by Tanya Huff
Banard stared at him for a long moment. “You never had it,” he said at last.
TEN
THE BAYLET WAS LARGER than the Promise with more original features and minimal retrofitting when she transferred from the Department of Defense to Justice. Instead of a single control panel, she had separate communication and weapon boards. The weapons were no longer enough to take to war, but they were weapons, not a cutting laser. Her VTA was standard to a Navy cruiser not a repurposed Taykan shuttle liberated from mercenaries, and her autodoc was big enough to hold a Dornagain.
But the Baylet had never appeared suddenly above a prison to blast the message that stopped the war out into known space, nor—after being holed by pirates—had it maintained physical integrity long enough to get Torin to safety. It wasn’t Craig’s pride and joy. It wasn’t where she’d started learning how not to be a Marine, how to be CSO—if more prone to violence than the usual variety. A decommissioned cruiser, retrofitted for Warden work, the Baylet was fast, smart, and spacious, carrying only a quarter of the crew she’d been designed for. Torin tried not to judge her for what she wasn’t.
Yahsamus had found time to vent her quarters, and Torin made a mental note to thank her later. There was nothing like the residue of pheromones in a two-by-three-meter room to make a trip interesting.
“Five and a half days in Susumi,” Binti pointed out when the three members of Alpha Team gathered in the galley. “At least we’d have had a way to pass the time.”
Tylen had vented her quarters as well, but left a note for Binti explaining it had been the technical sergeant’s idea.
“We’ll be going over the station schematics,” Torin reminded her, wondering why all Strike Team ships weren’t using the same coffee maker. Hot water. Coffee. How complicated did it have to be?
Binti waved off the station schematics, caramelized sugar fanning out from the pastry in her hand. “That’ll take a couple of hours.”
“Maintaining conditioning after sugar consumption.” This particular coffee maker had half a dozen extra buttons.
“It’s one purtue, Gunny.” She licked sugar off her thumb. “An extra two klicks will run it off.”
“Familiarizing ourselves with Dr. Deyell’s modifications.” She sniffed the liquid in her mug.
“There’s one modified benny and six of us.”
“And learning to work with Bilodeau, Nicholin, and Lorkin,” Torin continued. “None of whom have ever seen a Silsviss in the flesh.”
“You’re saying they’re not going to be much help if they’re shitting themselves?” Ressk asked.
“Who’s going to be shitting themselves?” Lorkin came into the galley, thumb-printed the sah safe open, grabbed a pouch, and tossed one to Ressk. “Well? Who?”
Torin raised a brow at Ressk, and Binti snickered.
* * *
Craig had decided to stay on the Promise although packets had been attached to the Berganitan for them—individual quarters around a common room with common facilities, all three of the Younger Races eliminating waste if not exactly the same way, then close enough for government work.
“Don’t trust the general?” Werst asked, perched on the back of one of the control room chairs.
“I don’t like the general.” Craig spun the pilot’s chair around to face Werst. “The Promise is mine, and I’m not leaving her empty. I didn’t back when she fit into one of the Berganitan’s big shuttle bays, I’m not going to now.”
“Airlock doesn’t open without a bio match,” Werst grunted, “and your second line of defense is technically illegal.”
“The second line of defense is a warning, the third line of defense is technically illegal.” He raised a hand, cutting off Werst’s response. “But only if it’s triggered. Makes all the difference.”
“Fair enough,” Werst allowed, jumping down and heading for the hatch, bag over his shoulder. “Odds are high anyone slammed by it will be too stupid to live or MI, so I, personally, don’t give a crap.” He paused, hand over the airlock controls, and turned. “There’s a Mu’tuv squad on board. Word of advice, don’t play cards with them. They don’t like losing.”
Craig had been amazed to learn there were Marines tougher than Torin and Werst. The Mu’tuv were deliberate badasses rather than situational, Torin had explained when he’d first asked about them. “Well, aren’t they special snowflakes.”
Werst snorted. “When you get home without your balls, tell Gunny I warned you.”
Alone on the Promise, Craig swung his feet up onto the control panel. One by one, muscles relaxed. If he kept his gaze on the board and the screens and the blank expanse of the polarized window, he could almost convince himself he was back on a salvage run. Just him and the Promise and the vast reaches of debris-filled space. He loved Torin, he liked his life, he enjoyed the negligible relationship the team had with personal space, he even looked forward to the day when he left the field and trained a new generation of Strike Team pilots, but sometimes he missed being alone.
* * *
“The data sheet they found on Threxie?” Alamber jerked up into a sitting position, ignoring the muttering of his companions. “That data sheet?”
“Is there another one?” Dal asked sleepily, fuchsia hair spread out over the pillow.
“It’s here? On the Berganitan?”
Narilyn waved a hand from the other side of the communal bed. “No one’s supposed to know.”
Pushing his agitated hair back off his face, Alamber twisted around to face her. “Why is the data sheet on the Berganitan?”
Hasun patted Narilyn on the stomach. “If no one’s supposed to know, should you be telling him?”
“Nothing I can tell him, I don’t know why it’s here.”
“I meant . . .” Hasun paused, eyes so pale a yellow most of the light receptors had to be closed. “Uh . . . never mind.”
“Maybe we’re holding it hostage.” Kamisu propped his head on Alamber’s thigh. “Plastic wants it back, it fuks off and never returns.”
“More like give it back or we play with your brains until you think it’s your idea,” Dal argued.
“I heard the captain and the XO talking about it being an example of how civilized we are,” Narilyn told them, gracefully folding her legs under her. “See how we’re returning this sheet of possibly bits of you back to you. Let’s be friends.”
“We’re delivering it in a warship,” Alamber sighed.
She nodded. “Mixed messages, that’s what wrong with the universe.”
* * *
• • •
It wasn’t hard to find out where the plastic was being kept. Being held? Alamber supposed that depended on whether it was tech left behind by the plastic or plastic left behind. It was a bit surprising to find it secured behind a lock that had been programmed to open only after the Berganitan left Susumi space.
He bet it was to keep General Morris from performing unauthorized experiments.
Given the data sheet’s response to having a honking big bite taken out of it, it was a sure thing that the general would be all over trying to damage it in other ways. The total absence of a physical guard meant Captain Carveg had decided not to draw attention to the compartment. If there were guards, what were they guarding? Gossip went through closed environments—ships, stations, small towns—like cheese through a H’san.
When he’d remotely broken the lock down to a single sequence, Alamber left his hiding place in the maintenance ducts, looped the security cameras for seventeen seconds, and ran for the hatch, closing it behind him with three seconds to spare.
They’d hung the data sheet from hooks set into the ceiling.
Trying to be nice? Because that was the way it had hung for centuries?
Taykans used that exact shade of orange for emergency lights. He hadn’t heard an official theory about the similarity, but he had to assume the
re’d been plenty of unofficial speculation. He had to assume that because, according to Werst, his time with Big Bill had made him almost as cynical as a third-contract Marine.
With the air circulating through two upper and two lower vents, through what the ship’s schematics said was an enclosed filtration system, he couldn’t smell the slight chemical odor Werst said had been lingering around the data sheet on Threxie. Of course, it had been through a lot since then.
“You look just like your pictures,” he murmured, stepping closer.
Now he was here, he wasn’t sure why. What could he do with his slate that all those government researchers hadn’t? At the Sector Parliament ceremony on Nuh Ner, scientist after scientist had said it was too alien to understand, too alien to be certain what tests to perform.
Of course, there was always the chance that those scientists had been overthinking it. He hadn’t gone to some snaji university, so he wasn’t going to ignore the one thing every mammal—and most other species—responded to.
“If you’re tech, I’m wasting my time.”
But if it wasn’t. If it was alive. If it had screamed when a piece had been bitten out of it . . .
Alamber found the air filters for the compartment and turned them off. Then he turned off his masker.
And began to count.
At six, the data sheet quivered.
At nine, a rapidly changing line of symbols appeared.
By seventeen, the symbols filled the sheet. He tracked a horizontal line from top to bottom until it seemed to spill off the lower edge.
Fingers spread, he held out his left hand, not quite touching the surface. Two symbols directly under his fingertips rose out of the sheet to brush against his skin. They were warm. Human body temperature. Maybe even Krai.
“Warden di’Cikeys! This is ship security! We have regained control of the filters. Turn your masker on. Unlock the hatch and step into the passageway!”
The symbols sank back into the suddenly smooth sheet.
“Way to kill the mood,” Alamber agreed.
* * *
It took Craig a moment to realize why the briefing room they’d been ordered into looked familiar. It was the same briefing room where he’d given the massed Marines and scientists the initial rundown on Big Yellow. Incidentally, it was also the briefing room where he’d met Torin for the first time.
“As Captain Travik’s senior NCO, I thought you should know that I’ll be heading inside with you on that first trip.”
Brown eyes narrowed. “No, Mr. Ryder, you will not.”
“Yes, Staff Sergeant, he will.”
She slowly pivoted to face the general. “Sir?”
“It was one of the conditions Mr. Ryder imposed when he agreed to take us to the ship. And what I intended to speak with you about. As Mr. Ryder has beaten me to the punch, you two might as well carry on with your discussion.” The general looked relieved. If Craig had to guess, he’d say Morris had been less than excited about broaching the topic to the staff sergeant. “Lieutenant . . .”
“Sir.” The di’Taykan fell into step beside the general as he left the room. After a moment’s hesitation, and a glance at the glowering Staff Sergeant Kerr, Captain Travik hurried to catch up.
Craig hit her with his best smile. “Alone at last.”
He remembered that it’d had about as much effect as a fart in a thunderstorm, but there was nothing like the threat of imminent death inside a ship made of sentient plastic to overcome first impressions. Come to think of it, he owed Big Yellow one.
Ranked seating rose up toward the far bulkhead leaving no more than two meters of floor at the front, a piece of that negligible real estate already claimed by a podium. The bulkhead behind the podium had the familiar gloss of an inert screen. Except for the black line of scowling Marines across the top tier, the seats were empty. They didn’t look any more badass than any other line of scowling Marines although Craig assumed General Morris was making a point about the firepower at his command. When their sergeant caught his gaze and held it for a long I don’t have to prove I’m dangerous, but let’s make sure you know anyway moment, Craig gave her a fuk you, I made the first micro jump, followed a Primacy cruiser through Susumi space, and I sleep with Torin Kerr look right back. Bona fides established, they returned to ignoring each other.
While the Mu’tuv had been invited to this party, the rest of his team hadn’t. He’d been told only that Alamber had been taken into custody by Berganitan security and he was to attend a debriefing immediately. The team had followed him. For all that battleships had been designed to confuse boarding parties, the Berganitan had nothing on the labyrinth of passageways and compartments that made up Salvage Stations and they’d arrived sooner than expected. Captain Carveg had given him a nod of recognition and returned her attention to General Morris and a critique of her security at a volume meant to be overheard. To top off his asshole behavior, the general stood close enough that their relative heights forced her to either back away, or look up. His aide, a Krai lieutenant, looked embarrassed, nostril ridges opening and closing. Could be because there were very few female Krai in the Corps and the general’s lack of common courtesy made his aide look bad in front of a high-ranking female, or it could be because he was a decent sentient being. Either way, Craig doubted he was going to last long in the position.
Alamber, the ends of his hair flicking back and forth in agitation, glanced up at the green-haired di’Taykan at his side when the team entered. She was a Warrant Officer, Craig neither knew nor cared about the levels within the rank, and also wore a star over—where over meant pretty much obliterating—crossed anchors.
*Chief Warrant Officer di’Palik, Master at Arms,* Elisk told him. Their implant signal ran through the Promise not the Berganitan. Alamber’s firewalls should have kept the Navy out, but from the way the Human officer standing behind the captain twitched, he knew something was up. *The Human behind Captain Carveg is Commander Kahananui, the ship’s security officer.*
When di’Palik nodded, Alamber walked defiantly to Craig’s side and pressed against him from shoulder to hip.
“You okay?” Craig gave him a visual once-over for injuries, but he seemed fine.
“Yeah.” His hair began to pick up speed. “They capped my implant, or I’d have pinged you.”
“Are they . . .”
“Yeah, they’re allowed. I’m a security risk.”
“That’s your job description,” Werst growled from Alamber’s other side.
As neither the Berganitan’s security officer nor master at arms indicated the team should leave, they stayed. Elisk and Tylen had both been Navy and they kept at least part of their attention on the MAA. Werst, Zhou, and Yahsamus didn’t seem to care about the thirteen Marines at the rear of the room, so neither did Craig.
“What have they got you on?” he asked, well aware they could have grabbed him for any number of minor infractions.
“The data sheet is on the ship.”
That caught General Morris’ attention. He whirled around and glared at Alamber. “What part of top secret do you not understand, di’Cikeys?”
Alamber’s hair flattened tight to his head, looking like a pale blue cap. “Warden di’Cikeys,” he snapped. “And what part of full disclosure are you missing, General?”
The general jabbed a beefy finger toward him and jerked it back when Werst snapped his teeth together. “This is a military . . .”
“Confederation Statute three zero six, PYRI: the military will operate at all times under full disclosure. The media and representatives from all legislative bodies will have complete access.” That was bullshit and Alamber knew it, no matter how confidently he spat it out. Alpha Team, before it was officially Alpha Team, had helped the military out with a covert operation. The general hadn’t known about it, but that was the whole point of it being covert, Craig ackn
owledged silently. So those who didn’t need to know, wouldn’t.
“Why is the data sheet on the Berganitan?” Craig asked before the general could respond. “And I’m asking as a representative of the Justice Department.”
“Parliament has agreed to return it to the plastic,” Captain Carveg answered. Behind the captain, Chief Warrant Officer di’Palik sighed and closed her eyes for a moment.
For that moment, Craig missed Torin with an intensity that physically hurt. He felt as though someone had scooped out his guts and left nothing but raw edges behind. Then the moment passed. The warrant opened her eyes, and Craig gave the captain his best poker table grin, “You’d think that would have made the news.”
“You’d think,” she agreed. “It was apparently decided in committee . . .”
“Secret committee?”
“One assumes. Parliament as a whole continues to believe it was put into storage until a later date.”
General Morris stepped physically between them. “You don’t know that.”
“I do,” Captain Carveg told him, the pleasant conversational tone she’d been using with Craig gone from her voice. “I have as many contacts in Parliament as you do, General. The big difference is, most of mine are still speaking to me.”
Someone behind him muffled a snicker—Tylen most likely.
The general pivoted back around. “I should’ve known you lot wouldn’t take this seriously.”
Craig smiled. The MAA shifted her weight. “Oh, we’re taking it very seriously. We’re opening an immediate investigation.”
“Good!” General Morris glared at Alamber. “Overriding security! Breaking and entering! Initiating sexual contact with a sheet of plastic!”
Definitely Tylen that time. The grunt following the less muffled snicker had likely been Elisk shutting her up.
“You misunderstand, mate. We’re investigating what’s either a sentient being . . .”