Ramona: Indeed. The Syndicate offers value to all, regardless of creed, culture, or species.
Lili: [She looks uncertain and confused.] That’s very . . . egalitarian.
Ramona: Exactly. I’m quite proud of our organization, but concerned with the dissemination of deliberate misinformation. Too long has the public been misled by the pathetic tidbits let slip by the Farwan regime, and it seems as if the Conglomerate intends to continue that same fascist censorship policy. For instance, consider this proposed alliance with Ithiss-Tor. Has anyone examined the long-term ramifications of having the Ithtorians involved in interstellar affairs? They have a history every bit as violent as the aliens from whom we would ask them to protect us. What if the Ithtorians choose to side with the Morgut? Can we accurately predict their loyalties, based on our knowledge of them? I think not, and it troubles me that humanity decided not to ask its own for aid.
Lili: What do you mean?
Ramona: The Syndicate has an extensive fleet, Lili. Our services can be retained for a reasonable fee, which includes private security and military applications. If humanity needs a defender, surely we are the reasonable choice.
Lili: [She listens for a moment to an unheard voice.] I understand your daughter has been dispatched to Ithiss-Tor to broker this alliance. How do you feel about that?
Ramona: Naturally, I advised against it, but you know how mothers and daughters can be. She discounts my age-earned wisdom, so I can only tell you that I’m proud of her, regardless of how misguided her decisions may be. I only hope her work there doesn’t cost us.
Lili: [Her eyes widen.] What are you implying?
Ramona: I’m sure it’s already on everyone’s minds—what a misstep could mean. [She lowers her voice, conspiratorial.] The Axis Wars.
Lili: [She looks troubled.] You’ve given us a great deal to think about today, Ramona. Thanks for appearing on Lili Lightman Live, and we appreciate you offering your insights on current events. [She gazes intensely into the vid.] If you have thoughts on the alliance or the Syndicate—or the lovely blue dress Ramona is wearing (design by Care-wear)—you can bounce your thoughts to me at satellite 11.23.044.3340. Thanks for watching, and as always, keep reaching for the stars.
CHAPTER 6
On the way to medical, Jael steps out of the lounge, intercepting us. “What’re you two doing back here? I thought you were instructed to stay in your quarters. Are we making a run for it?”
I give him a sour smile. “None of your business.”
“Where you’re concerned, everything’s my business, darling.” He props himself up, obviously not intending to let us pass until his curiosity has been satisfied.
March tenses dangerously, still seething with unspent impulses. The fight with the Ithtorians was broken up too soon for him to feel satisfied. Mary, I hope Jael doesn’t provoke him.
“It doesn’t impact your assignment,” I tell Jael firmly.
“I’ll decide that.”
When March moves to push past him, Jael puts a hand on his shoulder, and that’s the last straw. March lashes out with a blow that would fell anyone else. Jael’s head snaps back, blood spurting from his nose, but an answering light kindles in his eyes. To these two, this is probably like foreplay.
If I had any sense, I’d run.
Instead, I skitter back a few paces as they slam into the wall. Jael’s slight build indicates he should be an easy opponent for March, but he’s stronger than he looks. Fists crash into jaws, fingers dig into each other. March lands an elbow in the sternum and follows with a kick that should’ve broken Jael’s kneecap, but the other man leaps aside.
Jael retaliates with a flurry of blows, almost too fast to track. I wince as they land on March’s chest. The merc is too smart to go for the head. He knows the body is where you do the most damage.
March doesn’t seem to feel it. He grabs Jael and slams his head into the wall with such force I expect to see his skull shatter. This can’t go on. I tap the comm.
“Doc, I need you down on deck two, section A-12. Bring a tranq.”
They grapple, better than a constant exchange of punches. Jael breaks free and slams his head into March’s chest, rocking him back. March replies with a strong right hook. If Jael had a glass jaw, he’d go down right there. The punch had all March’s power behind it. Instead, he takes the hit and slams an elbow into March’s gut. March in turn takes the blow and slams a roundhouse into Jael’s left cheek, and I swear I hear the crunch of bone.
By the time Doc gets here, they’ve beaten each other bloody. Jael looks like he got the worst of it, but that’s only because of the broken nose. Blood has spattered all over both of them, and they show no sign of calming down.
Doc assesses the situation in a single glance and tranqs them both. “You’re back sooner than I expected.” Only he could make such a moment conversational. “What brought this on?”
He’s a short, stocky man with the heavy musculature of those from high-G worlds. I don’t think he was born on Lachion, though he has certainly been adopted into the clans. Doc’s real name is Saul Solaith, and he’s more a geneticist than a practicing physician, but he takes care of the crew nonetheless.
A few clansmen help transport Jael and March to medical. I follow along behind, feeling sick. March has winked out completely, but Jael is fighting the meds; he’ll shake them off soon.
“March is having trouble being surrounded by all those Ithtorians,” I explain. “It rouses his ‘fight’ instinct. We came in to have him checked out, and Jael decided he needed to interfere.”
The merc glances up, groggy and squinting in the bright lights. “I thought he might be dangerous, Jax. What if he’d gone after you instead of me?”