The Better Part of Valour

by Tanya Huff

  The pink in Guimond’s cheeks deepened. “I can’t help it, Corporal. They’re just so damned cute.”

  * * *

  “All right, Frii, hand it over.”

  “Staff...”

  “Now.”

  Sighing deeply, he reached down in under the collar of his combats and pulled out his music card. After a last lingering look, he dropped it into Torin’s outstretched hand. “It’s the best on the market,” he told her mournfully. “Best sound, most memory, great range. They could turn it on from the Berganitan. The Corps’ll reimburse me, right? I mean, it’s personal property destroyed during a military operation.”

  “Tell you what, Private, if this actually works...” Torin handed the card in turn to Johnston who began attaching it to the input end of the bug’s exposed comm unit... I’ll ignore all three regs you broke bringing it along and I’ll personally file the reimbursement request with your company clerk.”

  Frii’s eyes lightened. “And if it doesn’t work?”

  “We’ll have bigger problems than you breaking regs.”

  * * *

  Propped against a bulkhead, carefully situated to see both where they were going and where they’d been, Craig Ryder watched the Marines moving purposefully around the bug. Besides the staff sergeant, one of the engineers and a di’Taykan—who looks remarkably depressed for a species who invented flavored massage oil before the wheel, he snorted silently—three others were peering through their helmet scanners and keying information into their slates. It seemed that time taken to turn the bug’s comm unit into a weapon was also being used to gather information on the enemy. Now, had he been in charge, they’d be breaking speed records hauling ass to the air lock, but clearly the staff sergeant believed that whole gram of prevention thing. Not to mention, better safe than sorry.

  Since sorry in this instance meant dead, he supposed he had to appreciate her thoroughness.

  Not the only thing about her that he appreciated, either.

  Although most of the rest of it was the standard stuff he appreciated on most women.

  Actually, it had been a long while since he’d spent enough time with a woman to appreciate anything else. Sex and gambling both had a pretty narrow focus.

  I’ve got to get out more.

  Provided, of course, I get out of here.

  Funny thing, though, he didn’t feel trapped, hadn’t felt the growing pressure of sharing limited resources in an unforgiving environment. Maybe it was the size of the ship. Maybe it was because they were actively moving toward a destination. Whatever the reason, he hadn’t felt the familiar panic since Torin had led the way out of that cube.

  His heart began to pound, and he hurriedly reburied the rising memory.

  Maybe it was Torin.

  She turned away from the bug and started toward him. As she passed, he fell into step beside her.

  * * *

  “Mind if I ask you something?”

  He had a strange, speculative look in his eyes Torin wasn’t sure she trusted.

  “What’s with all the sneaking around and whispering? You lot have state-of-the-art PCUs on your heads, why not use them instead?”

  Not the question Torin had expected. And I expected what? “We in the Corps prefer to call it reconnaissance—not sneaking.”

  “No offense intended.”

  “None taken. To answer your question, we’re not entirely certain the bugs can’t pick up our PCU signals. We don’t want them eavesdropping; even if they don’t understand us—and we’re not entirely certain about that either—they could use the signal to acquire our position.”

  The left corner of Ryder’s mouth curled up, creasing laugh lines around his eyes. “And what are you entirely certain of?”

  “That if they’re close enough to hear a whisper, they’re close enough to shoot,” Torin snorted. And what the hell am I doing looking at his laugh lines? Let’s try to remember he’s a civilian, shall we? Emphatically not looking, she dropped to one knee beside Captain Travik. “Any change?”

  Orla’s gaze flicked between the staff sergeant and the salvage operator, then she glanced back down at the captain and shook her head. “Not really. He mumbled something about wasters of food out to ruin him—I think. My Krai doesn’t go much beyond gre ta ejough geyko.”

  “Sit on it and rotate?” Ryder translated, smiling broadly. “I wouldn’t have thought you lot considered that an insult.”

  The di’Taykan grinned up at him. “We don’t.”

  Torin attempted to ignore their continuing exchange but with little success. The years of practice she’d put in honing her skills at selective listening seemed suddenly insufficient. I must be more tired than I thought.

  The captain’s vitals were low but holding steady. There’d been only minor changes since the last time Torin checked his medical program, and his heart rate had even improved slightly. As she stood, she patted him on the leg almost fondly. Not the hero the general expected him to be, but he was doing a lot less damage unconscious than if he’d been up and giving orders.

  Johnston had finished up at the bug.

  The harveer seemed to have gotten her breath back.

  The moment Harrop’s squad returned...

  As if summoned, Harrop, Dursinski, and Huilin rounded the corner.

  “Everything still matches the map, Staff. Passage is heading aft, and we get a bounce at 570.3 meters. There’s a vertical at 569, accessed through the starboard bulkhead. It goes down one level, ladder only.”

  Torin followed on her slate as Harrop made his report and tried to stop worrying about why the ship had changed the original configuration. Nothing she could do about it; not worth wasting wetware on.

  “There’s a cross corridor every 95.05 meters,” the corporal continued. “Six in total. They bounce out at 80 meters ending in the passage, here...” He touched the map. “...that runs parallel to our main passage. No sign of bugs.”

  “Although that doesn’t mean they’re not down here,” Dursinski muttered as he finished.

  “We know they’re down here,” Torin sighed. A gesture brought the Recon team together, another sent them to their positions, ready to move out. She turned to the civilians, expecting to find them on their feet.

  “Guimond?”

  He shrugged. “I can’t make them stand up, Staff.”

  “You’re twice the size of all three of them put together, so, yeah, you can.”

  “We are still resting,” Presit declared, folding her arms. “It are getting late, we are having a very full day.” Her lip curled up off sharp points of teeth. “We are not moving until we are ready.”

  The two scientists looked more resigned than enthusiastic but had obviously been convinced to support the mutiny.

  “And if we were alone on this ship, we could take our time. But we aren’t. And if they,” Torin jerked her head toward the body, “return, they will kill you.”

  “We are being killed, walked off our feet!”

  “Ma’am, you need to understand that there is a difference between being killed and walking.” Dropping her benny off her shoulder, Torin squeezed a burst off into the bug’s head. It didn’t make much noise as it blew, but rusty brown fluid covered both bulkheads and dripped from the ceiling. “That,” she said, turning back to her astounded audience, “is being killed and I’m trying to prevent it from happening. We’re leaving. Now!”

  A few moments later, as the entire company began making its way to the next vertical, she felt Ryder’s familiar presence at her side.

  “Good shot.”

  “Not really.”

  “Well, I suppose the odds were in your favor that it wasn’t going to duck,” he allowed thoughtfully. “You learn about using visual aids in NCO school?”

  “No, just something I picked up on my own.”

  “You knew it was going to do that?”

  “Obviously.” Then, because he was waiting, she added, “The helmet scans of Drenver Mining Station, the las
t place the Others brought in bugs, are part of the training simulation. After they’ve been dead for a while, the stuff in their heads becomes unstable. The scans are piss-yourself-laughing type funny... if you can disregard the feet that we’re losing.”

  Harrop, back on point, had reached the first cross corridor. Raising his weapon to cover the new approach, he held his position and waved the march on.

  The far end seemed darker than the distance would allow, Torin noted as she crossed. Not good. The light levels were already low. It wouldn’t take much more dimming before only the nocturnal Katrien and the di’Taykans could see clearly. Torin had no idea how well the bugs could see in the dark, nor did she want to find out.

  The second cross corridor was identical to the first.

  No. Torin paused for a heartbeat. Not identical but she couldn’t put her finger on the difference.

  Her feeling of unease grew at the third corridor.

  And the fourth.

  As they approached the fifth, she moved up on point, waving Dursinski back.

  Raising her benny to her shoulder, she peered through the targeting scope and sent a quick bounce.

  Harrop had bounced all six cross corridors at eighty meters. Corridor five showed barely twenty. Son of a fukking bitch! The ship had changed the floor plan again.

  Hand signals sent Nivry and Jynett on the run to the sixth and final corridor. As they raced off, she moved Werst and Tsui into position covering corridor five and got the rest of the march moving double time toward the vertical.

  Then she turned back to the shadows.

  The bugs racing out of them were almost expected.

  The benny’s cellular disrupter had to actually hit organic matter to work. Fortunately, it “splashed” on impact, widening the target area. Torin squeezed off two quick bursts, aiming for the shoulder joint in the lead bug’s body armor, then as it jerked back, arm and weapon dangling, she dropped prone and began trying for their legs, forcing the bugs to either fold them in under their abdominal armor—becoming stationary targets—or to retreat. No fools, they chose the latter.

  Tsui and Werst stood behind the slight cover offered by the corners, on opposite sides of the corridor, shooting diagonally. Under their covering fire, Torin scrambled back until she shared Werst’s space.

  The two engineers carrying the captain between them were past. Guimond pounded by carrying a Katrien under each arm, closely followed by Ryder holding Harveer Niirantapajee.

  How nice he’s making himself... She fired as a head and thorax suddenly appeared, driving the bug back... useful. And who the hell took him off stretcher duty?

  As the last Marine crossed, Torin tapped Werst on the shoulder. “Go!”

  The moment he was clear, she followed.

  It still seemed to be ninety-five point five meters to cross corridor number six.

  Thirty paces along, Torin stopped and spun around, back against the wall, benny extended out from her right side. “Tsui! Break off!”

  The lance corporal squeezed off another half dozen shots, then whirled and ran.

  Torin held her position as Tsui raced past, waiting for the first bug.

  “Staff! Break off!”

  Thirty paces farther up the passage, Tsui held the wall.

  They’d managed to leapfrog nearly all the way to the sixth corridor when the first bug appeared out of corridor five.

  Torin dropped to her stomach and fired.

  The bug threw itself back out of range.

  A quick glance over her shoulder and Torin noted Captain Travik had nearly reached the vertical.

  At corridor six, Nivry and Jynett had taken a bug out although from nine meters away, it was impossible to tell for certain if it was dead. Eventually, its head would explode and remove any doubt, but Torin had no intention of remaining around for the spectacle.

  Jynett’s right arm was smoking.

  “Chemical weapon,” she explained, firing at the sudden appearance of a bug in the shadows. “Tried to fukking eat through my suit. Couldn’t quite. Suit’s neutralized it now, I think.”

  “Make sure of it the moment you can.” Over the years, Torin had taken a number of injuries and, in her experience, nothing delivered old-fashioned, scream-until-hoarse pain like a chemical burn. She jerked her head in the direction of the vertical. “Go. I’ll hold here.”

  With two corridors to watch, the next set of leapfrogs became more complicated. Ten meters from the drop, the bugs swarmed out of corridor six.

  Firing one-handed, Torin dropped her microphone. “Do it, Frii!”

  His music card was everything he’d said it would be. Blasted through the dead bug’s comm unit at full volume, the attack ran into a solid wall of sound.

  The passage smelled suddenly of burned cork.

  The final three Marines sprinted for the ladder.

  Torin slid last, and as her head dropped below the level of the deck, the sound switched off. Found another channel. Smart bugs.

  Almost before her boots hit the deck, she was moving out into the new passage.

  Before she could speak, the hatch slammed, the two engineers were laser welding the seal, and Presit had a handful of Torin’s combats.

  “You are getting me out of here, now!”

  “Guimond!”

  “Sorry, Staff.”

  “Was anyone besides Jynett hit?” Torin snarled, glaring at the Katrien as Guimond led her away.

  “Huilin and Dursinski. Aid kit stuff. Nothing to...” Something rattled in the vertical.

  “Fire in the hole!”

  Johnston and Heer dove out of the way as a muffled explosion buckled the hatch.

  “Something to remember, people,” Torin announced as she stood. “They’ve got ordnance with them. Did the welds hold?”

  “Enough of them, Staff.”

  “And the hatch is jammed in its track now,” Heer added. “They’re not coming through here.”

  “Unless they’ve got a couple more of what they just dropped?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “Then let’s not linger, people. We’re on the right level, it’s just a matter of getting to the air lock before the bugs.” She checked the charge on her benny, noted that Guimond seemed to be keeping his bulk between her and the reporter, and finally took a moment to look around. “What’s with all the fukking pipes?”

  * * *

  “Captain! The Others appear to be opening their launch bays!”

  “Appear to be, Mister Potter, or are?”

  “The Others have opened launch bays.”

  “Flight Commander.”

  “Launch bays open, Captain. Squadrons standing by.”

  “Captain!”

  “I see it.” Fighters, longer and narrower than the Jades, were dropping into space. What would happen if we didn’t respond? the captain wondered as the enemy fighters began to gather into flights of three. What would happen if we just sat here, and let them come at us? Would Big Yellow stop them?

  Maybe.

  Maybe not. It wasn’t something she could risk.

  “Flight Commander, launch squadrons.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain. Launching squadrons.”

  * * *

  “Buh-bye scientific support,” Lieutenant Commander Sibley chortled as he dropped his Jade with the rest. “Let’s hear it for being back in the saddle.”

  “It,” Shylin muttered. “You think we’re going to be allowed to do any shooting, Sib?”

  “Allowed?”

  “Big Yellow stopped the missiles. Could as easily stop us.”

  “Could. Won’t.”

  “You know something I don’t?”

  “Lieutenant, the amount I know that you don’t could overload the Berg’s memory core.”

  “And you’re modest, too.”

  “Aren’t I?” Grinning, he turned to his wing frequency. “Black Eight, Black Nine, form up on me.”

  “Roger, B7. Eight taking position to port.”

  “Nine to
starboard. Ready to move in.”

  “All fighters, enemy is advancing around the full 360 of Big Yellow.” The flight commander’s voice filled the double cockpit like the voice of God and Sibley hurriedly adjusted the volume. “All fighters, advance pattern zeta.”

  “Eight wings of them, eight wings of us, all evenly spaced out in two pretty, pretty circles. Oy, mama, I get the feeling someone’s selling tickets to this.” Sibley moved his wing into the forty-five-degree mark. “Step right up, ladies, gentlemen, and species undecided. Get a front row seat as we fill the skies with pyrotechnics.”

  “They’re more ellipses than circles, Sib.”

  “I’m not going to argue with you. Shy.”

  “’Cause I’m right.”

  * * *

  “Fighters are about to clear Big Yellow, Captain.”

  “Ours or theirs?”

  “Both.”

  ELEVEN

  “When I find out whose head this came out of. I’m going to kick their ass.”

  When no one claimed responsibility, Torin snorted and ducked another pipe. The only passage leading away from the last vertical headed starboard in a series of fifty-six-meter diagonals no more than a meter wide, crossed and recrossed by pipes in a variety of diameters and colors. The lowest pipes were about shoulder height on Torin, the highest disappeared into darkness two or three levels up. Some of them were warm to the touch. Some of them made noise.

  The lack of space had taken them down to two stretcher-bearers. At each corner, they had to lift Captain Travik’s head until his body was nearly vertical in order to get him around the forty-five-degree angle. Various vital signs would fluctuate during the maneuver, but as they always returned to more or less the same position afterward, Torin figured they weren’t doing much damage. Not that they had any choice.

  On the upside, the civilians, now behind the stretcher party, got a series of short rests. Harveer Niirantapajee was visibly flagging and even the Katrien were saving most of their breath for walking. Sooner or later, they’d have to be carried, but Torin wanted to delay the inevitable as long as she could. Many Marines had trouble taking the smaller species seriously, and she didn’t want to reinforce bad attitudes. Nor, however, did she plan on allowing the march to be overrun by bugs because the civilians couldn’t keep up.