Endgame by Ann Aguirre Page A

detailed images of the subject, and take some molds, if possible. I will also need to study him at length once I process the initial data. So keep him in good condition for a day or two.”
    Stay of execution for the centurion. He won’t be beaten or killed while Vel needs to learn the lines of his face. Still, that’s a pretty grim reason to be alive, and if the soldier’s not connected to Constance’s device, it will be hellish. His addiction proves his brain chemistry tends toward dependency already; that inclination will worsen his final days. I can hear him screaming now that she’s stopped as his body deals with the sudden loss of dopamine.
    “Acknowledged,” Constance says. “I will prohibit the free La’heng from making sport of him until after you complete your assessment.”
    After all the La’hengrin have suffered at Nicuan hands, I don’t blame them, but I still shiver at what lies ahead for that centurion. I turn to Vel. “Are you good with plan B?”
    “I will make it work, Sirantha.” That doesn’t tell me anything about how he feels about going undercover alone, however, or how much pain he’ll experience compacting his form for long periods. I’ve noticed he’s never chosen such a build, apart from that one time with Doc, when it was unavoidable.
    Shortly thereafter, Vel excuses himself. There are nights when I wish he didn’t leave, but if he stayed, it would cross a boundary in my head. Right now, the only reason I don’t hate myself for loving two such different males is that the relationships operate under disparate parameters. Vel cuts me a look as he goes, like he suspects some of these inner workings, but he doesn’t call me on it.
    I don’t know what I’d do if he did, if he said,
Let me stay, Sirantha.
    It wouldn’t be for sex, but maybe in some regards, my pleasure in his presence might be worse. Because it means it’s real and lasting because I feel better just knowing he’s beside me, and March must’ve seen as much before he left. We didn’t talk about it. At some point, we must, rather than tiptoeing around our issues like we live on a thawing iceberg.
    Vel once told me that the heart isn’t like a cup of water. You can’t drain it dry. It’s more like an endless well, and the more you love, the more it pumps out. I’m remembering imprecisely at the moment, but it’s late, and I’m tired. That’s the gist.
    Once he’s gone, I wish he hadn’t, but I’ll never say otherwise. I can’t be the woman who loves the one she’s with. I don’t want to be fickle and inconstant; I don’t want it to be true of me that the longer the object of my affections is out of proximity, the less I think about him.
    But maybe it is.
    Maybe, no matter how I try, I’m not destined for a great love. I’m just constantly compartmentalizing and adapting, and it prevents me from giving my heart completely. In one way, that’s good, I suppose. It means I can survive anything.
    I put those melancholy thoughts aside and get some sleep.
    In the morning, I rise and eat breakfast with the La’hengrinand our few human supporters. Since we brought the cure and started the formalities to begin large-scale testing, others have flocked to our banner. They treat me with an awe that makes me uncomfortable. Here, I’ve made no friends like Dina, Argus, and Hit. I have only the ones I brought with me: Loras, Zeeka, Vel, and Constance.
    The Mareq jumper joins me before I finish eating. Because I know it bothers him, I refrain from praising the successful mission or his safe return. He wants me to treat him like any other soldier, but it’s so hard when he’s been a child with me twice; the last time, he actually ate from my chest. Is this how
normal
mothers feel?
    It’s the closest I’ll ever come, I suspect.
    “Good morning,” Zeeka says.
    He’s assimilated human customs as best he can though his appearance marks him as other. Fortunately, most people don’t realize how rare he is, the