For the sake of secrecy, her cover story is that of a soldier or an intelligence agent — whichever suits her needs more, at the time. But she's pretty certain that her handler, Darby, an ex soldier himself, laughs himself hoarse at the idea of Fortescue being a soldier. She pets Jazz behind his good ear more; the cat's now draped across her lap, nearly asleep.

"I'm not fond of the orders part," she notes, smiling. Or the authority part. Given the choice, she'd tell her superiors — some of them the most powerful people in her world — to shove it. "But it's necessary. I'd rather have my race enslaved or eaten. Good for you on getting out, though. That's not always easy."