"I'm sick of proud Vor warriors," Sonia says flatly, ever stubborn. "I'm up to my ears in them. I've been on a steady social diet of proud Vor warriors for the better part of my life, and not a single one of them has ever made me feel less lonely. What use could I possibly have for two more?"

A note of frustration slips into her voice, her hands tight around Byerly's, willing him to look at her. "You haven't failed me yet, Byerly. You might not have succeeded in getting me out on your own, but you haven't failed me. Because you were with me. Even when you couldn't tell me the truth, even when you were locked in that cell, you were with me. If you had died there, and left me all alone -- then you would have failed me."

If he had died, she'd never have been able to look at it that way, she knows, but he hadn't. She swallows, a well of unbidden emotion rising in her chest, too drunk to keep it in check. "I know that making me happy doesn't make for much of a cause. I know it's selfish. If I thought it'd give you a sense of purpose, if it would satisfy your desire for service, I'd swear you into my service right here and now, Byerly, I would. But you're alive. And if you think there's really nothing left for you to do here, then you need to spend a day sober and take a good look around this camp. It isn't the same one you left."