by Tanya Huff
“You haven’t heard half . . .” Alamber began.
Torin glared him silent, then exchanged a look with Presit where they both agreed to ignore the interruption.
“So . . .” Presit spread her hands. “. . . I are saying one more time, go home. If we are being friends at all, allow me to be finding Jamers and be bringing her back to our family. I are even saying please if it are helping, although I very much doubt it are.”
“We . . .”
Hand clamped on his shoulder, fingers digging her need for his silence into his flesh, Torin cut Craig off. “We need to discuss this without an audience, but I’m sure, at the very least, that we have information, that we both have information on Jamers we can share. When the block goes down, get back in touch. Ressk.”
The board went black.
“Block’s in, Gunny. Full spread, implants as well.”
“So, we’re sharing information with the press, Gunny?” When Torin turned, Binti pushed herself up off the bulkhead. “What happened to no one knowing?” she asked, folding her arms. “What happened to if the news of the grave robbing gets out, it’ll start a war even if the H’san weapons cache is never found?”
“I reminded Presit there’s information we can share,” Torin told her, voice falling into the familiar I know what I’m doing cadence designed for soothing second lieutenants and green recruits. “I didn’t say we’d actually be sharing it.”
Binti’s frown deepened. “But she’s going to think that’s exactly what you said.”
“No, she won’t.” Swiveling the chair away from the board, Craig reached up and wrapped his hand around Torin’s—she loosened her grip on his shoulder enough he could tuck his fingers under hers. “Presit’s dealt with Torin before. She’ll have heard exactly what Torin said and she’ll know negotiations for sharing information aren’t yet on the table.”
“How about this . . .” Werst snapped his slate onto his belt. “. . . we tell her that in exchange for what she knows about the H’san . . .” He broke off to close Alamber’s mouth with a gesture significantly ruder than the one Presit had used. “Use your head, kid. She didn’t mention the H’san by name, but she knows they’re a part of this because she knows about the biscuit maker.”
“Yeah, but . . .”
“If she didn’t know about the biscuit maker, she wouldn’t have been at Bufush’s. If she tells us everything she knows, we, in exchange, will find Jamers for her and bring her home.”
Ressk nodded. “We definitely need more information on the H’san.”
Torin couldn’t argue with that. “And how does Presit occupy herself while we ride to the rescue?”
“She goes back to work. Wins awards.” Werst shrugged. “Why do we care what she does as long as she backs off?”
“She doesn’t know how to back off. She’ll follow us.”
Alamber snorted. “Yeah, like we’ll be handing over our Susumi equations.”
“She doesn’t need our equations,” Torin reminded them. “She’s followed ships through Susumi space at least twice before. Once into enemy territory. Considering what she’s already done for her family, odds are she’ll be willing to do it again.”
“That shit needs a crazy pilot.” Werst glanced over at Craig and his nostril ridges closed halfway in reaction.
Torin shifted far enough to see Craig’s face had gone so completely expressionless, he had to be remembering the jump he’d made behind a Primacy ship, trusting Presit’s equation, their survival owing as much to the little gray aliens as to either luck or skill. And if he wasn’t remembering it, Torin sure as hell was.
Ressk broke the silence with a snort. “How many more pilots with Ryder’s level of crazy can she find?”
“Skilled crazy pilots are rare.” Torin leaned in until as much of her weight was against Craig’s side as it was against the chair. “But Katrien clans are huge and as the strectasin’s choice, Presit has access to everyone—and everything they have access to.” The strectasin who’d pushed past her bodyguards to thank them after they’d taken down the furriers should have been wearing four stars. Torin had spent most of the meeting fighting the urge to salute. “I wouldn’t bet against her having found exactly what she needs.”
Binti drummed her fingers against the bulkhead. “What if we tell her that we know what Jamers is involved with . . .”
“Which we do,” Ressk pointed out.
“. . . but we make it clear that she doesn’t want to know the details? That if they got out they’d damage the family—because that’s what this is all about right, family? We make sure she’s aware that Jamers isn’t a victim, she’s a participant, but if Presit leaves it to us, we’ll pull her out when we shut the operation down.”
“Yeah, but why would we do that?” Alamber demanded. “Why would we pull her out? What’s in it for us?”
“What part about us needing information are you missing?” Werst growled. “We can’t pull anyone out of shit until we know where that shit is.”
“You’re terrifyingly articulate, you know that right?”
Werst flipped him off, a Human gesture both Krai and di’Taykan had adopted by virtue of Humans being the first into the newly formed Confederation military and profanity being the first parts of language soldiers shared.
“Presit’s a friend.” Torin surprised herself a little with the declaration, but Craig’s smile said it came as no surprise to him. “Also, Binti made an excellent point. If we don’t give Presit the details of what Jamers is involved in, then she won’t have to tell the strectasin and she can blame us. Knowing Presit, a chance to shift the blame will be a strong selling point.”
“So we’re lying?” Still leaning on the back of Ressk’s chair, Alamber fussed with his cuffs, his gaze on fabric and fingers. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but these grave robbers we were sent after, they aren’t just rummaging about in boxes of bodies, they’re searching for weapons. Weapons they’ll either sell to a head case who figures they can profit from a few million more dead, or they’ll try to collect that profit themselves. Either way, millions more dead.”
“You’re not wrong,” Ressk muttered.
“And we’re supposed to stop them without being spotted by the Elder Races because in retaliation they’d smack the Younger Races down and we won’t stay down. War again. Millions dead. Rub. Repeat. Now the point of the recap . . .” Alamber held up a hand when Werst tried to jump in. “The point of the recap is that we’re not shutting these guys down and calling in the Wardens; we’re being paid to stop them. Where ‘stop them’ means no one who went on the treasure hunt for planet buster weapons in order to, you know, actually bust planets survives to spread the word and/or make a second attempt.”
Judge. Jury. And executioner.
Torin tightened her grip on Craig’s fingers.
Or millions more dead.
Alamber swept the room with eyes darker than the light levels called for. Dark enough, Torin suspected, that he’d opened the light receptors he thought he needed to catch nuance. It wasn’t the answer that was important to him, it was the reason behind it. “So if we tell Presit we’ll find Jamers and get her out, are we lying? Now me, I don’t have a problem with lying, just so we’re clear on that, but for the sake of consistency, I’d like to know up front.”
“Or are we actually going to get her out?” Ressk asked.
“Against orders,” Werst added.
Craig pulled his hand free and folded his arms. “We don’t take orders from the Corps.”
“We took money from the Corps,” Alamber reminded him.
Torin listened to them argue for a moment, Craig against Alamber and Werst. Binti against Ressk. Ressk and Binti against Alamber, Werst, and Craig. Four to one. Two to three. Argument passing as democracy. Finally, she said, “Best guess says Jamers a Tur fenYenstrakin is an independent contractor.
We’ve already agreed only the Younger Races would go after the weapons, so we are not . . .” The negative was a definitive negative. “. . . revisiting that argument. It’s significantly less noticeable to have a Katrien flying in and out of this part of the Core than any of the Younger Races, and smart people would hire out rather than be that visible. Given that Jamers has been skimming artifacts off the top, she may have no idea of what the end goal is.”
“Because only the Younger Races think weapons before they think cash,” Binti said dryly.
“Weapons will get you more cash.” Alamber pointed out.
“And that’s made my point.”
“If we say we’re getting her out,” Craig growled, “then we’re getting her out.”
“Gunny?” Werst was more of a realist.
“We don’t lie, we’re the good guys.” Torin ignored Werst’s snort of disbelief. “We don’t disobey orders—even when those orders are phrased as requests by the people paying our bills. We’ll stretch their parameters as far as it takes to get the job done, but that’s it. And we don’t tell Presit one thing and then do another.”
“Although we’re not responsible for her expectations.”
Torin touched her nose. “Point to Binti. We’ll do our best to get Jamers out, but we don’t know how deep in the shit she’s sunk and we can’t make promises we might not be able to keep.”
“And that’ll be enough?” Werst looked dubious.
Craig didn’t. “I think Torin’s best will be enough.”
Torin shook her head. “That’s not . . .”
He cut her off. “She likes you a lot more than the two of you pretend. More importantly, she respects you. She’s seen your best, Torin, a couple of times; she knows what it means.”
“And, Gunny?” Ressk waved a hand to get her attention. “Not to continue chewing an empty trysh, but we need more information on the H’san or we’re not going anywhere. She scratches our backs, we scratch hers.”
“She grooms our backs, we groom hers,” Craig amended.
“You’ve groomed her, have you?” The edges of Alamber’s hair flicked out around his face. The di’Taykan equivalent of wagging eyebrows.
“Mate, I have groomed the hell out of her,” Craig sighed. “And no one can dummy out a way to make cleaning forty kilos of undercoat from the vents sound sexy.”
“What makes you think she knows more than we do?” Werst demanded before Alamber could accept the challenge.
“Presit makes it a point to know more than I do,” Torin told him.
“What makes you think she’s going to tell you what she knows?”
“We’re following Jamers, she’s following us. Odds are, she thinks we know where we’re going.”
“You know what you should do, Boss?” Alamber sketched possibilities in the air with both hands. “You should . . .”
“No.” Torin didn’t care how enthusiastic Alamber got. “Craig does the talking.” She considered ordering the rest out, but she was staying and Presit had never minded an audience. “He has the best poker face, and she’s annoyingly overt about how much she likes him.”
“Jealous?”
“Shut up.”
“Why would the best of Gunnery Sergeant Kerr not be being enough for me? Is she not being responsible for having ended the war?” Presit spread her arms in what might have been surrender but was more likely a benediction. The sarcasm had sounded unexpectedly sincere. “If you are wanting it, then I are giving my word I are not going to follow. I are well aware there are being many things a dependent of my family could be doing that I are not wanting to have to pass on to the strectasin. Nor are I wanting to be giving the H’san an opportunity to be linking my family’s name to the desecration of their dead and the selling of their grave goods like so much frincreesten. So . . .” Her smile held relief and curiosity and small, white, pointed teeth about equally mixed. “. . . what are you needing to know in exchange?”
Craig leaned back and swung his feet up onto the edge of the panel, crossing them at the ankle, his lower heel on the worn edge that marked a thousand such positions. “You assumed you’d turn up Jamers on Abalae?”
“That are right, but then you are always having been smarter than you are looking.” She fluffed her ruff, not quite selling the indifference. “If Jamers are finding a market on Abalae, then she are going to be returning to it when she are having new . . . items. Me, I are not following her into the H’san home system, abandoned though it are being, if I are not having to.”
Where the fuk did you find the coordinates for the H’san home system? Torin closed her teeth on her response. Heard the sharp click of enamel against enamel that said either Ressk or Werst had been less metaphorical about it.
Craig ignored the equivalent of four of a kind hitting the table. “You sure that’s where she was heading, then—the H’san home system?”
“Where else are she going to be going? She are not going to abandon an easy money maker once she are having found one, and the abandoned planet where they are having been ridiculous about their dead are the only place it are possible that she are finding the pottery. Who else are wanting to be buried with a H’san biscuit warmer? Well, maybe you.” Presit shifted her focus off Craig just far enough to shoot Alamber a narrow-eyed glare. “Your collar are being ridiculous.”
His collar was half a dozen rows of silver-tipped, black ruffles held in place by his masker. “What do you know about fashion, fuzzball?”
“Clearly, I are knowing more than you.”
Eyes lightening, he smiled. “Get mange.”
Torin took advantage of Presit’s lengthy response in her native language to hold a silent conversation with Craig—who cut off the stream of irate Katrien with a raised hand. Proving once again, Presit really did like him. “The Justice Department tends to be sanctimoniously vague where we’re concerned, so as a favor, can I put eyeballs on your coordinates? And if you could toss out a little more good oil on the H’san, it’d be helpful in finding your . . . Jamers.”
Her fur ruffled again. “She are not my Jamers. I are never having even met her. She are a dependent of my house, no more. But the sooner you are finding her, the sooner I are getting my life back, so . . .” She turned slightly away from the camera, shouted a Katrien command, turned back and said, “. . . I having sent over everything we have.” Head cocked, she wrinkled her muzzle until the sharp points of her front teeth showed. “You are knowing that changing the name of the ship are not being exactly covert if I are still able to contact you the same way I always are.”
“We aren’t hiding from you, luv.”
“You aren’t.” She flashed more teeth in Torin’s general direction. Torin flashed teeth back and they held their positions until the board pinged and Presit shifted her attention back to Craig. “My files on the H’san are not being in Federate, so I are having sent them through a translation program—I are not guaranteeing they are not having been scrambled.” Her eyes narrowed. “Are Justice been talking out of their collective byz?”
“Talking out of their collective byz is business as usual for Justice. But comparing these . . .” He dropped his feet down to the floor and leaned in over the board. Torin wasn’t sure if he was trying for innocent or curious, but trusted him not to overplay his hand. “These coordinates are . . . Where did you get them?”
“How are I knowing?” Her fur rippled over the shrug. “It’s not like they are being a secret. How long are you thinking this are going to be taking?”
“As long as it takes.”
Her lip curled and a little energy returned to her voice. “Craig Ryder, I are hearing Gunnery Sergeant Kerr using your mouth. I are not waiting here indefinitely, never knowing if you are having been destroyed by H’san planetary defenses or murdered by the criminals Jamers are working with.”
“Because you care.”
“Because I are not wanting to be waiting here indefinitely.”
“Two tendays,” Torin said. Now they knew where . . .
“One. And then I are coming in after you.”
. . . they were back to simple. Stop a war. Hell, she’d done that once already. “Deal.”
Presit took a deep breath and Torin heard a faint clicking sound, identified it as her claws tapping together out of range of the camera. “Jamers are not a bad person. She are not being young now and she are having been away for a long, long time so no one are knowing what she are like, but . . .” The clicking stopped. “I are hearing that she are having been lazy, and are having been not very smart, and are having been always looking for the easy way, but she are being a part of my family so I are asking you are remembering that when you are finding her.”
“I’ll treat her like I’d treat you in the same circumstances,” Torin said blandly.
Presit looked surprised, her ears up, then she laughed. Her image disappeared off the screen.
“Ressk?”
“Got it covered, Gunny. I killed both bugs she sent with the coordinates.”
“Both?” Craig asked, glaring at the board as though he could see them slinking through the code.
“The obvious and the not so obvious.”
Presit, Torin acknowledged, was fairly obvious herself. “Check for a physical tracker either on or heading for the hull.”
CSOs depended on the strength and complexity of their scanners, sweeping a debris field for the remnants of working tech or a DNA smear that would bring closure to the family of a sailor or a Marine. At heart, in spite of the additions and the temporary name change, Promise remained a CSO’s ship. She could find a recording device the size of a thumbnail attached to the upper surface of the shuttle’s wing.
“Son of a . . .”
“She’ll go, but she won’t go quietly,” Craig said, sounding fond. “Of course, she doesn’t do anything quietly.”