by Tanya Huff
And why was she standing in the doorway, listening to her brain babble at her about beds?
No one had ever risked their life for hers before. Particularly no one who was also part of a group keeping her captive and killing children. It had been the latest in a series of unique experiences. She didn’t know how to respond, confusion rising to redirect the anger.
Trembley was barely more than a child himself.
“You coming in or what?”
“Possibly what.” She moved closer to the bed. “Hard to say.” He sounded weak, the bed only just low enough for her to get a good look at him.
Four purple lines cut through the thin hair on his chest, the skin around them green and yellow. Ganes’ inclusion had meant Human specifications in the autodoc, but it had never been intended for anything more than basic repairs. The plan had been to stasis serious injuries and message the university for a retrieval. Martin had refused to put Trembley in stasis. Trembley was alive, thanks to Dr. Ganes, but he still had healing to do.
The young Human had half circles a darker purple than the scars under both eyes. She didn’t know their function. His lips were so pale, they nearly disappeared into the surrounding skin. Humans had such obvious lips. Well, Humans and Taykan and . . .
“Stop staring at me.” Bed fabric rustled as he shifted under it.
Arniz blinked.
“Why?”
It took her a moment to realize it had been her voice asking the question. A moment, and Trembley’s frown.
“Because it’s creepy as fuk!”
It took her another moment to realize he’d thought she’d been responding to his demand when the word had instead been a spontaneous bleed-off of pressure. “Why would you risk yourself for me?”
“I didn’t.” He released a long, shaky breath. “Okay, obviously, I did, but I wasn’t thinking about you, not specifically. I mean other than you being small and helpless. The attack needed to be stopped, so I stopped it. Sarge was pissed because you aren’t even Human, but . . .” She saw another purple line on the inside of his arm when he lifted his hand to rub at his jaw. “It’s a Marine thing. I don’t expect you to understand.”
“Ignoring for the moment that Sergeant Martin should understand a Marine thing, you’re no longer a Marine. The military is a profession. You’re doing a job.” She spread her hands. “I believe you’re now what the news calls a mercenary.”
“Yeah, well . . .” He plucked at the blanket. “. . . that doesn’t mean I’m one of the bad guys!”
“Historically, I believe it does.”
“No!” A vigorous shake of his head had him paling further and sucking air through his teeth. When he caught his breath, he added, “We’re here to protect the weapon for the buyer. That’s all. Protection.”
“Protection?” She hissed. “What were you protecting when you allowed Martin to murder Dzar?”
“Why do you keep coming back to that? I didn’t allow . . .”
“Did you stop him?”
“How could I stop him?” His eyes were wide. “And besides, you know he did it so more of you wouldn’t be shot!”
“How effective. After all, Martin didn’t shoot Mygar when he murdered her.”
“Stop saying murdered! She had a weapon!”
“And Martin didn’t have the skill to disarm her.”
“I told you he . . .”
Arniz waited while Trembley licked his lips. Plucked at the blanket. Shook his head. Winced. Licked his lips again. She looked at the glass of water on the chest beside him and continued to wait.
Finally, he sighed. “You make hard decisions in the heat of battle.” It sounded as though he were quoting. “Everyone knows that.”
There’d been no heat; people on both sides of the equation had frozen in place when Mygar picked up the weapon. And no battle, only an ancillary holding a killing tool she had no idea of how to use. But Arniz would allow Trembley’s statement in a specific instance. “The decision you made in the heat of battle was to save lives. If you believe that’s a Marine thing, then there must still be a Marine inside the mercenary.” Buried a few strata down under whatever Martin had been shoveling, but it was there. Up on her toes, her tail extended, she held the glass of water to his lips. When he finished drinking, she returned it to the chest and stepped back. “Thank you for saving my life.”
Trembley muttered a string of words she couldn’t make out and pointedly closed his eyes.
Arniz paused at the door, turned to face the bed again, tongue flicking out. The room tasted of pain. “Do you know the difference between a profession and a job?” she asked softly. “You can walk away from a job. Realize it’s not right for you and stop doing it.”
She hadn’t expected a response. She didn’t get one.
The upper level of the anchor maintained a constant temperature of twenty-three degrees, a little cooler than the Niln preferred, a little warmer than the Katrien liked. She doubted anyone had asked Dr. Ganes his preference, but the Younger Races were supposed to be adaptable. Shoving her hands into the pockets of her overall and tucking her tail in close against her body, she headed for the stairs.
“Hey, lizard! What the fuk are you doing up here?” Malinowski stood sideways in the door of the infirmary, angled to keep part of her attention in the room.
Trembley’s curiosity meant Arniz had had little contact with the female Humans. They scented the air differently than the males, but otherwise seemed remarkably similar. Malinowski’s arms were bare, skin darker than Martin’s, a little lighter than Trembley and Zhang. Bare skin was sensible given the heat and humidity outside. The air around her tasted of salt. “I came to thank Trembley for saving my life.”
“Sarge clear you?”
“I didn’t ask his permission.”
“He’s in charge, lizard. You ask him if you can blink.”
Arniz blinked. Without permission. Because Martin and his people were there to protect the weapon for the buyer. They hadn’t been hired by Yurrisk, they’d been assigned to him. Why would Martin bother pretending Yurrisk was in charge? Layers under the surface . . .
“Move, lizard. Get downstairs with the rest of the degenerates.” She’d thought she’d controlled her reaction, but Malinowski sneered. “Yeah, degenerates. The so-called Elder Races.”
“The H’san were old as a species before Humans discovered fire. Your qualifier is objectively inaccurate.”
Malinowski’s pale eyes narrowed, and her lip curled up off her teeth. “Can you fly, lizard?”
Strange question. “There are Niln with residual gliding wings, but . . .”
“Get down the stairs before I put my boot in your ass.”
Ah. Not so strange a question after all, rather a somewhat lateral threat. As she passed the infirmary, Arniz saw a Krai foot, toes curled in, and part of a leg. She assumed both remained attached to the Krai. If this was the Warden here to rescue them, they weren’t going to be much help.
“Why Polint?”
Vertic cocked her head as Torin dropped back to run beside her, the underbrush sparser around the ruins, boots ringing against stone as often as soil. “Why Polint what?”
“Why hire Polint mercenaries? To fight a few scientists and one ex-Marine who’d never seen combat? That’s like bringing a gun to a knife fight. Overkill given Commander Yurrisk’s situation. He’s not going to waste resources he could put into his ship.”
“We’re very fast. Perhaps he intended them to chase down escapees?”
“Through this?” They ducked a branch together, and Torin ignored both the slender loop that fell to brush her shoulder and Binti up ahead muttering, fukking snakes. “He’s Krai. He can’t take the high road, but he has two Krai in his crew.”
They cut through a roofless ruin as Vertic thought about it, humming low in her throat. After a moment, she
said, “He brought them to fight you.”
“To fight the Strike Team sure to be sent should the Wardens discover he’s here. Insurance, then.” Made sense. If he knew 33X73 was a Class Two Designate, he knew it was under satellite surveillance. Fairly useless surveillance given the distance the Ministry had their collective heads up their asses, but still. Three Polint would change the odds in a fight out in the open. Out on the plateau. They were faster, stronger, and if a way existed for a biped to take them out in close combat, she hadn’t discovered it. Yet. After a retreat to the anchor, three extra sharpshooters would make more sense, but young male Polint, eager to prove themselves, probably came cheaper.
“No, Gunny. You.” Vertic hit the emphasis as though it should be obvious. “You’re the logical choice to send after a mixed group of mercenaries. You haven’t only fought against us, you’ve fought with us and, thanks to Presit . . .”
*You are being welcome.*
“. . . everyone knows that. Commander Yurrisk had to have known that should a Strike Team be sent in, it would be Strike Team Alpha.”
Torin considered that as they moved away from the ruins and back into the perpetual twilight of the closed canopy. The commander wasn’t a mercenary regardless of his current situation. He wanted to keep his ship flying. So he hired Martin. It was in Martin’s best interest overall, not merely for this job, to take out the Strike Team with the best arrest record. So Martin brought Polint. Made sense.
Mercenaries were more flexible than governments; he couldn’t have expected Strike Team Alpha to bring Polint of their own.
Torin pulled ahead as they reached a partial wall, braced one hand on the top stone, and went over. Her boots sank six centimeters into the soft soil, but the ground held under her weight, the added weight of her pack, and gravity. The ground had broken twice; all bets were off.
Vertic all but floated over the same wall, landing lightly, legs folding enough to absorb the impact so that her belly fur just brushed the ground. “A weapon to destroy the plastic could bring us all together.”
“It could,” Torin agreed. “Or it could tear us apart. Everyone will want a piece of it. The knowledge that a single weapon exists, capable of destroying the plastic, could drop us right back into war as both sides fight to control it.”
“If the underground room is part of a complex, there could be multiple weapons.”
“That could be worse.”
“That’s remarkably pessimistic of you, Gunny.”
“Occupational hazard.”
“Fuk me, that’s deep!”
The team came to a halt behind Bertecnic’s sudden exclamation.
Torin put on a burst of speed and stopped by another, lower wall. If the blocks of stone hadn’t been heavy enough to fall through, the ground under them should be solid. Safe.
The hole beyond the wall was ragged, new, and Bertecnic stood at the edge of it. “It’s solid,” he said over his shoulder.
“Good.” Torin pointed at the ground beside her. “Get back here.”
“I don’t . . .”
“Now.”
His nostrils flared when he reached her, and he leaned in to inhale her scent.
Not the first time she’d been sniffed in the line of duty. When his hands reached for her waist, she snapped, “Enough.”
He jerked back, smoothing the fur below his vest. “Sorry, Gunny.”
She nodded, opened her mouth, and raced forward as a line dropped into the hole from an overhanging branch. She snagged Ressk’s pack as he dropped past, hauling him to the edge. “You were ordered to the plateau.”
“I saw . . .” He gestured at the hole.
Torin released him, slowly, keeping her body between him and the dangling rope. “Ressk, he’s not down there now.”
“I know, I . . .” Ressk took a deep breath and let it out slowly, nostril ridges fluttering. “I know.”
“We’ll discuss this later.” His shoulder muscles were rigid under her hand. “After we get Werst back. Depth?”
He sank to his haunches as though his strings had been cut, both hands gripping a fistful of dirt. “I pinged at ten point seven nine meters. Same artificial surface as in the other room. Excluding ceiling height, same dimensions. Less debris.”
Less debris because the edges of this hole were holding firm. In spite of crushed foliage four or five meters out, there’d been no constant deterioration.
When she glanced back at Bertecnic, he shrugged. “Told you it was solid, Gunny.”
“Do we check it?” Binti asked.
Dutavar sidestepped in the direction of the plateau. “The other one was empty.”
“They had injured to remove from this one.” Vertic glared Bertecnic still as he started back toward the hole. “I doubt they searched it as thoroughly.”
“And the Artek felt technology start up right before Werst went through the ceiling. Mashona.” Torin stepped out of the way as Binti came forward and dropped to one knee.
“They wouldn’t give two shits about Werst,” Ressk growled.
“One of their own went down,” Binti reminded him. “And they think Werst’s you, and they . . .”
“I know, Mashona! It doesn’t help.”
She wrapped her hand loosely around his ankle. “Yeah.”
“Mashona, what do you see?” Torin didn’t trust Binti’s eyes more than the scanners. She trusted Binti’s analysis of what she saw.
“Debris. Three empty sealant tubes. Blood. Scanner says Krai and Taykan. Nothing on the walls, but something about the walls. I can’t tell from here if it’s a color variation or shadow.” She tapped the edge of her scanner. “Minor temperature variation, but—again—that could be the shadow.”
“I could check.” Ressk surged up onto his feet. “I know he’s not down there, Gunny, but he was. We can’t move on the anchor until after dark, and I need to do something.”
Dark didn’t happen for almost two hours. “Go on, then . . .”
He was on the line before she finished.
“Merinim, Freenim, with him. They climb as well as we do,” she explained to Binti as the Druin shrugged out of their packs. “And they’re a lot lighter. No reason for them to waste energy climbing up or the Polint to waste theirs hauling our asses out.”
“You speaking of your own ass, Gunny?”
“I speak for every ass, Mashona.”
Ressk had reached bottom before Freenim joined his bonded on the rope.
“You think we’ll find a weapon?” Binti asked quietly, as Torin knelt by her side. “Down there?”
“I’m not ruling anything out. I think if we’re going to get the rest of the hostages out of the anchor alive, I’ll take all the help we can . . .”
*Torin, EMP from the shuttle just took out the DLs on the edge of the plateau.*
*Is that why you had us keep watch, Gunny?* Keeleeki’ka sounded more amazed than the situation called for.
“Basic precaution. No chatter on the implants.”
*Martin did what Torin would’ve. Just took him longer.*
“Chattering, Warden Ryder.”
*Sharing vital information, Warden Kerr.*
Werst staggered into the wall at the top of the stairs, and leaned there, breathing heavily, nostril ridges half open. He’d have gotten more air had he opened them further, but he wasn’t leaving his face that vulnerable.
“Oh, for fuksake.” Malinowski slapped the wall above his head. “You’ve barely gone four meters.”
“Go easy,” Ganes called from inside the infirmary. “He lost a lot of blood.”
“And unless he gets his ass downstairs, he’s going to lose more. Sarge wants to see him now.”
Werst caught a glimpse of her hand moving toward his shoulder out of the corner of his eye. When he bared his teeth, she snatched it back. Feigning
dizziness that was uncomfortably close to the truth, he descended as slowly as possible, balancing on the thin branch between convincing the mercenaries he was too weak to worry about, and frustrating Malinowski to the point where she used a boot to speed him up.
The big common room was crowded. No surprise. Four days in Susumi had made it clear that three Polint could be a crowd on their own. Actually, where the fuk had Martin even found Polint? Last thing Justice needed was a Confederation/Primacy mercenary exchange program.
Not his problem. Not right now.
The overhead lights were bright, offering no advantage to Krai eyes meant for flickering shadow. Given the number of people, the room was surprisingly quiet.
The panels that sealed the six tall windows in the long outside wall while the anchor was in space had been replaced, but then, it was the first thing anyone with half a brain would do. Even the idiot gunrunners had managed it, although they hadn’t done it well. Nor had they replaced the panels in any of the second-floor windows. Werst knew the infirmary window in this anchor was also unsealed, so it seemed Martin wasn’t significantly smarter. To be fair, were Werst trapped in an anchor with a Strike Team approaching, he’d leave the panels off the second-floor windows, too. With the Strike Team’s VTA also in play, the windows were a safer place to station shooters than the roof.
Plus, the second-floor panels were a pain in the ass to replace.
Sealed, the common room smelled like seven species had been locked in for longer than the mechanical air exchange could handle. Actually, fuk that. It smelled like Polint. Less pungent a smell than Dornagain at least. The black—Camaderiz—and the one who had the same reddish brown coloring as Bertecnic—Netro . . . Netrvoo . . . something. Fuk it. Netro. Netro and Camaderiz had folded their legs over by the long wall and were talking quietly. Tehaven, Dutavar’s brindled brother, sat a little apart staring at his slate, lips moving. All three wore black vests and a variable number of knives. Three RKah leaned against the wall beside them.