The Privilege of Peace

by Tanya Huff

  “I can help protect them,” Tylen offered.

  Werst turned far enough to glare.

  Her hair flattened. “Okay, no. Do you you think it’s Gunny?”

  “She’d never come in so close,” Craig replied, putting more distance between them and the jump point without losing his angle on Big Yellow’s airlock.

  Werst shot him a side-eye. “If she thought she was riding to the rescue?”

  “Possible.”

  “Who else could it be?” Alamber demanded. “Ressk could have set up an alert for Susumi packets coming from the Berganitan and copied them while in-system. He’d get through a standard military encryption in minutes.”

  “Stop teaching my husband bad habits.”

  Alamber grinned. “What about good ones?”

  “SECTOR CENTRAL NEWS IS ON THE SCENE!”

  Craig and Werst slapped hands over the volume control.

  “Oh, joy,” Werst sighed, leaning back again. “It’s the press.”

  “It’s on all frequencies. They’re using a full disclosure override.” Alamber bent over his slate. “Working on shutting them down.”

  “We go where the action is!”

  “Seventy percent of the Susumi wave was absorbed by dampeners they sent out ahead of them.” Werst squinted at the readout. “That’s fukkin’ impressive. We’ll be warmed instead of fried to a crisp.”

  “That’s tech I’ve never heard of. Anyone?” After a unanimous negative, Craig cracked his neck and bent over the board. “I’m starting to think this full-disclosure thing is bullshit.”

  “We provide the Confederation with the information needed for contemplation!”

  “On the bright side,” Elisk noted, “being eaten’s looking better.”

  “Hey, Orange, could you talk Big Yellow into eating the press?”

  “When we have rejoined them, yes.”

  “Zhou! Do not give them ideas!” Elisk sounded as though he thought Zhou had been serious. Although, in the end, Craig supposed it only mattered that Orange not think Zhou had been serious. However tempting the thought might be.

  As the ship moved away from the jump point, it split into three ships, sent out a flock of drones, arranged themselves to cover all angles, and announced they were keeping a trace in space apace. Or something like that. Craig had stopped listening.

  “You think Presit’s in there?” Werst asked, raising his voice to be heard over three different reporters setting the scene.

  “Not in person, or we’d know without having to ask.” He missed her. “But one way or another, yeah, it’s Presit.”

  Alamber looked up from his slate. “I sent her a message in the packet I put together. Told her everything.”

  “Everything?”

  Alamber’s eyes darkened as the light receptors opened, as though he were trying to see Craig’s reaction before Craig had even decided what that reaction was. “Full disclosure.”

  “. . . question now is, why isn’t Warden Strike Team Leader, ex-Gunnery Sergeant Kerr, on the scene?”

  “We’ll talk about Presit later. Right now, block those . . . Thank you.” He sighed into the silence and checked their position. “So, into Big Yellow?”

  “We have options?” Werst demanded.

  “Attach the data sheet to a grappling cable. Fish for plastic.”

  “Tempting,” Elisk admitted before Werst could respond. When Werst didn’t respond, Craig was reminded yet again that Elisk was U’yun’s Strike Team Leader and therefore—for the moment—theirs. “But we need to finish this. We need to be sure Orange is absorbed into the majority.”

  “Into Big Yellow, it is.” Craig hit the bow burners, and began dropping speed. “At least, the press got the pirates to back off.”

  “Yeah . . .” Werst expanded a section of the board. “. . . not so much.”

  The pirates had regrouped and were approaching the Promise in a tight curve. Craig dodged the first two shots. Tipped up to dodge three and four. “Feels like we’re being herded.”

  “We are.” Alamber told him. “Scanners have the two Humans First ships from the other side of Big Yellow moving in. Fast.”

  If he took the Promise back through the pirates, they’d start shooting. If he headed toward the press, he’d risk putting them in the crossfire. He couldn’t get attached to Big Yellow before Humans First showed up with their wonder weapon.

  “Buckle up. We need to save Orange’s plastic ass if we want the plastic out of our lives.”

  Bow burners off, he shot the Promise out half a kilometer at thirty degrees and called up the Susumi equations for the entry point into this system.

  * * *

  “I am Marteau Industries. I’ve been in the news my entire life and I know how to use the media to my advantage. I can’t believe they thought this would discourage us.”

  “Crazy thought,” Dr. Banard said, stretching out his legs and crossing swollen ankles. “It’s not all about you.”

  Anthony rolled his eyes. “It is if I’m here. Commander, I need to send Sector Central News a message. I believe it’s time for Humans First to take their place in the spotlight.”

  “Shouldn’t we wait until after we have the data sheet?” Belcerio didn’t look convinced. Anthony didn’t care.

  “I intend to build interest. Sympathy. I want them talking about us, speculating as we move in. When we have the means to take our rightful place, I want the Confederation primed and ready.”

  “Most of the employees at Sector Central aren’t Human.”

  “I’m using them, Commander, not recruiting them.”

  “Omondi?”

  “Yes, sir. Opening contact. It may take a moment to get their attention.”

  “Let them know I’m here.”

  She opened her mouth, but before she could speak, Dr. Banard called out, “How did you get the pirates to work together, Marteau? They’re not known for cooperation.”

  He smiled. “I told them when we were successful, they could return to the bosom of the Confederation as heroes.” They had too many non-Humans in their crews to be returning anywhere. The moment he had Big Yellow, they’d go out in a blaze of glory.

  Dr. Banard stared at him like he’d grown a second nose. “You said bosom? Seriously?”

  “And I offered them a great deal of money.”

  “You’re lucky they didn’t cooperate to come after you.” He blew his nose. “Bosom . . .”

  “Commander?” Janssen’s back was a rigid line. “The Promise has engaged its Susumi engine.”

  “Here?” Belcerio strode forward, and peered over Janssen’s shoulder. “No, that’s got to be a . . .”

  Energy readings spiked as the Promise disappeared.

  Anthony actually felt his jaw drop. “I can’t believe he ran!”

  * * *

  “Holy fukking shit!”

  “Seconded!”

  Craig glanced over to see Werst working hands and feet on the board, keeping the readouts out of the red as they dropped the energy from the micro jump. Werst had been in the second seat the last time he’d micro’d—good planning on his part.

  He fought Promise around, ramming hard on the starboard jets, and ran her across the trails left from the Berganitan’s entry, the energy braiding and the Susumi wave bleeding off.

  “Did you know that was going to work?” Werst demanded.

  “Making it up as I go along.”

  “Energy levels in this area are . . .”

  “Hey, dude. Orange.” Alamber reached out and poked his shoulder. “Are you in danger? No? Then let it go.”

  Fingers shifting numbers up and down and all but sideways, Craig finally got them slowed and turned to face the Berganitan. “Alamber, let Captain Carveg know we’re okay.”

  “Are we?”

  �
��Any jump you can fly away f . . . fuk me.” He slapped the cut-off as every scanner began to overload and stared out at Big Yellow. Or the familiar bottom curve of Big Yellow considering that the plastic had exactly matched their previous closest point.

  * * *

  It was easier for two ships of similar size to exit Susumi space one after the other through the same exit point. Torin didn’t know why, but that’s what Craig had told her. Given that she wasn’t a pilot, Torin had no intention of risking both ships so they’d planned to jump in far enough apart that if she screwed up, at least the Baylet would survive.

  “Three. Two. One . . .”

  The stars reappeared, and the Bunny nearly twisted out of her control.

  “Is this the Susumi wave?” Ozborz asked, eyes shining as his head whipped back and forth.

  “It is.” She hung in her crash harness, straps digging into her breasts while the AG caught up. “But not ours.” The odds were high Bilodeau hadn’t pooched the exit, so if they were being hit by the Baylet’s wave, things were very wrong.

  “Bunny, this is Baylet. Looks like Ryder micro’d again!”

  “You sure it was Craig?”

  “Who else is crazy enough?”

  Fair point.

  “Clench your teeth and let the Bunny bounce. She’ll settle on her own, and there’s nothing out here for her to . . . uh, belay that last bit. Check your port scanners.”

  Teeth clenched, Torin hit the port jets attempting to level out and threw the Bunny into a spin, the AG half a rotation behind. She had no idea where the port scanners were. “Just fukking tell me, Bilodeau.”

  “Promise and Big Yellow are about fifty klicks out.”

  “From here?”

  “Roger, Bunny. And there’s five ships approaching, having just crossed to this side of the Berganitan.”

  Multiple Silsviss made disappointed protests as Torin finally stopped the spin. Although they also seemed to be enjoying the bow continuing to buck up and down.

  Her implant pinged.

  They’d bounced into range of Promise’s communications array.

  *Torin?*

  She grinned without unclenching her teeth. Craig’s voice was the best thing she’d heard in a tenday. “Little busy.”

  *No shit. See the yellow rectangle on the upper left corner of the board? Shove that into the red, then use the bow belly jets to point your nose straight up and hit the aft burners. The wave front’s a cone and you’re at the narrow end. It’s the fastest way to get out of it.*

  “Push it into the red?” Wasn’t that bad? “Are you sure?”

  *Do I tell you how to shoot people? Trust me.*

  Red still seemed counterintuitive, but she trusted Craig with her life—and the lives of everyone on board. By the time she got the Bunny leveled out and pointed in the right direction, the Baylet was halfway to the Berganitan.

  “Bilodeau. Sitrep.”

  “One of the five approaching ships is listed on the pirate database. Two guesses on the other four, and the first guess doesn’t count. Berganitan says they’re after the Promise, so I’m running interference.”

  “Right behind you.”

  Ozborz slid into the pilot’s seat almost before she was out of it. She smacked his tail aside, hissed back at him, and froze, hand shifting the strap of her weapon back up onto her shoulder.

  During the moment she’d been distracted, Big Yellow had become a big gray head. It looked familiar, but Torin didn’t have time to work out where she’d see it before.

  * * *

  The head turned, opened its mouth, and released the ship it had just swallowed in one piece.

  “TORIN!”

  “Warden Kerr has been consumed by the beast.”

  “Who is this?”

  “I am Ret Tyroliz. And I was promised a hunt. We’ll mark our prey for Warden Kerr.”

  “That’s . . . Fukking damnit! He’s gone.”

  “Scanners have him following the Baylet.” Alamber announced. “I can open another channel.”

  “Don’t bother,” Craig grunted, both hands working the controls.

  “Ret Tyroliz?” Werst snorted. “Never heard of him.”

  “Yeah, mate, that’s mutual.”

  “Hang on.” Werst looked vaguely constipated for a moment. “Ressk says Ret Tyroliz is the Warlord who took the station on Silsviss and his people are Torin’s prisoners, that Lies is on the ship, and the Silsviss are here because Humans First has us outnumbered and Torin wanted to even the odds.”

  “With Silsviss?”

  Werst shrugged. “They like her.”

  “Ryder.” Elisk laid enough concern on his name that Craig gave some serious thought to smacking him. “About Warden Kerr . . .”

  “She’s fine. Probably pissed as hell.”

  “You don’t think Big Yellow . . .”

  “They’re smarter than that,” Alamber declared.

  “They were in her head,” Craig reminded everyone. “Speed and rotation matched to Big Yellow.”

  “Already?” Elisk leaned in to look at the board. “That was fast.”

  “No one’s shooting at us. And I’m motivated.” He nodded toward the window where it showed yellow, edge to edge. “And I had help. They’re more motivated.”

  Tylen unbuckled and got to her feet. “We’re going in after her?”

  That didn’t merit an answer. “Universal airlock deployed.”

  Werst thumbed a line of numbers to a stop. “You’re too far left.”

  “Fuk you, I am not. Coupling attached. Seal secured.” Craig swung up out of his seat, cracked his knuckles, and nearly ran over Elisk who’d turned to face the cabin.

  “Gear up, people, we’re going in.”

  “No.” He went to slide around the Team Lead, but found himself blocked. “I’m going in.”

  Elisk shook his head. “Ryder, you’re an amazing pilot and H’san-shit crazy, but . . .”

  “Get to the point, LT.”

  “You’re not going in alone.”

  THIRTEEN

  THE PLASTIC DIDN’T have enough facial definition to glare, but Torin was pretty damned sure that’s what was happening. Arms folded, she glared back at it with no clear idea of how she’d been transported to the inside of Big Yellow. One moment, she’d been standing behind the pilot’s seat staring into the open mouth of a huge gray head, the next she was standing on the upper level of a well-lit, two-level chamber with six-by-six grates covering the ceiling, a glimpse of pipes and wires through the mesh. Without taking the metal stairs, she knew they led down to a textured deck, with four large tanks held in black cradles on one wall, and unidentifiable gray machinery running in two lines the length of the compartment.

  This was where PFC August Guimond had died.

  Torin crushed a handful of her tunic in her right fist. Guimond had been big and cheerful and had seen the best in everyone and every situation. She’d led him into Big Yellow and carried him out.

  A vaguely bipedal shape stood approximately two meters away. Far enough, she wouldn’t be fast enough to get her hands on it. In spite of the mass currently available, it was no taller than a Krai—the same size the plastic had used on the prison planet. If it assumed she’d find the familiar comforting, it was wrong.

  “You released our prisoner,” it said, lipless mouth barely moving. “You had no right.”

  The Silsviss were the only released prisoners Torin knew of, but she had no idea how Big Yellow would’ve found out about them unless the plastic remained threaded throughout the Confederation. Or worse, unless that moment’s travel had taken significantly longer than it seemed and the little gray fukkers had been in her head again, messing with perception. She stopped herself before she checked her cuff as she had no idea of the time she’d been taken and the plastic could have as easily me
ssed with her tech as with her head.

  “Where’s my crew?”

  “Your ship, and those you call the Silsviss, were released and are flying into conflict.”

  Of course they were. Gaze locked on the plastic, she pressed a double ping into her implant. “This is Warden Torin Kerr. Is anyone receiving?” After sixty seconds, she tried again. Nothing. On her first trip into Big Yellow, while her implant’s signal hadn’t been strong enough to reach the outside, Captain Travik’s had been. Her current implant was significantly more powerful than the captain’s. It seemed Big Yellow had changed its specs.

  As it had recently been a giant gray head, she admitted that was a somewhat redundant observation.

  It stood motionless. Waiting.

  While Torin found a certain satisfaction in silent glaring, tactics required information. “Okay. Fine. What are you talking about?”

  It blinked gray-on-gray eyes. “You released our prisoner. You have no idea how dangerous they are.”

  Torin folded her arms. “I have a better idea than most how dangerous the Silsviss are.”

  “We do not refer to those you call the Silsviss. We refer to the minority.”

  “The minority of what?”

  “The majority.”

  “You’re more annoying than you used to be.” She huffed out an impatient breath. “And that’s saying something.”

  “We are the majority.” It extruded another arm. Torin couldn’t see how a third arm made its point any clearer. “You identified the minority as a . . .” It absorbed the arm during the pause. “. . . data sheet.”

  Given their history, the pause was suspicious. What had it been searching to find its next word? “Are you in my head?”

  “Not currently. We refreshed our data while you were within us.”

  “Did you?” She swung the modified benny around and laid her finger along the outside of the trigger guard. No surprise the plastic had brought her weapon along—the entire squad had been armed the last time through Big Yellow, and after examining their bennies, the plastic had changed itself so they couldn’t harm it. There hadn’t been time for it to have examined this particular benny, however. She hoped. If the modification worked the way Dr. Deyell intended, interrupting the electrical currents to and from the brain . . .