The Privilege of Peace

by Tanya Huff

  Of course, he’d assumed Torin would kill him, and being put into the position of executioner still pissed her off.

  “Maybe not a defense,” she said. “But a perspective.”

  * * *

  • • •

  “I’m not saying it doesn’t make sense to split us up,” Craig told her as they walked to the docking arm with barely enough room for independent movement between them. “I’m saying I don’t like it. We’re a team.”

  “Yes, we are.”

  “Bugger we can do about it, then?”

  Torin shrugged the shoulder not holding her go bag. “We have our orders.”

  “You take stupid risks when I’m not around.”

  She took more risks, she acknowledged. She didn’t take stupid risks. “I’ll be careful if you’ll be careful.”

  “I’m not going toe to toe with an angry Silsviss who’s certain he has the moral high ground.”

  “You’re facing the molecular hive mind responsible for centuries of war, and keeping an eye on General Morris so he doesn’t start another one.”

  “Suddenly the Silsviss don’t look so bad.”

  No, they didn’t. “I’d rather face them with you beside me.”

  Craig glanced over at her and grinned. “Because then you’d know what I was doing.”

  “And thus we see the way Wardens replace their concerns with banter,” Binti interjected. “Their decision that the more usual public displays of affection show a lack of professionalism keeps them from groping for comfort and face sucking for our amusement.”

  Torin raised her right hand above her shoulder and flipped Binti off.

  “Her physical needs sublimated, the senior Warden becomes cranky.”

  “The senior Warden’s going to be shut up in Susumi with you for five and a half days,” Torin told her flatly.

  “Shutting up. Continue sublimating with my blessing.”

  “Is this why you’re not into coupling?” Alamber wondered. “Having to sublimate your needs?”

  “Please . . .” Torin could hear the eye roll in Binti’s voice. “. . . my needs are limated regularly. I’ve just never seen the point in a long-term relationship. I like sex, but having someone all up in my face all the time?” Torin could hear the disinterest in Binti’s voice. “Not for me.”

  “And Taylor?”

  “Taylor’s a friend I have fun with,” Binti explained. “And sex with. But they’re looking for happily ever after and, when they start making an effort to find it, we’ll be done.”

  Alamber laughed. “You’d make a great di’Taykan.”

  “Fuk you. I make a great Human.”

  They’d turned into the docking arm and were nearly at the hatch to the first berth when Werst and Ressk arrived, feet slapping against the deck, running in step. Binti made kissy faces at them. Werst flipped her off, and Ressk announced, “Captain Carveg’s still in command of the Berganitan, Gunny.”

  Captain Carveg had been in command of the Berganitan on their first trip to Big Yellow.

  Craig frowned. “Should we be worried she hasn’t been promoted?”

  Ressk snorted, nostril ridges quivering. “She refused a promotion in order to stay. Said she’ll finish her forty on the Berganitan or not at all.”

  “What happened to ours is not to reason why and doing what you’re told?” Craig asked.

  “Naval captain is equal to a full colonel,” Torin told him. “At that level she can reason why all she wants. Top brass won’t like it, but she can’t have much time left, so they’ll let it go.” It didn’t hurt that the Krai were strongly matriarchal; high-ranking females pulled a lot of loyalty from Krai in their crews.

  Dimples flashed under Craig’s beard scruff. “You liked her.”

  “And I respected her.” Unless Captain Carveg had changed a great deal, she’d pay no more attention to General Morris than to any other Marine hitching a ride. Torin felt a lot better about sending half her team off without her.

  “We late?” Elisk pushed past Alamber, his team filling the docking arm behind him, the two teams devolving into a jumble of Younger Races.

  “Not until the engines start,” Torin told him, then, as Craig punched in the code to open the hatch, raised her voice to fill the space available. “Listen up, people. Those leaving on the Promise, into the airlock. Everyone else, get out of their way.”

  “Even you, Gunny?”

  “If I get in the way, Zhou, I do it on purpose.”

  The jumble resolved itself into two distinct groups.

  “You sure Tech should be with us?” Craig asked quietly as Yahsamus stepped over the lip of the hatch.

  “You’ve got Elisk,” Torin reminded him, fully aware the technical sergeant could hear them. “You need an NCO.”

  “And you defo don’t need another.” He held up a finger before she could respond, face smoothing out into the not-entirely-present expression most people wore when listening to an implant. “Bergie’s ready for us.”

  Torin hid a wince. If Craig referred to the Berganitan as the Bergie where Captain Carveg could hear him, even odds he’d be out an airlock. “We’ll join you at Big Yellow once we’ve dealt with Cyr Tyroliz. C&C will stay behind for wrap up.”

  They didn’t indulge in frequent PDAs, their relationship walked a fine line professionally as it was, but when Craig reached for her, Torin went to him. It wasn’t a kiss for the ages, she was too conscious of their audience, but it would hold her for now. From the light in Craig’s eyes when he pulled away, he agreed.

  “Don’t bring home another skull.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  “You always do.”

  Werst paused on her left before he followed Craig into the Promise. “Keep him safe.”

  “You, too.”

  “I’m quite capable of keeping myself safe,” Ressk muttered.

  Binti patted his head and ducked the return swing. “See if I give you sympathy again.”

  “Watch me give you . . .”

  “Warden Kerr!” Small teal feathers wafting in his wake, Dr. Deyell ran toward them down the docking arm, a bulky package cradled in his arms. “This one is happy he didn’t miss you! This one is almost positive he’s adapted Qurn’s tech,” he added when Torin walked forward to meet him. “It hasn’t been tested yet, but this one read research that suggested the MDC on the bennies doesn’t work particularly well against the Silsviss, because of the composition of their scales. So . . .” He held out the package—which turned out to be the benny Torin had left with him, wrapped in a lab coat. “This one couldn’t carry a weapon through the corridors without having to stop and explain every two meters.”

  It no longer looked quite like a benny. The MDC and its power unit had been removed and a single new piece added in their place. Torin frowned at the weight, turned it over, and realized the laser cutter had been removed as well.

  “Point it and pull the trigger, that hasn’t changed. It fires a charge that disrupts the electrical signals to the brain and causes unconsciousness.” He preened at the side of his neck. “Should cause unconsciousness.”

  “You haven’t tested it?”

  “This one only just completed the modifications.”

  Modifications, Torin repeated silently, because Parliament refused to allow for the development of new weapons.

  “But as you’re heading to confront the Silsviss on a station . . .” His crest drooped. “You’re right. If it hasn’t been tested . . .”

  “Trial by combat,” Torin said, stepping back so he couldn’t take it from her. “You’re right about the Silsviss lack of reaction to a benny. If this doesn’t work, we’re no farther behind. Thank you, Dr. Deyell.”

  His rudimentary beak flattened in a Rakva smile. “You’re welcome. This one is curious, though, if you can’t use your usual
weapon on a station and the bennies aren’t very effective, what had you planned on using to defeat the Silsviss.”

  Torin returned his smile. “Force of personality.”

  * * *

  So Gunnery Sergeant Warden Torin Kerr was to be returning to Silsviss instead of accompanying General Morris to Big Yellow. The military had to be having fits. An amusing thought. Presit touched the outline of her slate within the bag over her shoulder and wondered why Alamber seemed to be thinking she were needing to be kept informed—not that she were not appreciative. He were being smarter than the others on the Strike Teams, perhaps that were being reason enough.

  In Presit’s informed and entirely relevant opinion, given that she had presented the stories of both Big Yellow and the prison planet, the plastic aliens were requiring a certain delicacy that were being absent from Kerr’s actions. Best for all concerned that she be going off to where punching were being the correct response.

  “Candidate durValintrisy! Have you heard?”

  Presit paused to allow the hurrying Niln to catch up. Lysentias were being the biggest gossip within the government buildings, seemingly for the sheer joy of spreading information. Given his willingness to be checking his sources before opening his mouth, she felt he should have been going into journalism rather than the civil service. “I are having heard about the situation above Silsviss, yes.”

  “No, not that.” Breathing a little heavily, tail out to maintain his balance, he fell into step beside her. “I’ve just come from lunch with my cousin, Lakshinz, at Bergerial . . .”

  Presit were seldom eating at Bergerial, although it were being very popular with government workers. The prices were being too high for how entirely unwilling to be committing to their Katrien dishes they were.

  “. . . she’s been part of the research team working on the data sheet, and she says Parliament gave it back.”

  “It?”

  “The data sheet!”

  When Lysentias were coming to a complete stop, Presit were grabbing his arm and yanking him into motion. One thing she are having learned from the military over the years are that it are being a lot harder to hit a moving target. She are having learned that information are ammunition on her own. “They are having given it back? Who to?”

  “To the plastic. It’s on the ship heading to Big Yellow.” He leaned in toward her, and lowered his voice. “But no one knows.”

  Now he were attempting discretion? Presit sighed. “I are expecting many people are knowing. The captain of the ship, the ship’s security . . .”

  “Yes, fine, but not everyone on the ship! And no one here.”

  “No one? I are knowing. You. Your cousin. Anyone who are overhearing you and your cousin in the restaurant.”

  “No one,” he began, blinked both inner eyelids, and wasn’t able to continue. Given the usual lunch crush, he could be having no idea who’d overheard. It was, after all, where he overheard a lot of what he passed on. “But shouldn’t people know?” he asked as they turned down the corridor leading to the campaign offices and the distinct scent of take-out urha lingering in the air.

  Presit nodded at three members of her opposition’s team hurrying in the other direction before answering. “I are expecting, given what are having happened in the plaza, that most people are being happy the data sheet are being gone.”

  “That’s a good point.”

  “Sometimes I are having them.” They’d reached the etched glass door that led to her tiny, double office. A few years ago, it had been made of plastic. Nonorganic plastic. And had been replaced anyway. Because people were being stupid more often than not. “Are you wanting to be coming in?”

  “No. No thanks. I’ve got meetings in C Block all afternoon.” He reached out and touched her arm, barely dimpling the fur. “You know as much about the plastic as anyone. Why do you think they’ve returned?”

  “I are honestly having no idea.” And she didn’t speculate. Not to someone who are so clearly incapable of keeping secrets. Speculation spread through Parliament faster than gossip.

  “If they try anything, do you think Gunnery Sergeant Kerr can save us?”

  Presit pushed her glasses up so she could be looking him directly in the eye. “You are kidding me, right?”

  “Right. Of course.” Lysentias laughed and stepped back. “Well, you’ve got work to do, I’m sure. I know I have.” Another step back, and a wave, and he was gone, tail tip tracing figure eights in the air.

  He’d assumed the exact opposite of her meaning. Would Gunnery Sergeant Kerr be saving them. Please. And it was being Warden Kerr now, anyway.

  That being said, he wasn’t being entirely wrong, Presit admitted as she pulled the outer office door closed behind her. At least not about how people should be knowing about the decision to return the plastic. The people knowing was, after all, being the whole point behind government transparency. She stared at the loose fur dancing in the beam of sunlight that angled in through the big, multipaned window, realized she were being irritated enough to shed, and stepped out of the sun and over to her assistant’s desk. “Treist, I are going to be needing a packet on the Susumi satellite, as soon as possible.”

  “Yes, Candidate.” Treist’s ears quivered with the need to be helpful. “Are there being anything else?”

  “Nothing I are not being able to handle myself.” Treist were being significantly more help than the rest of the family her strectasin had insisted she employ, but there were still many details she were not needing to know. With the door to the inner office closed behind her, Presit stroked her desk awake and pulled up a local contact.

  “Sector Central News, Nuh Ner division. How may I direct your call?”

  * * *

  He thought about what the data sheet could have told them. About what it symbolized even if it never told them a thing. About how he’d never had a chance to even be in the same room with it. His hand slid into his pocket and the small, ancient, pink plastic horse he’d had no intention of leaving behind, stroking his thumb over the smooth curve of its arched neck. No longer content with betraying Humanity, Parliament had betrayed the Confederation as a whole. It was long past time for revolution.

  If not for that di’Taykan Warden, he’d have still been in a position where carefully nurtured connections would have allowed him close to the data sheet. Perhaps close enough to touch. He had no doubt he’d have been able to secure a place on the dais, to have been mere meters away when it finally reacted to the Krai’s teeth. And when Parliament decided to secretly get rid of it? He’d have been there to keep the military in an observer’s role, to ensure his ship returned it to the plastic or to a secure location of his chosing.

  He’d had one of the largest and most diverse collections of pre-diaspora Human plastics. He should have been part of the research team. He should have been on the dais. He should have been given the data sheet when the government no longer required it.

  In time, the di’Taykan Warden would pay.

  “Playing with your pony?” Dr. Banard winked, and snapped the last connection on his crash harness closed. “Going to buckle up?”

  Humanity’s Freedom, the flagship of the Humans First fleet shuddered as the docking clamps released. Anthony sneered, still standing. “I don’t follow paternalistic government regulations.”

  “Good for you. However, if the shit hits the fan, as statistically it may, and you careen across this compartment and damage me, I won’t be happy.” Before he could respond, Banard added, “If I’m not happy, you won’t get your weapons built, and I’m already unhappy about leaving my things behind.”

  The remodeled CMC officers’ packet he’d had attached to Freedom had been a reasonably comfortable suite before he been forced to allow Banard the use of a room. A decommissioned cruiser, Humanity’s Freedom could have moved more attached packets, one more for Banard at the very least, but th
ere’d been no time to acquire them, Big Yellow having set their timetable. With the prototype constructed, they might have managed without Banard, but no one else had been willing to handle the Susumi components, and while he had no objection to exposing certain members of the organization to potentially deadly materials for the greater good, unwilling volunteers wouldn’t perform to the required standards. He needed weapons they could count on in the upcoming fight.

  Humans First hadn’t sprung from their sanctuary and raced for Big Yellow with the kind of speed he’d anticipated. It took time to put an armada together. It took time to load not only the prototype weapon, but the pieces of the other two—they’d been able to acquire only three Susumi cores—as well as the raw materials needed to assemble them. It took time to get word out to the ships Humans First had been providing with weapons. Not all the crews of those ships were Human, but every battle needed cannon fodder.

  “So, what had your briefs in a bunch?” Dr. Banard smacked his lips together and blinked rheumy eyes. “Don’t bother denying it. During the pacing, you were wearing the mistaken belief that your life sucks all over your face.”

  “I was . . .”

  “Ruminating?”

  “I was reflecting on how the government is returning the data sheet to the plastic on the Berganitan,” he snarled.

  Bushy gray brows rose. “How the hell did you hear that? Fingers in yet another pie? Spun another web? Paid another informant? None of those were actually questions, by the way. Why do you care what happens to the detritus of a non-Human enemy? It’s a big sheet of nonresponsive plastic. I saw the research, you know. It registered inert, and those idiots have no idea where that blow-out came from.”

  He ran his thumb down the pink plastic back.

  The data sheet should have been his.

  “I’m going to get it back.”