Chapter One

Sempervia, outer edge of the galaxy
Tree Camp, Lake Seis
Exile Year 1

Six didn't run from death—he delivered it.

Right up close and personal. So the enemy got one last good look at the man putting him in the dirt. And at thirty-eight, with twenty solid years of experience behind him, Six had dished out plenty of hurt.

So why did a swath of fallen pine trees make his stomach feel like he'd committed genocide on some godsforsaken planet in the Colonies of Man?

Trees. Seriously. Trees didn't moan, beg, or cry. They didn't writhe. When the last cut ended them, they dropped, and that was that.

Humans could learn a few things from trees.

In the windy heat of Sempervian summer, a passing dust devil's electrical charge raised fine hairs on Six's neck and arms. He shuddered, muttering a curse.

Pietas came out of nowhere, right beside him.

Six flinched. "Geez, Ultra! Make some noise, will you?"

"Silence is an advantage of walking barefoot." Pietas nudged aside chunks of wood. His boots had rotted off his body in captivity.

"You need a bell around your neck."

"A bell? " The immortal king narrowed eyes the color of turquoise chips. His focused attention chilled more than the dust devil's charge. The seven-Terran-feet tall Ultra leader might be lean, but he had more endurance and grit than most armies. "Never mind. Probably some human thing I don't need to know about and wouldn't care about if I did."

Six rolled his eyes. "What are you doing here?"

"I got tired of yelling at lazy people back at basecamp, so I came out here. Thought I'd see what you were doing."

"Oh, yeah?" With one hand, Six steadied the trunk of a young pine and used the ax like a carving knife. With each short slice, another limb dropped. "More like you got tired of them telling you to stop interfering and let them work."

Pietas slid his hands into the pockets of his ragged and blood-stained uniform. "You know, if you held that blade at a higher angle, you could cut faster. Here." He reached for the ax. "I'll show you."

In response, Six raised one eyebrow.

Pietas pointed to the sapling. "But if you change the angle..." He made a chopping motion.

With Pietas's shoulders as bad as they were, could he lift an ax? Let alone swing one. But, like himself, the king had been a grunt, and still liked to get his hands dirty.

"Pi, how many of these downed trees you see around here do you suppose I cut down?"

His friend turned around. "Probably an eighth."

"An eighth?" Six scoffed. "More like a fourth. The others knock 'em down and I strip 'em. Plus I down at least one or two for their three or four. My abuela didn't raise no slacker."

"Apologies to you and your grandmother." The man made a gallant gesture, then picked up the stripped sapling and tossed it on a pile. "I didn't realize you'd be so sensitive about your disability."

Six stiffened. "What disability?"

"You're not fully Ultra." Pietas heaved a few more saplings. "It's not like you can keep up with us."

Six hefted the ax. "You want a chopping contest with me? You, with your bad shoulders against a puny human?"

"But you're not human anymore, are you? Your treatment made you more like us. You're not as strong as we are and you don't have our stamina, but, I admit, you do try."

Even after months fighting it, the anti-emo chip the Ghost Corps had stuck in his brain flicked Six like a thump against the head. Punishment for his immediate negative thought. Supposedly, the chip took away emotions. Eliminated fear. Dissolved inhibition. Made you fight like an Ultra.

All it gave Six was a headache.

And Pietas wanted him to stay this way? Fat chance.

"Hold up." Six dropped the ax. "Let me tell you about stamina. All we ghosts heard before our transformations was how enhanced we'd be. Keener hearing. Sharper eyesight. Faster healing. Broken bones with no signs of ever being broken. One guy even bragged about a cracked molar that healed up overnight. Other ghosts claimed they'd gotten that and more."

"You mean, things we Ultras take for granted."

"You got it, smartass. But what did I get? Stamina." Six spread his hands. "That's it. Stamina. I could work harder. Doesn't that figure? Story of my life."

"Six, I didn't—"

"Don't interrupt." He took two big steps and got right in Pietas's face. "I got nothing. Zip, zero, nada. Goose egg." He stuck his tongue against a broken tooth in the back of his mouth, relic of a chicken dinner he'd wolfed down too fast. So much for awesome healing. "No telepathy. No super eyesight. None of your delusional gifts."

"Illusional. Delusional means—"

"I know what delusion means, Ultra. My point is, I'm not weak, and I'm not less than you. So don't give me any BS about disability. You got that?"

"Oh, yes. You made it rather clear. You think you're as good as an Ultra."

"I don't think I am. I am."

"Whatever you say." Pietas picked up two more saplings and tossed them onto the pile. "You have an ability we don't. Trapped inside that cryopod, dying repeatedly on the voyage here, I wished for it."

Where was Pi going with this? "Which is...?"

"The number one thing I wish you would let me prevent." Pietas brushed off his hands. "To stay dead."

"Hey." Six tapped his chest. "I get how hard it was to say that." He stooped and picked up a few discarded twigs, then held the collection before him. "Mira. Keep this group of sticks together, and it's hard to break." He bent it. "But if you break one and put it back, it weakens the whole. No one wants to be that broken stick. I get that." He tossed them aside. "But I can never be a stick in your bundle. I'm a dead stick. Dead pine weakens a bundle of fresh. You've got to let me die when it's my time."

"If I have the power to save you, then it's not your time. I promise I will let you when it is your time. But I'll be the one who decides when that is."

Jaw tight, Six squared his shoulders. "You can't resurrect me against my will."

"Well, that's not exactly true, is it?" Pietas took a long, deep breath. "Once you're dead, there's nothing you can do to stop me."

Chapter Two

Later, after dinner at the campfire, Pietas poked a stick into white hot ashes. Rising sparks spiraled, winking out in the fading light. Wood crackled, sending up curling spindles of smoke, its smell sharp with pine. The chilly night air settled around him like an unwelcome wet blanket, sapping his body's heat.

On the other side of the fire, Six sat in morose silence, scraping the blade of his hunting knife across stuck food on a metal plate. He brought the flat disc to his mouth and licked the last bite of fish. His friend had not said two words since their earlier argument about rebirth. With firelight dancing in Six's eyes, the man's days in special ops didn't seem so far past. After Six had been reborn as a ghost, his facial hair had stopped growing. Few Ultras grew beards, but the shadowed evidence of Six's still showed. No mere human sat before him. Six was a warrior. Dangerous in his own right. Worthy of respect, and needed. No. Vital.

Why could this obstinate mortal not see how much he mattered?

What would happen if he let Six die? If Six died, Pietas would be left behind on this barren planet. Alone.

True, he wouldn't be alone alone. There were half a million Ultras on Sempervia, and once freed, they would all look to Pietas—to lead, to protect, to decide.

While he looked only to Six.

Pietas started to speak but awareness of his panther interrupted. The genetically enhanced panthera pardus immortalis roamed each day, but returned at night. The cat slept nearby, and if Pietas was having a bad night, the animal knew and would come to him. Lend its considerable heat across his back and shoulders.

The name Tiklaus meant loyal warrior, but the cat was an even more loyal friend. On restless nights, the cat would plod over and plop down beside him. Tik keep. Tik care. Tik guard. Promise safe.

The sentient creature usually communicated in tribe-speak, a mix of concepts and commands, but Tiklaus had adopted a few words. Anything the cat liked or disliked got tagged with much. Loved or hated items were much much.

Eat? Their deep bond brought Pietas the panther's childlike mindvoice. Play? Chase? Tickle? The words purred with innocence.

The cat was nowhere in sight. How is my good kitty?

At the word kitty, the cat's pleasure came to him like a mental... no, more like an emotional purr. A deep satisfaction. Like Pietas, Tiklaus had been reared for war since birth. To have no walls and to be loved for who you were and not what you could do. That was true freedom.

Where are you, Tik?

Climb.

Pietas twisted around, but in the dark, the all-black cat was as good as invisible. Are you done hunting for the day?

Fish. Much good.

Since their initial bond, their link had tightened. It had started as wet rawhide strung between two posts after a rain, and cured into a taut, vibrant link. Their connection all but hummed. The non-gendered panther had become a natural part of him, sharing its thoughts, extending Pietas's awareness. Through the cat's eyes, this world held a beauty unlike anything Pietas had ever experienced.

The sure-footed panther loved to climb. From high atop a pine, he—it—Pietas corrected himself. The cat claimed no gender. Through the eyes of the panther, the moonlight cut a path through the trees. The bewilderment of the cat and its disappointment at the loss of climbing spots came through with no holds barred.

No climb. Much much bad. Bad.

Six had said he'd spared one huge tree because the cat had refused to come down.

Tiklaus lumbered into view across the camp. In the firelight, green flashed from its eyes. The huge cat trotted up to Pietas and butted its head against his chest. Good. Much tribe.

Pietas petted the animal and hugged its neck, relishing the sleek fur. Like Ultras, the panthers emitted no body odor, and were undetectable hunters.

Smell. Tiklaus lifted its head and stared into Pietas's eyes. The cat then looked toward Six, who sat licking his plate. Smell. Much tribe.

Pietas ensured Six wasn't looking at him and bent closer to Tiklaus. "You mean Six is tribe and his name is Smell?"

Smell. Much good. The cat sneezed.

Pietas bit into his lower lip to keep from laughing aloud. Doubtful Six would see the name as the badge of honor it was. The word Promise, the name awarded Pietas by the tribe, he cherished. Odd that the cat understood the word but Six did not. A vow was a vow. Sacred. Pietas would keep his vow and honor his promise to let Six die. At the right time.

The cat's mind prodded his. Play? Chase? Tickle?

"Yes. Tickle and play later, Tiklaus. Before sleep. A good long tickle with a belly rub. Sleep by the fire."

Tickle. Good. Much much good. Sleep. Good. The panther padded out of view, circling the perimeter on watch. Their connection dimmed.

Sempervia's single moon peeked above the treetops, its light painting the night silver. A chilly breeze blew hair into Pietas's face, and he tucked it behind an ear. Facing into the wind, he let the cold bite into him, steeling himself against ever-present hunger.

Pietas pushed aside the last of his fish, stood, and skirted the fire. Standing beside Six, he held down the metal plate. "You still hungry?" He offered the portion he'd refrained from eating.

The man did not look up. "Oh yes, thank you. If it please Your Majesty, your lowly slave would love to have one more mouthful." Six took the plate.

To quell a retort, Pietas clamped his jaws shut and forced himself to be civil. "Do not call me that. I might be a king, but I sit on the throne of the defeated. I am far from majestic."

Six scoffed. "You got that right."

A spike of anger flashed through him. "Excuse me?"

"I said what I said." Six popped the fish into his mouth.

Why had Pietas ever thought them suited as friends? He took two steps away, but then halted. Why must he always jump to the worst case? If he and Six were not friends, what did that make them?

With an exasperated groan, Pietas turned back. "You are not a slave."

"As long as you deny my freedom to choose, I am. Slaves have no rights. They're not allowed to decide for themselves. Slaves have no control over their own bodies."

Stifling his irritation, Pietas clasped his hands before him. "Why are you being like this?"

Six licked the plate. "Like what?"

"You are not a slave." Pietas squatted beside him, fingertips on the ground to balance himself. At the immediate stab of shoulder pain, he switched positions and balanced on his toes. "How many times have I told you? You are my equal. You should be honored that I value your life."

"Oh, how gracious of Your Majesty."

"Do not call me that."

"Why not? You act like no one else has any free will."

"Of course they do." Pietas pushed himself to his feet, sweeping back hair from his face. "Don't be petty. I know what's best for you."

"Listen to you." Six cast a seething glance his way. "You have to be the most arrogant person in ten kingdoms." He tossed aside the empty plate, and stood. "Your cat buddy has more rights than I do."

How could this man not understand the truth staring him in the face? "Six. You are my equal in all things. I can't lose you."

His friend stood, piercing him with a gaze sharp as a sliver of ice. "I will never be your 'equal' until you recognize that I need no freedom you promise. I was born free."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means I was born with what we lowly humans call inalienable rights. It means no one gave them to us and no one can take them away. Whether you like it or not, Ultra, I don't need to be granted freedom by you or by anybody else. But I will never be free in your eyes until you accept that truth. My worth isn't based on how you perceive me—or think you need me."

Pietas whirled away. "The most stubborn, mule-headed person in ten kingdoms? That is you." He whipped around. "And that's including my sister."

"Yeah?" Six offered a humorless smile. "Humans have a saying. Takes one to know one."

Pietas fisted his hands, fighting not to throttle Six. "Must you aggravate me? You can live forever, ghost. You know I'm right. You know you want to. If you'd be honest with yourself, you'd see that."

"Me?" Six gestured to himself. "You think I'm being dishonest?"

"I also said what I said. Humans talk about wanting to live forever. I'm offering you a chance. Most humans would be all over this." Pietas picked up a stick and poked the fire.

"Yeah?" Six dusted off his hands. "Then go turn one of them into a zombie. Oh, wait. I'm the only human on the planet." He shrugged. "Guess I'm it, zombie-wise."

"Stop using that word." Pietas tossed in the stick. "Ultras are not zombies."

"But that's what I am." Six fastened his pack. "A mortal brought back to life to please someone else, given no choice whether to be resurrected." He set the satchel aside. "No thanks."

Pietas clenched his fists. "Why won't you listen to reason, you pig-headed human?"

"Back off."

"Not until you change your mind."

Six leveled a glare his way. "Don't hold your breath."

The panther trotted out of the dark, green eyes bright. Tiklaus halted and tilted its head, watching.

Pietas folded his arms. "As I recall, my ability to hold my breath is how we met." The one battle Pietas would never forget. While fighting in a vacuum-sealed chamber without air, Pietas had chosen to save his mother from immolation by surrendering to Six.

A year and a half of brutal imprisonment followed. Not Six's doing.

The agony of repeated deaths and rebirths had so etched itself into Pietas's psyche it formed an indelible stain on his soul. He'd been bound with his hands behind him the entire time he'd lain trapped in that cursed coffin-like life pod. The permanent physical pain in his shoulders, arms, wrists, and hands never let him forget.

Six could do nothing to alleviate it, but after realizing Pietas was not in cryostasis and was being forced to suffer, Six switched his allegiance from Ghost Corps to Ultra. He'd spent every waking minute beside the pod, talking and sharing stories. Keeping Pietas from utter insanity.

Six pointed at him. "I think you're forgetting something, Ultra. You ran out of air first. You surrendered. To me."

"How dare you?" Pietas stalked closer. "I surrendered because you threatened my family."

"And you think wholesale slaughter of humans didn't threaten mine?" Six thumped his chest. "I died my first death during the Incursion on San Xavier. A siege you led. That was the siege that made your people finally agree to negotiate"— He jabbed a finger toward Pietas —"and attend peace talks."

"Talks?" Pietas knocked Six's hand aside. "Attend a trap, you mean."

"Yes. A trap. Where you"—Six stuck out that finger at him again—"were captured."

Pietas swatted the hand away. "Your people ambushed over two hundred Ultras. Peaceful, unarmed workers, not trained warriors."

"That's right, Ultra. Peaceful, unarmed workers in a weapons plant. Assembling a device whose sole purpose was to destroy all life on a planet."

"No, not all life. Only life that didn't matter." Pietas sneered. "Human."

A blow to his chest hit so fast, Pietas staggered.

Out of reflex, he swung back.

Six ducked. Jabbed Pietas in the side. Hard. Fast.

Pietas feinted left. Took a fist to the jaw.

Bad. Protect! Tiklaus loped toward him.

"No!" Arms out, Pietas got between Six and the cat. Tiklaus could tear out the ghost's throat with one bite. "Don't hurt him. Six is my friend."

The animal halted. Looking from him to Six, Tiklaus sat. The tip of its tail flicked. Protect. Bad tribe. Much much bad.

Pietas repositioned himself to protect his friend. "Six, stay behind me." He went down on one knee. "Tiklaus, come." He held out his arms.

The cat trotted over to him, rubbed its face along his cheek, and let itself be petted.

"Thank you for protecting me." Pietas scratched the cat's ears. "But never protect me from Six. Six is not bad. Do you understand? Six is good. Six is friend. He can hit me. You understand friend, Tiklaus? Tribe. Friend. Family. Six is tribe. My tribe. We never hurt tribe, do we?"

The cat sneezed. Hopefully a sign of acceptance. It swiped one paw at Pietas's knee. Promise. Bad fight tribe.

"Tik, you are my tribe, and I love you. But Six is also my tribe."

Tiklaus put its mouth around Pietas's hand and tugged in a sign to follow.

"What is it?" Pietas stood.

The cat led him around and toward Six. Play. Chase. Tickle. Smell. Bad fight tribe.

"Not now, Tiklaus. Later. I promise."

Play. Chase. Tickle. Smell. Bad fight tribe.

"Not now."

Tiklaus released his hand, sat beside Six and wrapped its tail around the man's legs. It put one paw across both of Six's feet. Play. Chase. Tickle. Smell. Bad fight tribe.

In development and training, the panthers' original masters had tried to force the cats to fight one another, but no matter how harshly they'd been punished, they'd refused to kill their own kind. Tribe overruled every directive.

"Pi, what is he saying? I know. I know," Six corrected himself. "Tik isn't a he or a she. What's it saying?"

"Keeps repeating, 'Play. Chase. Tickle. Bad fight tribe.'" Admitting Tiklaus called Six 'Smell' would gain him no favor.

"I get it." Six bent over and petted the cat. "Tik is saying 'break it up. Be friends. Tribe doesn't fight tribe'."

The realization hit Pietas harder than a physical blow.

Six scratched the cat's ears. "Tik's right." He looked up with a sheepish grin. "I'm sorry."

Tiklaus licked Six's face.

"Yuck. Cat germs." Six wiped his jaw, grinning.

Good. Tribe good.

"Tik shared the word good."

"Hopefully, not referring to my taste." Six hugged the cat's neck.

Pietas went over to them, scratched the panther's ears. "I'm sorry."

"Are you apologizing to me or the panther?"

Could he not win one single argument with this man? "You."

"You're only sorry I haven't given in, but apology accepted." Six stood and offered his hand.

Pietas took it.

The mortal clasped his forearm. "Warrior to warrior, Pi."

"Aye, my friend." He could not say more without his voice breaking. How much longer would he have with this man at his side? This brother who reached him in ways no one else ever had? How would he ever survive on this world without Six? He gave himself a moment, then squeezed his friend's arm. "More than brothers. I should not have hit you."

"Actually, Pi, you missed me completely."

He jerked Six's arm, yanking him closer. "Rub it in, why don't you?"

Deadpan, Six stood stock still, but then burst into a smile. "I just did." He released Pietas's arm and nudged him with a shoulder. "Doesn't mean this is over, Ultra."

"I never thought it was. Ghost, I am sorry."

"I know."

He jammed fists against his hips. "Yet you punched me anyway."

"You think you didn't have that coming?"

"I—" Rubbing the place on his chest where Six had hit him, Pietas stepped back. "No. I did. I only wish you wouldn't gloat."

"I get in two licks on the guy no human has ever hit, and he wants to whine about it."

"I never whine. Take that back."

"Take it back?" Six quirked one eyebrow. "Didn't anyone teach you growing up? No backsies."

Backsies? What did that mean? This was like facing his twin sister. Anywhere he planted a foot was wrong. Had he ever gotten the last word with Dessy?

"You know, Pi, you need to learn how to let others be right."

"Do I?" If Pietas had learned anything about Six, it was that the man had uncommon wisdom. "Perhaps. But I never whine. All such foolishness was knocked out of me by age three."

"Fair enough." With a smile, his friend set about cleaning the plates. "I guess this means we can't fight in front of the kid."

"Kid? You mean the cat? Agreed." How like Six to make light of mortal danger. Pietas rubbed the tender spot on his chest. "That was a lucky hit."

"The mighty Pietas, War Leader of the Ultras, Chancellor of the High Council, the Immortal King. Caught off guard by a dead human. What are the odds it would happen here, and on Enderium Six?" Six tossed up one of the plates and caught it. "Where you surrendered."

"Stop saying that."

"What? 'Where you surrendered?' You're right. Surrendered is the wrong word." Six stuck the plates in his pack. "It should be where you were defeated."

Chapter Three

Hours later, still fuming over his argument with Six, Pietas slumped beneath a tree and tossed himself back. The fading campfire did nothing to blot out starlight. Out here on the edge of the galaxy, the sky revealed wisps of other galaxies. Six could not make out their light, but if he'd submit to being resurrected with Pietas's own blood, perhaps that would change.

How had life morphed from an Ultra's ingrained, life-long hatred of humans to possessing such a passionate desire to keep one alive?

Truth was, with his people, Pietas was a king. But with Six, he was a person. Himself. His own self in a way he'd never been able to be in his entire life. How could he bear for that to end?

The air stilled. As if time had stopped, every detail around him came into perfect focus. Motes caught the light in the faint haze of the campfire, and every line showed on the face of his shield brother—no, his dearest, most beloved friend—whom he was so terrified to lose.

Pietas... Joss's gentle mindvoice came to him, and the reason for the stillness made itself known. She'd reached out with a telepathic seeking—a kueshda—testing how close she was. Where are you?

"Tree Camp," he responded aloud, startling Six. "Sorry. It's Joss." To hear her, she had to be close. We're camping near the river. What's wrong? I sense danger. And... He stiffened. You're hurt. He leaped to his feet. What happened?

"Is she all right?" Six rushed over. The ghost couldn't hear Joss's thoughts, but he read Pietas like a literal open book.

"She says she's fine, but I want to see that with my own eyes."

"Yeah, because you don't take anyone's word about how they feel."

Pietas drew back. "Not the time for this, ghost. Joss is injured."

Before Six could answer, Joss mindspoke again.

You're with Six. Good. A sense of her relief came to him. You both need to hear this. Be there in a few. I want to share in person.

"Pi, what's going on?" Six brushed pine needles off his clothes. "I swear, you people and your telepathy. A guy feels left out, you know?"

"All she said was she wanted to share in person, but her emotions hinted at trouble brewing, and I sense she's masking pain. I don't know why or from what. Help me build up the fire, will you?"

He set about adding wood while Six poked embers back into flame.

With most people, Pietas had a vague sense of someone nearby. With Joss, he had not one shadow of doubt about who or where.

"She's close, and she's not alone." Pietas faced the direction he sensed from her.

From across the clearing, Joss waved.

Armand and Philippe flanked her. The identical eight-feet-tall twins each lifted a hand. Joss nearly reached Pietas's own seven feet, yet despite her well-earned status as warrior, next to the twins' bulk, she looked frail.

But then again, next to the twins, everyone looked frail. At least three-fourths of their people had been created in pairs, but if someone said "the twins" it rarely meant anyone other than Armand and Philippe, or himself and his sister.

Above Pietas on a branch, Tiklaus greeted her with the affectionate tribal name the cats had bestowed. Whisper. The cat leaped and took off running in her direction.

Halfway there, Tiklaus met Shiida, the panther that had bonded with the twins. The cats bounded around one another, rubbing noses against flanks.

Pietas strode toward her, skirting the panthers. Like everyone else on the planet, Joss possessed only the uniform she'd worn in transit. All were hopelessly soiled and they had nothing to replace them. Hers was ruined and showed evidence of either a fall or a fight. Rips marred both sleeves and legs.

Lifting a lock of her blond hair to move it away from her face, he paused to run a thumb over a streak of dirt. "You were injured. Have you healed?"

"Took a bad tumble, but I'm fine now." She brushed at a smear on one sleeve. "Sorry. I must look a mess."

"No apologies. I've seen you in battle, covered in grime and enemy blood. But the thought of anyone or anything daring to injure you—" He broke off. His anger had unconsciously freed his ability to ice the air.

Joss shivered.

"Now it is I who is sorry." Nodding to each of twins, Pietas wrapped one arm around Joss and drew her closer. "I'm glad you're all right now." He pressed his brow against hers. When he brushed the back of two fingers across her cheek in a hand-kiss, she leaned into him. "What was so important you risked your life by traveling after dark?"

"I knew you'd need to know what we found as soon as possible, and there was no one else to send."

"Let me take you over to the campfire. On the way, you can tell me how you were injured, and report on anything else after."

Joss walked beside him, with the twins following.

Without words, she relayed images of herself running in darkness, stumbling, hitting the ground, and skidding across rubble and roots.

Pietas winced at the images, her pain his for a moment. "Joss, as bad as that was, I can tell you're shielding, which means it's worse than you're letting on." He halted. "Look at me." When she did, he took her right hand and kissed the palm. I know you're all right now and I won't hover. But I don't need you to protect me from your pain. Please don't hide it.

She looked elsewhere. It's not your fault that I fell.

He touched her cheek, bringing her gaze back to him. Perhaps not. But it was my hubris that exiled us on this godsforsaken planet.

Traitors exiled us. Not you.

We can discuss that later. Let's get you over to the fire. Your skin is like ice. I'm sorry.

In camp, Six greeted her, offering his own blanket, which he draped around her shoulders. He led her to a stone-ringed pit, where two stumps had been placed.

Joss seated herself. Clutching the blanket, she held out her other hand to the flames.

Pietas sat on a stump beside her.

Six and the twins dragged over a few others and joined them in a semi-circle.

Tiklaus nudged Joss's hand, and she stroked the cat's sleek head. "We've emptied the first delivery unit. All the pods are out."

With over seventy massive delivery units filled with over half a million pods, the job was endless. Abandoned without powered transport to move the units, there was no choice other than to drag each pod out by hand. A single unit weighed as much as four fully-grown men. The felled trees would serve as rollers for the new road they were building, making it easier to transport the pods away from the units.

Otherwise, as their people emerged from cryostasis, they'd be trapped within their pods, pinned by layer upon layer of pods above them. Having experienced the literal hell of that himself, Pietas would do anything to spare them.

"One down. Good." Pietas braced his hands on his knees. "But something's wrong."

"We found an oversized metal locker in the bottom level of the second unit. Unlike anything we'd seen before. Chained shut."

Pietas drummed his fingers against one knee. "Explain. Locker?"

"More like a shipping container. Heavy-duty, small." Joss glanced at Six, then away. "We thought it might contain tools or food, so we opened it. Instead, it..." She glanced at Six again. "It was full of...dead people."

Six swore in Spanish. "You said dead people. Not dead Ultras."

Ears forward, Tiklaus went straight to Six and set its chin on the ghost's lap. When Six petted the cat, Tiklaus leaned into the strokes.

Pietas twisted toward Joss. "Someone put a locker full of dead humans on the ship? Joss, what are you not telling me?"

"Their uniforms— The whole container—" Joss focused on her clenched hands. "Pietas, Six— I'm sorry. They were all Ghost Corps."

The night went silent. All attention riveted on Six.

"Together?" Six rubbed both hands along his thighs. "Not caskets. Like they were—trash."

Pietas ached for Six. Each time Six's mother held her newborn, his untapped psychic ability forced her to see spirits. She'd put him on the floor "like the trash he was" and abandoned him.

Joss put her head down. "Yes."

Six shoved himself to his feet and stalked into the dark.