by Huff, Tanya
“I are not giving a crap.”
Smiling, although damned if he knew why because they were deep in crap whether Torin cared or not, Craig let his left hand fall back to the board. “Ressk . . . ?”
“Diagnostics are back. I’ve adjusted the parameter equations for damage taken.”
Hoping Merik was Presit’s pilot and not her PR flunky, Craig added the equation for the destination to Ressk’s adjusted equation for the Second Star and brought the Susumi engines on-line.
“Merik are saying it are being a good idea to get your thumb out. Although everyone who are watching my vids are knowing that where Gunnery Sergeant Torin Kerr are being, the Berganitan are being, too, we are not exactly looking like a battle cruiser if they are running long-range scans”
Resisting the urge to cross his fingers, Craig punched it.
“Five-day fold,” Ressk announced.
“Then I think you’d better sit down, Gunny.”
Craig glared Werst away from Torin’s other side. “I’ve got her, mate.”
“You’re not exactly in great shape yourself,” the Krai snorted.
The reminder made everything ache as he stood. “I’m good for this.”
“She’s got herself,” Torin muttered but Craig noticed she didn’t fight him as he half carried her across the cabin. They needed this. Needed the contact. He eased her into the bunk—a temporary measure, he’d be commandeering the Star’s three-by cabin for the two of them as soon as he had looked at her injuries.
“Ow.” She caught at his hand as he tried to pull the piece of fabric off her forehead.
“Fine. I’ll get a damp cloth and soak it free, you big baby.”
Ignoring their audience—Ressk, at least was trying to look like he wasn’t watching them—Craig limped across the cabin and opened the hatch to the head.
The young di’Taykan sitting on the closed toilet blinked pale eyes, yawned widely, and muttered, “It’s about fukking time. Who the sanLi are you?”
Backing up a step, Craig closed the hatch again. Took a deep breath and turned toward the bunk. “Torin, why do we have a di’Taykan in the head?”
“. . . and while it is true that you have gathered enough information that the Law . .”
Years of practice allowed Torin to remain expressionless at the Warden’s emphasis. If the Law hadn’t been sitting on its furry ass, the pirates would have been dealt with and Craig would never have been taken.
“. . . has now moved forward and, working with the both branches of the military has all but eliminated this threat to peace and security in the sector of space shared by Vrijheid Station and, in point of fact, regained Vrijheid Station itself and prosecuted the one who created the false impression it had been destroyed . . .” One Who Examines the Facts and Draws Conclusions frowned. Torin suspected he’d gotten lost in his own rhetoric. He shifted slightly, highlights rippling across red-brown fur, and continued before the Niln sitting to his left could interrupt. “It is, however, undeniable that you, in the process of rescuing Civilian Salvage Operator Craig Ryder and preventing a certain criminal element from gaining control of a Marine armory, broke a number of Confederation laws. While the deaths of ex-Private Reerir, ex-Private Tirrik, and ex-Lieutenant Commander Doctor Christopher Stephens could be considered self-defense . . .”
“And have been judged to be self-defense,” Colonel di’Gui Salarji pointed out.
One Who Examines shifted his gaze off Torin and onto the lawyer the Commandant of the Corps had assigned her back before the judgment began. “Yes,” he agreed ponderously although, in all honestly, Torin had to admit that ponderously was the Dornagain default so she shouldn’t read anything into it. “These three instances have been judged to be self-defense, but there remains the assault of the civilian di’Carnibi Nia, abetting the illegal system tap . . .”
The colonel snorted. “An illegal tap in order to bring down an illegal system.”
“Breaking the law to assist the law is still breaking the law, Colonel,” Nawazinkah Huerzah pointed out, inner eyelid flicking across both eyes. “If the end is permitted to justify the means, chaos results.”
Lanh Ng, the first Human Warden, appointed to ensure Torin’s species rights were represented during judgment and clearly less than thrilled by One Who Examines’ need to recap the entire proceedings, seemed revitalized by Nawazinkah Huerzah’s interruption. He straightened and said, “Look, the decision of the Tribunal’s been made, so can we stop arguing about the minutia and get this over with?”
One Who Examines turned and stared down at him. “Minutia makes up the Law.”
Ng settled back in his chair and sighed. “Carry on, then.”
“As we have not yet completed our business, I will.” One Who Examines faced front, opened his mouth, and paused.
“Abetting the illegal system tap,” Nawazinkah Huerzah prodded, perfectly deadpan.
“Yes. Also in the issuing of the order to fire on the armory that resulted in the destruction of the Heart of Stone and the deaths of ex-Lieutenant Mackenzie Cho, di’Berinango Dysun, di’Berinango Almon, Natalie Forester, Huirre . . .”
For a moment, it seemed he might continue with the Krai’s full name. Krai family names were declarations of lineage and could go on for hours. Torin wasn’t the only one relieved when he continued.
“. . . and the engineer, Krisk.”
Colonel Salarji stepped forward, putting herself between Torin and the Tribunal. “The Confederation Marine Corps takes responsibility for those deaths as ex-Gunnery Sergeant Torin Kerr was acting on the Corps’ behalf in keeping a sealed armory out of the hands of the criminally insane.”
One Who Examines spread his hands, blunt claws clicking against the table. “And yet ex-Gunnery Sergeant Torin Kerr was not a member of the Confederation Marine Corps at the time.”
“The Corps allows there is no such thing as an ex-Gunnery Sergeant.”
Nawazinkah Huerzah’s tongue flicked out, Ng covered his mouth, and One Who Examines sighed. “So I have heard. It is then the judgment of this Tribunal, particularly considering the extensive evidence presented by Presit a Tur durValintrisy, that all but the destruction of the Heart of Stone may be dismissed under the weight of extenuating circumstances. The destruction of the Heart of Stone is a matter for the Confederation Marine Corps to deal with as it, as a body, sees fit. This inquiry is complete.”
Torin waited, standing at parade rest a pace behind the colonel’s left shoulder as the Tribunal filed out. Then she waited a little longer as the colonel turned and stared, her eyes dark. Torin resisted the urge to reach out and touch the plastic stylus clipped to the side of the colonel’s slate.
“Well, that’s that,” the colonel said at last “I’d advise you not miss any of your sessions with the Corps’ psychologists. And not just for legal reasons.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Say the word, and the Commandant of the Corps will put you back in uniform.”
“My regards to High Tekamal Louden, sir, but my vest is full.”
Deep-green hair flicked forward as Colonel Salarji frowned, but after a long moment, she merely said, “Take care of yourself, Gunny.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Torin waited until she heard the hatch close behind the colonel before relaxing her position. She touched the place a casualty cylinder would rest in a combat vest and closed her eyes. She’d carry Doc out, but the others could go to Hell on their own.
Craig and Presit were waiting for her in the corridor.
Presit made high-pitched clicks as Torin moved into the circle of Craig’s arms. Approval, disapproval—Torin neither knew nor cared. She hadn’t exactly been under arrest while the Tribunal made its judgment, but with Craig under a separate judgment—that took about fifteen minutes to clear him of any responsibility—the Wardens had insisted they be kept apart.
All things considered, Torin figured she was entitled to a moment, so she buried her face in the curve between Craig
’s neck and shoulder, breathed in his familiar scent, and hung on tight.
“You okay?” His mouth against her hair, his voice was a soft burr of vibration she felt as much as heard.
“Got offered my old job back. Didn’t take it,” she added when he stiffened. “And the colonel warned me not to skip out on any therapy.”
His laugh held a touch of bittersweet. They’d actually crossed a number of things off the we need to talk about this list during the five-day Susumi fold to the MidSector station. “That’s one smart colonel.”
“Are you two being done with the touching?” Presit snorted, poking Torin in the hip with a claw. “There are still being more documentation to be signing, and I are having better things to be doing than waiting around here to be acting as your witness. I are having awards to be winning.”
When Torin turned, Presit had her muzzle raised, teeth very white against the black of her lips. “You got the interview with Big Bill.”
“I are having the exclusive,” Presit bragged as the three of them started down the corridor. By the time the Navy had reached Vrijheid, most of the pirates had scattered. William Ponner had refused to leave the station, his station, and had been taken. “He are being most cooperative and are being willing to identify those who are have been using his station.”
“Fifteen percent of them, anyway,” Craig said dryly.
“You are not being funny,” she snapped. “Remember, I are having to be turning over to the Wardens everything Torin are having shot for me on the station . . .”
“It was an illegal camera.”
“It are having been an illegal station!” Presit extended her protest all the way down to the station’s financial office, covering the failures of media law, media ethics, and the personal failure of Sector Central News to defend genius.
“You sure about this?” Craig asked, thumb running along the inert plastic trim of the desk as the financial officer sent the final numbers to their slates.
Torin shook her head. She didn’t know how Craig had got the idea she didn’t want to be paid for risking her ass for the greater good. It was how she used to make a living after all. “I’m sure.”
The mining cartels that had lost ore drones to the Vrijheid pirates had put together an obscenely large reward. Presit had skimmed a little off the top, but the rest was Torin and Craig’s to divide as they saw fit.
“And you’re sure that’s all you want?” Torin asked the reporter, thumb over the screen.
“Any more,” Presit sniffed, indicating that Torin should close the deal, “and I are being in danger of losing my status as being an objective observer.”
“And you’ve already made close to this by licensing an interview you haven’t shot yet,” Craig pointed out.
“I are having to overpay staff,” Presit told him, silvered claws glittering as she waved him off. “It are not like I are spending it all on manicures.”
Craig added his thumbprint beside Torin’s, then Presit added hers to the master file, and a sizable portion of the reward disappeared to cover bills already incurred.
“Easy come, easy go,” Craig sighed as they stood.
“You think that was easy?” Torin snorted. Craig grinned, and they both let their fingers linger over the plastic switch cover as they left the office.
“You are letting me know the next time you are riding to the rescue,” Presit said as they walked her to the first vertical. “I are being there.”
Torin closed her hand around Craig’s. “There won’t be a next time.”
Presit paused at the hatch, head cocked, Torin’s reflection in her mirrored glasses. “Not like this, I are hoping for that, too. But . . .” She waited until a pair of Rakva exited, chattering about yeast cakes, then her ears flicked forward. “I are not doubting that there are being a next time of some kind. You two are not being destined for having a quiet life.”
“You think Presit’s right?”
“About us not being destined for a quiet life?” Torin shrugged. “I think precedent agrees with her. I’m not sure I do.”
None of the verticals in Admin went all the way to the docking level, so they found one that descended as far as the atrium, shared one strap, and ignored the glances and giggles from rising office workers. Given that more rumors had been generated in verticals than in bars, they maintained a companionable silence until they flipped out into the three-story open area at the center of the station.
A few people might have recognized them, but the size of the station and the crowds granted a certain anonymity.
“If Presit is right,” Craig said thoughtfully as they crossed to the vertical that would take them to the lower levels. “I don’t want to be seen as the victim next time.”
“You got grabbed and tortured by pirates,” Torin pointed out.
“Sure, but I delayed the opening of the armory. You might not have gotten there in time if I hadn’t.”
“True.”
“So let’s not do that again.”
“Deal.”
They walked another couple of meters in silence, then Craig let out a breath Torin hadn’t realized he’d been holding and said, “You know, I was thinking just before Presit showed up pretending to be the Berganitan that we needed a miracle, and I half thought that . . .”
When his voice trailed off, Torin had no difficulty finishing the sentence. “You half thought that Pedro and the rest would have realized they were wrong, that they should have listened to me and come after you, that at the last moment, a ragtag fleet of salvage ships would blast out of Susumi and wreck vengeance on the pirate fleet that dared to go after one of their people.”
He half laughed as they detoured around a cart selling fake H’san ceramics. “Yeah.”
“Me, too.”
“I figured, given your reference to a ragtag fleet and all.” After another half dozen steps, he added, “That’s not who they are.”
“They?”
Craig threw an arm around her shoulders. “Seems like it might be who I am. And don’t worry, I’ll get your pension back from Pedro when we return the Second Star.”
Torin hadn’t been worried. She looked forward to facing Pedro and the rest with Craig at her side.
As they reached the verticals, he turned to face her, mouth twisted. “I would have gone after him.”
“I know.”
Werst, Ressk, Mashona, and Alamber were waiting for them in the Legless Worm.
“Did they just randomly cram two words together to name this place or what?” Torin muttered, sliding into a seat. She picked up the six-centimeter plastic KC-7 that had clearly come out of Alamber’s glass and had probably once skewered a piece of fruit. She thought about asking what the hell he was drinking, and decided she didn’t want to know.
“Promise is almost ready to go.” Torin’s slate pinged as Ressk sent over the specs. “All the damage has been repaired, and the new quarters have been added where the pens were. Just the new converter to hook up, and we’re good.”
She scrolled through the schematics and turned to look at Craig in the chair beside her. “So we’re really going to do this?”
It hadn’t been that long ago that sharing the limited resources of a tiny one-man ship had given Craig panic attacks. Space was unforgiving, and he was used to being alone. But then, the Promise wasn’t a tiny one-man ship anymore. And he wasn’t alone.
He took a long swallow of the beer just set down in front of him, and nodded. “We’re really going to do this.”
The Wardens had brought the Promise to this MidSector station as evidence. It had been pure dumb luck that the station included the sector’s second largest dockyard. The Wardens had been convinced to pay to have the aft end of the Promise extended and a shuttle pad added because the Wardens had decided to put them to work.
“It appears to be obvious, ex-Gunnery Sergeant Kerr, that the end of the actual hostilities with the Primacy, regardless of how much fighting continues to occur, has creat
ed social voids that we as a government organization are not equipped to investigate. Speed of investigation appears to be becoming essential when gathering certain facts for later deliberation. When you are finished with this inquiry, we have an offer for you and your companions.”
“And we’re really going to do this,” Craig continued, “because I got the impression it wasn’t an offer any of us would be permitted to decline.”
“Good point,” Torin admitted, raising her glass.
“Any of us?” Alamber leaned back, all loose limbs and promises, but Torin could see the insecurity under the more di’Taykan than thou posture. He had no family, they’d destroyed the life he’d managed to find for himself, and he desperately needed somewhere to belong. Someone to tell him what to do.
For her own peace of mind, Torin planned to wean him off the latter need as soon as possible. “I’m not turning you loose, Alamber. So, yeah, any of us.”
Craig’s shoulder bumped hers. “Are we ready for children?” he sighed.
Alamber’s eyes lightened even further. “I was thinking three-some.”
“They’re really not ready for that,” Werst snorted.
Torin threw the plastic KC-7 at him.
He snatched it out of the air with a foot and threw it back. “Your round, Gunny.”
Torin beckoned the server over but kept the little plastic gun when he cleared the glasses. Her assigned Corps therapist would probably have a field day about how much more comfortable she felt having even a pretend weapon close to hand.
“So . . .” Alamber took a long swallow of his new drink, the same pale blue as his hair. “I keep meaning to ask, back on Vrijheid, I know Big Bill had the docking clamps locked, so how did you really break your ship free of the station?”
“Easy.” Ressk looked pleased with himself, but Torin figured he had the right. “First, I disabled the proximity alerts, then I removed her from the sysop, and the station kicked us free.”
Alamber shook his head. “Uh-uh. I know that story, but you’re totally talking through your ass if you expect me to believe it. Big Bill had sleeper programs in place to prevent that.” Generally, it wasn’t easy to spot a di’Taykan rolling his eyes, but Alamber made the motion obvious. “Come on, seriously, it’s not like you were the only ones there with brains. Big Bill was an ass but a clever one.”