by Tanya Huff
“They’ve started sweeping our Division,” Hollice said as they rode toward the heart of the station. “Started at 1 Recar’ta, of course, so the war could bloody well be over before they get to us. Scuttlebutt says they haven’t found anything.”
He tugged at his collar tabs and Torin hid a smile at the tell. In a poker game, he’d have been bluffing. In a conversation, he was trying to draw her out. This was why he’d come to meet her; she’d been with the recon team on Big Yellow—the alien spaceship that turned out to be the actual alien, or aliens, the terminology remained uncertain—she’d initiated the investigation into why no one remembered Big Yellow’s missing escape pod, and had actually spoken to a collective of the alien on Crucible. Granted, melting her jaw had meant she’d been tanked during the initial There are aliens among us! hysteria and she’d missed the development of the search protocols, but she was the closest thing to an authority in the Sector.
“You think they will, Gunny?” Hollice prodded. “Find anything, I mean?”
“Find bits of a shape-shifting, organic plastic alien that boots through our security protocols like cheddar through a H’san?” Torin asked him blandly. “One that can separate into microscopic pieces to avoid detection and then recombine itself back to sentience when the danger has passed? I very much doubt it.” Search protocols be damned. “Not unless it wants to be found.”
“Great.”
She had to admire the dryness of his delivery. He’d deserved that promotion. “Not really.”
“What does it want?”
“It told me it was collecting data.”
“Studying us?”
“So it seems.”
“Why?”
“No idea. We may never know.” Little pieces of plastic were ubiquitous throughout Confederation space. The alien could be a part of any of them. It could be any of them. It could mimic other materials, and while the parts they’d most recently been in contact with had been gray, Big Yellow proved rather conclusively that didn’t have to be the case. The handrail on the beltway could be recording data for the alien—as the alien—while she passed. Torin, who by both circumstances and disposition was more paranoid than most, had made a conscious decision not to think about that.
“It could make us all forget it was ever here,” Hollice pointed out, his voice fraying a bit around the edges.
“Not all of us, Hollice.”
He turned, stared at her for a moment, and smiled. “That’s right. It can’t mess with your head.”
“Took a look inside and was scared off. If it wants to get to Sh’quo Company, it’ll have to get through me.” Which was both the truth and complete bullshit since she had no more way of stopping the alien, singly or collectively, than she had of convincing the Navy that a straight line was the shortest distance between two points. But it was bullshit Hollice needed to hear and bullshit he needed to repeat to his squad. Or maybe it was the part of the statement that was the truth he needed to repeat. Whatever worked.
* * *
The shortage of NCOs meant that Torin had only to put in a request to the station Sysop to have her old quarters reassigned. The recon mission to Big Yellow had been a temporary posting but the promotion before traveling to Ventris to brief Command on the Silsviss had destroyed the certainty of a round trip ticket—integrating an aggressive reptilian species into the Corps would take decades and she’d essentially been responsible for their willingness to join. That made her, if not an expert on the species, someone whose opinion Command intended to exploit. Fortunately, new information from the Marines stationed at the Embassy on Silsviss had pushed her experience from the center of the target. Some of those Marines were trained xenopsychologists rather than noncoms with good instincts and a willingness to kick ass when required and, more importantly, none of them had been expected to kill a senior officer.
Torin suspected a few people were concerned because they still weren’t sure if she’d have gone through with it had General Morris’ sacrifice actually been necessary. She supposed it didn’t help that when asked directly she’d said, As it wasn’t necessary, I guess we’ll never know.
Which was the absolute truth; it wasn’t something anyone could know until it happened—no matter what they believed themselves capable of.
When she dialed the door open, her quarters looked just like she remembered them, right down to the Silsviss skull hanging on the wall over her entertainment unit. Weird, since when she’d left for Ventris, she’d put everything she wasn’t taking with her in station storage.
“Messages?” she asked as the door slid shut behind her.
She’d verbalized so the station did the same. “One message to Gunnery Sergeant Kerr from Staff Sergeant Greg Reghubir. As follows:
“Welcome back, Gunny. We figured the last thing you’d need to do was sort your crap out so we did it for you. Lance Corporal Ressk says you need stronger encryptions on your storage unit.” Greg sounded matter-of-fact but Torin would have bet hard currency that he’d changed his own unit’s setting immediately after he saw what Ressk could do with an eight-digit code. “Twenty-thirty tonight in the SRM; don’t be late or we’ll start without you.”
Torin patted the skull fondly as she passed it on her way to the shower. It was good to be home.
* * *
“There’s been a lot of action out on the edge of the Sector. Long-range sensors have picked up Susumi portals here, here, and here.” Captain Rose touched three points on the star field currently mapped out on the briefing room’s HMU and frowned at the resulting red lights. “Navy swears they’re not responsible.”
Second Lieutenant Jarret’s lavender eyes darkened as light receptors opened to give him a better look at the map. “Civilians, sir?”
The captain sighed. “It’s always possible some dumbass corporation or university has decided to scout the perimeter—those types always think they’re invincible until they find out they aren’t and we have to pull their butts out of the fire—but I don’t honestly think so. We usually get some kind of a head’s up just so we’re available to pull those buuts out of the fire and, so far, no one’s admitting they’ve gone visiting.”
“What about independents, sir?” Second Lieutenant Heerik was brand new, on her first posting with none of her enthusiasms blunted, and more than one of Sh’quo Company’s officers and NCOs bent over their slates and hid a smile.
“What kind of independents did you have in mind, Lieutenant?”
“Well, maybe Civilian Salvage Officers.” Her nostril ridges flared. “It was a CSO who found Big Yellow.”
And Torin felt the attention of the room shift to her.
“Gunnery Sergeant Kerr?”
Torin had served with the captain long enough to know he was amused her relationship, or whatever the hell it was she had, had made it into a briefing—although the odds were good no one else could see it. “CSO Craig Ryder found Big Yellow because of a small error in his Susumi calculations.” She waited out the murmur of reaction. Small errors in Susumi calculations were usually fatal errors. “Spaced as they are . . .” She nodded toward the map. “. . . these portals are clearly deliberate. Salvage operators follow rather than lead, and there’s nothing happening out there. No debris, no reason for them to be deliberately jumping that way.”
“Unless there’s something happening out there,” Lieutenant Jarret said thoughtfully.
“Unless,” Captain Rose agreed. “Which is why the Navy has sent the Hardyr out to have a look around. Captain Treis came out of Susumi space here . . .” Another touch on the star map illuminated a fourth portal, this one green. “. . . and is proceeding with due caution to this system . . .” One last touch. “. . . here.” The system was equal distance from all three red portals.
“How long is due caution expected to take, sir?” Lieutenant Joriyl wondered.
“You’ll likely be headed Coreward before it happens, Lieutenant.”
Her pale orange eyes darkened as she smiled. “And not a moment
too soon, sir.”
Lieutenant di’Pin Joriyl was the senior platoon officer. With her heading into Ventris on course that meant . . .
Torin blinked as she realized that meant Second Lieutenant di’Ka Jarret would be senior. The voice of reason and experience for Second Lieutenant Heerik and an even greener twoie to be named later. It hadn’t been quite a year since a very green Lieutenant Jarret had been tossed into a stew of giant lizards and diplomacy gone bugfuk and, suddenly, Torin felt old. Life was moving just a little too fast of late.
“Captain Treis will keep Recar’ta Station informed, Recar’ta will keep Battalion informed, and if we’re really lucky Battalion will let us know what the hell is going on before they ship us out to deal with it. Platoons are nearly at full strength for the first time in a long time, so let’s make sure everyone’s geared up and ready to go.” The star field flicked off. Captain Rose swept his gaze around the room and then nodded, once. “Details have been downloaded to your slates, now get out there and get ready to save the galaxy’s ass yet again. Gunnery Sergeant Kerr, remain behind.”
“Yes, sir.” Torin stood as the officers and NCOs made their way out of the small briefing room, Jarret throwing her a distinct we’ll get together later before turning his attention back to Heerik, who continued talking about the best responses to possible foothold situations, unaware of expressions passing nearly a meter over her head. Torin had been Jarret’s staff sergeant for that giant lizard bugfuck diplomacy trip and she’d been impressed by the way the young officer had handled himself—both independently and under her guidance. If he stayed beyond his first contract, he’d be a credit to the Corps and she’d be happy to serve under him again.
When the room emptied, she followed Captain Rose and First Sergeant Siaosi Tutone through the door to the captain’s office.
“Opinion, Gunny?” he asked, dropping into the chair behind his desk. Captain Rose’s voice had always seemed about three sizes too big for his body but here, in the relative privacy of his office, he sounded tired. No, weary. Tired of all the crap that came from being a fair distance down the military food chain.
Or maybe Torin was reading too much into it.
“I think three Susumi points definitely indicates the Others are interested in something in that end of the Sector,” she told him. “I think the lack of any significant attempt to hide their presence means they’re coming through in force. I think the Navy should have sent more ships because if the Others get that force on the ground, we’re looking at Battalion moving the whole Ground Combat Team out in response. And I think that the music selection in the Senior Ranks Mess changed for the worse while I was gone.”
“That would be my selection,” the first sergeant pointed out. His voice was as deep as the captain’s, although less incongruous, rumbling up as it did from the depth of an enormous barrel chest. Torin was tall but Tutone topped her by a head and a half—taller even than most di’Taykan—and proportionately broad. His hands were enormous and muscle strained against the confines of his Class C’s.
“Good choice, First. It’s past time I broadened my musical tastes,” Torin added, although she wasn’t sure whether she was aiming for more or less sincerity.
Tutone grinned, teeth flashing white against the rich mahogany of his skin.
Captain Rose leaned back in his chair and smiled as well. “Welcome home, Gunny. It’s good to have you back.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Recar’ta Station agrees with you, by the way. When the orders come down, they’ll come down for the entire GCT That’s why you’re here, specifically here with Sh’quo Company when we don’t generally rate a gunny. Aman’s short and she’s not reupping. Unless we deploy in the next tenday, that’ll leave Jura’s platoon with a shiny new second lieutenant and Heerik, who’s almost as shiny, with a green staff sergeant. We’ll move the new staff sergeant in under Jarret, since he’s got a whole year of experience . . .” Pale eyes rolled although for the most part he kept the sarcasm from his vice. “. . . but that’s going to leave the company scrambling for experience among the officers and senior NCOs. We need you to be a kind of utility player, coming in off the bench where needed both at the platoon level and keeping the company connected.”
“Off the bench is a sports metaphor,” Tutone offered. “Baseball.”
His tone was dry enough that Torin couldn’t quite tell if he was being helpful or facetious, so she settled for a neutral, “Thank you, First Sergeant.” The league on Paradise had teams on all three major continents and the year she left to join the Corps, New Alland—a minor continent or large island depending on who was speaking—had petitioned to have their teams recognized as well. According to the news download in the most recent packet from her younger brother, they still hadn’t managed it.
“Until we ship out,” Captain Rose continued, “you’ll base at a desk by First Sergeant Tutone’s, your primary duty to liaise with the rest of the GCT as we attempt to get ready for whatever’s coming down the fukking pike. Eventually, I expect you’ll be in the first sergeant’s desk.”
New gunnery sergeants were expected to indicate which way they intended their careers to go—to the combat position of first sergeant or to the staff position of master sergeant. After the incident on Crucible where both the system and the officer in charge had been taken over by unknown alien forces and Torin had led the training platoon of one-thirty recruits while they fought both the system and the aliens to a standstill, Command had made it quite clear which choice they’d prefer Torin to make. Fortunately, it was the choice she wanted to make. Tutone’s desk had been her goal since she’d received her corporal’s hooks.
“I wasn’t planning on going anywhere, sir.”
For an instant, Torin thought the first sergeant had been reading her mind and then she realized he’d been responding to the captain’s statement.
“Glad to hear that. First, I was just starting to get used to you. So, Gunny, is it true what Command says, that there’s nothing we can do about the microscopic bits of a big yellow alien scattered throughout known space?”
“That’s the gist of it, sir.”
“Since the search teams haven’t found anything, any chance they’ve buggered off back where they came from?”
“The bit I spoke to told me they didn’t have enough information, sir. I expect they’re still collecting data.”
“Why can’t the search teams find them, then?” Before she could answer, Tutone raised a massive hand. “Never mind. The answer is probably that they can’t find their anus with both hands and a map so . . .” He waved off the end of the sentence.
“Any chance that when they spoke to you, they were messing with your head?” the captain wondered.
Given that some of them had just emerged from Major Svensson’s head, Torin sure as hell hoped not. “I don’t think so, sir.”
Captain Rose sat and stared up at the ceiling for a moment. Specifically stared, at the ring of gray plastic around the recessed light over his desk. Tutone followed the captain’s gaze but Torin refused to look. “It’s like discovering the enemy is an inanimate object,” he muttered, dropping his gaze. “Any inanimate object.” Then he shook his head and double tapped his desk, blows ringing against the plastic. “All right. Let’s get going on a job we can do.”
Both NCOs recognized the dismissal, coming to attention and snapping out a “Sir!” in unison.
Rolling his eyes, the captain stroked one hand down the edge of the lower, right side screen. “I’m sending your first problem out to your desk, Gunny. And I know you’ve got things to deal with, First Sergeant, so let’s have a little less smartass spit and polish and little more work out of both of you. Gunny?”
Torin paused at the door. “Sir?”
“Can we be expecting General Morris to drop by any time soon?”
General Morris had become Torin’s personal pain in the brass. He’d sent the platoon out to Silsviss, he’d sent her out to Big Yellow, a
nd he’d been contaminated by the alien. Torin had a feeling he blamed her for the latter. After all, if she hadn’t blown the whistle, he’d never have known. Or, specifically, no one would ever have known it about him. Given their history, the thought of him showing up once again at the Four Two made her feel a little chilled. Their time spent together never ended well.
“I sincerely hope not, sir.”
“Glad to hear it.”
In the outer office, Torin settled in behind her desk—easy enough to identify as it was the one the first sergeant hadn’t settled his bulk behind—and opened the file the captain had sent.
“New desk, new job, eh, Gunny?”
She looked up to find the first sergeant watching her. “Same old war, First. Same old war.”
He smiled and nodded but she had a suspicion that he didn’t entirely agree with her. She had no problem with that. There were days when she didn’t entirely agree with it herself.
“Do you ever get the feeling that there are things the Elder Races aren’t telling us?”
“It is worth noting, Gunny, that none of the diplomatic missions sent to the Others have ever included a member of the species doing the actual fighting.”
Granted, it had turned out not to have been the Elder Races messing with the memories of those who knew about Big Yellow but Big Yellow itself and, while that was moderately less distressing than the alternative—always better to be screwed over by an unknown factor than an ally—that didn’t actually address either question. Were there things the Elder Races weren’t telling the Humans, di’Taykans, or Krai who fought their war? And why hadn’t one of the three Youngest ever been invited to join the missions sent out to try and end the war? Over a century of attempted diplomacy had resulted in a few thousand dead diplomats so why hadn’t Parliament tried every possible option?
And, most importantly, had she been discussing the Elder Races with Major Svensson or with the alien living in his brain? If the former, was there discontent growing within the Corps? If the later, did the aliens know something the Youngest didn’t?