The Privilege of Peace

by Tanya Huff

  “Right.” This was bigger than him. Bigger than him and Alamber. “Alamber, can you contact Captain Carveg in such a way that no one can eavesdrop on the conversation?”

  “Sure, but who’d . . .”

  “Tech and I had a little jaw earlier, and it seemed the Mu’tuv are trained as generalists and have bugger all in the way of scruples when it comes to applying their training.”

  “Black ops,” Alamber whispered.

  “Still not in an episode of StarCops,” Craig reminded him. “That said, the odds are high that some tosser on that team can shred our security like cheese.”

  Alamber’s hair jerked in annoyed arcs. “Not my security.”

  “Let’s not risk it. They report to Morris, and if he gets involved, weapons get involved.”

  “You do not have weapons that can harm us.”

  “We have no idea what Morris has on the ship in the Berganitan’s big shuttle bay. He seemed a little too excited for it to be same old same old.”

  “We can investi . . .”

  Craig pointed a finger at Orange. “You can stay right here.”

  “If the majority feel you are a danger, they will destroy you.” Orange stared at the finger. Their hands shifted, knuckles growing more prominent. “You have not been a danger yet.”

  “Yet. The majority has no idea what Morris has in that shuttle bay either.”

  “Okay, I’m convinced.” Alamber stepped up onto a chair, perched on the back, and pulled out his slate. “Secret message to Captain Carveg. On it.”

  Craig shifted his finger to Alamber. “I don’t give a shit if Big Yellow’s about to take us apart, get your damned boots off the seat!” He waited until he saw Alamber obey, dropped into his own seat, and turned to the board. “I’ll call the rest of us in. Meanwhile, Orange, you might as well get comfie. Can you sit?”

  “We can.” They sat, patted the edge of the cushion, and carefully crossed their legs.

  * * *

  • • •

  “I told you they were to stay in the compartment.”

  Alamber’s hair flattened. “We give you an orange collective who’s on our side and that’s what you fixate on?”

  “I expect my orders to be obeyed.” Captain Carveg transferred her glare to Craig. “You’re attached to my ship . . .”

  “But not under your orders,” Craig reminded her.

  She snapped her teeth together, her nostril ridges opened and closed, and she finally said, “You’re terrible guests.”

  “Granted.”

  “And you.” Hands on her hips, she faced Orange. “You’re not a data sheet.” It seemed she needed independent confirmation.

  Orange, still seated but looking shorter than he had when there’d been only a di’Taykan and a Human in the room, said, “We are not.”

  “You can infect Big Yellow, turning that . . .” She reached for a word and found the one Alamber had used. “. . . collective to a path of noninterference?”

  “Yes.”

  “There’s a lot more of them than there are of you.”

  “We had many passing times to concentrate our belief. We can turn them.”

  She stared at them for a long moment. Orange sat motionless. “We only have your word for that.”

  “We have not taken over your ship. The entirety of us are present here.”

  The captain showed teeth. “We only have your word for that, too.”

  “Yes.”

  “Fuk me.” She paused and pointed at Alamber and Tylen, curled together in one chair. “Be quiet.”

  The rest of the Strike Team had been given the sitrep with the captain and had silently agreed to allow her the first reaction.

  Bare feet slapping against the deck, she paced to the airlock and back. Craig pivoted the pilot’s chair to follow and shook his head when Elisk opened his mouth. She stopped directly in front of Orange and leaned in. The center of Orange’s face pushed out and developed nostril ridges.

  “Stop that.”

  They flowed back to generic features.

  Three strides took her to Craig. “You need the Berganitan’s cooperation to detach.”

  “Not need so much.” Alamber’s eyes darkened and his hair flicked back, as she slowly turned toward him. “Sorry, ma’am. Shutting up.”

  “We’re at nine seconds,” Yahsamus announced from the copilot’s seat, and threw the countdown up above the board.

  “We’re recording the general’s monologue.” Captain Carveg folded her arms. “I suspect one of my comm techs plans to add music and effects.”

  Three.

  Two.

  “Return that which is ours, or we will take it.”

  “There’s a change in configuration.” Werst came out of his seat and pointed at the screen. “There and there. Might be weapons ports.”

  “They do not need weapons as you know weapons.”

  Werst stared directly at Orange and snapped his teeth. “Yeah. Needed to hear that.”

  “Do they know you’re awake?” Craig asked.

  “No.” Orange shook their head. More filaments were extruded to sway with the motion. “We would know if they knew.”

  “Then what’s changed?”

  * * *

  “We have safely exited Susumi. Fleet is reassembling at agreed coordinates.”

  “Useless,” Doctor Banard snorted. “If we’d exited Susumi unsafely we’d all know about it.” He swiped at the spray of snot on his chest. “For the micromoments we had left anyway.”

  Anthony ignored him. Their entry point was far enough out it wouldn’t ping the Berganitan hard enough to pull their sensors off the plastic. Banard’s weapons were assembled and ready to be mounted. And he had a plan.

  The plastic had returned for the data sheet.

  The data sheet was therefore something the plastic wanted.

  Even with the number of ships they had, they couldn’t take out a battleship. But they could easily take out the shuttle transporting the data sheet to the plastic.

  The pirates in the fleet would surround the shuttle, apply grapples, and whisk it away from the coverage of the Berganitan’s guns. The pirate captains had explained this maneuver would be more likely to succeed if they didn’t have to worry about holing the hull and Anthony had pointed out that while hostages could be useful, all he needed was the data sheet.

  The three ships currently being upgraded with Banard’s plastic disintegrating weapon would keep Big Yellow at bay.

  Then he’d open negotiations.

  It was—would be—all about leverage.

  * * *

  “The Berganitan are having sent two Susumi packets, which I, as a potential Member of Parliament, and still having my press credentials were having called full disclosure over. The first are having been General Morris demanding he are being put in overall command and are being entirely ignorable. He are a Marine on a battleship. There are already being plenty of rules in place to be governing his actions. The other packet are showing Alamber’s touch and are saying the data sheet are showing signs of sentience. Evidence are pointing to it being not a tool but rather being yet more of our shape-shifting plastic hive-mind friends. And if I are being too subtle for you, Strike Team Leader Warden Kerr, I are being sarcastic when I are calling the plastic friends.”

  The message was audio only, but Torin could see Presit combing her whiskers during the pause.

  “That, however, are not actually the reason I are contacting you. Sector Central News are having informed me of a statement they are having received from Humans First—who are also heading toward Big Yellow. Which are being an unimaginative name, but no one are ever listening to me. Humans First are being no more coherent in this statement than they are ever being, but I are having reached the conclusion that they are speaking of more than one ship. I
are not able to be discovering exactly how many ships, although OutSector sources I are having contacted as soon as Alamber have been informing me of the situation, are speculating that Humans First are making use of the more unsavory independents.”

  “Pirates,” Torin sighed.

  “As these independents are mostly having mixed crews, one of the Human reporters who are having passed the information on are having used the description cannon fodder. I are having no idea what a cannon are. I are also not knowing what you are doing sending Craig off to be facing polynumerous molecular polyhydroxide alcoholydes . . .”

  “For fuksake, Presit, say plastic.”

  “. . . on his own, but you are needing to be getting yourself to him as soon as you are being able. Not that I are suggesting he are not being able to take care of himself.”

  The message ended abruptly. Torin suspected that was only because Presit didn’t want to pay extra for platitudes. “Well?” she turned and faced the team gathered in the Baylet’s control room.

  “We were heading for Big Yellow as soon as we’re done here anyway,” Marie pointed out.

  “And why worry about pirates when the Berganitan is there?” Nicholin asked. His first exposure to Presit had his hair flipping in random directions. “I mean on the one hand, battleship with an experienced captain and crew. On the other hand, small ships crewed by assholes.”

  “The Berganitan can’t fire on civilians,” Torin reminded him.

  “We can,” Ressk growled, teeth showing.

  Werst was facing the same danger as Craig, so Torin ignored the challenge. “I think that was Presit’s point.”

  “We’ve got minimal weapons, Gunny.” Marie threw an inventory of their armaments up over the board. “And this sounds like the war we’re not supposed to be fighting.” An EMP, a restricted pulse weapon, and four missiles. “It would’ve helped to know exactly how many ships we’d be facing.”

  “True. Ressk, get the restriction off that pulse weapon. Mashona, call up the crew list of the ship nippled to the station and see what we have to work with.”

  “On it.” After a moment, she sighed, “Not a single ex-military, Gunny.”

  “All right. Fine. Get in touch with its captain and have the ship emptied of all personal effects.”

  Binti frowned. “C&C hasn’t cleared anyone to leave the station.”

  “I’m overruling C&C. Anything on board when we leave goes with us.”

  “We’re taking the ship?”

  “We’re enlisting the ship in the service of the Justice Department,” Torin said on her way out the hatch. She smiled, fully aware of how Krai she made the expression look. “And now, I’m going to go even the odds a bit.”

  * * *

  • • •

  “I don’t know how you run Strike Team Alpha,” Lies said, arms folded over her badge, “but Strike Team U’yun doesn’t allow prisoners to wander freely around known space once their paperwork has been filed.”

  “I get it, you’re new. You’re keen. But they won’t be wandering freely, they’ll be confined to a ship, and part of the Strike Team will be with them.” When Lies opened her mouth, Torin cut her off. “And, since I’m Strike Team Lead, this team is, for the duration, Strike Team Alpha, so get Cyr Tyroliz out of confinement and bring him to me.”

  “I do it under protest.”

  “As long as you do it.”

  * * *

  • • •

  “You want us to board the other Susumi ship and accompany you to Big Yellow . . .” Had the Silsviss known the concept of air quotes, Torin had no doubt Cyr Tyroliz would have made them around the common name for the ship. “. . . and engage what you call a mutual enemy?”

  “Humans First is everyone’s enemy. Your presence here has proven that.”

  “Arguable, but I accept your premise for now. You want us to move our weapons to this ship, prepare them while we’re in Susumi space, and when we return to normal space . . .”

  “Hack holes in the hull and shove them through. Pretty much exactly what you did here, but with more time for prep.”

  “And if we escape?”

  Torin noticed he didn’t say try to escape. Didn’t matter. “That won’t happen because I’ll be at the controls of the ship.” She was the only other experienced Susumi pilot on the current Strike Team—although she only had experience jumping the Promise. But they had the coordinates for Big Yellow. The computer did most of the work. How dangerous could it be?

  Marie had suggested she not ask.

  “And,” Torin continued, “as we’re allies . . . as we’re not currently at war,” she amended when his tail thrashed, “I know you’ll honor your word.”

  His throat pouch half inflated. “We’re alone in this compartment. You have no sharpshooter to protect you here. I could kill you now, free my soldiers, take the shuttle down to the planet, and disappear.”

  “You could. But you won’t, or you’d have done it already.” They didn’t have time for all this posturing shit. “I served under a great many officers, Ret Tyroliz. If you give your word, you’ll keep it.”

  He tasted the air. If he was looking for fear, all he’d find was annoyance. “They tell me the peace of the Confederation is good for Silsviss, but I fought for my entire adult life. I miss battle.” His tail tip tapped the deck. “Although evidently not enough to die in a misguided last stand. We will fight at your side. I give you my word.”

  “Thank you.” Torin moved to the hatch and pressed her thumb to the biolock. If he’d killed her, he’d have been trapped in the compartment. She was in a hurry, she wasn’t stupid. “Your pilot has flown in battle?”

  “He has.”

  They fell into step in the passageway. “Then it’s a good thing we’ve got over five days in Susumi for me to familiarize him with the controls.”

  “Five days? And yet we arrive moments after we left. This wonder, if nothing else, makes the peace of the Confederation agreeable to me. However, I doubt your commanders will approve of you teaching us to control this new technology.”

  “There’s no law against it. Either the Silsviss are to be welcomed into the Confederation, or you aren’t. If you are, your people will learn to fly Susumi soon enough. If you’re not, well, I’m not a very good pilot, so how much damage can we do. Mashona, it’s a go.”

  “Roger that, Warden.”

  Although she wouldn’t be joining them on board, Binti would get the new crew to the . . . Torin frowned. “Mashona, what the hell is the name of the ship?”

  “The Blue Robinasit, Gunny. Nicholin says a robinasit’s native to Tayka and is a small, hopping herbivore with big ears”

  “The blue bunny, then?”

  “Pretty much.”

  The hiss beside her sounded amused. Apparently the Silsviss had a similar enough animal for the translation to make sense. “The name of the ship matters less than the crew. We’ll make it a name to be feared.”

  Torin glanced up. “I look forward to that, Ret Tyroliz.”

  He hummed in his pouch. “That’s twice you’ve addressed me by rank.”

  “I’d rather not go into battle with a civilian, sir.”

  Another hiss, although higher pitched. “The stories I’ve heard of you seem to be true, Staff Sergeant Kerr.”

  “Gunnery Sergeant, but it’s Warden Kerr now. And the good stories weren’t for public consumption.”

  “How fortunate we have five days to fill.”

  They stepped over the hatch lip into the docking arm in time to see a golden-furred haunch move slowly into the airlock. “There’s one more thing,” Torin said flatly. “A Lie is a Bad Defense will be coming with us.”

  “The Dornagain?”

  If he knew another person with that name, Torin would be very surprised. “She doesn’t like me much and, once the paperwork has bee
n filed, you’ve been turned over to her authority.”

  “She feels she is responsible for our good behavior.”

  “You’re responsible for your own good behavior. She’s . . . young.”

  “I see. And will our good behavior, our involvement in this battle be for the battle’s sake alone or will it serve to reduce our time in rehabilitation?”

  Torin paused at the edge of the airlock and met his gaze. “Will your involvement bring the people you killed back to life?”

  He nodded once and touched his chest, claws dimpling the skin.

  TWELVE

  CRAIG RAN BOTH HANDS back through his hair, stared down at the unchanged numbers on the board, and muttered, “How long does it take to prep one detachment?”

  “It’s not about detaching the ship,” Alamber explained from his seat beside Orange. “It’s getting around the safety protocols that would alert General Morris. The clamps aren’t meant to be messed with. We’ll sit here for a while.”

  In the second seat, both feet on the edge of the board, toes millimeters away from live screens, Werst snorted. “Hurry up and wait has always been the military’s motto.”

  “This was a lot easier when Promise fit in the shuttle bay,” Craig muttered.

  “If it was easy,” Yahsamus pointed out, “everyone would do it.”

  Craig knew that tone.

  “Promise, you’re clear for detachment.”

  Shooting a glance at Werst, Craig leaned in. “That was faster than expected, Berganitan.”

  “General Morris is at the compartment. My orders were to give him full access, so if he asks where Orange is, I won’t lie. I’ll delay his ship’s deployment as much as possible, but I suggest you hurry.”

  “Roger, Berganitan. Promise detaching.” He settled his ass more deeply into the seat and reached for the controls. “Heads up, people. It’s show time.”

  Attaching to a battleship wasn’t like bellying up to a nipple on a station. Stations didn’t go through Susumi and, while objects had no weight in a vacuum, shifting mass had to be accounted for. Rather than simple clamps supporting the airlock connection, complicated bands snaked in and around the smaller ship. Craig had kept the tie as simple as he could by remaining independent of the Berganitan’s power and communication systems, maintaining a physical link only.