MASTER, MASTER, master. Slave, slave, slave. No. Jeth forced the spinning to cease as he searched for his voice, buried deep in the layers of shock. “How could you do this to me after . . . after . . .” Daxton looked up, his caramel-colored eyes bright in the artificial sunlight overhead. A frown curved his lips. “After what?” Jeth scowled. “You know what. You helped me escape this when Hammer tried to force it on me. And now you go and do it anyway?” He motioned to the thing in the back of his head, its presence a dead weight. False sympathy crossed Daxton’s face. “Well, it’s not a clear one.” “This is just as bad.” “Oh come on now, Jeth, you know that’s not true. If I’d given you a Guard implant you wouldn’t be yourself anymore, just a programmable shell, a tool in human form. I would never do that to you. I’m not in the habit of courting waste. I’ve given you a gift instead.” Jeth glowered, distrusting the sincerity in Dax’s words, even as he felt himself warming to the man, the way he’d once warmed to his favorite teachers or family doctor, an automatic trust.
