by Tanya Huff
Torin suspected that if he’d paused, he couldn’t have begun again. She wrapped an arm around his waist and tucked him up against her side, feeling him relax with the contact. “Is that something you can do? Not questioning your intelligence,” she added quickly, “but your background education is unique.”
“I may have to fill in a few holes, but the science team has said they’ll help set things up.”
“And then you’ll come back? Here?” She tried to make it sound like it mattered to her, but not more than it mattered to him. She’d watched hundreds of young Marines leave her care over the years and never felt like this.
“I’ll come back to forensics.”
“Because that’s where the smart people are, and you’re one of the smartest people I know.”
His hair brushed against her cheek. “You’re not angry?”
“Because you’re leaving the Strike Team?” She tightened her grip. “I’d be . . . not angry, but upset if you stayed when you didn’t want to. And you’ll be back.”
“To forensics.”
“I guess I’ll have to remember where that is, then.”
She heard Craig take a deep breath on her other side and wondered what he’d braced himself to say.
“Alamber, are you pissed because I left you on the Promise?”
Alamber pulled away from her hold far enough to throw up both arms. “For fuksake, Craig, not everything is about your ship. I need . . .” He paused and instead of the expected innuendo said, “I need to find answers.”
“To what?” Torin asked.
His hair flipped up. “Don’t know, Boss. Don’t know the questions yet.” His eyes darkened as he stepped away and looked from Torin to Craig. “Still family?”
Craig dragged him into his arms. “Dumbass.”
“Always family,” Torin told him. Frowned. “Alamber, you said you knew Humans First had weapons armed because you had them on long-range scanners. Did you keep the scanners on after the H’san warship appeared?”
“Sure.” His eyes darkened as he searched her face. “It happened so fast I didn’t have time to shut them down. Why?”
She smiled. “I have some science things for you to do.”
“Science things?” Craig asked, brows up.
“Science things. Shut up.”
Alamber laughed.
* * *
• • •
“The Strike Teams were formed to deal with violent threat.” Commander Ng threw a hard-light version of the warrant she’d drawn up over his desk. “Are you expecting this to turn violent?”
“No, sir. But I want to make the arrest.”
“For personal reasons?”
“For social reasons.”
“Social reasons?” Before Torin could elaborate, his lips curled into an edged smile. “All right, then.” He stared at the warrant for a moment longer then flicked it back down into the file. “This is going to change things.”
“If we’re lucky.”
“And if we’re not? This is a tipping point, Warden Kerr, but we have no idea which way things will tip. What are you planning to do if things tip the wrong way?”
The H’san had a planet of hidden weapons.
And a H’san in every Parliament.
The military had been operating independent of Parliamentary oversight.
And in cooperation with the Primacy.
“Same thing I’ve always done, sir.”
His answering smile came with different edges. “Good.”
* * *
• • •
“Strike Team Leader ex-Gunnery Sergeant Warden Kerr, this are being a surprise.” Presit held a piece of fruit speared on a fluted skewer. “As you are having paid for a Susumi boost on what are being a government pittance which are truly needing to be improved, I are expecting it are not being a social call. What are you wanting?”
Torin was up at 0200 Berbar time to catch Presit before she left home for the day. She wasn’t in the mood for politicking, but she reminded herself that the Katrien was a friend, of sorts, and kept her voice level. “I want you to cover one more story. For old times’ sake.”
“I are having an election in three tendays, Warden.” Presit waved the piece of fruit. “I are needing more information than that.”
“It’ll be worth it.”
“In your opinion.”
“Wasn’t it always worth it before?”
Presit combed blue enameled claws through her whiskers, right side, then left.
Torin smiled. “Bring a camera.”
* * *
• • •
Presit was too much of a professional to say anything when she recognized where they were going, but the nameless camera operator whistled softly.
The H’san embassy was large, a given considering the size of the H’san, and unattractive, which was a bit of a surprise. Their ancient tombs had an aesthetic that the rectangular, three-story concrete building was entirely lacking. If there were windows, they were hidden. The piece of Mik’tok art over the entrance was the only color Torin could see. It was possible they’d designed the building so as not to clash with this treasured piece of art, but she doubted it. Although to be fair, if a H’san told her the sky was blue, she’d look up to check.
The approach to the embassy was unguarded, but then why wouldn’t it be? They were on Har’p, in the Core, where the presence of more than a single H’san was required.
“Begin now,” Presit ordered.
The camera operator lifted his camera to his shoulder. Complying with the law that kept citizens from being recorded without their knowledge, news cameras were ridiculously bulky, covered in station insignia and topped by a trio of lights illuminated in frequencies covering all potential ocular abilities. There was space enough inside the casing that one of Presit’s previous operators had told Torin he used it as luggage. This particular camera case had been hardened to exclude any and all types of outside interference. Sector Central News hadn’t been pleased about the loss of their data.
The dark gray double doors opened as they approached.
The H’san, standing three meters back from the entrance in a cavernous two-story space, extended their neck. “Why have you brought the press, Warden Kerr?”
“As a member of the Justice Department and, therefore, the government of the Confederation, I have a right to full disclosure.” On her left, Presit snorted softly. That wasn’t the way the law was usually interpreted, but it could be. Torin looked the H’san in the eyes and waited.
Commander Ng had vetoed her first response. Apparently Because I think your entire species are manipulative bags of shit and I want an independent record wasn’t up to the standards of the Justice Department. “We don’t know that it’s the entire species,” the commander had reminded her.
After a long, silent moment, the H’san pivoted around their rear leg. “Follow.”
The chamber they were led to opened off the right-hand wall. The lack of doors made it more an alcove than a room, and the absence of anything in it, except another H’san, indicated it had always been intended for uncomfortable meetings with inferior species. The second H’san took up most of the free space in the room, but Torin not only worked with Dornagain but had never been intimidated by size in her life.
She swallowed and reminded herself to roll the Rs and cough the hard consonants. “Clab’insto Arekog of Terabookog.”
Head resting on their shoulders, they blinked. By H’san standards, they were young. They’d probably never heard one of the Younger Races say their name. “Yes.”
“You have been identified as being in command of the H’san ship at . . .” Torin listed the coordinates and the Confederation standard date and time, clearly and precisely and loudly enough there could be no ambiguity about the recording.
The H’san blinked again, but as she hadn’t asked them a question, remained silent.
“The long-range scanner on the Promise was aimed at the Humans First ships when they were destroyed. When they were no longer in the way, it automatically adjusted its aim and scanned the next nearest ship. Your ship. Where it registered H’san DNA. Where it registered your DNA, as well as that of another three H’san. This is how you were identified.”
The H’san raised their head a few centimeters, two eyes on Torin. “Long-range scanners do not register DNA.”
Torin had no idea why the lack of contractions annoyed her so much, but she had to admit that, however stilted, it was an improvement on the stylized diplomatic speech used by the H’san she’d had met previously. “The long-range scanners used by Civilian Salvage Operators register DNA. CSOs have returned, and continue to return, the remains of Marines and Naval personnel missing in action to their families. The Promise, as an independently owned vessel, has CSO scanners installed.”
“May I be making the assumption that the Justice Department are going to be making these scanners a part of their standard equipment, Strike Team Leader Warden Kerr?”
“That is correct, Presit a Tur durValintrisy.” Torin squared her shoulders and took a step forward. “Clab’insto Arekog of Terabookog, you are under arrest for the murders of Anthony Marteau, Robert Banard, Luiz Belcerio, and thirty-seven others.” Torin had wanted to list them all but had been advised not to extend the arrest. The names would all be listed in court.
Their head rose and kept rising. At full extension their eye-line was a good fifteen centimeters over Torin’s head, and all eyes were searching the open area behind her. “I was just following orders!”
“Given by who?”
They scrambled back until they hit the rear wall, but didn’t answer.
Adjusting for species specifics, they looked startled. Like they couldn’t believe this was actually happening—although Torin allowed she might have been projecting a little.
When the Justice Department had briefed the H’san government, they’d said nothing about an arrest. Commander Ng had pointed out that if the H’san hadn’t realized the consequences of their actions when the H’san had been instrumental in creating most of the laws the Confederation operated under, it wasn’t the Justice Department’s problem.
“We have a vehicle waiting to take you to the port where you will board a Justice Department vessel and be taken to Berbar Station for questioning.”
There were closer Justice stations, but this was Torin’s arrest.
She glanced at her cuff. Finds Truth Through Inquiry and the skimmer they’d acquired from the port authorities had arrived out front four minutes and sixteen seconds ago.
As Torin indicated the H’san should precede her out of the room, they focused on Presit and repeated, “I was just following orders!”
Presit waved the repetition off with a dismissive flick of one small hand. “You are clearly not having paid attention during the war we are just having fought.”
* * *
• • •
For the first time in a while, all of the Strike Teams were on the station and the sound levels in Musselman’s had reached new levels as stories were traded, and both likely and unlikely exploits were greeted with catcalls and variations on, “well, if you think that’s something . . .” Dominating one corner both with size and enthusiasm, Lie described the maneuvers Ozborz had made while chasing down the last of the pirates, her listeners keeping one eye on her waving arms lest they be swept away. Over by the bar, Alamber and a couple of the forensic team, including the smallest Niln Torin had ever seen, were arguing with as much passion, but fewer dangerous gestures. She’d head over later and have Alamber make introductions. If these were the people he planned to spend time with, she needed to do background checks.
Binti and Nicholin were playing darts, Binti throwing with her non-dominant hand. Over by the bulkhead, Werst and Ressk played a viciously competitive game of kiir, but Torin knew they were holding feet under the table.
The bar also held two Dornagain from Delta’s C&C, three Niln, and a young Rakva who’d just joined R&D, the state of her feathers suggesting she was in Strike Team territory on a dare. But she was there. The definition of team seemed to be expanding, and that could only be a good thing.
“Of course they didn’t wipe the Baylet’s scanners,” Marie Bilodeau pointed from the other side of the big round table. “Why would they? Standard long-range doesn’t record molecular detail.”
“And you were on the other side of the Berganitan at the time,” Zhou reminded her.
“And we were on the other side of the Berganitan at the time,” Marie repeated, rolling her eyes.
“To CSO scanners.” Craig lifted his beer in salute.
Marie sighed, and glasses rose around the table. “We’re all going into refit, aren’t we?”
Craig grinned, “Not all of us.”
“All of us, hotshot. You agreed to have weapons installed.”
Leaving the pilots to it, Torin returned to her conversation with Ranjit and Elisk. They needed to work out a nondisruptive way to mix the teams. Yahsamus could have cracked the pirates’ signal had either Craig or Elisk thought of U’yun as teammates rather than armed passengers.
“No more than one position at a time,” Ranjit insisted. “We want to give team dynamics more flexibility, not break them apart.”
“No point in throwing the ganit out with the cooking water,” Elisk agreed.
Torin nodded. “We need to draw up a scheduled rotation.”
“While things are quiet.” Elisk’s nostril ridges shut as the other two turned toward him. “Shit. Just jinxed it.”
The big screen at the end of the bar was showing another Parliamentary reaction to the H’san arrest, the Trun reporter trying to tie it to the upcoming vote on the status of the Younger Races.
“What?” Ranjit demanded when Torin rolled her eyes.
“It’s all hot air and saving face, Cap. Everyone’s talking about the H’san. No one gives a shit about the Younger Races right now.”
Ranjit nodded. “Things are changing.”
“And the Elder Races don’t change quickly or willingly. They’ll need us.”
“Think they’ll realize that?”
“I don’t think she’ll let them forget.” Torin nodded at the screen where Presit had joined the Trun reporter.
“. . . being in an uproar. Members are demanding answers and there are no answers being forthcoming. You are being aware that every Parliament are having at least one H’san?”
The Trun’s ears flattened. “Yes, Candidate, but . . .”
“And you are being aware that while many of them are having left, some are not having been able to?”
Zir tail lashed. “I was not aware of that, no. But . . .”
“We, and when I say we, I are meaning the entire Confederation, are having the right to know what these young H’san have been learning when they are being placed in Parliaments. They tell us they are learning what it is to be H’san.” She turned to face the camera, and slipped her mirrored glasses far enough down her muzzle she could peer over their top edge directly into the lens. “I are saying that, at the very least, the presence of a H’san warship means we should be asking just what a H’san is.”
“The H’san sing . . .”
“Yes, they are singing to the dawn. They are smelling pleasant. They are liking cheese. We are all knowing that. The question are being . . .” Her lip curled. “. . . what else are they doing?”
Someone with their hand on a switch recognized an exit line and a commercial for cross-species supplements filled the screen . . .
. . . for the two seconds it took Paul to change the channel to a hockey game.
“Was it just me or was that more coherent than Presi
t usually is?” Ranjit threw a handful of peanuts into her mouth.
“Wasn’t just you,” Elisk admitted. “I almost wish I could vote for her.”
Torin raised a brow. “Almost?”
His nostril ridges half closed. “I’ve read your mission reports, Gunny.” And opened again. “Rumor has it there’s a delegation of H’san arriving in the next couple of days to talk to your prisoner.”
“Not my prisoner, not anymore. I handed them over to rehab.” She really hoped talk to wasn’t a euphemism for attempt to remove from custody. If it was, the H’san would learn that times were changing and cheese-flavored variations on because I said so weren’t going to cut it anymore—not with the other species of the Confederation, and not, she suspected with their own young, suddenly forced to face suspicion in place of awe.
“So while change sweeps through the Confederation, building a bright new future with an exciting potential for new ideas and social harmony, I expect we’ll spend the next few years rounding up the deluded remnants of Humans First.” Ranjit sighed and finished her drink. “Bad ideas never die. But with Marteau gone, they’ve lost their funding so at least they should be easier to find.”
“Think there could be a Krai First out there,” Elisk asked, scratching his left wrist with his right foot, “but no one’s heard of it because we’re just better at it?”
Torin lifted her beer in salute. “Hard to believe you’d be worse.” She frowned.
“Gunny?”
“One of those deluded remnants we’ll be hunting is the ex-Navy cook who shot me.”
“So the search is personal.” Elisk nodded. “Good to know.”
Ranjit snickered. “Gunnery Sergeant Torin Kerr shot by a cook. You’re lucky Presit wasn’t there.”
Later, when Ranjit and Marie were arguing Marine vs Navy about the botched extraction from Intain Three during the early years of the war, and Elisk had gone to the bar for another bowl of hujin chips, Craig slid his chair closer and stretched his arm behind Torin’s shoulders.