The Privilege of Peace

by Tanya Huff

  “Shuffling walls don’t mean shit. Torin hasn’t moved, so let’s go.” Craig jogged down the new corridor, slate up. Stationary didn’t mean injured. Torin had a bad habit of ignoring injuries until after she’d done what she thought needed to be done. He found it one of her least endearing qualities and if she’d done it again, well, he looked forward to discussing it with her. Because they would find her. And she would be alive. Alamber hadn’t cleared her implant yet, but he would. Soon.

  Two meters in, Zhou pushed past him muttering, “Hey, come on, Ryder. Marching order.”

  When Craig began to speed up, Werst grabbed his wrist and pulled him back until he matched the Krai’s shorter stride, hanging on in spite of Craig’s attempt to yank himself free.

  “Zhou’s on point. Let him go. You in that much of a hurry to tell her how the H’san taught the plastic about the uses of war?”

  Another yank. Same result. “I . . .”

  “You won’t shoot if we’re cut off,” Werst told him flatly. “Zhou will. Same as Tech’ll shoot if we’re jumped from behind.”

  “Jumped by who?”

  “Who the hell cares? They jump us, we shoot them.” Werst released him. Craig could still feel the imprint of his fingers. “We’ll find her.”

  “Signal goes left at the t-junction,” Zhou called.

  The signal turned again four point two meters in. Even Craig stood for a moment staring at the partially collapsed, oval opening, surrounded by a raised, pleated ridge.

  “It’s a sphincter,” Tylen observed. She poked it. “Well, we are in a constructed body.”

  “It looks like a ship,” Yahsamus pointed out. “Ships shouldn’t have sphincters. At least not ones that look so . . .”

  Tylen poked it again. “Biological?”

  “Yeah, that’ll do.”

  “There’s an open space beyond the hatch.” Elisk raised a hand and tapped the edge of his scanner. “It’s matching up with Ryder’s tag, but it’s a lot smaller than it was. If Gunny’s in there, her life signs are being smothered by Big Yellow’s.”

  Because Big Yellow was alive. Like Torin was alive. Craig charged through the hole, ignoring Zhou’s protest. Ignoring Elisk’s command to stop.

  If asked, Craig would have denied being able to identify Torin by her nose, but that was definitely her nose, uncovered, while the rest of her had been sunk into the yellow wall. Light levels and yellow on yellow meant he could just barely make out the raised outline of her body. It could have been any body and looked disturbingly like the reliefs Orange had created as they woke. The covered barrel of a weapon protruded at waist level and that, as much as the nose, convinced him he’d found Torin.

  “Holy shit,” Zhou breathed behind him. “She took a shot at it.”

  Werst snorted. “Fukking right she did.”

  Her nostrils flared. She was alive. Craig grinned at the energy of the flare—he’d bet there was a good bit of silent profanity going on back there. “Alamber. We’ve found her.”

  *All right, good. And?*

  “It’s complicated, but she’s alive.” Elisk, who as Team Lead had as much medical tech on his slate as the official medic, gave him a thumbs up. “Better than alive. Scan found no damage.”

  *That’s good. Really good. Okay. Hooking her back into the system still isn’t happening, so I’m going to link her through you and avoid the whole shitstorm. Give me a minute.*

  He wanted to touch her. Wanted to feel the warmth of her skin. Feel her breath. Wanted to inhale her scent and demand to know why she always smelled faintly of gun oil. Wanted to hear her tell him he was imagining things, she’d just showered. But, mostly, he wanted to touch that small amount of visible Torin and be reassured. His heart beat so hard, Craig pressed a hand against his chest to hold it in place.

  It felt as though hours passed watching her breathe, but it couldn’t have been more than minutes. Zhou had only just taken his place two meters farther into the chamber when Alamber returned.

  *Implant link is in place. Channel will open when you make contact.*

  He double-tapped his implant, putting her on group channel. “Torin?”

  *Hey. What took you so long?* It was muffled, but understandable.

  “We’re Wardens now. We had to wait for a warrant.”

  *Fuk you, too.*

  “It’s how they say I love you,” Werst told Yahsamus.

  “Yeah, I got that. Very sweet.”

  *Little gray fukker there?*

  “No, just us. Can you move?”

  *No.*

  “We’ll try cutting you out first.”

  *Cutting laser not hot ’nuff.*

  “Yeah, I remember. Tech’s got a big knife with her.”

  *Overcompensating.*

  “I can hear you, you know.” Yahsamus glanced at Elisk, who nodded. She beckoned Tylen over to guard the sphincter, walked to Torin’s side, and drove her knife into the wall. It sank in hilt-deep. When she dragged it down, it moved. When she pulled it out, the wall showed no damage.

  Not an unexpected result, but that didn’t make Craig any happier. “Torin, you feel anything?”

  *Impatient.*

  “All right.” Elisk reached into his belt pouch. “A demo charge at the other end of . . . garn chreen!”

  They weren’t alone in the chamber anymore.

  The gray plastic alien had stepped out of the far wall, yellow filling the indentation he’d left behind.

  Weapon raised, Zhou backed up until he bumped into Elisk. “LT, do I take the shot?”

  “Negative. It wants to talk.”

  “How do you figure?”

  “Gunny’s still alive.”

  Last time Craig had seen the plastic alien, he and Presit had just taken an Artek-piloted shuttle from the Promise down to the planet where Torin had been imprisoned. It looked exactly the same. Small, unassuming . . .

  “I am going to eat that fukker this time!”

  Werst had been on the planet with Torin.

  The plastic blinked and said to no one in particular. “We will trade you Strike Team Leader Gunnery Sergeant Torin Kerr for the minority.”

  Torin’s nostril’s flared impressively far. She’d obviously heard the declaration—through the implants or through the plastic itself. *Tell it to get fukked!*

  Craig rolled his eyes. “Okay if I handle this?”

  *Fine.*

  Turning to face the plastic, he smiled. “Get fukked.”

  *I love you.*

  He laughed. “I know.”

  “You will not get Strike Team Leader Gunnery Sergeant Torin Kerr back unless we are given the minority.”

  “You’re all powerful.” Craig folded his arms. “You want the minority, take them.”

  “Could we try not to provoke the giant, omnipresent alien,” Elisk sighed.

  “They won’t take the minority; they’re afraid of them.”

  The avatar skated forward, feet never losing contact with the floor. Werst snapped his teeth. The avatar reversed the movement.

  *I have an idea,* Alamber announced. *If Tylen and Tech turn off their maskers and make as much contact as possible with the part of Big Yellow holding the boss, odds are you can get her free.*

  Orange had responded to the pheromones, Craig acknowledged. It was worth a shot.

  *Lower inhibitions?*

  *In every single molecule, Boss. No way they’ll be able to maintain consensus.*

  “Elisk, Zhou, move out another meter. Werst . . .”

  “Prepare to be uncomfortable.” He spread his legs to shoulder width, toes curling against the floor. “Good thing we didn’t wear the suits.”

  *Not in suits?*

  She didn’t sound happy about it. However, now was not the time to explain they hadn’t thought they had the time to sui
t up. She wouldn’t be happy about that either. Craig saw drills in their future. He nodded at the two di’Taykan. “Do it.”

  The plastic alien’s nearly formless head jerked from side to side as it attempted to watch all of them at once. “Give us back what is ours!”

  Yahsamus turned her masker off, tossed her vest to Werst, stripped off her tunic, and pressed her left side against the yellow over Torin, her right hand resting on Torin’s chest. A moment later, Tylen plastered herself against the right side.

  Nothing happened.

  *Give it a minute,* Alamber advised, correctly translating the silence.

  Craig wondered if Orange had weighed in.

  The avatar swayed. “Give us back what is . . .” It froze. Grew a sudden meter higher. “Stop what you are doing immediately!” it ordered over the sound of Zhou’s laughter.

  “It got bigger,” Zhou snickered.

  Werst rolled his eyes. “Kids.”

  Torin’s nose twitched. *Not bored now.*

  Frustrated wasn’t bored; Craig would give her that. Breathing through his mouth didn’t help.

  Elisk and Werst had their nostril ridges shut tight. Zhou had started tapping his heels. Torin was trapped inside Big Yellow, that was all the distraction Craig needed.

  Almost all the distraction.

  “There’s a response.” Yahsamus stroked down Torin’s torso. “It’s shuddering. We need to tip it over the edge.”

  Tylen grinned, leaned forward, and caught the technical sergeant’s mouth in a kiss.

  Humans and Taykan were the only species in known space who put their mouths together in exactly that way. What were the odds, Craig wondered, refusing to shift in place.

  “Cleaning latrines. Cleaning spray from a head shot. H’san having sex.” Zhou’s volume rose. “Not helping.”

  Big Yellow writhed out from under the two di’Taykan, writhed away from Torin, kept writhing.

  “Stop. Stop. Stoooo . . .” For a moment the avatar showed as gray marbling within the floor, then there was only yellow.

  “Bet there’s a story behind that,” Torin breathed stumbling forward. For all they’d been touching her when she began to fall, Craig caught her before either Yahsamus or Tylen got the chance.

  * * *

  Torin removed her finger from around the trigger and looked up at Craig, chest heaving. His eyes held a desperate vulnerability that she suspected was mirrored in her own. She wet her lips, swallowed, and managed to croak out, “The Silsviss?”

  *The ship you got lifted from is fine, Boss. The Silsviss are chasing down a pirate who tried to run.*

  “And the Baylet?”

  *Moving prisoners onto the Berganitan.*

  Hands on her shoulders, Craig pulled her almost all the way up against him and gave her a little shake. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m not engulfed in sentient plastic, so I’m good.”

  “Fall apart later?”

  “That’s how it works.” She wanted to take a moment against Craig’s chest, wrapped in his arms. Replace the feeling of being buried alive with warmth and safety. But this was not that moment. She squeezed his wrists and pushed away. “Werst.”

  “Gunny.”

  She nodded toward the last of the gray disappearing into the floor. “Is that . . .”

  “Yep.”

  Walls still writhing, the compartment began to collapse.

  “Good call, Alamber. They have definitely lost consensus.” She squared her shoulders, accepted a canteen from Tylen, and swept a gaze around the group. “Wardens, we are leaving.”

  * * *

  “And in conclusion, Humanity is poised at this very moment to take our rightful place in the galaxy by destroying the plastic.” Anthony spread his arms, although for the sake of getting the message to as many as possible as quickly as possible, Sector Central News had agreed to record only audio. Audio packets moved faster through Susumi than visual recordings. No one knew why although there were half a dozen competing theories. “We will take our rightful place by making those responsible for the slaughter of millions of Confederation citizens pay. By ensuring the plastic will never return and try to use us again.”

  “No proof this is all of the plastic,” Dr. Banard muttered. “What happens if you destroy this lot and more shows up wondering what happened to it?”

  Anthony checked that Banard’s comment hadn’t been caught by the microphone and ignored him. “A Human has created a weapon that will destroy the plastic. Human crews are moving even now to do what no other species has been able to do. When you think of this moment, remember that Humans destroyed the threat of the plastic and made the Confederation great again!”

  He drew a finger across his throat, and Omondi cut the signal before reporters could begin asking questions. There were no questions to be asked. Humans had taken the first step toward reclaiming their position.

  “Fifty kilometers until we’re in range, Commander.”

  Anthony rubbed his hands together as Belcerio responded to Janssen. Fifty kilometers was nothing. They’d have Big Yellow in pieces before Sector Central had time to review his manifesto.

  “The Berganitan could still stop us,” Belcerio told him unnecessarily, crossing the cabin to his side.

  As though he’d forgotten about the battleship hanging in space. “I think you’ll find the Berganitan could have stopped us at any time, but they haven’t and they won’t. You were military, Commander Belcerio. You saw men and women die because of the plastic. I believe it’s long past time to cry enough. The Humans serving on the Berganitan support us.”

  “No way of knowing that.” Dr. Banard coughed into his sleeve, leaving a wet patch behind. “You’re making assumptions. There’s an ass in assumptions.”

  “Then grant us your wisdom, Doctor. Why haven’t they stopped us?”

  “Damned if I know. I’m in this shitbox with you.”

  “The Berganitan’s under orders. It’s the only possible reason why they haven’t gotten involved,” Belcerio expanded as Anthony turned to face him.

  “From who?”

  “Command. In this case, specifically, the Admiral of the Fleet.”

  “Whose orders come from Department of Defense,” Anthony said thoughtfully. “Who take their orders from Parliament. Who, theoretically, get their orders from the people.”

  “I love a fairy tale,” Banard murmured, hands under his chin, fluttering his eyes.

  Anthony ignored him. “The Admiral of the Fleet may have given the order, but there was no time for Parliament to weigh in.”

  “Better to ask for forgiveness than permission?” Belcerio offered.

  “Maybe.” But Anthony didn’t think so. As the CEO of Marteau Industries and a weapon supplier to the military, he’d met the Admiral of the Fleet at any number of government functions during the war. Harlin Borz was a politician first and foremost. He didn’t shit without checking to see how emptying his bowels would read in the polls. Who had enough power to convince him to order the Berganitan to stay out of the fight?

  And why?

  “In range in fifteen minutes, Commander.” Janssen stretched out his right arm and double-tapped the upper corner of the board. “Bringing the weapon on line.”

  * * *

  The ship writhed around them as they ran, the Krai keeping their feet, everyone else staggering, thrown from side to side. Tylen crashed into a wall, her arm engulfed to the elbow, then expelled with enough force it threw her off her feet. Craig caught her before she hit the opposite wall and was engulfed again.

  “Pheromones for the win.” Torin fell to one knee, grabbed Elisk’s offered hand, and pulled herself back onto her feet. “With luck, Big Yellow will expel the lot of us to regain consensus.”

  Yahsamus tucked, rolled, and pulled Zhou through a closing sphincter with her. “And witho
ut luck?”

  “We die frustrated.”

  “Not going to happen,” Craig told her.

  “I don’t get a quickie, you don’t get a quickie,” Werst grunted, tucking his shoulder against Craig’s hip and heaving him upright.

  “Rank. Privileges.”

  “Bullshit. Heads up!”

  The entire section sagged left, taking most of the next exit with it. Craig bent his head, braced his shoulders against what remained of the upper edge, and heaved.

  “Move! Move! Move!” Torin shoved people past him, then scrambled through herself as Yahsamus and Tylen pulled him clear from the other side. They stumbled forward half a dozen steps before the three of them could separate. Craig took a deep breath, pheromone-laced air better than none at all, and turned toward a familiar sound. “Elisk, what the hell are you doing?”

  Elisk sprayed a stream of urine against a retreating wall. “Keeping us alive.”

  Torin’s eyes widened. “The dissolved plastic in the latrines. Urea!”

  “Not an unlimited amount. Run!”

  Craig moved to the back of the pack, grabbed Elisk’s vest as he passed, and hauled him along. The wall collapsed behind them and sagged before them.

  “Werst! Your turn!”

  “Because only Krai piss’ll work?”

  “Alamber!” The floor rippled underfoot, and Torin banished a memory of learning to waterski. “We need a bigger distraction!”

  * * *

  “You’re about to get one, Boss! Humans First has announced they’re about to open fire.”

  *On what?*

  Fair question, Alamber allowed, this part of space had gotten a little crowded. Pirates. Wardens. Humans First. The three Sector Central ships and all their drones. Only the Berganitan had held their original coordinates. “On Big Yellow, according to their manifesto.”

  *Their what?*

  “That’s what Marteau called it. He says they have a weapon that can destroy the plastic.”