by Tanya Huff
He had the tooth and claw advantage, and she’d have to watch for his tail; the metal bindings worn by the warriors could break bone. She had a knife and the HE suit would provide as much protection as a set of combats. The spinal protection provided by extra layers of tank and processor balanced the reduction of flexibility.
The Silsviss were fast, in spite of their size, but they didn’t attack without warning.
Torin raised her chin and locked eyes with Cyr Tyroliz. “You are under arrest for the deaths of four members of the Confederation. You will disarm.” Without adjusting her gaze, she raised a hand toward a Silsviss with deep gray scales. “Don’t. You’ll be dead before you pull the trigger. Mashona never misses.”
“That would be me,” Binti said from behind her.
Tail lashing from side to side, Cyr Tyroliz ignored them both. “With the war over, the Confederation no longer requires the Silsviss to fight. They need none of the Younger Races. They want to keep us planet bound because they fear the capability of violence. We are not legally part of the Confederation, so we’ll be locked down first. There are member species who don’t know of our existence, so no one will protest. Once they’ve proven they can lock the Younger Races down, they’ll move on the rest of you.” His voice was a low growl, the sibilants hissed. “This station was put in place to imprison us.”
“Who gave you that information?”
“You think I can’t put together . . .”
Torin cut him off. “You didn’t. You’re quoting. So I ask again, who gave you that information?”
“A Human.”
“They’re wrong.”
“Are they?”
“You took the station. Until you brought weapons on board, it was unarmed.”
“I’m to believe this station is not the physical evidence of a declaration of war because you say it’s so?” His tongue flicked out derisively. “Your Confederation controls the high ground and talks of locking us away. That can only be seen by the Silsviss as a declaration of war.”
“You don’t speak for the planetary government.”
“The planetary government has been blinded by technology offered by the Confederation.”
“Yes, it has.” Under his anger Torin could see fear. Fear was the easiest emotion to manipulate. A decade ago his people had been alone in the universe and now his world was changing. Why would he expect aliens to have the best interests of his people at heart? And when the aliens’ universe changed as well and the powerful were proven to be flawed? What did he have left but fear and suspicion. Torin understood why Cyr Tyroliz had taken the station. He used to know who he was. “The planetary government asked the Justice Department to deal with you.”
“You lie.”
She smiled. Human teeth weren’t much compared to most other teeth in known space, but Torin had worked with Krai for a long time. “I have a skull on my wall.”
Modern Silviss rank insignia meant nothing to her, but the odds were high the dark gray Silviss was Cyr Tyroliz’s 2IC. He roared, giving Torin time to turn at the waist, far enough for the first clawed strike to miss. The turn became a pivot, she magged her right boot as his tail arced toward her and the metal band slammed into her foot, yanking him off balance. She drove the butt of her modified benny into his pouch.
Mouth open, gasping for breath, he hit the deck.
Torin put her left boot on his throat.
He froze.
The Silsviss had stations in orbit when the Confederation arrived. They’d worked in vacuum, in their variation of an HE suit. He knew the same force that held the end of his tail immobile could crush his throat between her boot and the deck. He tipped his head back, bruises already rising on the pale gray under his chin.
If he’d beaten her, he’d have challenged the Warlord.
It was by no means a truism that insight into a species could be gained by wholesale slaughter, but Torin was willing to bet that, right at this particular point in time, no one knew the Silsviss as well as she did.
Her right foot hit Cri Srah solidly in the stomach. As he folded forward, gasping for breath, she dove onto his shoulders, slamming him down to the floor.
“You can kill him,” Cyr Tyroliz said.
This time Torin grabbed his gaze with hers and held it. “I can. But that has nothing to do with you. I won’t. And that has even less to do with you.” After a long moment, she let him look away. Then she moved her foot. “Get up.”
The dark gray Silsviss scrambled up onto his feet and back to his companions, who moved to put space between them, as though his loss was contagious.
“Place your weapons on the deck between us.”
They glanced at Cyr Tyroliz who stared at Torin then, slowly, unbuckled his belt and gave his weapon to the smallest of the five who placed it where Torin had indicated.
When only the five charged prongs were surrendered, she raised a brow. “All of them. I can see half a dozen knives from here. Cyr Tyroliz, tell your gunners to stand down.”
“Do you also want them to join us here?” His tone was impressively both sarcastic and patronizing.
“As long as they don’t fire them, they can sit on their guns until their tails drop off.”
As he gave the order, Torin beckoned the rest of her team into the room. “Nicholin, contact Bilodeau and bring her in. Then tell C&C they can approach and start the paperwork. Ressk, find out what happened to internal communications and fix it.”
“I can’t believe that worked,” Binti muttered, dropping her helmet.
“No one rises to be a warlord without the help of senior NCOs.”
“So he understood the threat.”
“We don’t make threats. If anyone else starts a fight, shoot them with their own weapon.” She bent, scooped one off the floor, and handed it over. If it had a trigger, Binti could use it.
“So . . .” Cyr Tyroliz stepped away as Binti herded the other four into a corner. “. . . what happens to us now?”
“Eventually, rehabilitation for the lives you took.”
“But not for taking the station itself?”
“The station’s still right here. You’ll face lesser charges for damages caused, but acting against your government’s treaty with the Confederation is their problem, not ours.”
“I see.”
“Although, if Silsviss still plans on joining the Confederation, there are standards of prisoner treatment that are expected to be upheld.”
His inner eyelids slowly closed, then opened again. “And do we still have a choice about joining?”
“Since they sent us to deal with you, I doubt it. Like it or not, you’re in.”
“That seems evident. And what is your government’s punishment to be?”
“As I said, rehabilitation. A lot of therapy and working through the issues that caused you to break the law until trained professionals are convinced you won’t do it again.”
His inner eyelids flickered; this time, almost too quickly to see. “You’re not serious. That’s . . .” Head cocked, he searched for a word and was unable to find one. “I’d rather be shot.”
“I’d have agreed with you once,” Torin told him. “Now . . .” She shrugged. The prospect of rehabilitation had resulted in a remarkably low crime rate. Seemed most people would rather behave than work on their shit. “While we’re waiting for C&C, I’d like to know about the Human who spoke to you.”
* * *
• • •
With the sleeves of her deep blue overalls tied around her waist, leaving broad shoulders and muscular arms bare, Boomer McVale could have been any one of a million Humans who spent their free time in a gym. “Look, I’m happy to give you the dirtside contact. I mean, who knew the lizards would get their tails in a knot like that, right? I had no idea Humans First was behind it. I got a little extra and no one got hu
rt.”
“Six people died.”
“Yeah, I knew about Keezo, but he picked a fight, so . . .” She handed Torin her slate. “How many were Human?”
Torin closed the hatch in her face and secured it.
“You think rehab has a program to cure self-serving assholes?” Nicholin asked.
* * *
• • •
The Silsviss reaction to A Lie is a Bad Defense and Tell Me Again Until I Believe You amused everyone but the Dornagain and the Silsviss. They weren’t used to mammals larger than twenty kilos—about the size of a Dornagain at birth. If there were Dornagain in the embassy staff—and Torin would bet on it because where there was bureaucracy there were both Dornagain and Rakva—these particular Silsviss had clearly never interacted with them.
“The next one of you I hear hissing,” Lie growled, drawing herself up to her full height, top of her head brushing against the ceiling, “will be required to explain their motivation.”
* * *
• • •
They bagged Lorkin on the deck where he fell. He’d been a Marine, he would have expected as much. The rest of the team watched as Nicholin checked the bag’s seal and stood. He took a deep breath, and spoke the first acknowledgment of loss.
“Fraishin sha aren. Valynk sha haren.”
Standing at Lorkin’s head, Ressk bit a small piece from the back of his wrist. “Kal danic dir k’dir. Kri ta chrikdan.”
“We will not forget. We will not fail you.” Torin had offered the Human acknowledgment to Marie, but she’d shaken her head and taken a step back. “The last time I . . . Sorry, Gunny. I can’t.”
The bag stiffened, then flattened.
Working together, Nicholin and Binti slid the ash, all that remained of Lorkin, into the same small, and all but indestructible cylinder that had carried so many Marines home from the war. Torin had made the cylinders a requirement of the Strike Teams. Commander Ng hadn’t understood. She hadn’t cared.
Looking like she would rather be doing anything else, Binti handed Lorkin’s remains to Torin.
Who slid the canister into the first of the dedicated pockets in her vest.
“You okay, Gunny?”
Was she? The weight was familiar. A reminder that she’d vowed to bring her people home. It weighed less than all the canisters she’d carried out of the war and less than all the Marines she couldn’t bring home. She couldn’t carry them all, so she’d carry Lorkin.
“I’m good,” she said, right hand lightly touching her vest.
And she was.
* * *
Big Yellow was a ship again. Morris had returned to the Marine packet, transferred the open channel he’d been given, and lectured it. Them. The plastic. About the war. About their responsibilities. About how they’d made powerful enemies. Craig stopped listening after that because as much as he had a point, Morris really couldn’t get a grip on the negatives that came with pissing off omnipotent aliens. Big Yellow ignored him. Or appeared to ignore him; they might have been paying rapt attention as far as Craig knew.
Back in the Promise, he sat with his feet up in the dent on the edge of the board and watched the stars and Big Yellow and thought about arresting Morris for provoking violence likely to end in his own death. They’d taken in a few Humans First on that one. Stupidity seemed catching.
He wondered if Torin could’ve gotten him to shut up.
Every seventy-three minutes and eleven seconds, Big Yellow repeated return that which is ours. Odds were high, Morris took that as encouragement.
Three minutes, seventeen seconds until the next performance.
Morris would’ve had them at the ship already were they not waiting for new orders.
“I’ll admit to magic fingers, mate, but what do you think will happen after the official groping?”
Morris’ eyes narrowed. “What?”
“What happens after I make contact with Big Yellow?”
“The ship will recognize creatures they communicated with in the past. The expectation was that they would then talk to Warden Kerr. As we’re settling for you, Warden Ryder . . . well, we work with what we have.”
Craig flashed him a smile he’d learned from Torin. “I’m all about exceeding expectations me.”
Six seconds.
Morris fell silent at ten seconds so Craig stroked the sound back on between nine and two.
“Return that which is ours.”
“They are unaware we are woke.”
Sucking in a startled breath, Craig choked on spit. Coughing and flailing, he threw himself up out of the chair and spun around. Promise should have registered an entry through the airlock. “Where the fuk did you . . .”
It was humanoid, features a mix of Human, di’Taykan, and Krai, and a familiar shade of orange.
No, Craig corrected silently, not an it. The proof was standing in his control room. “How did you . . . ?”
They dissolved. Sped across the compartment in a thin stream, almost too thin and almost too fast to see. Then they re-formed again. “This is how.”
“Captain Carveg said you couldn’t get out of that compartment.”
Before they could respond, Promise chimed an arrival, and Alamber charged onboard, nearly tripped over the lip of the hatch, and came to the most graceless stop Craig had ever seen a di’Taykan make. “You’re very fast,” he panted.
“You let them out?”
Alamber’s hair flattened. “No.”
Craig folded his arms and pointedly looked over at the orange humanoid.
“I may not have closed the hatch as quickly as I could.”
“Come up with a better answer before security gets here.” He sat down again. He always felt more stable in the pilot’s chair. The humanoid watched, their hair mimicking Alamber’s. “Just to settle this, you are the data sheet, right?”
“We are what you called the data sheet. We were never a data sheet.”
Fair enough. “Why are you here?”
“You operate independently of your military.” They made a quick tour of the control room, edges blurring. “You must return us to the majority. You call it Big Yellow.”
“You want us to return you to Big Yellow?” When they nodded, Craig wondered which of them they’d learned that from. “You’re in luck. That’s what Parliament wants us to do.”
“It is what needs to be done.”
“Why?” Alamber asked, stepping closer.
“We will neutralize the threat.”
“General Morris’ threat?”
“The majority’s threat.”
Alamber’s eyes darkened, and he grabbed the top of a crew chair. “They imprisoned you, didn’t they?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“We disagreed about the danger the . . .” The noise sounded like bones rattling in a syncopated rhythm. “. . . represented.”
Considering where they’d found the not-a-data-sheet, Craig made a guess. “The builders of the city on Threxie were a danger?”
“Yes. Their urine dissolved us.”
“Wait.” Alamber made a few truncated movements then he held up a hand. “They pissed on you?”
“There was . . .” They paused. Orange brows drew in over an orange nose. In the last few minutes, they’d learned to frown. “Places.”
The plastic residue had been found in latrines. Craig shook his head. “Not important. Jump ahead.”
“The majority concurred that they would eliminate the threat. To this end, the . . .” Rattling sound. “. . . would be changed.”
“Devolved.” Craig dropped the word into the room.
“Wait.” Alamber’s hand went up again. “What are you two talking about? I seem to be missing about half the conversation.”
“Remember the big scaly animals i
n the ruins on Threxie? Once upon a time,” Craig continued after Alamber nodded, “they were the people who built the city.”
“Seriously?”
Craig nodded at Orange—a shorter name, at least, than not-a-data-sheet. “Torin had her suspicions, and we’ve just got confirmation.”
“We disagreed with the majority. The . . .” Rattling sound. “. . . were a sentient species. Builders. Artists. Scholars. There could have been . . .” Orange shifted their features into Morris’ broad face and out again. “. . . a dialogue. In time previous to the . . .” Rattling sound. “. . . the H’san were also perceived as a threat and the majority had been willing to speak with them.”
“With the H’san?” Craig stood up again.
“Ablin gon savit, the boss is going to be . . .”
“Smug. The word you’re looking for is smug.”
Everyone but Torin liked the H’san. The H’san loved cheese and sang to the dawn. Given the whole zombie H’san on the cemetery planet, biohazardous weapon thing, Craig wasn’t as fond of them as he used to be, but Torin, Torin suspected them of everything up to and including taking Cherry Cool Crunch out of production.
The plastic had spoken to the H’san.
And now the plastic was speaking to him.
Fuk, he wished Torin were here. “I used to have a nice, normal life.”
Alamber snickered. “Until you had the terrifically bad idea of hooking up with the boss.”
“We have a romance for the ages.”
“True love.”
“Fuk you.” Craig took a deep breath and turned his attention back to Orange, who’d been following their conversation like a spectator at a ball game, head moving back and forth. “Okay, now what?”
Orange blinked blank oval eyes. “They have interfered again since we were removed from the collective. They have used war to reduce the time of observation. We continue to disagree. We can infect them.”
It took Craig a moment to put the pieces together. “You can infect them with noninterference?”
“Yes.”