the water bottle he had stashed next to his console. The flexible plastic crunched as he sucked on it. Man, his throat was dry. Recycled air, fear...pissedoffedness.

“If it is, we’re up shit creek without a paddle.”

Qek turned away from the pilot’s console, unblinking gaze flicking between them. “Do you mean we are in trouble?”

“If the AEF suspects we’re tracking down the last members of Project Dreamweaver, then, yes, we’re in trouble. Deep trouble,” Felix said.

Zed huffed. “Marnie is covert ops. This didn’t come from her. Let’s just assume someone in Docking Control sold me out.” He waved at the holo. They were a couple hundred meters out from their pier, and the small sea of faces had come into sharper focus. “They scrambled to put this unit together. Check out the uniforms. Ground ops, station ops. No special forces, no MPs. It’s an honor guard or some shit.”

He sounded confident, but Felix caught the more cautious undertone. Zed was worried, and if he was worried, then it was time to hit the panic button.

Or come up with a plan.

“What does the bright green uniform signify?” Qek asked.

Felix glanced at the holo again. Behind the AEF and spilling around the sides were a number of men and women dressed in the ubiquitous green skin suits of the media. News was entertainment, so reporters on assignment dressed in suits that could be programmed at a whim to resemble anything from military armor to ashushk formal wear.

“The media. Scum suckers.”

“Tell us how you really feel,” Zed said.

“That would take too long.” Felix smacked Qek’s console, killing the display. “Okay, I’ve seen enough. D’you think if we just docked and sat there, they’d eventually go away?”

“Not likely. Get us locked in. I’ll go call my brother.” Zed delivered a quick squeeze to Felix’s shoulder before ducking back through the hatch, leaving the bridge feeling empty.

Felix twitched his display toward Qek. “Can you lock us in?” They’d been coasting through the docks with minimal input from him, anyway. Just as well Alpha Docking Control ran a tight operation—Felix had been so distracted by the view of their pier that he might have hit anything that wandered off course, or similarly disregarded the hundred or so extra cautions.

“Certainly, Fixer.”

The crew of the Chaos called him Fixer, a nickname he’d acquired in service aboard an AEF battlecruiser. It suited him. He fixed stuff. Zed, on the other hand, called him Flick, and had done since they were boys. So often lately, though, neither name fit properly. He’d been confronted with stuff he couldn’t fix. Or flick aside.

Qek took over operations, initializing the sequence that would guide the Chaos into position, equalizing conflicting fields and activating the virtual tethers. Shaking off his moment of introspection, Felix reached for a more useful mental exercise. What he could fix or flick, otherwise known as “reviewing the mission.”

One, get Zed home and all cozy with his family. Two, track down his other family, the members of Project Dreamweaver. His teammates, the ones who hadn’t been fixed. How they’d help those men and women hadn’t been decided, so three was vague. None of them knew who they’d find or what state they’d be in. Three was a rolling point. Four...four was even more nebulous. Four was trying to be what Zed needed him to be. Friend, lover...could he ever be considered family? Could families consist of only two people?

Wondering about that was not useful.

He activated an external feed. The Alpha Station docks were typically Anatolius. Beautiful and functional. Strung in an arc around the vast bay, ships hung from their platforms like bristled jewels. The gravitational differential between the docking cradles and the access piers caused each “jewel” to bob slightly, giving the illusion of a current moving beneath them. Running lights flickered and flared against the black oval of space behind the stasis field. Felix had seen pictures of ocean-going ships in harbor at night, and the scene was eerily similar, even the backdrop of stars. The AEF contingent lining their pier stripped any romanticism from the vista, however.

“Are you searching for something in particular?”

Felix switched the view to the approaching pier, specifically the lower portion. “That.” He pointed to the end of their berth. “Ladders down. There will be an under dock. Maybe we can duck down there. Avoid the welcome wagon altogether.”

“My experience of the AEF has not been particularly welcoming to date. You and Zander being the notable exceptions, of course.”

“Amen.” Felix had enough of the AEF to last several lifetimes. So had Zed. Was it too much to ask that they could have a couple of quiet days on Alpha—let Zed do the family thing—before disappearing into the black to do stupidly unremarkable things for the rest of their lives?

Not that Zed would ever be unremarkable. Zander Damianos Anatolius would always be the third son of the richest man in the galaxy. He would always be a hero, the AEF’s prize, the man whose actions might have ended the eight-year war with the stin. He would always be the man who had died—no matter how hard Felix had wished him to live—and been resurrected by the mysterious gatekeepers of the galaxy, the Guardians, for a purpose which none of them could divine.

“We are locked.”

Felix deactivated his console and pushed out of the copilot’s chair. “Thanks. I’m gonna go see if Zed and his brother have worked out a Plan B.” Being an Anatolius, Brennan would have Plans C through Z already laid out as well.

Felix found Zed in conference with Elias and their doctor, the redheaded Nessa O’Brien. Nessa and Qek were a package deal. Best friends for over a decade, they always crewed together. Nessa and Elias were something else entirely. Felix had given up keeping track of their on-again, off-again relationship.

“We throwing Zed to the wolves or what?” Felix put on a smile that felt a bit too tight.

Elias’s return grin flashed white in his dark face. “I thought I might go out there and announce I tossed him out of an airlock somewhere around Zilos.”

“The media would rip you apart,” Nessa said.

If the media knew who was on board, and it would be stupid to assume they didn’t.

“Plan, ah...F?” Felix surveyed faces for clues.

“Fuck ’em all?” Elias’s brows formed two high arches.

“Yeah, that’s always my go-to.”

“We’re going to go with Plan A,” Zed said. “Get out there and see what they want. Could just be a ‘we know you’re here’ kinda thing. The AEF throwing their weight around and making sure everyone hears the thump.”

Felix swallowed for about the thirtieth time in the last half hour. His fingers curled into his palm and he wished he’d brought the water bottle with him. He could use a soft object to squeeze and break. “That better be all they’re about.”

“Bren’s on his way with the entire Anatolius legal department. If they want more, they’ll get it.”

Felix was not comforted. He didn’t go in for legalities. Action begat action. “There’s a ladder at the end of the pier. We could head out the auxiliary hatch and be under the docks before anyone knew we’d left the ship.”

Zed shook his head slowly. “Whatever this is, I want to face it now.”

Like a damned hero. Fine.

“I’m standing right beside you then.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Zed’s warm smile didn’t caress his psyche as it usually did. Felix was too worked up. He should have anticipated this—the media, the AEF, the sensation. Zed was Zed, after all. Destined for greatness, and now, with his health and future restored, he could reach out and touch the stars. Felix, broken and put back together with spit and wire, could only stretch and fail. But not today. He’d do all he could to protect Zed from the AEF and the media, even if it meant causing a scene. Felix was good at that, the whole distraction thing. With his scars, shabby clothes and station-rat pedigree, he had little to lose by acting the ass.

The echo of their boot heels striking the gridwork flooring chased them across Cargo One. Felix activated the external hatch and tried not to blink as the large door slid up into the skin of the ship, exposing the relative brightness of the docks. A low murmur crept into the cargo bay. As the ramp extended, the murmur rose to a hum. Then, single voices punctuated the bustle. Reporters calling out for “Zander” and “Mr. Anatolius.” Beside him, Zed stiffened. Felix fought the urge to grab his hand. Distractions aside, it probably wasn’t good press for the hero of the galaxy to be gripping the hand of a scruffy engineer.

He nudged Zed’s elbow. “Your adoring fans await.”

“Not so sure about the adoring part. Or the fan part.”

Yeah, the AEF had their expressions set to a polite glower.

Zed started down the ramp and a single uniform broke the AEF front line. Felix recognized him as he stepped forward—General Bradley. Zed’s former CO and the man who’d chased them to Ashushk Prime. He appeared less than happy to be there, which...well, it wasn’t good.

“General.” Zed offered a perfunctory salute.

Without returning the gesture, Bradley said, “Major Anatolius, you are wanted for questioning regarding the terms of your retirement from the Allied Earth Forces.”

* * *

Brennan looks like Dad.

That thought struck Zed hard as he watched his brother stare down General Thomas Bradley. For a second it was as though he’d zipped backward in time, to when his dad’s dark hair was just starting to streak with silver. Seven years Zed’s senior, Brennan wore his late thirties well, with just a few strands of silver at the temples of his dark brown hair and deepened lines at the corner of his eyes that spoke more about his penchant for smiling rather than age. Brennan even dressed like Dad—the serious, strong lines of his dark tunic and trousers might be modern, but they still drew forward memories, so many memories.

There was no grin now, though, and none of the happiness Zed had hoped to find when he’d imagined stepping off the Chaos to be reunited with his family at last. Fury rode Brennan’s shoulders hard, every line of his body rigid.

At least Zed wasn’t the target of it.

He leaned back against the conference table, arms crossed, eyes on the general who used to be his commanding officer. Brennan had arrived just as Bradley had produced his writ, and had herded them into a nearby Anatolius-owned warehouse. The media had been left outside to grumble at the soldiers guarding the door. Brennan’s aides hadn’t entered the room, either; other than the crew of the Chaos and Bradley, only the Anatolius lead counsel was in attendance.

Bradley remained at parade rest, though the tension in his burly frame belied the stress of the situation. For all of them. “Mr. Anatolius—”

Brennan glared. “Stop. Unless you’re going to say this is all a misunderstanding, I don’t want to hear it.”

“We’ve been accommodating, Mr. Anatolius. Don’t push me.”

“Don’t push you? Don’t push you?” Brennan leaned closer, his jaw flexing. “I have just gotten my brother back.”

“I want to question him, that’s all.”

“Question me. Right.” Zed snorted. He’d heard that euphemism before.

Brennan tossed him a glance, then turned his attention back to Bradley. “Like hell you’re going to take him away again because he’s inconvenient to the AEF.”

Bradley stiffened, the implication of Brennan’s words not lost on him. The AEF’s closely guarded secret—that they’d experimented on some soldiers in a desperate measure to match the stin’s prowess on the battlefield—was out. At least among the Anatolius family.

“I told Brennan everything, sir,” Zed confirmed. “About the project, about the stin, about the poison, and what I can do. Also how the AEF abandoned us to go insane and die alone.”

“Damn it, Anatolius—” Bradley clenched his teeth. “That was never something I agreed with.”

Zed let his shoulders rise and fall. “I honestly don’t give a shit.”

“Telling your family...” Bradley sighed. “That alone is enough to get you thrown in the brig. The conditions of your retirement were clear. The specifics of your training were classified higher than top secret and—”

“My loyalty is no longer to the AEF.” It was a vague statement, as he intended—there was no point in telling Bradley about the Guardians, not yet. Maybe not ever. Zed needed to find out more about why the omniscient aliens had saved him and what purpose they wanted him to serve. They’d been adamant that they wanted him to do something, but what it was remained a mystery.

“Clearly.”

“Oh, what the fuck do you expect?” Flick snarled. He stepped forward and Zed uncrossed his arms to grab his lover’s shoulder, halting his progress. “You cut Zed and his teammates loose. The AEF knew they needed help.”

“Again, not my choice.” Bradley leveled his dark eyes on Zed. “So you told your family. The crew of the Chaos as well, I’m assuming. Who else did you tell, Anatolius? What secrets did you share with the ashushk?”

Qek stepped forward to take up position next to Flick. “My people are your allies, General.”

“That doesn’t mean your government wouldn’t use whatever intel Anatolius could provide.”

“I assure you, what humanity can offer us is not ‘intel,’ as you say.” Qek clicked pensively. “Your military and technical knowledge is not sufficient for our needs. It is your people we wish to know. What makes humanity human and different from the ashushk. It is fascinating and wonderful.”

Bradley stared at Qek’s large, unblinking eyes, clearly trying to determine if she was telling the truth.

“We told the ashushk enough to help them treat me,” Zed said quietly. “The knowledge was irrelevant to them, sir, as they had already conducted their own experiments with stin poison. It’s why we went there.”

Qek’s forehead smoothed, a sign she was not pleased with this information being shared, but Zed saw little choice. He had to give Bradley something.

“The Guardians ended their war with the stin shortly after that experiment, just like they did ours. So the details might have been a secret to the ashies, but the fact that we’d messed with the poison was something they already suspected.”

Bradley didn’t say anything for a moment as he absorbed the new information. “And your survival?”

“I don’t know.” It wasn’t a lie—he didn’t know how the Guardians had resurrected him.

“A miracle,” Nessa supplied, her voice quiet.

The Anatolius Industries lawyer stepped forward, his friendly expression making his brown eyes twinkle. He was probably a killer in the courtroom. “Is that enough, General?”

“No. This was a start, but I need—”

“It doesn’t matter how many people you get to bark questions at me, General, my answers are not going to change.” Zed met Bradley’s glare. “I’m here to visit with my family. That’s my priority.”

“Don’t make me arrest you,” Bradley growled.

“Does the AEF want to fight Anatolius Industries?” Zed drew on the skills he’d learned during five years of covert ops combat missions, the ability to keep his face blank and unresponsive. As though it didn’t matter what Bradley said. As though the AEF going head-to-head with Anatolius Industries wasn’t one of Zed’s biggest nightmares. That was one of the reasons he’d held off returning to the fold for so long. The idea that his dad, or Brennan, might try to take action against the AEF had given him cold sweats more than once. A conflict between Anatolius Industries and the AEF would not have a good outcome—for anyone—and he hoped Bradley wouldn’t call his bluff.

But it was leverage he couldn’t ignore, not if it would keep him free and able to continue his search for his teammates. Now that his life was more than just counting the days until the end, he had friends to find. Maybe he could help them. Maybe, despite the Guardians’ insistence that they didn’t need an army of Zanders—just him, just their so-called proof that all of the species in the galaxy were so similar that their essences could be combined in one body successfully—maybe he could convince the Guardians to save his teammates.

It was worth a shot.

Bradley stared at him for a couple of tense moments, his expression dark. If Zed were still a soldier, he’d be expecting a thunderous dressing-down.

“No,” Bradley said, finally. He drew in a breath and focused again on Brennan.

“My brother has done nothing but live, General,” Brennan said, his voice quiet. Zed wondered if anyone else knew how close Brennan was to losing his temper completely. The little bit of yelling earlier? That was nothing. Venting. If—when—Brennan lost his cool, there would be heads rolling. And that might not be metaphorical.

“We have evidence—”

Flick snorted, his opinion of the AEF’s evidence clear. “We all know any evidence you’ve got was pulled out of your ass, so don’t insult us by pretending otherwise.” He waved his gnarled left hand at Zed. “He told us and his family about the project and he’s alive. That’s all he’s done.”

“Lieutenant—”

“I’m not a fucking lieutenant anymore because the AEF kicked me out the door as a thank-you for being a POW.” The general’s eyes narrowed at Flick’s words, but Flick rolled on. “I bought into all this shit before, you know? Mostly ’cause he did,” he said, jerking his head at Zed. “But it sounded good. And the AEF did take care of me...until I was inconvenient. Just like Zed.”

“This is not helping.” Bradley clenched his teeth. “Look, someone leaked information to the media concerning Project Dreamweaver.”

Well, that explained the number of media folk outside. They wanted to report on more than just his apparent return from the dead.

“What information?” the Anatolius lawyer asked sharply. What had Brennan said his name was? Casales?

“Names and ranks of participants.”

“And you can tie this leak to my client?”

“No,” Bradley admitted. No doubt if they could, there wouldn’t be the courtesy of questioning. “But Major Anatolius is one of very few individuals not currently employed by the AEF who have this information and, potentially, a desire to damage the AEF’s reputation.”

“I didn’t leak anything.” Zed pulled his wallet out of his pocket and tossed the slim plastic square at Casales, who caught it gracefully. “Go ahead, have that analyzed. I’ve only communicated with Brennan and my crewmates in the last few weeks.”

Casales tucked the device away and turned back to Bradley. “When did the leak occur?”

“Two days ago.”

The day after Zed had contacted his old friend Marnie, a Military Intelligence operative. It’d been a secure transmission, though—one he didn’t route through his wallet—and no way would Marnie have leaked it.

The lawyer arched a brow. “The link sounds circumstantial at best.”

“It’s enough to bring him in for questioning. I have my orders.”

“You’ve questioned my client and he’s answered. Unless you can bring forward additional evidence to implicate Major Anatolius, I believe we’re done, General.”

Bradley’s jaw flexed. “Done for now, maybe.”

Brennan bristled. “Is that a threat?”

“Just a statement of fact.” Bradley shifted out of parade rest. “My superiors are going to argue that the only solution here is Major Anatolius in my custody.”

“That’s not happening.”

Really not happening. Zed’s fingers found the cuff on his right wrist, the one the Guardians had put on him before depositing him back on the Chaos a few days before. He wasn’t sure what it was, beyond evidence that he hadn’t dreamed the whole being-brought-back-to-life-and-communicating-with-the-galaxy’s-highest-life-forms thing. He might not know what their plan was for him, but he was pretty sure it didn’t include being imprisoned by the AEF.

“I can see that.” Bradley’s form seemed to deflate slightly—never a good thing to see from a general. “But he needs to stay contained.”

Zed scowled. “What am I, a disease?”

Brennan held up a hand, halting Bradley’s rejoinder. “He’ll stay in the Anatolius compound. Sufficient?”

House arrest. Wonderful. Seeing as the alternative was potentially actual arrest, though, he’d take it. Besides, the two buildings in the Anatolius compound—the Damianos building with the offices and the Thessaloniki Tower with the family’s apartments and other condos—had everything he could want. Except, well, freedom.

“I doubt my superiors will think so,” Bradley hedged, then sighed. “But yes, sufficient for me.” He held Zed’s gaze again and Zed remembered the last time his former CO had looked at him that way—on Ashushk Prime, when Zed could no longer remember who he was and was barely cognizant of his surroundings. “Watch your back, Major. I hope your brother’s lawyers can work magic.”

Chapter Two

The last thing Zed expected when they finally got to the family’s penthouse apartment was the giant holographic banner with exploding fireworks framing the text WELCOME HOME, ZANDER!

No, wait. The last thing he’d expected was an apartment full of people. Mom, Dad, his two brothers and their wives, sure. But this was way more than a small family celebration of the fact Zed had cheated death.

Holy shit.

He froze just past the threshold, on the raised foyer above the great room. The party wasn’t nearly as big as some of the events he’d attended in his teen years when he’d been off from school, but still. Who were all these people? And why were they here?

“Mom’s idea,” Brennan murmured in his ear. “Just go with it.”

God, he didn’t want to go with it. He didn’t want to descend into the mob and make nice with strangers. Then he caught sight of his mother racing across the room, her smile wide and her arms wider, her eyes glistening.

Maybe he could put up with it. For a little while.

The hug was hard, a lot stronger than anyone would expect from the petite seventy-something Natasha Anatolius. Her ash-blond hair was just as soft as he remembered, and smelled just the same, too. Vanilla and orange, from her favorite shampoo. His arms wrapped around her tiny form and he ducked his face into the curve of her shoulder.

“Hi, Mom,” he whispered.

Her hands moved over his head and shoulders and back, as if she was reassuring herself that he was actually there. Words he could barely hear poured from her lips, punctuated with sniffles. A moment later, a larger hand landed on his shoulder and he met his father’s stern but strangely soft features. The lines etched into his face were familiar, but deeper than Zed recalled, and an age spot marred one cheekbone.

“Dad,” he managed to choke out.

His father’s embrace was just as tight, just as hard as his mom’s, but with more back slapping. “Good to see you, son,” Alexander said, his voice rough.

“Yeah.” Zed pulled back, smiling, and the exploding banner caught his attention again. “This is...”

“A bit much?” Alexander chuckled as Natasha smacked his arm. “What, honey? I told you not to go overboard.”

“I didn’t,” Natasha said, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s just a few people. You were missed, sweetheart.”

Just a few people. Only thirty or so, all staring at him as he stood on what felt like a pedestal with his parents. But it made his mom happy, so...Zed nudged his grin to grow and found he didn’t have to work too hard at it.

“Mom, Dad, you remember Flick.” Zed tugged his lover forward. He probably shouldn’t have enjoyed it so much when his parents swept Flick up in hugs, too, but he did. Particularly the minor flailing Flick did as he tried to figure out where to put his hands.

Finally, Flick managed to disengage and take a step back. Just a small one, but it was definitely a retreat. His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Hi.”

“So good to see you again, Felix. And to see you and Zed together again. I just...” Natasha’s mouth opened and closed and her hands clenched together. “It’s just wonderful.”

Zed introduced the rest of the crew, who were welcomed with enthusiastic handshakes. His dad even managed a greeting in the ashushk language for Qek—including her full name, Qekelough, pronounced Kek-eh-low—which made Qek click happily and her face wrinkle so much he could barely see her eyes. While his parents were occupied with the Chaos’s pilot, Brennan draped an arm across Zed’s shoulders and pulled him away, toward the side of the room and the banquet table lined up beneath the long window. Zed didn’t even have time to protest before his second brother launched himself at him, hugging him even more fiercely than his father had.

“Goddamn it, Zed.” Maddox’s fingers dug into the back of Zed’s skull as he pressed their foreheads together. “I’m supposed to be the crazy one.” His voice was suspiciously thick and a glance at his brother’s face revealed crimson eyes and nose. Mad had always been a messy crier.

“So Bren told you?”

Brennan looped an arm over Maddox and the three brothers just hung onto each other for a few moments. “Yeah, I told him, and Dad and Mom. Just like you said I should.”

Zed nodded. No more secrets. Thank God. His throat tightened. “Good.”

Maddox squeezed him, then leaned back a little. “So everything with you, it’s...you know?” He waved a hand.

“I’m fine. In a bit of shit with the AEF, but after everything, that seems pretty minor.”

“Yeah, I’m not sure ‘minor’ is the right word for it, but we’ll deal with it. All of us. You’re my brother and...God.” Brennan cleared his throat. “I need a beer.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Maddox said.

Brennan steered them over toward the bar and retrieved beers for each of them. Zed craned his neck over the top of the crowd, trying to pick out Flick’s blond curls. By the time Brennan slapped a cold bottle into his hand, he’d spotted the crew of the Chaos in a corner, Elias speaking animatedly to someone Zed didn’t recognize. Qek’s face was wrinkled and she held her own beer—humans and ashushk couldn’t eat the same food, but beer had turned out to be universal—and Ness laughed at something that was said. Flick held himself a bit separate—a part of the conversation, but not engaged. Their eyes met and Zed smiled. He couldn’t help it, the man was...well, he was everything to him. Friend, lover, partner. His match.

Flick knew that, right?

“There you are!”

Zed jerked his gaze away from Flick to see his mom approaching with someone in tow. A familiar someone. Salt-and-pepper hair and dark-gold skin, with eyes such a deep brown they could’ve been black. Zed had faced those intimidating features across a desk a couple of times—but not more than that. He’d been a good student. “Oh my God...Dean Darzi?”

“Zander! Or should I say Major?” The dean accepted Zed’s extended hand enthusiastically, a wide smile etching creases on either side of his mouth. “It’s been too long.”

“Zander is fine. Wow.” He turned a bemused expression on his mother. “Did you dig up my old tutors, too?”

Natasha made a shushing noise and patted his arm. “They couldn’t make it.”

“When your mother contacted me, I had to be here,” Dean Darzi said. “I’d heard...well, everyone had heard the news. About your death. It was...not an easy thing. Even with so many years passed.” He placed his free hand over their clasped palms. “I had wonderful hopes for you when you graduated Shepard Academy, Zander, and I have to say, I have not been disappointed. At all.”

“Thank you, sir.” Zed managed a strained smile, despite the lump that seemed to have set up permanent residence in his throat. Just as well his brothers had blended into the crowd—he didn’t need them thinking he couldn’t control his emotions. But he understood suddenly why his mother had arranged for a party instead of just a small family gathering. It was one thing to know that family accepted you—they were supposed to, that was their job. While he wouldn’t trade his family’s acceptance for anything, it was a good reminder that it wasn’t only his family who had marked his absence. “It’s great to see you.”

The dean squeezed his hand and let go. “I shan’t keep you.”

“Flick is here too, sir. Felix Ingesson?”

The dean’s face lit up. “You’re still friends with him? How remarkable.”

Mom smiled and gently tugged on the dean’s arm. “I’ll take you over there.”

Zed took a long draft of his beer as they disappeared into the crowd. Talk about a blast from the past. He wondered briefly if he should follow, maybe smooth the interaction for Flick—God knew the man could be prickly as a porcupine at times.

Before he could follow through on that thought, a strong hand grabbed the back of his neck. “Zed!” his father boomed. “Here’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

Zed jerked away, then tried to soften his reaction with a rueful shake of his head. “Damn, Dad, you startled me.” His father didn’t need to know that he hated anyone touching the stin claw scars at the nape of his neck.

“Sorry, son.” Alexander ruffled Zed’s hair, then gestured for the woman with him to come a bit closer. “This is Lise Bellerose, our current head of security for Anatolius Industries.”

“Enchantée,” Zed said, taking her hand. She wore a two-piece suit, much the same as either of his brothers might wear to work—except hers was in off-white and tailored to accentuate athletic curves. The turquoise shirt peeking out from underneath the expensive fabric of the jacket set off her striking golden-blond hair and crystalline blue eyes.

She grinned. “Oh, he’s definitely one of your boys, Alexander.” The slightest lilt in her voice indicated that Standard English was not her first language. “Lovely to meet you at last, Zander.”

“Zed is fine.”

“Zed it is, then.”

Dad beamed. “Lise has been with the company for...how long has it been? Five years?”

“Six,” she corrected him. “I served in the war for two years, then took a medical discharge.”

Zed’s brows rose. “Ground or ship?”

“Ground.” She reached down and lifted her pantleg, revealing a glimpse of a mechanical prosthesis that made up her lower leg. “Luckily, there’s enough work in Sol System to keep a lady busy.”

Damn. Zed had no doubt that the artificial leg nearly made up for the loss of her original limb, but its presence meant that Lise couldn’t travel via jump-space. Cybernetics and j-space travel just didn’t mix. She was lucky that she’d found work in a system that provided pretty much everything anyone could want, negating the need to travel to another.

Someone bumped against his side—Flick, his fingers almost white around the neck of a bottle of beer. “Hi,” he said.

Something loosened inside Zed, something he hadn’t known had been stressed. “Hey. Felix Ingesson, Lise Bellerose. Dad was just introducing us. She served.”

“Oh, yeah?” After a moment’s hesitation, Flick tucked his beer into the crook of his left arm—since his left hand was pretty much useless for holding anything—and held out his right. “Pleasure.”

“Likewise.”

“I thought Zed should get to know who he’ll be working with,” Alexander said.

Zed managed not to choke on his mouthful of beer and instead directed it back into the bottle without sputtering too badly. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I thought you might want something to do over the next few days as we work out this business with the AEF,” his dad said.

Oh. Well. Zed couldn’t really argue that, though he had thought that maybe he and Flick could have some downtime when not working to track down Zed’s former teammates.

“Of course, something longer-term would be welcome as well.” Lise gave him an encouraging smile. “Your father and Brennan have done little but speak of you for the last week.”

Flick stared at his beer bottle for a moment, then upended it into his mouth, swallowing the last quarter in one gulp. When he finished, he burped and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “You want Zed to stay.”

Alexander watched Flick, his smile dimming. “Of course I do. Why wouldn’t I? He can come home, we can get to know him again and he can get to know us. My family...it can be whole again. Do you understand?” he asked softly, ducking his head a little to try to catch Flick’s lowered gaze.

“Yeah. Sure. I get it. I’m gonna get another beer.”

Zed grabbed Flick’s arm before he could step away. “Just—”

Flick tried to jerk his elbow out of Zed’s grasp, but Zed held on and Flick stopped. “I just want a fucking beer,” he growled.

Zed moved in closer. “I’m not deciding anything this minute.”

Green eyes rose to meet his—eyes that should be hazel, but the poison that had changed Zed’s blood chemistry had fucked up how he perceived colors and light and dark. “What decision, Zed? You already have a job.” He slid his arm free and melted into the crowd.

Zed watched him go. He wasn’t surprised Flick was being more prickly than usual—job offer aside, he probably didn’t enjoy the crowd any more than Zed did. He couldn’t really be that annoyed at his father’s proposal, though, could he? The chance to reintegrate with his family, get to know them again, like Dad had said—it wasn’t something he could just ignore. He’d missed them. He’d missed being a part of the Anatolius empire.

But those long years without Flick stretched out in his memory. He’d missed Flick more. Staying on Alpha would mean letting Flick go, because there was no way he’d settle for being a part of this high-society world. No way he’d give up the Chaos and all the hard work he’d put into her.

How could he choose between reclaiming his family and keeping the man he loved more than life itself?

* * *

A family reunion, a job, a solid plan for more than the next few days. Alexander Anatolius had it all planned out. Huffing quietly, Felix folded himself into his corner and watched the Anatolius brothers across the room helping themselves to drinks at an elegant sideboard made of a dark wood that was probably extinct, or farmed from a planet far, far away. At least Alexander hadn’t followed them to this...what did you call a room with books and couches and tables displaying weird objects that were supposed to be art? A library, a den? Nothing like a room full of priceless knickknacks to make him feel his slummy roots.

“Not sure I like that look in Maddox’s eyes,” Elias said.

“Maddox always has that look.” As if he had a secret that no amount of cajoling could convince him to share. He’d invite you to try, sure, confident in his ability to distract and redirect all inquiry until you forgot what you were after. Felix admired that. Being a straight talker himself—okay, blunt, with all the subtlety of a battlecruiser—he had a healthy respect for someone who could bend the truth to his will, and do so without laying waste to hearts and souls.

Felix glanced down at Elias. “But I definitely think he’s plotting something.”

“Should we warn Zed?”

“Nope.”

Elias was reclined on a couch that probably cost about as much as an ashushk star drive. Somehow, Elias managed to own the plush seat, though, the sprawl of his arms and legs indicating long familiarity with comfort. Or maybe it was just nice to sit after enduring the carnival of Zed’s welcome home party. Warning Zed would necessitate moving out from behind the couch. Leaving his shadow. Felix liked his shadow.

He’d never been comfortable with crowds—parties, gatherings, lots of people in one room where dozens of gazes jumped toward and away from the scar that sawed through his left brow, dented his cheek and wrapped around his jaw. The small den was far less crowded. Just him, Elias and the Anatolius brothers, who moved as a group from the bar to the tall windows that commanded a view of space rather than the station below the family tower.

Felix watched the three men until—”Here we go.”

Jerking his wrist, Maddox tipped the contents of his glass over Zed’s head. Felix had seen the intent travel down Maddox’s arm in time to warn Zed, but no one had ever accused him of being a nice guy.

“What the fuck?” Zed shook his head, droplets flaring in a halo around his dark hair.

Brennan batted at the backsplash. “If you’re gonna shake, do it over there.”

“I wouldn’t be wet if Mad hadn’t suddenly gone mad.”

“Suddenly? Did you not grow up with the same guy I did?”

“You were supposed to know what I was planning,” Maddox managed between wheezes of laughter.

Felix battled a smile of his own. The complicated tangle of emotion pinning him to his corner suggested he not be so amused, but...Zed currently resembled a drowned puppy. Overgrown, sure, but wet, spluttering and bewildered.

“Know what you were...what, you think I’m fucking telepathic?”

“Aren’t you?”

“No.” Zed rounded on Brennan. “What exactly have you been telling everyone?”

“Bet Ness is sorry she missed this,” Elias said quietly.

“Heh, yeah,” Felix agreed. “Where is she?” They’d been split into two teams after the party. Boys one direction, girls the other.

“Maddox’s wife—Roz, Haze? One of the wives mentioned something about Alterian mud baths.”

“And we’re sitting here watching the brothers bicker. Solid evening plan.”

Elias squirmed on the couch. “I dunno, man. Mud all up in your—”

“Shift!” Zed gasped out a loud guffaw. “Not shit. Jesus, Bren.”

“I didn’t say shit.” Brennan’s eyes had the gleam now.

Zed patted the air with his hands. “I shift out of phase, not out of shit.” His tongue swept his lips. “But I guess it’s the same thing.”

“Unless you’re shifting into the shit,” Elias tossed in.

“Into the shit.” Maddox snorted softly, sounding more like the simple brother than the smart one.

“Sometimes.” Zed’s struggle to maintain a straight face plucked at Felix’s general ill humor until the ill part began to fade...just in time for Zed to catch his eye and wink, dark lashes obscuring steel-blue for an instant before he disappeared.

“Whoa!” Maddox spun in a tight circle.

Turning a wider arc, Brennan made a careful survey of the den. He missed the ripple by the windows. Earth glittered brightly in the middle of the dark canvas. For a second, the planet wavered. Felix let loose his smile as he recognized the fleeting irregularity as Zed. Zed popped into view by the bar, hand closing around a slender carafe of water, then angled toward Maddox, threat obvious. Maddox wheeled backward. Zed zigged toward Brennan. His oldest brother tried a neat sidestep and ended up with a wet head.

Elias’s laughter rang across the room. As soon as the blur of Zed turned toward him, however, he clapped a hand across his mouth. Felix took a turn at laughing, realizing only after Elias had rolled off the couch that he would be next in Hurricane Zed’s path.

He’d sparred with Zed often enough to know he couldn’t outrun him. Not when he was in the Zone. The AEF’s experimental training had made Zed fast and nearly invulnerable, especially when he phase-shifted. In that state, he could pass through solid objects. But even put back together by the Guardians, all new and improved, Zed couldn’t hold either state indefinitely. He’d have to drop back to human speed shortly, for a breather if nothing else.

Taking that fact into consideration, Felix leaped over the back of the couch, used the cushion to power another jump and managed to clear Elias, who laid sprawled across the floor. He landed with a light thump and immediately dodged left, then right, skirting around Brennan who still spluttered wetly. Had to put as many obstacles in Zed’s path as possible. Make him work for his victory, maybe wear himself out along the way.

An arm caught him about the middle. Felix yelped as he was jerked off his feet. Instinct had his arms and legs flailing out, but the smile remained plastered across his face. He could smell Zed, his sweat, soap and cologne. Combined with the warmth pressed to his back and the slight dizziness from being yanked up and back, he was wrapped in a moment of joy. The thrill in his gut was excitement, not fear. They were playing, they were living. Zed would put him down and return too, without a headache creasing his brow. Then they might do it all again, simply because they could. These moments, he could handle—the light ones, the uncrowded ones, the moments unobscured by the weight of expectation.

A shrill squeal cut through the grumble of laughter and huffed breath. Zed dropped Felix to the ground and patted his back. “Hold still.”

“Huh?”

Why was Zed thumping his back and what the fuck was that noise? Hair rose along the back of Felix’s neck, and the creep continued over his scalp as he tried to identify the sound, placement and purpose. It had the cadence of a warning, an alarm. The pitch high and tight. Zed tugged on his belt and Felix rocked backward. Then the squeal increased in volume, all but drowning out Zed’s muttered curse.

Felix turned in time to see Zed drop something into the carafe of water he still held. About a centimeter of liquid covered the bottom, and the fingernail-sized whatever screamed from the surface until Zed shook the container. Water sloshed over the top, killing the sound and the...

“What is that?”

“A NAIL.” Zed displayed his red fingertips. “I found it tucked into a rip in your belt. It must have overheated.”

Felix’s hands went to his belt, fingers of his right dancing along the length, fingers of his clumsier left hand bumping uselessly against his hip. “My belt?” A hollow opened in his gut. All the ill returned to his humor with a sick thud. Of course it was his job to ruin the party.

“Bren, you had better alert security. We need to scan everyone who was on the docks this afternoon. And every room we’ve been in since. Shit, the party...”

Brennan already had his wallet out. “What are we scanning for? What’s a NAIL?”

Felix closed his eyes. His stomach now swirled around the hollow in his middle. Not only had he ruined the party, he’d brought along an interloper. NAIL stood for Non Ambient Intermittent Listening Device.

Zed answered his brother’s question more simply. “It’s a bug.”

Chapter Three

Large letters unfolded across the tinted windows that now formed a holoscreen: BACK FROM THE DEAD! The projection flashed, switching from an overhead view of the crowd waiting on the docks outside the Chaos to a close-up of Zed emerging from the cargo bay. General Bradley separated from the line of AEF to deliver his statement and then everything got a lot more animated, lines blurring as the crowd swelled out and around, held back only by the AEF.

“Ironic, that,” Elias muttered.

“Hmm?”

Elias gestured at the holo. “That the bastards who came to mess with Zed ended up having to protect him from the mob until you arrived.”

Grunting, Brennan turned back to the screen, eyes flicking to and fro as he traced Fixer’s path from ship to warehouse. “There.” He pointed and the holo froze.

“That’s Nessa right behind him,” Elias pointed out.

“No, back up...just before Dr. O’Brien moves up.”

The projection flashed again before resetting to Brennan’s instruction.

Rather than watch their afternoon play out one more time, Elias glanced over at Fixer—who looked so far from capable of fixing anything right now, he should consider changing his nickname. Of course, it had been a long day. Probably the longest in Elias’s memory. They’d run the gamut of AEF and press at the docks, negotiated a parole for Zed as tenuous as the treaty between humanity and the stin, and hobnobbed with the notable in the Anatolius apartments. Then the smaller party in the den. Elias had nearly fallen asleep listening to Zed catch up with his brothers. Only Fixer’s fractious presence behind the couch had kept him awake. Now they were dealing with crisis number...Elias had lost count.

At least he’d been allowed to reclaim his couch, the portion of it not occupied by Brennan. Fixer had tucked himself back into the corner behind it.

He tipped his head back. “You doing okay?”

Fix treated him to a quick glare. “Same as last time you asked.”

So...still fine, even though he obviously wasn’t. Finding a bug in his belt had rattled him, but Fixer had been tense since they’d docked. For a day or so beforehand, too. Hell, Fix had been tense for the past couple of months. Having an ex wander back into your life could do that, particularly when that ex had been, still was, the one. Add in having to watch Zed’s health deteriorate until health had been an extremely relative term, and it was a wonder Fix hadn’t cracked—except he had, on Ashushk Prime, after watching Zed fail to respond to treatment, major organs packing up and closing shop right before his eyes. Fixer had cracked and fallen into his own hole. He’d managed to pick himself back up and kept walking, but his steps were faltering. Other than simply be there for his friend, though, Elias didn’t know what else to do. Some folks didn’t know how to ask for help...and knew less how to accept it.

The couch dipped and recovered as Brennan abruptly stood, finger still outstretched. “Stop. Can we magnify this image any more?” Already the pixels were blurry, Fixer only distinct because of his cap of blond curls.

Muttering, Zed fiddled with a console, and the image zoomed in further. Fixer became a piece of abstract art, as did the shadow pressed up close behind him.

“Send it to the lab and have it enhanced.”

“Here.” Lise Bellerose thrust an open wallet toward Zed. “Transmit the screen cap to this address.”

“Have we accounted for everyone at the party?” Alexander Anatolius asked.

He’d arrived on the heels of his head of security. In the intervening hour, everyone in the den had been scanned and cleared. Reports drifted in periodically, clearing almost everyone else who’d either been aboard the Chaos, in the warehouse at the docks, or at the party. Rooms had been sniffed, security holos examined and every fart scrutinized for decibel range. Elias expected to be asked about the contents of his stomach next.

“All but two guests have been contacted and cleared,” Lise answered. “I have a team out to the last address and expect to hear back at any moment.”

“Okay, with containment nearly complete, we need to talk about what the bug might have recorded.”

“I have a partial list of everyone who has been within ten meters of Mr. Ingesson since he left the Chaos.”

If possible, Fix pushed farther into his corner. He looked as if he wished it would swallow him. Poor bastard. Elias got up, rounded the back of the couch and halted as Fix held up his crooked left hand. “Don’t want to get too close.”

“You’re not contagious.” Ignoring the hand, Elias sidled up to him and stood as close as he dared.

Fix lifted his chin toward the knot of dark heads leaning over the desk where Alexander held court. “Tell that to them.”

“The bug could have been on any of us.”

“But it wasn’t.”

Eyeing the empty beer bottle clutched in Fixer’s other hand, Elias decided to change the subject. “Get you something?”

Fix studied the bottle with weird intensity for a moment before handing it across. “Just water.”

Zed joined the small party behind the couch. “I’ve got Lise’s list here.” He offered an open wallet with a display hovering above it. “Can you remember what you talked about with each of these people?”

Elias excused himself to get Fix’s drink. When he got back, Fix had the wallet in his right hand. Elias was mildly surprised he hadn’t broken it or tossed it. Then again, despite his temper and warped sense of humor, Fix wasn’t a bad guy.

“At the party, no,” he was saying.

“Not even with Ness, or Qek?” Zed asked.

“Because I talk about you all the time?”

Zed rocked back on his heels a little.

“We talked about the decorations, and the view.” Elias gestured toward the windows and winced as he remembered they’d been converted to holoscreens. No more blue marble in the sky. “We talked about Earth. Qek had a whole list of idioms for us to translate.”

One corner of Fixer’s mouth twitched. The opposite corner of Zed’s might have reciprocated. Elias pressed the flexible water bottle into Fixer’s hand.

“What about after?” Alexander asked, his voice filling the small room. “Lise said two of you had wet heads when she arrived?”

Brennan and Zed glanced at Maddox, who blushed and dipped his chin.

“Horsing around. We were joking about Zed’s...um, abilities.”

“And you called them by name?”

Damn it, they had.

“Yep,” Zed said with a sigh.

Fix seemed to get smaller, thinner.

Brennan pushed away from the desk and started to pace. “Zed’s already told the AEF that he told us. This isn’t—”

“This is proof that he’s broken the terms of his release.” Alexander leveled a stern glare at Zed. “Before, they had speculation and circumstantial evidence. Now...”

“If this was a bug planted by them. It could be the media.” Elias shrugged as everyone turned to him. “What? I’m just saying.” And everyone was reacting poorly. Should have kept his mouth shut. “That shadow up behind Fix in the holo wasn’t wearing a uniform.”

“Either way,” Alexander said, “we need a strategy. Short—and long-term.”

“Right.” Brennan stopped his pacing and pulled out a wallet. There were now roughly twelve holo displays flickering around the room. “Short-term, I’m thinking a press conference. Start the swing of public opinion to our side.”

“I don’t really—”

“It’s a start,” Alexander agreed, talking over Zed’s protest. “We’ll keep the details of this Project Dreamweaver out of it, too. Demonstrate to the AEF that we’re not interested in blowing up humanity’s secrets.”

Unhealthy color suffused Zed’s cheeks. “Wait. Just wait a second.”

“That would be a show of good faith, while also keeping Zed in the public eye.” Brennan nodded thoughtfully. “I can have one set up for tomorrow.”

“So, that’s it? I don’t get a say in whether I want to do a press conference?”

Alexander lowered a serious gaze upon his youngest son. “Do you eventually want to step foot outside of these buildings again?”

“Of course, I—”

“Then you’ll do a press conference.” Alexander turned back to Brennan. “That’s short-term. Set it up. Long-term?”

“Long-term...” Brennan glanced at Zed, his expression almost...apologetic? “Long-term, he needs to have an appearance of stability.”

“Agreed. Stability will go a long way toward scaring off anyone who wants to find dirt. We can put him in a position here on Alpha—”

“Whoa. Stop.” Zed stepped forward, his hands up in the classic timeout gesture. “I have a job.”

And a project of his own. Dreamweaver wasn’t concluded. There were still soldiers out there who needed their help, futile as it might prove to be.

“Yes.” Alexander shot a glance over Zed’s shoulder at Elias. “But you have to admit, it’s not as respectable as working for Anatolius Industries.”

Excuse me?

“It’s honest work!”

“I’m not saying it’s not, son. But how it looks—”

“I don’t care how it looks.”

“And that’s what’s going to sink this case.”

Elias chanced a quick glance at Fix, just in case he had to pin him to the wall. If Fix was taking offense at Alexander’s insinuation, he might be plotting random accidents.

Or not.

Fixer looked as if Zed had borrowed what little color he had left. He was pale and lank, kinda like the wall behind him. His expression—

Zed threw his hands in the air. “So, you want me to agree to work for the family for appearances?”

“I’m not talking about agreeing with it. I’m talking about what’s best.” In comparison to his son, Alexander appeared calm and collected. He made everyone else’s display of emotion seem extreme. “And not just in the context of this case the AEF is leveling against you. For us, too. Come home, Zed. I’m not saying it has to be forever, just...come home. Stay home, let us all get to know you again.”

Zed’s hands fluttered downward. He stopped pacing competitively with Brennan and stared at his father, then the floor. Elias gazed at the warm, coffee-colored wood, almost expecting to see another holo. Reflections of the windows flitted across the buffed surface in ghostly patterns.

“You know what’s best,” Alexander prompted.

“Yeah,” Zed said, obviously not watching Fixer as he strode toward the door. “Okay, press conference tomorrow. I’ll see you guys then.”

Elias didn’t want to look at Fix again, but with Zed squaring off with the security personnel camped by the door, alone...Shit. He glanced over and wished he hadn’t. Fixer had gone into lockdown. Or had tried to. Features stiff, he purposely didn’t meet a single gaze as he pushed away from the wall, set his bottle on the edge of a table with extreme care and followed Zed toward the door. Elias had worked every day of the past five years with this man, however. He caught the tremble at the ends of his fingers and the agitation in his step. In the instant before Fix had wrestled his expression into blankness, he’d seen the lost look in his eyes.

* * *

Come home, Zed. Just...come home. Stay home.

Alexander Anatolius had managed to say the word home three times in the space of a breath last night, each mention a punch to the gut. Felix didn’t have a home—the stin had destroyed it. Pontus Station was being rebuilt, or so he’d heard. But the shipyards were gone. Turned into a debris field, a scrapyard, every piece of junk a possible tomb.

Felix studied the man sitting cross-legged on the balcony of their guest apartment. Below, the width and breadth of Alpha Dome spread before them, a city in the sky. Crescents glinting in a lopsided circle against the backdrop of reflected blue indicated the presence of other domes. Felix almost felt as if he were sitting on top of a world, and it surprised him that Zed had chosen to meditate so far above the ground.

The early light made Zed’s skin glow but didn’t quite hide the small hollows beneath his closed eyes. Neither of them had slept well. Felix, because the bed had been strange. Too wide, too soft. He hadn’t been able to hear the hum of the Chaos’s star drive, smell the tang of waste gas. He’d lain there debating the merits of popping a sleeping pill on top of the several beers he’d consumed. Zed had been restless too, probably because Felix had been twitchy. Or maybe he’d had stuff on his mind. Yeah, that’d have been it. Stuff. Being home, wanting to be home, needing...to be home?

Maybe they should have talked.

They definitely should have had sex.

Felix studied Zed’s handsome face again. Man, he was still when he meditated. No one should be that still, ever, but especially not Zed. It also bothered Felix to be shut out so completely. He felt he didn’t exist when Zed closed his eyes and drifted away, or into himself or wherever he went.

The shit of it was, Felix wanted to be happy for Zed—for his health, and the fact that he had a home to return to, a family that loved him, wanted him. Somewhere deep inside, under the ball of rage that served as his core, the endless anger that sustained him, kept him going through the motions of life, Felix was happy. Or he’d thought he was.

Zed’s death had nearly been the end of him. Watching him die had been worse than finding the names of his family on the roster of the dead from Pontus Station. He’d expected to find those names. Gabriel Ingesson. Jai Ingesson. Lyl Ingesson. His father, mother and sister. Stupidly, he hadn’t expected Zed to die. He’d...damn it, he’d hoped. Even though the galaxy had kicked him in the ass more times than he could count, he’d hoped.

Zed’s posture shifted subtly, signaling his return from wherever.

“Where do you go when you do that?” Flick asked.

Zed opened his eyes. He lifted a finger to tap his temple. “In here.”

“You always were a thinky bastard.” Felix slouched further into his lounge chair and pulled at his softly wrinkled SFT. Zed’s shirt appeared just pressed. He never wore anything so old the smart fiber failed at the most basic tasks.

“I’ve kind of figured out that I need to give myself time for it, though.” Zed pushed to his feet and reached his hands overhead to stretch. Felix sent an admiring glance over his long torso, grateful now for the smooth lines of his shirt and shorts. He could see every muscle. Zed caught him watching and smiled. “Thanks for not interrupting.”

“I’ve thought about it, you know. You sit there, so still, and it kind of reminds me of...” He looked out over the balcony’s railing, his throat working.

Zed knelt beside the lounge and laid a hand on his knee. “That’s not going to happen again. I’m just thinking when I meditate. I turn off the outside world and concentrate on the inside one, but I’m still here. All you need to do is touch me, or say my name, and I’ll be there, I’ll come back. I’m in control of it.”

“I know. I mean, I get it, I know what meditation is, I just...I’ve got lots of new shitty memories that I haven’t shoved into a box yet.”

Zed’s fingers swept across his knee. “You can talk to me, you know.”

“I’m good.”

A crooked grin pulled up one corner of Zed’s mouth. “Better than good.”

“Damn straight.” Better than admitting he could feel an ever-lengthening crack splitting him down the middle.

Forcing a smile, Felix leaned forward to press a kiss to Zed’s lips, one that deepened quickly. He hadn’t meant it to, but their connection pulled him in, inflaming a desire that never abated. One of Zed’s big hands cupped the back of his head, weaving into his still-too-short curls as their tongues met and danced, the intimate caress sending electricity through every nerve ending. Zed smelled of soap and sleep, warm skin and male musk. Felix wanted to fall into his embrace and never leave.

“God, I love you,” Zed whispered as he pulled back for a breath.

The words pulsed in Felix’s chest. He couldn’t find the courage to do more than hum in return, though. He never could and the shame of that burned his cheeks. Sometimes he wondered if the rage he carried inside was simply fear.

Their noses brushed, side-by-side, and Felix slid his cheek over Zed’s to feel the scratch of morning stubble, seeking sensation to cover his thoughts.

Zed pulled away with obvious reluctance. “I should get ready. I’ve got a meeting with Bren.”

Last night landed between them. Stomach flipping, Felix leaned back. “Okay.”

“Want to come with?”

“No.”

“I could use your support.”

“You’d be the only one.”

“Flick...”

Pushing to his feet, Felix stepped past Zed. He heard Zed shifting behind him, no doubt rising as well. A heavy hand caught his shoulder. “We should have talked last night. I’m sorry.”

Felix shrugged the hand off, or attempted to. Apparently expecting the gesture, Zed’s fingers tightened, his grip just short of painful.

“‘S okay. Nothing to say, really.”

“Bullshit. You were quiet before we found the NAIL.”

“Tired. It was a long day.” Felix tried to pull away and only succeeded in turning himself around to face Zed. Or maybe Zed had twitched a little finger or something. “Wouldn’t want to say something that might be used against your case.”

“We’ve swept the building. And you. It’s...not that. Something else is bothering you. Talk to me.”

“You need to go plan stuff. With your family.” Felix’s heart jerked. The fact of Zed, standing next to him, alive and warm, messed with his sense of everything. He should be happy. Damn it, why wasn’t he happy?

Zed’s fingers trailed down his arm to caress the back of his hand. “Felix...”

“Do you want to stay here?”

“Here, on Alpha?”

“It’s home, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” The knot at the front of Zed’s throat bobbed the way it did when he fought emotion. Felix restrained the urge to reach for it, to trace a fingertip along the line of Zed’s neck, seeking the one patch of stubble he’d miss with the depil cream as if he could mark it for later. “I’m not going to stay forever, though.”

“Tell that to your dad.”

“Is that what this is about?”

“What’s this?”

“Don’t be obtuse.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“You’re upset.”

“Maybe because I carried an enemy agent into the Ivory Tower and I feel shitty about it.”

Zed attempted to tug him closer. Felix resisted.

“No one blames you.”

Felix twisted away, yanking his hands out of Zed’s. “I know.” The bug could have been on anyone. But the turn of the wheel of fate almost guaranteed it would be him, because he was the piece that didn’t belong. He dug in his right pocket and found his vial of sedatives. The ones that chased dreams away and kept the nightmares at a low simmer. Did dealing with Zed’s family count as a nightmare? “You should go get ready.”

“Come shower with me.”

Arms wrapped around him from behind, a hard body quickly followed, pressing into him so that he felt covered. Trapped.

“Maybe Elias and I should head off tomorrow. Next day. Meet up with Mar—”

Zed squeezed him, cutting off his words. “Stay. You could stay. My family is your family. My home is yours.” He loosened his hold and encouraged Felix to turn. Damn him—he knew if they were face to face, Felix would have to capitulate. He could only avoid the pull of Zed’s eyes, the lure of his mouth, for so long. “I still need you,” Zed murmured.

And damn him for reminding Felix of the promise he’d given not a week earlier—that he’d stay by Zed’s side as long as needed. So many promises lay broken between them. “I don’t belong here, Zed. This isn’t my home.”

“What about me? I owe them more than a minute. More than a couple of days.”

Felix studied the quiet appeal in Zed’s expression and read clearly the need in his eyes. Promises or not, Zed hadn’t been lying when he said he still needed him. God, if he could just cut the rest of the world away. Exist in a bubble that held only him and Zed, life would be perfect. No bullshit, no commitments, no interruptions. But life didn’t work that way. And even in that bubble, Zed would still wear the Guardians’ cuff. If he didn’t owe his family this time, he still owed the mysterious keepers of the galaxy.

Felix hooked a finger inside the waistband of Zed’s pants. “Let’s go have that shower.” He could give in to that request. It wasn’t much, but it was something he could give. Zed could take the memory of his mouth into his meeting. Of his skin. He slipped his hand inside the soft material, grabbed a hold of Zed’s hardening cock and tugged. “C’mon. You’re going to need some soap by the time I’m finished with you.”

Zed made an odd noise in his throat.

Chapter Four

Felix missed the smell of reprocessed air. He preferred the flat scent of metal and old dust to the weird breezes piped into Anatolius spaces. Every room had a theme. The guest quarters were redolent with vanilla and clean linen. Brennan’s den had smelled of paper. That might have been all the books—real books. The sky bridge arcing between the family building and the Anatolius Industries headquarters smelled like coconut. Reflected sunlight warmed the glassed-in corridor, making the scent almost appropriate, especially if you imagined that the abstract etchings floating along the top of each pane were palm fronds. Of course, a quick glance down destroyed any beachcombing illusions.

“From this vantage point, Alpha Station resembles an Earth city.” Qek’s bald blue head swiveled back and forth as she took full advantage of the same view Felix had taken in that morning, of the five interlocked domes housing what would be skyscrapers if there had been an actual sky to scrape.

“Yeah, I heard it was modeled after New Athens on Earth.” Elias glanced over his shoulder at Zed. “That right?”

“On a smaller scale,” Zed said.

He’d had been quiet since returning from his meeting with Brennan. In contrast, Felix felt noisier. Recrimination had a habit of echoing in a man’s thoughts.

Zed made a careful study of the patterns in the glass and the view up: the panels that formed the dome over this section of Alpha Station. Beyond, space unfolded in an endless carpet, pricked by distant stars. Squinting, you could make out the tail end of the jump queue. Turning, you might catch a glimpse of Earth rising behind them—and the rest of the station domes. The view Qek marveled over. Zed wouldn’t turn. Nor would he look down.

His fear of heights had always struck Felix as strange. They spent the bulk of their lives suspended in a vacuum with no up or down. Fear of falling was one of the first things anyone who ventured into space had to overcome.

He hadn’t exhibited his fear on the sky bridges of Ashushk Prime, which only went to show how far gone he’d been when they got there.

Yeah, no, time to think about something else. “Don’t look down,” Felix whispered.

“Ass.”

“You know it, but I’m here. If you fall, I’m coming with you.” He grabbed Zed’s arm.

“Not helping.”

“If they tweaked the gravity differential up here, we could float—”

Zed gagged.

Nessa turned, medical wallet already in her hand. “Are you okay? You’re so pale.”

“Can we just get to the end of the sky bridge before you examine me?”

“What’s the problem?” Elias stopped and their small group formed a huddle in the middle of the narrow bridge.

Sweat popped out across Zed’s forehead. “Can we keep moving, please?”

Guilt slithered across Felix’s skin, cool and clammy. Yanking on Zed’s hand, he pulled him toward the other end of the sky walk. “C’mon. We don’t want to be late for the press conference.”

Zed blanched further. Add another emotion to the mix: Felix might be a heel for taking comfort in the fact Zed loathed the idea of a press conference as much as he did, but if they needed some common ground, that could be it. Zed shouldn’t be a managed expectation for the Anatolius family or the AEF.

They reached the end of the sky bridge and Zed practically sagged into the upper lobby of the Anatolius Industries headquarters.

“Mr. Anatolius?”

The dry, crisp voice belonged to a young woman in a security uniform that had been starched to razor sharpness. A man could cut his fingers on those seams, which might be her intent. Zed gave the woman a cursory glance and tilted his head, indicating she should state her business. He usually handled people with more warmth, but Felix supposed her sharp creases got to him, too. They’d both had enough of military precision to last them a lifetime.

“I’m Misha Volk. With Anatolius Security. Your brother Brennan asked me to escort you to the press conference.”

They needed an escort to the ground floor?

Zed dipped his chin in one of those casual but commanding nods. “I know how to operate a lift tube, Ms. Volk.”

“The press has been alerted to your arrival.”

“That’s usually how a press conference works,” Felix observed.

Volk produced a wallet. “Those not invited to the conference. They’re gathered in the main lobby of the building.”

“So, shouldn’t you be there directing traffic?” Elias asked.

“Anatolius Security is working to contain the situation. In the meantime, I have been directed to escort you to the conference using a more discreet route.”

Zed knew every inch of the family buildings, he didn’t need a guide. Rather than state that, however, he chose the path of least resistance. “Lead on then.”

They fell in behind the security officer. From the back, she appeared just as starched, and her presence resurrected the specter of a future Felix had been trying to ignore all morning. Press conferences and AEF hound dogs. Zed’s place in the family dynasty. Felix’s lack of place.

Bypassing the main lift station, they followed a corridor toward the opposite side of the building. This level served as a concourse of a sort, a way station between the upper management offices and the business below. A square housed a small café, and the corridor was lined with conference and meeting rooms. The aroma of coffee and chocolate wafted past. Felix wondered what thoughts such scents were supposed to inspire. Everyone they passed seemed to be busy. Walking in conference, walking with eyes pointed toward a holo display, walking with brisk, purposeful strides. No one roused his suspicion. All on the move, all doing what they should be doing by all appearances. Their escort appeared far from relaxed, however. Her back ramrod straight, shoulders square, she marched down one avenue after another as if leading them into battle.

Shit, I hope not.

Why did he feel as if they were being directed toward something, rather than away from something? Because he was a paranoid fucker, most likely. Still, Felix didn’t discount the creep over the back of his scalp. He’d rather be wrong than dead.

They turned into a proper access corridor. There were two doors toward the end. The fine hairs along the back of Felix’s neck rose as they passed each. The corridor spilled into a small vestibule housing one lift tube. Volk waved them into the waiting car. The doors closed with a sudden and abrupt hiss, leaving a startled Volk outside.

“That’s one way to get rid of her.”

Zed smacked the open door button and the lift plummeted, shooting their stomachs up into their diaphragms.

Nessa turned wide brown eyes toward them. “Where are we going?”

“Down, by the feel of it.”

“Except none of us actually pressed a button.” A lift that engaged without input was either malfunctioning—or it had been tampered with. Shit. The panel inside the doors flashed numbers, without indicating a destination.

“Try the emergency stop,” Felix said.

“I’m hitting it now,” Nessa yelled.

The car continued downward, the numbers on the display ticking past at an ever-increasing rate.

Shit and double shit.

Felix woke his bracelet. He had no station-specific hacks, but he did have a broad diagnostic tool. Elias added his expertise by banging on the sides of the car. “Hey!”

Qek approached the panel and produced her wallet, her thoughts apparently in sync with Felix’s. “Do you have a diagnostic running?”

“Yep,” Felix muttered, fingers dancing over a holographic keyboard. Beside him, Zed breathed quietly and methodically and then shimmered. Could he do anything out of phase? Maybe halt the progress of the car? It wouldn’t be the first time his capabilities had saved them.

They had seconds before the car crumpled against the end of the lift tube, or crashed through and into the endless black of space. Felix called up a schematic to see if he could determine the most likely instance of death, figuring he could backward engineer their escape.

Zed bounced off the side of the car, vanished and reappeared, clutching at his hand. He swore gently under his breath and said, “We’re moving too fast.”

“Did you just try to...” Nessa grabbed at his hand. He had no skin left on his palm.

Triple shit.

“Do not stick any part of yourself outside this car again,” Felix yelled.

“I’ve alerted station security,” Qek put in.

“I think I’m into lift control,” Felix said. Every code input met with a flashing red denial of access. “Damn it. I need my hacks.” His new bracelet came with only the most legal and therefore useless programs.

They were nearly out of lift tube. Felix thought it prudent to keep that fact to himself until he considered the consequences of all of them smashing together on the floor. If they didn’t die on impact, they’d be a mess of broken bones and punctured organs. Jesus. Abandoning his attempt to prevent the crash, Felix flung himself at Zed.

“We need to brace for impact.”

Zed grunted as Felix wrapped his arms around him. Felix appreciated the absurdity of his gesture. He could never cushion someone of Zed’s size, bulk, weight. But he could try, couldn’t he? He could damned well try. Zed shifted out of phase again, and Felix felt himself rise up off the floor. He might have yelped. He did bite his tongue. Nessa rose past him, bright red hair streaming out in divergent corkscrews. Qek shot up between them. Elias bounded off the wall behind. For a frozen instant, Felix wondered if they’d missed the end of the tube and entered space, if they’d left gravity behind. Then the shock of impact rolled through the car, slamming past his ears, followed by the screech and groan of twisting and stressed metal. Felix bounced up a second time and then down. He landed hard. Instinct had him tucking his limbs close. Close by he heard something snap with a loud pop. Qek smacked into his chest, driving the breath from his lungs. A dark arm glanced off his nose. Bright lights and happy stars danced across his vision, then the pain hit.

Pain was good. Pain meant he was alive.

A chorus of groans and a snuffled breath cut through a swell of misery that radiated out from his right shoulder. Felix spat out a mouthful of blood, heedless of where the clot landed, and croaked, “Shit.”

“That comment feels rather adequate to our situation,” Qek said, lifting her head from Felix’s chest. He’d managed to wrap an arm around her.

Someone hissed.

“Eli?”

A striplight dangled from the ceiling, flickering. The doors had bowed inward and one of them was well on the way to being folded in half. The scent of burnt electronics filled the small cabin.

“Here,” Elias answered, confirming he was alive and could speak.

“Zed?” Felix tried to turn over, and a jolt of pain coiled around his shoulder. Groaning, he slapped around beside him with his left hand. He smacked something soft.

“Watch my eye,” Nessa said.

“I’m down here,” Zed said, shifting beneath Felix.

“Can you stand, Qek?”

“Yes.”

The ashushk slid off of him and then helped Felix roll off Zed, who groaned and blinked. Beneath him, the floor had taken on a crumpled appearance. Felix leaned over him and tried to do something other than flail. His shoulder screamed every time he thought of it, anyway.

“Are you okay?” he whispered.

“Gimme a minute,” Zed said, squinting.

Nessa managed a kneeling position. Felix glanced at her and took note of her stunned expression.

“How are we even alive?” she said.

“I hurt so bad I’d almost rather be dead,” Elias said from his slump near the wall.

“I expected to be more broken,” Felix said. He turned back to Zed. “Tell me you’re not broken.” His tone had an edge of desperation to it.

“Not broken,” Zed whispered hoarsely.

“You juggled us, yes?” Qek said.

“Juggled?” Felix glanced at Qek for an explanation.

“I surmise Zander employed a quick succession of phase-shifts in order to keep us all suspended at the moment of impact.”

Felix’s jaw creaked as his mouth dropped open. “Holy shit.”

“Oh my God,” Nessa breathed.

“Fuck.” Elias scrubbed the side of his face. “Fuck.”

“Did it work?” Zed asked.

“Only if you tell me you’re really okay down there,” Felix said, narrowing his eyes at him.

Zed hooked an arm around Felix’s good shoulder and pulled him down. “I’m only kind of okay. If you snuggled me, I’d be a whole lot better.”

Felix smacked Zed across the chest and Zed stifled a hiss. “Okay, okay. No smacking. I might have broken something in there.”

“Better not be your spine.”

“Nope, I can still feel my dick.”

“Thanks for sharing that, man,” Elias said.

Putting a hand to her mouth, Nessa swallowed a chuckle and then dug her wallet out of her pocket. A second later, she gave her report. “Three cracked ribs.”

A once-over of the rest of the crew added strained ligaments (Nessa), a broken wrist (Elias), a dislocated shoulder (Felix), an emerging collection of bruises, and two bitten tongues. Zed still lacked skin on the palm of his right hand. It looked disgusting.

“I have never bitten my own tongue before.” Qek caught the tip of her purple tongue between her long fingers in an attempt to examine it visually.

“First time for everything,” Felix said.

* * *

The corridor outside the wrecked lift crawled with people of all sorts. Techs, security, men and women in suits, all trying to figure out what the hell had gone wrong. Zed slumped against the wall a few meters away, watching Brennan pace while growling at someone suspended in a holo above his wallet. His chest ached, his hand stung, and his head pounded, but it could have been worse. So much worse.

Med techs hovered over each member of the Chaos crew. None of the injuries were serious enough to warrant a visit to a hospital—just as well. If the accident wasn’t an accident and security in Anatolius buildings was compromised, there was no telling what a trek to an emergency room would entail.

Brennan stabbed a finger into the holo interface of his wallet and spun on his heel to face Zed. “This is such a fucking nightmare. You sure you’re okay?” His expression softened as he approached.

Zed held up his uninjured hand and waggled it from side to side. “Been better.”

Been worse, too. The cracked ribs would be nothing but a slightly sore memory by tomorrow, once the Mendo shot kicked in. Assuming it still worked right with his fucked-up metabolism. Elias was getting a shot of the stuff too—plus a temporary cast to keep his wrist immobile and prevent further damage before the bone could set. He’d be able to remove it by the morning. Zed’s wounded palm was protected by a derm patch, which would regenerate the skin. His experience with derm patches was not pleasant—they itched like hell—but at least he’d have a brand new palm in a handful of days.

Har har.

God, he was exhausted. He sighed, wincing as the motion jarred his tender ribs. “So what happened?”

Brennan scrubbed a hand through the hair at the top of his head, tugging slightly. “Software malfunction. Some line of code got corrupted and—”

“Bullshit,” Flick spat, shifting beside Zed to face Brennan. He cradled his arm to his side. “Station code doesn’t get corrupted on its own. There are fail-safes and redundancies built in to make sure shit like this doesn’t happen. Same with ships. Fuck, even the Chaos has redundancies out the wazoo.”

“The Chaos once had such redundancies,” Qek corrected. “I believe you overrode most of them to increase responsiveness of the engine systems.”

Flick waved a hand. “Yeah, because it’s my ship and I know which redundancies are stupid. No one’s going to do the same to a station, especially not an Anatolius station. You guys have so many rules and regulations, checklists to follow, forms to fill out in triplicate. It’s a pain in the ass but it pays well, which is why your techs aren’t screaming every time they have to do maintenance.”

Zed raised a brow.

“What? I briefly—very briefly—thought about station work before I realized your family would probably end up hating me when I tried to ‘fix’ things that they didn’t figure were broken.”

“Mistakes happen, though,” Brennan said, folding his arms. “The corruption obviously occurred during the last maintenance and took until now to trigger.”

“Just as we step into the lift?” Elias snorted. “I mean, our luck is bad, but it’s not that bad. And what happened to Ms. Volk?”

“Who?” Brennan asked.

“The security officer you assigned to us.”

“I didn’t...” Brennan brought up a display on his wallet. “Describe her.”

Brennan soon established that neither Anatolius Industries, nor their security division, employed a Misha Volk.

Zed eyed his crew. “So, who do you figure she was with?”

“Agrius?” Elias sounded almost hopeful and Zed understood why. The Agrius cartel was a known element. An easy answer. Fighting a private war with them had sucked, but at least it was familiar.

Qek clicked in thought. “It does not fit. There is no financial gain for them to attack us now that we have agreed to their terms. They do not operate in Sol system and this is not one of the stations we were requested to avoid.”

Elias sighed. “Yeah, I know.”

“AEF?” Flick suggested softly.

Zed opened his mouth but the no never emerged. He wanted to believe the military wouldn’t stoop to such measures. But wanting to believe it and actually believing it were two separate things. He couldn’t see Bradley agreeing to this sort of action, but the AEF? Yeah, he’d discovered just how inhumane they could be.

Still...attempted murder...

“Give Marnie and Ryan a call,” he said. If anyone could find out if the AEF wanted to cross them out, their old Academy friends in Military Intelligence could.

“So you guys just have an ongoing list of people who might want to kill you, huh?” Brennan shook his head. “Christ.”

“In all fairness, the Agrius cartel no longer wishes to kill us,” Qek said.

They spent another ten minutes going over their latest jobs, but nothing stood out. There’d been no threats, and none of their cargo had been dangerous or even remotely questionable. Since they’d left Ashie Prime—without Zed—the Chaos hadn’t taken on much, and certainly nothing risky.

“Could it be that we’re going at this from the wrong angle?” Nessa said.

“How so?” Zed asked.

“Maybe it’s not what you are—sorry,” she added with a grimace. “But who.”

Elias nodded. “Anatolius.”

Zed turned to his brother. “Do you or Dad have a ‘who wants to kill me’ list?”

“No,” Brennan said with a half chuckle, before sobering. “Not that I know of, anyway. And even if we did, why would they go after you? You’re not connected to the company, and of all of us, you’re the most likely to survive anything thrown at you. O war hero.”

Zed closed his eyes and leaned against Flick. “Whatever. Can I be done thinking now?”

“You okay?” Flick asked, his voice low with worry.

“Tired.” Then, because he’d promised himself to be truthful with Flick, he admitted, “I’ve got a headache, too.”

Flick stiffened. “How bad?”

Zed opened his eyes again and sought out Flick’s hand. “It’s not bad. Just enough to be annoying and make me more tired, that’s all. Promise,” he added, bringing Flick’s knuckles to his lips for a kiss. “Can we get an escort back to our quarters, Bren?”

Flick grimaced. “The Chaos—”

“The Chaos might be compromised,” Zed said. “Since the malfunction wasn’t a malfunction, I mean. Messing with the Chaos would be simple for someone who’d figured out how to fuck with Anatolius systems.”

Brennan pulled out his wallet again. “Good point. I’ll get some people on it.”

“Thorough sweep. Only your most trusted, okay? Eli, can you send Bren the command codes?”

“Should I salute you, too?”

Zed shot his captain an apologetic smile. “Sorry.”

“Nah, you’re the security officer. You can call the shots here.” Elias struggled to work his wallet with his immobilized hand until Nessa leaned over and held it for him. “Done.”

Brennan’s wallet pinged. “Got it. Oh...shit.”

What now? Zed barely bit back a groan.

“There’s footage. How they got it, I don’t know, but it’s all over the networks. Crap, you’re flickering in and out—we might be able to play it off as lighting, maybe—” His brother blew out a breath. “Look, Zed...you’re not going to be able to avoid the attention this incident is going to garner. You need to manage it.”

Manage it. Deny, deny, deny. It had been a long time since he’d had to deal with the fame of being an Anatolius. He hoped managing it was sort of like driving—a skill that never left you once you learned it. But...”Not today.”

“I can work with that. You up for rescheduling the press conference for tomorrow?”

No. Hell no. Never would be better.

“Sure,” he said, lips twisting into a parody of a smile. “That would be just peachy.”

Chapter Five

Felix jerked upright, breath caught in his throat. Clutching the blanket, he waited for his muscles to relax, aware of the painful irony of his tense fingers. His head spun and his gut rolled. Blanket fibers twitched beneath his grip. Fixing his gaze, he worked to pull his fingers free. Pain lanced through his shoulder, forcing more breath the wrong direction—out instead of in. The lazy whirl of shadows picked up speed, sending the galaxy into a quick tumble. Felix let go of the blanket and gasped for air.

The nightmare continued to tease the corners of his mind, but he was awake and aware now. Control of his body slowly returned. Without glancing at Zed—he could sleep through a hull breach now that he’d left the AEF and covert ops behind—Felix pushed aside the blankets and slipped out of the bed. Slack footsteps pulled him across the room where he caught his reflection in the darkened windows.

Nope, not doing that.

He paced back again. Then forward, then back. A phantom itch crawled across his skin, similar to the ache in his shoulder, but needier. The scrape of stin claws across his memory could only be silenced in two ways—sleeping pills and activity. He watched Zed sleep for a while, then chose activity. He craved the scent of compressed drive matter, dried oil particles, dust and tank water.

Fifteen minutes later, Felix reclined into a shadow on the concourse outside the docks. He had pressed Brennan for a report after arriving at their quarters. A team could scope his ship, sure. But he needed to follow up afterward, make sure they hadn’t scuffed the Chaos’s shiny bits. Or reinstalled safety protocols he had disabled—for everyone’s safety.

He waited for the security to move farther down the docks before approaching his ship, not wanting to bother with the hassle of producing his credentials and/or having some obsequious asswipe wake the Anatolius family at oh-five-hundred hours. After waiting another minute, Felix paced quickly across the docks, ducked through a loading bay and sprinted to his ship. The Chaos bobbed against her mooring, looking all neglected and forlorn, shiny bits sandblasted by numerous trips through j-space, hull pocked with small incidence scars. She resembled a misshapen crab, with no legs. Her maneuvering thrusters were bulbous rather than sleek and her nose was blunt.

The tail end of the ship, visible from this angle only as a wide flare of dirty ceramix plates, was more impressive. Any engineer worth his grease could tell the make of the drive just from the flare. A closer inspection of the exhaust housing—with retractable fuel scoops—would narrow the model. The Chaos might be ugly, but she carried an ashushk star drive, meaning she could outfly just about any other hauler in the dock. She would lose a race to the end of the system, but she could thread the eye of the needle in jump-space.

A shadow flickered by the ass-end of the ship, catching Felix’s eye. Reaching for the stunner at his belt, he leaned into the side of the Chaos and advanced down the scuffed ceramix skin. He ducked under the starboard thruster array and crawled forward on his hands and knees, shoulder protesting every movement. The joint had been popped back in, but his whole arm still ached. Half a person—shoulder and one arm, a hip and leg—edged around the flare. Felix raised his stunner. A head followed and Felix pressed down on the trigger and watched, stupefied, as his target rolled beneath the short arc of electricity.

From any distance, a stunner was a fairly useless weapon. It could be jiggered to deliver a good sting, but worked best when in contact with someone you wanted to stun. That someone was now in his face and still rolling, taking him backward so that his only weapon flew out of his hand. A short cry jolted out of his throat. Fingers pressed his mouth closed, and a small, sharp face appeared over his, features obscured by shadow.

“Shh.”

Fatigue and panic were not comfortable fellows. The pain in his shoulder distracted him enough that he couldn’t gain any sort of purchase on the slim figure atop him, or the ground beneath. Add in that he hated to be pinned—and several accompanying memories—and his best recourse seemed to be making as much noise as possible. The hand pressed across his mouth dampened his yells.

Felix tried rolling side to side, hoping to gather enough momentum to throw his opponent. It was a woman—or a fucking slim man. Felix had a second to wonder if it was the mysterious Misha Volk come to finish him off before he realized his captor was speaking to him, her words all but lost beneath his grunts and muffled curses.

“For fuck’s sake, Flick, stop.”

How did she know his nickname—the old one, the one from school?

Felix stopped struggling, telling himself that he was gathering energy for his next escape attempt from the smallest person to ever have taken him down. “Who are you?”

“It’s Marnie.”

His pretend stop became a real stop as disbelief locked him down. “Marnie?” He’d just called her that afternoon...

“Are you okay?”

“No, I’m not okay.” He pushed at the legs trapping his hips. “Can you get off me?” His fingers were trembling. He hoped his voice was steady.

“Oh, right, sorry.”

She eased off of him and stood, her movements as graceful as Zed’s might have been. Ignoring the hand she extended back toward him, Felix rolled onto his side and swore as pain slammed into his shoulder.

“Did I hurt you?’

“What do you think? Why the fuck did you have to take me down so hard?”

“You shot at me.” Though he still couldn’t make out her face, he could hear wry humor in her tone.

“Yeah, well, what are you doing skulking around my ship?”

“Same as you, I suspect.”

Felix shook his head, setting it to ringing. “How did you get here? I thought you were on the Cambridge?”

“Not exactly.” She cocked her head toward the ship hovering over them. “Can we go inside?”

Felix used the side of the Chaos to pull himself up, fingers slipping on the ceramix plates until he caught a seam. Marnie stood quietly by. She hadn’t offered him a hand this time, probably knowing he’d reject it. Either way, he felt...exposed. Uncomfortable and irritated. Resisting the urge to roll his sore shoulder, he limped to the auxiliary access and keyed in his passcode. The hatch opened on the dim interior of Cargo Two. Felix ducked inside, Marnie on his heels.

He had his hand raised to the panel that would access the rest of the ship, when it slid open to reveal a backlit figure holding a laser carbine. Felix grabbed Marnie and ducked to the side. She met the wall with a startled yelp...and started laughing.

What the ever loving fuck?

He glanced over at their assailant. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Qek’s eyes rounded. “I detected activity on the external sensors.”

“And so you thought you’d grab the biggest gun in the weapon locker and confront the intruders yourself?”

“Yes. Had I not recognized you and Mrs. Scott, I would still have had the advantage.” The ashushk hefted the large rifle.

Felix didn’t want to think about the number of things that might have gone wrong with Qek’s plan. Someone hiding beside the hatch, someone with a shoot first, ask questions later attitude, someone...Yeah, no, he wasn’t going to think about it. Huffing out a choked breath, he hauled himself to his feet for the second time that night. Or was it the third? And it wasn’t night anymore, was it, and—

“How do you know Marnie?”

“Qekelough and I have exchanged a number of messages over the last year or so.” Marnie smiled at the little blue alien with the big black gun. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“The feeling is mutual. I have enjoyed our exchange of code, and I look forward to the opportunity to discuss theory with you.”

Enough light spilled in from the corridor that Felix could see Marnie properly. She looked about the same as she had the last time he’d seen her, some ten years ago when he’d toured the Military Intelligence drift Cambridge. Civilian drifts cruised in slow arcs from somewhere to somewhere else. Military drifts were stations with thrusters. The Cambridge was in a class of its own. Cybernetics and bio-implants broke in j-space, but they were still the fastest way of interfacing with the vast Mil-Int computers. So the military confined its jacked-in operatives to a drift ship. Having that much brain power in one location made Military Intelligence a logical target, therefore the Cambridge was more maneuverable than most drifts, and equipped with the latest advances in defensive technology. And that was just in engineering. The technology the Intelligence officers got to play with was mostly science fiction. Felix hadn’t been invited to tour those decks.

Marnie was studying him in return. “Jesus, Flick, you look rough.”

She looked anything but rough. About five centimeters shorter than Felix, she was slender and lithe—and they were two different things entirely when it came to Marnie. Beneath her skin, she would be lean muscle. She still wore her black hair cut sensibly short, bangs forming a severe line over dark brows and almond-shaped chocolate-colored eyes. She wore neat but unremarkable business attire. Her dark gray suit didn’t scream success, which would allow her to slip under the radar of station thugs. But to Felix’s practiced eye, her clothing was specially fitted to her needs. The good cut allowed quick and decisive action, and the material would be durable and quite possibly chemical-proof. She might even have a personal shield.

She strode soundlessly toward him, her economy of movement reminding Felix of her skillset. He braced for impact—she’d already decked him outside the Chaos and he had a feeling he wouldn’t enjoy this next assault any better. He stiffened as her arms snaked around him.

“Hugging you is like hugging a post.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t ask for a hug and we’ve already been uncomfortably intimate in the last five minutes.”

“Prickly as ever too.”

Grunting, Felix extracted himself from her embrace. “Okay, okay.” Then he saw the chalk-marks alongside the door panel. A quick glance into the corridor outside the cargo bay showed several more. “What the fuck!” He pushed through the open hatch. “They marked up our ship, Qek.”

No matter that many of the marks covered a pattern of greasy old thumbprints, gouges and grooves. Those were theirs, not some Anatolius interloper’s.

“The numbers coincide with the report,” Qek pointed out, lowering the laser carbine with a practiced ease that shouldn’t worry him so much, and pulling a wallet out of a utility pocket.

“Don’t care.” Felix reached over to the closest mark and smudged it. “My ship.”

“You received the security report, yes?”

“Yeah.” Felix tapped his left wrist, activating his bracelet. He swiped at the display, selecting one of six active screens to magnify. “It all looked good...” Except for the highlighted paragraph at the end where the Anatolius team mechanic had recommended sixteen systems for safety evaluations. Fuckwit. “But I didn’t like the reading they took from the d-quadrant coil.”

“I noted that too. I have just checked the exhaust release from the same quadrant. I also scanned the reports of our last three diagnostics. The numbers have been slightly off each time, with an incremental increase.”

“So it’s not a variable shift, then, but an imminent fault.”

“That would be my conclusion.”

Nodding, Felix called up the system schematic for the quadrant in question and enlarged the coil. His shoulder protested every swipe. Marnie peeked over his arm, reminding him of her presence. “I suppose you came all this way to go over the security report with us?”

“In a way, yes. I might comment that you could use a comm upgrade. And some decent shields.”

“Are you dissing my boat?”

“Merely pointing out that if we wish to use the Chaos to collect the remaining members of Project Dreamweaver, we might want to consider outfitting her better for the job.”

Grumbling, Felix turned back to his display and traced a line to the fault, through it and on to the next system. He tapped the projection, the tip of his finger poking through the emitted light. “We’ll need to check this junction as well.”

“I concur.”

Felix pulled his display out of Marnie’s reach. Marnie’s presence meant he was unlikely to get to that work this very moment, though, which irked. He needed to tinker, damn it. He craved the solace of fixing shit, making things work. He pushed the fingers of his good hand through his hair and growled as pain burned through his shoulder and down his arm.

“Are you well, Fixer? Does Zander know you are here?”

Were those two queries related?

“‘M fine and he’s sleeping.” He shot a pointed glance at Marnie. “I suppose you had better tell me why you’re really here.”

She smiled. “Since you asked, I’ve managed to track down a former member of Zed’s team.”

A member of Project Dreamweaver? Felix had begun to think Zed might be the only one left.

“No shit.” A weird pinch worked at his gut. Deactivating his wallet, he pointed back toward the auxiliary hatch. “We better wake the others. Ready to sneak past the AEF cordon around the Crystal Palace?”

“You’re funny, Flick.”

Right, Marnie was Military Intelligence. She could probably chart her own course though j-space.

* * *

Raised voices trickled through the closed door. Zed paused, recognizing one of them as Flick’s. After he’d gotten the call about an hour ago that Marnie was on Alpha and they needed to have a crew meeting, he’d thought Flick would enjoy some time to spend with his hack-swapping buddy. In retrospect, the fact that Qek, not Flick, had called him should’ve clued him in.

“Sounds like a party,” Elias said.

“A Fixer-style one.” Nessa offered a delicate smile.

With a small sigh, Zed activated the door and it slid into the wall with a whisper. In the middle of the small reception room, Flick and Marnie stood nose to nose. Tension snapped between them. Before Zed could take more than a step forward, Marnie rocked back on her heels, dropping a few centimeters of height. Flick mirrored her movement, leaning away from the interrupted confrontation. Whatever they’d been fighting about, it had been intense—Zed could see it in the rigidity of Flick’s movements as he turned to face the tall windows present in every apartment of the Thessaloniki Tower.

A wide smile broke across Marnie’s face as she made short work of the distance between her and the door. She pulled Zed down into a tight hug and he wrapped her up with equal intensity.

“Zed, so good to see you.”

“Likewise,” Zed wheezed. Well, Marnie hadn’t changed at all. That small frame packed a big metaphorical—and occasionally literal—punch. He partially detangled himself, leaving an arm around her as he turned to introduce her to the rest of the group. “Marnie Scott, meet Elias Idowu and Nessa O’Brien. I believe you met Qek earlier this morning.” Zed’s gaze lifted over Marnie’s head toward the man standing stubbornly apart from the group.

By the time a round of polite handshakes and murmurs had been exchanged, Flick had drifted over to dangle in their periphery, hands shoved in his pockets, chin pointed down. Whatever he and Marnie had been arguing about clearly still had his hackles up. He flinched as Zed moved close to him. What the hell? Zed took a step back, hand raised in an “I’m not touching you” gesture, and tried not to take that flinch personally. Flick was just riled up, that was all. Uncomfortable on Alpha after the lift tube incident. Or maybe he thought Zed would jar his sore shoulder.

Instead of pushing Flick, Zed turned to the long table and sat in one of the eight chairs. Might as well get this meeting rolling. Sprawling in one of the couches facing each other in a different part of the reception room would have been more comfortable, but this get-together wasn’t for fun. They had serious things to discuss, if the expression on Marnie’s face was any indication. Qek, Ness and Elias sat across from Zed. Marnie sat at the head of the table. He was a little surprised when Flick sat beside him, but didn’t comment. He also said nothing when Flick’s knee bumped his gently.

Good enough.

Marnie tapped a bracelet similar to the one Flick wore and then expanded the small display that appeared overtop. “All roads lead to Project Dreamweaver, so we’ll start there.” Her fingers flicked and a chorus of soft beeps and chimes echoed around the table. “I’ve just sent you all a list of names.”

Flick glanced at his display, grief pinching his brow. Zed opened his own wallet to examine the list, headed Project Dreamweaver. It contained ten names, six of which were marked through with a black line, including the first: Major Zander Anatolius. Their recently deceased friend Captain Emma Katze was third.

God, Emma. Would he ever see her name and not feel guilty?

“You’re not dead,” Flick whispered. His hand sought out Zed’s under the table.

“No, he’s not,” Marnie said. “Thank all the stars.”

Zed reread the list, frowning. In the version he’d sent Marnie via secure jazer, he’d left off his name and Emma’s. Seemed pointless to include Emma’s, in particular—they’d already tracked her down and failed to get her out of the trouble she’d found herself in. “This isn’t the list I sent you when we asked for your help. Where did you get this?”

“Ryan found it when he was looking into the lift tube incident.” Ryan Scott, Marnie’s husband, was the other half of her team. Marnie was the field agent and Ryan was the jacked-in operative, bio-implants tethering him to the military drift ship Cambridge. “It was connected to a reporter named Juston Dell, who published a series of conspiracy theories around the time of Zed’s death, meaning he might have had this list at least a month. His stories mention Emma Katze in passing, and though he could have sourced her name from Zed’s time at Shepard Academy, or specialist training, the fact he linked her to Zed feels like more than a coincidence.” Marnie tapped the top of her display. “And check out the file header.”

The list appeared to be the page of a larger report, perhaps an interdepartmental memo. Source and destination codes were missing but Zed recognized the military format easily.

“Are you suggesting the AEF is the source of the leak?” Zed said.

“Ultimately, they have to be, regardless of the source.”

Dreamweaver was an AEF project, after all.

Zed straightened. “Do you have anything more on Juston Dell? Anything I can forward to Anatolius Legal?”

“They’re probably already aware of him. He’s been stalking your family since the memorial service, probing inelegantly at every opportunity, looking for information regarding your death. Decorated war hero, retired and suddenly dead. You were already a story. Then you showed up, alive.”

“He probably knows he’s being watched, then.”

“On both sides.”

“Perhaps Juston Dell considered Zander dead a better story, if he wanted impetus for his conspiracy theory,” Qek said.

Flick’s brows jumped upward. “You think this Dell could have planned the lift tube accident?”

Marnie brushed a knuckle over one of the displays. “Possibly. But I’m not sure he meant to kill Zed. He’s definitely a better story alive. Maybe he simply wanted to flush him out of the family compound. Possibly expose his capabilities?”

“Fucker,” Flick growled. “He must have some wild ideas about the project if he thought we might survive that!”

“We did survive it,” Zed reminded him.

“What about Misha Volk?” Elias asked.

“Ryan found nothing on her. I don’t know if she was working directly with Dell or for someone else.”

Zed leaned forward. “So who’s the enemy here?”

Marnie eyed her display. “Dell’s an annoyance but he’s not the real threat. Someone else is following up on this. Someone other than Dell has this list.”

“How do you know?”

“I know three of the people listed here. Zed, Emma—” Marnie nodded toward the display “—and Captain Dieter Sorge.”

The second name on the Project Dreamweaver list not blacked out.

Dieter. He was still alive? “Dieter was my second in command,” Zed said. “You know him?”

Marnie grimaced. “When you gave me his name...It shouldn’t have come as a shock. I lost touch with Dieter two years ago. God, Zed, I wish you’d come to me earlier. Before Ashushk Prime.” She held up a hand. “I know. I’m AEF, I’m Military Intelligence and, technically, I shouldn’t have known anything about Project Dreamweaver.”

“But you did.”

“Dieter was Mil-Int before he was recruited away. I knew he was involved in something experimental, but he wouldn’t give me details, not even a project name. Then he just disappeared. You were already gone, Emma too. And trying to keep tabs on Flick...” A small smile eased a little of the tension on her face.

Flick had the grace to look embarrassed. “I told Zed we should have contacted you, when he first...when we knew he needed help.”

Marnie arched a brow at Zed. “And you said that enough people knew too much already, right?”

He nodded. That had been the subject of more than a few discussions when his mental capacity had started to deteriorate. Fearing for the safety of his friends and family, Zed had fought against the idea of exposing details of the project.

Nessa broke a short but broody silence. “Is Dieter the one you found?”

“Yes. As soon as Zed gave me his list, I pinged all the old addresses I had for Dieter. I’d been doing that on and off over the last couple of years. Yesterday I got an answer. He’s in trouble. He didn’t say much, but I got scrambled location coordinates and a warning. He used a code we developed years ago to pass private messages back and forth in Mil-Int. The AEF had eyes on him—but he ducked them before his last jump. Now he’s out of unhooked credits and stranded on Petrel Station.”

Elias leaned forward, his fingers flying over his wallet, and Zed saw screens related to the station Marnie had mentioned. “Petrel’s not the nicest station out there, but it’s a few steps above the worst. Good place to hide without being too dangerous. Short-term, anyway.”

Zed sucked in a tight breath. “We...fuck. We need to go pick him up.”

“You have to stay here,” Marnie said. “The existence of Juston Dell isn’t going to be enough to put off an order for your arrest if we piss off the AEF, especially if the leak originally came from inside the ranks.”

“What does that mean?” Elias asked.

Marnie leaned back in her seat, her brown eyes warm with sympathy. She’d always been as good at showing her feelings as hiding them, and knowing just the right situations for either. “Given this list, the crossed-out names...it feels like someone in the AEF wants to tie up some loose ends.”

“The participants in Project Dreamweaver aren’t dying fast enough,” Flick put in, sounding bleak.

Nessa huffed. “So why not just kill Zed? Why play games?”

“He’s an Anatolius,” Elias said.

“In addition, he has returned from the grave once, already, which undoubtedly threw a snapper into the works.”

“Spanner, Qek,” Ness corrected.

Zed cleared his throat. “Uh, sitting right here.” Even the hand squeeze from Flick under the table couldn’t quite dissolve the discomfort of hearing his crew wonder why someone hadn’t tried to kill him.

“How are we going to conduct this pickup?” Qek asked.

Marnie pulled up yet another display. “I’ve entered a job into SkipNet and assigned the Chaos’s registration to it.”

Elias’s wallet pinged. “You did what? How do you even—”

“She’s Mil-Int, Eli, leave it at that.” Flick’s smile didn’t reach his eyes and Zed had a feeling they were tiptoeing toward the argument Flick and Marnie had been having before everyone else had arrived.

“Isn’t it going to seem weird if we leave Alpha so shortly after we arrived?”

Marnie gave Elias a tight smile. “Not if Zed and Flick stay here.”

Right. That explained the fight earlier. And why Flick’s ears were turning red now.

“Look, I know the timing sucks, but you asked me for help on this project and I’m in, one hundred percent. Even if we weren’t going after another of my friends, I’d be in. Between this crew, myself and Ryan, I believe we can save a few lives. At least, I hope we can.” She tapped the holographic list. “These men and women have sacrificed too much already.”

Flick started sorting through the displays hovering over his bracelet, his movements jagged. “When do you leave?”

He wasn’t going to argue?

“I’d like to leave tomorrow. A day there, a day back. Maybe having a second member of the project here when the AEF comes calling for Zed will slow them down.”

Zed’s gaze moved from Marnie to Flick as he identified the unpleasant feeling in his gut. A gross-feeling ball of jealousy, envy and not a little amount of resentment. “I’m supposed to be the one helping everyone out,” he muttered.

“You were on a team. You’re still part of a team. You know how it works,” Marnie said. “You won’t be benched forever.”

Maybe not, but that reassurance didn’t help. It stung.

“Tomorrow, then.” Elias lifted his chin toward Flick. “Last I heard the Chaos had been grounded pending sixteen safety protocol violations.”

“Fuckers.” Flick prodded his bracelet again, grumbling, then met Elias’s gaze. “I’ll have her ready to depart at oh-nine-hundred, Captain.”

Departing. Without him and Flick.

A trickle of premonition shivered through Zed, and he didn’t know if he was more worried about the Chaos being out in the black without them—or him and Flick being left behind on Alpha.

Chapter Six

Staring out at the media assembled in the conference room, Zed discovered that while he might have inherited his father’s eyes, his hair and a variation on his first name, he had not inherited Alexander Anatolius’s easy way with a crowd. He’d been in front of media before—when he was a kid, it had been an infrequent part of his life, but still a part of it. It hadn’t been a part of his job when he’d been in the AEF, though. He hadn’t been required to speak to the folks who translated the events of the war into snippets and bytes that the public could understand. His contribution to any media gathering usually stopped and ended at a charming smile and maybe a quick comment.

Not today. Today he was the main attraction. The hot story. He couldn’t dwell in the shadows, as he had after the footage of his Project Dreamweaver team saving the civilians had leaked. No, despite fatigue from the early morning crew meeting, despite feeling more than a little lost at the idea that his ship had to abandon him here on Alpha, he had to face the questions head-on, manage them.

How the fuck did he do that?

Deny, deny, deny.

Zed barely tracked Brennan’s opening statement, the words all blending together until his older brother waved a hand at him. His cue. The crowd erupted into a cacophony of questions even before he stepped forward. Unbidden and a bit frantic, Zed’s fingers sought out Flick’s, and he squeezed hard before approaching the podium.

“Uh...” Zed grimaced as the amplification field caught his voice and carried it across the gathered members of the press. They quieted immediately, but it reminded Zed of how a storm could drop into a lull before surging forward again. He cleared his throat, then winced as the sound reverberated over the crowd. “Sorry. It’s been a lot of years since I’ve had to stand up at one of these.” A smattering of chuckles rose up from the group and he gave them a quick smile. “So...I feel as if I should make a quip about the reports of my death being exaggerated, but they weren’t.”

He took a breath, his gaze roaming over the sea of faces and wallets pointed at him, no doubt recording his every word. The moment of truth—or, well, half-truth.

“About a month ago, I reacted poorly to a medical treatment. My body shut down, my organ function ceased, and I was declared dead. As is standard procedure in most hospitals, my body was put into stasis at the time of death. Over the next two weeks, doctors worked at determining why I reacted the way I did and how to counteract it. Thankfully, they narrowed it down, brought me out of stasis and mitigated the reaction I’d had. There was a miscommunication between the hospital and my family, which resulted in the news of my death being announced prematurely.”

Zed paused, and a reporter took that opportunity to speak up. “What sort of medical treatment?” she asked.

“I fought in the Human-Stin War for eight years, in various capacities,” he said, his voice low but still loud enough that the amplification field caught it. “Like any soldier, I saw horrible things, I...I did some horrible things, and I did not handle the end of the war well.”

“Meaning?” The reporter gestured, encouraging him to expand on the statement.

“I was ill—mentally ill—and I required medication.” It wasn’t a lie. He knew himself well enough to realize that without the complications of the poison in his veins, he still would have had a battle returning to civilian life. Something else the Guardians helped him to fix. “I sought treatment on Ashushk Prime.”

“Why not with the AEF?” a reporter shouted.

Because they didn’t give a fuck. “I felt it best to distance myself from the Allied Earth Forces.”

Another reporter thrust a hand in the air, then launched into her question before anyone else could ask one. “What about the rumors that you were forced out of the AEF, Major Anatolius? Any truth to those? If so, why did it happen?”

“The circumstances of my retirement are public knowledge. My specialized team was identified by the Guardians as being the equivalent of a weapon, and therefore we were required to disband and retire.”

As though his answers opened a floodgate, the questions started coming more quickly from all quarters. Faces blended together and Zed no longer cared about keeping track of who asked what. It didn’t matter.

“Is that what caused your mental illness?”

“No. The war in general was enough for that to happen.”

“Sources say that you’ve been put under house arrest here on Alpha Station, Major. That you’ve broken the terms of your retirement?”

“No comment.”

“Are you in contact with the other members of your squad, Major?”

“No.”

“What about Emma Katze? There were reports that you arrived on Chloris Station shortly after the murder of ten station security officers, allegedly by Captain Katze, and she was found dead not too long after. Do you know anything about that?”

Shit, what could he say? That he’d failed her in just about every way a commanding officer and friend could fail? He’d tried to help, but it had been too little, too late. “No. Emma...no. Emma was sick, too, and she—”

“Do you know anything about Project Dreamweaver, Major?”

Fuck. Zed narrowed his eyes at the man who’d asked that question. Short in stature, reedy, he looked just like Zed had imagined annoying, weaselly Juston Dell would look like. Who else would be asking about the project? “No.”

God, he wanted to run off the stage, but there was no way he could. That couldn’t be his last question, and it couldn’t be seen as the reason for a rushed escape. The whole point of this exercise was to be visible and show the AEF that he wasn’t interested in blowing their secrets all over the galaxy. That was all the more important with the Chaos planning a rescue mission. He didn’t want his crew at risk because the AEF thought they might be a threat.

“Funny, because my source says both you and Captain Katze participated in that project. Is that why you were sick?”

“Never heard of it,” Zed said, hoping the tension in his jaw wasn’t picked up by the vids.

Dell wasn’t ready to let it go, however, his lips curving in a predatory smile. “What about the lift malfunction yesterday? Is it true that someone is trying to kill you, Major?”

“No.” Zed met Dell’s gaze without flinching. Yeah, we figured out your plan, asshole.

“Can you explain why it appears you flicker in and out of view on the footage?”

“I haven’t seen it,” Zed lied. Brennan had shared it after they’d been cleared by the medical staff. Thankfully, the recording was less than clear, with the vibrations from the lift tube’s excessive speed. “One more question.”

Hands shot skyward and Zed picked a reporter who hadn’t spat questions at him yet, a short woman with dark gold skin and thick-rimmed glasses. The glasses were enough to make her stand out—most people who had vision issues opted for laser correction—but the spiky brown hair with flame-red tips ensured no one could miss her in a crowd.

She took a calmer approach than the other reporters thus far. Instead of madly throwing a question at Zed, she smiled. “Tanis Nejem, AllSpace Alliance News. How are you feeling, Major?”

Zed let out a breath. Some of the tautness in his shoulders drained away, but he refused to allow himself to slump. “I’m happy to be alive, Ms. Nejem, and thankful for the efforts of the ashushk, and for my family and crew’s patience and support. Thank you for asking.”

Brennan stepped forward and Zed fell back, gratefully giving up the spotlight. “Thank you all for your time,” Brennan said. “Additional questions may be ferried through the usual Anatolius Industries channels.”

Zed turned to see his dad already walking out of the conference room beside Flick, his head bowed as they shared a few words. Flick’s gait was stiff—whether from what Dad was saying or the fact that there was a mob of people at their backs, Zed didn’t know. He hoped like hell it wasn’t the former.

Before he could reach his dad, Brennan slapped a hand on his shoulder. “You’re out of practice, man.”

If he had his way, he wouldn’t have to get into practice. “Contact her if we have to do the media thing again. Tanis Nejem.”

“Uh...why? She’s a nobody, from a nowhere network.”

“Because I wasn’t just a story to her. Or, at least, she made me feel like I wasn’t. Same difference.” Zed nodded at his dad and Flick as Flick’s stance seemed to get even tighter. “What’s up with that?”

“Dad’s probably just catching up with Flick.” Brennan’s tone sounded artificially light.

“He’d better not be—”

Flick jerked away from Alexander. Zed darted forward. “Dad, what the hell—”

“Going for a walk,” Flick announced, turning away from the group.

“Wait, I’ll come with.”

“You can’t, remember?”

“Shit. Flick—”

“‘S okay.” Flick shoved his hands into his pockets, striding down the hall without a backward glance.

Zed turned on his father. “What the hell did you say?”

To his credit, Alexander didn’t try to brush off Zed’s ire. “I said that you being here is a chance that Felix himself didn’t have with his family.”

“Jesus Christ, Dad. Why not just pull out a fucking whip and have done with it?”

“Language.” Alexander’s expression softened as he took in the sight of Flick’s retreating form. “I didn’t intend to hurt him. I was just trying to get him to empathize.”

“He knows, all right? He gets it.” Sort of. Mostly. It didn’t mean Flick was okay with him staying on Alpha, though—even if the plan was for it to be temporary, and even if Flick was going to stay for the time being. “He just needs to know he has a place here too.”

Dad seemed stunned. “He does. Of course he does.”

“Well, then maybe you should have made sure he knew that, eh?” Zed’s urge to roll his eyes was mitigated by the genuine distress he spotted in his father’s expression. Alexander was a good man—he just sometimes forgot that not everyone thought the way he did.

“C’mon,” Brennan said, grabbing Zed’s elbow. “Let Flick go on his walk. I’ve got something else to occupy you.”

Zed groaned. “Please say you didn’t set up a private press interview or some shit like that.”

“You’ll like this, I promise.”

Given the gap between him and his family, Zed wasn’t so sure. But his only other choice would be to retreat to the borrowed apartment and sulk as he waited for Flick to return—not the most appealing option. “All right. Lead on.”

* * *

Twenty minutes into his walk, Felix realized his mistake. Walking usually meant thinking, which was why he preferred to tinker when he had time on his hands. If he wanted exercise, he had his kick bag. Walking didn’t require as much effort or concentration. It left his mind free to wander.

Only a fool wouldn’t guess what Alexander Anatolius wanted. What Felix couldn’t decide was whether he was part of the package or not. He didn’t know how long Zed planned to stay on Alpha, but had the feeling the longer Zed lived within arm’s reach of his family, the more unsuitable Felix would seem as a partner. If he hadn’t figured that out already.

Would admitting that he loved Zed, out loud, within earshot, make a difference?

Grumbling quietly, the sound tickling his throat, Felix turned into an alleyway and leaned headfirst into a wall. Alpha Station buzzed around him, the susurrus of life support and gravity generators not quite as comforting as the hum of the Chaos in motion.

It seemed that for most of his life he’d lived in fear of Zed leaving him, or bobbed in the well of grief that followed. He didn’t know how to halt the cycle—how to lay claim to what he wanted or how to give up and walk away. Felix rolled his head back and forth on the smooth plasmix wall. He thought about pulling his head back and smacking it forward. Thought about actions more dire. Then he stepped out of the alley and turned back toward the Damianos Building.

Inside the lobby, Felix smoothed his hands down his pants, rubbing as the smart fiber tickled his sweaty palms. He plucked at his serviceable and plain SFT. Unlike Zed’s wardrobe, Felix’s shirts weren’t fashionable. The smart fibers in his shirts didn’t add a silky sheen. They merely wicked away nervous sweat and gathered around grease stains in a concert of confusion. This shirt was clean, though. He’d put it on for the press conference. Felix thought about trying to arrange his hair next. Should he tame it, poke the nascent curls down against his scalp? He wondered if he should see about having the scar on his face looked at. They could repair just about any defect, give him a whole new face if he wanted it. Felix had the idea he wouldn’t recognize himself without his scars, though. For better or worse, he wouldn’t be the same man.

“For better or worse.” Shit.

Felix sauntered toward the bank of lift tubes, silently wishing there was another way to gain the upper floors of the buildings. The receptionist—a human female; no automatons or holos for Anatolius Industries—called out as he passed her desk.

“Mr. Ingesson?”

He eyed the security milling about the vast lobby, glanced back at her. “That’s me.”

“Mr. Anatolius left a message for you.”

Shit, which one?

His thought must have been apparent because she smiled. “Zander is in the gymnasium. He asked that you meet him there.”

Weird, but better than being escorted to Alexander Anatolius’s office for another speech on how valuable Zed was to his family—or being thrown out on his ear.

“Okay. And the gym is...”

“Behind the elevators, past the Garden Café.”

“Thanks.”

The gymnasium was a large, multi-roomed facility set aside for the enjoyment of Anatolius employees and the training of their security corps. Felix found Zed in session with the latter. Men and women clothed in identical workout gear ringed a square of floor where two opponents faced off—one uniformed, one divested of the nice shirt he’d worn for the press conference, bulky shoulders exposed beneath a sweat-dampened tank. SFT could only cope with so much.

Felix watched Zed catch his opponent’s attack mid-stride, halting his momentum. A second later, the recruit lay flat on his back, chest heaving as he fought for breath. Zed hadn’t even Zoned. He’d demonstrated a combination of agility and skill honed by years of service, and the well-being he’d gained from the Guardians. He extended a hand toward the recruit and hauled him to his feet, then turned to the men and women leaning in around them, face animated as he explained the move.

It was easy to see that Zed enjoyed teaching, that he enjoyed sharing his skills. Hell, if anyone had the patience for such an exercise, it would be Zed. He cocked his head gently as he listened to one of the recruits, then beckoned her forward, inviting her to stand opposite him. He demonstrated a move in slow motion, taking her down to the mat, and then let her try it. He laughed with her when she tripped herself up on his feet, picked her back up and told her to try again. His face glowed with her success when she performed the move with reasonable competency.

That glow, that joy lighting Zed’s eyes...man, it hurt. Felix didn’t understand why seeing Zed so happy should feel like a punch to the gut. He drew back from the doorway, leaned out into the hall and breathed. Blood swished behind his ears in a noisy rhythm.

“Flick!”

Zed addressed the class, his voice indistinct. A moment later he appeared in the doorway, panting lightly. His eyes still shone with pleasure and purpose, and the hall lights glanced off the sweat beading his brow. He had his discarded shirt in his hands. Muscles shifted and bunched beneath the golden glow of his skin as he wiped his hands on the fabric, used it to mop his face.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” Heart hammering, Felix leaned in, not entirely sure of his purpose until his mouth claimed Zed’s.

He put everything he felt into the kiss, crushing Zed’s lips with the joy and pain of loving him. Grabbing him by the shoulders, Felix pushed him back against the wall and deepened the connection, desperate in his need to communicate, unsure how else to go about it. He licked the back of Zed’s teeth, bit his lower lip, his top lip. Kissed him hard and deep, afraid that if he withdrew, calmed down, he’d lose everything.

Rather than shift away, Zed allowed himself to be captured. His larger hands framed Felix’s face, thumb stroking his cheek. The hard planes of his chest and thighs pressed forward so that they touched all the way down. Felix could feel firm musculature, the heat of Zed’s skin, and the moan building inside his chest.

He couldn’t tell what pulled him from the haze of lust that kept his lips pinned to Zed’s flesh—the need for breath or the prickle across his skin, something other than arousal. Felix glanced to the side and saw someone watching them, wallet held up and out. The asshole reporter from the press conference. Was that Juston Dell?

Felix leaned away from Zed and rolled toward the reporter in a single, fluid movement. The reporter’s eyes widened at the sight of Felix’s bunched knuckles, but he hadn’t been hit often enough to learn the most basic defense: he didn’t turn away. Amid shouts from fore and aft, Felix’s fist connected with the angular jaw. The reporter’s head snapped back. Using the momentum gained, Felix shoved at his shoulder, knocking him farther back, then gathered to leap after him, take him to the ground. A pair of hands gripped his arms.

“Felix!”

Felix kicked out, catching the reporter’s knee. The man stumbled, dropped his wallet and fell down on his ass. Struggling against Zed’s hold, Felix tried again to dive after him.

“Fucking parasite!” Felix turned on Zed. “Let me go. That guy had no business getting up in our faces while we’re kissing. That’s our private stuff.”

But the commotion had summoned Anatolius Security and the recruits from inside the gym. Their stuff was no longer private. None of it.

Zed’s formerly sensuous lips formed a thin, hard line. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes bright. “I know,” he said stiffly. “But you can’t deck every person who pisses you off. Not here.”

Recognizing Zed’s expression as embarrassment, Felix stopped struggling. Remorse thundered through his veins, the rush of it just about worse than the anger it replaced. Or maybe the anger was still there, matching every beat, deepening every effect. Uniforms swarmed the scene. An officer bent down beside the fallen reporter, scanning him for graver injury. Another picked up his wallet. Even if they confiscated the damn thing, it would be too late, though. Whatever the reporter had captured would have been streamed to personal storage, somewhere in the ether that housed broken dreams. Zed’s class watched, with wide eyes and gaping mouths. Felix could feel the gaze of every man and woman in the hall. The scars across his face burned, or maybe that was a blush.

Shit, had he overreacted?

He looked from Zed, who’d stepped forward to begin damage control, to the reporter, who appeared to be playing up the incident for all it was worth. Felix swallowed over a sinking stomach. The fingers of his right hand curled in his palm. His left hand twitched in frustrated sympathy.

“With friends like him, who needs bodyguards,” drawled a quiet voice. One of the recruits.

Swallowing the desire to tear apart every person in the facility, Felix turned away.

The recruits continued murmuring among themselves.

“How do you think he got in here?”

“Through the service corridors, maybe?”

“Maybe he snuck down after the press conference.”

Were they were talking about him or the reporter?

“He’s one mean-looking motherfucker.”

“Deadly right hook. You can already see the bruise.”

Cheeks burning hotter, Felix thought about sneaking out of a back door. He flinched as a warm arm circled his shoulders, and kept his face pointed down. He couldn’t bear to meet Zed’s steely gaze. Hell, he already knew what he’d find there.

Zed’s fingers dug into his shoulder. “Ready to get out of here?”

Felix looked up. Zed’s expression was strained. He’d lost his joyful glow but seemed to be working to regain it. Felix toyed with appropriate responses. Apologizing would admit fault. He’d overreacted, sure, but he’d had good intentions. Mentioning the reporter would deepen those lines across Zed’s forehead.

Unclenching his right hand, Felix lifted his fingers toward Zed’s handsome face and made an attempt to smooth the lines marring his brow. “I want to make these disappear.”

That simple contact returned sensation, or perhaps replaced the encroaching numbness with the thrill of being close to Zed. Reawakened lust tickled his skin, warming, rousing.

“Let’s go back to the apartment.” Felix leaned in. “You can show me one of those takedowns, or maybe I’ll try one on you.” He slid a hand over Zed’s flat abdomen, intent on not giving him too much space to think, too much time for recrimination or little things like warnings, placing blame. Zed’s stomach fluttered gently beneath his shirt, and a quiet rumble sounded in his chest. Felix nipped at his ear.

“Yeah,” Zed breathed. “Let’s go.”

Chapter Seven

Something was up with Flick, something more than just the leftover anger at having a reporter intrude on their private moment or the annoyance directed at the rest of the Anatolius clan. That something had started well before they’d stepped down the ramp from the Chaos into the open arms of the AEF at the dock and had only been intensified by the incident in the lift, the press conference and Dad’s helpful words. As they stepped into their suite, Flick practically vibrated with emotions Zed couldn’t identify. Anger? Frustration? Sorrow? All of the above and more?

It pissed him off. He loved the man. He knew him...didn’t he? Why was the source of the tension such a mystery?

Zed closed the door behind them and tossed his wallet onto the table next to it with a sigh. “Flick—”

The breath gushed out of his lungs as Flick shoved him back against the door. Lips attacked his throat, and Zed sucked in air scented with the familiar—loved—tang of circuits and metal, underscored with sweat. He leaned his head back, giving Flick access to whatever he wanted, even as his head spun with the sudden change in atmosphere.

“Flick,” he gasped.

“Shut up.” Flick’s tongue swept along the cord of Zed’s neck, and Zed just barely held back a whimper. Then the whimper escaped when Flick sank his teeth into the spot just under his ear—not too hard, just hard enough. His eyes rolled back as he fell further into sensations. God, it was good.

Except...

Zed swallowed. “We should talk.”

“Nope.” Flick pulled back to work at Zed’s shirt. The tension was there again, evident in the slight tremor of his good hand.

Sucking in a breath, one less flavored with the essence of Flick, Zed lifted his own hands to cover his lover’s. “Flick...”

“What?” Flick’s gaze snapped up, almost challenging. “Don’t you want this?”

“Yeah, I do. Of course I do.”

“Then stop fucking thinking.” He shrugged off Zed’s hands and yanked Zed’s shirt open. The gentle chill in the air laved at Zed’s nipples, teasing them into points. A soft curse left Flick’s lips—then he leaned forward, tugging one of the turgid points with teeth and tongue.

Zed hissed. The attention was just on the edge of too much—any rougher, any harder, and it would skirt past the realm of pleasure-pain and straight into pain. His head whacked into the door as Flick pushed the boundaries, rolling the rigid flesh with his tongue before biting, hard.

“Fuck,” Zed breathed. His hand wove into Flick’s curls—to push him back or hold him there, he didn’t know.

When Flick moved on to the other nipple, Zed’s intentions no longer mattered. He couldn’t remember them. His world had diminished to that one point of contact and the echoes that shot straight to his cock. He arched, wordlessly asking Flick for more, and Flick sucked harder. It was good, and it wasn’t, and fuck, it was.

Flick caught the nub between his teeth and tugged, then released and pulled back. “Bedroom,” he growled.

It never occurred to Zed not to obey, not when Flick spoke in that low, rough voice. Not with his ass clenching and his cock flexing in the confines of his clothes. Zed walked down the hall to the bedroom, completely aware that Flick was directly behind him. Still vibrating, still tension-filled, but at least part of that, now, was desire.

“Pants off, get on your hands and knees on the bed,” Flick ordered.

“Bossy bastard,” Zed grumbled. But he made quick work of the rest of his clothes and got into the position Flick wanted. He jutted his ass into the air, then looked over his shoulder. “Why are you so pissed off?”

Flick shook his head as he stripped. “I’m not.”

“Bullshit. You need to vent?” Zed bounced his ass up and down and wiggled it back and forth. “Vent.”

“You asking for it hard?”

“I’m begging for it.”

“Not yet, you’re not.”

That sounded...ominous.

Flick leaned over and retrieved the container of lube from the nightstand, then settled in behind him on the bed. Hands pulled apart his ass cheeks, exposing him, and Zed let his head droop, anticipating the cold kiss of liquid. The first caress of Flick’s finger was good. So good. His hips chased the sensations, bumping back, asking clearly for more. Flick obliged him, his finger growing bolder, more insistent. A second added. Then a third. The stretch, the slight burn, it was all so perfect, so needed, so maddening. It was only when Flick paused to get another squeeze of lube that Zed realized the air of the room was filled with wanton, breathy sounds...sounds that came from him.

He tried to say Flick’s name, to encourage him to hurry, but all that emerged was a moaning gasp.

“Yeah. Hang on.” Still rough, still low, Flick’s voice was also filled with promise. Whether it was because Flick just knew him or because he felt the same urgency as he did, Zed didn’t know. Didn’t care. Didn’t matter.

Flick’s cock pressed against him, hard and thick. A low groan fell from Zed’s lips. The stretch wasn’t painful; since reuniting, they’d fallen into roles that felt natural. Flick preferred to top and Zed loved to bottom for him. So he’d gotten a lot of practice. A lot of good, amazing, incredible practice. Nothing felt quite as good as accepting Flick into himself...even if he was being a toppy bastard.

“Toppy bastard, hmm?” Flick grunted.

“Did I say that out loud?”

“Well, I didn’t develop telepathy, did I?”

Narrowing his eyes, Zed suddenly snapped his hips backward. “Fuck!” he gasped. He’d instigated it, but the abrupt invasion still made explosions go off behind his eyes.

Flick leaned forward, holding Zed’s hips still as his forehead and nose brushed the center of Zed’s back. “You feel so good.”

So did Flick. God, it was as if they’d been made for each other. They just fit—not only physically, but mentally, emotionally. Zed flexed his hips and groaned at the feeling of Flick moving inside of him. Not enough.

“C’mon, babe.” It was almost a whine. “Please.”

Flick chuckled, the sound like the vibration of a ship’s engine; felt more than heard. “Told you you’d be begging.”

He drew back, slow, so fucking slow...then slammed forward, hitting Zed’s prostate perfectly. Then he did it again. And again. Harder, faster, until the bedroom was filled with the sound of skin slapping against skin, heavy breathing, grunts of exertion and cries of need. And it didn’t matter that Flick hadn’t even laid a hand on Zed’s dick, he felt as if he was going to come. The pressure built and built...almost enough, almost, but...not. It’d take a stroke, maybe two, but he couldn’t spare a hand for it, not with Flick pounding into him the way he was. His right palm itched beneath the derm patch, and his Mendo’d ribs made a whisper of protest—minor discomforts in the grand scheme, eclipsed by the pleasure and ache in his groin and ass.

“Fuck.” Zed’s voice cracked. “Felix.”

“What d’you need?”

Fuck. Words, what were words. A long, low moan reverberated from deep within him.

“Need this?” Flick grabbed Zed’s hips and exchanged his long, drawn-out thrusts for short, hard ones, the head of his cock hitting Zed’s prostate over and over again.

Zed’s back arched, wanting more, wanting less, wanting. If Flick had wanted him to stop thinking, he’d succeeded. Thoughts had been chased out of Zed’s brain, leaving only sensations, only need, behind. Trembles cascaded across his shoulders.

“Please,” he gasped. “Please, please, please, please...oh God, Flick, please. Please.”

Flick grunted, his rhythm growing ragged. He reached around and finally...finally...a hand closed around Zed’s cock. A tug, a stroke—

White sparks danced across Zed’s vision as he came, obliterating everything. He shot across the stars, scattering among them, his psyche shattered into a million pieces. It was right. Good. Perfect. Whatever else cluttered their life, this was real. No one could take this amazing connection from them. Zed refused to allow it to happen.

Slowly, he came back to himself, aware that he was shaking. A gentle tug on his hip encouraged him to fall onto his side, and he gave in. Flick curled around him, pressing kisses to his neck, his shoulders, his hair, his ears.

“You okay?” Flick asked, his voice soft now. Worried. “Zed?”

“You—” Zed swallowed and licked his lips, struggling to make his tongue form words, to drag thoughts from mind to mouth. “You wrecked me.”

“In a good way?”

Zed blinked up at Flick. A frown marred his forehead and he wanted to smooth away the lines, but his arms didn’t want to work. Rainbow auras interfered with his vision, one of the nicer side effects to the Zone training. Fucked-up brain chemistry plus orgasm equaled light show. “Best way.”

“You can hardly talk.”

“Because my brains shot out through my cock.” Zed managed a smile. It felt lazy and unfocused, just like the rest of him. “‘M fine, Flick. Really. You can make me beg any time.”

He rolled over, nuzzling into Flick’s chest, and closed his eyes. Flick didn’t feel relaxed, but maybe he just wasn’t quite as relaxed as Zed. That had to be it. Because, damn, sex like that solved every problem, didn’t it?

Chapter Eight

Elias keyed open the main cargo hatch and waited for the clank and grind of the door. Habitually, he stepped to the side so he wouldn’t get knocked back if the ramp decided to eject. Didn’t always happen, and he suspected that it only ever did when he forgot to get out of the way. Fixer had probably installed a sensor or something, one that had been retooled as a prank. That was an engineer’s sense of humor all over.

The door didn’t clank or grind. Elias input the security code again and noted the absence of friendly green lights. No red light, either, so the code probably hadn’t been changed—there simply wasn’t any power to the hatch. Pushing out a sigh, he moved farther around the outside of the Chaos, aiming for the auxiliary access. That security panel accepted his code with a happy display of LEDs. So his ship wasn’t completely buggered, just the main cargo doors.

Elias made his way from Cargo Two to Cargo One, intending to check the inside door panel. He might not be a frigate class engineer, but he knew a couple of things. He’d been flying the Chaos for two years now, after all. Cargo One was a dark cave, the usual running lights swallowed by near blackness. A prickle of worry raised the hair along the back of his neck as he stepped into the space. Docked, a partial power failure didn’t mean death knocked outside the hatch, but he hadn’t been able to shake the creep from his skin for the past couple of days. It had been as if he were waiting for the next lift tube accident. His wrist, even Mendo’d, sent a twinge up his arm.

A small shimmering square of light near the main doors caught his attention. Navigating the cargo bay by memory—and the fact they had no cargo at present—Elias stepped quietly forward. Halfway across, he figured out the source of light—it was a small holo—and could see a figure slumped half in, half out of the pool of thin illumination.

Reaching for the stunner at his belt, Elias crept closer. The prickle at the back of his neck advanced over his scalp, teasing his head like the buzz of a razor. He froze when he got close enough to identify both the holo and the figure. It was Fixer, half-sitting, half-reclined. Eyes closed, he breathed quietly. He had a tool in his right hand and the holo, a screen capture, floated just above his left, over the bracelet he used as a wallet.

In the picture, a much younger Fixer sat next to a much younger Zed. Both fresh-scrubbed and red-cheeked and perhaps a little high. Or drunk. Neither of them bore the scars of war, nor the fatigue. Elias guessed they were between eighteen and twenty. Though they both faced the camera, inclined together, Zed’s arm around Fixer’s shoulders, Elias could tell that Fixer’s attention was focused more on the man next to him than whoever had taken the picture. His chin angled toward Zed, and his features held a yearning, as if he’d prefer to look at Zed, had just finished looking at Zed.

The admiration and adoration were clear to anyone who looked for it. Even then, Felix had loved Zander. Before the war had torn them apart and broken them into so many pieces. Had Zed loved his “Flick” just as much? Something in the way the larger man’s hand curled around Fix’s shoulder suggested he had. There was a possessiveness to his grip. A silent declaration of mine.

Elias glanced over at the sleeping man. The weak light of the holo did not flatter the older Fixer. The scar on the left side of his face left a deeper crease, the hollows in his cheeks were more profound. Even in repose, furrows marred his forehead. His brows were pinched together and his jaw clenched. Small twitches pulled at his arms now and again, and one of his legs jerked. He slept the sleep of the exhausted.

And when had he gotten so thin? He’d always been a lean guy, but not...Actually, Elias had seen him this skinny before. Worse, in fact. Fixer had been a walking skeleton after his escape from the stin. Now his long-sleeve SFT hung from his frame, the cords of his bent neck stood out way too far, and his legs were lost somewhere inside his multi-pocketed utility pants.

Elias glanced at the holo again, as if to confirm the identity of the man before him. What had Fixer been like at eighteen? His expression in the holo-capture suggested a certain naïveté, though what little Elias knew of Fix’s childhood suggested he’d been anything but innocent. Station-born rarely were. He’d certainly been more hopeful, though. Happier. On the cusp of something great.

Elias remembered that feeling. He’d never really lost it. Life was a series of natural and spontaneous changes, was it not? Lao Tzu certainly thought so, and he advised letting things flow. Ride the crests and troughs. Let reality be reality. Of course, Elias’s reality hadn’t included four years as a prisoner of the stin. Or the half-life that had followed, mourning Zander Anatolius, the events of the past few months.

Breathing out slowly, Elias holstered his stunner and reached for Fix’s shoulder. He hated to wake him, but Fix couldn’t be comfortable all slumped over. He’d obviously fallen asleep mid-repair. Or maybe he’d paused for a moment of reflection. Pulled up a picture of himself and Zed, and dropped off staring at...what?

Sorrow pushed a lump into Elias’s throat.

He grasped Fixer’s shoulder and shook him gently. Instinct called him to stay close. Fix would not wake gently, or sweetly. Elias didn’t want to allow room for that right fist to cock back and swing forward. Not with that bloody tool in his grasp.

“Fix?”

Fixer’s eyes snapped open. As predicted, he started and rolled back, right arm rising.

“It’s me, Eli,” Elias said, hoping the holo shed enough light to illuminate his dark face.

Weirdly, Fix’s fist relaxed immediately. Then he coiled into himself, the tension of his slumber ratcheting up so that he seemed to vibrate. Elias stepped back, telling himself he didn’t fear the other man, or the gravity well of his obviously agitated state.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

Fix hefted the tool in his right hand. “Fixing the ramp. Anatolius ass-wipes won’t let us leave port until I adjust the sensor.”

The one that caused the ramp to eject on unsuspecting—

Wait. Us?

The holo disappeared, plunging the cargo bay into darkness. A second later, a utility light snapped on, nudging the blackness outside the circle of the two men. Fix tapped at his bracelet and four new holos shimmered into being. Schematics and projected circuits. Codes. The Anatolius security report with items checked off.

“Have you been here all night?”

“What time is it?”

Elias consulted his wallet. “Oh-seven-hundred.”

“Shit. Lost a couple hours.” He loosened an access panel in the wall of the cargo bay and pulled out a bunch of leads. After consulting one of his schematics, he separated out two wires and traced them to a circuit board. For a moment, Elias watched, fascinated by the way Felix used his left hand. He couldn’t bend his fingers, only his thumb. He used a combination of twitches and blunt nudges, wielding the gnarled and twisted appendage like another tool, one he knew well.

“Does Zed know where you are?”

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?

“Ah...”

“Hand me one of those clamps.”

“Er...” Elias looked down at the overflowing bin of parts nestled into the wall. In front of it were a series of open metal rings. “Which one?”

“Second smallest.”

Elias handed over the clamp. “So, you said us. What do you mean?” He knew neither Zed nor Fix were happy about having to remain at Alpha while the Chaos went to pick up Dieter. That was part of the reason Marnie had stepped out of the shadows—an extra hand on board, a familiar face for Dieter when they got to Petrel Station. That Dieter was also her friend only made her appearance all the more reasonable.

“I mean me, you, the rest of the crew, if I can satisfy the dock master our tub won’t implode between here and the edge of the system.”

“Wait, slow down. What about Zed?”

Fix didn’t answer right away. He clamped a lead, fiddled with something else, reattached something to something, the process a complete mystery. Then it all got tucked back into the wall. Picking up the panel, Fix held it in place with his left and screwed it in with his right.

“The Anatolius family will be glad to see the back of me,” he growled over the soft whine of his multi-tool.

Mustering up a growl of his own, Elias grabbed Fix’s shoulder and turned him around. “Stop,” he said. “Look at me and talk to me. What’s up?”

In the utility light, Fixer’s eyes were dim. He raised his left wrist and fiddled with the holos until only one remained, a frozen and confusing image. Fix activated the playback. It was a news report of an incident inside the Anatolius Industries headquarters yesterday afternoon. The holo began with Fix and Zed kissing—almost grinding—in a hallway. In a blur of motion, Fix turned and moved into the camera, fist cocked and ready. The picture swung up and rocked across the ceiling. Grunts and huffed breaths, stretched thin by transmission, provided a soundtrack. A new image emerged from the confused scene, Fix’s face in close-up, his scar a livid pink line across a face reddened by fury. His lips were twisted in a snarl, his eyes dark pools. Even the crook in his nose held menace.

The holo looped through a series of images after that. Fix and Zed standing side by side, a clip of them walking somewhere hand in hand, and a blurry scene Elias didn’t recognize, though he’d seen the two men nose to nose often enough to recognize it as one of those personal moments where they communicated without words. Zed’s hands were clasped about Fix’s ears. They leaned together. Elias could almost see the tremble in Fix’s lean frame. Questions regarding the identity of Zander Anatolius’s partner gave the entire reel the feel of a tawdry gossip report. “Lover or bodyguard? Friend or foe?”

After showing the scene inside the Damianos Building again, the holo moved on to images of the Anatolius family, all quiet, serene and settled in their traditional partnerships. Not that the gender of each man’s partner made the couples more socially acceptable. More, it was everyone’s composure. The proper stance, the proper clothes, the proper expressions. They were all beautiful people. Attractive and accomplished. Next to them, Fixer...

“Jesus, Fix.”

Fixer bent to finish screwing in the panel, right hand shaking so badly he missed the screw three times while Elias watched. Fix got the panel attached, then smacked the display above it. With a lurch and hum, power returned to the cargo bay, running lights blinking on, air puffing through vents.

“I’ve got one more repair to make,” he said.

Elias grabbed his arm. “The hell you do. Talk to me.”

“What do you want me to say? Zed doesn’t need me here. He’s got a job with his family. Besides, I’m a liability, all right? I haven’t got my head so far up my own ass I can’t see that. I’m bad press.” He spat out the words as if they tasted bad. “The rest of the family will be glad to see me gone.”

“And Zed?”

Fix shrugged—and his shoulders stayed up, pinned to his ears. Then he tried to turn.

“Felix...” Elias dug his fingers into Fixer’s shoulder. “What about Zed? Are you...? Does he...? Fuck. He doesn’t even know you’re leaving, does he?”

Was he leaving? Could Elias allow him to do this?

“He’s probably meditating or some shit, which will be a whole lot easier with me not there. Now are you going to let me go or am I going to have to flip out on you?” That edge of madness licked across Fix’s face, brightening his eyes, tightening everything else.

“Zed’s not any happier on Alpha than you are.”

“He’s home. What else does he need?”

You?

Perhaps hearing the silent answer, Fix shook his head. “He’s got stuff to sort, and so do I.”

The urge to nudge harder beckoned, to actually push Fix over the edge. Elias hated seeing his friend this way: sad, cracked, broken. No word adequately described his state.

“Is this what you need? Is this...” Elias swallowed. “We’re just going there and back, right?” Hell, he sounded as if they were leaving his lover behind, not Fixer’s. But Zed was crew too.

“This is what I need.” Fix looked up, expression shockingly open, pain etched across every line. “Please.”

* * *

Zed woke to an empty bed. He wished it was a surprise, but it had been a few days since he and Flick had shared a bed for a whole night and into the morning. He’d chalked it up to Flick’s discomfort on Alpha—even without the stress of possible murder attempts, interfering reporters and a family patriarch who was a bit too insistent on some things, Flick probably wouldn’t have slept well. Alpha didn’t have the cozy comfort of the Chaos, despite the more luxurious surroundings. Not that Flick was the only one leaving the bed before sunrise—Zed had been up early on more than one occasion himself to do the meditating thing that seemed to freak Flick out a bit, so he couldn’t really complain. Except, after last night...

Staring at his reflection as he zapped the plaque on his teeth with the sonic brush, Zed considered what he and Flick had shared. Though...he wasn’t sure if shared was the right word. The sex had been good. Amazing. Bone-melting. But...just this side of cruel. In the midst of things, Zed hadn’t cared. It had been intense and Flick’s control had brought him to one of the strongest orgasms he’d ever had. In the light of morning, though, he wondered what lay beneath the tension that had been evident in Flick. He wasn’t happy about staying on Alpha, Zed knew that, but was that it? Was there more?

Striding back into the bedroom, naked, he grabbed his wallet from the nightstand and swore when he saw the time. Brennan wanted him at headquarters in half an hour for a second training session. He’d hoped he’d have enough time to track Flick down and really talk—though getting Flick’s attention while he was finalizing prep to get the Chaos back out into the black was probably not going to happen. But after the session, they needed to reconnect. Verbally.

Sighing, he opened his wallet’s interface and typed out a quick message. Thinking about you. Can we chat after my session this morning? Zed waited a few seconds to see if Flick would message back, but he didn’t; he was probably elbow-deep in the Chaos’s mechanical guts. Ping me if you get a chance. Love you.

* * *

Brennan met him in the lobby of the Damianos Building and walked with him to the gym. Zed had visited the area more frequently in the past couple of days than in all the previous visits to the building when he’d been younger. As a child, his infrequent visits to his father’s domain had been limited to his father’s office and maybe the café on the ground floor—if he behaved.

His brother noticed the glance Zed gave the coffee shop as they passed. “Need some caffeine?”

“Oh God, no.” Zed shuddered.

Brennan chuckled. “I thought you military types lived on black sludge.”

“Caffeine and I don’t get along.”

“Makes you too jittery now, or something?”

“Or something,” Zed agreed with a sigh. He wasn’t about to share with his brother that a cup of coffee woke up more than just his brain these days. And kept it up. He quickened his pace so they could get past the tempting smell of roasted coffee beans.

A group of recruits in dark gray SFTs and tight-fitting shorts stood at parade rest on the large exercise mat, waiting for him. Lights winked at each recruit’s waistband from health sensors built into the fabric. Figured that Brennan would make sure that even his lowliest recruits had the best gear.

“You enjoyed it yesterday, right?” Brennan smiled. “I heard nothing but praise for the ‘Major’s class.’”

“You’re trying to bribe me.”

“With flattery? You’re a cheap bribe, then.”

Zed grunted.

“Look, I know you’re not the type to sit behind a desk like me or in a lab like Maddox. But there’s a place for you here.”

Dad and Lise Bellerose, the head of security, had made that pretty clear at the party. Once they got this nonsense with the AEF cleared up—and if he stayed—he’d have a chance to really use his skills, to fill a role Lise couldn’t, with her robotic leg. He could roam the parts of the galaxy owned by his family and make sure everything was running smoothly. He could be useful. He could be more than just his muscles, which was the role he was reduced to more often than not on the Chaos. Not that there was any blame to lay at Elias’s feet for that—the Chaos just really didn’t need a security officer skilled in covert missions.

The idea of being more...it was more tempting than he wanted it to be.

“It’s kind of a moot point at the moment,” he hedged.

“Fair enough. Just...” Brennan waved a hand at the assembled class. “Have some fun. But please don’t put anyone in the hospital.”

Zed chuckled. “Hey, I didn’t yesterday.”

Brennan rolled his eyes and headed off to do whatever it was CEOs did with their day. Meetings, probably.

The session was good. The men and women—some repeat students from the day before, some new—were competent in their hand-to-hand techniques, if not stellar. Zed found himself falling back into the mental space he’d lived in for eight years. Offering suggestions and feedback soon morphed into commanding the class as he’d once commanded soldiers, barking orders and expecting perfection. By the end of the session, the guards’ shoulders drooped and their hair and clothes were uniformly soaked with sweat—but their lips were creased with weary, satisfied smiles.

He drew in a deep breath, taking the smell of sweat and hard work into his lungs, just as buoyant as he’d been after the session yesterday. God. God! How could he have forgotten how rewarding this sort of work was? Taking an adequate soldier—okay, a guard, same difference—and tweaking their skills until they could see their own potential...Every time one of them had had the lightbulb moment, where the technique had clicked and they’d understood it, it’d reverberated through Zed. As though it’d been his success as much as theirs.

Smiling, he tugged his wallet out of his pocket to check his messages and maybe send one to Flick. He wanted to share this feeling, this happiness. Maybe it would bring Flick’s mood up, too. That was probably a naïve hope, but—

A text jazer blinked in his message interface. From Elias. Why the hell would Elias send him a jazer? Tight-beam laser transmissions were expensive and unnecessary when the Chaos was docked...

Had they left without waiting for his class to be done? Had something developed in Dieter’s situation that required urgency? Zed opened the message and had to read it twice to understand it.

On route to rendezvous. Fixer’s with us. Sorry, bro. Will call & explain soon.

They’d left. And Flick had gone with them? Why? Zed flipped through his inbox, searching for a message from Flick. Something he’d missed. Anything to erase the growing realization that not only had Flick abandoned him, he’d done so without a word.

Emotions swirled in Zed’s gut and his head, but shock held them at bay. His pulse pounded in his ears, and his skin flashed hot and cold. He’d known things weren’t...maybe they weren’t the best but he’d thought...he’d thought...

I’m gonna throw up.

He swallowed convulsively. The wallet in his hands chimed and he fumbled it, his fingers unresponsive and clumsy. Finally, he managed to answer the incoming call. “Flick?”

Maddox’s face greeted him instead. “No, it’s me. Shit, Zed, you look—”

“‘M fine.”

“You’re not. What the hell happened? Bren said you were training the troops.” He paused, his eyes widening. “You didn’t really hurt someone, did you?”

“No. I...no, the class was...” He lost his train of thought, blinking. Flick’s gone. He left.

“Okay, good. Bren’ll be glad to hear it.”

“Yeah.”

“You sure you’re okay?”

No. No, I’m not.

Something must have shown in his face. Maddox continued talking, his words coming more quickly. “Go dig Felix out of wherever he’s hiding and I’ll take the two of you to lunch. There’s this really cool restaurant over on—”

“The Chaos left. He’s gone. I’m...” Falling apart. Jesus. He just didn’t understand. What did it mean, Flick leaving? Was it temporary? Had he decided that the Chaos needed him more on this mission than Zed did? Maybe Marnie had use for his tinkering skills on...something.

Maybe Zed had done something—fuck if he knew what, just something to push him away. Maybe Dad’s words yesterday hit harder than they’d thought. Maybe...

Movement caught his attention. Holo-Maddox waving a hand to summon him back from wherever. “Zed. Hey, Zed. You’re kinda freaking me out.”

Zed blinked, trying to focus on the holo of his brother, but it kept wavering. “Gonna head back to the apartment.”

“I’ll meet you—”

“No. You’ve got...work. Stuff. I’m...” He sucked in a shaky breath.

“God, just let me—”

Zed flicked off the call, then set his wallet to privacy. He stared at the floor, wondering why it didn’t just swallow him whole. If the building collapsed around him and crushed him, it would hurt less than this. It had to.

Flick had left. Why? Was this punishment? Payback?

Why? Why, goddamn it?

His hands rose to cover his face and he struggled to hold everything in. His breathing sped up and he yanked back a scream before it leaped from his throat. After everything, after all they’d been through, he’d thought he and Flick were solid. Weren’t they partners? Flick had lived through the grief of Zed dying and held on tight when he was back...Why would he leave now? It didn’t make sense. None of it made sense.

He reached for the Zone, for the clarity and distance it would give him—but for the first time since he’d learned how to access that altered state of consciousness, it wouldn’t come to him. His emotions were too volatile, too much of a barrier to overcome. He needed to grab Flick and shake him and demand answers.

But Flick wasn’t here.

Spinning on his heel, Zed raced across the gym to the set of punching bags. Ignoring the itch in his derma-patched right palm, he launched himself at one as though it were a stin and his life depended on beating it into submission. Vague thoughts slipped through his mind about how he’d pay for this later, with scraped knuckles, sore muscles and an aggravated palm, there and gone before he could really give a fuck. Maybe if he let out some of the pressure of his emotions, he’d be able to find the Zone. Then he’d be able to think.

And ignore the fact that his heart had been broken.

Chapter Nine

Who would save him if he pushed his hand through the stasis field and wrapped his fingers around the Tiper coil? Felix contemplated the unblemished flow of vapor through the invisible sheath. Breaching the field would require force and strength of will. He would have to continue pushing forward, even as the skin of his palm blistered and melted away. Once his fingers curled around the coil, his flesh would have been sloughed from bone, the bones themselves already starting to blacken. Or would they dissolve?

Felix studied the scarred fingers of his right hand. They were mostly straight—well, two of them were. He’d broken the others, working, fighting, thrusting his hand into a wedge of rock to arrest a fall into the pit of hell.

It would be more satisfying to ruin his one good hand. The pain would eclipse the steady ache in his chest, the crisped edges of the hole where his heart used to be. The result would be a death, of a sort. Peace, and a halt to the relentless itch across his skin.

“Fixer?”

Starting, Felix looked up from his outstretched hand. His gaze brushed over the top of Qek’s bald head until he dipped his chin to meet her wide, unblinking eyes.

“Does your hand pain you in some way?”

Felix flexed his fingers, curled them into his palm and shook his head.

“If you are not busy, I would like to continue fitting the glove to your left hand. Once the form is complete, we can start wiring in the sensor pads you devised.”

His left hand was next to useless without the help of a quasi-robotic glove. But wasn’t the rest of him just about as unserviceable at this point?

When he didn’t answer, Qek’s forehead smoothed, showing her concern. “Are you well?”

No, he wasn’t. Ashushk did not experience love, therefore they had no concept of heartbreak. But surely they understood the need for peace, the desire to quiet the noise inside.

He stared at his left hand, at the gnarled and twisted fingers and knuckles, livid purple marks where the skin had given up trying to heal, the rope of scar tissue circling his wrist. He had matching bands about his right wrist and both of his ankles. Reminders of his captivity by the stin, the marks from his nightmares. He’d survived four years in hell. Was it any wonder he’d emerged unequipped to deal with anything less? One thing he had learned as a prisoner of war, though, was how to shut down. Switch off. He couldn’t not feel the pain, but he could ignore it.

“I don’t care, Qek.”

“For your health or the glove?”

“Both. Neither.” He turned away from the inquisitive widening of her eyes, not in the mood to play twenty questions with the ashushk. “I need to calibrate the...” Something.

Except, between Zed’s careless credits and recent fixes, courtesy of the Anatolius Security report, the Chaos slid through j-space like an eel through water. Gracefully, sinuously, a creature returned to its natural habitat. Felix was tempted to break something just to give his twitching hands something to do. Something to fix.

“Perhaps you would like to talk?”

Felix eyed the little ashushk over his shoulder, trying to read her expression. “Did Elias put you up to this?”

“He did not. Though I know everyone is worried about you. Nessa says you have not eaten since we left Alpha. Is this correct?”

It had only been five hours. He hadn’t eaten since the night before, though, and didn’t recall the details of his last meal. If he’d chewed, or swallowed. He did remember pushing Zed into the bed with powerful thrusts—both of them trembling, quaking with need. For minutes that had stretched into a quick infinity, nothing had mattered but attending that hunger. Not pain, not his jagged and brittle edges. “I have some protein bars in my quarters.”

“That is not an answer.”

“No, it isn’t.” Felix scrubbed the fingers of his right hand through his short curls. Already, he missed the scrape of Zed’s fingers across his scalp. Caresses, kisses, surprising and sudden tugs of his hair, hitched breath. That was why his skin itched. It wasn’t the pull of his scars, the reminders of punishment and torture endured at the hands of the stin. He missed a gentler touch, Zed’s touch, the whisper of words against his ears and mouth, over his collarbone. “Look, Qek. I’m really not in the mood to talk, okay?”

“Keep this in mind, then. I am not human. Therefore, much of what you might say would make little sense to me.”

“That makes no sense.”

“In fact, it does. You could speak to me as if to a wall, or that conduit.” She nodded toward the Tiper coil. “I am impartial.”

“But you’re not. If you didn’t care, you wouldn’t be here.”

Maybe Qek was right, in part. His existence did make little sense. He wanted so much. Craved it. Yet, he’d just abandoned the person who meant everything to him, and now he hurt so badly, he’d actually considered burning his hand off as some sort of insane distraction. Man, he was messed up. But one thing he did know—the sympathy of his crew, their care and concern, only made the itch of his skin worse. Their love deepened the hole in his chest.

Qek’s soft-skinned hand slid alongside his. Felix glanced down at the contact. He understood the meaning behind the gesture—the ashushk only willingly touched those they considered a friend, and they only bestowed that gift upon a select few.

He met her wide-eyed gaze. “Why me?”

“Because I like you. Is that not how human friendships work?”

“No. It’s not.” Not at all. Felix looked down at his broken hand. “I had a friend in the work camp, the mines, when I was a prisoner of the stin. A woman I looked after. She was small and sick. Always sick.” She’d reminded him of his mother. “We had a quota every shift and I helped fill hers. I gave her my food, too. Not that that was a favor. They fed us this paste—this crunchy, bitter shit. I think it was squashed-up bugs or something. I always filled her truck before mine and one day I didn’t get mine finished. So they broke my hand.”

Qek let out a series of agitated clicks.

“Makes no sense, right? To mess me up so that I couldn’t work as efficiently. Unless they wanted to make it so I could only fill one truck a day, so I couldn’t cooperate with my fellow slaves. Keep a friend. They killed her too.” And left her body to rot in the mines, just as they did the bodies of all who fell. Felix didn’t pass that putrid little morsel along, though. “So it was all worthless. All of it.”

Felix didn’t know what a sick ashushk looked like, but Qek had lost some of her blue. Gray blotched her cheeks and her forehead had smoothed completely, showing her extreme concern.

“You haven’t heard about what goes on in the stin camps?” he asked.

“Not firsthand. Does Elias know what happened to your hand?” She looked down at the gnarled and twisted appendage dangling close to the hand she’d offered in friendship.

“No. What would be the point? He wants to save me and he can’t. I should let him go. Human friendships are twisted and callous things. We look for people who can give us something. Yeah, it’s a bonus if we like ’em, but in the end, it’s all about what they have to offer. I don’t know what Elias wants from me, except to make sure I don’t die on his watch, or throw my life away. He’s got a hero complex. They should have recruited him to the AEF.”

“You did not want to save your friend in the camp?”

God, yes, but only because he’d had some stupid idea that helping her would help him. Keep him human, sane. He’d failed, though. She had died and the stin had broken more than his hand. His soul had been shattered into a million pieces.

How had he ever thought he could help Zed?

Felix shook his head. “No. I told you. Friendship doesn’t work like that.” Forget that he loved Elias for no reason other than pure and simple shared affinity. He felt good in the captain’s presence—when one of them wasn’t being an ass. That he loved Zed for simply being Zed. That he respected Nessa because she stood up to him, called him out when he was being an ass. That he loved the alien-ness of Qek, the big blue heart that beat in her little blue chest. The wonder with which she regarded the galaxy.

“I think you are wrong.”

Felix narrowed his eyes.

Qek had withdrawn her hand. Now she put it to her chin in a thoughtful gesture. “I know that when you hurt yourself, you hurt your friends.”

Jaw clenching, Felix resisted the urge to glance at the Tiper coil, but his right hand flexed and curled, his fingers hiding under his palm. Anger unfurled in his gut, the slither of it almost welcome. “You’re wrong.”

“No. I am not.”

Hurling anger at an ashushk was like trying to beat yourself with a feather. Weird and pointless. Qek had an implacable presence. Never had he cowed her, never had it occurred to Felix to try. While irritation seethed beneath his skin, seeking direction, he wondered why.

Felix looked over at the coil, making the motion obvious. Following the direction of his gaze, Qek said, “If you will remember, we reengaged the safety protocol on the exhaust sheathing. The stasis field protecting that quadrant is supplied by the same generator as this one.”

“Goddamn it.”

Grinding invisible rocks in the back of his throat, Felix pivoted and strode out of engineering, wending his way down the corridor to his quarters. Once inside, he sealed the lock with a wave of his bracelet, engaging a protocol he had not shared with Qek. She could hack the sequence—it wouldn’t even take her very long. But, at the very least, the lock gave him the illusion of privacy, which he immediately dispelled by parking his ass in front of his desk console. There, he initiated another of his secret programs, one that allowed him to activate the comm in any part of the ship—one way, of course. Yep, he’d been listening in on his companions, hoping for warning before they sent more than a single scout into his camp. If they approached him together, they’d do so with a plan.

He flipped channels until he got to the mess. Nessa’s voice broke through the quiet hum of static. “...hours until port. If he doesn’t eat before then, I suggest we tranq him.”

“You’d have better luck taking an elephant down with a plasma torch.”

“He weighs no more than I do.”

“But he’s pissed, Ness. Trust me when I say you do not want to threaten him while he’s like this.”

“It’s not in my nature to let someone just lie down and die! He’s worse now than he was after we lost Zed.” Nessa fiddled with something that emitted a soft hiss. Felix imagined her loading tranquilizer darts into one of her med dispensers. “I still cannot believe you agreed to take him with us.” She broke off in a sigh, then: “Has Zed answered any of your jazers?”

“No.”

Ness grumbled. “How is Fixer leaving Alpha going to help them stay together?”

“He needed time, Ness. C’mon. He’s been through a lot these last months.”

“We all have.”

“And we’ve all been graceless on occasion. Life sucks—”

“Do not finish that sentence.”

Fabric swished loudly over the connection, then Eli’s voice hissed through again, somewhat muffled. “He’s like my brother. You know that. Much as I’d travel to the end of the solar system for Zed, and did, mind you, I’d do more for Fix.”

“Damn you and your soft heart.”

Felix slapped the holographic keyboard, silencing the feed. A second later, he deactivated his program. His hand shook over the keys, the tremble in his fingers taking up residence in his arm by the time he finished. Even before he shuffled off the stool, his legs quaked. His stomach pinched, not in hunger, not in any sensation he truly recognized. He reached for the bottle of water on his desk and drained it, fingers squeezing the flexible plastic at the end, the crackle and creak loud but welcome. It was the sound of things breaking. The sound of his ruination. Putting the bottle aside, Felix dug into his pocket for the pills he’d been carrying since the lift tube accident. The painkillers. Ness had the right idea, he decided, but for all the wrong reasons.

He didn’t need to be sedated so they could force him to eat. Absently, he grabbed one of the protein bars he kept in a box on the floor. Tasted as bland as the wrapper probably did, and as he chewed it—in defiance of those who thought they knew better—he plotted a way to defeat time and thought.

The Chaos didn’t need him, not at the moment. Every system had been overhauled and triple-checked. Qek could handle anything that came up. Marnie would back her up. If pirates pulled them out of j-space, then Elias could unleash his heroic tendencies. Nessa could patch him up if he got a boo-boo. Nope, he was superfluous to current requirements. And seeing as he lacked the conviction, strength, wherewithal, whatever, to throw himself out an airlock—because he obviously liked to exist in a state of misery—then he might as well try to even his keel. That was why he’d left, right? Not because Zed didn’t need him anymore.

Not because he wanted to be the one to leave this time.

Fuck it, he’d sleep until they got to Petrel Station. Take these painkillers, add in a couple of the sedatives he needed to keep the nightmares at bay, and he could clock out for about twelve hours. Take care of the call of nature, shove another protein bar down his throat and swallow another handful of pills with enough water to keep him hydrated while he continued his journey through oblivion. Rinse, repeat.

See? He could take care of himself. He was fine, rational, functional—even with all the broken bits swirling in his wake.

* * *

Zed narrowed his eyes at the storefront, with its shiny, flashy lights. A name bobbed up and down, back and forth, and sideways, too fast for Zed to read it. Or maybe that was the alcohol in his system slowing shit down.

He turned his frown to Maddox, who was standing with the ramrod straightness of a drunk man trying to appear sober. Their guards—two guys who were about as broad as Zed and a hell of a lot more sober—hovered in the shadows behind them. It’d been pretty easy to slip out of the tower and, seeing as it was the middle of the night, no one followed them. The AEF probably wasn’t paying their watchers, ghosts, whatever-the-fuck overtime.

“You sure this is the place?” he said to Maddox.

“Dude, I practically live here. This is the place.”

“Yeah?” Zed squinted at his brother. He couldn’t spot any ink, but Maddox was wearing a jacket and pants. Entirely possible the art was covered. “Shit, how many tattoos you got?”

“Not tattoos. Piercings.” Maddox waggled his brows. “Haze loves ‘em.”

Zed’s eyes widened. Something in the way Maddox said it made Zed think he wasn’t just talking about aesthetics. “You mean—”

Maddox draped himself across Zed’s shoulders. “Yep,” he said, letting the word pop. “Loves. Them. You should think about it.”

“I’m not getting my dick pierced.”

“You should totally get your dick pierced. I am a walking testicle.” Maddox blinked. “Testi-moni-al.”

Walking testicle. Zed snorted and chuckled, buckling a little under Maddox’s weight. Maddox giggled too. “Fuck, we are so drunk.”

“Better than watching you wallow.” Maddox rubbed Zed’s shoulder. “Still think we should’ve gone dancing.”

Zed shuddered. “Too many people.”

“You used to love the clubs. Remember when you’d come home from school and I’d bribe the bouncer to let you in?”

“You were such a good influence on me.”

“You wanted to go, I just did my part.”

Zed stumbled half a step sideways. Tonight wasn’t really about relaxing. It was more about marking himself...a plan that had made a lot more sense a few drinks ago. “Let’s just go in.”

“Okay. Yeah. Sooner we go in, sooner we can be back and less chance Bren will find out you flew the coop.”

“With the help of my poor-influence older brother.”

“You’re the one who wanted to make a gesture!” Mad nudged his shoulder as they started toward the door. The shop was empty, as Zed expected—Maddox had called ahead to book a few hours of the proprietor’s time for an exorbitant amount of money. “So, you gonna get his name tattooed on your ass?”

“Fuck you, I’ve got some class.”

“A Jacob’s ladder is really damned classy.” He winked at the petite woman who emerged from the back of the store. “Am I right, Mei?”

“Classy, classic, and a pleasure for both you and your partner,” she agreed, smiling. “Wanna go for it?”

“I’m not piercing my dick. I’m not. I want a tattoo. That’s it. A tattoo of...” Something. Something that meant Flick.

Even if he’d left him without even a fucking goodbye.

Zed grabbed Maddox’s jacket, pulling it away from his brother’s body, and searched the interior until he found what he wanted—the flask he’d seen Maddox stash there before they left his borrowed apartment. Uncapping the container, he took a healthy swig, then two more, eager for the alcohol to hit him as hard and quick as it usually did.

Maddox watched him drink, then turned to Mei. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

* * *

They emerged from the shop—Zed still didn’t know what the fuck it was called—just as synthesized dawn was lighting the streets. The time they’d spent in the tattoo shop had been a blur of pain and booze, but with a shitload of laughter, too. He’d forgotten so much about his brothers, something that was both shameful and a joy to acknowledge, because it meant he was getting to know them all over again. It didn’t change the fact that Flick wasn’t on Alpha or how he’d left, but he wouldn’t have given up this night for anything. His soul felt less burdened. Lighter.

Could be because he’d killed so many brain cells with whatever-the-fuck Maddox was carrying in that flask.

“You need to serenade us on the way home,” Maddox said, stumbling beside him.

“There is no way I can sing and walk at the same time.”

“Some covert ops dude you are.”

“Singing was not one of our main skills...” Zed trailed off, squinting at the alley branching off the main concourse they were weaving down. A shadow shifted out of the darkness and back again—and was that the glow of a wallet?

“Shit!”

He didn’t think—he just grabbed Maddox’s hand and ran. Behind them he heard the heavy, pounding steps of their guards, but neither wasted breath on asking Zed what he’d seen. They simply fanned out into a protective formation, one leading the charge in the general direction of the utility entrance that would take them back to the underbelly of Thessaloniki Tower, and the other covering their six.

If either of them had any thoughts on how fucking stupid this excursion was, Zed didn’t hear any mutters or see any condemnation when he caught glances at their expressions.

“What? Fuck, what?” Maddox panted as Zed peeled off, pulling him around a corner. The lead guard’s arm jutted out to grab Maddox’s SFT and tug them back to the main concourse.

Wrong turn. These guys were earning so many fucking points tonight. Seriously. Raises all around.

“Reporter.”

“Is he—she—whatever—still chasing us?”

“Dunno. Saw a guy with a wallet out in an alley...”

The lead guard halted and Zed and Maddox came to a stumbling stop behind him. “That’s why we’re running?” He shared a look with the guard who’d been at their rear. “Those are safety lamps. They’re in every alley.”

“No, I saw a shadow. With a...” Zed made gestures with his hands, indicating the shape of a wallet. “Glowing thing.”

“Uh-huh. What color was it?”

Zed opened his mouth to answer, then snapped it shut again. Most wallets had a blue-green glow. This one, though...”Yellow.”

“Safety lamp.” The guard nodded, a nod that was clearly a substitute for saying told you so. “Maybe we should call it a night, huh, fellas?”

Zed eyed him and the rear guard, then looked at Maddox. “They get raises.”

“Fuck yeah,” Maddox said. “Especially if they don’t tell Brennan or Dad about this.”

“About what?” the rear guard said with a crooked smile. His teeth were uneven in the front—he’d probably been station-born, like Flick. Health and dental care weren’t always readily available for the lower working class, even on the best stations.

Flick. The booze and physical pain distanced him from the emotional turmoil, but it was still there, still ready to leap out at him whenever he sobered up. The run along the concourse had taken more out of him than it should, too—his adrenaline faded, taking with it his sense of balance. He staggered sideways, only to find himself buffered by the lead guard.

“Can only imagine the trouble the two of you got into as kids,” he said with a grunt, swinging Zed’s arm around his neck. The second guard took up a similar position with Maddox.

“Could tell you some stories,” Zed offered. “Come have a drink with us.”

The lead guard snickered. Zed was going to have to get his name at some point. Dude was cool. “As long as it’s water.”

“Spoilsport.”

Chapter Ten

Petrel Station bore no resemblance to the bird it had been named for. None. In fact, the bulky conglomeration of rings and habitats lacked any grace whatsoever—not that Felix needed elegance and clean lines, that was Zed’s thing. As long as the station held together, it worked. Not everything in the galaxy had to be beautiful, or even comely.

He scowled at the scuffed etching of a bird on one of the wall plates. The plate next to it held just a wing, the joint cut off by a thick seam of weld. He followed the seam to a juncture, chose a branch at random, eyes tracking a ragged line across the ceiling to the bank of thick plasmix windows that provided a view of the docking facilities. Through the myriad gouges and handprints, unidentified stains and cracked stars filled with globs of sealant, he studied the equally chaotic pattern of ships. Nope, this definitely wasn’t an Anatolius station. Petrel’s docks had no atmosphere or gravity differential generators. Ships were clamped to docking tubes rather than gently moored at piers.

“This place is a hole.”

Felix snorted at Elias’s expression of distaste. “Gone soft on me, Cap’n? A few days living like an Anatolius upped your standards?”

Refusing to take the bait, Elias activated his wallet. Three displays overlapped in a hectic representation of the illogical station layout. He tapped a filter and colored dots spread across the maps. “Green for contacts, blue for bars, red for med centers, brown for shelters, gray for markets.” He glanced up, his dark skin patterned by the light of the display. “Where do you want to start?”

Despite an hour-long workout and triple-s (shit, shower and shave), Felix could still feel the effects of the chemically induced slumber that had kept him down for twenty-some hours. Drawing in a deep breath, he gathered his thoughts and focused on the task at hand. Petrel Station did not fall into the territory prohibited by their agreement with Agrius, but any listed skip—bogus or otherwise—would attract more than one tracer.

“Wait, why are we looking for the skip? Doesn’t Marnie know where he is?”

Elias put on a patient expression, then ruined it by sighing. “Are you up for this? Because if you’re not, you can babysit the Chaos while the rest of us do what we came here for.”

“You think I’m here for a different reason?”

Elias made no reply, which was answer enough.

“So I missed a team meeting. Don’t tell me it wasn’t more efficient without the asshole from engineering.”

One dark brow inched up a dark forehead.

Felix grumbled. “Just tell me what we’re doing.”

“We’re pretending to track a skip. You remember that much, right?”

“Fuck you, Eli.”

Elias flipped his wallet shut and shoved the flexible plastic square into a pocket of his utility pants. “Follow me.”

“So now I’m just backup?”

“Until you decide to rejoin the crew, yes.” Elias strode toward the concourse that funneled traffic away from the port.

Okay, maybe his twenty-plus hours of enforced slumber had been a bad idea. Explaining that he’d been trying to sort himself probably wouldn’t garner any sympathy either. Taking a deep breath, Felix fell in beside his captain.

Despite the late hour—most stations adhered to Standard time—the concourse was crowded. A station never truly quieted, though. The cloying odor of humanity and the competing scents of the food stands and crap vendors crowding the wide avenue formed a thick miasma, an almost visible mist weaving between the multitude of bodies. Felix drew his shoulders in and breathed through his mouth. The familiar stink and press scoured his skinned psyche. Sweating and anxious, Felix nudged Elias toward the far wall, where they only had to step over huddled transients and homeless to make their way forward.

“Didn’t notice it until now, but there were no homeless on Alpha.”

Felix glanced over at Elias. “Go low enough and you’d find them. Down in the substrata.” He faced forward again. “Don’t want to talk about Zed, just in case that’s your twisty opener.”

Elias huffed out another sigh and jostled him slightly as he veered out of the way of a screaming holo-ad. Felix searched his wallet for the ad-repellant hack Marnie had sent him eons ago. The grumble in his throat quickly degenerated to a soft curse as he failed to find it. The idea that instead of sleeping he could have spent the past twenty hours updating his bracelet with all the hacks he used to carry only pissed him off more. He’d had more than a month to update his bracelet and he hadn’t gotten around to it, and all reasons pointed one direction: Zander Anatolius.

Not a fair thought, but one that suited his mood. Felix recognized that he needed to ladle a helping of animosity over his side of the split. That hurt less than acknowledging why he’d left his lover behind. Much less than contemplating the crushed cinder in his chest—and who, exactly, had squashed his heart flat.

“Just answer me one question,” Elias said. “You planning on going back to Alpha?”

“I...don’t know.”

“Well, at least you’re honest.”

Dodging around another collection of greasily clad limbs that might or might not belong to a corpse, Felix ducked into a side corridor and waited for Elias to follow with the vague intent of thrusting his friend up against the wall, elbow across his throat so he could deliver a threat. He didn’t, but squashing the urge took more effort than it should have. The distance Elias left between them as he followed suggested he’d anticipated the danger. The captain dawdled in the mouth of the narrow corridor and cocked his head.

“Is this a shortcut?”

“No. Eli...” His mouth worked soundlessly while he searched for the right words. “I don’t really understand what I’m doing, okay? So there’s not much I can say about it that will make sense.”

Elias’s lips twisted into a smirk. “You know exactly what you’re doing, Fix. You always do.” A dark hand flattened against the side wall, giving Elias’s posture a false air of relaxation. “Just remember, when you’re ready to talk, I’m here.”

“You know what I don’t get? Why you are still here.”

“I own half your ride. I don’t have to like you to be here.”

“That’s...” The full weight of Elias’s answer hit him. Breath easing out of his lungs, Felix looked away, toed the scuffed floor, tried to apply meaning to the squeal of his boot sole against the metal. When he couldn’t deny he’d broken something between himself and Elias, tears stung his eyes. Blinking rapidly, Felix sucked them back. He endured the burn in his sinuses, the small pain nothing compared to all his other hurts. Then, clearing his throat, he pushed forward, past the man so casually blocking the entrance to the corridor.

The homeless guy he’d stepped over had moved and Felix stared at the blank spot on the floor until he realized why it seemed weird. The homeless drifted, sure, but usually only when hassled by station security. He scanned the concourse, searching for grimy gray coveralls.

“What are you looking for?”

“The guy we hopped over. He’s gone.”

“So? Probably off picking someone’s pocket.”

“No...” Felix ducked back into the corridor, pulling Elias in after him. “All the homeless are gone.”

Elias patted his belt, checking the holster of his stunner. Felix did the same, then rocked his ankle to confirm he had remembered to slip his knife into his boot.

“Thoughts?”

“Either station security is on its way for a regular sweep or something spooked them.”

“Or someone.” Elias pulled out his wallet and opened a channel. “We’ve got a possible contact. We’re at...” He flipped screens, and delivered their coordinates.

“Excellent.” Marnie muttered something off channel, then said, “I take it that as the map hasn’t been updated, you two haven’t stopped anywhere noteworthy yet?”

Elias glanced at Felix. “Not as such.”

“Okay. Flick, do you have any training on spotting a tail?”

“Nope, but whoever spooked the locals probably just watched us figure shit out.”

“That’s fine. Stick to the plan.”

Elias closed the connection and glanced at Felix.

“Don’t say it.”

“What was I going to say?” Elias asked.

“That this is my fault. If I’d been on the ball, I’d have picked up our tail sooner. If I hadn’t been distracting you, you might have noticed. Hell, if I’d just stayed on Alpha like I was supposed to, you and Marnie—”

“I was going to ask if you had your knife.”

“Oh.”

“Ready to do this?”

“Yeah.”

As they stepped back out into the concourse, anticipation scraped across Felix’s skin. Stiffly, he kept his attention pointed toward the lift bay ten meters on, knowing he’d probably already given himself away. A spy, he was not. Beside him, Elias was as tense, stiff and obvious. Aside from the absence of the homeless who’d once littered one side of the concourse, traffic seemed to flow as usual. But Felix had been a station rat and now that he’d noticed, the lack of certain elements echoed loudly.

He jabbed the lift tube call button and stepped back to wait, easing himself between Elias and an impeccably dressed women who leaned away from him. He might be clean, but his clothes weren’t. The doors hissed open and Felix recoiled.

He’d never liked small spaces, but after having nearly pushed through the floor of the Damianos Building, he was seriously considering adding lift tubes to his shit list. Elias nudged him from behind. Sucking in a breath, Felix entered the lift. Half the station crowded in after them. Pressed against the wall, Felix scanned the other occupants for a man or woman who felt...off. Surely whoever had been following would have entered the lift and risked exposure rather than lose them. He felt a tug on his sleeve, glanced up at a woman standing in front of the door. While most of the crowd faced forward, she faced backward, and her ice-blue gaze was pointed right at him.

Shit.

Sweat rolled down his sides. Felix silently cursed his worn-out SFT. Engaged in his staring contest, he barely noticed the lurch of the lift—though if the tubes were in proper repair, he shouldn’t have felt a thing. Seconds dragged by, marked by the panel over the door counting levels. Then the doors opened and the population of the car was cut in half. Blue Eyes didn’t leave. The lift continued downward.

“Wanna pay me before you fuck me?” Blue Eyes cocked her head.

With fewer people in the car, Felix could see she wore a skinsuit that left nothing to the imagination. The color of the fabric even matched her skin tone, which was maybe a shade lighter than his. Station pale. Even if he did find women attractive, she’d have been too slim for his tastes, though. “You’re not my type.”

The doors opened again and Blue Eyes dropped a sneer before leaving the car. Felix swallowed dryly and then noticed the man standing behind her. Forgettable features and colorless clothing.

Their tail.

At the next stop, Elias shot out onto the lower concourse. Felix pushed after him, the itch across his back a burning distraction. He half expected to be shot, stunned, tripped, or otherwise maimed before he left the car. He didn’t look over his shoulder. There were fewer people on the lower level and the lighting was appropriately gloomy. The narrow concourse extended in both directions until the curve of the station obscured the ends. A couple of doors stood open, but most were shut tight. It was late, station time. Lengthening his stride, Felix caught up to Elias and whispered urgently over his shoulder. “Take the next left.”

“First stop is second right.”

“We’ve made the guy, let’s take care of him now.”

Elias took the first left, which turned into a long, narrow corridor, broken halfway down by an intersection. Felix pushed him into the wall and leaned back next to him. Pulled out his stunner and counted to ten. No one followed them around the corner.

Shit and double shit. It had been too obvious a move. Doubts crowded his thoughts. Maybe he should have stuck to Marnie’s plan. Should they head back out and pick up their tail? If he stuck his head around the corner, would someone shoot it off?

He’d made a plan, he had to stick to it. Heartbeat flickering at the back of his throat, Felix counted to ten again, then twenty. A shadow crept across the mouth of the corridor. Felix’s finger twitched toward the trigger. An imagined tingle traveled the length of his arm. When a head poked cautiously around the corner, Felix fired.

A crackling arc of energy smacked into the bland face of their tail. The man’s yell was cut off by the sharp stink of burnt flesh. He lifted a hand to his face and Felix reached forward to grab his collar and yank him into the smaller corridor. Elias grabbed an arm and together they thrust the guy up against the opposite wall. He grunted heavily, then sagged. The livid red mark on his face was grotesque and Felix found himself swallowing bile.

“Shit, he’s dropping,” Elias said.

“Ease him down.” Apparently he’d been close enough to deliver a stunning charge along with a probable scar. Thank every star they were off the main concourse.

Felix bent at the waist and with Elias’s help, started hauling the unconscious man down the narrower corridor, destination unknown.

“Where are we taking him?”

“Away from security cameras and patrols.”

Elias scoffed. “Have you seen either since we arrived?”

“No.” Movement teased his peripheral vision and Felix turned just in time to catch a chop to the jaw. “Fuck!”

Dropping his half of their burden, he turned into his new assailant only to discover Blue Eyes preparing a follow-up strike. He thrust an elbow up to block and cursed again as her arm crashed against his, their lean frames nearly allowing bone on bone contact. Pain ricocheted up his arm to his recently relocated shoulder, and purple spots danced across his vision.

Finesse wouldn’t be his ally here. He needed to take this woman down hard and fast, and hope Elias was right behind him. Felix rocked forward and threw his weight into the slim woman. His hands found no purchase on her slick skinsuit, but his momentum knocked her off balance and they went down together. Her head did not bounce off the floor as he’d hoped it might. Instead, she tensed and tried to roll.

Elias got in beside her and pinned her free arm. “Stun her!”

Felix pressed his stunner to her suit, near her shoulder, and fired. She jolted beneath them, then relaxed, knocked out. Felix fell back onto his ass, then simply sat there, chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. His jaw stung and his shoulder ached. His head felt like he’d stuck it inside a c-core. Surveying the scene—two bodies down, Elias slumped beside him on the floor—he couldn’t help remembering similar situations, all of them recent. All of them connected to Zed. A weird sadness rose up from his gut and squeezed his chest. Confusion and regret. His head hurt too much for any better interpretation than that.

“Skip tracing ain’t what it used to be.” Elias’s tone was dry.

Felix opened his mouth and found he had nothing to say. His bracelet chimed, so he tapped that instead.

Marnie’s voice spilled gently into the corridor. “Are you secure?”

“If you mean are we sitting on top of two unconscious bodies, then yes.”

“Dieter and I are aboard the Chaos. You can make your way back after you clean up any mess.”

“You, he...huh?”

“Are the faces of your two bodies visible?”

While Felix’s thoughts ticked over with exaggerated slowness, Elias answered. “Yes.”

“Capture a still of each for me, would you? I’ll try to identify them.”

Elias pulled his wallet out and focused on the woman’s pale face.

“Well, I don’t need to hack any databases for her.”

“Yeah?” Elias tapped his display, dismissing the image.

“Agent Ralima, AEF Military Intelligence. Weird thing is, she’s not a field operative.”

“Could have fooled me. Fix looks as if he landed on Petrel face first.”

Absently, Felix fingered his jaw, then wished he hadn’t.

“I don’t recognize the other. I’ll have to ask for Ryan’s help. Watch your backs getting to the docks. We don’t know these were the only two operatives here.”

Elias closed the connection.

Felix made one of the mental kind. “Dieter wasn’t waiting at any of the points on our map, was he?”

“Nope.”

“We were the decoys.”

“Yep.”

And no one had seen fit to tell him...or maybe they had and he’d...No, wait...

Fuck. Triple fucking fuck. That was what Elias had meant about rejoining the crew.

Felix let his head drop back against the wall behind him, so hard he saw nothing but stars, and wished they were real.

Chapter Eleven

Something chirped nearby, all happy and sweet. And loud. Way too fucking loud. Zed leaned his forehead against the cool, smooth ceramix surface of the toilet, hoping the chill would suck out the pain rattling in between his ears.

More chirping. Sluggish thoughts roiled and coalesced. It was his wallet. Incoming call. He’d brought it into the bathroom with him because...fuck if he knew. But there it was, sitting on the vanity, burbling away. Until it wasn’t anymore. The silence felt almost as good as the toilet under Zed’s overheated skin.

Then the chirping started again.

He swung out an uncoordinated hand and slapped the wallet off the edge of the vanity. It clattered to the floor—which worked out because it was easier to reach. Continuing to slap his hand around without bothering to open his eyes, Zed finally managed to locate his wallet. His chest ached with the movement. Must be where he’d gotten the tattoo. Though he couldn’t remember what he’d settled on...

Finally, he flipped the wallet open, remembering at the last second to select the voice-only option. “‘Lo?”

Silence greeted him, stretching for long enough that Zed wondered if the call had gone to a message after all. Then, “Zed?”

“Ness. Hey.”

“You sound like shit. Why no holo?”

“‘Cause. My brother did something to my brain.”

“What?” Wow, she sounded way more startled than she should. And loud. Fuck.

“Drinks,” Zed explained. “I drank. He drank. We drank.” He swallowed, then swallowed again. No more talking about drinking.

A pause. “Are you still drunk?”

“Uh...no...I, uh...oh God.” Zed held the wallet aside as he heaved into the toilet bowl. Again. He’d lost count of the instances of retching, a bout of amnesia he was eminently grateful for. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he reveled in the slight breeze generated by the automatic flush before bringing the wallet back up. “Not after that?”

“Wonderful. Bloody freaking wonderful.” Nessa spoke as though her teeth were clenched together, the words underscored with a rumble. “Are you done?”

“Think so.”

“Good. That was disgusting.” She sighed. “We picked up the package on Petrel. Ran into an old friend who wanted to catch up, but we managed to get away without too much chatter.”

An old friend—Zed’s sluggish mind rotated around that reference. Had to be Agrius or the AEF. Given that Agrius didn’t give a damn about Dieter—as far as they knew—that narrowed it down. Shit. He hoped the lack of “chatter” Ness referred to meant they weren’t ID’d.

“Was the package, uh...intact?” Covert language was hard when you’d done your best to liquefy your brain cells. But he needed to know if Dieter was okay. Or as okay as he could be.

“Yeah. It’s all good. Protective casing still in place.”

Protective...casing...what? Before Zed had figured out that bit of intel, Ness moved on.

“Now, if I talk to you about Fixer, are you going to remember?”

Zed pushed upward, hissing as pain ricocheted through his entire body—head, neck, stomach...and intensifying the ache in his chest. Ignoring the discomfort, he focused on the voice in the wallet. “Is he okay? Did he get hurt on the—when you picked up the package? Can I talk to him?”

“He’s not okay.” Ness sucked in a breath and rushed onward. “He’s not injured or hurt, but he’s not okay, Zed.”

Not injured. Thank God. But Ness was right, he wasn’t okay. Zed knew that. The quietness, the distance, the more sensitive hair-trigger, the almost-cruelty the last time they’d made love...”Yeah,” he whispered.

“He’s not eating. He’s drugging himself with...I think he’s mixing the painkillers he got for his shoulder with the sedatives I gave him for his nightmares.”

Fuck. Fuck.

“He’s even more anti-social than usual. I’m not sure if that’s because he’s fuzzy from the drugs or...hell, this is Fixer, so it’s just an exacerbation of his usual state. But he’s disconnected himself from the crew. Holing up in his cabin, not talking to anyone. Eli’s worried. We’re all really worried, but you know how Elias is.”

Yeah. Elias thought of Flick as his little brother, and to watch him disintegrate this way had to be hard on the captain. At least as hard as it was for Zed to hear about it.

Damn it, Flick, why do you never ask for help?

Zed squeezed his eyes shut. Part of him wanted to be angry at Flick. Furious, righteous. He was the one who’d been wronged this time. In the darker moments, he’d wondered if Flick was doing this to pay him back for dying, to give him a taste of what that had been like, if only a small one. But hearing Ness’s worry for Flick deep-sixed those thoughts. And his actions...those were not the actions of a man who was making choices with any sort of premeditation.

Flick needed help. Afterward...afterward, they’d figure out what the hell all of this meant for them.

“What do you need me to do?”

A shaky breath wobbled over the connection. “I don’t know.”

“And when you guys get back?” Zed lifted a hand to rub at his aching forehead—then grimaced as the movement tugged at something on his chest. On his nipple. What the...?

“When we get back...” Another pause, another heavy breath.

“Your professional opinion. If this wasn’t Fix, if you didn’t know him, what would you recommend?” Zed poked at his shirt-covered pec. Okay, no, he hadn’t imagined it. There was something there. A bandage.

“I’d want him to see someone. Get evaluated.” Her voice took on some of the clinical crispness Zed was used to hearing. “I think it would be a good idea.”

“For Flick?”

“And you too.”

“Then I’ll arrange it. It’ll happen.”

“This is Fix we’re talking about.”

“It’ll happen.” Zed left his chest alone, the pain in his heart competing with the aches throughout the rest of his body. “Ness...it was Flick’s idea, wasn’t it. To leave? It wasn’t Marnie suddenly deciding—”

“Marnie didn’t suddenly decide, no.”

Zed gritted his teeth. “Do you think—”

“I think he isn’t thinking straight. Okay? Don’t read more into it. And don’t let him screw you two up. Make him say it to your face if he wants to end it.”

“I kept telling him I loved him. I rushed him, didn’t I?”

“Honey, I don’t know.” Fuck, things were bad when Ness brought out the endearments. “I think there’s a lot going on in Fixer’s head that he doesn’t even understand. He hasn’t faced what he went through with the stin, not really, and your death was the proverbial straw. That’s why I want him to talk to someone, okay?” He could hear the gentle, sad smile in her voice. “We’ll see you soon.”

“Right. I’ll...um. Keep in touch?”

“Will do. Take care of yourself.”

Zed tossed his wallet to the floor and leaned back against the wall across from the toilet. He wanted to take care of Flick, he wanted to fix all the things that were wrong...but he couldn’t bloody well do that if Flick wasn’t here, could he?

“Goddamn it.”

Sighing, Zed focused on what he could do at this moment—figure out what the hell was under his shirt. He poked at it again, then yanked his SFT over his head. He eyed the pair of bandages covering his nipples for all of a second before ripping them away. Not smart. Pain made his lungs seize, tears stinging his eyes, and sent him leaning over the toilet again. After a minute of unproductive retching—his stomach was finally empty—he turned his attention back to his chest.

Two new piercings greeted him on his previously virgin nipples. Flashes of the sequence of events the night before slithered through his lethargic brain. Drinking, planning the tattoo excursion—which had clearly turned into a piercing excursion—and Maddox talking about—

He shoved a hand down his shorts and inspected his dick, then breathed a sigh of relief. No metal down there. Not that he doubted Maddox’s assertion that it enhanced sensations, it just wasn’t for him.

Thank God Drunk Zed agreed.

* * *

Squashed into the corner of the booth that served as conference table and mess table aboard the Chaos, Felix worked on quieting his fidgets. He needed to be at this team meeting, physically and mentally.

“We can’t go back to Alpha,” Marnie began.

Felix sucked in a breath and nearly choked on the word rushing back out. “What?” Everyone gave him the look he’d come to recognize. As if you care, they all said with their variously sad eyes. “We were supposed to pick up Dieter and then go back, right?”

“If the AEF hadn’t caught up with us here, that might have been nice,” Dieter answered from the end of the table. “But if we return now, we’re only going to endanger Zed’s position.” He lifted his chin toward Marnie. “Ryan get an ID on the male operative yet?”

“Martin Jimenez. Also Mil-Int, also a former desk jockey.”

“Were they the B Team?” Felix asked.

“As far as I can tell, they were the only team, which means someone is putting unknowns on this. People they can cast adrift if they need to.”

“Isn’t that what black operatives are for?”

“I don’t think this is officially an unofficial op.”

“Huh?” Felix tried and failed to unravel the logic loop.

“It’s a deniable operation run through convoluted channels. I doubt General Bradley is even aware of what his left hand is doing, if he even knows he has one. He’s the public face for this farce, nothing more. Point is, if we head back to Alpha, we could be bringing trouble for Zed and his family.”

“So where do we go?” Elias asked.

Felix repressed the urge to insist they go to Alpha, unsure why it was suddenly so important that he return to Zed. Maybe it was seeing what the AEF had done to another of their assets.

Dieter Sorge was confined to a hover chair which he’d positioned at the end of the crowded booth. He’d broken his neck in an accident just before the end of the war. Despite his disability, he still looked every inch the soldier, with burly shoulders and chiseled features. Blond hair cut regulation short, brown eyes foxed with lines of pain and fatigue. But he also exhibited clear effects of Project Dreamweaver. With alarming regularity, he faded. Ceased to be present in mind.

The injury had an upside—he could no longer Zone or phase-shift. As a result, the mental degradation that had claimed most of the team had been slowed. But no one questioned that he’d eventually get lost somewhere in the spreading blankness of his mind. Nessa had already imaged his brain. He had holes—big ones.

The hover chair had been a gift from the AEF. The only gift. Sorry you broke your neck, man. Here, have a chair. Now stop bothering us and go die peacefully. Which Dieter did not intend to do. He’d been on some obscure station working with bio-implant artists, trying to devise a way to regain the use of his legs. Apparently his research into nerve regeneration could hold clues to slowing his degradation further, which could be good news for the rest of the team. His mistake had been communicating that to the AEF. He’d been on the run for three months and had finally coasted to a halt on Petrel Station.

Now they were idling in a numbered system just off the main chart, trying to figure out where to go next.

“We have enough fuel for one traverse of jump-space before we will need to collect more gas,” Qek said.

“Alpha is a big place,” Felix put in. “Zed’s family has that private dock.”

Elias handed out another sad look. “You’d really do that to his family? To Zed?”

“This is his project,” Felix protested. “We’re...” His thoughts rolled sullenly back to the to-do list he’d made for himself that first day on Alpha. Reunite Zed with his family, reunite Zed with his team. Claim Zed for himself. He could put a double check next to that first point, couldn’t he? Would ticking off the second point gain some favor toward the third? When had doing the right thing become an objective list? Sighing, he scrubbed a hand through his hair.

Nessa spoke into the pause. “We’re all here because we want to help the rest of his team. Not for Zed’s sake, for the men and women still out there who need help. We’re the only ones who seem to care.”

Ever the humanitarian. Felix scowled at her. She ignored him.

“My family has an asteroid in the Balmoral system,” Dieter said. “We could go there.”

“An asteroid?” Qek asked.

“They bought the rights to it after it was mined out about a century ago. There was nothing there but a big hole inside rock. Made a great place to set up a habitat. Was quite the trend back then, to buy a hollow rock and move all the extended family inside. Attach a couple of thrusters to one end and you’ve got a mobile home.”

Felix had heard of cults buying asteroids and touring the galaxy in their moveable churches. He’d also heard of cartels doing the same thing. A mined-out asteroid wasn’t much use for anything else and they made quiet, out-of-the-way places to live, if you weren’t into crowds. Which he wasn’t. Idly, he wondered how much a big hollow rock would cost.

“Is your family still there?” Elias asked.

“No.”

“Oh.” Nessa’s quiet word could be interpreted as a question.

“The war...” Dieter trailed off and no one prompted him to continue.

The fucking war. Now was not the time to spin off into a bitter rant, however. “We can’t help Zed from an asteroid halfway across the galaxy.”

“No, but it does give us somewhere to take Dieter. Somewhere safe. Then we can go back to Alpha and sneak Zed out from under the AEF if we have to,” Marnie said.

Felix scowled at her. “If he wants to leave Alpha.”

“Oh, he wants to leave. Trust me.”

Trust a Mil-Int operative? He did have to wonder where she got that particular piece of intel, though.

“Set a course for Balmoral, then?” Elias asked.

Around the table, everyone nodded and then looked at him. Felix spread his hands. “What? Like you all care what I think. I’m just the decoy, remember?” He poked Qek until she exited the booth, then slid after her and strode toward the door.

“Flick—”

“Forget it. Whatever you want to say, just forget it. I’ll be in engineering looking for something to fix.”

* * *

Felix stared at the ghostly hand that jutted up from his work bench. He’d intended to work on his glove. He’d hoped doing something constructive might help him find his balance. That even keel. He’d hoped to distract himself from the vials of pills and the lure of another long and dreamless sleep. Nothingness, emptiness. An escape from the pain and anguish, for which he could only blame himself.

His mood confused him. The circular motion of his thoughts made even less sense. The rage swirling through his gut was familiar, though. A sharp, burning pain that at once galvanized and paralyzed. He wanted to break things and fix things. Break and fix. One after the other. Both, neither. He didn’t want to go to Balmoral. He wanted to turn around and go back to Alpha. Fuck pride, fuck the fact he’d probably left a few bridges smoldering. Leaving had been the wrong choice and the only way to make it right was to return.

Having Dieter aboard pretty much excluded that option. Returning to Alpha now would jeopardize the mission and the safety of all involved, including Zed. The right choice now was to stand up and be counted, to fully commit to the task. To stand up for Dieter and Zed, against the AEF. Stand for something, be someone. He had to stop wallowing in self-pity and despair and do the right thing by everyone.

But...fuck. It was hard. The broken pieces of him kept tearing away, leaving him raw and vulnerable. He fumbled in his pocket, fingers of his right hand grazing his little vial of dreamtime. Oblivion beckoned.

“He didn’t want to stay on Alpha any more than you did.”

Marnie’s voice was like some weird echo. Felix spun around, startled, but perhaps not really surprised she’d sought him out. He opened his mouth to make a smart response, but all that emerged was a soft croak.

“What happened to you?” Marnie asked.

“You know what happened to me.”

“I don’t mean during the war. I’ve read the transcript of your exit interview.” Of course she had. “I mean now. Do you know how long it took Ryan to get you and Zed into the same region of space, the same bloody station?”

“What do you mean?” He knew what she meant, but needed a moment to process what he considered a betrayal.

“The Chaos was easier to move than Zed. He’s a wily bastard. But eventually the stars aligned and we got you both to Dardanos. From there, it was only a matter of rearranging the job queue so that he selected the Chaos first when searching for a ride to Chloris.”

She had arranged for them to meet up, to look for Emma together?

“Why would you do that?”

Marnie seemed truly puzzled. “You were both so lost.”

“But I wasn’t. I was doing okay!”

“Remembering to answer my messages once a year isn’t okay, Flick. I’m your friend. Zed is—”

“Stop calling me Flick.”

No one ever calls me that anymore. Except...

Marnie’s brows drew down. “Why?”

“Because Flick is dead. You’ve read the ‘script, right? The stin killed him. He’s gone.”

With those words, a void opened up, the black space both frightening and beckoning. Felix longed to slide into it, to embrace the sort of madness that would require Nessa and her syringe to visit engineering. Shoulders heaving with breath, hands shaking, legs trembling, he pushed away from his workbench and stumbled toward his quarters, intent on the other escape. His bunk, his pills. A hand arrested his purpose, fingers clamping around his shoulder and nearly pulling him from his feet. Felix spun into the restraining arm, tackling Marnie backward.

“Why are you here?” He had to force the words between clenched teeth. “What the fuck do you want?”

“To help Zed. I thought you’d want the same thing.” She ducked, evading his bunched-up right fist.

“He doesn’t need my help. He doesn’t need me.”

“But he does, Felix. God, do you even know what reports of your death did to him?”

She might as well have hit him in the gut. Felix staggered back a step. “I’m not dead.”

She cocked her head, shiny black hair falling across her jaw. “Just Flick. But not you.”

“Don’t start playing with my head. You know I can’t keep up.”

“Since when? You graduated from the same school as I did and placed second in your specialist training. You can think your way around ninety-five percent of the people in this galaxy, including me, Ryan and Zed, if you choose.” Her expression softened a little. “Of course, your solution is always going to require solder and spare parts, while mine will usually involve some sort of side bet and blackmail. Zed’s our charmer, but never to be underestimated. And Ryan is wired into HQ. Literally. But you...” The set of her features changed again, the irrepressible smile disappearing. When Marnie looked sad, she looked truly sad. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For not coming sooner.”

“Because running my life for me is so much fun.”

It was her turn to pause, ask, “What?”

“You used me as a decoy, Marnie. You decided I couldn’t keep up and shuffled me to the side of my own crew.”

“You weren’t even supposed to be on this mission!”

Her mild anger poked holes in his ire. Deflating, Felix whispered, “I shouldn’t be here, should I?”

“Oh, Flick.”

He growled softly.

“Fixer, then. Why will you accept a name you used aboard the McCandless, but not one from the Academy?”

Rather than explain that “Flick” had traveled to the Academy with him, a childhood name he’d happily inhabited until the stin had stripped away the innocence he hadn’t been aware of, that he’d happily revisited until Zed had died before his eyes just a month before, Felix said, “You could just call me Felix.”

“Do you truly feel I am no longer your friend?”

I don’t want any friends.

The uninhibited truth of the statement shocked him. The patent falseness of it smacked his cheeks a breath later.

“I don’t want to talk anymore.” He turned back toward his quarters and pulled out his vial of pills. “Wake me when we get to wherever we’re going.”

“Felix.”

Felix glanced over his shoulder at a still sorrowful Marnie.

“He’ll never be whole without you. You know that, don’t you?”

“Is that what this is all about? I fucked up Ryan’s secret mission to reunite me and Zed?”

She sighed. “If only. Not that I wouldn’t throw away my career to see my two dearest friends happy and healthy.” She let that sink in for a beat before continuing. “You have to know that Zed being alive makes more than a few folks in the AEF uncomfortable, even without my intelligence.”

Felix found a smirk for that.

“Juston Dell isn’t the only one with questions.”

“I’m not telling you what happened on Ashie Prime. Technically, you’re the enemy.”

“Is that how you really see me?”

I wouldn’t throw away my career...”Are you telling me you’ve left the AEF?”

“I can no longer sit by and watch the service I love continue to cut puppet strings. Who’s next? Me? Ryan? The war is over, but our role in galactic peace is not. People matter. And one of my oldest, dearest friends is in danger. His death was way too convenient for the AEF. We need to figure out a way to ensure they leave Zed alone.”

“We?”

“Have you been listening to me at all?” Marnie reached out and tapped the side of his skull. Felix tried not to flinch as her fingers grazed his curls. “You’re the one who thinks sideways. You’re our puzzle guy. You always have been. We need to do this together. Not just for old times’ sake. Not just because we’re friends, or to save the man you love more than life.” Felix sucked in a breath. “Because this is what we signed up to do. To serve and protect. That includes our own.”

Man, he wanted to say “fuck you,” but he couldn’t. The fact Marnie knew that burned. Another low growl tickled his throat. Felix had never considered himself a company man, but even now he recognized that that attitude had always been a front. He’d been proud to serve. Not just because the opportunity to do so pulled him out of the slums. But because he’d truly believed he had something to offer. Idealistic young fool that he’d been, he’d supposed he could make a difference. He’d wanted to serve and protect—his family, his comrades-in-arms. Humanity. And the man he loved more than life.

Felix jerked his chin down in a short nod. “Fine. You’ve made your point. Will you go now?”

“For a while. You need your beauty sleep, after all.” Her gaze darted sideways, letting him know she’d clocked the pills. “Sweet dreams, Fixer.”

She’d called him that on purpose, hadn’t she?

Chapter Twelve

Zed tilted his head back, reveling in the feel of water rushing over his hair, neck and down his spine. He closed his eyes, and for an instant he was back aboard the Chaos, in the tiny communal shower stalls. In his imagination, Flick was standing in front of him, watching the water stream over his muscles, just about to touch—

With a sigh, Zed opened his eyes. Popping a boner in the quasi-public space of the Anatolius gym showers would not be advised—not that his cock was all that interested in action. They both wanted Flick and fantasizing in the shower was a poor, pathetic substitute. He made quick work of washing his skin and hair, keeping his back to the stream of water. After waking up with piercings, he’d discovered that his abused nipples were not up to the caress of hot water. He’d almost yanked the little barbells out—but somehow, some way, Maddox had convinced him to leave them in at least until after Flick saw them.

If he ever came back.

Two days. Zed’s ripmails to Flick had gone unanswered. Elias and Ness had been in touch—though Ness was the only one Zed had spoken to. He wasn’t Elias’s biggest fan at the moment because even if Flick wanted to go along with the Chaos, it had been Elias’s call to take him. He figured they’d have words. Eventually. He’d just add them to the words he wanted to have with Flick.

He knew Ness wasn’t wrong—Flick was fucked up. Hell, what ex-soldier wasn’t? Add in the stin and being a POW, then Zed’s death and the emotional fallout from that...really, it was amazing that Flick was functional at all. But that didn’t change the fact that instead of talking to Zed, instead of trying to deal with shit, Flick had run. Was it his fault for expecting too much? They’d never revisited their agreement to take their relationship one day at a time. Zed had just sort of assumed that since he no longer had a known expiration date facing him that they could—and would—roll into something more permanent.

Had that been selfish? Fuck, it had. Maybe that was part of the reason Flick left. Maybe he didn’t want something more permanent and he just didn’t know how to say it. Maybe—

Zed stabbed the shower’s holo interface and the water shut off. “Enough thinking,” he muttered, the words reverberating in the empty space. The students he’d taught had already come and gone, other duties calling them away from the gym. Zed had nothing else to occupy him—unless he wanted to go seek out Lise Bellerose. See if she had any work he could do. Or he could pay a visit to the Anatolius legal team, see if they’d come up with any new strategy to keep him out of the AEF’s brig. Just something to make the hours of the day go by fast enough that he stopped contemplating other ways to fill his time.

Like...if getting a lower piercing would hurt less or more than his nipples did.

Brennan burst through the change room door just as Zed pulled his underwear up over the curve of his ass. He almost growled at his brother, but the expression on Brennan’s face killed the sentiment. “What?”

“Checked your messages?”

“No, I had a class and I just got out of the shower.”

Brennan nodded, the movement clipped. “I pushed up the meeting with the lawyers.”

“What? Why?”

In answer, Brennan pulled out his wallet and tapped a button. The asshole reporter from the conference—Juston Dell—appeared, suspended in holographic form. The text “Secrets & Lies” splashed behind him in garishly colored letters. “The Allied Earth Forces was our savior, our life raft, during the long war with the stin. The AEF protected all of us, watching out for humanity and trying to keep our species safe. But how many lines did they cross while doing that?

“To hear the AEF tell it, none.”

The report switched to footage of an AEF press conference, where a high-ranking officer—Zed didn’t recognize him—spoke to the assembled group of reporters. “The AEF conducted no experiments on its soldiers and never will. Anything you might have heard was nothing more than conjecture based on old—and very bad—science-fiction holos.”

Dell reappeared. “But was it? A source very close to this so-called fictional Project Dreamweaver supplied details on the horrific experimental training the AEF subjected select soldiers to—training that utilized stin venom.”

“Oh, shit,” Zed breathed. He sat down on the bench, possibilities racing through his brain. A plan. He needed a plan.

Brennan paused the holo. “I can show the AEF all the records we have to prove you never communicated with Dell, but that’s not going to do anything at this point. They’ve got a hole to plug and you’re the most visible potential leak.”

“I’ll swear whatever I need to swear, sign whatever I need to sign to prove this wasn’t me.”

Brennan scrubbed a hand over his face. “It won’t matter. We need a new strategy.”

“Bren...” Zed stared at his brother. “Are you talking about running?”

“If it keeps you out of the AEF’s hands, yes, damn it.” He blew out a harsh breath and his hand flopped back to his side. “We need to buy time and getting you out of sight is—”

Boots clamored on the other side of the gym door. A lot of them. Zed shared a look with his brother, his lips curving up in something that felt too much like a grimace to be a smile. “Too late.”

An AEF contingent shoved the doors open and flowed into the change room, grunts with guns fanning out to ensure Zed couldn’t run. Bradley stepped forward, his lips set into a hard line. His dark gaze skimmed over Brennan to settle on Zed.

“You going to come quietly, Anatolius?”

Brennan moved to stand between Bradley and Zed, his back ramrod straight. “This is private property, General. I demand you—”

Bradley held up his wallet with a document holo already keyed up. “I have a warrant for Zander Anatolius’s arrest, signed by the Supreme Court of the Central Alliance of Planets and Stations. As of this moment, Mr. Anatolius, you are harboring a fugitive and if you continue to obstruct justice, I have no problems hauling you in too.”

“My brother did not—”

Zed stood, then froze as the guns in the room leveled on him in one smooth, unified motion. Slowly, he lifted his hands, his mind calculating how fast he’d have to move, how many times he’d have to phase-shift to get out of this. He could do it, he realized. It’d push his limits, but he could do it.

Except not without killing some of these soldiers in the process. And endangering his brother, which was not an option.

“Can I get dressed?”

Bradley jerked his head and one of the soldiers darted forward to inspect the clothes hanging in his locker, then the boots. After a few seconds of pawing at them, the soldier nodded and proclaimed an all-clear.

“Go ahead,” Bradley instructed.

Brennan turned to watch as Zed jerked on his pants and SFT. “You don’t have to do this,” he murmured.

“What do you want me to do? Fight?” Zed sat down to pull on his footwear. “I’m not willing to hurt anyone who’s just doing their job.”

“God, Zed—” Brennan’s breath quickened. “I’ll call the lawyers. We’ll straighten this out. We’ll—”

“Breathe. They’re not going to hurt me.” He straightened and offered Brennan another small smile, trying to inject his voice and body language with confidence. Ease. Nothing to worry about here.

Brennan stepped forward and cupped the side of Zed’s head with an uncallused palm. “They’d better not,” he growled in a low voice. “We just got you back.”

“And I’ll be back again.” He wanted to add promise, but didn’t dare.

He didn’t want to have to break it.

* * *

Unsticking his tongue from the roof of his mouth, Felix swallowed the foul taste of his own breath. “Huh?”

Nessa shoved a steaming mug of coffee under his nose. Automatically, Felix wrapped his hand around the stainless steel vessel, sighing as warmth tickled his palm and worked into stiff tendons and aching bones. He’d run out of painkillers, which might be a good thing. The cocktail of pain meds and sedatives left him with a wicked hangover. But the sedatives alone left him so sore, as if he’d lain still for twelve hours—which he had. As a result, he ached. And someone had replaced his brain with rice.

“I asked if you’ve checked your messages.” Nessa folded her arms. “I’m guessing by the stupid look on your face that you haven’t. Have you used up all those sedatives yet?”

“Nearly. Are you going to give me any more?”

“Honestly? I don’t know. But that’s the least of your concerns right now. Check your bracelet.”

Fearing Nessa might whack his head if he didn’t comply, Felix tapped his bracelet. There were a stunning number of unopened messages. The top five were jazers from Brennan Anatolius. A horrible twitch caught the finger Felix poked at his display. Even with rice in his head, he could see the pattern. Zed had stopped sending ripmail ten hours ago, about when Brennan had started paying for tight-beam transmissions through j-space.

Shit.

“You know what’s in these messages, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

And she wasn’t going to tell him, because he deserved the shock of whatever waited behind that cold, bleak subject header: Urgent. Felix caressed the holographic pixels and the message opened. He could justify the cost of accessing a jazer with his guilt and probably have bucket loads left over. He read the first line and closed his eyes.

Double shit.

Anger sputtered and died in his gut. This wasn’t Marnie’s fault. She hadn’t promised Zed would be safe on Alpha, she’d only suggested he would be.

Was it his fault? If he’d stayed, could he have protected Zed from the AEF?

Thoughts clinging to phrases such as “I’d die trying,” Felix opened his eyes and scanned the rest of the message. The anger so recently set aside flared to life. Burned hotly until rage licked across his skin, making his limbs tremble. “Where did Dell get all these details?”

“Maybe the bug?” Corners of her mouth turning down, Nessa nodded toward his display. “Brennan attached holos, if you’ve the stomach for them.”

He hadn’t, but Felix would rather die (yep, again) than admit that to Ness. He chose a random attachment and watched the holo. Juston Dell flashed a smug smile at the camera as he introduced himself. Then he adopted a more serious expression as he launched into his breaking news: Project Dreamweaver was more than a rumor and Zander Anatolius was a former member.

Felix paused the replay, unable to stomach any more. Then, amazingly, all that anger swirling through his veins evaporated. Just up and deserted him, leaving him feeling like a torn-up grease rag and just as useless. He fought the urge to tuck his head into his chest and cry. Instead, abandoning the mug of coffee, he pushed off the wall holding him up and turned toward the door.

“Where are you going?” Nessa asked.

To fling myself out of an airlock?

Felix glanced over his shoulder at the doctor. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

Unfolding her arms, Nessa studied him with those not-so-compassionate doctor eyes. “A few hours isn’t going to make any difference, Fix. We need to skim some gas before we go anywhere outside of this system, anyway, and there’s nothing we can do right now other than follow the original plan.”

“How can you be so calm?”

Nessa flinched, his intended insult finding the target. “I’ve had a few hours to process the details,” she threw back. “To discuss a plan with the rest of the crew.”

Ouch.

“I’m here, Ness.”

“You didn’t vote to be on this mission, though, did you?”

“Damn it, you think I don’t care what happens to Zed? I...” God, he was so tired of hurting, of trying to make things better only to succeed in making things worse. Fighting with his crew wasn’t going to help him gain ground, or even traction. Swallowing, Felix waited for the ball of whatever to sink down his throat. He looked up from the grimy floor—had it been his turn to clean the mess?—and breathed out. “I’m trying, Ness. And you know I’d do anything for Zed. Anything. I thought...” He chewed on his lower lip. “I thought leaving for a while was the best thing. Really, I did. I’m not much fun right now.”

“No kidding.”

Felix sighed. “Are you going to tell me the plan? Or would you rather give me some more pills?”

“Would you take them if I offered them?”

He didn’t have to think about it, even though his skin itched and his fingers were locked against involuntary spasm. “No.” His hand shook as he reached for his coffee.

Rationally, Felix understood he was not at fault. That he could not have stopped Juston Dell or the AEF. But love wasn’t rational. Hell, he knew that. Love couldn’t be fit into a reliable pattern. If he was a rational being, he would be screaming instead of trying not to spill his coffee. He would be wrestling control of the ship from Qek and turning back to Alpha, sniffing out the AEF vapor trail and following Zed. His heart.

Or maybe that would be the irrational act.

“It’s not my fault, is it? Because I left?”

“Oh, Fix. No. It’s not your fault.”

A not-so-subtle throat-clearing saved Felix from having to make any sort of sensible response. Marnie stood in the doorway, giving him the speculative eye. “If anything, it’s my fault.” He arched a brow at her, surprised by her willingness to take on a burden he considered his. “We antagonized the AEF at Petrel Station.”

“I’m the one who stunned their people,” he said.

“I’m the one who decided we needed to run in there and get Dieter.”

Nessa broke in. “We all voted to be a part of that action. And if we hadn’t been here, Dieter might have been captured, or worse.”

“Regrets aren’t going to get Zed out of the hands of the AEF,” Felix said.

“No, they won’t,” Marnie agreed. “We’re approaching Bosun. Ready to roll?”

“What’s at Bosun?” Felix tried to place the name and couldn’t. Last he remembered they were traveling to Balmoral System. Were they there yet?

“Dieter’s asteroid.” Perhaps sensing his internal confabulation, Marnie added, “We’re in Balmoral.”

“Have we scooped enough gas to leave?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then we’re going to Alpha.” Felix tapped his bracelet. “Qek?”

“Yes, Fixer?”

“Set—”

Marnie’s finger swiped through the holo interface, closing the connection.

“What the hell?”

“We can’t take Dieter to Alpha.”

The words “why not” clogged his throat as the passage closed. Felix knew why not and the argument between sense and sensibility was going to kill him. If his rising anger didn’t get him first. His breath shortened and his vision swam with red.

Before he could explode, Marnie gripped his arm. “Felix.” He shook her off, but she persisted, saying his name again.

“Don’t tell me to calm the fuck down,” he warned, voice thin and strained.

“I won’t. But you’re not going to like what I do have to say.”

With a glare, he dared her to spill it anyway.

“Zed isn’t on Alpha. When they arrested him, they took him off the station.”

“Then where is he?”

“I don’t know.”

* * *

Bosun was a broken moon—what amounted to an asteroid field that had settled into a stable orbit around the largest planet in the Balmoral system. Apparently Dieter’s asteroid—he called it Morrison—lay somewhere just off center.

“This field is playing havoc with our sensors,” Felix said, poking the copilot’s console.

“Are you using lidar or radar?” Marnie asked from behind him. Dieter’s hover chair was wedged in beside her, making the bridge somewhat crowded.

“We have configured our sensors to optimize both technologies, strengthening the gain of that which proves more appropriate or efficient,” Qek said.

“Nice.” Marnie nudged the back of Felix’s shoulder. “You still got it, Fl—Fix.”

“Fixer has reprogramed nearly every system on this ship. With my help, of course.”

Felix grunted. “Stay modest, Qek.” He sideswiped a holo. “Do we have coordinates or are you going to let me waste time looking for this rock? I want to be here and gone.”

A nicer person would have glanced over their shoulder, reassured their passenger with something banal like, “No offense, buddy.”

Dieter spoke in his own defense. “Think of Bosun as a strategic relay point. I’ve got a pressurized dock with atmospheric control. Workshops and labs. While we search for Zed, we can add a few bells and whistles to your ride. Upgrade your comm so you don’t have to ask permission to access jazers. And Marnie mentioned your shields could use some tweaking.”

Felix didn’t want to admit the man made sense, but, fuck it, he did. Especially as they still had no word on where Zed was being held.

Apparently not trusting him to arrive at that conclusion, however, Marnie said, “Zed’s arrest is all over the news. The AEF can’t just disappear him. They will need to conduct a very public trial and you can bet the Anatolius Industries lawyers are already all over it. We’ve got time. To find him and coordinate with his family. To make sure the Chaos is ready to intercede if necessary.”

Grumbling, Felix tried to pluck a shred of faith from Marnie’s assurances. He failed miserably. “Let’s just get moving, okay?”

Coordinates splashed across his display, sent by Dieter.

“The debris field extends one thousand kilometers from our targeted asteroid,” Qek said, studying the map. “Is there an approach you would recommend?”

“Sending that now,” Dieter said. “Won’t be a smooth ride in, but there is a sort of path...here, and here.” Points flashed across the star map, quickly falling into two three-dimensional paths.

“Fixer, would you take us in?”

Felix glanced over at the pilot. “You’re sure?” Anticipation of the challenge kicked a surge of adrenaline to his fingers and toes. He used to live for moments such as these, pitting wit and skill against an impossible course.

“You’re better at quick course corrections than I am.”

Meaning Felix didn’t rely on the onboard navigation as much as Qek did, which was fine in the black—not so great in j-space.

“Okay.”

Quickly and quietly, Felix fell into his own zone, one achieved not through some secret program but simply developed out of necessity. After a moment’s surprise that he could still reach a state of uninterrupted reasoning, he began to work—fingers flying across his console, displays flashing up and down, skimming across the star chart as he moved and realigned them. Calculations unfolded across his mind’s eye and he entered minute adjustments into their flight path, taking into account the drag that shouldn’t exist in a vacuum. The exhaust from their craft shifted particles that ran into particles, though, and the outer edge of their shielding nudged more than dust aside.

Qek preferred to have a view of space outside the ship. Felix felt rather than saw the larger pieces of debris tumble past the view ports. He knew that if he looked up, he’d lose his perspective. When he did look up at last, their target loomed large, filling the view screens from end to end.

“Docking?”

A new set of coordinates unfolded across his display, and Felix immediately began his calculations, not waiting for Qek to engage the automatic sequences. A moment later, the Chaos danced nimbly to his touch, turning almost back on herself in order to duck “under” the asteroid. The view never changed, or not perceptibly. Rock filled every port, regardless of “up” or “down” until Felix input the final directives to turn the Chaos out from the asteroid so they could slide backward into the docking cave. Space doors irised open behind them, the view on his display. He barely glanced at it, relying instead on sensor pings. Then the doors shut, sealing the corvette in a dim chamber lit by a docking path, above and below. The lights glowed more brightly as the atmosphere exchangers pressurized the bay. Felix concentrated on locking the Chaos to one side of the solitary pier.

When he looked up again, they were locked, and external readings indicated the large chamber had an atmosphere. Felix breathed out, and for the first time in days his thoughts didn’t scatter. His fingers had lost their tremble. His chest didn’t ache—until he thought about it, then a twinge shot down through his center, but not to linger. He felt purposeful. Useful. Not quite as broken.

Glancing over his shoulder, he caught Marnie’s eye and saw she knew it, too. That subtle shift in perspective. Rather than acknowledge it, he turned away. The small bubble of peace he’d found stayed with him, though, even as he acknowledged it wouldn’t last.

Chapter Thirteen

They started with the “we’re all friends here, just talk to us” attitude. Zed had never been called on to fill the role of galactic cop, as some AEF officers did, but he’d had the training on how to conduct interrogations. What they tossed at him was textbook good cop/bad cop.

Just help us and we’ll make sure you’re back on Alpha in no time.

Goddamn it, Anatolius, man up and accept the consequences.

All I need is just a bit of information and I can get you the water you asked for.

Tell us the truth! Where is Dieter Sorge?

Don’t you want to do the right thing, Major Anatolius?

It was all bullshit. Zed had known when Bradley’s grunts had slapped the cuffs on, that was it. In their eyes, he’d violated the terms of his release from service, and that was what they’d announce publicly, lack of evidence or no. They’d paint him to be a traitor, selling AEF secrets to that asshole reporter, conveniently ignoring the millions of credits in his account and his total lack of need to earn more.

And yes, the AEF might be beyond pissed that the secrets of the project got leaked, but that was only an excuse. The real issue here was that he wasn’t dead, and that was a fucking massive inconvenience for the AEF. They wanted all evidence of their experiments gone—but first, they wanted to know how he was still alive.

Zed refused to talk. He’d been trained to be on this side of the table. It was tempting to recite only his name, rank and serial number, but he settled instead for just keeping his mouth shut. He trusted Brennan—he knew his brother would be working his ass off to get him out of here, even if every effort was accompanied by cursing Zed’s name. He’d come through.

“Last time, Mr. Anatolius.” The good cop sighed. They’d dropped the “major” from in front of his name a while back. Zed wasn’t sure if it was an insult or not. “What treatment did you undergo on Ashushk Prime? What information did you share with them?”

Zed just stared at them.

“Fucking waste of time,” the bad cop muttered. He rose from his seat, stretching out the vertebrae in his back. “Maybe we should pick up what’s-his-name, your boyfriend. Ingesson.”

Zed tried to keep his face impassive but he couldn’t quite manage it. His brows lowered and his jaw tightened.

“Oh, now, that got a reaction.” The bad cop grinned. “We could charge him with aiding and abetting. How’d you like that?”

“I don’t think we need to bring Ingesson in,” Good Cop said, his tone reasonable. “That’s going a little far.”

“No, what’s going a little far is this asshole selling secrets to a reporter.” Bad Cop moved around the table and kicked at the leg of Zed’s chair. “And telling the ashies all sorts of classified shit. Do you not understand the importance of security clearance, Mr. Anatolius? Galactic secrecy?”

God, he wanted to tell Bad Cop exactly what he could expect if they brought in Flick. But even the slight reaction he’d already given was ammunition enough. He stared at Bad Cop, trying to keep his face impassive even as emotions roiled behind his mask. If they kept poking at him about Flick, he wasn’t going to be held responsible for his reaction.

Goddamn it, Bren. Work faster.

* * *

Felix ground his teeth until he tasted dust. Still, he couldn’t swallow the curses piling up on the back of his tongue. “Shit and triple shit!”

“What happened to double shit?”

Felix shot Elias a look. Now is not the time. Then again, now could be the time because he’d been holed up in the bridge of the Chaos for untold hours—at least two if the creak of his joints measured time with any accuracy. If he didn’t take a break soon, he was likely to do more harm than good to the communication array. He wasn’t in the right frame of mind to tinker, and the upgrade hadn’t consumed him as he had hoped it might. Stopping work to listen in on chatter every fifteen minutes hadn’t helped his progress, either. So far, there had been no useful word from Alpha or Ryan, though, unless you believed in the bullshit of no news being good news.

He unfolded his legs, winced as blood burned a path down the back of his calves, and leaned over the console he’d been cursing to wait for the inevitable dizzy spell.

“When was the last time you ate?”

“Did you come in here just to hassle me?” He’d give Elias another look, but black spots were dancing in front of his eyes.

“Sure, why not?” Elias’s voice moved closer. “C’mon, a break will shake something loose. Then you can come back in here and sleep with the comm array if you need to.”

“What time is it?”

“Dinnertime and Ness cooked.”

“Cooked what? Is there a secret garden inside this rock somewhere?”

“Nope, just a well-stocked dee-hi.” They had a small unit that extracted moisture from food for long-term storage aboard the Chaos but stopped regularly enough that they rarely used it.

As Elias led him back through the ship toward the main cargo bay, Felix realized he’d started following without issuing further complaint. That he immediately began searching for an objection—any objection—depressed him. Had he always been such an asshole? He turned his thoughts toward his crew. “How is everyone, um, doing?”

Elias glanced over his shoulder, surprise evident in the widening of his eyes. “Did you just take your head out of your ass for a second?”

“Maybe. Want to record the moment?”

“I probably should.”

Felix snorted. “No one will believe you otherwise, right?”

“You know, you’re not as broken as you pretend to be.”

“What does that mean?” They’d reached Cargo One and his voice echoed in the empty chamber.

“It means that you’re still here, still kicking, and when you remember that, you’re a lot easier to be around.”

“And here I thought y’all had left me alone on the bridge because you could use a break.”

“Not going to deny that.” A familiar grin flashed across Elias’s face. “We were sort of hoping you’d figure out the communication upgrade too.”

“Working on it.” When not listening for news. “If Marnie had given me a board and some code even a year ago, I might have been able to slot it in, no hassles.” Felix gripped his nape and the ache nudging the back of his skull eased somewhat. “I’ve implemented so many side grades between now and then that it’s just going to be easier to uninstall the comm system software and upload a new copy.”

“Side grades?”

Being able to activate comms throughout the ship, one way, so he could eavesdrop. Shit like that. Did Elias suspect...? Felix shrugged away the thought. “The panels in our quarters shouldn’t hiss when someone flushes the forward head when I’m done.”

“Good to know.”

The much larger space of the asteroid docking bay muted the sound of their voices, and as they crossed into the corridor leading directly to the living quarters, Felix fell easily into chatter with Elias. A weird calm enveloped him, despite the urgency that formed the pulse of his days—of every hour spent apart from Zed, of every minute Zed spent in the custody of the AEF. The guilt that poked constantly softened, just a touch. The loud and bitter recrimination that filled his thoughts quieted. He might almost be his regular old self, except for that blank space in his chest.

He’d been given a tour of the asteroid when they’d arrived twelve hours ago. The place was well appointed, as far as hollowed-out rocks went. If they succeeded in rounding up the remaining members of Project Dreamweaver, it would make a great hideout. Plenty of small apartments, a well-equipped central kitchen, med bay and laboratory, several workshops and a number of empty spaces that could be turned to any purpose with a few judicious credits.

He followed Elias into the dining hall adjacent to the kitchen. Dieter and Qek glanced up from overlapping holo displays.

“Captain Sorge has a shield upgrade routine that might be compatible with our forward array,” Qek said.

“What about the back half of the ship?” Elias asked.

“Assuming you’re not planning on entering a combat situation, the rear emitters can be upgraded with this scramble tech a friend and I were playing with before I was drafted for Dreamweaver,” Dieter said.

“The Chaos doesn’t have any onboard armaments. So, no, we’re not planning on entering any combat situations.” Elias had started out addressing Dieter, but by the time he finished speaking he was looking at Felix.

Felix scowled.

The scent of food wafted into the room. Nessa followed, bearing a tray. Felix stepped up to help her steady her load—six bowls of something hot and steamy—and she flashed him a quick smile. Felix had just set the tray down when Marnie entered the dining hall from the opposite direction, wrist out, holo flickering overtop. “I just heard from Ryan.”

Fucking typical. The minute he’d walked away from the comm array, the call had come through. “What’s the news?”

The serious cast of her features indicated it wasn’t good, as in the AEF had not released him with an apology and a pat on the head.

“Zed’s aboard the Cambridge.”

“That’s...” Not bad news, unless you counted Zed being incarcerated aboard the most secure drift in the galaxy as bad. Felix’s mind went blank, then rebooted with several questions that demanded answers all at once. “Where is the Cambridge? Can Ryan get to him? Is his location public—”

“Whoa, slow down. The Cambridge is in Sol. Out past Jupiter’s orbit, apparently. They probably took him straight there. No, his location has not been disclosed, which is why this comm from Ryan is so important.”

“The Cambridge is in Sol?” Felix pushed back up out of his chair. “Then we have to go back there.”

“Sit back down before you fall down. Eat something and we’ll start planning what we’re going to do.”

We. Right, he was part of a crew. He’d used the same we seconds earlier, but now the word echoed in the back of his brain. What if he changed it to an I? I need to equip those shield upgrades and then I need to get the fuck off this rock. Would it count as theft if he stole his own ship?

* * *

The door to the interrogation room popped open. Zed expected to see Good Cop and Bad Cop again, as he had for the past...however long it had been. It was tough to track time on a ship, especially when the light level stayed the same in his cell. They’d fallen into something of a routine—the cops tag-teamed him, he ignored them, everyone had a wonderful time until the metaphorical buzzer dinged and they took him back to his cell. Instead of the two cops, though, a familiar figure stepped into the room. General Bradley.

He hid his surprise. Though he’d been delivered to the Cambridge by his former CO, he hasn’t expected the man to hang around. Interrogation wasn’t his thing—too far below his paygrade. Did they think Zed would talk to Bradley when he wouldn’t talk to the tag-team duo? Maybe. Zed couldn’t deny that there was still a twang of loyalty in his head when he thought of his CO. Bradley wasn’t a bad man, he was just caught in a shitty situation.

But...maybe he was here for a different reason?

Zed straightened in his chair, trying not to get too far ahead of himself. “Sir.”

Bradley grimaced at the manacles around his wrists, but made no move to get rid of them. “Quite the pickle you’ve gotten yourself into.”

The tiny spark of hope that Bradley had been there to free him sputtered and died. “Yes, sir.”

The general arranged one of the chairs, moving it to the side so he could face Zed without the table between them, and settled into it. A gust of air flowed from him, almost a sigh, as he inspected Zed.

“You know why you’re here.”

Zed clamped his mouth shut and raised his chin.

“Why is it such a big deal? The ashies obviously figured something out, something that could help your teammates. Why keep it a secret? Why fake your death?”

Zed kept his lips pressed tightly together. The Guardians had never said he couldn’t tell anyone about their involvement, but he didn’t want to tell Bradley. Not like this, in an interrogation room, where everything that came out of his mouth would be suspect anyway. The AEF already thought he was a liar—telling them the Guardians had resurrected his ass wouldn’t change that opinion.

“You know what the next step would be, usually. Don’t you?” Bradley leaned back into his chair, his arms crossed.

A prisoner who wouldn’t talk would be given special incentive to do so. Torture wasn’t humane, but then, war tended to file down the levels of what wasn’t acceptable until anything was okay, as long as you got results.

“Don’t make them do this, Zed.” Had the man ever called him by his first name? Certainly not like that, in a pleading, concerned tone, with his voice almost shaking in desperation. Chills skittered down Zed’s spine.

Damn it, they were seriously going to take that next step, weren’t they? If he didn’t speak to Bradley, the next person who walked through that door was going to be one of the specialists the AEF would never admit to having in their employ. A torturer, someone skilled in how to dish out pain, breaking down walls and resistance. Maybe he should just give in. The Guardians had never said it was a secret—they’d called him proof. He was the evidence that the races in the galaxy were not so different. Essences of them could coexist in the same body.

He couldn’t imagine the warm presence that had brushed his mind would want him to withstand torture to keep that a secret.

But what proof did he have, other than the cuff on his wrist, just barely visible beneath the manacles? They’d tried removing it when he came on board, but Zed had no idea how to do so and the AEF techs hadn’t figured it out, either. So it remained, placid and inert, nothing more than a decoration. Certainly it didn’t appear Guardian-like. So even if he said something, they wouldn’t believe him. They wouldn’t even consider it. History insisted that the Guardians didn’t intervene in that manner. To stop wars, sure. To save civilizations from extinction, yeah. Not to save one individual man.

Talking wouldn’t save him, so he might as well stay silent. Lips pressed together, Zed shook his head.

Bradley sighed and scuffed his hands through his hair. He rose slowly, reluctantly. Emotions flickered through his dark eyes, emotions Zed had never seen on the hard man before. He looked strangely vulnerable, as if a stiff breeze would be too much for him to take.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice soft. Then he turned and left the room.

Zed barely had time to catch his breath before the door opened again, bringing with it another familiar figure. This one wasn’t nearly as welcome a sight as Bradley. In fact, if Zed had never seen her again in his life, he could have died a very happy man.

Dr. Carlisle Preston appeared much as she had during his final medical exam before the AEF cut him and his team loose. She’d been their guide—and their nemesis—during Project Dreamweaver, the one responsible for all the tests and procedures that changed them into something more than human. Her caramel-colored hair was swept back on the sides, with loose curls cascading down to her shoulders. Her eyes were rich and warm—at first glance, no one would expect she was as cold and efficient as a droid.

As far as he knew, Preston had no off-the-books training as a specialist. But then...everyone knew Zed would be resistant to traditional methods.

Shit. This was not good.

“Carly.” Good. Judging by the narrowing eyes, she still hated that name.

“Major Anatolius.” Ever task-focused, Preston pulled a couple of items from the pockets of her white SFT jacket and placed them on the table. A hypo-syringe, like the sort Nessa favored, and a knife. Zed’s jaw flexed. She left them there for a moment, standing on the other side of the table, and just let him look at them.

Zed drew in a deep breath. He could do this. He could withstand this. “Party time, huh.”

“I doubt this will feel much like a party, Major. You have a particular resistance to pain and the officers in charge of this interrogation have asked me to mitigate it.” Those warm eyes glittered and not for the first time, Zed wondered if the good doctor was a bit of a sadist. It would explain a lot. “A specialist could cut you with this blade and you’d just retreat into the Zone and ride it out. You’d pay for it, of course. Still suffering the migraines? You got them the worst of anyone.”

Zed stayed silent.

“But that’s not what I’m going to do.” She lifted the knife in her right hand and the syringe in her left. “Remember Cain?”

A sharp breath jerked past Zed’s lips.

“You do. Good. It was a shame about him. But we learned, right? From then on, we made sure the ritual only happened when you were all healthy and pain-free. But that didn’t mean we didn’t file away that intel. Just in case.”

Distracted by the doctor’s words and memories of one of the Project Dreamweaver participants who didn’t survive the training, Zed didn’t read the tensing and bunching of Preston’s muscles until it was too late. She whipped the knife downward and it flew through the air, slicing into Zed’s bare foot. Zed barely had time to register the sudden onslaught of pain before Preston stabbed the syringe into his neck. Biting, stinging liquid slipped into his veins, a sensation Zed remembered. Hated. Feared.

Fucking bitch did not just inject me with the stin poison. Please, God.

“What—” Zed gasped as his vision grayed out, then returned, too bright, too harsh. The pain in his foot suddenly intensified, igniting into an inferno a thousand times worse than the original injury.

“Your interrogators will be back later.” Preston reached down and yanked the knife out of Zed’s foot. Zed screamed as the pain jolted up into realms he’d never known he could experience. “I suggest you speak to them. Enjoy your trip, Major.”

The doctor’s words ebbed and flowed, almost drowned out by the waves of agony shooting through Zed’s body. Her white-coated silhouette wavered and broke apart, then came back together again. Zed reached out and watched his fingers separate from his hand and fly toward her, begging when the rest of him couldn’t move.

Not real. Hallucination, it’s a hallucination.

That soft thought didn’t stop him from trying to collect his fingers and put them back where they belonged. Except his body didn’t want to obey him. He made the mistake of shifting his injured foot. Fire raced up his leg, burning him inside, everywhere, growing white-hot, blue, and Zed knew, he knew it was going to burn him up, burn him out, destroy him entirely...

His screams rang in his ears and ripped his throat, and he couldn’t stop.

* * *

Felix switched off the striplight and closed the supply room door, wincing at the quiet hiss that might betray his presence in the asteroid’s docking bay. He didn’t want to leave with any of Dieter’s equipment, though. He wasn’t that much of a rogue. Quietly, he picked his way back along the catwalk to the small pier that served the bay’s only inhabitant, the Chaos.

“Don’t even think about it.”

Felix started at the sound of Elias’s voice but did not turn. Instead, he put a hand on the side of his ship. The ceramix plates were cool against his palm, around the same temperature of the inside of the asteroid. They’d been here long enough for the Chaos’s internal and external temperature to equalize, meaning the drive would also be cool. Not ideal.

Elias wasn’t going to let him leave alone, though, and if he was honest with himself, Felix would admit that he hadn’t really wanted to go alone, without his crew, or his captain. The man he counted as brother and best friend. But neither could the pull toward Zed be denied.

“Upgrades are done.” Report delivered, now for the plea. “I need to be there. I can’t sit here while Ryan gathers information and Brennan hurls legal objections. I know everyone is doing everything that can be done, but the AEF don’t play by the same rules as the Anatolius family. This isn’t going to be a legal battle. The AEF aren’t going to let Zed go.”

“So you think flying in there, shields blazing—because, face it, that’s all you’ve got to throw at a military drift—is going to make a difference.”

“I can’t hurt the Cambridge, I know that. Hell, I might not even be able to sneak aboard—”

“That was your plan? Holy hell, are you high?”

Felix flattened his palm against the side of the ship, pushing into it with all his strength. Still, he could feel the tremble in his fingers, the itch across his shoulders and that weird twitch at the base of his spine. He didn’t know if he craved oblivion of the chemical kind or the actual kind. If love drove him, or the memories beating against his skull had finally driven him to madness. All he knew was that he needed to be with Zed. That he’d been wrong to leave.

You’re not as broken as you pretend to be.

Oh, but he was.

“Not high.” He hadn’t taken a single pill since they’d arrived at the asteroid. “Just wrecked. The stin broke me into too many pieces. You did a good job putting me back together, but the cracks are still all there. Zed’s death...”

“Fix...fuck.” He could hear Elias pacing back and forth on the decking. “Man, I should just let you go. Write off my half of the ship, my life. Curse the day I let Zander Bloody Anatolius walk on board.”

A quiet sound interrupted Elias’s rant. Then a moist breath. Felix squeezed his eyes shut and remained resolutely turned away. If he looked Elias in the eye, saw even a hint of a tear—

“But I’m not going to. Wanna know why? Because this is my ship, too. You’re part of my crew. Might not mean anything to you anymore, but it means everything to me. What we’ve built together is my life. And what we’re doing right now means something. We’re not just shipping shit and tracing skips—though I’ve a damn mind to list one for you, you bastard. Where is the Felix I signed a partnership deed with? Where is my little brother?”

“I’m right here.” But his voice sounded weak, even reflected back by the plating on the side of the Chaos. His ship, their ship.

“Then turn around and tell me what you want. Tell me to my face that you’re gonna cut and run again.”

Felix whirled around. “I’m not running this time. I’m going back to Sol, to where I’m supposed to be!”

“And leaving your crew behind. Don’t you trust us?”

“Of course I do, but I don’t...you don’t...shit.” He bowed inward and scrubbed at his eyes, finding them dry, which didn’t surprise him. He had nothing left to give. “I’m so sick of fighting with everyone.”

“Then just stop. Let us in. Stop treating us like the enemy. It’s not as if you have a lot of friends. You need us. We’re on the same damned side. At least, I thought we were.” Elias gestured toward the ship. “If you take her, that will be it. I won’t stop you, but we’ll be done, man. I won’t follow you. You can be a skip without a trace. Is that what you really want?”

“I...” Felix shut his mouth and looked at the man who really might be his only friend. He had other acquaintances, and he supposed there were a handful of people in the galaxy who thought of themselves as his friends. Marnie, Ryan, Theo from specialist training. He had his crew. Eli, Ness and Qek.

He didn’t know if he had Zed. For all his obsessiveness over that one man, he didn’t know if he truly had him—as a friend, as all the more he wanted so desperately.

And that was the thing that pulled him apart. Had been splitting him in two for the past however many days.

He dropped his gaze to the deck. “I...I love him, Eli. I’ve never loved anyone but him. He’s left me so many times, but I still love him. It’s stupid and it’s insane and I know that throwing away everything for this one man would be the worst thing I could ever do, but I don’t want to lose him again. I don’t think I can do it all again.” He sucked in breath on a quavering note. “I know I can’t do it again.”

Elias’s sudden hug rocked him backward. Warm arms squeezed him tight, and though suddenly made breathless, Felix didn’t struggle against the hold. He hugged back, tightly. He wrapped his arms around his only friend and held on for all he was worth.

“I know you love him, you stupid git. God, why do you think we’re all here, doing all of this. He’s ours too. C’mon. You need six hours of real sleep and then we’ll talk about maybe getting closer to Sol.”

Real sleep. Despite the fact the asteroid had over a dozen unoccupied beds, Felix hadn’t taken advantage of a single one. He’d been working. Upgrading the comm system, reprogramming the shield emitters. Keeping himself busy, active and engaged.

“Need to do more than talk about it.”

“We’ll do more than talk about it, I promise.”

Chapter Fourteen

Everything hurt. His muscles, his joints, his head, his stomach, his other organs...hell, even the arteries and veins themselves that had carried the stin poison ached. Everything blended into one giant ball of ow.

Zed lay on his cot, squinting against the harsh light of his cell. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been staring at the brilliantly white ceiling, his mind mostly blank, but it was oddly restful to actively think of nothing. It kept him from dwelling on what Preston had done to him. As far as he could remember, Bad Cop and Good Cop hadn’t been around to ask him questions—not that he’d have been able to give any decent answers. They wanted him worn down, battered and bruised. More receptive and pliant.

“Fuck ‘em.” He swallowed and lifted his right hand to rub at his face.

His bracelet flashed. He stopped all movement and stared at it. In the days since he’d left the Guardians’ care with his new jewelry, he hadn’t figured out its purpose. He’d thought the Guardians had meant it as a mark of ownership—except that didn’t really fit with what he knew of the aliens. Okay, granted, he didn’t know much, but he knew more than anyone else. He refused to believe that aliens who’d felt so warm and comforting in his mind—accepting of everything he was, and supportive—would want to collar him. So it had to be something else.

Zed pushed himself up, swinging his feet around to sit on the edge of the cot. He sucked in a breath as pain shot through his left foot. Tearing his eyes away from his bracelet for a moment, he noted the bandage encircling the arch and sole of his foot, then wrapping around his ankle for security. Well, wasn’t Preston considerate. Stab him, then patch him up.

“Asshole,” he muttered, his voice rough.

Blue lights raced along the surface of his bracelet. It reminded him of a message indicator light on a wallet—but no wallet looked like this. The illumination danced along and within the surface of the cuff, strangely beautiful. Zed ran his fingers over them, deciding he was probably still a little stoned because they were just so damned captivating.

“I’m Henry the Eighth, I am, Henry the Eighth I am I am...”

Zed flinched as the words reverberated through his cell. God, he hated that song, from the moment he’d first heard it at the Academy—in that same awful nasal accent. He frowned at his cuff. “Ryan?”

“Holy shit, it was a comm channel.” Ryan’s voice quivered with excitement. Even though he hadn’t spoken to Ryan in—what, a decade?—he still recognized the other man’s voice. “Zed, oh my God, Zed. How are you doing, man?”

“Been better,” he admitted.

“I bet. What the fuck did you do to warrant a visit from Preston? Heard stories about her.”

“How did you—” Right. Ryan was plugged in. He’d know who was who aboard the Cambridge. “I wouldn’t talk.”

“Good for you.”

“How are you talking to me?”

“Honestly, I’m not sure. I found a weird frequency that hadn’t been onboard before you were, and I just kept pinging it. In case.” He paused. “It kind of reminds me of the frequencies around the gate to the Hub.”

That made sense, seeing as the gate and his cuff were both crafted by the Guardians. But that wasn’t something he was about to reveal, not when there was a chance this conversation could be picked up.

Standing, Zed swayed on his feet and winced with every minute correction that woke up the wound in his foot. He staggered over to the head to relieve himself, figuring even if Ryan did hear the unmistakable sounds, he’d understand.

Despite the fact that he didn’t like her, never in a million years had he thought Preston would deliberately pair pain and poison to break down one of her former subjects. They’d discovered by accident that the stin poison amplified pain. Minor aches became major ones. The pain of a sprained ankle, for example, intensified to the point that the soldier would do anything to make it stop. Lieutenant Cain had experienced that firsthand, clawing his own eyes out and ramming his head against the wall until he broke his skull.

Zed closed his eyes against that memory. He’d never considered that the AEF had filed that information away to use against them, if necessary. Which was stupid, in hindsight. Of course they had. How well had he ever known the organization he’d worked for, fought for, nearly died for?

He stumbled away from the toilet and shuffled back to the bed. Fire raced through his throat with every swallow and he felt dry. Dehydrated. He needed water—but asking for it might instigate another round of questioning/torture.

God, there was a dilemma they didn’t cover in training.

Collapsing back onto the cot, he focused on his cuff instead of the desperate need for something to drink. “You still there?”

“Got nowhere else to be.”

Zed sighed, thankful he wasn’t alone. Fatigue begged him to close his eyes again, but he refused. “What’s the plan?”

“How confident are you that they’re not going to send Preston in to visit you again?”

“Not very.”

“That’s what I thought. Okay, so look—we’re going to get you out of that cell.”

Zed tamped down the hope that wanted to bloom. “I know you’re all plugged in, but that’s going to be something they can trace back to you, Ryan. Not worth it.”

“Don’t give me ‘not worth it,’ asshole.”

“If I get you hurt, Marnie is going to kill me.”

“She won’t. She understands. This is the right thing to do.” A soft breath sounded over the connection. “I can’t tell you how many times we’ve measured our actions against you. ‘What would Zed do’ is something we ask each other a lot. WWZD.”

Him as a role model was a scary thought. “I’m not—”

“You’re not perfect, no, but damn it, you always try to do the right thing. This is the right thing, getting you out of here.” Ryan paused. “Trust me, please.”

Zed pinched the bridge of his nose, rallying his willpower to stay alert. “You can’t just open the door—” He broke off as the door to his cell whispered open. “Did you do that?”

“Do what?”

“The door opened.”

Ryan’s voice buzzed over the connection. “Let me check—no, no one’s coming but that doesn’t mean—maybe I hit the wrong—huh.”

“Huh? What huh?”

“It’s showing an authorized access, but there’s no one in the area.”

Zed held up his bracelet. Where blue lights had danced before, a single green one was lit. He stared at it, letting the implications sink in. First the magic comm line, now this.

“A manual would’ve been nice,” he muttered, pushing back to his feet.

“What?”

“Nothing. Okay, tell me where to go. Wait.” He stumbled, bracing himself against the edge of the doorway. “I need water first.”

“Roger. Water. On it. Then...are you going to be up for a rescue mission of your very own?”

“What, it’s not enough to get myself out of here? You want a ride too?”

“No, man, not for me.” The resignation in Ryan’s voice was difficult to hear. He’d always been upbeat, enthusiastic, and to hear him like that...”Found someone else on your list. So has the AEF. There’s another Dreamweaver participant on board.”

Zed froze a few steps beyond the door to his cell. “Who?”

“Kinley Webb.”

Shit, Kinley. Zed forced the self-recrimination away.

“She’s not...she’s not doing so good.”

Yeah, no way he was leaving her in this pit. “Water first,” he reminded Ryan. “Then tell me what I need to do.”

* * *

Felix got one hour of sleep. It seemed as if he’d just closed his eyes before Elias was shaking him awake, yelling something.

“What?”

“Just heard from Ryan. Zed is out.”

“What!” Felix kicked his legs over the side of the low bunk. “They let him go?” Jubilation rose within him in a dizzying rush.

“No, he escaped.”

“The Cambridge?”

“Just his cell. Grab your boots, team meeting in the mess. Uh, dining hall. Whatever Dieter calls his eatin’ place.”

Felix shoved his feet into his boots and followed Elias without bothering to do up the fastenings. Everyone was gathered in the dining hall, seated at one of the long tables. Dieter had his chair up against the narrow end. They looked up as he clomped in behind Elias, and from the wavering collection of smiles, Felix guessed Elias had filled them in on their scene in the docking bay. No time to get embarrassed or pissy, though. He needed to relocate his charm and talk this group—his crew—into going to Sol. Now.

Marnie didn’t wait for him to take a seat before she activated the playback on her bracelet. A holo leaped into the air over her wrist and Ryan’s head materialized. Felix blinked at the image a couple of times. He hadn’t seen Ryan since school and he hadn’t been present for his previous communications. The guy looked different. Older, and he had visible implants around one eye and at his right temple. Out of view, he’d have nodes at the base of his neck and on his fingertips. Ryan was a jacked-in operative, tethered to his terminal aboard the Cambridge.

“Gotta keep this short, babe, and after, I’m only going to send messages via timed text bursts. Same system we used for the Vector operation. Zed is out of his cell. I’m in communication with him. Not sure how. He has a comm on him that the AEF obviously didn’t find. Um, a signal, something that operates on a different frequency altogether. It’s...never mind. Anyway, he’s not the only Dreamweaver team member aboard. They have Kinley Webb, too.”

Seventh name on the list, not crossed out.

Though they must have all heard the message before, everyone around the table drew in an audible breath. Ryan continued. “Zed’s going to try and get to her and then I’m going to try and get them to the shuttle bay in quadrant EC76.” The holo flashed as extra data hit the stream. Coordinates. “There is no section of the ship that’s not under surveillance or guard, but I think if I lead him there by a circuitous route, we can get them aboard a shuttle and away. Maybe undetected. Maybe. It’s a big effing maybe.”

“We need to be there to meet that shuttle,” Felix said.

Marnie nodded and paused the playback. “We figured you’d say that.”

“If they could hijack a fighter, they might get farther away. The Ryujin class can enter j-space.” Generally only for in-system hops, which were enough to confuse a potential enemy.

“The chances of them getting into any of the fighter bays, even with Ryan’s help, are slim to none,” Marnie said.

“A shuttle won’t get them anywhere fast. And if Jupiter is on the other side of the system, there’s nowhere out there to land. Closest station to that orbit is Zilos—”

“Current coordinates has the Cambridge nearly as far from Zilos as Alpha,” Qek put in. “There are several mining colonies on Jupiter’s moons, but Jupiter is currently tracking toward Sol.”

“That would be the first place the AEF checked,” Marnie said.

Nessa spoke up. “You don’t think they could hide out at one?”

Felix shook his head. “Not if the AEF contacts them, posts an alert. Remember that skip we traced to the mining colony on Grissom’s moon? They tried to do us out of the bounty.”

“The AEF hasn’t even admitted Zed is aboard the Cambridge, though.”

“We need to stop trying to figure out what the AEF would do and plan our own intercept. We could be there to meet that shuttle.” Felix waited until he had everyone’s attention before he continued. “Y’all said you figured I’d say that, so why are we even debating what the AEF would do? Let’s get there, be there.” He glanced at Qek. “It’d take us, what, thirty-two hours to hit the outer edge of Sol?”

“Give or take an hour, yes.”

“So send Ryan a message. Tell him to lead a thirty-four-hour goose chase. Hell, have him lead them all the way to the wrong end of the ship, or make it look that way.” He started to push away from the table. If they wanted to make that window, they needed to get going.

He stopped when no one else seemed to be rushing to join him. Thought back over what he’d just said, realized he’d just volunteered Ryan for a mission that might endanger his position. “If Ryan thinks he can do that without—”

“I have as little hope stopping him from helping Zed as we do suggesting Zed leave Kinley where she is,” Marnie said.

“You’d have him leave one of his team members behind?”

“According to Ryan, she’s not in good shape,” Dieter said.

Felix turned to the other former member of Project Dreamweaver. Unbidden, compassion welled with him in, and in that moment he understood what Elias had been trying to tell him all along. What Zed had been trying to do. This wasn’t about his own personal happy-ever-after...and he’d known that, but...

This wasn’t about him at all.

Felix ducked his head and sat back down. Then, closing his eyes, he breathed out, long and slow. Desperation caught him on the inhale. He reached under the table to grip his knees, digging his fingers into the sides, where it hurt. Man, he was an ass. Complete and utter. Did he have the right to ask his crew to follow him? Could he even properly call these people his crew?

Strangely, no one interrupted his moment. Perhaps they’d been waiting for it.

He looked up at Marnie. She’d arrived last but had some sort of weird seniority. She’d known him the longest and seemed inclined to give him the most space, but the least amount of leeway. She had expectations, damn it. He considered Nessa next. As always, kindness lurked behind her gaze. Concern for him and the rest of her crew. Qek’s wide eyes communicated little in the way of expression, but Felix had known the ashushk long enough to read the smoothness of her features, to see the worry reflected there. He wasn’t fool enough, or selfish enough, to think it was all for him. One of their crew was missing and in danger. They were all worried for Zed, just as they should be.

Dieter...the guy wanted his last days to be worth something, and he deserved the dignity of being involved.

“Don’t look at me, I’m not coming with.” Dieter offered a lopsided smile. “Someone has to keep the home fires burning.”

Marnie reached over to take Dieter’s hand. Felix nodded and moved on. Locking eyes with Elias hurt a little, the flush of guilt burning just under his skin, privately but for the fact every person in the dining hall could read the color across his cheeks, down his neck. Felix looked away first, dipping his chin, then he glanced up again.

“I’m sorry.” That small phrase seemed to hang in the air a moment, heavy and dangerous. “I’m a selfish prick. Sometimes I wonder why anyone puts up with me, but...that’s not what’s important right now.” It was time to put someone else first. “Zed needs our help. A member of this crew needs our help. A member of his team needs our help. This might be our best chance to save them and...” A lump crowded his throat. “I need your help to pull it off.”

Qek raised her hand first, slim blue digits spread in a curious wave. “I am in.”

Marnie added her assent a second later. Elias grumbled and looked at Ness. The doctor shook her head gently, and turned her attention to Felix.

“I want a promise,” she said.

Felix swallowed a growl.

“No more pills.”

“I...” Fuck. She had him by the short and curlies.

She quirked a brow at him. “We are a crew and this is how I want to help you.”

He could argue that he hadn’t touched his precious vial since they’d landed on Morrison, but knew that without something to keep his hands and thoughts busy, he’d have been plowed under. “Okay.” His assent didn’t carry the weight of a promise, but surely it would do for now.

Nessa didn’t smile, she simply nodded. The captain smacked his hands atop the table. “Let’s do it.”

Chapter Fifteen

“Bravo-Two, what’s your position?”

Behind the wires and pipes that camouflaged the bulkheads of the service corridor on this deck, Zed froze. His right leg was starting to cramp from the awkward position he’d jammed it into, and his left foot—the injured one—ached from holding most of his weight for the past five minutes. The patrol lingered in the main corridor that ran parallel to the smaller one housing circuitry and cables. He’d hoped they’d been heading out, but the voice over the comm had halted their progress out of the section. Through the maze of wires that blocked most of Zed’s view, he spotted movement—one of the marines keying his combat wallet to reply.

“Just finishing our sweep of aft deck zero-three, sir.” The marine shot a grimace at his partner and continued. “No contact, sir. I repeat, no contact.”

“Bravo-Two, can you explain to me how a single man has managed to evade your patrols for more than a day?”

“No sir.”

“He’s injured, dehydrated and hungry. He has not been an active duty soldier for nearly a year. And yet, he’s outsmarting every single one of your men.”

“Yes, sir.”

Zed smirked at the marine’s growling tone.

“It’s unacceptable. Return to command,” the voice barked.

“Copy, sir.”

Zed held himself still as the marines marched down the corridor and out of sight. He waited, counting off the seconds, before forcing himself out of his hiding place. The wires and pipes scraped his skin and tugged at his new piercings. He grimaced, but he’d already anticipated the payment for the tight fit. His grimace deepened as he heard the familiar and unwelcome sound of fabric tearing.

“Shit.” Free from the wall, he looked down at his thin shirt. Any smart fibers embedded in the fabric had wilted and died. In addition to the grime and oil he’d picked up in the service tunnels and the various creative—and small—hiding spaces he’d visited, it now sported a wide gash to the left of his abs. That was going to be a pain in the ass in the next tight space.

Zed shrugged off the shirt and stuffed it behind the wires he’d just emerged from. A stray draft of air brushed his bare skin and he shuddered, but going without the shirt was a better idea than risking it getting caught and tearing more at the wrong moment. Wasn’t as if it provided much protection from the chill of the lower decks, anyway. Idly, he flicked one of his nipple piercings. They still hurt—but they damn well would hurt more if he managed to yank out one of the barbells.

Fuck it. He wasn’t taking them out until Flick had a chance to see them.

“I’m clear,” he whispered to his cuff.

Ryan’s voice sounded loud in the quiet corridor. “Did you avoid the patrol?”

“Yeah, man. Thanks for the heads-up.” Zed smiled, even though Ryan couldn’t see it. He could’ve managed this cat-and-mouse business on his own, but it was so much better to have company—even if it was only a disembodied voice. “The plan is still a go? Am I good to head for the medical wing?”

“Yep. The Chaos is closing in and I’m not detecting any major obstacles between you and the target. I’ll let you know if that changes.”

He couldn’t let himself get excited about the thought that the Chaos was nearby, or would be soon. He had only so much energy and he had a job that needed to be his focus. After crawling and hiding for going on a day and a half—thirty-three hours—he felt like shit, but he had to keep going. Kinley was counting on him, even if she didn’t know it yet.

Darting down the dimly lit service corridor, Zed kept all his senses attuned to his surroundings. The hum of the ship’s engines, paired with the power coursing through its metallic veins, permeated everything. Vibrations skittered upward from the deck, through the unprotected soles of his feet into the bones of his legs. It didn’t resemble the Chaos at all; the little ship hummed, but at a gentler frequency, one that only spiked just before or after a jump into j-space. In comparison, the Cambridge’s voice was too loud, too omnipresent. In the brief moments of sleep he’d managed to snatch, it invaded his dreams. He hated it.

He swallowed, trying to work some moisture into his throat. The dryness of his mouth and the pain radiating out from his foot had been constant companions. In between crawling and hiding, he’d raided a couple of cabins, grabbing some painkillers, water and a couple of protein bars. Enough to keep him going, not enough to make him happy about it.

Pausing at the end of the service corridor, Zed eyed the hatch across the main hall that headed up-ship. Four meters sternward, another corridor crossed the main one. From the service corridor, Zed couldn’t see if any marines lurked at the junction. They’d all headed back to command, though—his window to move should still be good.

He ran across the corridor, his bare feet all but soundless on the metal. His hands latched on to the ladder heading up and he pulled himself up two rungs before swiping his right hand at the hatch. His Guardian cuff flashed and the hatch popped open obediently. He ducked through and limped in the direction Ryan told him to go without acknowledging the commands verbally.

The medical wing was not going to be easy to infiltrate. He and Ryan had discussed crew rotations briefly, so he knew how many soldiers, doctors and nurses to expect. If their plan unfolded as expected, a chunk of the medical staff would be racing to an emergency two decks and a whole ship away. That would still leave at least half a dozen people to avoid or take out. Couldn’t be helped.

Zed hovered in an access shaft, adrenaline starting to pump through him. “Ready?” he whispered.

“Steady,” Ryan replied, nudging a smile to Zed’s lips. Just like the Academy.

“Go,” he said.

“Booyah!”

Alarms and announcements clanged through the corridors. Zed picked out the important keywords—nature of the emergency, deck it was on. Feet thundered on the deck plates, shouts reverberated off the walls. Before things quieted down too much, he darted out from the maintenance area.

No point in trying to hide. Nothing offered cover and anyone who spotted him would know he didn’t belong. The first obstacle came at a T-junction. A white-coated doctor rounded the corner and slammed into Zed—an accident. Zed didn’t grab for the Zone, unsure whether the dosage of stin poison had fucked it up, but he didn’t need the altered state of consciousness to deal with the doc. His hand whipped out, catching the man on the temple, and he crumpled to the floor.

“Green,” Ryan murmured in his head, their agreed-upon code for whether or not the op was still running smoothly.

An elbow to a jaw took out another guy in scrubs. A woman jumped on his back before her colleague thudded to the floor and Zed spun, slamming her into the wall. He jerked his head back, hard, uncomfortably satisfied when he heard and felt the crack of bone on cartilage. She went limp and he stepped away, unsurprised when she tumbled to the floor.

“Yellow.”

Shit. Zed jumped forward, hissing at the extra pressure and weight on his injured foot. Clenching his jaw, he limped quickly toward the room containing Kinley. A wave of his Guardian cuff sent the door retreating into the wall with a whisper. Zed stumbled over the threshold and stuttered to a stop.

Kinley sat in a chair, staring at the door. No, staring at nothing. She looked the same as he remembered—her ebony skin, gorgeous high cheekbones and wide-set eyes the color of autumn leaves more suited to modeling or acting than a soldier’s rough life—but the light in her eyes, the spark of her intelligence and wit, was gone.

“Kinley,” he said, not expecting a response. He didn’t get one. She didn’t blink. Her eyes never flickered. If Kinley was ever present anymore, it was infrequently at best.

Zed blew out a breath. He’d hoped she’d be able to walk, at least. Maybe he could encourage her to move? Bending down beside her, he scooped one of her arms over his shoulders. She stood when he did, not quite a dead weight. When he took a step forward, her feet dragged, but on a second step, they held her up.

Better than nothing.

“Okay, Kinley, we’re out of here.”

“Red. Shit. Zed—they figured—damn it, they weren’t supposed to find—smartass doctors—fuck.”

“Take a breath, Ryan.”

“Don’t tell me to take a breath. Fucking covert ops,” Ryan muttered. It sounded like a curse he said often. “Look, they’re coming back.”

Zed hobbled out of the door. Kinley helped with maybe every third step. If they got cornered now, he’d have to let her go to fight—and that would leave both of them vulnerable. Evasion was the best bet. “How long?”

“Not—Christ, not long. They’re—okay, you know what? No. Just no.”

The tone in Ryan’s voice made Zed’s heart skip. “Ryan, don’t—”

Bulkhead doors slammed shut behind Zed. Alarms blared, a different cadence than the ones Ryan had triggered earlier to signal a medical emergency. These ones indicated that the ship was under attack. Zed’s eyes widened as the implications of Ryan’s actions set in.

“Fuck, what did you do?”

“You’re getting out. You and Kinley. You’ve got a clear shot to the shuttle bay. Quadrant EC76. I’ve got the bridge and other areas locked down.” Ryan chuckled grimly.

Oh, God. “They’re going to trace this back to you. Charge you with treason.”

“Just get to a shuttle. The Chaos is out there, waiting.” He made a sharp noise as Zed drew in a breath to continue the argument. “Stop. You’re wasting time, Major. You’ve got a mission and so do I.”

The woman braced beside him wasn’t a friend—not the way Emma had been or Ryan was, buddies since childhood—but she’d been a teammate. Someone he’d made promises to, the same promises he’d made Emma and the rest of the team. The ones he’d promptly broken. Kinley deserved more than this end. He hefted her weight, securing her against his side, and started in the direction of the lift that would take them to the shuttle bay.

“Make them fight for it,” Zed growled.

“You know it.” The breath Ryan exhaled sounded shaky, but his voice was sure. “Follow the pulsing lights. Your route is clear. If that changes, I’ll let you know.”

With every corner Zed turned, he expected to come face-to-face with a squad of soldiers—but it never happened. True to his word, Ryan kept the path to the shuttles open. Shouts reverberated on the other side of doors as Zed passed, but he didn’t slow down, didn’t pause. His foot burned with each step. His muscles ached, still feeling the abuse of the stin poison and its aftermath. Kinley seemed to grow heavier, less capable of helping.

By the time they stumbled into the shuttle bay, Zed was running on fumes. He’d been a soldier in worse conditions—his body remembered, even if he didn’t want to, and it carried him to the nearest shuttle. Zed had half thought that the massive shuttle bay would have some personnel, but it was echoingly empty.

When he mentioned it to Ryan, he couldn’t mistake the pride in the other man’s voice. “I faked an airlock failure. Not too many guys willing to risk that, even if they know the system is being fucked with.”

“Good thinking.”

“I know.”

Zed strapped Kinley into one of the shuttle’s seats, then collapsed into the pilot’s chair. The dash wavered and he braced his hands on it, blinking, until his vision straightened itself out. Not a lot of sleep in the past couple of days, not enough water, definitely not enough food, paired with the adrenaline in his system—yeah, no wonder his stamina stuttered at the first hint of safety.

“We’re in.” Zed triggered the holo interface, hoping and praying that the shuttle still had its emergency tutorials in place. In theory, a shuttle wasn’t much more complicated than a skipper, but at least a skipper stayed close to the ground. And in the atmosphere of a planet. If he fucked up a command on one of the small, agile military transports, it probably wasn’t going to kill everyone on board. Unless he really fucked up. A little mistake here, though...

Think positive.

The tutorials were there. Zed engaged them and followed the steps they recommended, running the shuttle through its preflight diagnostics. It wasn’t something Flick ever did with the Chaos—that was more Qek’s style, though even she skipped the full array.

“Okay, head to—” A crash sliced across the comm. Muffled shouting. Then, “Shit! Zed, go! The Chaos will find you. Tell Marnie—”

“Ryan!” Zed held up his cuff and screamed into it again. “Ryan!”

Silence.

“Fuck. Fuck.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, then repositioned his fingers over the shuttle’s controls. Ryan had given up everything to make sure he and Kinley had this shot at freedom.

Zed wasn’t going to blow it.

Chapter Sixteen

Jupiter was two years distant from the Cambridge. Millions of kilometers. Her moons would provide no safe haven for the Chaos, or any shuttle Zed managed to secure. Felix maneuvered his ship through relatively empty space instead, attention fixed on the sensor array, hands curled like claws over the navigation panel. Beside him, Qek held a similar posture. They’d been in Sol for two hours, and each had stretched interminably.

“The Cambridge is in sensor range,” Qek said.

Felix opened a general channel. “Any word from Ryan?”

The bridge door slid open and Marnie answered him directly. “Nothing for five minutes.” She sounded worried, as she should be. Ryan had been sending regular updates every two minutes. A batch of code that when unraveled, traced Zed’s progress through the massive drift. No actual coordinates, but with Marnie’s knowledge of the Cambridge, she’d been able to plot his course. The idea was to keep the Chaos near possible escape trajectories, because they all knew that if—when—Zed left the Cambridge, he wouldn’t have much time.

The display beneath Felix’s fingertips flashed once, then a small speck appeared at the outer edge of the local map. “Is that—”

“A second signature.” Smaller than the Cambridge.

The bottom dropped out of Felix’s stomach. Despite the painful crook of his fingers, his hands trembled. The quiver of fear touched his throat. He swallowed. “Time to test these shields.” His voice was not steady.

“Plotting an intercept course.”

They could be plotting to intercept a military transport, or a piece of debris. But in his gut—the part left behind—Felix knew they were moving toward Zed.

“Anything from the Cambridge?”

“A lot of noise, nothing from Ryan—wait...” Marnie remained silent a moment and Felix imagined her fiddling with the holo display over her bracelet. He could picture her face, lips bitten, eyes focused downward.

They drew closer to the speck.

“Do we dare risk communication?”

“Can we identify the hull?” Felix asked.

Qek ran a subroutine. “Not yet. The craft is still too distant.”

“Fuck it, use our new comm system to send a nondirectional hail. If it’s not him, we’ll have hopefully distracted someone.”

It was Zed. Had to be Zed! Felix leaned forward over his console, as if he could push the Chaos faster with the power of his need.

“No response to our hail,” Qek announced, though the silence of the comm had already relayed that point. “But I can confirm that it is a shuttle craft. It appears to be on an unstable trajectory.”

“Unstable?”

“No flight path locked in. I suspect it is being flown manually.”

“It must be them!” Several more contacts flashed at the edge of the navigational display. “We need to make contact with that shuttle. Now.”

* * *

Lights pulsed and skittered across the shuttle’s controls, status indicators that Zed didn’t care to understand. Now that he was sitting, all he wanted to do was close his eyes.

Not yet. Not safe yet.

He forced his eyes open wide. Blinked a few times. A glance over his shoulder indicated that Kinley hadn’t moved from the position in which he’d placed her. Her chest rose and fell in a regular rhythm—that and the occasional flutter of her eyelids the only signs that she was still alive. He was tempted to talk to her, try to pull her mind back from the blankness, but he didn’t. Honestly, it was probably better for her to be absent now. The stress of waiting would just send her back into the Zone anyway.

Sighing, Zed turned back to the dash and spotted a new light. He brushed a finger across it.

“Shuttle, this is the Chaos. Please acknowledge. Over.”

Oh, thank God. One thing gone right. Zed wilted with relief. “Qek, it’s me.”

Clicks echoed across the connection. “It is so good to hear your voice, Zander. Fixer will have a cat.”

Eh, close enough to the right saying. He smiled at the shuttle’s controls even though the comm was audio only.

“We have detected several more signatures leaving the Cambridge.”

“Let me talk to him—”

Flick. Damn it. Zed couldn’t say what he wanted, what he needed to say with one very big thing on the verge of going wrong.

Qek clearly got Flick to leave the comm alone, somehow. Her calmer tone was welcome. “Are you finding it difficult to pilot the shuttle?”

“Well, if I wasn’t before—”

The craft shuddered. Zed braced himself against the dash, scanning the indicators for any clue what was happening. The vibrations of the engines ceased, grinding to a low, inaudible hum instead of the steady whine that said he was moving forward.

“Shit. I think I broke it.”

“I do not think that was your doing, Zander. I am reading another signal emanating from the signatures closing in on your position.”

Sure enough, the signatures the Chaos had detected appeared on the shuttle’s control interface. Clearly the Cambridge had gotten its shit together and sent out a retrieval crew, who’d gotten close enough to trigger some sort of...something. Shutdown protocol? Was that something programmed into AEF shuttles? Clearly, he should’ve spent more time bugging ship techs during mission transports instead of hanging out with the rest of the grunts in the gym. Shit. What would they do? Board him? Surround the shuttle and herd him back to the Cambridge? Or just shoot him out of the black?

He needed time to think of a plan. “Stay back. Stay hidden. And...Qek?” Zed paused, all the things he wanted to say sounding too much like goodbye or some dramatic deathbed confession. He didn’t want to go there. “Never mind.”

The pings on the console got closer to his disabled shuttle. He wasn’t surprised to see a comms light pop up a moment later, and flicked it on with the swipe of a finger.

“Shuttle Delta-Sigma-One, you have been disabled under orders from the Allied Earth Forces ship Cambridge. Stand down. Repeat, stand down. We will escort you back to dock.”

“Like I have a choice,” Zed muttered.

His gaze rested on the Guardian cuff and he froze. Maybe...maybe he did.

The bracelet acted as a comm and a universal lockpick, which meant it had some means of manipulating electrical impulses and computerized commands. Interfacing. Bridging. Undermining?

Not much to lose if he was wrong.

Brushing his fingers across the smooth metal, Zed visualized what he wanted. Control of the shuttle. Disruption of the Cambridge-enforced shutdown. Escape. One by one, lights that had dimmed or flipped to red when the shuttle had been disabled reignited. The whine of the engines increased. Zed couldn’t help but give the cuff a kiss.

Then he attacked the controls, sending the shuttle scooting away from the incoming escort.

He heard curses over the AEF comms until he switched to the channel Qek had pinged earlier. “Qek! Chaos! Coordinates!” A loud beeping cut through the cabin—a sound he hadn’t heard since well before the end of the war. The shuttle had been painted with a targeting system. “Now would be really, really good!”

The drone of the alarm reached a fevered pitch. Zed couldn’t tell where the shot was going to come from—fuck, avoiding it was out of the question. He couldn’t make the shuttle dance, he wasn’t good enough. The alarm’s tone rose to a crescendo—then silence. Sudden and absolute.

Zed sucked in a shaky breath just as the shot exploded on the starboard side of the shuttle. Not a direct hit, more a warning shot, but it was enough to stagger the little craft. More alarms, a cacophony, and lights flared all over the board.

“I’m in trouble.” The targeting alarm sounded again. “Shit, I’m in so much trouble.” The beeping increased in tempo, indicating that the targeting was getting closer to locking on once more. Coordinates flowed into one of the holoscreens, the Chaos’s location, he assumed, but it was too late. He couldn’t bring the wolves to the Chaos’s airlock.

He didn’t want to sit here and wait to die, either.

Slapping the AEF frequency, he yelled, “I want to negotiate!”

“Shuttle Delta-Sigma-One, you have violated a direct order and we are authorized to use deadly force.”

“You sure about that?”

“I—what?” The pilot seemed to regroup. “Stand down, Shuttle, or we will—”

“Tell Bradley I’ll talk. General Thomas Bradley. I’ll talk, tell him everything. On one condition.”

“You are not in the position to—”

“Fucking get General Bradley on the horn or I will ram one of your goddamned fighters and then neither of us will be in the position to do anything!” He muted the AEF channel and turned to the Chaos one. “Qek? If things go to plan, you’ll have a passenger coming aboard shortly.”

“Roger, Zander. I will inform Elias.” She paused. “Just one?”

Before he could reply, Bradley’s gruff tones sounded across the comm. “Major Anatolius—”

Zed flipped off the mute. “Just drop the ‘major.’ After all this shit, I don’t want the rank anymore.”

“Fair enough. You want to negotiate?”

“Yeah.” Zed sucked in a shaky breath. “Let me drop Kinley off on the Chaos, and I’ll turn myself in.”

“Lieutenant Webb is a patient in the care of the AEF. She was getting round-the-clock medical care aboard the Cambridge.”

“She was locked in what amounts to a cell while they waited for her to die—or maybe they were running tests. Trials.” God, a guinea pig to the end. Revolting. “She deserves more than that, General.”

The comm was silent for so long, Zed feared he’d lost Bradley’s signal. Then the general sighed. “I can’t argue that.”

“The AEF has nothing more to learn from her.”

“But they can learn from you?”

Everything in Zed wanted him to run, but he couldn’t. They had him well and truly cornered. “Yes,” he said shakily.

More moments of silence.

“You should also know I coerced Ryan Scott.” Might as well try to mitigate as much damage as possible.

“You coerced him. From your cell.”

“Yes.”

“You want to go there?”

“It’s the truth.”

“Is that the sort of truth I can expect from you if I agree to this deal?”

Fuck. Zed threaded his fingers through his hair and tugged, a gesture he’d picked up from Flick. The stinging in his scalp helped to ground him. “He’s an old, old friend, General.”

“I know. I’ll admit, we let that opportunity happen when it shouldn’t have. I’ll see what I can do. No promises.” Bradley huffed. “I’m agreeing to your conditions, Anatolius.” A pause and a beep indicated Bradley had widened the comm channel. “Fighter Squadron Tengu, be advised that Shuttle Delta-Sigma-One has permission to dock temporarily with the Chaos, once it arrives. Docking time will not exceed fifteen minutes. Monitor life signs. One will leave the shuttle. If the second leaves, open fire at the Chaos. If the shuttle deviates from these instructions at any time, open fire at the Chaos.”

“Tengu Squadron Commander. Acknowledged.”

Zed muted the AEF channel again and folded forward until his forehead brushed the shuttle’s console. So close. So fucking close. At least Kinley wouldn’t live out the end of her life surrounded by nothing. She’d have the Chaos crew. Dieter, if Dieter was in any shape to care. Friends.

He could salvage part of his promise to her and their teammates. That’s what mattered.

* * *

Felix yelled as Elias wrestled him away from the comm array for the umpteenth time. “Let me talk to them!”

“You can’t, Flick.” Anger gave Marnie’s voice an unaccustomed edge. “There are six Raijin class fighters out there. You know why they’re called that, right? Thunder and lightning!” The AEF’s fighters were all named after Japanese deities, and Raijin-class fighters were the best of the fleet. “If we even twitch in the wrong direction, they’re going to kill us all.” Her lips trembled and Felix fought the wave of compassion surging through him. The AEF would not stop with scouring them from space. General Bradley had Ryan. He hadn’t outright said it, but Zed’s half of the conversation clearly indicated as much.

“Five minutes until intercept.” Qek’s quiet voice was a shock, a slap.

“We came all this way!” His voice rose on a whine. “I came...” back. He’d come back. And it was too late.

“This isn’t the end of it. The AEF was willing to negotiate, that means they want Zed alive.”

Another cry rose within, one he squashed before it could mangle his throat. His whole body wailed with internal refrain: it’s not fair!

God, when would he accept that life wasn’t fucking fair? How many times did he have to be front and center for yet another demonstration of just how unfair shit could be? And he couldn’t even take comfort in the fact that his misery currently had such good company because he felt Marnie’s pain too. Her anguish and her barely concealed anger. He’d never seen her so human and he didn’t want to say it didn’t suit her.

“Four minutes,” Qek intoned.

Elias hooked a hand around Felix’s shoulder. “Let’s get to Cargo Two.”

Mind whirling, Felix followed. He formed plans, examined them from multiple angles for workability and lunacy. This couldn’t be it. This could not be the end of the road.

Joining Zed aboard the shuttle would accomplish nothing except his own incarceration. Or death—he wasn’t as useful as the super soldier. He didn’t have time to jigger some sort of signal, to fiddle with the shuttle’s life support, put in a false signature. Did he have anything in Cargo Two that could replicate the bulk and temperature of a human being?

It had taken him hours to retool the shields, he couldn’t just lay them on a new vessel, nor could he extend them. As for the Chaos, the upgraded shields might have rendered them invisible, or less visible, but the Cambridge currently had a fix on them. If he did haul Zed aboard, they couldn’t maneuver fast enough to get away without being traced. And their shields, visible or not, couldn’t withstand more than a single shot from anything out there. Any collision with a pebble would tear a hole in their hull soon after.

By the time they reached Cargo Two, Qek’s countdown had hit two minutes. Nausea cramped Felix’s belly. He leaned his shoulder against the wall and shut his eyes, sure he was going to throw up or pass out or both. The dual sensation was not unlike what he’d experienced going into combat. Fear, exhilaration, formless rage boiling up between.

He’d always been too emotional to be a soldier. Why hadn’t anyone ever seen that?

“One minute.”

The Chaos shuddered as they made contact. Felix opened his eyes and listened to the faint thump of the airlocks latching together. Nessa and Marnie arrived with a hover float and med kit between them. Light danced along the panel beside the auxiliary hatch, drawing his gaze. The LEDs blinked in sequence, back and forth, back and...locked. The airlock began cycling. Felix held his breath.

Only Elias’s hold on his shoulder kept him back as the door slid open to reveal two figures dappled with emergency lighting. The shuttle had taken heavy damage from the AEF’s warning shot. The larger of the two figures was obviously Zed. He pulled Kinley over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.

“If I set foot in the docking tube, they’ll open fire,” he said.

Elias let go of Felix and together they moved forward. Elias pushed through the hatch first, into the short docking tube. Zed hefted the unconscious form of Kinley Webb onto his shoulder, then stepped back.

“You okay?” Elias asked.

“Peachy,” Zed replied. He looked anything but. Filthy and worn, with the posture of a man who had pushed for days without proper rest. He’d lost his shirt, if he’d ever had one, and his torso was a mess of grime and dark abrasions. A gray bandage was wrapped around his left foot.

Did I do this to him? Felix made a sound, something nonverbal.

Zed’s gaze cut sideways as Felix elbowed his way into the narrow space beside them. “Flick,” he said, his voice full of pain and resignation.

“Zed.” What else could he say?

Zed edged back along the tube. “I gotta go.”

“Don’t go.” Felix reached for him. “Zed...please don’t go.” He was breaking, again. He could feel it. Pieces of himself flying away, swirling up like dust, leaving him thin and weak. Insubstantial. “Please...no.”

“I have to.”

Felix took another step forward. “I’ll come with you!”

“You can’t.”

“Let me go instead!”

“You can’t.”

They were stupid ideas, as formless as the dust of his being. Felix leaped forward anyway, reaching for Zed, desperate to touch him. “I’m sorry, Zed. I’m sorry.”

Zed’s warm hand gripped his. “Don’t be.”

“Please...” He swallowed the rest of it. He had to let go. He had to let Zed go. But not without knowing. “I love you.”

A brief smile shifted Zed’s mouth. It pained him to smile, Felix could see that. But he tried it and succeeded for a moment. “I know.”

Zed let go and stepped back, palming the door panel. It hissed closed. Felix resisted the urge to fall against it, pound with his fists until he bruised his flesh beyond repair, broke his bones. He stood there, trembling from stem to stern, his rage no longer formless. The howl inside deafened him to the voices behind, but he knew what they were saying. He had to step back, he had to exit the tube. He had to leave Zed as Zed had left him. Again.

With a monumental effort, he stepped back. Once, and again. He all but tumbled out of the tube and reached up to smack the panel. The door slid closed and the lights blinked in reverse order.

“Fix?”

He shook his head. Speech would be impossible until he quieted the urge to scream his throat raw. No one touched him, for which he was thankful. Instead, they turned their attention to Kinley, supine on the float, and conversed in quiet tones.

Qek’s voice piped through general comms. “We are disengaged.”

“Let’s make tracks,” Elias said.

“Where to, Captain?”

The voices in Felix’s head calmed, formed a simple sequence. “Thunder and lightning.”

“What was that?” Elias asked.

Felix turned to him, took a breath, said it again. “Thunder and lightning.”

The tilt of Elias’s head pretty much said he thought Felix had left any address known as sanity.

Felix raised his voice. “Set a course for Mars, Qek.”

“Mars?” Elias breathed. “Are you going to appeal to Central?”

Felix shook his head. “Think bigger. Think much bigger.”

Chapter Seventeen

Four mouths dropped open, surprise catching everyone gathered in the mess, regardless of species.

Elias recovered first. Shaking his head, he said, “No.”

“There has to be another way,” Nessa added.

Marnie maintained her stunned expression.

Qek clicked thoughtfully. “I like the thunder and lightning analogy, but I am not sure the Guardians would approve.”

“You think?” Nessa looked as if she might reach for a hypo-syringe.

“This all we have left!” Felix ground his teeth. “You know the AEF is never going to let him go.”

Marnie’s lips met one another with a quiet smacking sound and parted again. “And you think the answer is to deliberately antagonize the Guardians.”

“The stin. We antagonize the stin and hope the Guardians step in. They’re the peacekeepers of the galaxy. We’ve seen them arresting a stin ship in human territory before. So, we go to the Hub and fly into stin territory.”

“You’re insane.”

“Quite probably. But do you have a better idea? Got a direct line to the Guardians in your bag of Intelligence tricks?”

“No. So far as I know, no one has a direct line to the Guardians.”

One man did. Could Zed use his bracelet to contact the Guardians? Somehow, it had connected him to Ryan. What was the range? Were the Guardians already aware the AEF had their proof?

“Let’s set a course for the Hub, then.” Felix gestured toward the port side of the ship to where the gate to the Hub pooled in space. They couldn’t see it at that moment, but it was there, a benevolent eye focused on Mars. A one-way ticket to the center of the galaxy.

“Wait, slow down.” Marnie waved her hand over the table top. “Why the Guardians? What interest do they have in Zed?”

“Think it through a minute, Marnie. The end of the war, Zed’s lack of...death. His current state of health.”

She didn’t deliberate for long. “The Guardians fixed him. Holy shit.”

“They helped him once. Maybe they’ll help him again.”

Marnie took a little longer to consider that, and she wasn’t the only one. The whole crew observed the pause, each obviously weighing the burden of Felix’s plan.

Qek broke the silence. “A course to the Hub?”

No one produced any further objections, and Qek departed for the bridge.

“I’d better go get Kinley strapped down.” Nessa trotted toward the med bay.

Marnie followed. “I’ll give you a hand.”

“‘Holy shit’ is underselling this plan.” Elias scrubbed his palm over the top of his close-cropped scalp. Felix waited for him to call the crew back to the mess, urge them to reconsider. Instead, he said, “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

Felix didn’t dare tell him otherwise.

* * *

Zed inhaled a shaky breath as his little craft set down back where he’d started, on one of the shuttle docks of the Cambridge. Unlike his departure, dozens of people milled about on the deck—no few of which were fully armed marines, their stiff postures radiating either discomfort with confronting a war hero, or an eagerness for action. Maybe a bit of both.

He pushed himself up, laying a hand on the shuttle’s console for balance. His legs were less than steady, but he refused to walk out among the enemy with anything less than firm, sure steps. Closing his eyes, he sought his meditation space—only to have it interrupted by amplified orders reverberating through the shuttle’s walls.

Yeah, yeah. He walked to the shuttle door and triggered the seal. It hissed open, the sound accompanied by the click of a dozen rifles being prepared for whatever Zed planned for resistance.

He hadn’t planned anything. If he’d been healthy, if he’d been sure the Chaos was out of range of the Cambridge, he might have Zoned and phase-shifted, showing the soldiers the benefits of the AEF’s special training. As it was, the total sum of his resistance was a grimace and a glare as he stepped down the shuttle’s steps.

“Hands where we can see them, Major!” someone shouted at him.

He held up his hands, middle fingers extended.

Bradley stepped out of the crowd, Preston beside him. Fuck, not good. Zed froze at the bottom of the shuttle stairs. He’d known this was what he faced, but willingly walking toward that woman was more than his exhausted, battered body was prepared to do.

The soldiers’ commander barked an order, and before Zed could react, four raced forward to secure him. Cuffs were snapped on his wrists behind his back, then fastened to a belt looped around his waist to limit the movement of his arms.

Then, only then, did Preston step forward. She brandished a hypo-syringe the way a warrior of old might wield a sword. “Just a tranq,” she promised. “Can’t have you causing any more trouble or trying to escape those cuffs.”

He tried to jerk away but the soldiers held him still. Preston pressed the syringe to his neck and glanced up at him—the gleam of amusement in her eyes told him she’d lied, right before he felt the familiar, sickening burn of poison in his veins. He stumbled under the onslaught, reawakening the pain in his foot, pain the poison stoked higher. Higher.

Not again. Please.

“Motherfucker!” He jerked sideways, trying to get to Preston. Behind his back, fingers tightened into claws—nails spearing into the same talons as the stin. Giant, sharp claws.

No—hallucination.

The thought had no weight, not when he could feel the claws cutting into his skin. He would tear apart the cuffs. He would rip through everyone who stood between him and the good fucking doctor. He strained against the restraints. Felt them give. He roared, the sound like a lion in the small space. No, he was a lion. He’d rip her to shreds, he’d rip them all to shreds, every last one—

“Jesus Christ,” someone muttered.

Zed barely saw the rifle butt that slammed into his forehead.

* * *

Felix swallowed over the queasy feeling in his gut. The quick journey through the pair of gates connecting Sol to Tau Centauri, also known as the Hub, or the center of the galaxy as determined by the Guardians, always unsettled him. His mind couldn’t cope with popping between stars in as little as three seconds. Or maybe it was the three-second halt in reality that bothered him so much.

Beside him, Qek caressed the pilot’s console, her long blue fingers moving across the display in a coordinated ballet. She clicked contentedly and turned to Felix. “Smooth sailing.”

Felix offered a faint smile in return. “The calm before the storm.” Or the eye of the hurricane.

Turning back to her console, the ashushk clicked again, the throat flutter more agitated this time. “Setting a course for the stin station.”

Three active stations orbited Tau Centauri: human, stin and ashushk. There were more than three gates at the Hub, but only those three were active. The human gate terminated in human space, approximately two hundred thousand kilometers from the stin station. In theory, the Hub was a demilitarized zone. A sanctuary. Despite the recent peace accord, tension still existed between humanity and the stin, however, meaning the border between supposedly peaceful regions of space would be patrolled—by the AEF, the stin and perhaps the Guardians.

Ignoring the fear freezing his lungs, Felix completed his post-jump checklist and confirmed coordinates. Qek could have handled the entire operation herself, but he needed the distraction.

He turned to Qek, opened his mouth. No sound came out.

Qek clicked again, filling the awkward silence, then reached over to touch his hand. “Your reasoning is sound, Fixer. The stin will not fire upon us as we are unarmed. Our only concern is avoiding the AEF patrols.”

“What about the Guardians?”

“They have scanned our ship multiple times. It is marked and cataloged. They will recognize us.”

“How is it you have more faith in my plan than I do?”

“I have faith in you.”

That should have sounded reassuring.

Marnie poked her head through the open door panel. “Dieter just uploaded coordinates for AEF patrols at the Hub.”

“How—” Felix shook his head. “Never mind.” Any friend of Marnie’s would have several plays, and Dieter had already proved he had more than one deck in his hand. Felix turned to check his console. Several new contacts winked across the display.

“Adjusting our course.” Qek’s fingers slipped into a competent blur.

Felix waited for her to finish before examining their new trajectory. The zigzag path through space looked...ridiculous.

“They’re going to think we’re drunk.”

“They shouldn’t even know we’re here,” Marnie said.

Qek clicked. “We have not been contacted by Hemera.”

Normally, the human station would have contacted them within a minute of arrival through the gate.

“I guess that’s a good a test as any.” Felix’s skin prickled. They’d never actually confirmed if the Cambridge had been aware of their presence before they made contact with Zed’s shuttle.

“Dieter will be thrilled.” Marnie tapped a display over her bracelet, taking further advantage of their new two-way jazer capability.

Ignoring the murmured conversation behind them, Felix concentrated on the navigational display. Minutes ticked by, marked only by quiet clicks from Qek as she adjusted their course to keep them at maximum sensor range. Elias arrived on the bridge, the hand over his midsection proving Felix wasn’t the only one with an unsettled stomach. Seeking to distract himself, Felix began plotting alternate courses and storing the coordinates, just in case. He quickly fell into the half trance that enveloped him when he worked, only to jerk out of it when Qek emitted a louder series of clicks.

“Patrol Delta Six has adjusted their heading. I believe they may have spotted us.”

“Shit.” Breath stuttered in Felix’s throat. They were more than halfway through AEF space. Thirty more minutes and they’d be through. “The station. Head for Hemera.”

“The closer we get to the station, the more likely we are to be spotted.”

“I know, but running in space isn’t going to get us anywhere. We need an entirely new angle of approach. We can hide in traffic for a bit and join the gate queue, and then fall out of it.” All while apparently invisible, but not. “Shit.”

Elias stabbed a finger toward the dimensional map of the Hub. “What’s that, over there?”

Felix consulted the map. “That’s...” A stationary point, so not a patrol.

“I think you would call it a junkyard,” Qek said. “If I recall correctly, it is privately owned and contains repossessed ships. Hemera and the Hub have proven a profitable point to acquire—”

“Go there,” Elias interrupted. “We can hide behind the decommissioned hulls or something, right?”

“Maybe. But they’ll see us when we leave.” Felix adjusted their heading anyway.

Nessa sidled into the crowded bridge. Elias quickly filled her in on the situation. Felix tuned out all conversation again as he directed a course into the junkyard.

“Can we activate any of the wreckage? Make it appear live?” Nessa asked.

Marnie tapped her bracelet and began flicking through displays. “I can scan for any live systems, see if I can’t ping a couple. Comm traffic might make a few of them show up on sensors.”

“If we had any weapons capability, we could simply destroy a few empty hulls as a distraction.”

Openmouthed, Felix stared at Qek. “Seriously?”

“I saw it in a holo.”

“Has the patrol ship tried to contact us?” Elias asked.

“No,” Qek reported. “At this point, I think they are simply investigating an anomalous reading.”

“So we might be panicking with no good reason,” Nessa said.

“Given we’re using experimental technology to avoid AEF patrols in order to cross a line defined by a peace accord, I think panicking is part and parcel, here.” Marnie fiddled with her bracelet. “I’m detecting no ripcomms. They’re acting independently, which means they’re not that worried.”

Must be nice.

“So lighting up a derelict hull is only going to draw their attention.” Felix shot Qek a look. The ashushk offered one of her curiously human shrugs in response.

“Exactly.” Marnie said. She dropped her wrist, both hands dangling at her sides in a posture of loose relaxation. “Let’s just sit tight a minute.”

They sat tight within the virtual shadows of derelict hulls for twenty minutes. At first, every second felt endless and filled with impending doom. Felix fought the panic he knew they all felt before finally reaching for the soldier inside. He then cataloged the situation, lined up his responses. By the time he was done, breath rasped quietly against his dry throat and his pulse had regulated.

The patrol ship did not approach the junkyard. Felix guided the Chaos back out into empty space.

He held his breath as they crossed the imaginary line separating humanity from the stin. He was almost disappointed when nothing happened to impede their journey.

“We don’t have any information regarding stin patrols,” Marnie said. “But as we’re not trying to sneak past anything, I suggest we plot the fastest course to their station.”

They were hailed a moment later. The message repeated three times, the last in Standard.

“Unidentified vessel. Be advised you are in breach of the Drin Accord.”

The upgraded comm console transmitted the stin voice with surprising clarity. Every growling rasp translated with near perfection plucked at Felix’s deepest fears. His shoulders pinched together as the memory of sharp claws skittered down his spine.

Stin space. What the fuck was he doing in stin space?

“What is the Drin Accord?” Nessa asked.

“That’s what they call the peace accord,” Marnie said.

They’d named it after one of their own generals, smug bastards.

“Retreat to human space,” the comm advised.

“They’re pretty short with their messages. No please, no thank you.” All heads turned toward Elias. He held up his hands. “Just saying.”

“I advise we do not respond,” Marnie said.

“Agreed,” Felix murmured as he checked the course Qek had plotted. It hardly needed checking. A straight run for the stin station.

“Unidentified vessel, respond.”

Thirty seconds passed before the console hissed again.

“Retreat to human space.”

“You know, I’m actually surprised they haven’t just fired on us.” Elias’s voice had a strained sound to it.

“We haven’t answered any of their hails and our shield technology is probably confusing their sensors,” Marnie said.

“But they know we’re human.”

“It is highly unlikely an ashushk vessel would attempt to cross this line,” Qek pointed out.

“Because you’re not this stupid?” Felix muttered.

“Because we are a peaceful species. Also, our ships follow a very different configuration.”

Ashushk ships were round. In fact, they bore more than a passing resemblance to the soap bubbles they used as housing on their planet.

“Based on our trajectory, we came from human space,” Marnie pointed out. “Therefore, it’s a safe assumption, shielding and stupidity aside.”

“Unidentified vessel, note this final warning.”

As he inhaled, Felix felt rather than heard his crewmates doing the same, as if they all grabbed a final breath. Then Marnie and Qek exhaled at the same time.

“We’ve been painted,” Marnie said.

With a rapid series of clicks, Qek confirmed the fact that the Chaos had been pinged by a weapon system.

“How far to the station?” Elias asked.

“Thirty thousand klicks,” Felix answered.

“Can we go any faster?” Marnie asked.

“I thought you said they wouldn’t fire on us!” Nessa said.

Qek clicked.

“They haven’t,” Felix pointed out. “Targeting us is just a warning.” He glanced at Marnie for confirmation.

“The stin vessel has launched a short-range missile.” Qek’s forehead smoothed alarmingly. “Projected course indicates it will detonate in front of us, if we do not increase speed. It is what I think you would call a ‘shot across the bow.’”

On the forward holoscreen, Felix watched the missile burst apart, vented gas misting the dark with clouds of incendiary vapor. The detonation was unimpressive, the missile designed to do more damage against a target containing an atmosphere. The Chaos rocked and alarms pealed. A single orange LED flared to life, indicating a nonessential system had been damaged by the concussion of the blast.

“Unidentified vessel, this is AEF patrol Gamma Four. Please redirect your course back to human space.”

“Oh, shit,” Elias breathed.

The AEF were now involved. They must have been alerted by the stin, or have been monitoring the stin patrols.

“What do we do?” Nessa asked.

Fear and determination fought for dominance in Felix’s middle. “We stay the course,” he ground out between tightly clenched teeth. An ache sped along his jaw and down into his neck.

“Unidentified vessel...”

“Please identify...”

The comm traffic continued, each source operator sounding more pissed off as the Chaos continued to ignore all hails.

“We’ve been targeted by both patrols,” Qek reported.

“The AEF patrol crossed the border?”

“Yes.”

“Can you spell diplomatic incident?”

“Oh, my freaking God,” Nessa breathed. “What if we start a war?”

“We’re not going to start a war.” They might be putting a serious dent in the peace accord, however. Speaking of which, where were the peacekeepers of the galaxy?

A familiar tingling sensation crept along Felix’s fingers. By the time the mysterious itch reached his balls, he knew what it was. A second later, the Chaos decelerated, consoles flashing, alarms shrill, and a new voice boomed out of the comm.

“Human vessel Chaos.”

Felix wondered if squeezing his legs together would tighten his hold on his bladder.

He smacked the comm, opening the channel. “Guardians!” His pulse ticked wildly. The calm he needed to deliver his rehearsed speech seemed to flick away from his twitching fingers. Words crowded his tongue, nonetheless. “They have Zed. The AEF. They’ve got Zander. Your proof. He didn’t do it, what they’re accusing him of. He didn’t give away AEF secrets. He won’t give away yours, either. I know he won’t. That’s not Zed.”

Did any of this matter to the Guardians?

The console blinked as signals from the patrol ships registered. The competing requests for cooperation were lost beneath the cacophony of alarms.

Felix plunged on. “They’ll cut him up, trying to figure out why he’s alive.” His voice quavered. What if that was the Guardians’ intent? What if they meant for the AEF to figure it out? No! “I don’t believe you saved him just to let him die and that’s what will happen. They can’t deny the project if Zed is alive and well.” A warm hand closed over his shoulder. Felix didn’t look up from the console. “Please,” he gasped. “Please help us get him back.”

Why weren’t they answering?

“Help me...”

“Identify yourself.”

The response confused him. Halted his panic, stopped him still in the middle of a desolate road. Hadn’t the Guardians greeted their ship by name?

“We’re human vessel Chaos!”

“No, the individual speaking. Are you the one called Flick?”

A lump blocked Felix’s throat.

No one calls me Flick anymore.

Flick is dead.

“Yes.”

Silence rolled out of the comm, muting the alarms. Oddly, neither the stin nor human patrol seemed compelled to intrude on the quiet. Perhaps they knew better, or maybe the Guardians had invisible fingers wrapped around their testicles.

“Zanderanatolius chose you.” A synthesized voice couldn’t communicate displeasure, but the statement had an odd tone to it, as if the Guardians were questioning a decision. Was that because Zed had chosen him? Over what? Before Felix could form a question, the Guardians spoke again. “The Allied Earth Forces are holding him against his will?”

“Yes, aboard the Cambridge. It’s currently located in the Sol system. We have coordinates—”

“That will not be necessary.”

Every alarm wired into the Chaos yelled again as the small vessel lurched, consoles flashing and bulkheads straining. Then blackness enveloped them, blanketing the ship in complete and utter silence.

* * *

They were moving him again.

Zed tried to lift his head—tried to move his feet in some semblance of steps, too—but he didn’t really care where they were taking him. Or who they were. Marines, he assumed. Guys he might’ve worked alongside, once upon a time. He wondered if they knew how expendable they were. How the AEF viewed them as nothing more than tools to use and discard.

He should probably tell them, but he was so fucking tired. Someone had dragged razors along his esophagus, then pulled out some sandpaper to give him a good body-wide exfoliation.

They dumped him into a chair. Zed listened to the slide and click of chains and manacles being fastened to stationary objects. He kept his eyes closed and his chin lowered, and didn’t react when someone gently nudged him straight in his chair. Yeah, falling over would probably be uncomfortable. Then again, even the hint of lying horizontal again sounded good.

“This is the guy who had your marines scrambling, General?”

Ice clinked against glass, followed by the unmistakable burble of liquid being poured. Zed’s eyelids fluttered as he seriously considered putting the effort into opening them and raising his head.

“Maj—” Bradley broke off. “Zander Anatolius, yes, sir.”

Shit. Bradley was calling someone “sir.” On the plus side, he’d remembered what Zed had said about the rank. Yay, go him. Zed put more effort into opening his eyes, but they really didn’t want to cooperate.

“He looks like crap.”

A snort sounded and Zed thought for a minute he’d managed to make his opinion about the man’s observation known. “This is the effect of Preston’s poison?”

Clothing rustled, as if Bradley shifted or shrugged. “He’s having trouble shaking it off.”

Because it’s poison, asshole! Even in training, they’d never administered doses of the venom so close together. Had Preston hoped it would push Zed that much closer to the madness the AEF expected him to fall into?

“You bury the record of that action so deep neither the sun nor the holy powers of Anatolius lawyers can find it, General.”

The softest sigh escaped from Bradley. “What record, sir?”

“Good man.”

Whoever this guy was, he knew what Preston had done. Approved of it. Anger spiked through Zed. He tried to grab it and use it, but exhaustion made the emotion slippery. Still, he managed to grit his teeth and clench his hands, rattling the chains of his restraints.

“You coming around, son?” Bradley asked at his right.

Zed cracked one eye open, enough to fasten a glare on Bradley. Maybe Bradley hadn’t wielded the hypo-syringe, but he’d known what was going to happen—twice—and he hadn’t stopped it. That made him just as culpable, not matter how much regret Zed saw on the older man’s face. “Not your son,” he growled.

The other man in the room laughed. “He’s got you there.” Ice clinked and liquor sloshed, then the glass was placed on a flat surface with a thunk. “Are you aware enough to talk, Major?”

“Not a major anymore,” Zed said. “The AEF can go fuck itself.”

“I’m going to take that as a yes. I’m Admiral Michael Saito, in charge of Military Intelligence for the AEF.”

“Oh,” Zed said, managing a weak nod. “Then you can especially go fuck yourself.”

“He must’ve been fun to work with, Thomas.”

The general made a noncommittal noise.

Sucking in a breath, Zed finally managed to lift his head and focus on the admiral. He stood on the opposite side of the large desk in front of Zed. A quick cataloging of the rich wood paneling, ship models, certificates and other awards visible in his peripheral vision suggested that they were in the Admiral’s ready room. Other than himself and the two officers, no one else was in the room. No witnesses. The admiral himself was a short man but stocky. He sported a haircut more appropriate for someone Zed’s age or younger—though maybe Saito was actually that young. It was hard to tell. No lines etched his face, but that might have been thanks to good genes or expensive cosmetic enhancement rather than youth. He wore the same dark gray uniform Bradley did; a bit crisper than the daily wear for junior officers and grunts, but nowhere close to the formality of the AEF dress uniform.

Saito leaned forward, hands braced on the desk, the fingers of one tapping out a random beat. “Here’s the thing, Zander.” He paused, one corner of his lips curving. “I can call you Zander, right? Since you don’t like Major?”

Zed glared at him.

“You’re a security risk. A clear and present danger to the safety and health of AEF forces. Not only that, you have conspired to share—and, if I’m not mistaken, have shared—AEF intelligence with alien co-conspirators and members of the media in order to further your own agenda. Whatever that may be.”

Adrenaline burned off some of the fatigue in Zed’s veins. He had no doubt the admiral knew every detail of Zed’s career and probably every detail of every off-the-books op the AEF had conducted in the past ten years. A few years back, Zed might’ve found him intimidating. Or...well, he might have pretended to. Now, not so much.

“No, Michael, if we’re going to be honest, let’s be honest. I’m not dead and I’m not insane, and that’s the issue here. Isn’t it?” Zed turned to Bradley. “I gave you my word that I will tell you what you want to know. You didn’t need—”

Saito cut him off. “I have enough to make you legitimately disappear. You’re a terrorist. A traitor. Public opinion won’t protect you now. Your name won’t, either.”

Zed gritted his teeth, trying to ignore the flash of triumph that crossed Saito’s expression. “I already agreed—”

“I don’t give a shit.” Saito shrugged, his eyebrows mimicking the upward movement of his shoulders. “I really don’t. I don’t care if you’re the source of the leak. I don’t care if you tell me about what happened on Ashushk Prime. Don’t get me wrong, it would be a nice footnote to the Project Dreamweaver records—which is why I played along with Thomas’s plans up to this point—but it’s unnecessary. As far as I’m concerned, that experiment was disgusting, its output horrendous and it needs to fade away. Every other participant is following the expected path of dissolution. Except you. Which means you need to disappear and stay disappeared.” Saito opened a drawer in his desk and drew out a matter pistol, which he aimed at Zed.

Beside Zed, Bradley froze. “Admiral, this isn’t—”

Saito didn’t shift his gaze from Zed. “Your priorities are not my priorities.”

“But his family.” Bradley swallowed, the sound audible in the otherwise quiet room. “Alexander Anatolius is a bigger threat than you realize.”

“Don’t presume to think you have knowledge I don’t, General.” The slightest emphasis on the rank was obviously intended to put Bradley back at heel.

“No, sir.”

“Anatolius Senior will be annoying for some time, I have no doubt, but there is little he can actually do. The AEF has more ships, more personnel and greater weaponry. He’s a dog with no bite.”

“But—”

“You had your opportunity to get information from him. It didn’t work. You think he’s going to tell the truth now?” Saito arched a brow.

Bradley considered Zed for a moment, no doubt remembering the lie he’d told about Ryan. “No, sir.”

“Then we’re done. This isn’t my favorite option—it makes for a hell of a lot of extra work, along with meetings, and judicial boards, and so on—but Zander will be shot and killed while trying to escape custody. We can get answers from the autopsy.” He glanced at Bradley. “I need to know you’re on board, Thomas.”

Zed sucked in a breath, trying damned hard not to let his fear show. He didn’t want to die, especially not after the Guardians had given him back the life he’d thought he’d lost a long time ago. He poked at the Zone, but couldn’t slip into the altered state. He was too tired, too sore, too fucked up from the second dose of stin poison. His cuff didn’t seem to work on the manacles—or maybe he needed to concentrate to get it to manipulate locks, he had no idea.

Bradley remained silent. The general’s dark eyes flicked to Zed’s, and there was no mistaking the conflict there. Though Zed didn’t want to, he understood the position Bradley was in. If he acted to defend Zed, he’d likely end up shot as well. No doubt Saito wouldn’t hesitate to add another casualty to the report if needed. Hell, maybe he’d find some way to blame Bradley’s death on Zed.

“There has to be another option, Admiral,” he said softly.

“No options,” Saito barked. “Yes or no.”

Bradley’s jaw clenched, the muscle flexing. He opened his mouth to answer—

Warmth brushed Zed’s mind. He closed his eyes, reveling in the touch he thought he’d never feel again. It was like a grandmother’s hand on his brow, brushing back a stray lock of hair, proprietary in the best sort of way. His cuff tingled and Zed smiled, a wide, open grin.

“I’m gonna propose a different option,” he said, just as the familiar sense of a Guardian scan cascaded through the ship.

Chapter Eighteen

Alarms blared. The ever-present hum of engines sputtered and ceased. Saito and Bradley gasped and shuddered, obviously feeling the scan in unpleasant places.

“Human vessel Cambridge,” echoed across the comm at the same time that a more gentle version of the voice whispered in Zed’s mind, “Zanderanatolius, we are here.”

Zed sagged against his restraints. “Thank you,” he thought at the voice, sending what emotions he could along with the words.

“You are hurt?” The Guardians poked at his memories and he let them, relief at their presence robbing him of the energy and adrenaline that had powered him for the past few minutes. Fury suddenly reverberated through his mind and he sat straighter, adrenaline surging once more.

A comms officer stammered at the Guardians, assuring them that they would be moving on from this quadrant of space, but the synthesized voice cut her off. “We would speak to the individual in command of this vessel.”

Zed felt a small amount of vindication in seeing Admiral Saito’s finger tremble as he reached out to press a button on the desk console, presumably to open a channel. “This is Admiral Michael Saito, Guardians. Greetings. I—”

“Zanderanatolius, you have been held against your will by this individual?”

Hearing his name spoken out loud in the Guardians’ synthesized tones instead of in his mind was a bit jarring. “I have, Guardians.”

Saito’s brow furrowed. “The Allied Earth Forces is well within its jurisdiction to apprehend and punish individuals who threaten our—”

“And you have been tortured?”

Zed swallowed. He had avoided thinking of it in those terms, but that was what Preston had done. He closed his eyes, trying to stave off the shudders that cascaded through his body.

“We already know,” the Guardians whispered in his mind, warmth caressing his thoughts. “It must be recorded, however. You must speak.”

“Yes,” Zed managed aloud.

“Unacceptable.” The Guardians’ synthesized voice sounded so much colder than the one in Zed’s mind, probably because the audible version could not carry inflections. “We are displeased.”

“Oh shit,” Bradley muttered.

“Zanderanatolius carries with him our authority. He has our trust and he wears our mark.”

His cuff tingled. He caught a green flash out of the corner of his eye before the manacles unsealed themselves and fell to the floor. Zed lifted his hands to his lap, rubbing his unprotected wrist.

“Action against him will be, from this point forward, considered as action against us. Is this understood, human vessel Cambridge?”

“Yes, Guardians,” Saito managed in a shaky voice. He stared at Zed, confusion apparent in his wide eyes and gaping mouth.

“Wasn’t the ashies who fixed me.” Zed let his head fall back against the chair as a new wave of exhaustion swamped him.

“Human vessel Chaos, you may now dock with human vessel Cambridge.”

Zed jolted upright. The Chaos was still out there? Oh, thank God he hadn’t tried to resist being rearrested in the shuttle bay. The Guardians stroked his thoughts and he could feel their amusement at his surprise. “No teleportation?” he asked silently.

“Your system has been exposed to enough stress, Zanderanatolius. We did not wish to cause further injury.”

And Zed could do without experiencing teleportation while awake. “Thank you.” Aloud, he said, “Guardians, there is an individual who attempted to help me who is also being held against his will. A friend, Ryan Scott.” Zed turned his gaze to Saito. “He wishes to retire and the AEF—”

The admiral narrowed his eyes. “Colonel Scott aided and abetted—”

“He is an ally, Zanderanatolius?”

“And part of my crew.” Or he would be, once he got on board the Chaos. Elias would adopt him, no question. He was good like that.

Okay, so maybe he was still a fan of Elias’s.

“Human vessel Cambridge, you will escort Zanderanatolius and his ally Ryanscott to their vessel.”

Saito gritted his teeth and glared at Zed, but he had no play here and he knew it. “Yes, Guardians.”

Zed let out a sigh and resisted the urge to close his eyes. He was going home. The walk might be the longest of his life, but damn, he was going home.

* * *

Round two. This one definitely went to the Guardians.

Felix stared at the closed auxiliary hatch until his vision blurred. The broadcast exchange between the Guardians and the Cambridge replayed over and over in his thoughts. He wasn’t sure if he should shit his pants at the implications of the Guardians’ instructions, or simply thank all the stars he was on the right side of the conflict. He was on the right side, wasn’t he?

Nessa squeezed his hand, drawing his attention back to Cargo Two. “You okay?”

Another voice echoed inside his head. Peachy. He managed to squeeze an affirmative grunt out of his suddenly tight throat.

Elias leaned in close on Felix’s other side. He should have felt trapped, but he didn’t, not right then. Instead, his friends anchored and supported him. Qek’s clicks held happy purpose.

“Where’s Marnie?” Elias asked.

“Guest quarters. She’s not officially here. Said to ping her if Ryan wasn’t right behind Zed, though, and she’d make her retirement messily official.”

Elias made an odd sound.

“I’ll be right behind her.” Felix eyed his captain and friend, waiting for him to pick up the challenge.

“And we’ll be right behind you.”

Smiles grew all ‘round. Beneath his, Felix fought to quell myriad emotions. His hands trembled.

The external hatch panel flashed, indicating the airlock on the other side had been accessed. Qek keyed in her code. The hatch whispered open to reveal an empty docking tube. Felix drew in a tight breath, then another. The third expansion of his lungs felt a little looser. Then the doors of the small ‘lock whispered open, revealing a cluster of men in formation. At their head, General Bradley, all starched and strained. Behind him, an honor guard of uniformed soldiers, marines, backs straight, eyes set to regulation boredom. Though the docking tube cut off much of his view, Felix caught the telltale mark of consternation in their stance. The occasional jerk against knee joints, the lack of creaking uniform creases. They were afraid, every last one of them.

In the center of the huddle of fear stood a man. The lopsided slope of his shoulders hid his identity, even though Felix knew who it was, would always know that outline, that presence. Panic skittering across his skin, he looked for Ryan and saw him leaning against one of the rear soldiers. Less guarded, obviously thought less dangerous. Felix hoped the lean was due to simple fatigue. Then Zed moved away from his guards and stepped through the tube, into the light, and Felix forgot all else.

He’d been given a shirt. It hung limply to his hips, as if it had been tested as sorely as the man it covered. Zed walked slowly, with mustered dignity, but Felix could see the pain etched in every line of his face, read it in the off-angle of his shoulders and hips. Felt it in the deliberate way he put one foot in front of the other. But as none of Zed’s escort had broken formation, neither could Felix. Not because he didn’t want to trip into the tube, fling himself at Zed and sob wretchedly. Not because his muscles felt frozen and his legs locked in place.

Everyone held position because the situation demanded it. This was not a casual, joyful, tearful reunion. This was a meeting between two warring factions, yet another armistice presided over by the Guardians.

No measure of fear could prevent Felix from meeting the general’s gaze, however, holding it and staring the man down. Felix had faced greater foes—had been cowed by death, itself. He would not walk away from this exchange without communicating that to the AEF.

Bradley flinched. Message received.

Felix didn’t engage any of the other soldiers. They were as he and Zed—cannon fodder. Bodies in boots. Meeting Zed’s gaze proved difficult. His eyes flickered back and forth, as if he sought a bolt-hole. Felix knew the feeling. Summoning every ounce of patience he possessed, he waited for Zed to look up. When he did, Felix swallowed a gasp and used all that reserve to remain standing and still. Zed’s eyes were too dull, the color reduced to worn steel. But the spark of determination dwelt within the gray depths, undimmed.

Thank all those useless gods.

Ryan stumbled into the tube after Zed, his steps more timid than slow. Felix hadn’t remembered Ryan as tall, but there he was, lanky and gangly, hands and head too big for his body. Or maybe the shine of implants across his shaven skull and down the backs of his fingers made them seem larger. He didn’t appear to have been worked over as thoroughly as Zed, but the flatness of his eyes, the straight line of his mouth, gave away his state of mind. He’d been resigned to his fate and hadn’t yet accepted the fact it had changed. As soon as he cleared the hatch, General Bradley stepped forward.

Elias mirrored the movement on their side, stepping into the wide tube, but keeping to one side so that Zed and Ryan could pass him. “Thank you for returning my crewmen,” he said.

Surprise widened Bradley’s eyes for a moment before his face fell into tired and defeated lines. He nodded once and stepped back.

Zed halted next to Elias. “Permission—”

Elias nudged Zed back toward the hutch. “Granted, damn it. Get aboard.” He gestured toward Ryan. “Step lively, Mr. Scott. I want to get this hatch closed and locked.” His tone was gruff, but Felix could see the roundness of his cheeks as he welcomed his new crew member aboard.

Outside the airlock Bradley opened his mouth. Ryan cleared the threshold, stunned expression still in place. Elias stepped back waved at the general. “Buh-bye!”

Qek touched the panel and the door hissed closed.

Elias hauled Zed into a fast embrace. “Welcome back.”

“Thanks.”

Nessa stepped up behind, medical wallet already open with several overlapping interfaces intersecting the hugging men.

Producing a weary smile, Zed let go of Elias and batted at the holos. “Later, Ness. I’ve got enough complaints to keep you happy for a week.” He slid an arm around her and pulled her into a gentle hug. “Tend my friend here.” His face creased into a hundred wrinkles. “You know Ryan, right? Too tired to make proper introductions.”

Nessa immediately began clucking over her newest patient. Qek’s clicks echoed just over top of her concerned murmur. “Welcome back, Zander.”

Zed directed a weary but fond smile at the ashushk. “Good to see you.”

That gray gaze found Felix next. Fighting the usual coupled urges—flight or fight, or flight or sob—Felix shifted his feet, clenched and unclenched his fists and swallowed. “Ze-ed.”

The break in his voice reflected the state of his being.

Zed leaned toward him and Felix responded instantly. He could no more lean away than he could deny his lungs oxygen. Arms closed around him, warmth pulled him close.

“I’m sorry,” Felix whispered, the echo of their most recent parting loud inside his head.

“Not now,” Zed murmured.

Overriding his fear of...everything, Felix hugged back, hard. He buried his face in the crook of Zed’s grimy neck and inhaled the rank odor of sweat and sickness. Zed trembled in his embrace, small shocks traveling through the muscles of his back and along his arms, and then he fell forward, the weight of his arms pulling Felix’s shoulders down. Felix stumbled, and panicked. Stumbled again.

“Zed!” Oh, God. No.

Chapter Nineteen

Zed opened his eyes to see the familiar riveted ceiling of the Chaos’s med bay stretching overhead. Two things occurred to him. The first was that he’d clearly passed out—again. He wondered if he could get Ness to reward him if he managed to go a month without needing a visit to her domain. Worth looking into.

The second thing was that someone was whispering in his ear. He lifted a heavy hand and pulled at the lobe, trying to dislodge the voice.

“Zanderanatolius.”

“Oh.” Not a whisper, then.

Clothing rustled next to his bed and he directed his gaze sideways in time to see Flick straighten, his boots slapping the metal floor. “Zed. You awake?”

“How do you feel?”

“How do you feel?”

Well, this was going to get old quick. “I’m fine,” Zed rasped.

Ness approached, her wallet out, readouts dimly visible on the display. “They did something—”

“The stin poison—”

“—but your vitals look good and—”

“—we have been monitoring—”

“—should be fine—”

“—simply need to rest and—”

Zed lifted his hands to cover his face. “Stop. Please. One at a time.”

Flick shifted in his seat, making metal scrape against metal, and shared a concerned look with Ness. “Zed, are you sure—”

“Apologies, Zanderanatolius.”

Zed took his hands away from his face and tapped a finger against his temple. “Give me a sec?”

Ness’s eyes widened. “They’re talking to you?”

Flick’s expression said he wasn’t sure if Ness should give him a shot of something. Zed closed his eyes, shutting out the vision of his lover—former lover? God, I don’t want to think about that—and focused instead on the voice in his head.

“I’m here,” he sent to them, meaning well, healthy, conscious, alive. As always, the mental words weren’t really words, but concepts, ideas. His brain just interpreted them as speech.

“We are glad.” He sensed hesitation and regret, and the next thoughts were weighed with each. “We did not realize that our mark would not be understood.”

“The cuff?” Zed smiled. “It’s sort of nondescript.”

“We did not think you would appreciate a brand on your forehead.”

Zed’s eyes snapped open as he let out a snort of laughter. “Oh my God, they made a joke.”

“This is really fucking weird,” Flick muttered. Ness gently cuffed the back of his head.

“At least, I think it was a joke.” To the Guardians, “It was a joke, right?”

“Yes, Zanderanatolius. It was a joke.”

“It was a joke,” Zed assured Flick and Ness, then he remembered that they wouldn’t have heard the comment. He frowned. “Sorry. I think I’m still loopy.”

Flick grunted, as though that wasn’t a surprising statement. “Can you ask them if keeping us locked in regular space is supposed to be a joke, too?”

“What?”

“They’ve got jamming tech or something,” Flick said, slouching in his chair. “Wouldn’t let us start up the c-core and kept the Cambridge from moving, too.”

“We needed to ascertain your health before allowing either vessel to depart,” the Guardians said, sensing his question before he could give it a mental voice.

Just in case. He really didn’t want to think about what would have happened to the Cambridge if he hadn’t woken up. “They wanted to be sure I was okay,” he said. “I’m fine.”

Hesitance again. And was that...sheepishness? “If ever you have need of us, Zanderanatolius, focus and our mark will call.”

“That would’ve been good to know a few days ago.”

“Yes. We agree. We assumed that, since you had acclimatized to this manner of communication, that you would understand...” A tendril of frustration wove through his thoughts.

“Hey, don’t be frustrated with me that I didn’t know how the cuff worked.”

Ness paled. “Zed, are you seriously talking to the Guardians like—”

A mental finger poked at Zed’s brain and he winced. “Ow.”

“Watch your tone, Zanderanatolius.”

Zed smirked. Yep. As he’d thought before, many times, they were just like his Nana. “Yes, Guardians.”

“We hear your amusement.”

“Thank you, Guardians,” Zed replied silently, putting all of his gratitude into the concept behind the words. He still didn’t know what purpose they expected him to fulfill, but in this moment, it didn’t matter. They had rescued him. They had returned him to the Chaos. To Flick.

Even if Zed didn’t know what the hell to do with the man sitting beside him.

“Farewell, Zanderanatolius.” A last brush against his mental forehead, and the presence of the Guardians disappeared.

“Done?” Ness checked her readouts. “Yeah, you’re done. That was fascinating.”

“One word for it,” Flick mumbled.

Ness leaned in to check his pupils. “How’s your vision? Anything hurt?”

“I’m tired as hell. And sore all over. And my foot hurts.” That pain was strong enough it needed to be mentioned separately.

“Not surprising. I’m going to keep you on fluids until we get to Alpha. ETA is about twelve hours.”

Zed frowned. “I can handle a j-space—”

“Ryan can’t,” Flick broke in.

Oh, right. Shit. He should have remembered that. “How’s he doing?”

“Better than you.” Ness offered a conspiratorial grin. “I think all he needs is rest and some TLC from his wife.”

Flick grimaced. “Seriously, you had to go there?”

“Don’t tell me if Zed was in any better shape that you two wouldn’t be going at it like bunnies yourselves.”

Zed turned his gaze back to the ceiling, but not before he saw Ness’s grin fade. Clearly her brain had caught up with her tongue. “Right. I...”

She was going to step away, going to leave him alone with Flick to try to sort shit out. Everything in him rebelled at the thought. Not because he didn’t want to figure out where he and Flick stood—he just didn’t have the energy. His thoughts ricocheted between his temples, chaotic and scattered, and really focusing on everything he felt, trying to put it into words that made sense...he couldn’t do it, not now. He couldn’t reflect on what it had meant when Flick had finally said “I love you.” Was it because he panicked and it just tumbled out? Did he regret saying it? Would he still walk away anyway? His head spun.

Talking about it all with Flick right now...would be bad.

He reached out to Ness as though she were a lifeline. “How’s Kinley?”

Expression softening, Ness brushed a strand of hair away from his forehead. When the gentle gestures came out, Zed knew the news wasn’t good. She glanced to the side, where Zed could just pick out Kinley’s still form on the other med bay bed. “She’s resting. Quietly.”

“Has she...” He trailed off. Stupid to ask. He knew the answer.

“Not a spark,” Ness confirmed. “Her body’s here, but the rest of her...I’m sorry.”

Before Zed could say anything in response, the door to the med bay hissed open. Elias stepped inside, followed by Marnie, and the small area suddenly felt crowded. In a mostly good way.

“There he is,” Elias said, a broad smile creasing his face.

Zed returned it, but his attention was focused on Marnie. She answered his unasked question. “He’s sleeping. He’s good, Zed, because of you.”

“I thought you were giving him TLC.”

Her eyes sparkled. “I already did.”

Elias chuckled, then moved around to the side of the bed to offer his hand, clasping the inside of Zed’s forearm in a firm grip. “I contacted Brennan. Your family’s expecting us. I gotta warn you, man, I don’t think they’re going to let you out of their sight for a bit.”

That was something he’d have to deal with when it happened. He refused to be a prisoner of his family, no matter their good intentions. He squeezed Elias’s arm in acknowledgment of the good-natured warning.

“And I’ve been in contact with the AEF.”

Zed froze, all easiness in his body erased with Marnie’s few words.

“We’re good,” she said, her voice full of reassurance. “Ryan and I are officially out, and they know I have enough evidence hidden away on things to make life difficult if they try to encourage us to reconsider.” One eyebrow twitched upward and Zed wondered if she was secretly hoping the AEF would do something that stupid. “Between that and your family’s pull, I don’t think we have to worry about them anymore.”

“And the Guardians,” Ness pointed out.

“Yeah, but the Guardians...they’re like the bogeyman. They may or may not be in that dark closet, just waiting to jump out. My intel and the Anatolius influence—those are much more tangible. Understandable.”

Zed nodded. He knew what Marnie was getting at. The Guardians were a vague sort of backup—good to have, but maybe not totally reliable. He’d have to see how things played out.

“We’ll find a specialist on Alpha for Ryan,” he promised. Someone who could remove the implants without permanent damage so he’d be able to traverse the galaxy via j-space.

“Already done. Brennan’s work.” Marnie tilted her head. “You look like you’re about to crash again.”

Given that his eyelids had drooped to less than half-mast...”Yeah.”

“Did you and Fl—uh, Fixer—”

Ness placed a hand on Marnie’s arm and gave her head a small shake. That was when Zed realized that Flick was no longer sitting in the chair beside him.

“Shit.” He made to push himself up, but Elias’s large hand on his shoulder prevented much movement.

“You both need to rest,” he said. It sounded a little like an order. “Get some sleep and you can talk when we get to Alpha.”

Exhaustion tugged the tension out of his muscles. He didn’t want to lie in bed without Flick at his side, but it didn’t appear as if he had much choice in the matter. Was it Flick’s way of saying that things were truly over and done? Should he just let him go?

After all the bullshit of the past few months? No. Hell no. If Flick thought he was going to let him go without a fight, he was in for a nasty surprise.

Chapter Twenty

Another day, another docking. Elias appreciated forward momentum. Every new dock brought a new direction for his ship and his crew. But they’d been hitching themselves to the same posts a little too often for his liking over the past week or so. Twice to the Cambridge and twice swallowed by Alpha Station. At least this time they were ensconced in the Anatolius family dock, a smaller but no less grand chamber designed to house a handful of ships that all shamed the Chaos with their sleek lines and scarcely blemished plating.

The folks gathered to greet them didn’t qualify as a mob—not like last time—but Zed’s family exuded as much presence as the AEF and media had on their previous visit. They swarmed around Zed as he stepped down from the cargo ramp, riotous in their joy. A happy lump in his throat, Elias watched the unrestrained reunion until Maddox pushed out of the huddle and strode toward him, hand outstretched. Elias caught the hand and braced for a hearty shake. None of Zed’s family did things in a small way. He was hauled into a hug instead.

“Thank you.” Maddox tightened his grip, apparently intent on squeezing the life from him. “Anything you need, okay? Anything.” He let go and sniffed. “Where’s Flick?”

Elias cleared his throat. “Ah...just putting the c-core to bed.”

One dark brow quirked upward. “Tell him...shit.” Maddox’s eyes got a little bit shinier. “All of you. Anything. Everything.”

Smiling, Elias pushed the man toward his family.

Nessa jumped from the end of the ramp. “I’m going to accompany Kinley to the Anatolius clinic, help them determine the best...” She exhaled slowly. “Help them make her comfortable. They want to check Ryan over too. Fix is still in his quarters.”

He’d been there for ten hours, the bulk of the journey to Alpha. Elias hadn’t pinged his bracelet for docking, and when Fix hadn’t arrived on the bridge to insist he guide them in, Elias had known he might not rouse to disembark the ship, either.

“I’ll take care of him,” Elias said.

Nessa squeezed his arm, then moved to catch up with the medical personnel guiding the hover float out of the docks. Marnie and Ryan were already with them. Elias turned back to his ship and saw Fixer leaning in the doorway of the inner hatch. The running lights in Cargo One were on, but their radiance didn’t quite reach that far back. He didn’t need it. Fix’s posture told him everything he needed to know.

Elias paced back through the cargo bay, halting before the man he’d adopted to fill a hole in his own life, the one left by the death of his younger brother. “He loves you, Felix. He’ll come find you when his family is finished smothering him.”

Fix made no answer.

Elias tipped his head toward the docks. “Ready to go?” When Fix didn’t move, Elias hooked a hand around his arm. “C’mon. We’ll claim the good rooms while they’re all getting organized.” Not that the family building had any bad rooms.

Fix still didn’t move.

Elias put a hand to the back of Fixer’s head and pressed a quick kiss to his forehead. “Trust me. I got this one.”

Fix leaned in and Elias gathered him into a fast embrace.

* * *

The nightmare chased Felix into the bathroom. The striplight overhead had been set low, but compared to the darkness of the room beyond, it might as well have been a sun. Felix let the radiance seep into his skin, his being. Encouraged it to banish the chill creeping down his spine. Memories of claws, screams and an awful sense of loss that continued to burn in the center of his being.

He checked his reflection in the mirror. The harsh light turned him into a ghoul. Hollow eyes and sallow cheeks. His bare chest resembled that of a cadaver. Pale and waxy, the crisscross of scars a series of faint shadows pushed out by the bumps of his ribs. Being confronted with his wretchedness prodded at more memories he’d rather forget. The deep, chemical slumber that had got him to Alpha Station. Dragging himself up to Cargo One just in time to see Zed departing with his family. Elias forbidding him to retreat back inside the Chaos, dumping him here, in this apartment.

Fuck.

Wasn’t everything supposed to be fixed now?

Felix fumbled with his bracelet, the fingers of his right hand as clumsy as those of his left usually were. A small holoscreen coalesced, bright against the ambience of the striplight. He poked at the display until a picture popped up. His most treasured possession, a still capture of him and Zed the night of their graduation from Shepard Academy. Grief pulled at his insides. He’d brought Zed back, delivered him to his family. He’d fought and lost. Surely it was time to go home. To his home. Let Zed go, properly this time.

The door hissed open and Felix jumped, banging his hip bones against the counter in front of the mirror. A strangled yelp burned his throat. Weirdly displaced guilt thundered through his veins, as if he’d been caught doing the wrong thing. He thumbed off his display.

A large figure crowded the entrance to the bathroom, then Zed’s face joined his in the mirror. Zed was here?

Felix spoke to their reflections. “What are you doing here?”

“You weren’t in bed when I woke up. I was worried.”

“Woke up?” In the same bed? The room had been so dark, the crack of light around the bathroom door not enough to penetrate the gloom. Felix turned around so that he faced Zed rather than his reflection. “You were here?”

“Right here.”

“Why are you here?” He couldn’t make sense of the fact Zed stood in the bathroom. Here, with him, instead of somewhere with his family. He pushed a hand into his pocket, pulling his pants low on his hips as he did so. Someone had taken his belt off. His fingers closed around the small vial and it rattled contentedly against his palm.

“Please don’t,” Zed said.

“Don’t what?”

“Take any more pills.”

Felix pulled out the vial and Zed made no move to stop him. He pushed his thumb to the lid, ready to pop it open. “It’s better when I go.”

“You don’t really believe that.”

“Fuck you and your Guardian-mind-reading bullshit. What do you know about it?”

He met Zed’s gaze...and saw what Zed knew. Saw the pain and the loss, the heartache and confusion. The need to help, the desire. The glint of joy at being here and now. Sympathy. Love.

Felix struggled to find the words, the ones he needed to tell Zed why he’d screwed everything up so badly. Why he thought Zed would be better off without him, why being broken hurt so much. “I...” He pressed his mangled left hand to his aching heart. “Hurts.” A tear spilled down his cheek. “It hurts.”

Zed traced the pad of his thumb across Felix’s cheekbone, catching the tear. Then he caressed the side of Felix’s face, his touch so delicate, fingers so warm. “Why don’t you ever ask for help?”

Felix tightened his grip on the vial. “This helps.”

“No, it doesn’t.” Fatigue shaded Zed’s eyes, casting a pall over his handsome face. “Running away never works. Want to know why?”

Felix shook his head, knowing Zed would deliver the punch line anyway.

“Because you can’t run away from yourself. Wherever you end up, you will still be there. I should know. I’ve tried running, remember?” Warm fingers closed around his as Zed caught his hand and the vial both.

“I thought you’d be better off without me.”

Zed’s brow pinched. “Isn’t that for me to decide?”

“I don’t fit, not anymore. I never did.”

“You’re not a pair of pants.”

Man, he was tired. But even fully functional he’d never win an argument with Zed. Felix tugged at his hand, hoping to loosen Zed’s grip, get to his pills.

“No.”

“Let me go.”

Sadness crept across Zed’s face. Gray and weary. The large fingers wrapped around Felix’s loosened. “Is that what you really want?”

Stomach swirling as if he’d just taken a turn through zero-g, Felix made an attempt to consider his future. Could he, with a single word, decide whether Zed would be a part of it or not? His eyelids slid down, heavy and gritty. He knew what life without Zed would be. The emptiness of it rang in his ears, pulled at the center of his chest. Felix thought of the early days of the Chaos, outfitting the ship with Elias, the comradely relationship between himself and the captain. He thought of Qek with her weird wrinkled smiles. The irascible doctor, the warmth of Nessa’s care. He’d managed without Zed, even if intimacy had been reduced to a series of anonymous encounters that barely scratched the itch.

He’d managed, but he hadn’t been whole. Not truly alive.

Having Zed in his life hurt, but only because Zed made him feel. It was as if the former soldier had kick-started his heart—and who knew a man could live without the thing beating for so long? Or, without it beating in proper time.

Having Zed in his life meant accepting the fact he had a living family, who would want to remain in close contact with their son. And so they should. Could Felix ever be a part of that?

He opened his eyes. “What about your family?”

“They’ll always be here.”

Was Zed asking him to stay or implying he’d be free to leave? Did he have the right to hope for either?

“I thought I’d lost you. You died. You were gone. I can’t...” Felix swallowed something prickly. “The next time will kill me.”

“So it’s better to be alone?”

“Yes.”

Zed hissed softly and his forehead wrinkled. “You’re not alone, Flick.”

“Flick’s gone. He was killed by the stin. You’re the only one who remembers him.”

Something sparked in Zed’s gaze. “I don’t believe that.” He clutched at Felix’s fingers. Squeezed them tight. “You’re right here. Right goddamn here. Now tell me what you want.”

You.

Felix shook his head. He didn’t have the right to lay a claim.

Jaw flexing, a muscle jumping halfway along, Zed growled, the sound low and ominous. “What do you want?”

“I’m not good enough for you. I never have been. Now I’m just a piece of junk. They broke me. The stin...” His throat closed as his most recent nightmare teased the edges of his consciousness. The terror, the torture. The overwhelming feeling of loss that he’d never quite overcome.

“I don’t believe that.” Zed’s quiet rebuke snapped him back to the present.

“The Guardians can’t fix me.”

Zed growled again. “Stop avoiding the question. Tell me what you want!” He used his height to loom over Felix, the grip of his fingers still tight, painful. “Tell me.”

The beginnings of panic seeped through Felix’s veins, the fear of being trapped, pinned. The scowl of Zed’s features, the rough timbre of his demands. Pulse hammering, Felix shifted. The aftereffects of the sedatives made him dizzy. His brain fizzed and popped.

“Flick—”

The nickname scraped a raw nerve. “You! You, Zed. I want you.”

Zed wilted into him. “Thank Christ.”

“I’m sorry. I know I can’t—”

“Oh, shut up.” Zed let go of his hand to cover his mouth. Felix could taste the sweat on his fingers as they pushed his lips closed. “Now comes the hard part.”

Felix’s eyes widened.

“Now you’re going to ask for help.”

Oh hell no.

Felix struggled against the weight pressing him into the vanity. Even weakened by stin poison, Zed outmatched him. Felix could barely move.

“Ask me.”

Felix contemplated biting the fingers pressed to his lips—and then his thoughts ground to a startling halt. What the fuck was he doing? This was Zed. This was the man he loved. This was the man he’d antagonized the stin and the Guardians for. Had traveled across the galaxy for, would have ripped heads from shoulders for. The man he didn’t want to live without.

He moved his lips and Zed shifted his hand.

“I’m so fucked up.”

“I know.” Zed’s expression softened. “Ask me.”

Felix drew a breath that rasped against his throat, then pushed out the words, feeling the passage of every single one across his heart. “Help me, Zed...I need you.”

Save me.

* * *

The first step in being saved, apparently, was being pushed toward the shower.

“I love you, but you stink.”

Felix caught a whiff of himself as he reached for the control panel. He wrinkled his nose. He hesitated, confused by the array of options, and Zed reached over his shoulder and selected a program. Then that strong hand slipped to his hip and wandered around to his stomach, the brush of fingers making Felix’s skin twitch, the musculature beneath jump.

Zed tugged at the fastening on his utility pants. “Got anything you want to save in these pockets? Because I’m stuffing these rags in the disposal.”

“These pants are new.”

“They were new two months ago. Then they met you.”

Two months. Zed had been back in his life for two months.

He’d worn out a pair of pants in two months. “‘S your fault.”

The pants slipped from his hips with a quick motion of Zed’s hand. The warmth of Zed’s palm ghosted over his ribcage. “You need to eat. Get in the shower, I’m gonna order something.”

Felix did as bid. He began with a perfunctory wash, then took time to luxuriate in the fall of warm water. When he stepped out, the mat sucked moisture from his feet and the smart towel warmed his face. Grudgingly, he submitted to the good feeling of being clean. He’d shed the weight of some of his grief in the shower. Holding his shoulders up wasn’t so hard.

His vial of pills was gone from the vanity.

Zed distracted him with food and insisted he take a nap.

When he woke again, the fog of his last dose of sedatives had lifted. Better than the clarity, however, was the warmth of Zed reclined next to him, on his side, one arm folded, cheek pillowed in the palm of that hand.

“Have you been here the whole time?” Felix asked.

“Mmm-hmm.”

“What about your family?”

Zed lifted the shoulder not buried in his pillow. “I’m resting, doctor’s orders.”

Felix recalled Nessa’s report from the med bay. Dehydration, exhaustion, stin poison, the bandage on his foot. “Are you okay?” He’d forgotten to ask that before. How could he have forgotten to ask that before? “Shit, Zed. What happened to you—”

Zed leaned in and kissed him. The gesture was so unexpected, that Felix gasped into the lips caressing his. Shuddered as the tip of Zed’s tongue poked his upper lip before darting away, quick as it had arrived. As a method of shutting him up, it was pretty damned effective. He panted into the handful of centimeters between them as Zed pulled back.

“We’ll talk later,” Zed said. “Going to be plenty of time to talk on the way to Morrison.”

They were going back to Dieter’s asteroid? Felix tried to open his mouth. Zed caught his lips again. Murmured. “We’ll talk about that later too.”

Felix flattened his palm against the center of Zed’s chest, resisted the urge to curl his fingers into the soft bristle of hair he found there, and pushed. “Let me talk.”

“Nope. You’ve got that whole apology tone going and I don’t need to hear it.”

“What do you want to talk about, then?”

“Sex.”

“Sex?”

“You think I cleaned you up and fed you because I’m a good person? I want sex, Felix. I’ve been imprisoned, and then strapped into a med bay. Now I’m confined to quarters. I’ve been lying here watching you sleep for nearly twenty-four hours and I’m horny.”

Felix blinked. “You are a good person.”

“That’s what you took from all that?” Zed leaned in again.

Felix pushed at him. “No, let me finish. I promise we can have sex when I’m done, but let me finish this, please.”

Before he could apologize again—he could spend the next year saying sorry and it wouldn’t be enough—Felix blew out a breath and gathered his thoughts. Sorted them, began to spill them.

“I should have told you I loved you on Ashushk Prime. Hell, Zed, I should have told you the day you walked aboard the Chaos and tried to break my wrist. I never stopped. You know that, right? I never stopped loving you. It’s always been you. You’re my hero, Zed, and have been since I was eight years old.”

The bedclothes rippled and Zed’s hand covered his beneath the sheet. Pressing Felix’s palm to his heart. His smile sent warmth into Felix’s bones. It was a beautiful smile, his favorite smile. The one from the picture he carried in his bracelet’s memory.

“I know you love me, just as I know you have a hard time saying it. But it doesn’t have to be a promise, okay? It’s a fact.”

“No. It is a promise.” I’m going to love you forever. He couldn’t say that out loud. Not that. For as much as Zed seemed to have forgiven him, made plans to leave Alpha with him, he hadn’t actually promised forever. And Felix would never ask.

Zed’s smile dimmed slightly but the clasp of his fingers strengthened, and when Felix examined the line of Zed’s mouth again, he saw pensiveness. Zed was thinking—which was what he did. Then his features took on a measure of solemnity. “Okay. I love you too.”

A promise.

Felix’s heart tried to soar, but banged against his breastbone before it could leave his chest, which was just as well. A man needed a heart to love, to live.

“Can we make love now?” Zed asked.

“Hell yes.” Felix reached down, Zed’s hand trailing him, coverlet bunching around their wrists as they pushed it aside. Light glinted from shadow, sparking in the region of Zed’s nipples. “Holy shit.”

Felix tweaked one of the barbells, a gentle twist, and Zed hissed.

“Tell me this is not some weird torture thing.”

“No, it’s a weird Maddox thing. We, ah, went out one night.”

“And got piercings? That’s...hot.” Really fucking hot. Felix nudged the small ball at the end of the bar again and his own nipples tightened in response. Lust rocketed in a straight shot to his groin. His cock twitched. “Does it hurt?” He glanced up.

Zed’s flattened lips said yes. Like the brave soldier he was, however, he shook his head.

“Liar.” Felix flicked the barbell again. “Any feedback?”

“God, no.” Zed’s hand covered his, stilling his busy fingers. “Just...tender.”

Oh, yeah, he was sore, but not willing to admit it. Grinning, Felix leaned in and flicked his tongue over the warm metal and tender nub between the studs. “Don’t worry, I’ll be careful.” He was going to have fun with these.

Fun. Man, it had been a long time since he’d thought about fun.

The small barbells called to his fingers. He let his tongue explore the piercings, though, confident he’d have another chance to tug at the delicate points with more urgency in the weeks to come. Zed trembled beneath his ministrations, gasping, all but mewling. Felix loved drawing such sounds from him. Zed’s quivers and moans sent a heady rush of triumph and need through his limbs. Gave him strength and purpose.

He reached between them, continuing his earlier course, fingers sliding down the trail of hair that traveled from Zed’s pecs to his navel, lower, curling more robustly beneath Felix’s fingertips until it gave way to the hard length of Zed’s cock. Wrapping his fingers around the shaft, Felix squeezed. He flicked his tongue over a nipple, noting the point was equally hard. Zed groaned. His hips rocked forward and the weight of him rolled Felix back so that they no longer lay side on, facing each other. Zed scooted closer, then moved over him, pinned him lightly with his weight, erection pushing at the inside of Felix’s thigh.

“This okay?” Zed always asked, always cared.

Felix nodded, because after that second of instinctual panic, it was more than okay. For the first time in...a long time, he felt safe rather than trapped. This was where he wanted to be. Under Zed, beside Zed, with Zed. Always. And though he’d been intent on following their usual course—worshipping Zed’s body, tasting him, teasing him, burying himself inside that tantalizing heat, now he wanted something different. Something he didn’t often ask for, but which felt right after the promise he’d given, the one Zed had given him in return.

“I want you inside me.”

Zed’s eyebrows lifted. “You’re sure?”

“Yes.” This would be his seal. A token. His trust, his love.

Zed shifted. The friction of skin to skin, the hot brand of Zed’s cock dragging across his thigh, the prickle of hair, the promise of that weight against him, pressing his own erection back against his belly—Felix groaned, the sound involuntary and definitely louder than he’d like.

Zed rolled his hips, kicking off another round of sensation. Felix pushed his head back into the pillow and closed his eyes, let the spark ignite across his skin. Gave himself over to Zed. Lips attached to his neck, nipping, sucking. The flutter of Zed’s tongue was electric. Felix rocked upward. Zed pressed him back down. Teeth caught his earlobe, breath stirred the hair over his ear. He recognized Zed’s path, then. It was the one he usually took. Up, across, down...then across again, tongue tip zinging across a hard nipple, lips pulling at the taut flesh over his stomach. A hand wrapped around his hip, holding him in place. The scrape of stubble at his ribs, over his other nipple. Tongue again, teeth. A dizzying circle of teasing—only delivered to his body instead of Zed’s.

Concern pulled him out of a lusty haze, that Zed wasn’t getting his due. Zed batted his hand away before it could fully grasp his hip. “No. Hands at your sides. You’re mine to do with as I want, and I’m going to make you beg.”

Shock sharpened his vision. Sucking in a breath that seared his throat, Felix pushed up against Zed. They didn’t play this way, not with him. Was this repayment for that last night in this bed? Before he’d tucked his tail and run? No. No, that wasn’t Zed’s style. This was play. Fun.

Swallowing, Felix eased himself back down. He noticed, then, that Zed was holding himself still over him, almost rigid. Felix dipped his chin in a quick nod. An unexpected grin pulled at one corner of his mouth and he let it expand, knowing how Zed loved the dimple in his left cheek.

Then he begged, before he had to. “Please.”

Zed relaxed and renewed his assault. Felix bucked and moaned, begged some more, and when Zed finally dropped down between his thighs, nudging them apart, lifting his knees, exposing him, Felix lifted his hips in invitation. He was beyond ready. Beyond panic and fear, ready to be made Zed’s. Again, and again.

Zed tortured his cock. Lips, tongue and teeth.

Shaking, Felix clutched sheets made damp by his sweat, arched his back and spread his legs further. “Now, please. I need you. You’re killing me. Fuck me.”

After lubing up his fingers, Zed teased some more, pressing, opening, making Felix shudder from the inside out—and wonder why he didn’t ask for this every time. Sure, he was exposed, he was under another man, and now and again fear nipped at his thoughts. But the scent of Zed rising from his skin—his breath, his kisses, that woodsy aroma that Felix knew intimately, but had never quite identified—kept him relaxed. Horny as the devil and needy as fuck. But safe to explore. To want.

Zed’s hips settled between his thighs, pushing them still wider apart. As Felix braced for that nudge, the quick hot pain, Zed’s lips caught his. Only a tall man could manage this, and Zed did it beautifully, kissing him deeply, yet breathlessly, as he pushed inside. He swallowed Felix’s hiss, kissed him through the surprise as he slid forward without hindrance to fill him.

“Feel so good,” Zed said against his lips.

Felix managed a grunt in return.

Zed pulled back, almost all the way, and eased forward again with agonizing slowness.

“So good.”

“You said that.”

Zed bit his lower lip before drawing back and sliding forward again, hot breath pushing into Felix’s mouth. “So very good.”

Felix caught on to Zed’s plan. “You want me to beg again.” The pressure inside him required a quick inhalation before he could continue. “You’ll need it before I do.”

Zed rolled his hips back, his motion almost a caress as he withdrew. He paused, just before he could slip out, and that particular tease—the anticipation of Zed sliding back in, filling him—almost undid Felix. Before he could retract his taunt, however, Zed braced himself on one hand, lifted Felix’s knee over his shoulder and rocked forward again, the blunt head of his cock nailing that spot on the way past.

“Fuck!”

“Yessss.” Zed repeated the motion with torturous slowness.

Felix swallowed obscenities. He did lift a hand, and Zed didn’t object to the fingers suddenly wrapped around his hip, digging into his buttock. He did resist the tug of Felix’s hand, the urge to move faster.

Felix breathed his name.

Zed did it again and again, that slow withdrawal, that equally slow thrust, filling him, leaving him bereft, filling him once more. Nudging his prostate over and over. Teasing him with excruciating patience.

Felix’s balls ached. The tension gathered in his groin hurt. He had to give in—it was either that or die of exquisite pleasure. “Harder, faster. Please, I’m begging you.”

Zed’s hips rolled forward. “What was that? I didn’t hear you.”

“Harder. Please. Faster. Fuck me! Do it, please.”

A hot breath against his neck, a twinge along the back of the thigh lined up over Zed’s shoulder, and then Zed’s hips snapped forward. The jolt of intense pleasure nearly blinded him. Felix gasped, grabbed at Zed’s hip. His fingers slipped as Zed pulled back and slammed forward again. He lost count of the thrusts, even though he wanted to mark every one. Remember them.

Then Zed was done, yelling as his climax roared through him, obliterating all sound, even Felix’s strangled cries. Felix felt the pulse inside, the warm rush. Where he’d been full before, now he was fuller. He grabbed at his erection, startled that he’d forgotten it for this long. His cock jerked once against his palm and warmth spilled across his fingers. His heart surely stopped and his vision faded. Sensation tossed him up and down, sideways. Drowned him—and he didn’t care if his body was ever found. So long as he always felt this good. This complete.

Breathless kisses roused him, pulled him back to the surface. Felix exhaled into Zed’s mouth. He sucked lazily on Zed’s tongue, kissed his lips, caught the lower between his teeth. Let it go. “Can’t feel my body.”

“Oh yeah?” Zed rolled his hips.

It took a second for Felix to locate his hands. His body had become so disconnected. Plucking his fingers from the firm curve of Zed’s ass, he pushed at the front of his thigh. “Stop.”

“Hmm, nope.” Another thrust. How was Zed still hard? “Want you again.”

“Did the Guardians do something to your cock?”

“Fuck, I hope not.” Zed’s hips stopped moving for a second, then settled back between Felix’s sore thighs. “Nah, it’s just you. Love having you under me.”

Thoughts ticking over a little less sluggishly, Felix considered that idea. “I—”

Zed cut him off with a kiss. “Just for today. I love being fucked by you too much to make this a permanent switch. But, once in a while...” Another thrust punctuated his words. “Yeah.”

“I’m sorry if—”

Zed kissed him again.

“You can’t keep cutting me off with kisses.”

“Watch me.”

“Zed...” Zed leaned in and Felix extracted a hand from the sweaty sheets and pushed his fingers over Zed’s lips. “I’ll stay, if you want me to. Here, on Alpha.” It would hurt to give up the Chaos—his freedom and every other concept he’d attached to that ship—but for Zed, he would do it. Lying here, right now, loved so thoroughly, he could make the offer and mean it.

Zed shook his head slowly. “This isn’t home. Nice place to visit, but this isn’t where we belong.” He kissed Felix’s fingers. “I miss the smell of engineering. Our bunk. Your ship.”

“Ours.” He and Elias might hold the deed, Nessa and Qek might have seniority in the crew, but Zed had kicked in more than his share. “It belongs to all of us. She’s home to all her crew.”

“That she is.” Zed’s hips rolled again. “Ready?”

Felix groaned. “You’re going to kill me.”

Zed’s lips covered his with a word. “Never.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Three days later, Zed reflected that standing up in front of a crowd of reporters was a little easier the second time around. He knew what to expect, how he’d be treated by the media. But more than that, he also knew where he stood, with his family, with the AEF, with the Guardians. With Flick.

The truth will set you free.

He managed to keep that statement out of his speech. Barely.

Behind him stood his whole family—the ones related to him by blood and the ones he’d adopted at various points in his life. His parents, his brothers and their wives. The crew of the Chaos, with their newest additions—Marnie standing proudly at her husband’s side, Ryan’s skin dotted with minute scars instead of electronics. Off to the side, a representative from the Central Alliance of Planets and Stations and her aides stood without fidgeting or looking at Zed much.

And directly behind him, a few steps back, was Flick. Guarding his six, as always.

“I’ll take questions now.” He’d told them everything, the truth, and he expected a barrage of queries. Silence greeted him instead.

Tanis Nejem—the reporter from a tiny, unimportant network who’d actually treated him like a human being at the last media scrum—was the first person to raise a hand. He nodded at her. “So...you’re an ambassador for the Guardians?”

He shook his head. “Emissary,” he corrected. “There’s a subtle difference, and it’s closest to their meaning.”

“They communicate with you telepathically?” Tanis seemed to be warming up. More questions spilled from her lips. “How? Have you seen them? Do you know why they’re here?”

“I don’t think I could explain the telepathy with any justice,” Zed hedged. He’d described it to the crew of the Chaos as a warm brush of his nana’s hand, but he was reluctant to say so before all these strangers. “I’ve never seen any of the Guardians. But they have assured me that our name for them is accurate. They are interested in helping us, protecting us, but also in letting us make our own choices. More than that...I just don’t know.” If he’d stayed with them after they’d fixed him, instead of returning to the Chaos, he would’ve learned more—but that hadn’t really interested him. Not when the price was Flick.

Especially not now, when things were finally falling into place. He shot a glance over his shoulder at his lover, offering him a small smile. Flick didn’t seem quite as stiff as he had in the days leading up to his sudden departure, but it was clear standing in front of a crowd would never be on his list of favorite things.

“How do we know you’re telling the truth?” another reporter demanded. “So far, all we’ve got is your word, no proof. That cuff could be anything.”

The amplification field caught the Central rep’s words as she spoke. “I am Amelia O’Day, Zander’s appointed liaison to the Central Alliance of Planets and Stations. I can confirm that Zander Anatolius is the emissary of the Guardians. His status is recognized by the Central Alliance of Planets and Stations and he will be accorded the same privileges and respect as emissaries and ambassadors from other species.”

“Is he still considered human?” The question carried more than a small amount of sneering.

Amelia’s gaze met Zed’s briefly and her perfect stance faded into a small fidget. “The Central Alliance of Planets and Stations recognizes that Zander Anatolius is both human and not human,” she said, her voice a bit softer. Apologetic? Zed didn’t really know her yet, though he suspected they would get a chance to become better acquainted over the next few months. He focused on that rather than the cold that spiked through him at her words.

Not human.

It was one thing to have suspected that would be how he was viewed, another entirely to hear it spoken as his official status. It took all his concentration to keep his face impassive, unresponsive. No one needed to know how deeply that proclamation sliced.

“What about the other Project Dreamweaver participants?” Tanis called out.

“We’ve tracked down the remaining survivors. I’m not going to give their names, and I’m not going to tell you where they are, other than to say they’re safe and being well cared for.”

“Anatolius Industries has committed funds and resources to their ongoing care, for as long as they need it,” his father said.

Zed’s worst fear—Anatolius Industries going head to head with the AEF—hadn’t materialized. Not because his family hadn’t wanted to collectively bodyslam the military. He’d heard Dad and Brennan talking plots and strategy one afternoon, ones that sounded as though they’d been discussed at length. In the end, they’d decided that helping the remaining survivors of the project was a better use of the company’s resources.

And publicizing their attempts to mitigate the effect of the experimentation was more annoying to the AEF—more damaging too.

A reporter in the back lifted her hand. “Will the Guardians step in to save them, too?”

“No. I asked if they would, and they told me they had no need for an army. In addition...” He trailed off, staring at the podium for a moment before raising his gaze again. “My teammates are not doing well. I don’t think even the Guardians’ assistance would make a difference now.”

Not doing well—what an understatement. Kinley had deteriorated to the point that she was no longer breathing on her own. Brain scans showed no activity, and not even scrambling to apply what they’d learned on Ashushk Prime had made a difference. Zed knew the time to make a decision was coming up quick—and it would be up to him, because Kinley had no family to make it for her. Dieter, on the other hand, went blank more often but the rate of his deterioration remained slow. Zed hoped that he could hold on long enough to help them find a solution—but he had a niggling fear that no matter how much brain power they devoted to the task, or how many resources his father threw at it, they weren’t going to be able to work their very own miracle for his remaining teammates.

“I heard reports that Juston Dell is under investigation by the AEF in relation to the lift-tube incident you and your crew were caught in, and that he’s fled Central space. Is that true?”

Zed kept his smile to himself, but it was a near thing. With Marnie as their secret weapon, it hadn’t taken much to get that rumor rolling. He particularly liked the part where Special Forces were hunting Dell down. It wasn’t true—but it could be. “You’ll have to ask the AEF about that.”

“Another question—”

“Zanderanatolius.”

The soft, warm voice in his head never demanded attention—it requested it, and Zed saw no reason to deny it. He closed his eyes. Not a conscious decision, but he couldn’t very well hear the Guardians speak when there was so much else happening around him. The questions and murmurs of the crowd diminished as though someone had wrapped him in a blanket. He was vaguely aware of the reporters trying to get his attention, and the murmurs that arose from his crew and family. Then in the distance, he thought he heard Marnie calling his name, and something that sounded like “new gate,” which couldn’t be right—but soon, he couldn’t hear anything.

“I’m here.”

As soon as he acknowledged the presence in his mind, his cuff tingled and images flooded his thoughts. Pictures, concepts, ideas. Nothing concrete, nothing that made sense. Above it all, one emotion trembled. He felt it in his gut, in his head, in his chest.

Anticipation.

With a final stroke of warmth, the Guardians retreated. Zed opened his eyes to see the crowd of reporters in front of him, still, watching. Turning to catch Marnie’s gaze—had he imagined her words?—he noted the holo hovering over her bracelet wallet. In seconds, the wallets of everyone else in the crowd pinged. All of the reporters scrambled to pull out their devices and watch a report coming in from the Hub.

“For those of you just tuning in, a previously inert gate at the Hub was activated at sixteen-hundred hours Standard time. AEF ships are standing by with ashushk and stin counterparts to greet any new species that exit the gate, but there has been no activity as yet. This will be the first new species introduced to the galactic community since humanity came through the gate and built Hemera Station over a century ago. An AEF spokesperson stated that no further information was available at this time, but a press conference is scheduled for—”

Zed tuned out the report and instead eyed his crew. “Looks like we’ve got new neighbors.”

A smile flickered across Marnie’s lips. “Looks like.”

Some of the pictures and images put into Zed’s mind by the Guardians started to make sense. But however the new species might appear, he had no idea. The images were too jumbled.

“They told you. Before the holo came up.” Flick moved forward, apparently having forgotten the crowd of reporters milling before them—though the majority were on their wallets, trying to determine next steps from their individual media outlets.

“Yeah.”

Flick slipped his good hand into Zed’s, the touch as vocal as words of support would be. He was here. He wasn’t going anywhere. Whatever Zed needed to meet head-on, Flick would be there too. “So, what else did they say?”

One corner of Zed’s lips twitched, a concession to the weirdness of the conversation. Then he drew in a deep breath. “They said to be ready.”

* * * * *

Read on for an excerpt from CHAOS STATION, book one, where Felix and Zed’s story began:

Chapter One

Dardanos Station, 2269

From his shaded booth, Zed scanned the bar’s patrons for his contact. The dark, anonymous interior could’ve belonged to any bar on any station or colony in human space. It suited this sort of establishment, making sure it didn’t stand out in anyone’s memories—perfect for Dardanos Station and its rough complement of miners and support staff.

Fifteen men and women, all worn thin by the physical demands of mining the asteroid belt, sat at the bar or the tables. Some were twitchy, their eyes in constant motion as they scanned their surroundings—junkies searching for their next hit of whatever drug they could afford, maybe, or ex-soldiers who’d never quite figured out how to hit the off button. Two in particular had a haunted look about them, quiet, subdued, as if the galaxy had kicked them in the balls so many times that they expected nothing more. Zed knew that look; he saw it every morning in the fucking mirror.

War would do that to you.

Unless Elias Idowu was the sort to wear a shitload of tech—not bloody likely, since jump-space messed with cybernetics and implants, rendering them useless—the captain of the Chaos had not yet arrived.

Zed turned his attention to the wall of garish holo ads and tried to ignore the floating freeform versions that approached his table to entice his creds to leave his hands. Some days he wanted to shake the people around him and demand whether they remembered that six short months ago, humanity had been at war. Everything was just so bloody normal at times, it made his teeth ache. No, he didn’t want to sample the “Station’s Own!” beer. He was good with the generic piss sitting in front of him, seeing as he’d hardly touched it. Unlike the fifteen men and women surrounding him, he hadn’t come here to drink. The bottle was a shield, a reason for him to sit and watch the news program on the holoscreen without the notice of anyone but the ads. The sound was off, the anchor’s lips moving out of sync with the music pumping through the bar. Didn’t matter, he’d seen the report often enough to repeat the reporter’s words even without reading her lips. The image that flashed across the screen still caught him off guard, though.

So familiar and yet so freaking different. He always remembered Emma with a smile, triumph flushing her olive skin after a successful mission. Her green eyes glowed and her smile was wide enough to encourage creases in her cheeks. He’d appreciated her beauty like one might appreciate a work of art in one of Earth’s museums, with a twist in his chest and a spurt of thankfulness that he’d been allowed to witness it.

The woman staring out of the holo had dead eyes. The creases that had enchanted Zed had been etched into her skin, around her mouth, at the corners of her eyes, beneath them. Emma looked like she hadn’t slept in weeks—a state Zed knew too well.

He gritted his teeth, staring at her image until the news switched to the video that had captured Emma’s fall from grace. The security footage of a hydroponic square on Chloris Station was grainy and too distant to get the details he wanted, but he’d know Emma even if she was little more than a collection of blurry pixels. He recognized her movements. The speed of them, the accuracy, the deadly intent. She took out a squad of station security in a matter of minutes, her body her only weapon.

Zed had studied the footage, trying to find some clue to explain why Emma had attacked and killed so many. There had to be a reason. He refused to believe the assertion that Emma had acted without provocation. She wouldn’t. That wasn’t their training.

Unless...

Fuck. No. He wasn’t going there. There was no point speculating until he saw her and found out for himself what had happened.

Movement at the door caught his eye. A man of just above average height stood there, dark-skinned, with brown eyes and brown hair, scanning the bar’s interior. He might be looking for a seat, but something in his demeanor suggested he sought more than an empty stool. His clothes marked him as someone who didn’t work on this particular station—for one, he had no wearable tech and, two, he was too damned clean. Like on other mining stations, the folks who called Dardanos home worked hard, long hours—though the company that managed this station made sure its workers were rewarded and cared for, miner culture was what it was. Rude, crude, rough and harsh. Most of the people sitting around the bar sported jumpsuits with rock dust ground into them so deeply that it would never be washed out. In contrast, the newcomer wore cargo pants and a vest over a plain long-sleeved SFT. Good, practical gear for a ship captain, though the smart fiber of his shirt looked worn in places.

Zed raised his hand. The newcomer spotted it immediately and started in his direction, then paused on the opposite side of the table.

“Loop?” The corner of the man’s mouth twitched, as though the name amused him.

Zed inclined his head, acknowledging the alias he’d been going by. “Elias Idowu. Have a seat.”

Elias slid into the chair Zed gestured to. A holo floated by and he ordered himself a beer, the same variety sitting in front of Zed.

“It’s piss,” Zed warned.

“Wets the throat.” Elias leaned back into his seat, the image of ease and comfort, but Zed noticed one hand stayed beneath the table. Near a weapon, probably. “So, Mr. Loop. How can the crew of the Chaos help you?”

Zed supposed the name of the ship suited a crew that made their living by less-than-legal means, not that it mattered. He wasn’t in a position to judge the people who offered the type of help he needed. Besides, hadn’t they all done what they’d needed to do to survive the past eight years of war?

“I need passage to Chloris Station and help tracking someone down once we’re there.”

Elias offered the server a smile as she set down his beer, and waited until she wandered off once more before speaking. “Passage and a bounty?”

“Essentially.”

“The Chaos isn’t a passenger ship.”

“I figure for the right amount of creds it’ll be anything I need it to be.” Zed arched a brow. “Am I wrong?”

Elias sipped his beer, then his long, dark fingers played with the bottle’s neck. A casual gesture, one that masked furious thinking. “Who are you looking for?”

“I’ll tell you when we get there.”

“Oh, hell no. I don’t play games like that. I have a crew to watch out for, and I need to know, up front, what sort of shit I’ll be getting them into. You tell me who you’re looking for or I walk. Simple.”

Damn. It’d been worth a try. Zed jerked his chin at the news program playing above Elias, which had cycled around to the portrait he knew so well, and yet didn’t.

“Her name’s Emma Katze.”

“Huh.” Elias watched the holo for a few more seconds. “You’re chasing down an AEF bounty?”

Zed grimaced. No, this had nothing to do with the price the Allied Earth Forces had put on Emma’s head. Or, rather, everything to do with it. Anyone else going after her might end up in a body bag and send her deeper into the shadows as a result.

“She’s a friend.”

“You keep interesting company, man.”

You don’t know the half of it. “She’s in trouble.”

“And you’re, what? Her white knight?” Elias gifted him with a crooked grin.

“No. Just a friend.” Zed stared at the label on his beer bottle for a minute. The curlicues of the lettering seemed to shift, writhing across the logo. He blinked. “I’m not going to get into the history. You don’t need to know it.”

“That’s blunt.”

“It’s the truth. You ever been responsible for anyone, Idowu?”

“I’m a ship’s captain, of course I—”

“No. I mean beyond duty. Not being responsible because it’s what’s required of you or expected of you, but being responsible because you’ve chosen to be.”

Elias’s expression sobered. “Like family.”

Family had a lot of meanings. Soldiers had two families: the one you were born with and the one you found with your unit. Zed had always figured he’d lucked out in both cases, with parents and brothers who loved him and soldiers he’d been proud to serve with. Thing was, war tended to pull you away from one family and toss you at the other, and you had to go with it or you’d crumble. Worse, your unit would crumble. And then, sometimes, there was just no finding your way back to the family you’d been born with.

Sometimes, there was no finding yourself at all.

The captain turned back to the holoscreen, lifting his beer to his lips as he watched the cycle of the top stories restart. Zed waited, pulling on patience he hadn’t used much lately. Elias had to come to his own conclusions about this job. After a few minutes, once the security footage rolled around again, he let out a soft curse.

“Your little sister’s gotten herself into some deep shit.”

Little sister. That almost made Zed chuckle, since other than their size difference—he had about twenty centimeters on her—it couldn’t be further from the truth. They’d attended Shepard Academy together, an elite private school that funneled its graduates into specialized AEF training. Most of the time since graduation, Emma had acted like his big sister, offering advice, being a shoulder to lean on, a constant connection to his childhood. They’d watched out for one another.

Lately he’d done a piss-poor job of holding up his end of that unspoken bargain.

“That’s why I need to find her. You familiar with Chloris Station?”

“Been there a few times. It smells weird. Plants aren’t meant to grow in space, not like that.”

Zed tilted his head to one side, acknowledging the point. “I have the schematics for the station, but I don’t have the connections to know where someone would hole up. Word is, you do.”

“Where the hell did you get the schematics? Never mind, I don’t want to know.” Elias glanced at the holoscreen again. “I might have some contacts. But I don’t want to bring the AEF down on their heads.”

“You won’t.”

“And you’re going to guarantee that.”

Zed’s gaze held steady. “The AEF won’t touch you or your contacts.”

“You’ve got balls, man, to make a statement like that.”

The way his eyes narrowed indicated he didn’t believe Zed for a minute—not that Zed could blame him. To the man sitting across from him, Zed was nothing more than a muscular guy in plain, serviceable clothes. The scar on his right cheek indicated he’d seen action of some sort—but then, the war had been over for barely six months. Most men and women of a certain age had seen battle, whether under the AEF’s banner or privately. Zed knew if he dropped his full name, the captain’s attitude would change. But he wouldn’t risk it here. Last thing he needed was to be identified and have to deal with all the damned attention that would bring. If it became necessary to let Idowu in on that secret later, he would.

So, instead, all he said was, “I have connections too.”

“Uh-huh. Those kinds of connections wouldn’t have you sitting in a shitty dive hooking up a ride on a thirty-year-old corvette.” Elias took a long swallow from his beer before setting it on the table. “Good luck, man. You’re gonna need it.” He started to get up.

Zed didn’t move. “Two hundred k.”

“Two hundred k what? Good luck wishes?”

“Creds.” Zed nudged a flexible plastic square across the table. A wallet of unhooked credits. “Nice, clean and untraceable.”

The captain settled back into his seat but didn’t call any further attention to the wallet. Smart. “You’re paying that up front?”

“That’s half. You get me to Chloris and we track down Emma, and you get another two hundred k.”

Elias didn’t bother to hide his shock. “Holy shit. That’s...Who the hell are you?”

Zed’s lips twisted into something between a smile and a grimace. “Her big brother. Do we have a deal, Captain Idowu?”

Elias let out a breath and extended a hand. “Welcome aboard the Chaos, Mr. Loop.”

* * *

“Shit!” Felix Ingesson shot an accusatory glare at the ashushk crouched in front of the gutted refrigeration unit. “I thought you said you’d disconnected this panel.”

His companion’s blue face wrinkled into an approximation of a smile. “Actually, I said, ‘Wait for me to disconnect that panel.’ Do you require medical assistance?”

Felix flapped his hand but the motion only made his burnt finger throb. “Jesus, Qek. If Nessa sees what we’ve done to her refrigerator, she’ll break my good hand.”

Ashushk names were generally long strings of consonants that tangled human tongues. Qek had chosen a fluid equivalent in Standard—Qekelough, pronounced Keck-eh-low—but she seemed happy to be referred to as just Qek.

“Your glove is a remarkable piece of engineering, Fixer.”

She never shortened his nickname, though.

Felix flexed the web of steel and wire that gave him use of his mangled left hand. Then he stuck the injured finger of his right into his mouth and sucked on it. The taste of scorched metal and solder swirled across his tongue as connections formed in his thoughts. Withdrawing the finger with an audible pop, he tapped the scarred metal bracelet nestled into the crook of his left elbow, activating a holographic projection. A maze of circuitry materialized in the air between them. He picked a single line and traced it through several junctions before tapping the projection. The image enlarged.

Qek leaned forward and clicked her teeth, an ashushk mannerism that roughly equaled a human hum. “Our unit is configured differently,” she said, extending a blue finger toward the same point.

“Yes, it is.” Felix scowled down at the panel, then picked it up and peered at the manufacturer’s logo in the bottom right-hand corner. “Someone has swapped out the regulator unit. This one isn’t rated for jump-space. In fact...” He held the clear plastic panel up to the striplight and squinted at the configuration of circuits. “This one is designed to interface with a domestic implant.” For those who had to know exactly how cold their beer was, all the time. “It shouldn’t even be on a ship. No wonder our food keeps spoiling.” He dropped the panel with a noise of disgust.

“Nessa should be pleased by the fact we have disassembled the refrigerator.”

“Until she finds out where we put the food.”

“Where did we put the food?”

“In the medicine locker.”

Qek immediately grasped the problem. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” Felix hitched up one shoulder. “At least we didn’t leave it out this time.”

“I suspect that had we purchased a second refrigeration unit and moved all our supplies there, Nessa would have found fault with the procedure.”

Felix chuckled, as amused by the ashushk’s statement as by her acceptance of collusion. “Yep. We’d probably have had the meat touching the cheese or something like that.”

Nessa O’Brien, ship’s doctor and cook, liked things kept in a certain order. She had two stations to keep organized and did so with more military precision than Felix had acquired during his five years with the AEF.

“Can you fix it?”

“Y’all don’t call me Fixer for nothing.”

“How may I be of assistance?” Qek’s expression had morphed again, subtly, until her features were arranged in quiet question. The ashushk were a peaceful species. Scary intelligent, but benign in their intent. They were explorers and expert astrogators. Within their enlarged skulls, they held the keys to the universe—star charts and the mathematical skill to fold, unfold and navigate the ripples of space. They also resembled little green men, except they were blue.

The Chaos was extremely fortunate to have an ashushk pilot, particularly as their star drive used ashushk technology. As ship’s engineer, Felix could fix most systems aboard the corvette. Even his genius tried to dribble from his ears when confronted with the inner workings of the star drive, however. His request for a spare to pull apart and tinker with had been respectfully declined by Elias, his business partner and captain of the Chaos. They couldn’t afford the spare engine or the cargo space.

“I’ve got this, but if you’ve some time, we could continue our lessons. I think we were up to programming the drive to jump cold,” Felix said.

“The drive cannot jump cold in the sense you would like it to.”

“Yeah, I know. Pity ’bout that.” He waved at the ashushk. “From your definition of cold.”

“After a burn and before a windup.”

“None of these terms are in the manual, are they?”

“There is no manual and I have devised simplified phraseology for your use.”

“You sound like a computer sometimes, Qek.”

“Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”

“Hey! That one almost fits!” Ashies loved to use idioms. It made them feel fluent in whichever language they absorbed, even if they didn’t often get them right. Felix put his good hand to his heart in a gesture of sincerity. “I appreciate all of your lessons, please continue.”

“As you wish.” Qek’s blue face creased into another smile. “If the temperature of the drive is above—”

“Fix?”

Felix tapped his bracelet. “Hey.”

Elias’s voice squawked from the communicator. “En route with a load.” Which translated as: The client is with me. Cargo was cargo. A load, or possible passenger, represented significantly more work.

“ETA?”

“Ten minutes.”

Lips twisting, Felix surveyed the disassembled refrigerator. Shit. If a client traveled with them, they’d need a functioning galley. Some folks could be picky about the whole having-to-eat thing and their foodfactor really only made decent coffee. It could do donuts in a pinch. Every other meal it produced had the taste and texture of a prepackaged ration bar, hence the kitted-out galley and doctor with a delicious hobby. The doctor who might need to medicate herself if she returned to the ship too soon.

“When’s liftoff?”

Qek rolled her almond-shaped eyes at the anachronistic expression. Felix winked at her.

“Have Qek request a slot for eighteen hundred.”

“Will do, Captain.” With a subtle shift of her lithe frame, Qek rose to her feet. “We will have to continue our lesson later, Fixer. I want to run some preflight checks.”

Felix affected a wounded expression. “You’re leaving me alone with this mess?”

“Mess?” his comm inquired.

“We’re in the mess. See you when you get here, Cap’n.” Felix cut the connection and surveyed the jumble of panels and wires spewing out of the refrigerator. “Double shit.”

He could fix it, given the right parts. He had a crate full of regulator units and the like in...”Triple shit.”

They hadn’t had a client aboard the Chaos in ten months, which meant no one had used the one spare cabin in ten months. Well, almost no one. Felix had been using it to store spare parts.

Unfolding his lean frame took considerably more effort than Qek ever exhibited. The ashushk had not broken as many bones as Felix; nor was her skin marred by as many scars. Felix didn’t often have trouble getting around—he was thirty-one, not sixty-one. He kept himself limber with daily exercise and the wonder of modern medicine. But two hours cross-legged on a hard floor would mess with anyone’s joints.

His spine snapped, crackled and popped as he stretched his arms overhead. A sway to either side relieved more tension. Straightening, Felix hustled out of the mess. The steel web covering his left hand clanked lightly on the rail as he hauled himself up the narrow stairs between levels. He keyed open the hatch to the spare cabin and stood in the doorway, chewing on his lips.

Barely large enough to swing an ashushk, the cabin housed a single-and-a-half bunk, a desk, a chair and a cubbyhole of a closet. When not littered with stuff—small bins of parts, flexible plastic circuits, panels, wires, spare tools—both the bed and the desk could be folded back into the smooth metal walls. Larger bins peeked out from the underside of the bunk. The cabin didn’t look bad, per se, just...cluttered. Huffing out a sigh, he bent to the simultaneous tasks of finding a compatible regulator while sorting his vague piles of parts into their appropriate bins.

“Fixer!” The cry echoed through the ship without the assistance of the comm system. “Oh my freaking God, what have you done to the refrigerator?”

Felix leaned his head out of the open hatchway. “Don’t touch anything. I’m about to fix it.”

Nessa’s voice shot up the access stairs. “We have a client coming!”

“I know, I got the call. I’m cleaning up the spare cabin.” Sort of. Felix thumbed his bracelet, which had slipped back down to loosely encircle his left wrist. “Nessa? I found the fault. Once I fix it, the deep freeze will work after a jump.”

“How long...where...” Felix could hear Nessa moving through the mess. “Where’s the food?”

“Somewhere cold.”

“You didn’t.”

“Want to come toss some stuff in tubs while I clean up the mess?”

“You’re asking me to clean up one of your messes while you clean up the other.”

“Yes.”

Nessa’s sigh whistled through the comm as her boots clanked against the stairs in the access. “That’s about three jillion you owe me!” she called out.

“Fine, fine, add it to the tally.”

Felix grabbed the correct regulator and went to meet her at the access. Her ginger head emerged first, her freckled face followed. Finally, Nessa stood before him, arms folded beneath her ample bosom, one hip cocked and ready, brown eyes flashing, lips pursed into something resembling a plum.

Felix adopted a pose of quiet appeal. “It will work better, I promise.”

“And you’ll get those contaminants out of the medicine locker?”

“That’s our food you’re talking about.”

She arched a pale auburn brow. Felix flashed a dimple at her. “Our beer won’t freeze when I’m done.” Which had been more mystifying and annoying than the spoiled food.

Grumbling, Nessa stepped around him and leaned into the spare cabin. “Okay, this isn’t as bad as I expected.”

Felix made his escape while he could. He had the correct tool out of his belt before he even dropped from the stairs, and his momentum allowed him to kneel at the door and skid across the mess floor on his knees. He grabbed the panel and began working the bum regulator loose. Ideally, he’d like to replace the whole panel, have it match the spec of the rest of the unit, but he didn’t have time. A quick fix was in order.

A hum buzzed against his throat and seconds slipped into minutes.

Footsteps approached the mess from Cargo One, two sets. Felix slotted the panel back into the refrigeration unit and began scooping up the arterial tangle of cables. He glanced up when he sensed Elias and their guest reach the door. Elias stepped through first, his handsome face held in an expression of anxious calm. Not exactly his client face, more his “we need to talk” face, and Felix did not think the exposed refrigerator guts would be part of the conversation. The job must have sounded or paid right for Elias to accept, but he obviously wanted to confer with his partner.

Felix stood up and scrubbed his right hand against his thigh. The dead smart fibers in his worn pants didn’t even flinch away from the smudge of burnt skin and solder.

“Fixer, this is our client, Mr. Loop.” Smile broadening, Elias stepped to the side and gestured grandly. “Mr. Loop, this is my engineer and business partner, Felix Ingesson.” Elias aimed a pointed look at the half-gutted refrigerator. “Goes by Fixer.”

A tall, broad-shouldered man ducked his head through the hatch and stepped into the mess. As he straightened, Felix felt the blood rush from the top of his scalp down to somewhere around his boot heels. But for the scar on the right side of his face, the dark-haired, blue-eyed giant was a dead ringer for Major Zander Anatolius—AEF specialist, his oldest, dearest friend, his lover for five short days, the man he had planned to spend his life with until the war with the stin had pulled them apart. That had been nearly nine years ago.

“Fix?” Elias said into the awkward pause.

Ignoring Elias, Felix worked his mouth until his throat moved. “Zed?”

Copyright © 2015 by Kelly Jensen & Jennifer R.L. Burke

Available wherever Carina Press ebooks are sold.

www.CarinaPress.com

To find out more about the CHAOS STATION SERIES by Jenn Burke and Kelly Jensen, please visit their website here http://chaosstation.com/.

Acknowledgments

Again, we owe thanks to our editor, Deborah Nemeth, and not just for the pixie dust, rainbows and chocolate. As always, thank you to the team at Carina Press for all they do to make every book special.

We appreciate everyone who is on this journey with us—readers, reviewers, family and friends. Your support means everything.

Also available from Jenn Burke and Kelly Jensen
and Carina Press

The Chaos Station Series

Suggested reading order

Chaos Station

Lonely Shore

Skip Trace

And stay tuned for the next books in the Chaos Station series, coming in 2016

Inversion Point

Phase Shift

About the Authors

Jenn Burke

Jenn’s always been drawn to weird and wonderful stories, particularly those set between the stars, or juxtaposed with our normal, boring world, or...well, just about any of them, really. Her love of the written word prompted her to get a bachelor of arts in English literature from the University of Ottawa, and she’s spent the years since working in corporate and web communications—and dreaming up weird and wonderful stories of her own.

A self-confessed geek, Jenn loves spending time in the worlds of video games, surfing her favorite websites, reading all the romance novels she can get her hands on and accumulating an impressive collection of nerdy T-shirts. She currently lives outside of Ottawa, Ontario, with her husband, two kids and her writing helper, Alenko the husky.

Website: http://jennburke.com

Twitter: @jeralibu

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/jeralibu

Kelly Jensen

Born in Australia and raised everywhere else, Kelly now lives in Pennsylvania with her husband, daughter and herd of four cats. After disproving the theory that water only spins counterclockwise around drains north of the equator, she turned her attention to more productive pursuits such as reading, writing, writing about reading and writing stories of her own.

She also enjoys volunteering at her local library and playing video games, and holds a brown belt in Kiryoku, a martial art combining Shotokan, Aikido and Tang Soo Do. Her family is not intimidated by her.

Website: http://kellyjensenwrites.com

Twitter: @kmkjensen

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/kellyjensenwrites

Tumblr: sisimka.tumblr.com

Don’t miss the beginning of Felix and Zander’s story in CHAOS STATION and LONELY SHORE—available now!

CHAOS STATION

Chaos Station, book one

“I bought [Chaos Station because] I love SFF books and if they also have gay romance I am even happier.”

—Dear Author, Recommended Read

“You’re not real. Felix Ingesson is dead.”

Reunited after a devastating galactic war, a broken super soldier and a former POW set out to rescue an old friend, battling criminal cartels, the scars of their past and the attraction that still burns between them.

LONELY SHORE

Chaos Station, book two

“With their beat-up ship and eclectic group, comparisons with the fan favorite TV show Firefly are inevitable, but in more of the way of homage, since Burke and Jensen’s characters take center stage all on their own.”

—Library Journal

Zander and Felix are trying to make their relationship work, but two things stand in the way: a criminal cartel out for blood and the rapid deterioration of Zander’s mental health. It’s a game of duck and cover as they search for answers, and when they find one, the cost might be too high.

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Skip Trace

ISBN-13: 978-1-459-29013-6

Copyright © 2015 by Kelly Jensen & Jennifer R.L. Burke

Edited by: Deborah Nemeth

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