“You have to understand, Cormac. You’re my enemy. I don’t share information with rebels.” She unzips her combat suit enough to reach into her pocket, hand emerging with her fingers curled tightly around something. “I was focused on escaping back to base—” Her voice breaks off abruptly, and instead she just holds her hand out to me.

I reach out automatically, and she drops the object into my palm.

“I found it when you brought me to the facility out to the east.” She won’t look at me. “The one that wasn’t there.”

I ought to be furious—I ought to want to punish her somehow for deceiving me. But I’m holding proof I’m not insane, and I can’t find the anger anywhere. It’s an ident chip, a little like the kind the soldiers carry embedded in their gear. Proof, surely, that something was there at one point. One side is covered with foil circuitry, and I turn it over in my hands, taking in the bar code on the other side. I wish I had a scanner. “Is this military?”

She shakes her head. “Ours are newer. This one’s old, maybe twenty years out of date.”

“You’re telling me I somehow stumbled across a twenty-year-old facility that vanished a few hours later?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugs, watching me. “But I will say that while the older models don’t carry as much information, they’re more easily encrypted. This one would require a very specific scanner, one we don’t even carry anymore. There’s no way to scan this and figure out whose it is.”

“Why are you telling me this now?”

“Because this is what you’ve been looking for. Proof. And I’ve been hiding it from you.”

I try to read her face, but she’s watching the wall now and I can’t meet her eyes to decipher her expression. “Jubilee—”

She interrupts me with a shake of her head. “I saw something there; a flash, a vision, like the memory of the facility that used to be there. I don’t know how, if it’s gone now, but I did.”

Hardly able to believe what I’m hearing, I drop my eyes to the chip, turning it over and over in my hands like I might be able to divine a new clue from it, some explanation for what’s going on or where to look next.

“Wait—stop!” Jubilee lurches from her chair, her fingers closing around my wrist. I freeze, but her eyes are on the chip. “Turn it over.”

I do as she says, and her fingers guide me, turning my hand just so. I see a flash as the foil catches the light. She makes a small noise of shock and then leans down so she can bring her line of sight alongside mine.

For a moment I’m utterly distracted by her closeness, despite the soot and the smell of burned chemicals. Then she’s angling the chip so I can see what she saw, and all thoughts of her face next to mine vanish.

There’s a letter hidden in the circuitry, visible only when the light hits the reflective surfaces the right way. It’s a V, and we both stare at it, trying to figure out what it means.

“VeriCorp?” I whisper. But the logo for VeriCorp is both a V and a C, and they’re not a big enough corporation to have their own ident chip manufacturers.

Jubilee’s breath catches, and she reaches out to take the chip from me. Before I can protest, she’s twisting it in her fingers—turning it upside down. Abruptly, it stops being a V. There’s not a soul in the galaxy who doesn’t know that symbol. A lambda.

“LaRoux Industries.”

I want to ask her what it means and whether the military knows something we don’t about why LaRoux Industries, which has no terraforming stake here on Avon, would have constructed a secret base out in the middle of the swamps. But I can tell from her expression she’s as confused as I am.

Before I can speak, the com-patch on the sleeve of her combat suit buzzes to life. “Security to Captain Chase,” it hisses, Avon’s interference rendering the voice unidentifiable.

Jubilee looks at me for a split second and then turns away, but not before I see the alarm in her gaze. She lifts a hand to the patch, activating it from her end. “Chase here,” she replies, ducking her head a little to bring her voice closer to the receiver.

“Can you report to the security office, sir?” It’s not an order, but a request; I can see her shoulders relax a little.

“I’m a little busy,” she replies, tweaking the blinds over the window with two fingers so she can peer out at the base outside. “Is it more info on the bomber?”

“No rush, but we could use your eyes, since you were there. We’ve got the guy who abducted you from Molly’s.”

The words wash over me like fire, and I start coughing, my abused lungs refusing to cooperate. Jubilee whirls, her gaze landing on mine as though she half expects me to have vanished into military custody. She waits until I’ve got my cough under control before thumbing the com-patch again.

“Say again?” she says, her voice as cool as stone. “Some interference on my end.”

“The kidnapper from the bar,” comes the voice. “It took a lot of combing through security footage, but we’ve got some now that’ll help us identify him.”

Jubilee’s confusion is draining away into dread. “And? Who is he?”

“Well, the footage is pretty grainy, there’s a lot of static interference. We’re trying to clean it up now.”

“You stay on the bombing,” Jubilee snaps. She swallows, and when she speaks again, her voice is calmer. “Whoever the guy in Molly’s was, he’s long gone by now. We need to know more about the attack on the base, and whether Davin Quinn was acting alone.”

“Well, sir,” the voice on the com-patch replies slowly, “I’ve got most of my people on the bombing, but for base security we’ll need to know this guy’s face so we can identify him if he tries again.”

Jubilee’s gaze sweeps across the room’s other few occupants, unconscious, unresponsive. “Okay,” she replies. “I’ll come by later and see if I can help.” She lets her arm fall back down to her side, eyes returning to meet mine as the com-patch goes silent.

All I can do is stare at her, the bottom falling out of my stomach. The only sounds are the gentle beeping of the monitors and the muffled sounds of the base outside—vehicle engines, snatches of conversation, the whine of a shuttle landing in a launch bay on the other side of the base. It’s impossible to forget where I am: in the middle of enemy territory.