Aftermath - Ann Aguirre [40]
Tarn greets me with an uncertain expression and a two- handed handshake. “I want you to know I understand what this cost you . . . and I will be forever grateful. We wouldn’t have won this without you.”
But he couldn’t come out and say so, against popular opinion. He had to hedge his bets and work with the prosecution because people always need a scapegoat when things go wrong. In that, the Conglomerate is not so different from Farwan after all—and for that reason, I’ll never work for them again. From this day forth, I am a private citizen, and I will do as I think best.
“I understand your position,” I say coolly. Though he may be a fairly honest politician, he’s still a politician, and I am done with them.
“We’re ready to begin.” He can likely tell I want to get this over with.
The ceremony is quick; it involves long-winded thanks and the playing of music. I don’t really pay attention until Tarn speaks the words I have been waiting for:
“From this day forward, First Lieutenant Sirantha Jax, you are relieved of duty and obligation to the Conglomerate. Thank you for your service.”
More salutes, more music. I let it wash over me, and it’s like freedom, only heavier. Dina and Hit push through the crowd to my side, and they both hug me. As always, the blond mechanic smells of flowers, a minor tweak to her apocrine glands, as I recall. Hit is smiling, though I glimpse residual guilt in her eyes. She knew what I was planning to do before we left, but I let the tribunal think I didn’t tell her. No need for her to get the negative press, too.
“I should’ve been right there with you,” she says then. “In prison and on trial.”
I shake my head. “It would’ve been worse for me, knowing I’d pulled you into my mess.”
“Our mess. I didn’t make my choice blind.”
But she acknowledges I had the right to make the call. I was her superior officer, after all, and maybe the Armada would disagree, but I feel like I need to shield my people whenever I can; the blame stops with me. Listen to me—my people. Thank Mary, I don’t have subordinates anymore. I’m just Jax, whatever that means.
Dina says, “You should get over to the training facility. I know Argus could use your help . . . It’s slow going with him working alone.”
I’m not eager, but it’s my responsibility—one more step toward the time when I can keep my promises, first to myself about Baby-Z, the Mareq newborn I failed to protect, then to Loras, whose homeworld has been occupied for as long as anyone can remember. Maybe that’s not my fight, but I will make it so, the last thing I do, before I take off for the great unknown. I keep a mental checklist in my head, and once I’ve satisfied all those obligations, then I’m adrift from my moorings—free to explore the universe and chart new beacons. I dream of that like some people do of finding the perfect lover. I hoped March would be my partner in that adventure, but now I’m not sure. He will likely come to the end of his quest with obligations, and I can’t search for him before I clean up my mess.
Fortunately, Vel plans things down to the millimeter, and he has a private hovercar waiting outside. The back entrance to the jurisprudence center hasn’t been completely overwhelmed, so with Hit and Dina helping to clear a path, we manage to get inside the vehicle with a minimum of trouble. Of course, the press still scream their questions. I try to ignore them, but this one burrows into my brain:
“What are you going to do, now that you’ve gotten away with murder?”
“Ignore them,” Dina says quietly. “They’re assholes. They have no idea what you did for them. Not really.”
It means a lot to have her support, but I must look terrible if she’s abandoned our normal mode of interaction, which is pure sarcasm. I know prison honed me, leaving me thinner and more muscular. The