"'I will always stop working for you," he said now, standing up to gather her in his arms. Even through her stiffly starched warrior uniform, Pershaw thought he could feel the soft curves of Lanja's body underneath.

He knew that he and Lanja were unusually passionate for Clan lovers. Had he not chanced upon a disk of some old Terran romances in a Brian Cache, Pershaw might never have known that human love could be intense and romantic. As a Clansman, he could barely grasp the idea of romance, but his liaison with Lanja was probably deeper than any he had ever known before—in casual sibko alliances, in previous relationships with warrior women, and in other coregns. In its way. their relation was as fathomless as any in those fanciful tales of love.

But Kael Pershaw was a warrior above all, and he did not relish the idea of someone stumbling into his office to find him and Lanja locked in an embrace. Perhaps that was why he let her out of his arms sooner than he wanted to.

Lanja brushed back some of her dark hair, which looked even blacker against her emerald green Jade Falcon headband. "Something is bothering you," she said, and her brow furrowed with worry. "The usual things?"

"In a way. The stagnation, I suppose you would call it."

"Stagnation is a good word, especially with Blood Swamp so near the camp." Perhaps it was the mere thought of the swamp that made her brush away an imaginary insect. Blood Swamp was not its real name, which was long-forgotten. From the first days of Glory Station, warriors stationed there had been struck by the reddish glint, almost like long, bloody streaks, cast by the reflection of Glory's moon shining over the swamp.

"You will be transferred someday," Lanja said. "I am sure of it."

"I know. Relocation and redeployment are Clan ideals, but I am not due for a while. I wish to go now. I want to be in a place where there is reason to be a warrior. I am tired of prodding troops with fake conflicts, just to keep their skills honed. They need real combat, and so do I."

"I had a dream that you were in combat. No, do not say it. My dreams. You do not believe in them. Even when you have seen them come true. Let us retire to the bedchamber. No, I do not mean to tempt you that way. It is just that your eyes look so very tired, like pools surrounded by dark earth."

"And are they stagnant, too?"

The remark made Lanja smile. "No, that they are not."

"Soon," Pershaw whispered. "We will go there soon. Just let me finish writing up some reports."

"They cannot wait?"

"It is only that I wanted to get this one about the brawl out of the way."

"The two Star Commanders? Bast and Jorge?"

"Exactly. What a blot on my command. That a free-birth could so easily defeat a trueborn in a foolish squabble."

"Foolish? As I recall Bast insulted Jorge."

"True. And if they were both trueborns that might not be a matter of shame. But Jorge soundly beat Bast—nearly broke his neck—while all those free-births stood cheering Jorge on. It was disgusting." Though Pershaw's face rarely registered emotion, this time the revulsion was obvious in his eyes and in the downturned corners of his mouth.

"Jorge is a fine warrior, freebirth or not," Lanja said softly. "I was not there, but I understand that he beat Bast rather convincingly."

"Nevertheless, Jorge should be intelligent enough to stay out of such a battle. I depend on freeborns understanding that I do not wish to have true/free conflicts in my command and it is up to them to . . . to . ."

"To stay in their place? To let themselves be trampled on by us trueborns? Not, in fact, to act like warriors at all?"

Pershaw smiled, a rare event that Lanja realized she would have to treasure for a long while until it occurred again.

"I accept the criticism, Lanja. The truth is that I despise having any freeborns in my command. If I could, I would ship the lot of them somewhere else, and deal only with trueborns."

"I understand. But so long as you command even one freeborn, you must expect trouble, especially if he is as independent as this Jorge. Did you punish him this time?"

"I tried. But the surkaiexonerated him."

Lanja's eyebrows raised. "Oh? I would not have expected Jorge to perform the rite of forgiveness successfully. His arrogance would—"

"I did not say that he performed the rite well. He was arrogant as ever. But I accepted it. I had to, quiaff?"

"Aff. And now you should forget it all."

"I cannot. Jorge is like a land mine. Step on him again and he will explode. There will be more trouble."

Lanja nodded. "Well, purge yourself for the moment with the report. Incidents like this will not look well on Jorge's codex."

Pershaw shrugged. "A freeborn's codex means next to nothing. Freeborns cannot become part of the gene pool, so it affects them little."

She touched his forehead. "You are thinking too much, Kael Pershaw. You need to rest. Join me soon."

She left the office. Pershaw labored over the report for a few minutes, but found it difficult to concentrate. Something had to change, he kept thinking.

But when the change did come, less than half a day later, he was surprised by it.

* * *

"How is a freebirth Star Commander different from a rock swine in a Clan uniform?"

"I do not know, Bast. How?"

"The rock swine can qualify for front-line duty."

Bast and the others laughed, a blend of brutish noises that only those who knew them would have interpreted as amusement. Aidan knew he was the Star Commander who was the intended butt of the joke, but he wondered if Bast realized that he had just entered the room and stood only a few steps behind him. How could the man be so stupid? He still wore a neck brace from the last time he had taunted Aidan and wound up with Aidan's elbow contracting his larynx. Aidan had an urge to sneak up behind Bast and crush the neck brace into what was left of the trueborn warrior's neck.

But there was an invisible leash around his own neck and he could not act. Not revealing the least sign that he had heard Bast, Aidan went to the bar of the officer's lounge and ordered a fusionnaire, the drink currently popular among freeborns, a blend so volatile that only warriors as defiant as freeborns would place it near their lips. Aidan not only drank it down quickly, he let it linger in his mouth, where it felt like it was melting the enamel off his teeth.

The lounge was as plain as all the other facilities on this outpost. Every interior was done in drab grays, mud browns, sickly greens. At times Aidan was actually happier to be in the jungle, even though it was said to contain lizards with tongues so poisonous they could immobilize a 'Mech's leg. That was only barracks exaggeration, of course, but Aidan had no inclination to test its truth. Unfortunately, his unit, freeborns all and therefore lowest in the command structure, were generally the ones chosen for any mission into that jungle. All they had seen so far were nightmarish twisted trees whose bark dripped with thick, noxious-smelling sap and with animals whose shapes were almost indiscernible because they vanished so quickly. Yet, in an off-duty moment he had discovered some flowers whose beautiful blood-red petals were speckled with bright yellow streaks. He had turned some over to the station lab, which had reported back that these flowers, now named blood-petals, had already been identified for certain medicinal applications. A serum drawn from them had been tested on some warriors and techs afflicted with a strange disease that sapped their energies and made them drowsy. Though the blood petal serum was not a cure, it did give the patients a few hours of vigor and alertness.