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Commentaires de livres faits par heloise4456

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Extraits de livres appréciés par heloise4456

Quand vous aurez abattu le dernier arbre, disait-il, quand vous aurez pêché le dernier poisson, vous découvrirez que l'argent ne se mange pas.
p 107
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date : 30-12-2013
-Monsieur, il est interdit de fumer dans cet avion. Comme dans tous les autres d'ailleurs.
-Je ne fume pas, a t-il expliqué avec la cigarette qui gigotait au coin de ses lèvres.
-Mais...
-C'est une métaphore, ai-je précisé. Il met le truc qui tue dans sa bouche, mais il lui refuse le pouvoir de tuer.
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One

This is not a love story.

It is my life, and as such, there is love, loss, war, death, and sacrifice. It’s about things that needed to be done and choices made. I regret nothing.

It’s easy to say that. Harder to mean it. Sometimes I look back on the branching paths I took to wind up here, and I wonder if there was another road, an easier road, that ends somewhere else. Yet it all boils down to a promise.

That’s why I’m on La’heng, after all.

After six months of appointments and following procedure, I’m ready to tear my hair out. Instead, I sit obediently outside the legate’s office, as if this meeting will turn out any different. The Pretty Robotics assistant monitors me with discreet glances, as if the VI has been programmed to see how long people will wait before storming off in a fit of rage. So far, I’ve been here for four hours. I hear a door open and close down the hall, and I recognize the legate as he tries to slide by me.

It is around lunchtime, so I push to my feet. “How lovely of you to make it a social occasion,” I purr, falling into step with Legate Flavius.

He’s caught the assignment to deal with all of our appeals, which makes me think he pissed somebody off. His favorite tactic is avoidance, but since I’ve caught him, he can’t dismiss me without calling for a centurion to eject me from the premises, and I have a legal right to be here. In fact, I have some grounds for a discrimination suit since he made an appointment and then refused to honor it, as he wouldn’t do to a Nicuan citizen.

“Come along then,” he says with weary resignation.

“Where are we going?”

“There’s a place nearby that does an excellent salad and they have truly superior wine. None of the local shite.”

Fantastic, so he’s a snob, and he thinks nothing on La’heng could be as good as what they import from elsewhere. I make a note of that and walk beside him, mentally lining up my arguments. He makes polite, strained small talk on the way to the restaurant, which is atop one of the towering structures nearby. The floor rotates slowly, granting a luxurious view first of the harbor and then the governor’s palace in the distance. Jineba, which is the capital city, shows no trace at all of La’heng influence or architecture. Rather, the buildings are like Terran trees, where the rings reveal its age. Jineba is like that; only you can tell how old a building is by the architectural style and which conquerors designed it. The Nicuan occupation results in a series of colonial buildings, where pillars and columns mask the modern heart.

The penthouse dining room shares that quality, and there are La’hengrin servants instead of bots. They take our orders with quiet humility, and I loathe their subservience because someone has sent them to work here. It wasn’t a choice, and they don’t receive wages. Whatever the nobles call it, this is slavery.

Legate Flavius orders for us without asking what I want. To a man like him, I suppose it doesn’t matter. Once the niceties are attended, he steeples his hands and regards me across the white-linen covered table.

“Make your case, Ms. Jax.”

“Under the Homeland Health Care Act, ratified by the human board of directors in 4867, the natives of La’heng have the right to the best possible treatments, including and not limited to experimental medications. Carvati’s Cure ameliorates damage created by widespread exposure to RC-17.” When we seeded the atmosphere with a chemical that was meant to keep the La’hengrin compliant, we didn’t factor for their adaptive physiology. It’s been centuries now, and the effects linger still. “Therefore, the Nicuan council actively prohibits a treatment that will improve quality of life for the La’hengrin, which is unlawful according to article thirty-seven, codicil—”

The legate sighs faintly. “Yes, you’ve inundated my office with claims about your miracle drug. Unfortunately, you haven’t passed licensing through the drug administration. As I recall, there have been no trials. What kind of monsters would we be if we permitted you to use the La’heng to test your product?”

The kind who makes the La’hengrin your slaves, like the ones you have at home.

I grind my teeth, holding the retort. “We applied for permits to begin trials three months ago. They were denied due to lack of residency requirements.”

He smiles. “Ah, yes. You must achieve residency on La’heng before you can expect to receive rights that come with citizenship.”

I want to come across the table and punch him in the face. Instead, I bite my inner lip until I taste copper. The pain focuses my anger into a laser.

“I applied for citizenship,” I say carefully. “And my request was denied.”

The unctuous smile widens. “I did see that. Your unfortunate past makes you rather… undesirable, Ms. Jax.”

“Excuse me?” I bite out.

“First, Farwan Corporation charged you with terrorism—”

“Those accusations were entirely baseless,” I snap.

“As if the business with Farwan wasn’t questionable enough, your military career ended in a rather colorful fashion, did it not? To whit, charges of mass murder, dereliction of duty, and high treason.”

“I was acquitted. It’s illegal to deny me services due to crimes the court judged I did not commit.”

“Hm,” he says, feigning concern. “Well, feel free to appeal within the Conglomerate courts. Since we are, at least in the tertiary sense, subject to their laws and jurisdictions, if they deem our denial to violate your rights as a Conglomerate citizen in good standing, then we will certainly reconsider the decision.”

He knows that will take turns, damn him. Turns to appeal the rejection. Turns to get another application approved. Then I’ll have to start over with the permissions to initiate drug trials. They’re trying to kill the resistance with blocks and delays.

Assholes.

Holding my temper with sheer willpower, I say, “So you allege that you’re denying progress with the cure for the good of the La’heng.”

There’s that awful, hateful smile again. “Certainly. We take our duty as their protectors very seriously.”

“Sure you do.” I shove back from the table and stalk away. There’s no way I’m spending another minute with this jackass, now that I know it’s another dead end. In the past six months, I’ve met countless petty bureaucrats who get off on jerking people around. Nicuan is full of stunted dictators who have secret dreams of being the emperor, and so they rule their tiny department with an iron fist.

Vel’s waiting for me at home. I take public transport to get there, and then walk some distance as well. We’re off the beaten track for obvious reasons. As I trudge the last kilometer, I reflect that Vel can try. His record might prove harder to block, as he doesn’t have my tarnished reputation. He was a bounty hunter known for his compliance with all regulations, and then he commanded the Ithtorian fleet to great personal acclaim. But it’s so fragging disheartening to think of starting over.

And maybe there’s no point.

Loras thinks this is a monumental waste of time, but he let me do it while he puts other plans in place. Rebellions aren’t born overnight. They foment over time with careful nurturing, and while I waste my time with Nicuan officials, he’s working other angles. By the time I give up the whole thing as untenable, he’ll be ready to move. In a way, I’m his stalking horse. While they’re screwing with me, the nobles won’t expect problems from any other quarter.

“How did it go?” Vel asks when I walk in. He gets back from flight school before I finish up my work in the city, and it’s nice to have him waiting. He’s over two meters tall, covered in chitin, with hinged legs, and my mark on his thorax, a character that means grimspace in Ithtorian. His side-set eyes and expressive mandible no longer seem strange to me, though people on La’heng sometimes stare if he’s out of faux-skin.

“For shit,” I mutter. “Who I am is actually working against us. Or at least, they’re using my past to block my petitions.”

“I am sorry, Sirantha.”

When we first met on Gehenna, Vel had taken a job to retrieve me for Farwan Corporation. He slid into a friend’s skin, and figured out a way to get me to go to New Terra with him willingly. That could’ve end badly for me. Fortunately, Vel was as honorable a bounty hunter as he is in every other regard, and once he realized the Corp was using me as a scapegoat, he became my biggest ally. Now, he’s my dearest friend… with nuances of something else, maybe, someday. But he doesn’t look for promises anymore than I’m looking to make our relationship more complicated. His mere presence defuses some of the tension and frustration that comes with the territory. He’s always supported me, believing the best of me even when I screw up, even when I don’t deserve it.

I shrug. “Loras warned us it would be like this, but… I’m not used to such abject, consistent failure. I keep thinking I’ll stumble on the magic handshake and get somewhere with these assholes.”

He crosses to me and runs his claws down my back, more comforting than it sounds. “It is unlikely.”

“I know.

My mouth sets into a firm line. “They’ll regret it. Someday.”

“You gave them a chance to do the right thing. They are more interested in maintaining their own luxurious lifestyles. I shall not care when we raze them to the ground.”

His quiet assessment of their prospects makes me laugh, partly his calm tone, and partly because that day seems so far off. But I’m capable of playing the long game, as Nicuan will discover.
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One
Dying isn’t like living; it requires no effort at all.

I just have to sit quiet and let it happen. But I can’t. Like a fish with a barbed hook caught in its mouth and I twist and pull, desperately fighting my way back to the anguished meat I left in the cockpit with Hit. She has no way home without me, and if I don’t succeed in this, the consequences will be far worse than two lost females. Despite the siren call of grimspace and the scintillant colors, I must live; it’s never mattered so much before.

I have to get back. I have to warn them, or every ship that tries to jump will never come out again.
Since the Conglomerate doesn’t have an armada to match the size of the Morgut fleet, I had to reprogram the beacons; it was the only way to slow them down. Otherwise, so many lives might have been lost. But no impulsive act, however well intended, comes without consequence. I know that better than most.
As I draw closer, the pain ramps up. At least I have the assurance that the nanites will repair the damage, so whatever I’ve done to myself, I won’t wind up trapped in my own body. If March were here, he’d help anchor me, but Hit lacks his Psi ability, which means I’m on my own. Instead of the door in the far horizon—that place of passing through—I focus on my body. Past the silent screaming, I can hear my heartbeat, faint and sluggish, right now no more than a reflexive physical response. Yet it might be enough.

With each thud, I pull myself closer, as if that tenuous thread is a rope I can grasp with ghostly hands. Each pound of my pulse brings me a little closer, then, with a wrench almost as agonizing as the one that tore me loose, I fall back in. My hands move, and I feel Hit beside me, questioning. You back, Jax?

Sickness boils in my veins. I don’t feel right in my own head, as if I’ve come back smaller somehow, but I block it off from her. She’s done enough. The consequences from this point on are mine alone.
Yeah, I reply, time to go home.

I don’t know whether I’ve been gone minutes or hours, but we’ve tarried too long regardless. Grimspace is a bitch mistress, who will drain you dry and leave the husk without a second glance—and without my implants, this suicide run would’ve killed me, no question. Weakness wracks me, but I can get us out; I have that much left. Though it might break me, I’m determined to bring my pilot home safely. The colors glow brighter as grimspace swells within me, and it feel as if a door opens in my head. Thanks to the neural blockers, I can’t feel the associated pain; the ship shudders and sails through.
We emerge in straight space, high over Venice Minor. Such a long, impossible journey, when we didn’t go anywhere at all. Not really. Not in the sense of distance, but this is the nature of paradox. My hands tremble as I unplug, then the scene unfolds before me.

Lights twinkle in the dark, but they are not stars. Mary, no. We weren’t fast enough. So many Morgut ships made it through; they dim the constellations. Their shapes are alien to my eyes, like creatures that came out of the sea, finned and spined, with odd appendages and stranger designs. Because we’re so small—a two-person vessel—we haven’t registered on their sensors yet; there are too many energy signatures clustered in a small area for our numbers to leap out at anyone. But it’s only a matter of time, and we have no weapons.

The Morgut have left their homeworld and are seeking to colonize other planets, most of which are Conglomerate held. They treat us as livestock, food for the feast, and it’s all I can do to contain my fear. My mother, Ramona, sacrificed herself, dying on the dreadnaught hull, to give us a chance, and bought time before the rest of the Morgut fleet could arrive at Venice Minor.
But they’re here now. Not the whole force, certainly. I accomplished what I set out to do—I diminished their numbers. Mary only knows if it will be enough.

Sweat cools on my forehead as I study the scene. With some relief, I note there are no more dreadnaughts. If we can get ships up here, we have a chance in this final battle. It looks as if they’re positioning to bombard the planet. The flagship is enormous, with jutting guns powerful enough to take out entire city quadrants. As yet, I don’t see any movement from the armada; they must still be forming up and performing repairs down below.

I hope they weren’t sending reinforcements here when I changed the beacons. The changes I wrought in grimspace will affect jumpers universally; the Morgut can’t navigate, but neither can the Conglomerate—or any other ships for that matter. I’ve done a dire thing, but I refuse to let fear govern my actions. That’s not me, and it never will be. First off, I must bounce a warning, but we’re close enough to the Morgut fleet that they’ll catch the transmission, then blow us to hell. I weigh the risks and decide the message can wait until we land; if I die here, then I’ve set humanity back a hundred turns in terms of using the beacons to navigate. Still, I don’t feel good about the call. At this point, every second counts.

“Do we make a run for the surface?” Hit asks.

“We can’t do anything up here.”

No weapons, no shields. So that’s the answer. She offers a brief nod in reply, and we start the insane journey home. As we approach the atmosphere, the enemy fleet notices us, and Hit dodges shots coming in hot on our stern. One successful strike, and we’re done. But she flies like other people dance, and even negotiating the burn as we fall planetside, she manages to skew us away from the incoming barrage. I can only watch; I’ve done my part, and the rest is up to Hit. Her constant maneuvering makes for a rocky reentry; she can’t calculate the best angle and take care with the ship hardware, so I watch the ground sail toward me at insane speed and fight the urge to close my eyes. The flagship shoots wide, its missiles zooming past us toward the ground. Ha. Missed.

The clouds whip past, and the tiny dots on the ground resolve into lines, then trees; the green-and-brown patchwork sharpens into the lines of my mother’s garden. In the distance I glimpse the blue shine of the sea, but several alarms flash red, and a low whine fills the cockpit. The small ship rattles as if it might break apart entirely. I do shut my eyes then.

Our vessel goes into a low roll as we near the ground; impact flings me forward, but the harness catches me. I’ll have bruises to show for this most recent bit of insanity, but that doesn’t seem like enough damage. I should have new scars. I risk a look and find we’re upside down, but more or less in one piece, outside the hangar. I don’t know who’s more surprised, Hit or me. She flashes me a triumphant grin and a high sign.

“Pretty fragging good, right?”

“Maybe the best I’ve ever seen,” I admit.

She winks. “I won’t tell March.”

We’ve burned out the stabilizers, but otherwise, we did remarkably well. Maybe only a tiny ship like this one could’ve gotten past the vanguard of the Morgut fleet. I imagine the rest of them lost in grimspace, trying to interpret the new signal and failing. They’ll die there, no matter how powerful they are or how indestructible their dreadnaughts.

“Does the comm still work?”

“It should.”

I set it to Tarn’s personal code and bounce a message at the highest priority. “Don’t let any Conglomerate ships jump. They won’t be able to interpret the new beacon frequency without instruction. Give coordinates for a central meeting point and instruct them to make their way via long haul. Doesn’t matter how long it takes . . . it’s better than being lost. I’ll explain everything fully when I see you.”

Not content with toppling the closest thing we had to a stable government, I’ve now crippled interstellar travel. But it was for a good cause. I’m still positive I did the right thing, no matter what they do to me later. If it means prison time or execution, I’m not sorry. Someone had to make the tough call, and I was there.

The doors are jammed from the rough landing and don’t respond to the computerized controls, so Hit and I kick our way out. Before I exit, I snag the small survival pack that’s included in ships like this one. My limbs still feel weak as I pull myself up; I’m not prepared for the wreckage that greets us. Oh, not from our ship. All around us, the jungle burns, black smoke swirling toward the sky. Stone rubble constitutes all that’s left of the villa, just a bombed-out shell with broken walls rising no more than two meters anywhere. Cracks web the foundation, charred black, and I can smell death in the air. It’s not a scent you forget.

“They weren’t shooting at us,” I realize aloud.

Hit shakes her head. “I should have realized. Those weren’t ship-to-ship weapons; though if we’d been hit, they would’ve vaporized us just the same.”

As we rocketed toward the ground, the bombardment began. What I’d taken for lasers being fired at our stern had been photon missiles from the flagship, aimed at decimating the ground. The wrongness hits me, then—because we left, we lived. Survival feels like cowardice.

I can’t see the point in destroying such a beautiful, defenseless place, but I’m not Morgut. Maybe this devastation serves their master plan, or it’s simple retaliation for our defiance. Millions of innocent civilians will die on Venice Minor, innocuously enjoying their vacations; they might’ve saved for the trip their whole lives, as such consummate luxury doesn’t come cheap.

The smoldering wreck of the Triumph catches my eye, recognizable only from the charred metal piece bearing its Conglomerate registration number, and the rest lies scattered around the hangar in bits no bigger than the span of my arms. God help any crewmen who were still aboard, working on repairs. My heart feels like lead in my chest. Beside me, Hit curls her hands into fists.

“We should look for survivors,” I say at last.

We ready our weapons in case the Morgut sent a ground team—yet why would they? They can continue the blitz from above. The missiles aren’t toxic, so the natural beauty will rebound in time—and by then, they will have claimed the lush, tropical paradise, a replacement for their own dying world. Once they establish a foothold on Venice Minor, fighting them will be more difficult. For all I know, they might breed fast enough to compensate for the troops lost in grimspace, and then we’ll be back where we started—with no solution in sight.

Still, I power up my laser pistol, wanting it charged and ready in case we run into trouble. Silently, Hit does the same. We move through the burning graveyard with the scent of smoke and scorched metal in our nostrils, compounded with a chemical burn that makes breathing difficult. There’s no telling what might be in the air, but I don’t have any air scrubbers handy. The little ship we departed in offered no special equipment, and there’s nothing left intact here on the ground.

“Any movement?”

Grimly, Hit shakes her head, continuing to pick a path through the wreckage. It looks as if we’ve lost all our ships. How many dead? So far, we see no signs that anybody survived the attack. As far as I know, my mother didn’t have an emergency bunker. Nobody would reckon that a necessity on Venice Minor.
My timing was off. I didn’t get there fast enough. They’ll find some way to blame you for this, a cynical little voice says.

I shake my head, trying to silence it. The Conglomerate isn’t like Farwan, I tell myself. If I’d been here, I only would’ve died with them. No help in that. But maybe it would’ve been better for me. More than most, I know the pain of surviving.

There is an awful gravitas in standing at ceremony after ceremony, listening to a holy man intone words that are supposed be comforting but instead merely remind you that you’ve been left behind.

Not this time, I tell myself. You’ll find them.

In slow, stealthy movement, we complete our circuit of the perimeter. No bodies, but I recognize the stench of burned meat. It lingers in the air, people become ash in a white-hot instant. They rain down on us in the aftermath, clinging to our skin and hair, the dust of the ones we loved drifting in ladders of light. This is a wound too grave for weeping, a silence of the soul burned black as a night without stars.
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Grimspace blazes through me like a star gone nova.

I’m the happiest junkie who ever burned chem because this is where I belong. Kaleidoscopic fire burns against the hull, seeming as though it should consume us, but we are the only solid thing in this realm of ghosts and echoes. Sometimes I think this place holds all the potential for everything that ever was, everything that ever shall be. It’s a possibility vortex, and thus it lacks any shape of its own.

I glory in the endorphins pounding through me. Cations sparkle in my blood, marking me as unique, even among thrill-seekers. You see, my life started here.

Unfortunately, the rush is fleeting, and I need to carry us safely through. I focus on the beacons; they pulse as if in answer to my command. Here, I feel powerful, damn near invincible, however much a lie that proves to be. Jumpers almost never die old and gray.

March swells inside me, filling my head with warmth. My pilot, who is also my lover, feels natural there. Anybody else would wonder at that, but if you’re a jumper, you get used to sharing mind-space. In fact, I’m lonely without him there.

He manipulates the ship so we can jump. The phase drum hums, all juiced up, and we swing out of grimspace. Homesickness floods me at once, but I battle it back. No point in dwelling on what can never be—staying in grimspace would kill me. But at least I’m jumping again. Not too long ago, I thought I’d have to choose between my addiction and my life. The decision isn’t as obvious as you might think.

I unplug, still savoring the boost, and check the star charts. Oh, nice, a clean jump.

“Good work.” March grins at me and steals a kiss.

I’m so happy that he wants to.

He’s not as pretty as the men I’ve been with before. I used to have an eye for the lovely, androgynous ones, but I guess deep down, I don’t mind a bit of the brute. March has strong, angular features and a nose that’s obviously been broken. But his eyes, his eyes shine like sun through amber. I could spend hours looking at him.

Business before pleasure, however—I have an important message to send. With a jaunty wave, I leave the cockpit and head for my quarters. I share the space with March. Despite cohabitation, it’s still an austere environment: plain berth, terminal, lighting fortified with solar simulators to compensate for lack of nutrient D3 if you spend too much time on board.

Constance greets me, flickering into a holo projected from my terminal. She’s everywhere and nowhere, blazing her way through the ship from terminal to terminal. I don’t know if we’ll ever convince her to come back to a physical shell now that she’s tasted the power and freedom a starship can offer. She’s either fused with the vessel’s limited AI or overridden it. Regardless, I suspect there’s something illegal in what we’ve done, and I couldn’t care less.

“All systems indicate a smooth arrival, Sirantha Jax.”

I smile. “You got that right.”

Since we jumped from Ithiss-Tor to the beacon closest to New Terra, the crew could be forgiven for thinking we intend to land there. That’s what our orders demand. Instead, we’re heading away from the planet. We’re not operating on the Conglomerate’s credits, and this is a vessel out of Lachion, so I can do something I’ve been longing for since the minute I acceded to that rock-and-a-hard-place decision. Jael—the merc who betrayed us all on Ithiss-Tor—was right about one thing. People seem to think it’s fine to force me to choices that range from bad to worse.

No longer.

I add, “Activate comm. I need to bounce a message to Chancellor Tarn.”

“Acknowledged.”

The system glimmers to life before me, and I sit down to record. This won’t take long. Constance zips through the protocols, leaving the proper software in place. In the shadowy light, I can see myself in the terminal, and it’s an eerie feeling, alone but not.

I could make this a lot more detailed. Instead, I go with blunt, which is my favorite style of communication. If I never have to dissemble again, that will be wonderful. My time on Ithiss-Tor damn near killed me, figuratively and literally.
I imagine Tarn playing this message and smile. Then I deliver two words: “I quit.”

Satisfied, I stop the program and tell Constance, “Send it right away, please.”

“My pleasure, Sirantha Jax. Do you require anything else?”

“Not at the moment. Feel free to go back to exploring the ship.”

Like she needs my permission. She’s been blazing through the circuits since Dina—our ship’s mechanic and my best friend—set her free from the memory spike. Under her direction, the long-haul fuel system has increased efficiency by fourteen percent. Though I had no hope of the merchants on Ithiss-Tor doing so, Constance might even improve the phase drive from the inside out.

Standing, I consider the consequences of what I’ve just done.

Tarn may reply with bluster and words of obligation; he might say I have a duty during mankind’s darkest hour. Maybe he’ll even accuse me of turning tail when the chips are down. Once, those accusations might have even been true.

Now my skin is too thick with scars for such barbs to draw blood. I know my own mettle. I’ve glimpsed my breaking point. And Tarn will never, ever have my measure.

I choose not to serve the Conglomerate as an ambassador, but that doesn’t mean I’ve given up on humanity. Surrender isn’t a word in my personal lexicon; there are other ways and means. If nothing else, Ithiss-Tor taught me there’s always a choice.

Now we’re heading for the last place anyone would ever look for us, Emry Station. It will be a long haul in straight space, but this isn’t a frequently traveled trade route, and there’s nothing here to attract pirates and raiders. We should pass unnoticed.

After the Morgut attack, Surge—one of March’s old merc buddies—and Kora, his Rodeisian mate, turned the place into a virtual fortress, complete with junker tech that will prevent the docking of Morgut vessels. Just thinking about them, the ravening monsters, brings to mind a memory too vivid for me to staunch.

After Vel shines the light both ways, I don’t have an opinion, but I do know my skin is crawling all to hell. It feels like I’m passing through wisps of webs, not enough to entrap me, but it does stick to my face. I refuse to let myself start slapping at my skin, a complete breakdown of impulse versus intellect. I won’t be the one to go nuts and flee shrieking in the dark.

The hum of machinery grows louder as we make the turn Jael suggested. Maybe we can find a terminal here, so Vel can patch in and see how many we’re looking at. I’d rather know the odds, straight out. I saw the bounty hunter handle a full clutch of Morgut on board the Silverfish, so maybe our chances are good. Maybe.

I continue the silent pep talk as we continue, step by step. The coppery stink increases, the closer we come. By the time we hit maintenance, I have to cover my nose and mouth with my shirt.

Mary, no.

I don’t want to look, but it’s a compulsion as Vel lifts his light. I register impressions as flashes that burn themselves into my retinas. I’ll see this room again, frame by frame, in my nightmares, as if rendered on some old-fashioned film.

They’ve been here. Chunks of flesh litter the floor. I imagine the hunger, the frenzy that drove them to this. I imagine the spilled blood as an intoxicant, reacting on their alien body chemistry.

I fight my way out of the flashback to find March studying me. He recognizes the signs in someone else, but he doesn’t say anything. We’re broken in complementary ways, thus rendering our damage comprehensible to each other. Instead, he merely sets a palm on my back, centered heat to let me get my head on straight. I take a deep breath.

We had been forced to take shelter at Emry Station, when Kora gave birth on our Conglomerate ship. Grimspace damages unformed minds, so you can’t jump with a child less than two turns old on board. Emry offered the only sanctuary within our hauling range, but once we docked, we found the place infested with Morgut. I’d never forget the trouble that followed. Nor would Surge and Kora, so they’d taken defensive measures. Therefore, we couldn’t find a safer place if we searched the whole galaxy, but we’re not going there just to hide or to see old friends, although that’s part of it.

I step out into the corridor and nearly run into Vel. He goes without human skin these days, more often than not. I hope that means he feels sure of his welcome.

“I wanted to tell you that I’ve nearly completed the simulator you requested.”

My brows arch. “Already?”

“It was not difficult,” he tells me with a flex of his mandible. “All Farwan’s data is now a matter of public record.”
“And you can build anything I might want from a schematic.” I try to restrain a smile. From anyone else, that claim would seem like bragging.

“I am unfamiliar with artificial intelligence,” he says then.

Right. So he can’t build an android from the plans. Good to know.

“Thanks. Will you find Argus for me? I want to talk to him.”

I’ve got an idea. Maybe it’s crazy, but then again, some of the best ideas are. Can you imagine the reaction they gave the guy who first found phase-drive technology? This is certainly less radical.

Vel inclines his head, then heads off down the hall.

Later, I’m ensconced in the starboard lounge when Argus finds me. He’s young, one of Keri’s distant cousins, and he has the J-gene. Doc confirmed it for me today. The kid first came to my attention when I was investigating a murder attempt back on Ithiss-Tor. Argus broke the rules and slid planetside to get a glimpse of the unknown. Too bad for him, he couldn’t figure out how to leave the spaceport.

He strides up to my table and offers an awkward bow. His earnest courtesy makes me want to smile, but I don’t. I know how easily these kids bruise. I want his willing cooperation, so I’ll need to deal with him carefully.

There are others in the break area, mostly clansmen, and a few of them raise their brows when they see the captain’s lady invite a young man to join her. Tough. Mary knows, they’d talk even more if I did this in my quarters.

“Have a seat,” I invite.

Argus takes me at my word and drops down into the chair opposite me. Wariness wars with excitement in his young face. I think he knows already that I have a reason for summoning him. This isn’t a social visit.

“Good to see you again . . .” He trails off, unsure what rank to use for me and unwilling to presume the intimacy of my name.

“Jax is fine. I have this idea,” I continue. “Maybe jumpers can be trained outside an academy. If a starship were outfitted with a simulator, a lead jumper could take on an apprentice and spend the downtime in straight space teaching him the ropes. It might also be possible to tweak the nav computer so that both jumpers could jack in at once.”

His excitement spikes to painful levels; his smile becomes blinding. “Do I think it’s possible, or do I want to sign on?”

“Let’s start with the first question.”

Argus nods. “I think it could work. We teach kids to drive in vehicles like that dirtside. Why not up here?”

I go on, “I think you’re right. It wouldn’t take too much to tweak this ship into a training vessel. That way, the lead jumper is there to make sure things go smoothly. Like any apprenticeship, it would have a training period and a commencement.”

“I want in,” Argus says. “I’ll do it.”

“It may be a while before I have all the technology in place,” I warn. “We have good people on board, but I won’t risk a jump unless the gear has been perfected, and I’m sure you’re ready.”

“Whatever you think best,” he answers.

Well, that’s a good start.

“The good news is, I have a simulator standing by. It’ll give you a feel for grimspace and replicate the pulse of the beacons. At the Academy, we trained on those for years before ever touching a ship.”

He grimaces a little. “Well, I hope it doesn’t take years, but I know a jumper has to be well trained. I would never put the ship at risk.”

There’s good steel in this one. We talk a little longer, but he’s eager to be off to tell his friends that he’s been accepted as an apprentice jumper, the first in this new program. Whether he knows it or not, Argus Dahlgren will make history; he’ll be the first of his kind—a jumper trained outside of Farwan’s academies. It’ll be up to me to make sure he does the role proud.

“So you did it,” March says from behind me. “You think he’ll be ready in time?”

We’ve talked about this at length. It’s his idea, his dream, and I’m going to make it happen. Not the way they originally intended, but sometimes paradigms must be adapted and improved.

“I hope so,” I say quietly. “We need this if we have any hope of winning the war against the Morgut.”

His big hands on my shoulders feel hard and warm. I lean back against him, resigned to a long haul. But at least I can use the time working with Argus.

Mostly, I’m tired of taking orders. It’s time for me to decide my own destiny. And that’s just what I’m going to do.
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C'est dure mais les agents de CHERUB sont encore plus dures!
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"-Vous avez tout ce qu'il vous faut les gars? lança Sam (en s'adressant à Howard et Orc)
Ce fut Howard qui lui répondit.
-En dehors d'un hamburger, d'une tarte au pêches,d'un pot de glace, d'un lecteur dvd, d'une télé, d'un téléphone, d'un ordinateur et d'un aller simple pour quitter cette ville de tarés?"
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-Pete!
L'enfant se redressa en tenant son jeu, et des fragments de verre provenant de l'écran brisé s'échappèrent de sa main. Il chercha des yeux Astrid et se mit à hurler de toutes ses forces, tel un animal.
-Ahhhhhhh!
Un cri dément et tragique de chagrin. Puis, sans cesser de crier il se pelotonna sur lui-même.
Et, soudain, le mur disparut.
Bouche bée, Astrid distingua une rangée de camions satellite et de voitures, un motel, une foule de gens. Des gens normaux, des adultes, amassés derrière un cordon de sécurité, qui la regardaient fixement.
Le petit Pete retomba sur le dos, et, en un éclair, tout disparut. Le mur avait réintégré sa place, et l'enfant c'était tu.
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