by Tanya Huff
“You ever see them fight?”
“I have.”
“That’s what’s with the Polint.”
The scientists had no fight in them so it seemed Martin had planned ahead in case a Strike Team showed up. The Polint were weapons. Insurance. That made Martin smarter than Werst had thought.
“What do you think you’re doing, lizard?”
I’m helping bring you to justice for the deaths of Dzar and Magyr, you ki seewin. Arniz held out the covered dish. “I’m taking your young Trembley a bowl of soup. His body requires nourishment to heal.”
“Why should you care? You’re not Human.” Martin stomped across to her, the metal in his boot heels ringing against the floor. Was the noise supposed to frighten her? Please, she’d heard forty-seven firsters leave a lecture hall on the last day of classes. “Lift the lid off the bowl, lizard.”
She sighed and lifted.
“Taste it.”
“It’s Human food.”
“And too good for you. Taste it.”
“Are you assuming I’ve poisoned it?”
“Taste it,” he repeated, smiling.
It seemed Sergeant Martin wasn’t aware the Niln could consume seven substances fatal to Humans. When Dr. Ganes joined the expedition, they’d all been required to learn what those seven substances were. To think she’d once been appalled at the concept of accidental death.
Dzar had been conscientious about memorizing the list and ensuring none of the seven were included in their stores. Shortsighted of her, as it happened.
Holding the bowl against her chest, Arniz tucked the cover under her elbow, and pulled a spoon from the narrow breast pocket on her overalls. The soup package had been labeled chicken noodle although the makers of the soup had been civilized enough to use a nonflesh-based chicken substitute.
“Well?”
She forced herself to swallow the spoonful of broth. “It’s disgusting.”
“You’re disgusting,” he said conversationally. “Sterilize the spoon before you give it to him. What do you want?”
The di’Taykan with the pale pink hair—Pyrus—had risen. “I’ll take the food up. I want to see Gayun. He shouldn’t be alone.”
“He’s in stasis.”
“Sergeant . . .”
“No.”
“Sergeant.” Yurrisk’s repetition of Martin’s rank didn’t sound like the same word. It sounded like know your place and don’t make me come over there. “You can’t open the pod, Pyrus.” His voice gentled. “Gayun won’t know you’re there. Let Harveer Arniz take the food up. You two . . .” He waved Mirish closer to Pyrus. “. . . stay together. Watch each other’s backs.”
Arniz could hear grinding from Martin’s mouth, and his jaw made small movements back and forth, but he unclamped it to say, “Zhang.”
“Sarge.”
“Accompany the lizard upstairs. Move Trembley into the infirmary, then spend . . .” He checked his cuff. “. . . a moment or two with Ganes. He hasn’t had enough Human contact.”
“He’s in medical. I hate medical, Sarge.”
“I don’t care. Move Trembley, see Ganes, then take up position in the window of the room you moved Trembley from. We’ve got plenty of ammo; they have to worry about precision, you don’t.”
“Sucks to be them.” Zhang headed for the stairs. “Come on, lizard.”
“Why do you hate medical?” Arniz asked as they began to climb. Knowledge was power. She’d never realized that so viscerally before.
“It smells funny.”
The height of the risers was a compromise between the many species who might use an anchor. Slightly high for Arniz, slightly low for Zhang. They climbed three steps side by side.
“You smell funny, too,” Zhang added on the fourth.
At the top of the stairs, the mercenary shoved her toward the infirmary. “In you get,” she ordered as Arniz stumbled and nearly dropped the soup. “Stay out of the way. Malinowski! Help me move Trembley.”
“The bunk’s on rollers,” Malinowski’s voice came from the room the Niln had used for their night nest. Arniz’s tail lashed. She’d probably touched personal belongings. It wasn’t enough the Warden wore her overalls? “Move him yourself.”
Zhang rolled her eyes until whites showed all the way around. It was a fascinating feature of Human eyes. “Lazy cow!”
“Fuk you, Zhang. There’s a Strike Team out there I need to shoot.”
“Like you could hit them without using a ship.” She turned to Arniz. “Navy gunner. A terrible shot if the target isn’t half a kilometer long. What are you still doing out here? Go.”
Arniz ducked a second shove and stepped into the infirmary. Dr. Ganes moved back to give her room. He’d been standing just inside the door, watching. Maybe listening to voices from downstairs. How well did Humans hear? She held up the covered bowl. “I’ve brought food for Trembley.” Which was when she realized she had no food for Dr. Ganes. Who was a colleague.
He must have read the realization off her face because he smiled. “It’s all right, Harveer. There’s protein shakes up here if I get hungry. I’m fine.”
Across the hall, Zhang cursed at Trembley’s bed. Arniz moved closer to Ganes and slid the slate out of her lowest pocket. “The young Warden sent this.”
“It’s Dr. Lows’.” The Katrien slate looked tiny in his hand. “Did he mention what he wants me to do with it?”
“We didn’t have time for an extended conversation. I assume he thought you’d know.”
Ganes opened his mouth, closed it again, and finally muttered, “He must need help with the block. It’s the only tech we discussed. Still, if he had to send me a slate, I wish he’d been able to send mine.”
“Se tenis tin arramani ki haliven.” Arniz spread her hands. “If wishes were . . .” And frowned. “Never mind. It loses a little in the translation.”
Martin was now the only Human in the common room. He paced—no, he prowled. Every movement said look at me, I’m in charge. Or maybe notice me, Werst allowed. There was a lot of psychology tossed around during Warden training; why people did what they did. Werst didn’t care about why, only what, but some of it had stuck. Bullies often felt they could only be seen by being shitheads. Understanding didn’t make them any less a shithead, though.
As he prowled, Martin watched Commander Yurrisk and his crew as much as he watched Werst or the hostages. His hands were in constant movement over his . . .
Not his. Werst knew the gouge on the barrel. The discoloration on the butt. He half rose, then settled again. There was nothing he could do about Martin carrying his weapon. Did he think Martin would apologize and return it? At least Werst would know where it was when the fighting started.
Martin was waiting for something.
For dark, Werst assumed. For the attack.
“Be ready,” he told the Polint. The Polint looked unimpressed, but all three stood, stretched out the stiffness in their muscles, and began checking weapons. As well as the heavy machetes, they’d all strapped on multiple knives. Netrovooens had a leg sheath—redundant bordering on ridiculous given it hung eight centimeters above claws Werst had seen used to disembowel a Marine.
Be ready for what? Martin could hold off the Strike Team indefinitely from inside the anchor. And as long as he had the hostages, he had the upper hand in any negotiation.
Too bad people safe in government offices had decided they didn’t negotiate with hostage takers.
They weren’t here. Fukkers.
“You, Ressk, I should’ve let you bleed out. You, Tehaven, lock him in the storage room behind the kitchen.” He smiled down at Werst, showing teeth, but spoke to Tehaven. “If he decides to be a hero, rip him apart.”
Werst held both hands up where Martin could see them and flipped him off.
Martin had been Co
rps. He knew the Krai gesture. “Fuk you, too. You and you . . .” Martin pointed at Pyrus and Mirish. “Get the data sheet down. We don’t want to chance it being destroyed in the fighting,” he added as the commander rose to his feet.
“There will be no fighting, Sergeant. The anchor is safe. We’re safe in the anchor.”
Commander Yurrisk had believed he’d gotten his people to safety on the Paylent, only to find he hadn’t. The word safe haunted the commander. Werst suspected he could put most of the important parts back into the redacted report.
“Suppose the hostages panic? There’s your map to the weapon, gone.”
“I need that weapon.” He swayed to the right. And again.
“I know.”
Martin’s reply sounded more like no shit to Werst.
Commander Yurrisk’s bristles made a harsh shunk shunk against his palm as he rubbed his head with both hands. “Pyrus, Mirish, take the sheet down. Carefully. Let it roll.”
After four days in Susumi, Werst recognized a Druin frown when he saw one. Seemed Qurn didn’t believe the sheet to be in any danger. Could be she wanted to keep studying it herself. Could be taking it down had been Martin’s idea and she trusted him as far as she could spit a vertak. Could be she’d attacked an anchor during the war and knew how unlikely anyone would get in without heavy artillery.
Well, anyone but Gunnery Sergeant Tor . . .
Fuk. Martin expected Gunny to breach the anchor. That’s why the Polint were prepping. In close quarter fighting, even these kids would be deadly. Mashona would lay down a covering fire, driving Zhang and Malinowski back. Gunny, the Druin, and Ressk would come in, raised to the second floor by the Polint—who’d be left outside. Even if they could get to the windows, their big asses couldn’t get through it.
Gunny, the Druin, and Ressk—they’d restrain Zhang and Malinowski. They couldn’t free Ganes. They’d slip down the stairs, expect surprise to be on their side, and be met by the Polint. They’d be unable to fire weapons because of the hostages. They’d . . .
“Get up.” Tehaven’s hand engulfed his shoulder, thumb pressing into the edge of the largest bruise. “I don’t want to miss the fight.”
Would Gunny realize it was a trap? Better question, would that stop her?
“Coming through!”
Trembley was pale, teeth clenched as Zhang shoved his bed into the infirmary. One end bounced off a machine of some kind. Arniz couldn’t identify it, she was too busy scrambling out of the way.
“Be careful,” Ganes snapped, swinging the autodoc clear at the last moment. “You may need this equipment later.”
“You’re not the boss of me,” Zhang told him cheerfully, parking Trembley’s bed by the window. “Give the kid his soup, lizard. Then get back downstairs with the rest.”
“Not a kid. And you’re a crap driver,” Trembley muttered.
“And you’re a crap patient.”
He rolled his eyes and she slapped his leg. “Ow!”
“Yeah, yeah, you’ll live. So, Ganes . . .” Giving Trembley’s largest toe a final squeeze, she crossed to Ganes and leaned up against him. They were close to the same height, both significantly smaller than either Martin or Trembley, Ganes’ deep brown skin contrasting beautifully with Zhang’s lighter tones. Arniz hadn’t previously been aware of the color variety Humans exhibited. The differences among her own species, and there were many, were significantly more subtle. Although, subtle was not a word anyone would apply to Zhang, she realized, as the young female continued to breach Ganes’ personal space. “Martin said you needed human contact. Got time for a quickie? Sex is easier than conversation, am I right?”
He removed her hand from his groin. “You hit me in the face with your KC.”
“You were trying to get to the communications equipment. Opposite sides, no hard feelings.”
“And yet I’m not interested.” He sidestepped, cleared the piece of equipment Zhang had him backed against, and moved away.
Why didn’t Ganes try to overpower her? But then, he couldn’t leave the infirmary, could he? Overpowering her would be the end result, and he’d be punished for it. Observation suggested Trembley no longer blindly followed Martin’s philosophy, but Arniz doubted he was ready to take up arms against the sergeant. She, herself, had no idea of how to work a gun. Wasn’t sure if she could fire at another sentient being even if Ganes taught her how. She thought of Dzar falling. Of Mygar falling. Perhaps she could fire at Martin.
Zhang didn’t seem bothered by the rejection. She grinned and spread her arms. “Your loss. Oh, hey, drugs . . .” When the cabinet door refused to yield to either her fist or her weapon, she shrugged and headed for the infirmary exit. “You . . .” A finger with a blackened nail pointed at Arniz. “. . . soup and get out. Come on, lizard, a little hustle. Me and Malinowski, we’ve got Wardens to shoot.”
Arniz crossed to Trembley’s bed. She’d never really internalized the size of the infirmary, the multiple shades of gray made it difficult to get a handle on the dimensions. The size and the contents of infirmaries were legislated lest people not take their health and safety seriously, but—if she’d thought of it at all—she’d have assumed a Human-sized bed would have filled any free space. It didn’t. Room remained for both people and equipment to maneuver. If her estimate of the dimensions was correct, there was room for another Human-sized bed if needed. In a world less restricted by the government, they could have had another lab.
“You look thoughtful.” Trembley sounded rough, but he tried to smile. Or perhaps it was a grimace.
“You look horrible.” She cocked her head. “Although not as horrible as you did, so that’s some progress at least. I brought you food.” The broth was urine yellow, the mushy noodles almost white, and the chunks of beige were allegedly protein. It had tasted mostly of grease. Trembley’s midsection made noises under the bandaging. “Can you sit up?”
“I think, I . . .” He sucked air through his teeth when he moved, his expression as much embarrassment as pain.
Then Ganes was there, one large hand between Trembley’s shoulders, supporting him until he could move a triangular form into place. “Don’t undo my work.”
“Yes, sir. I mean, no sir.”
Arniz gratefully passed Trembley the soup. The smell had begun to curl her tongue. She rubbed the spoon against her sleeve before she handed it over.
“Move it, lizard! Wardens to shoot!” Zhang called from the door.
“That’s Ganes’ bed you’re in,” Arniz said, patting Trembley’s bare arm with her fingertips. The skin was warm and damp. “Now you have something in common to talk about. Remember, though . . .” She held his gaze. “. . . he’s Navy, so try to get along.”
“Well, I don’t know . . .” This curve of his mouth was definitely a smile. “. . . if he’s Navy.”
She touched his cheek with her tongue. He tasted of pain. The younger races were tougher than they looked if they made these kinds of life and death decisions all the time.
“Good one, lizard.” Zhang struck her shoulder as they left the infirmary. “Gotta say I like you reminding Trembley that Ganes was Navy.”
She hadn’t.
She’d reminded Trembley he’d been a Marine.
“You don’t look much like your brother up close,” Werst said cheerfully, scanning the corridor for a way out. The walls were too smooth to climb and too far apart for him to work his way along the ceiling. Given the way he felt, he was just as happy not to have to make the attempt. “I mean the variegated fur, yeah that’s him, but the shape of your face, I don’t see it.”
“Shut up.”
“Your chin’s pointier.”
“Shut up.”
“Your mane’s darker. And shaking us doesn’t do shit,” he added, hanging off Tehaven’s hand as the Polint flung him around. He’d have bruises on his right shoulder later to
match the left, but it was worth it for the look on Tehaven’s face. It also let him use his feet to check if the door they were passing was locked. It was. “Look, kid, not my species, but doing the dirty work for a serley chrika like Martin isn’t going to score you any points with your females.”
“Shut up!”
Werst let his knees take up the shock as his feet slapped back down onto the floor. He kept his left heel raised, but it still hurt like fuk. “Dutavar explained the whole ‘trying to prove your worth now there isn’t a war on,’ but, honestly, I wasn’t listening.”
“He thinks his way is the only way!” At the end of the corridor, Tehaven jerked him into the kitchen, empty of everything but the smell of food. “I can fight. I don’t need a uniform. I don’t need his control.”
“You don’t need the crap this is going to land you in either, kid.” This close, Werst could see the bright green PCU in Tehaven’s ear. Confederation built—the Confederation had its colon in knots when it came to privacy laws and hidden tech, thus the size and the color. It explained how Martin made himself understood.
Tehaven reached out his other hand and yanked open the heavy door that kept the storeroom secure during the anchor’s drop to dirt. “Stop calling me . . . Dupoht!” He froze. “How do you know my brother?”
“Dutavar? We served together.”
“That’s not possible . . .”
As confusion loosened his grip, Werst twisted free, dove between the Polint’s front legs, and used the webbing under his stomach to propel himself out between his back legs. He snapped his teeth as he went by. Polint balls didn’t exactly hang free, but they were obvious enough.
Tehaven leapt forward.
Werst slammed the door behind him and locked it. Then he sagged against the polished metal to catch his breath, fingertips against the scar on his throat. Still seemed to be holding. The door shivered under his back as Tehaven threw himself at it, but the storage room was too small for him to get a good run. The door had been designed to survive drop impact, and Werst only needed a few minutes.