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Ophelia’s synths don’t recognize you.”
    That was true. Thanks to the scar, the Legion-style buzz cut, and a leaner look, Andromeda McKee bore only a slight resemblance to Cat Carletto. “So I accept the medal . . . Then what?”
    â€œThen you’re headed for Algeron,” Avery said heavily.
    â€œAnd you?”
    â€œI’m staying here—with Colonel Rylund.”
    A long silence followed. Both of them had known that some sort of separation was coming. That was inevitable, and good in a strange sort of way because officers weren’t supposed to fraternize with enlisted people. Much less have sex with them. And if they continued to see each other, it would only be a matter of time before someone noticed and ratted them out. Avery spoke first. “It’s going to difficult,” he said. “But all we need to do is stick to our plan. Assuming you want to, that is.”
    The plan involved saving as much as they could, serving out their enlistments, and meeting on a rim world, where they would live happily ever after. McKee knew it wasn’t likely to turn out that way. Too many things could go wrong. But the plan was something to cling to, something to dream about, and something was better than nothing.
    McKee allowed herself to be drawn into Avery’s arms, returned his kisses, and took pleasure in the lovemaking that followed. But deep inside, and in spite of her best efforts, she felt a sense of foreboding. Because her happiness was there in her arms—and a single bullet could take it away.
    Â â€¢Â â€¢Â â€¢Â 
    Clouds were hiding the sun, the temperature had dropped slightly, and McKee could feel occasional raindrops as she made her way uphill from the company’s HQ to what had been Riversplit’s jail before the war. Now it served as the city jail, a place to house POWs of various types,
and
the equivalent of a military stockade.
    A barricade had been erected in front of the facility, and a squad of marines were on duty behind it. A sergeant checked McKee’s ID and read the release that Avery had signed before waving her through the checkpoint.
    Once inside, McKee had to surrender all of her weapons and pass through a scanner before being asked to show the paperwork all over again. Then and only then was she allowed to enter the reception area. The room was large, the walls were covered with government-issue green paint, and the furniture was bolted to the floor.
    McKee presented the release form to a uniformed jailer, who read it, instructed her to take a seat, and left. With nothing else to do, McKee let her thoughts drift to Avery, the painful good-bye, and her uncertain future. Her reverie was interrupted by the clang of a door and the rattle of chains as Desmond Larkin shuffled into the reception area.
    Larkin was a bully, a gambler, and a heavy drinker. But he was also fearless in battle and, in his own weird way, a loyal friend. McKee had saved his life on Drang. And according to Larkin’s way of thinking, that created a bond that couldn’t be broken. So he had taken it upon himself to watch her back, even though she hadn’t asked him to do so, and frequently wished that he would stop.
    Having spotted her, Larkin’s face lit up. He had a crew cut, a prominent brow, and beady eyes. His chin was square and eternally thrust forward, as if daring people to hit it. “McKee! What took you so long? These bastards had me in lockdown. Can you believe that shit?”
    McKee
could
believe that shit. And figured the jailers had been given plenty of provocation. “Shut the hell up,” she said, “before you get yourself into even more trouble.”
    McKee was on her feet by then. “I need a thumbprint,” the guard said, as he gave her a data pad.
    McKee placed her right thumb on the screen, saw a light flash green, and handed the device back. That was the guard’s cue to press a remote.