by Tanya Huff
In the sudden silence, Qurn bent over Commander Yurrisk, one bare hand wrapped around his throat.
“Back away.” Torin’s hands remained tied, but they were in front of her now, holding the comforting bulk of Beyvek’s KC and at this distance she couldn’t miss.
“I’m checking his vitals!” Qurn snapped, sounding rattled for the first time. “I’ve never used the drug on a Krai.”
“Have you used it on a Human?”
“You’re fine.”
Relatively speaking, she was. Torin slung the KC’s strap over her head, pulled a zip-tie from her side seam, and dealt with Beyvek before pulling a second tie and moving to Martin. She secured Martin’s wrists and ankles with the ease of frequent practice—although she’d never practiced bound—while the bulk of her attention remained on Qurn. Torin neither liked nor trusted unanswered questions, and this was a chance to resolve at least one.
When Qurn suddenly stepped back into the minimal space between the seats just as Torin leaned in to check the board, her robes tangled with the weapon swinging forward off Torin’s shoulder. It might have been an accident, but Torin didn’t think so. A power play had been inevitable. They danced for a moment, Torin keeping Qurn’s hands busy in case she intended to try for another shot of the tranquilizer. The instant they gained enough floor space, she grabbed a double handful of fabric, lifted, and put Qurn down a half meter away, releasing her and regaining the KC in one extended move. “You’re not a member of the Confederation, I’m not certain what your rights are, but cooperating is in your best interest right now. Who the hell are you?”
“I’m an agent of the Primacy government.” Qurn’s hand began to slide beneath her robes. Torin cleared her throat and she froze. “I have identification.”
“And I have a need to see both your hands.”
“Of course. That’s not a problem.” She held them out in the universal gesture of I’m humoring you because you have a gun. Her colorless white skin had picked up pink tints from the red of her clothing and Torin wondered if Qurn’s fashion statement was not only a way to keep from leaving DNA evidence but also used to direct attention away from the minimal facial features of the Druin. In a less overt outfit, no one would recognize her. “My government,” she continued calmly, “sent me into the Confederation to determine if the peace is legitimate. We know so little about you. I observe. I interact. I’ve been with Yurrisk and his crew for the last four months.”
“You’ve got a good handle on the language.”
“I’m very good at my job.”
If she saw it as a job, then she wasn’t a fanatic. Point in her favor. “And you went along with Martin because . . . ?”
“Martin. Yes.” Qurn shook her head. “Humans First is a potential fissure in the peace process. If Martin took me to their leader, even as his prisoner, I’d have gained important information.”
“Which you’d have shared with the Confederation.”
She blinked. “Probably not.”
“Odds are high the leader would have had you killed.”
“I can be quite persuasive.”
“Wouldn’t matter. You’re not Human.”
“We have speciesists within the Primacy.” She blinked again, dismissively, looking for a moment very much like Freenim. “I know how to work within their parameters.”
“And what were Commander Yurrisk’s parameters?”
There was honest emotion on her face when she glanced over at the unconscious body. “In the beginning, he was a way to an end. Broken, desperate, and easy to manipulate. As time passed, I grew fond of him. I found I could keep him stable. I don’t often see the results of what I do, and it was good to be useful.” Qurn lifted her minimal chin, daring Torin to comment—although Torin doubted she realized she’d done it. No matter. No one who’d served with the di’Taykan worried much about interspecies relationships. “He needs help,” Qurn added when it became clear Torin wasn’t going to judge.
“I know.” Torin nodded toward Beyvek. “They all do. They’ll get it.”
“How can you promise that?”
“How can I not?” Torin shifted the muzzle of the KC to follow Qurn’s step sideways.
Qurn stilled. “I don’t blame you if can’t give me your trust.”
“Good.” Torin let the KC hang, then let the metal rectangle she’d lifted from Qurn’s robes slip out of its nest in the knotted cord and into her hand. Aimed it and pressed the slightly raised stud on one narrow end hoping she’d found the trigger.
Qurn flinched, a hand rising to her cheek, eyes opened impossibly far.
“Trust isn’t given,” Torin said as the Druin collapsed. “It’s earned.”
On the screen, the Promise had begun to come around. Her implant still out, Torin gave the com station a quick once over. Half a dozen blinking lights suggested Craig or whoever he’d brought with him, were trying to get through. Torin assumed she’d be able to figure out the communication controls in time, but as long as the DeCaal continued to race toward a preset jump point, she had a more important problem.
Leaning over Martin’s body, Torin studied the board. She’d been infantry, boots on the ground, and the only ship she’d ever flown was the Promise. The Promise’s controls were unique. Back when she and Craig had been trying to make a go of it as CSOs, Craig had insisted she learn to fly for safety’s sake if no other reason. Those lessons were very little help when facing a traditional Navy configuration.
Two things worked in Torin’s favor. First, Martin’s piloting skills were no better than hers and the navigation program had been doing most of the work. Second, vacuum was unforgiving, so the most important functions were designed to be obvious—in case of situations similar to the one she found herself in.
Vaguely similar, given the Druin, the big roll of orange plastic, and the red cord still binding her wrists.
A slide to the left shut off the stern engines.
A tap on the bar to the right fired the bow engines—the computer controlling the duration required to counteract their forward momentum.
As they slowed to a stop, Torin slid the power bar to the smallest non-negative integer.
The vibration under her boots faded.
The lights went out.
The air stilled.
“Shit.”
“. . . Kerr . . . communi . . . not . . .”
“That’s a slate signal. Werst . . .” Hands in constant movement over the board and through the hard light projections, Ryder flicked a screen to the right. “. . . match it.”
Werst, who’d been told in no uncertain terms to keep two readouts out of the red while they dropped the energy from the micro jump, leaned back and reached out with a foot.
“. . . just in . . . try . . .”
All three of them flinched at the sudden burst of static and Werst slammed his nostril ridges closed as a new cloud of silver-tipped fur wafted past his face. Turned out Presit hadn’t been as calm about the micro jump as she’d wanted him to believe. Surprise. He scowled at the frequency fluctuations. Should’ve sent Ressk up with Ryder. Or Alamber. He wasn’t tech . . . “There!”
“Promise, this is Warden Kerr. Are you receiving?”
The tension went out of Ryder’s shoulders. If Torin was on coms, she was in control of the DeCaal. “Receiving. Torin, are you all right?”
“I’m fine. Martin and Lieutenant Beyvek have been restrained. Commander Yurrisk and Qurn, the Druin, are unconscious. My implant isn’t working, and I’ve powered down all systems along with the engines.”
“On purpose?”
“Yes, I shut off life support on purpose.”
“Hey, your warrior ways are strange to me.”
“Ass.”
“It are adorable how you two are flirting even though we are still likely to be dying!”
�
��You brought Presit?”
“Not so much brought.”
“Likely to die?”
“The theory about a micro jump accumulating more energy than a longer jump turned out to be accurate. We’re having a little trouble getting free.”
“A little trouble?”
“I’m on it.”
“And you’re the best.”
“Why was I the only one concerned about something that had never been done before because even Susumi engineers considered it to be too dangerous?” Werst grumbled as he finally got the two readouts to lock in the green.
“Because Craig Ryder are the only thing Gunnery Sergeant Kerr . . .”
“Warden Kerr.”
Presit huffed out an audible breath before continuing. “. . . Warden Kerr and I are agreeing on.”
“Likely to die,” Torin repeated.
“That are fact, not opinion.”
The alarm was not unexpected.
“Nothing to worry about,” Ryder muttered as the Promise tilted sideways. “Just the Polint’s quarters breaking off.”
“Just?” Werst matched Ryder’s tone.
“Everything’s sealed, that’s what the internal locks are for. We’ll pick it up later.”
“If we are surviving . . .”
“You’re surviving.”
“That are not being . . .”
“You’re surviving.”
The alarm shut off. Werst’s ears continued to ring in the sudden quiet.
The ancient pilot’s chair crackled as Ryder leaned back and rotated his wrists. “And we’re out.”
Presit snorted. “You are so wanting to be saying ‘I told you so,’ aren’t you, Gunnery Sergeant?”
“Yes, I am.”
Presit’s laughter sounded close to hysteria, but Werst wasn’t sure his sounded much better. He felt like he’d been running on adrenaline for a tenday. Or two.
“We’re bonzer now, Torin. Out of the energy stream, heading your way.” Craig flipped a timer up into the air. “How long before you’re showing a noticeable drop in temperature?”
“Slate says three hours and forty-seven minutes.”
“You may get a bit chilled, but it’ll be easier to grapple and link air locks than talk you through bringing the DeCaal back up.”
“The board’s locked to Commander Yurrisk.”
That explained why Martin had grabbed him. Loser.
“Like I said, easier.”
“The plastic’s probably blocking your implant, Gunny. Mine came back when Qurn humped it out of the anchor, yours dropped out when the air lock closed.”
“Range?”
“Variable.”
“That are being not only a lot of plastic, but the first technological artifact of the plastic we are having found. Do not be touching it . . .”
Werst saw a small, shiny black finger poke Ryder in the arm. Presit was up and moving around.
“. . . until both Dalan and I are being present. This are needing to be recorded on more than a helmet camera or a slate.”
“Yeah. No danger of that. Listen, Craig,” Torin continued before Presit could respond, “let Justice know Humans First will be waiting at the other end of the DeCaal’s jump coordinates.”
The corner of Ryder’s mouth closest to Werst twitched up. “I’d be stoked, but you’ve bunged the power and we can’t actually pull the coordinates.”
“Yet.”
“What about the Warner-Lalonde?” Werst asked. “They’re in-system.”
“No. If the Navy goes, there’ll be shooting and a debris field.”
“Justice it is, then.” The Promise tipped to port. Ryder waved Presit’s questions silent and to Werst’s surprise, she obeyed. “Besides, the Warner-Lalonde’s deck-deep in our medical emergency. When they’ve stowed the injured, you want to match up so they can transport the plastic and the prisoners?”
Werst glanced over at Ryder as the silence lengthened.
“Torin?”
Torin turned the helm’s chair and stared at Martin, a zip-tie holding him to the remains of the weapons station. He was conscious and struggling, muttering of revolution and revenge.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she said at last. “The captain of the Warner-Lalonde is Human.”
Two high-level Justice bureaucrats and a Parliamentary under-secretary waited at the intake desk when Strike Team Alpha and their prisoners arrived at Berbar Station, the DeCaal towed in by the Promise. C&C had remained on 33X73 waiting for the arrival of a larger team and dealing with the hostages who’d refused to leave.
“Dead and injured from a university expedition and ruins that may or may not have been left by the plastic all piled up together on a Class 2 Designate.” Analyzes Minutiae to Discover Truth had sighed deeply. “I don’t even want to contemplate how many Ministries we’ll be dealing with before this ends.”
Not Torin’s problem.
The approaching Niln was. “Strike Team Commander Kerr, you are to release the Druin known as Qurn into our custody.” They handed her their slate.
Torin read the documentation while Wardens escorted Commander Yurrisk and his surviving crew into one room for processing, Martin and his mercenaries into another—although Camaderiz and Netroovens, the two minimally injured Polint, could only be detached from Vertic after she swore she wouldn’t leave the station without them. The documentation held very little of substance beyond proof that Parliament could move quickly when it wanted to and that while they had no evidence Qurn wasn’t her actual name, they weren’t taking her word for it either. Good thing; her words had been limited. Although they’d tried, singly and collectively, neither Freenim nor Merinim could convince her to expand on the information she’d given Torin on the DeCaal.
She was an agent of the Primacy government.
She didn’t seem surprised by her welcoming committee.
“We also require the weapons you removed from her.”
Or by that.
Torin smiled. “You’ll have to sign for them.”
“Of course.”
“Alamber.”
He stepped forward and handed the locked case to the Niln’s companion. “You know, it’d be great if we could . . .”
“No.”
“Really? Come on, now, that’s not . . .”
“No.”
Torin caught Alamber’s eye, and he let it go. It would have looked strange if he hadn’t protested at all, but he’d put minimal effort in. During the four days they were in Susumi, Alamber had analyzed everything in the case, and Torin would be willing to bet he and Ressk were halfway to at least one prototype. She’d carefully avoided finding out for certain.
“Perhaps we’ll meet again, Warden Kerr.”
She offered her own neutral perhaps as the-Druin-known-as-Qurn was escorted out. At heart, she’d always be a soldier and soldiers distrusted spies no matter their allegiance. Turning away from the hatch, she saw Commander Yurrisk staring through the glass of the intake room, eyes locked on the hatch where Qurn had disappeared. If, as she’d said, Qurn had grown fond of the commander, he, in turn, had grown dependent on her. Their interactions on the way back to the station had been recorded, access available only to their court-appointed therapists. The commander’s crew had been considered a threat to themselves and had been interacted with accordingly. Torin could see more therapy training in the Strike Teams’ future. Martin’s group, on the other hand, had been eyes on the whole trip. Brenda Zhang had sulked. Jana Malinowski had seethed. Robert Martin had declared he would never betray the cause.
“We’re done dying for the Elder Races, and if we’re for the garbage now they no longer need us, we have to fight back.”
Right off the pamphlet. He wasn’t entirely wrong.
“Can you sit on your as
s and do nothing while our dead are disrespected?”
Even given the number of cylinders she carried, the living concerned Torin more. Werst had carried Trembley out.
Torin never met Private Emile Trembley, but she’d known him. She’d known a hundred like him. She hadn’t wanted Werst or any of her people to carry that weight, but she wouldn’t take away his choice.
“Warden?” Approves of Redemption, one of the intake officers, handed her a slate. Torin checked that the details had been entered properly—mostly for the young Dornagain’s sake—and signed off on the prisoner transfer. “Robert Martin wanted me to tell you that if you are not for us, you’re against us.”
Fair enough. Although being against murdering, delusional, self-absorbed fukwads was a low bar to clear.
“When I say us . . .” Approves’ ears flattened slightly. “. . . I am, of course, repeating the pronoun as he used it himself.”
“I got that. Thanks.”
Craig leaned into the conversation and smiled. “You can tell Robert Martin that he can . . .”
“Warden.” Commander Ng stood at the hatch. “Debriefing in conference three. Now.”
Presit and Dalan were already set up in the conference room. Presit waved, and Torin knew that behind the mirrored lenses, her eyes were gleaming. She’d spent most of the return trip interviewing the prisoners and had been first off at the station, dragging Dalan behind her and announcing she had people of her own to inform of her return.
“Just be ignoring me,” she said as they shuffled chairs away from the table to give the Polint space.
Werst muttered, “I wish.”
Commander Ng activated the table. He couldn’t have made it clearer that the Justice Department intended to keep their own records. “The Primacy wanted their people to return back across the line before debriefing, citing undue influence,” he began, sinking into his seat. “Then both sides wanted you debriefed separately, Confederation and Primacy. That’s not going to happen. Team debriefing, then individual as required. Standard operating procedure.” Exhaustion lurked behind Commander Ng’s eyes, and Torin wondered how long and how hard he’d personally had to fight. “We’re streaming this to a Susumi satellite for full transparency and have already sent your after actions through. Begin when you arrived at 33X73. Limit your adjectives.”