by Tanya Huff
Belcerio emptied his glass. “With urine?”
“I prefer to think of it as uric acid, but yes, with urine. Human urine. Human ingenuity.” Anthony didn’t regret having Richard Varga killed; his death had been necessary to nudge Humans First in a less rhetorical direction. He did regret having lost Varga’s way with words. Varga would have had Laghari and the woman who was probably Kalowski wringing the urine from their clothing without complaint, and had them willingly work day and night to create a weapon that would help unite humanity.
“It’s a piss-poor idea, if you ask me.”
He smiled, although not at Belcerio’s weak attempt at humor. “I didn’t ask you.”
* * *
• • •
Back in his workshop, he carefully returned the plastic pony to its pedestal and pulled out the pistol he’d dropped into his other pocket.
Weapons development had been stagnant under the so-called Elder Races. The last thing they wanted was for Humanity to use its creative genius against them.
Somewhere, there was a cache of H’san weapons that should have been his.
The pistol had warmed in his grip.
He slipped his finger past the trigger guard. There were days . . .
FOUR
“SHOULD’VE TAKEN ME with you, Gunny. I know how to take a bite of the plastic and make sure it stays down.” Werst grabbed a bowl of hujin chips with a foot and set it on his lap. “The kid going to get nailed for his part in it?”
“Presit took full responsibility,” Torin told him, clearing away the last of the meal debris. Team meals had become tradition after Strike Team Alpha was apart for any length of time. There were one hundred and forty-seven food delivery services on the station and they’d ordered from about half of them. “Girstin is a menial intern at Sector Central News. No one seems to think he could have refused her.”
“You do,” Ressk pointed out.
“I was just following orders has been a shit excuse for centuries.”
By the time they docked at Berbar, the footage from Nuh Ner dominated the commonality hours, the time set aside to ensure everyone in the Confederation received access to the same information. The network of Susumi buoys were a large factor in the position of new colonies, and those destroyed during the war had been replaced first during the rebuilding, the links that maintained Confederation unity reestablished.
“Kind of a terrifyingly blank expression there, Boss.”
She glanced over at Alamber as he threw himself down into a chair in a way only a di’Taykan could make look graceful.
“Not your usual remembering the war face,” he added, pale blue eyes darkening as more light receptors opened.
“It’s her waiting for orders face,” Werst said around a mouthful of chips. “Corps teaches it when you get your third chevron. Keeps officers from knowing what the noncoms are really thinking.”
“That true?” Craig asked quietly, pitching his voice under Ressk and Werst informing Alamber of the terrifying thought processes of noncommissioned officers.
Torin grinned, temporarily putting aside the realization of how much unity could sound like uniformity. “True enough.”
“It’s time!” Alamber flicked on the screen.
The news had promised a new analysis.
“Why do they have to show the whole presentation from the beginning every serley time?” Ressk thumbed the sound down. “Was it this boring live?”
“Worse,” Craig told him. “I’d have given a kidney to have sped things up.”
“Whose?” Werst demanded.
The analysis leaned toward ancient tech having broken down, with emphasis on the length of time the data sheet had been forgotten underground.
“What a load.” Ressk snorted as on the screen two Dornagain techs removed the blank data sheet from the dais. “Craig’s right. I wasn’t even there, and the energy buildup was obvious.”
“Doesn’t mean it didn’t break down,” Alamber told him. “Symptom, not cause.”
The techs looked nervous, cameras picking up shed fur, and there were more PLE around than there had been during the presentation—although Torin had no idea what the hell they were supposed to do if the plastic went off again. From their expressions, neither did they. “It didn’t break down. It sent a message.”
Ressk shook his head. “The security satellites snagged enough of the beam for them to study the composition. No one who examined the data is willing to say it had content.”
“The plastic was here for generations and Confederation scientists had no idea.” Craig tossed a new bag of hujin chips at Werst. “Not really holding my donger in excitement over their current observations.”
“The beam was the message.”
Werst paused, a chip halfway to his mouth. “That a Gunny-gut-feeling or a had-the-plastic-in-your-head feeling?”
Torin thought about it for a moment. “Bit of both.”
“Got any feelings about what it said?” Ressk wrestled the chip bag away from his vertras.
Craig snickered. “It was just in someone’s mouth.”
“Not always a bad thing,” Alamber agreed, grinning.
“Could’ve been so stoked it sent a party invitation.”
“Well . . .” Alamber’s hair traced suggestive curves in the air. “If it can take any shape . . .”
Binti stepped through the open hatch and ducked a chip diverted from the steady stream Werst was pelting Alamber with. “That’s what I call a pathetic food fight. Don’t get that shit in your eyes, Alamber. You’ll want to dip your face in yogurt.”
Torin raised a hand, and the bombardment ceased. “You’re looking good.” The deep yellow wrap patterned in green-and-brown geometrics hugged Binti’s torso and flowed around her legs. The intricate gold designs on her arms made the color of her skin look even richer and picked up the intermittent flicker of gold light woven into the fabric.
Binti grinned. “I always look good.”
“Those the Herish stencils we got on Darmac?” Alamber asked, carefully brushing chips off his lap.
“They are.”
“And who did you break them out for?”
“None of your damned business.” She held up a multistrand beaded necklace that looked like the wrap remade as jewelry. “Gunny? Little help?”
Werst scowled at the small, flat keeper cleaning chips off the floor. “She blows off a team dinner for a date, I think we should know who it’s with,” he muttered.
“Taylor in legal,” Ressk said.
“Taylor’s hot.” Alamber nudged the small cleaner buzzing around his feet toward a missed chip.
“Going somewhere fancy?” Craig asked as Torin settled the beads against the elegant lines of Binti’s collarbone.
“There’s a retro jazz combo in Malan’s,” Ressk answered before Binti could. “Very upper branch. Very hard to get tickets.”
Alamber’s hair rose. “Taylor likes you.”
“Are you twelve?” Moving only her head, she turned to Ressk. “And why are you paying so much attention to my life?”
“I’m easily bored.”
Werst saluted with a chip. “He is.”
“There.” Torin let her fingers linger for a moment against warm skin, then stepped back. “Surprised you couldn’t get it yourself.”
“I could.” Binti turned, skirt swirling, gold flashing. “But I wanted to show off how fine I looked.”
Torin nodded. “Fair enough. You look amazing. Taylor will be knocked on their ass.”
“That’s the plan. Try to keep all hell from breaking out for the next six to eight hours, would you?”
“I’ll do what I can. Binti . . .”
Binti paused at the hatch.
“Taylor’s all right for a lawyer.”
She rolled her eyes, but looked p
leased. “I’ll tell them you said so.”
Alamber sighed deeply as her footsteps faded down the corridor. “They grow up so fast.”
“When do you plan on trying it?”
“You want to see growing . . .”
Craig looped an arm around Torin’s waist and pulled her close. “You should get an outfit like that.”
“You hate jazz.”
“I wasn’t thinking of you going out in it.” He waggled his eyebrows, and she threaded her fingers into his hair, pulling lightly.
“Yeah, that’s adorable.” Werst stretched, toes cracking. “Night’s young. Musselman’s?”
Torin shook her head. “Not me, not tonight. U’yun’s due back from their first run, and I want to be there.”
The Krai exchanged a look.
“Heard it went okay.” Ressk’s tone made it almost a question.
“It did. But I want eyes on.”
* * *
• • •
“Commander.” Torin fell into step beside Commander Ng as they entered the docking arm and shortened her stride as she would have for a Krai. The commander wasn’t much taller.
“Warden. On your way to check on U’yun?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Not your job.”
“Not technically, no.” Although the angle was off, Torin could see purple shadows under his eyes. He’d lost weight, too. “You look tired, sir.”
“Thank Humans First for that. This latest round of attacks on the mining platforms has led to complaints from the Mictok Central Council and that’s led to me explaining to Justice that we can’t anticipate their next target and we don’t have the personnel to guard every platform in the sector. Attempting to explain to Justice,” he clarified wearily after a moment. “They seem to think Susumi capabilities mean we can be everywhere at once.”
“If they . . .”
“They won’t approve more teams. There’s been discussion in Parliament about Justice building a private military.”
“By the send the kids to their room coalition.” Not a question, and she hadn’t bothered to dull the edge in her voice.
Ng made a nonverbal agreement—to the words, to the tone, to both—and added, “The minister wants me to address the committee. Again.”
In his copious amounts of free time, no doubt. “You need a second.”
His exhale was just a bit too vigorous to be called a sigh. “Astute observation, Warden, but no one wants the job. We need a candidate with a military background in order for them to understand exactly what it is the Strike Teams do, but all our military applicants want to be on the Strike Teams, and none of your crazy adrenaline junkies are willing to ride a desk.”
Torin had never considered herself an adrenaline junkie, but now was not the time to argue semantics. “I know of a possible candidate.”
He stopped, turned, and stared up at her. “Do tell.”
“Captain di’Rearl Stedrin. He was General Morris’ aide back in the day, but he’s out now.”
“How far from qui?”
“I have no idea, sir.” Taykan qui retreated to their family group, not to emerge until their breeding phase ended, and they did not talk about their biology. DI Beyhn had collapsed, his body fighting to throw off illegal suppressants before any Taykan in his 10-12 platoon had been willing to break silence.
“But he’d be a good fit?”
“Yes, sir. Compared to keeping General Morris on track . . .” Which was, Torin acknowledged silently, not entirely fair to the general. Some of his assholery could be blamed on rank not personality. “. . . working for you should be a piece of clorr.”
The commander shuddered. “Dornagain food is disgusting.”
He wasn’t wrong. Even the Krai avoided it. “Bad example.”
“Is Stedrin interested?”
“I can make inquiries.”
“Do that.” He rubbed his palm over his face, fought off most of a yawn, and rolled his shoulders back. “If you’re doing the welcome home, glad you survived your first time out meet and greet, there’s no reason for me to be there. I’ve reviewed their reports, had no questions they couldn’t answer on their way in from the jump buoy, and I’ll see them tomorrow at the all teams debriefing. I’m heading back to . . .”
“Your quarters to get some sleep.” It wasn’t an order, she didn’t give orders to superiors, but it was a statement of fact so definitive there was no room for argument.
Commander Ng stared up at her, dark brows drawn in. Torin maintained a neutral expression and held his gaze. “I assume Captain Stedrin will have more tact?” he asked after a long moment.
“I expect so, sir. He was an officer.”
* * *
• • •
Strike Team U’yun had pulled a good run for their first time out; a Humans First cache of weapons and equipment on one of the larger asteroids in the Idyll Belt, in the same system as Paradise, only 588 million kilometers away. It made sense that they’d attempt to make use of what Paradise symbolized, but Torin had been born there and the thought of them so close to family made her want to break out the heavy ordnance. The mission could’ve gone to crap had Humans First been dug in.
Ranjit leaned against the wall across from the hatch to the docking nipple. Torin dropped into parade rest beside her; partially a habit when standing next to officers, partially because it was a position she could hold indefinitely. “Cap.”
“Gunny.”
“I saw Commander Ng on the way down. Sent him to his quarters to get some sleep. He looked like shit.”
“If Justice wants him to do his job, they need to get off his back.”
“I’m on it.”
Ranjit grinned. “Of course you are.”
“I know an ex-staff officer who’d be a good fit if he wants the job.”
“Let’s hope he accepts before they offer it to one of us as a temporary position and we’re stuck with it.”
“Easier to hire the commander a second than to replace a Strike Team Lead. The commander’s second won’t be wielding a weapon.”
Dark brows rose. “The commander’s second will be wielding us.”
“Funny how they miss that.”
The station sysop informed them that airlock pressure was equalizing, information they could both read off the data pad by the hatch.
“So,” Ranjit said after a moment. “Right next door to Paradise. And they sent U’yun.” Also from Paradise, Ranjit came from Maharashtra on the other side of the planet, a mere three thousand kilometers from Zhou’s home city of Avatari. The first colony world had always had a high enlistment rate.
“Their turn,” Torin reminded her.
“I know.”
“And Zhou would’ve been motivated.”
“Avatari. Stupid made-up name for a city. No history behind it.”
A significant proportion of Maharashtra’s original colonists had been Sikh, their beliefs having survived oldEarth’s new relationship with the universe better than most, adapting as humanity adapted. Several of Torin’s elderly aunties had sniffed haughtily and insisted Buddhism embraced universal expansion on every level. Torin, who believed in pragmatic competence and bringing her people home alive, had been polite.
As the data pad lit up, the station informed them that the lock had equalized.
Ranjit straightened out of her slouch. “If this meeting-the-new-guys is going to be an official thing, we should draw up a schedule.”
“Sure, Cap. If we ever get another new team, we can do that.” Torin turned to face the hatch.
“You think they’ll hold the line? There’s not a lot of us.”
“There’s not a lot of them. Disgruntled citizens trained in violence,” she added in response to the silent question. “We have a unique perspective.”
“
Disgruntled?”
“Seemed less judgy than bugfuk crazy.”
“True.”
Before leaving, U’yun had scanned the system for any indication Humans First had a further presence and had left half a dozen drones behind, programmed with known Humans First variables to ping Justice should the terrorists return, but everyone knew it was a symbolic gesture at best. Space hadn’t gotten any smaller over the years, and if it was that easy, they’d have had Marteau in custody months ago.
Tylen was first out, a good three strides ahead of the other six. Her hair lifted and she turned, stepping backward over the lip of the hatch. “Hey, there’s a welcoming committee. We either did something wrong or something right.” She turned again, her hair a bright pink aureole around her head. “You here to pat us on the back, Gunny?”
“I pat you on the back for this, what do I do if you save the universe?”
“You bought me a beer,” Ranjit pointed out.
“I don’t remember that.”
“It’s possible I bought myself a beer and put it on your tab. We’re here,” she continued as the rest of the team stepped into the dockway, “because we were surprised you survived.” When Marie flipped her off, Ranjit laughed. “Yeah, you’re tough.”
They looked rested, calm. Any euphoria at a first mission successfully accomplished had worn off during the three days in Susumi.
“Didn’t fire a single round,” Lorkin sighed, catching up with Tylen, bare feet slapping against the deck.
“Shorter reports,” Torin reminded him.
“Duller reports. I was in more danger last time I went home. Jernine’s expanding.” He shuddered dramatically. “I tried to tell my jernil I’d had my DNA scrambled by hard radiation, and she told me she’d served eight years on the CS Talasin and I was full of shit. Then she introduced me to seventeen potentials.”
“Seventeen? You’re not that much of a catch,” Marie called from the rear of the group.
“That’s what they thought,” Nicholin said dryly.
“My point is . . .” Lorkin raised his voice enough to be heard over the laughter. “. . . we didn’t get to shoot at the bad guys.”