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boards.
    Conspiracy theorists suggested Hermitaj had grown too powerful or knew something too incriminating to be allowed to exist but offered no specifics, so they’d turned their gossip to the only pieces of Hermitaj that remained: the cyborg mercenaries themselves.
    Despite the cessation of orders from Hermitaj, most had finished out their missions. If they could. Some of the more modified soldiers had failed instantly along with the asteroid, dropping in their tracks. Others suffered major biomechanical malfunctions over time. Still others seemed to go insane. Despite their previously impressive reputations, the ones that survived became persona non grata—or half-persona non grata—deemed too unstable except for the most hazardous or illicit duties.
    He wondered if Shaxi’s experiences had made her more or less vulnerable. How had she survived? And what had she been willing to do to get this far?
    Did she ever wake in the middle of the night on the verge of screaming?
    Or maybe once again that was only his own problem.
    His intel trail ended abruptly. Any specific record of who she’d been before her conscription was lost with Hermitaj. There wasn’t even a data point marking her emergence from the corporation’s obliteration. The many governmental entities that comprised the sheerways kept incompatible information systems—because while FTL travel had become possible four hundred years ago with the discovery of the sheership biotech, data entry was still the purview of disgruntled civil servants and underpaid interns. Hermitaj had made Shaxi a cipher, one of many. Now she was one of only a few, but still an unknown.
    Even to herself.
    Eril almost envied her that ignorance.
    He straightened and tucked away his secured tablet when Benedetta and Shaxi emerged from the bridge.
    “Corso approved your idea, Eril,” Benedetta said. “And Shaxi has agreed to work with us while we’re on Khamaseen.”
    Only while they were planetside? Eril considered the timeline. If he was going to use her as a tool in his plans, then the twins’ days were numbered, and that number was smaller than he’d anticipated.
    He refused to let himself shudder. There was too much at stake for him to weigh two girls’ lives. His soul was forfeit regardless. The underwriters had made that clear when they’d taken him in—a starving boy, hunted by his own father for his unforgiveable crimes.
    At least the underwriters had offered him a way to pay. He could never be absolved, but he could help prevent ruination such as he’d once unwittingly caused. His humanity had been the coin he doled out, bit by bit, in blood not his own. One day, though, it would be his own blood, and he imagined it would trickle out of him in a dust more parched and empty than this abandoned moon.
    “I’ll show her around and set her up in a bunk,” he said, even as his mind ticked through his grim history and even uglier future.
    Benedetta eyed him for a moment, and he wondered what she saw. Although the l’auraly had been designed simply to be perfect lovers, their empathic skills would have made them excellent artists or therapists. Or interrogators.
    But she merely said, “Put her across from the twins. And, Shaxi, when was the last time you had a real meal?”
    Shaxi shifted from one foot to the other. “It’s been…some time.”
    “Get something to eat while you take your tour,” Benedetta said. “You’re less useful to us if you die of hunger.”
    Shaxi ducked her head, the almost bashful motion at odds with her warrior physique. “I think you must be a good older sister.”
    “If you can convince Torash and Alolis of that, I’ll add a bonus in danger pay.” Benedetta jerked her chin at Eril. “Hit the mess hall first, Mr. Morav.”
    He indicated the way to Shaxi. “Shall we?”
    But she glanced back at Benedetta. “Thank you for giving me a place.” She bowed with stiff formality. “In return, I will give my life to protect your sisters