The Privilege of Peace

by Tanya Huff

  “It shouldn’t be working.”

  “Go. Your desk has probably stopped running numbers by now.” Bashami watched Myril leave the room muttering under her breath, then turned back to Alamber. “She doesn’t mean anything by it.” Bishami’s deep crimson eyes darkened and she moved close enough Alamber could feel the heat along the side of his body. Humans just weren’t warm enough.

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Liar. You stopped wearing that I don’t care what you think expression in here over a year ago. You’re smart, di’Cikeys Alamber, very smart, and innovative . . .”

  He shook his head. “Uneducated.”

  Bishami shook her head back at him. “Self-taught. And if it means that much to you, get educated. You want letters after your name, I know programs you could test out of in three or four tendays.” She spread her arms. “I’d recommend you, Hayate would rec you, Answers Before Questions would rec you. Hell, give her a few days and I’m sure Myril would rec you although you’d find the ceilings in the Institute a little low.”

  “I don’t need letters for what I do.” He spread his arms just a little wider. “I’m perfectly suited for the job.”

  “Are you? I thought you were the team’s com guy.”

  “The boss isn’t so much about strict definitions.”

  “Good for her.” Bishami’s hands closed around his wrists, circles of warmth. “She’s going to get you killed.”

  About to deny it, Alamber shrugged. “Not on purpose.”

  “So much better.”

  He silently pleaded with her to drop it. He wanted to keep working in the labs, he loved working in the labs, but if he had to defend Torin from overprotective scientists, he’d give it up.

  Bishami stared at him for a long moment, her eyes darkening. Finally, she sighed and said, “Fine. We could use another set of eyes to clear up some senak code in our long-range signals, com guy. Damned sun spots are wreaking havoc.”

  “Which sun?”

  “Exactly.”

  “I don’t know.” A glance around the lab showed he was taking up almost all the available space. “Maybe I should leave you lot to actually do your jobs.”

  “Maybe you should help out because we let you play with our big imager.”

  He grinned. “I do like a big imager.”

  Her eyes lightened. “I’ll bet.”

  “So I keep hearing how Justice won’t open up the budget.” He made himself comfortable leaning against the edge of her desk, thankful they’d gotten through that conversation intact, and waved a hand at the projection of the Humans First base. “How did you manage to pay for it?”

  “The PLE I used to work with hired a mine tech, and she got it cheap from her old company. It’s an older variation of the program they use for surveys in hostile environments. When the PLE had no use for it, I brought it to Berbar, deleted parameters specific to gas giants, adapted a few other bits, and tah dah.”

  “I’m all about adapting,” Alamber admitted.

  Bishami rested her weight against his shoulder, her hair interacting with his. “There’s two other di’Taykan in this department and you’re alone on your team. We don’t do well on our own.”

  “I do fine,” he protested, wondering why Bishami wouldn’t let it go. Did all the fussing mean she was headed for qui? He wished he could ask her, but it just wasn’t done. “And I’m never alone. Unless I choose to be,” he amended. “There’s enough di’Taykan on the teams that I can sleep communally if I want to. Or with my team if I want to. Not all my team at the same time.” He forced himself to stop talking.

  Bishami pressed her forehead to his, her hair lightly stroking his cheeks. “I wasn’t talking about sleeping. Or sex. I was talking about day-to-day existing.”

  “It’s not just existing.”

  “Okay.”

  “We’re like family.”

  “I’m glad you have that.” Leaning back, she smiled. “But working with your family sometimes screws with your perspective.”

  She sounded like she’d actually been worried about him. Which was ridiculous. “My perspective is fine.”

  “Okay.”

  “And the nature of the business means I have plenty of time to hang out in the labs.” He pulled away, suddenly afraid that the concern he’d been hearing had been her trying to tell him his access was being cut off. “Unless . . .”

  “No unless,” she said, her hair adding definitive emphasis. “You’re welcome to anything that’s not in use as part of an ongoing investigation. The more people we have looking for answers, the sooner we shut down Humans First.”

  “Then what?”

  She laughed and bounced her shoulder off his before moving away from the desk. “Then more of the same. Take it from someone who came from a family of LEOs, there’s no shortage of assholes in the universe. If we want the Confederation to be tidy, someone has to take out the trash.”

  * * *

  “It’s the plan for an Electron Beam welder.” Dr. Banard turned the schematic to give Anthony a clearer view. “We used them to build space stations before the Confederation came along with its bag of tricks.”

  Anthony disliked Dr. Banard. He was surprised at how much. The biophysicist was a verifiable two hundred and two, and although he’d blown past the average human lifespan by almost thirty years, his brain still worked fine. When he used we, he meant Humanity. He’d never been in the military, but the military had shut down his laboratory on multiple occasions and sent him to rehabilitation twice. Rehabilitation records were sealed beyond even Anthony’s ability to access, but, when asked, Dr. Banard had merely shrugged and muttered, “H’san help us, we should learn anything new about the so-called Elder Races.”

  Rumor had it that the last time he’d been shut down, he’d had a dozen new specimens on the table. Ignoring how ridiculously large that would make the table, Anthony was more impressed by the total lack of effect rehabilitation had on his interests. He’d never heard of anyone shaking it off once, let alone twice.

  Laghari had gone out and retrieved the scientist after they’d been informed their base near Paradise was no longer secure. She’d presented him to Anthony with the not entirely ringing endorsement of, “He’s bugfuk crazy but probably a genius under all that, and he’s Human and has ideas about new weapons.”

  Given his history, Anthony should have approved of Dr. Banard. He didn’t. But he was willing to tolerate him while he determined how much use he’d be to the cause. “And what do you want me to know about your EBW, Dr. Banard?”

  “You want a weapon that works in a vacuum; this works better in a vacuum.”

  “I’m aware.” He tapped the screen and read. “A very precise, clean weld with minimal heating of the material outside the primary area of the weld. We need heat. High temperatures crystallize the plastic.”

  “Laser welding . . .”

  “I might as well use a benny. The blast the scientists set off on Big Yellow reached just under five thousand degrees—based on the destruction of their instruments.” The information was available to the public, but, as he hadn’t wanted his name attached to the search, it had taken layers of subcontractors to find it.

  “And a welding laser can reach up to twenty-five thousand degrees in the keyhole.”

  “I’m aware. But not in a vacuum.”

  Dr. Banard sucked his teeth. “Fair enough.”

  “And I need broad dispersal. If we don’t damage a significant proportion of the plastic with the first shot, it will retaliate.”

  “Then stop thinking heat.”

  Anthony showed teeth, about ready to show the old man the door. “Heat is one of only two things we know of that works.”

  “Madeline told me about your plan to piss on the plastic.” He laughed, coughed, and shifted around in his seat until he could drag a piece of c
loth out of a trouser pocket. Cloth cupped in both hands, he hacked a mouthful of phlegm into it. “How about we extrapolate from our actual data,” he wheezed shoving the damp fabric back where he’d found it. “What holds the plastic together?”

  “I don’t . . .”

  “Of course you don’t know, not precisely, but we’re talking about a polyhydroxide alcoholyde. It’s hardly unique at base. What holds molecules together?”

  “Covalent bonds.”

  “The plastic are a molecular hive mind. If we break the bonds holding them together . . .”

  Anthony spread his arms mockingly. “We’ll have created a disintegrating ray.”

  “Yes, because we’re in an episode of Star Wardens.” Banard’s eye roll exposed a great deal of yellowed sclera. “There’s a symmetrical relationship between the amount of energy released during the formation of a covalent bond and the amount of energy needed to break the bond. So, to break the bond, we need to increase the disassociation energy. Which is what happened during the explosion on Big Yellow. It got very hot, bonds broke, and new substances were formed. Crystalline substances. Very breakable.”

  “And we’re back to heat.” Anthony tried to keep his opinion of Banard out of his voice. “I don’t think . . .”

  “Most people don’t. Energy is needed to break the bonds, heat is merely one form of energy, what other forms have you tried? Besides chemical.”

  “I don’t . . .”

  “You have the base molecular structure of the plastic, or you wouldn’t know you could dissolve it by pissing on it. Which won’t work in vacuum, it’ll freeze.”

  “I know, that’s . . .”

  “You set me up with a large enough system, and I can run simulations until I find the frequency that’ll shake the plastic apart. Then I’ll adapt an EBW to fire that energy. Pew. Pew. New weapon.”

  “I don’t have . . .”

  Dr. Banard waved Anthony’s protest off. “Not a problem, I brought an EBW from the shipyard. Which was a balls-up of a shipyard, let me tell you.”

  “I’m aware.” Forearms braced on Belcerio’s desk—borrowed to avoid having Banard violate his personal space—Anthony leaned forward. “How long will it take to build this new weapon?”

  “After I define these particular covalent bonds, given a halfway decent workshop, shouldn’t be long.”

  “I wonder, then. If it’s that easy, why isn’t everyone doing it?”

  “Because the Confederation’s all about creating new weapons.” Dr. Banard’s sarcasm matched Anthony’s. “Besides, how do you know they aren’t? What I’m wondering . . .” He blinked rapidly, moisture gathering at the corners of his eyes. “. . . is why you want weapons we can use against the plastic’s ships when there are no plastic ships.”

  Anthony leaned back, absently noted Belcerio’s chair was remarkably uncomfortable, and smiled. “There are no plastic ships now. I like to cover all possibilities.”

  “Good for you.”

  “I want us to do enough damage, should they return, that they’ll either run away with their polyhydroxide tails between their legs or open negotiations to prevent us from doing more damage. We’ll be heroes. Millions of Humans will turn away from the Confederation and join us. The greater our numbers, the faster we can free our people.”

  Dr. Banard nodded slowly, although Anthony wasn’t certain whether the lack of speed meant contemplation or a stiff neck. “Seems a sound philosophy. And if the plastic never returns?”

  He spread his hands. “I have a new weapon.” Banard’s genius appellation might still be undetermined, but Humans First very definitely had a use for him.

  “Per Marteau?”

  “Commander Belcerio . . .” Anthony raised a brow and held Belcerio by the hatch. “. . . excellent timing. Dr. Banard and I were just finishing. Anything you need, Doctor, just ask.”

  Banard paused after struggling out of the chair, chest heaving. “My di’Taykan?”

  “I’m sure they’re on the way. It’s not like they’re hard to get a hold of. I assume you know where your quarters are?”

  “Yes, yes.” He shuffled to the hatch, glared at the commander as he passed, and announced before moving out of sight, “I’ll send you my system requirements.”

  Standing, Anthony graciously beckoned Belcerio into his own office. Belcerio’s dark brows were drawn in and his lips pressed into a thin line. “I strongly suspect that’s not your happy face, Commander.”

  “A Strike Team showed up at Trilik. The team was captured.”

  And so much for his good mood brought on by the anticipation of a new weapon. “I’d very much like to know how we were caught off guard. I have arrangements to keep us forewarned.”

  “We didn’t get word.”

  “I see. Spiders can get the word out, but our people can’t. I, once again, am at the mercy of the inequalities of the Confederation.” He ran both hands back through his hair. “It was Strike Team Alpha, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, it was Alpha.”

  “I knew it. Gunnery Sergeant Torin Kerr?”

  “Warden Kerr . . .” Belcerio raised his hands placatingly as Anthony turned on him. “Not important.”

  “I agree,” Anthony spat. “I’d say that what’s important here is that Kerr is responsible for our only unsuccessful recovery. That the H’san met with Kerr after the team searching for . . . the H’san homeworld disappeared.” Information about hidden H’san weapons was need to know, and Belcerio didn’t need to know. “That our operation on XX73X was stopped by Kerr.”

  “We’re better off without Robert Martin.” Belcerio dropped into his desk chair, frowned, and made adjustments. “Martin was too fond of using death as motivation.”

  “I’d like you to remember that Martin was Human and that makes him infinitely more valuable than anything he killed. But he’s not the point; Kerr is.”

  “We can finish outfitting the fleet without those last tanks. Our reserves will be low, but if it becomes necessary, there’s more mining platforms out there. The spiders can’t get a Strike Team to all of them.”

  “I repeat, not the point. And, you’re right . . .”

  Belcerio looked surprised.

  “. . . we’re better off without Martin, given his proven inability to deliver.”

  “He had Kerr almost to the jump point,” Belcerio reminded him unnecessarily. “He couldn’t have anticipated Ryder’s insane decision to micro jump.”

  As contact with Dr. Banard left the second chair in need of disinfecting, Anthony leaned back against the bulkhead. “I give Ryder points for Human guts and ingenuity, but Martin should have put a bullet in Kerr’s head.”

  Belcerio’s brows drew back in. “You wanted her turned to the cause.”

  “I wanted. Past tense. Now, I want Kerr in front of a bigger gun.” Before Belcerio could respond, a solution occurred. Anthony smiled, shoved his hands into his pockets, and rocked back on his heels. “Or perhaps a smaller gun.”

  FIVE

  TORIN DID A QUICK head count as she slid into her seat for the morning briefing. Five teams on station meant twenty-nine bodies, and although the room could hold fifty, it seemed full. The job attracted a certain size of personality. While no one was being particularly loud or obnoxious, they were very there.

  The teams sat together, edges fraying out as discussions began, added more viewpoints, and never entirely finished before they became about something else entirely. Torin drank her coffee, answered messages while ignoring Craig’s suggestions of what she should tell her mother, and parsed the ambient noise into a small amount of bragging, a few complaints about the cold hands on the new hire in medical, and Alamber’s impassioned description of what he could do with the big imager in the labs. She’d only just noticed he hadn’t mentioned any of the obvious di’Taykan uses when Commander Ng arrived, took his place at the
front of the room, and cleared his throat.

  “Good news, people.” He almost smiled. “Planetary law enforcement on Seven Sta has offered us the use of their training facility. They’ve got a thousand hectares in the middle of Sasatoba province, isolated enough that the use of live rounds won’t endanger anyone with a functioning brain. No permanent range, but we can install targets and work up a few training scenarios that don’t have to take sucking vacuum into account. Warden Kerr’s been insisting you lot need training in planetary conditions for a while now, and I’ve had feelers out.” The pause was barely long enough to contain the muttered di’Taykan innuendo. “I suspect Seven Sta’s PLE is trying to justify their land grant, but I don’t actually care. Two teams will remain on station. With Delta and T’jaam out, that leaves three teams to go . . . planetside.”

  Torin almost wished he’d said go down in a room half-full of bored di’Taykan.

  “You’ll spend a tenday on the ground. Gravity’s ninety-seven percent oldEarth, oxygen mix is a little high and I’d like the di’Taykan among you to remember that before oxygen toxicity occurs rather than after.”

  “Commander?” Elisk sat up straighter. “Are there trees?”

  “Yes, there are trees. I’ve sent the specifications to your slates. Broadly, Seven Sta is a Younger Races planet. About fifty percent Human, thirty di’Taykan, twenty Krai, although, as usual, the Elder Races have a presence in both port cities. It grew out of colony status just last year, so the population remains around a million. Because the training facility has its own landing platform, you’ll take a VTA directly to the site and do little interacting with the resident population.”

  “You ashamed of us, sir?” Binti called out mournfully.

  Ng sighed. “Yes. Yes, I am.”

  The Strike Teams roared with laughter.

  * * *

  • • •

  The protesters showed up on their third day at the PLE’s training camp.