The bird and the cage

CHAPTER 2

She takes another step without looking.

And walks directly into someone.

The collision is solid and spectacularly undignified.

Food scatters across the pavement.

A slim personal slate clatters to the ground.

Several drained power cells roll across the stones and bump against Rogue’s boot.

“Ow.”

She grabs her shoulder.

“Sorry. I usually pay more attention than that.”

The stranger straightens with a sharp flick of dark-feathered wings.

Humanoid, but unmistakably avian.

A short curved beak. Narrow features. Indigo plumage forming a swept-back crest that currently looks much more irritated than elegant.

He retrieves the slate.

“Not to worry. I wasn’t exactly operating at peak efficiency either.”

He looks her over.

“Apologies, Miss…?”

“Rogue.”

He waits.

Rogue waits back.

His crest tilts.

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“One name?”

“Is that weird?”

“For a human? I thought you people collected names.”

He offers one feathered hand.

“Pex’kor Vael.”

Rogue takes it.

“Pex.”

“You shortened it already.”

“You’re welcome.”

Pex makes a quiet clicking sound she suspects is laughter.

Rogue glances at the markings running along the edge of his slate.

Her eyes narrow.

“Wait.”

Pex freezes.

“That script.”

He looks down.

“What about it?”

“Nestaran trade glyphs.”

His crest rises slightly.

Rogue leans closer.

“That’s the old cargo shorthand, right? The kind they use around New Nestara’s orbital yards?”

Pex stares at her.

“You’re familiar with Nestaran freight notation?”

“I read.”

“Apparently.”

He glances down at the slate, then back at her.

“You’re either very interested in my people or about to rob me.”

Rogue’s face lights up.

“You’re actually from New Nestara?”

Pex laughs.

“Born beneath the western rings.”

Rogue’s curiosity immediately overrides whatever embarrassment remains from the collision.

“What are they like?”

“The rings?”

“Yeah.”

“Bright enough to turn half the night sky silver.”

Rogue stares.

Pex looks amused.

“First time meeting a Nestaran?”

“First time meeting anyone from New Nestara.”

“Ah.”

He glances around the square.

“And this is your home?”

Rogue follows his gaze across the pristine storefronts, clean streets, and smiling families moving beneath discreet black surveillance lenses.

“Yeah.”

Pex nods.

“Seems lovely.”

“It is.”

The answer comes too quickly.

Rogue looks back toward the Ark.

“You never have to worry about anything here.”

Something in her tone makes Pex study her.

“Most people would consider that a good thing.”

“Most people probably would.”

A camera rotates slowly atop a market post.

Rogue notices.

Pex notices her noticing.

Neither says anything for a moment.

Rogue looks back at him.

“How long are you staying?”

“Leaving tomorrow evening.”

Her heart sinks before she can stop it.

“That soon?”

“Just needed fuel cells and coolant. My ship was considerably less enthusiastic about this stop than I was.”

Rogue looks at the dead cells scattered across the pavement.

“They’re Nestaran?”

“Modified Talan cells.”

Rogue picks one up and turns it over.

Tiny characters mark the casing, matching technical diagrams she has spent far too many nights studying.

Real off-world equipment.

“You fly your own ship?”

“When it cooperates.”

That does it.

Rogue makes a decision.

“Come with me.”

Pex blinks.

“That sounded ominous.”

“Just come on.”

She turns toward a narrow lane running between the backs of the market stalls.

Pex watches her for a second.

Then follows.

Market noise fades behind them.

Rogue stops once the surrounding buildings block most lines of sight.

She closes her eyes.

A faint ripple of crimson energy spreads through the alley.

One camera flickers.

Then another.

A listening post tucked beneath the eaves gives a soft electronic pop and dies.

Pex watches with considerably more interest now.

Rogue opens her eyes.

“That should give us maybe two minutes.”

Pex looks at the dead camera.

“You do that often?”

“Only when I don’t want people listening.”

“Comforting.”

Rogue leans against the wall and folds her arms.

“I know how Threshold looks.”

Pex waits.

“Safe. Comfortable. Nobody goes hungry. Nothing bad is ever supposed to happen.”

She glances toward the mouth of the alley.

“And most people treat me fine.”

“Most?”

“As long as I stay inside the lines.”

Pex’s expression grows more serious.

Rogue taps one finger against her arm.

“There are cameras everywhere. More than there need to be. People ask questions they don’t need answers to.”

She thinks of Mara.

“Sometimes people know things I never told them.”

Pex follows her gaze.

“The old woman?”

Rogue looks at him sharply.

“You noticed?”

“You looked back at her shop three times.”

Rogue exhales.

“I don’t know if Mara’s involved. Maybe she isn’t.”

“But you think she is.”

“Sometimes.”

She rubs the back of her neck.

“That’s the problem. Nothing ever happens that’s big enough to point at. It’s always little things.”

Pex stays quiet.

That helps.

Rogue continues.

“Whenever my grandfather leaves, the watching gets worse. I walk into certain places and conversations stop. People suddenly remember somewhere else they need to be.”

She looks down.

“I’m pretty sure if I ever asked to leave Threshold the proper way, somebody would come up with a very polite reason why I couldn’t.”

Pex’s head tilts.

“Have you tried?”

“No.”

“Why?”

Rogue looks directly at him.

“Because if I’m right, asking tells them I want out.”

Pex considers that.

“And if you’re wrong?”

“Then I’m a paranoid idiot.”

“You don’t strike me as an idiot.”

“Paranoid, though?”

“A little.”

Rogue snorts.

“Fair.”

Pex glances toward the dead surveillance camera.

“So what do you want?”

The question catches her off guard.

“What?”

“If you’re right. If this place is watching you. If they really don’t want you leaving.”

His wings shift slightly behind him.

“What do you want?”

Rogue stares toward the strip of sky visible between the buildings.

For once, the answer comes easily.

“Everything.”

Pex blinks.

Rogue smiles faintly.

“I want to see other worlds. Real ones. Not recordings. I want to walk around cities where nobody knows who I am. Meet people I’ve never heard of. Find places nobody on Threshold can explain to me.”

Her voice grows quieter.

“I want to choose where I go next.”

Pex studies her.

Rogue’s smile fades.

“But I can’t just disappear.”

“Your grandfather.”

She nods.

“He’s all I’ve got.”

There is no hesitation in her voice.

“He’s the only person on this planet I completely trust.”

Pex says nothing.

Rogue continues.

“If I ran, they’d question him. Maybe worse. And I’m not leaving him behind.”

Pex looks toward the alley entrance.

Then sighs.

“I have a ship.”

Rogue stares at him.

“I gathered that.”

“No.”

He looks back at her.

“I mean I have a way off Threshold.”

Rogue’s expression changes.

Pex reaches for his slate and taps several commands.

A ship registration appears.

Departure clearance.

Port authorization.

Rogue leans closer.

“You’re already cleared?”

“Independent courier vessel. Registered through New Nestaran commercial authority.”

He flicks to another screen.

“My registry gets the full crew manifest. Threshold traffic control gets my vessel clearance and crew count.”

Rogue looks from the slate to him.

“Not the names?”

“Not unless they have a reason to request them.”

“Why?”

“Trade agreements. Independent crews complained about Alliance ports collecting more information than they needed.”

Rogue’s eyes narrow.

“And they actually listened?”

“Eventually. There were lawyers.”

“Terrifying.”

Pex clicks his beak in amusement.

“The important part is that I can register temporary crew through my own authority. Threshold sees two additional crew members and a valid clearance token.”

Rogue’s pulse begins to climb.

“So I could just walk onto your ship?”

“Not quite.”

“Of course not.”

“You would need to board through my assigned commercial berth. If local security specifically stopped you, I couldn’t magically make that problem disappear.”

“Great.”

“But if nobody is already looking for you?”

Pex folds the slate.

“You board as crew. My registry confirms the count. We leave.”

Rogue stares at him.

“That actually works?”

“Usually.”

“Usually?”

“I prefer not to lie about customs procedures.”

Rogue laughs.

Then her expression changes.

“But once they realize I’m gone?”

Pex shrugs.

“Preferably, we’re already somewhere else.”

For a moment, Rogue says nothing.

Then:

“Why are you telling me this?”

Pex’s wings settle behind him.

“You said you wanted out.”

“You met me ten minutes ago.”

“You disabled government surveillance ten minutes after meeting me.”

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

“No.”

His crest shifts.

“But maybe I know what it’s like to want another horizon.”

Rogue studies him.

For the first time, Pex looks away.

“I’ve got two empty cabins. I’m leaving tomorrow evening whether they’re occupied or not.”

He meets her eyes again.

“If you’re serious about leaving, I can get you aboard.”

Rogue feels suddenly lightheaded.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow she could wake beneath another sky.

New Nestara.

The western rings.

Alien cities.

Unknown worlds.

And maybe, someday, whatever waits in that direction she can always find when she gets quiet enough to feel it.

Then Marcus enters her thoughts.

His laugh at breakfast.

His note in her pocket.

Proud of you.

Her expression firms.

“Okay.”

Pex waits.

“I’ll do it.”

A grin breaks across her face.

“If Grandpa comes too.”

Pex blinks.

Rogue points at him.

“I’m not leaving without him.”

“You’re inviting your grandfather onto my ship?”

“He’s house-trained.”

Pex stares at her.

Rogue’s grin widens.

“Mostly.”

He clicks his tongue.

“Fine. Bring the old man.”

Rogue’s eyes brighten.

“Really?”

“There is one problem.”

Her smile immediately fades.

“What?”

“My registry locks tomorrow’s crew manifest at noon.”

Rogue glances at the slate.

“Why noon if you don’t leave until evening?”

“Departure processing. Fuel declaration. Customs bond. Very exciting bureaucratic things.”

Pex points at the screen.

“If I want to add temporary crew quietly, I have until noon. After that, I’d have to amend the manifest.”

“And?”

“And an amended manifest means a new clearance token.”

Rogue understands.

“Which Threshold would see.”

“Immediately.”

“And then somebody starts asking why you suddenly added two people.”

“Exactly.”

Rogue thinks for a moment.

“So I get Grandpa to agree before noon.”

“You get me both names before noon.”

Pex’s voice becomes more serious.

“After that, I can’t promise I can take anyone else without attracting attention.”

Rogue nods.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Before noon.”

Pex studies her.

“That was easier than expected.”

“You haven’t met Grandpa.”

“You’re awfully confident he’ll agree.”

“He complains about the Alliance almost as much as I do.”

Pex raises an eyebrow.

“You just spent several minutes telling me you’re trapped here.”

Rogue’s smile slips.

“I didn’t say Grandpa was doing it.”

Pex says nothing.

Rogue’s voice becomes firmer.

“He retired from the Templars to raise me. Whatever is happening here, it isn’t him.”

The certainty with which she says it leaves no room for argument.

“I trust him.”

Pex raises both hands.

“Fair enough.”

He transfers a contact code to her wrist unit.

“Before noon tomorrow.”

Rogue checks it.

“Before noon.”

She starts toward the market.

Halfway there, she turns and begins walking backward.

“Hey, Pex!”

He looks up.

“What?”

“What food do Nestarans eat?”

Pex stares at her.

“Why?”

“I’ve got questions.”

“Of course you do.”

Rogue grins.

“See you soon!”

Then she disappears into the crowd.

Pex remains in the alley.

His smile stays in place for several seconds.

Then it vanishes.

He waits until Rogue is completely out of sight.

From beneath his coat, he removes a slim communications unit.

Not the battered civilian model clipped to his belt.

A second one.

Encrypted.

He activates it.

Someone answers.

Pex’s voice loses every trace of warmth.

“Contact made.”

A pause.

“She wants off-world.”

His eyes settle on the place where Rogue vanished into the crowd.

“Exactly like you said she would.”

Another pause.

Pex’s crest lowers.

“The grandfather is the only complication.”

He listens.

Then closes his eyes briefly.

“Understood.”

The connection ends.

Pex slips the communicator back beneath his coat.

Above the rooftops, the Ark hangs motionless against Threshold’s blue sky.

Pex looks toward it.

Then toward the market.

“Phase two,” he murmurs.

And walks away.

—————————

The compound gates begin to part the moment S.A.M.’s security system recognizes her.

Rogue is through them before they finish opening.

Fifteen years of living here, and she has never crossed the yard this fast.

She takes the front steps two at a time, Marcus’s credit chit still in her pocket and Pex’s deadline already pounding behind her ribs.

Tomorrow evening.

A ship.

A real ship.

All she has to do is convince Grandpa.

S.A.M.’s projection blooms into existence in the entry hall as she blows past him.

“Miss Rogue…”

She keeps going.

“Miss Rogue. You have apparently discarded every scrap of manners you ever managed to acquire, which, I grant you, was never a particularly large collection. What is wrong?”

Rogue skids to a stop.

“S.A.M., I need to talk to Grandpa. Now.”

The hologram regards her.

“Marshal Bennett is presently attending a closed committee hearing aboard the Ark.”

“I know. Call him.”

“I cannot.”

Her excitement crashes into a wall.

“What?”

“He left explicit instructions that he is not to be disturbed until the hearing concludes.”

Rogue stares at him.

“Okay. When does it end?”

“The committee provided no fixed conclusion time.”

“So an hour?”

“Possibly.”

“Three?”

“Also possible.”

Her expression falls.

“Could he be gone all night?”

“It has happened before.”

Rogue groans and drags both hands down her face.

“No. That doesn’t work.”

Tomorrow evening, with or without you.

She starts pacing.

S.A.M.’s projection turns smoothly to follow her.

“May I ask what has produced this sudden urgency?”

Rogue stops.

For half a second, she considers telling him everything.

Then a grin creeps across her face.

“No.”

“No?”

“I want Grandpa to hear it first.”

“That is surprisingly considerate.”

“It’s a surprise.”

“That is considerably less reassuring.”

Rogue resumes pacing.

There has to be another way.

Marcus never goes anywhere without some means of contacting people. She has seen him answer calls at ridiculous hours, usually from old Alliance Templars or people who somehow manage to make him even grumpier than usual.

Her eyes narrow.

“Where’s his communicator?”

S.A.M. pauses.

Barely a second.

Rogue notices anyway.

“Which communicator?”

She slowly turns toward him.

“How many communicators does one old man need?”

“Marshal Bennett owns seven devices that could reasonably be classified as communicators. Twelve if one includes emergency transmitters, vehicle systems, and the obsolete handheld unit he refuses to dispose of because, in his words, ‘they don’t make anything worth a damn anymore.’”

Despite herself, Rogue snorts.

“His Alliance one.”

This pause is longer.

S.A.M.’s expression remains perfectly composed.

Rogue’s smile disappears.

“What?”

“Marshal Bennett’s Alliance communications equipment is restricted.”

“Restricted from who?”

“Unauthorized personnel.”

“You could’ve just said me.”

“I considered that unnecessarily confrontational.”

“S.A.M.”

“Miss Rogue.”

She walks closer.

“I just need to call him.”

“And I have already informed you that Marshal Bennett requested that he not be disturbed.”

“I know what he requested.”

The words come out sharper than she means them to.

S.A.M. falls silent.

Rogue exhales.

“Sorry.”

“Apology logged.”

“Don’t make it weird.”

“I have made no alteration to the level of weirdness.”

She points at him.

“That. That’s making it weird.”

A tiny tilt of his head.

Rogue drops her hand.

“Look, I’m not trying to steal classified battle plans or Templar command codes or whatever ridiculous things Grandpa used to deal with. I need to talk to him. It’s important.”

“I believe you.”

“Then let me use the communicator.”

“I cannot authorize its use.”

“I didn’t ask if you could authorize it.”

Another pause.

Rogue’s eyes narrow.

Then her gaze drifts toward the hallway leading deeper into the compound.

Marcus’s office sits at the far end.

She looks back at S.A.M.

“It’s in his office.”

“I did not say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“That conclusion was reached without sufficient evidence.”

“Uh-huh.”

She starts toward the hall.

S.A.M. appears directly in front of her.

“Miss Rogue.”

She nearly walks through him.

“I strongly recommend that you wait until the Marshal returns.”

“I strongly recommend that you stop appearing in front of people who can’t actually run into you.”

“This is not a joke.”

Something in his voice stops her.

Not the words.

The tone.

S.A.M. almost never sounds worried.

Rogue studies him.

“What’s in his office?”

“Many things.”

“Anything I’m not supposed to see?”

Silence.

Her expression changes.

Only slightly.

“S.A.M.?”

“I am advising you to wait for Marcus.”

That answer settles strangely in her stomach.

A few minutes ago, she had been ready to burst into the Ark herself if that was what it took.

Now something else creeps beneath the excitement.

Curiosity.

Marcus has always kept his office private, but she never thought much about it. Everyone deserves somewhere of their own. She has her room. He has his office.

Except suddenly S.A.M. is behaving as though opening one door could change something.

Rogue looks past him.

The office waits at the end of the hall.

Closed.

She starts toward it.

“Rogue.”

She stops.

Not Miss Rogue.

Just Rogue.

She looks back.

S.A.M.’s expression remains composed, but his voice has gone quieter.

“If you find something you do not understand, please wait for Marcus before deciding what it means.”

Rogue stares at him.

“That is weirdly specific.”

“I am aware.”

“What exactly do you think I’m going to find?”

“I cannot answer that.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

S.A.M. says nothing.

Rogue looks toward the office again.

Whatever hesitation she felt hardens into resolve.

“I’m just getting the communicator.”

“I know.”

“And I might not have time to wait.”

S.A.M.’s projection flickers almost imperceptibly.

“Time for what?”

Rogue gives him a small smile.

“Grandpa first.”

She reaches the office.

Her hand settles on the control.

S.A.M. appears beside her one last time.

“Rogue.”

She glances at him.

“I mean it.”

For a moment, she almost listens.

Then she presses the control.

Marcus’s office door slides open.

The hearing chamber aboard the Ark is built to make everyone inside it feel small.

The Ark has a talent for that.

Rows of elevated seats curve around the chamber, occupied by Templar officers, researchers, administrators, and officials whose uniforms carry enough rank to make most people nervous.

Marshal Templar Marcus Bennett sits alone at the central table beneath the chamber lights.

He looks profoundly unimpressed.

The warden opposite him adjusts the display.

“Let the record show that the Threshold Oversight Committee has reconvened for its scheduled review of Project Shepherd.”

Marcus’s expression does not change.

“The reporting custodian is Marshal Templar Marcus Bennett, guardian of the protected subject known as Rogue.”

“Granddaughter.”

The warden looks up.

Marcus folds his arms.

“She’s my granddaughter. If we’re putting things on the record, put that on it too.”

A faint murmur moves through the chamber.

The warden hesitates, then makes a notation.

“Very well.”

A holographic image of Rogue appears above the floor.

Medical scans, psychic-output graphs, training records, and behavioral evaluations populate the air around her.

Marcus’s jaw tightens.

“Current physical condition?”

“Healthy.”

“Psychological condition?”

“Healthy.”

“Hostile incidents?”

“No.”

“Attempts to breach the Threshold perimeter?”

“No.”

“Anything outside established psychic or behavioral parameters?”

“No.”

The warden glances toward the next question.

Marcus sighs.

“Same answers as last quarter.”

The warden looks up.

“And the quarter before that. And the one before that.”

“Marshal Bennett…”

“How many times are we going to do this?”

“As many times as necessary.”

“Necessary for what?”

“You know why these hearings exist.”

“I know why they started.”

Marcus gestures toward Rogue’s hologram.

“That was fifteen years ago.”

Silence settles over the chamber.

“She hasn’t hurt anyone. She hasn’t tried to hurt anyone. Every scan comes back clean. Every evaluation comes back clean. Every time you people look for something to justify keeping her there, you find nothing.”

A researcher near the front leans toward her microphone.

“Absence of evidence does not establish…”

“Oh, spare me.”

Marcus’s voice cracks through the chamber.

The researcher goes silent.

“You’ve watched that girl so long you know what she eats. How she sleeps. What makes her angry. What makes her laugh. You know more about her daily life than she does.”

The warden’s expression tightens.

“We have Project Shepherd.”

The name changes the room.

The warden lowers his voice.

“The circumstances that led to its creation remain unresolved. That alone requires caution.”

Marcus gives a humorless laugh.

“Caution.”

He looks around the chamber.

“You built an entire world around her.”

No one answers.

“You decide who comes in. Who leaves. What information reaches her. What ships get close enough for her to notice.”

“These facts are not in dispute.”

“They ought to be.”

Marcus leans forward.

“You asked for my assessment. Here it is.”

He looks slowly around the room.

“You’ve been too hard on her.”

Murmurs rise from the seats.

“You are requesting another reduction in restrictions?”

“I’m requesting that we stop pretending what she has is a normal life.”

A faint vibration passes through the chamber floor.

A glass of water near one of the researchers trembles.

Then stills.

No one reacts.

Marcus barely notices anymore.

A chair scrapes against the floor above him.

That sound gets everyone’s attention.

A man rises from the third tier.

Deep blue runs along the collar and shoulders of his dark uniform. No medals decorate his chest.

He does not need them.

Several officials straighten immediately.

Even the warden rises.

“High Inquisitor.”

The man raises one hand.

“Please.”

His voice is almost pleasant.

He descends the steps without hurry, reaches the chamber floor, and extends a hand toward the warden’s microphone.

“May I?”

The warden gives it to him immediately.

The Blue Inquisitor turns toward Marcus.

For several seconds, neither speaks.

Then the Inquisitor smiles.

“Marcus.”

“Inquisitor.”

“Oh, don’t do that. We worked together too long for titles.”

“That depends how generously you define worked together.”

The Inquisitor’s smile widens faintly.

There was a time when very few people in the Human Alliance could stand across from Marshal Templar Marcus Bennett and outrank him.

The three High Inquisitors were among them.

Once, they had even offered Marcus the chance to join their number.

He had chosen Rogue instead.

“How have you been?” the Inquisitor asks.

Marcus glances around the chamber.

“Is this really where you want to catch up?”

“I’m curious.”

“I’m old.”

“So am I.”

“You wear it better.”

A few nervous laughs escape from the upper seats.

The Inquisitor gives Marcus an appreciative nod.

“And Rogue?”

Marcus’s amusement disappears.

“What about her?”

“What is it like?”

Marcus says nothing.

“Living with her.”

That catches him off guard.

“You’ve spent more time with Rogue than anyone alive. Not through surveillance. Not through reports. You raised her.”

Marcus looks toward the hologram.

Rogue smiles back at him from an image captured months ago.

“It isn’t easy.”

“No?”

Marcus snorts.

“You try raising a teenage girl.”

“I have deliberately avoided the experience.”

“You’re smarter than you look.”

Another ripple of nervous laughter.

Marcus doesn’t join it.

“She’s stubborn. Impulsive. Talks before she thinks. Thinks she can take on anything that gets in her way.”

A pause.

“Sometimes she can.”

Something softer passes across his face.

Then it’s gone.

“And it’s difficult raising a girl everyone around her is afraid of.”

The chamber falls silent.

Marcus looks directly at the Inquisitor.

“Especially when you can’t even tell her why.”

The Blue Inquisitor watches him carefully.

“Does she know they’re afraid?”

“Yes.”

“She’s perceptive?”

“She’s not stupid.”

“No one suggested she was.”

“You treat her like she is.”

The Inquisitor’s smile thins.

“Has she seen through Threshold?”

Marcus studies him.

“Not that I know.”

“She has never demonstrated awareness that her environment is not what she believes it to be?”

“Nothing I can prove.”

“Can prove?”

Marcus’s eyes narrow.

“You people underestimate her.”

“In what way?”

“You keep measuring intelligence like it’s a score on one of those screens.”

Marcus gestures toward the surrounding equipment.

“That isn’t how Rogue works.”

“How does she work?”

“Instinct.”

Marcus taps two fingers against the table.

“She notices when things don’t fit. Mostly people.”

The Inquisitor waits.

“She might not know what somebody’s hiding. Might not even know why she doesn’t trust them. But she knows when something feels wrong.”

“You admire that.”

“I raised it.”

The Inquisitor tilts his head.

Marcus grimaces.

“I raised her.”

For a moment, the Inquisitor’s smile disappears.

Then it returns.

Smaller.

“And you believe we should ease the quarantine.”

“Yes.”

“How far?”

“Expand what she’s allowed to see. Stop controlling every person who gets near her. Let her interact with something that isn’t part of an observation plan.”

“And eventually?”

Marcus hesitates.

“Let her travel.”

That lands harder than anything else he has said.

Someone near the front speaks.

“Off Threshold?”

Marcus looks toward them.

“Yes.”

The Blue Inquisitor studies him.

“You would allow Rogue into the wider galaxy.”

“I would allow Rogue to have a life.”

“And if your confidence is misplaced?”

“Then we deal with what actually happens.”

“That is a considerable gamble.”

“Fifteen years without an incident isn’t nothing.”

“No.”

The Inquisitor folds one hand behind his back.

“It isn’t.”

He glances toward Rogue’s hologram.

“You’ve trained her.”

“Yes.”

“Developed her abilities.”

“I taught her control.”

“Why?”

“So she doesn’t hurt herself. Or anyone else.”

“Then you acknowledge her power can be dangerous.”

“Anyone with enough power can be dangerous.”

“Perhaps.”

The Inquisitor takes several slow steps across the chamber.

“Then perhaps the answer is not simply release.”

Marcus watches him.

“What are you getting at?”

“Purpose.”

Marcus’s expression hardens immediately.

The Inquisitor gestures toward Rogue.

“You believe she is intelligent. Powerful. Capable of restraint. Perhaps such ability need not be wasted behind a perimeter.”

Marcus rises slowly.

“You want to use her.”

“I said no such thing.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“Guide her, then.”

“I didn’t give up the highest offices in the Alliance just to raise my granddaughter into one of its weapons.”

The chamber goes very still.

The Blue Inquisitor’s expression barely changes.

Marcus lowers his voice.

“I think any power can be used for good if you treat the person carrying it right.”

“Person.”

“Yes.”

The Inquisitor considers the word.

“And if the person eventually proves more complicated than you hoped?”

“She hasn’t.”

“Yet.”

“You don’t know that she ever will.”

“Neither do you.”

Marcus stares at him.

Then gestures toward Rogue’s hologram.

“You want to know what living with her is like?”

The Inquisitor waits.

“It’s watching a girl stare at every ship that crosses the sky like it’s carrying something she was supposed to have.”

Marcus’s voice roughens.

“It’s listening to her ask when she’ll finally get to see all the places she’s spent her life reading about.”

He looks away.

“And every time she asks, I lie.”

The words settle heavily over the chamber.

“I’ve gotten very good at lying to my granddaughter.”

Something almost sympathetic passes across the Blue Inquisitor’s face.

Almost.

“You knew the terms.”

Marcus says nothing.

“You accepted custodial responsibility.”

“I know.”

“You agreed Rogue would remain on Threshold until the uncertainty surrounding her could be resolved.”

“I know.”

“You submitted the reports.”

Marcus’s jaw tightens.

“Yes.”

“Then you understand why I find your indignation somewhat selective.”

Marcus steps away from the table.

“What you’re doing isn’t right.”

The Blue Inquisitor raises an eyebrow.

“What we’re doing, Marcus.”

Marcus stops.

The words land cleanly.

“You signed the authorization.”

Marcus looks away.

“You accepted the arrangement.”

“I know.”

“You believed it necessary.”

“She was a child.”

“Yes.”

Marcus looks back at him, anger finally beginning to show.

“What was I supposed to do?”

“I didn’t say you chose incorrectly.”

“That isn’t what this was supposed to become.”

“No?”

“It was supposed to be temporary.”

Marcus’s voice rises.

“We were supposed to understand what happened. Determine whether there was actually something to be afraid of.”

“And we still do not know.”

“Exactly.”

Marcus slams one hand against the table.

The crack echoes through the chamber.

Several officials flinch.

“The absence of an answer does not give us the right to take her entire life!”

The Blue Inquisitor merely watches him.

Marcus breathes heavily.

For a moment, it looks as though he might continue.

The Inquisitor waits.

Then his expression settles back into that infuriating calm.

“I think that is enough for the moment.”

He turns toward the warden and offers back the microphone.

“Let’s recess.”

The warden hesitates.

“High Inquisitor, there are still several items…”

“Fifteen minutes.”

The Inquisitor glances back at Marcus.

A faint smile touches his mouth.

“I’m sure our old colleague could use the air.”

Marcus says nothing.

The Inquisitor walks toward the chamber doors.

Around Marcus, chairs scrape backward. Officials rise. Quiet conversations spread through the room.

One by one, they file out.

Marcus remains where he is.

Rogue’s hologram still floats above the chamber floor.

Smiling.

Unaware.

Marcus looks at her for a long time.

Then his shoulders sink.

He lowers his head.

And for once, Marshal Templar Marcus Bennett has nothing to say.