The Better Part of Valor

by Tanya Huff

  Every time it happens, Torin snorted, but all she said aloud was, “Hands are in my lap, sir.”

  Almost before he was strapped in, the pod sealed. An instant after that, they dropped out into space.

  Zero gravity flipped her stomach again. Torin swallowed hard as acceleration pressed her first against the straps and then down into the seat. Lieutenant Commander Sibley had cleared launch on his implant, probably so he could hit space without giving her warning. Two diagonal moves later, they were upside down relative to the station.

  “Be about an hour and a half before we reach the Berganitan. I hope you’re not claustrophobic.”

  Well, sir, if I was, I’d have probably found out years ago crammed into the troop compartment of a sled with a couple of dozen muddy Marines while the enemy tried to blow us the hell up. At least you’ve got windows.

  But all she said aloud was, “Not that I know of, sir.”

  She spared a moment wondering if there was any significance in General Morris’ apparent fondness for the Berganitan. Maybe it was the only ship the Admiralty would let him play with.

  The Jade suddenly dropped away from the station. About thirty meters out, it flipped over.

  Shouldn’t have told him I’d never been in a Jade before. She’d probably thought a lieutenant commander was a little old to play “let’s see if we can get the Marine to puke.” More fool her. All vjs were crazy, from raw ensigns right up to Wing Admiral di’Si Trin herself—something she should have remembered. Well, counting the ten hours and forty-seven minutes in Susumi space, it has been a long day.

  * * *

  Lieutenant Commander Sibley added a few final flourishes as he brought the Jade up to cruising speed. “If you have to hurl, Staff Sergeant, bite the black tab at the base of your faceplate. It’ll open a pouch.”

  No answer. Not even the sound of a lost lunch.

  “Staff?”

  Her telltales were green. She was conscious. Heart pumping at sixty/sixty. Respiration slow and steady.

  Then it dawned on him. While he’d been flying a pattern designed to test the limits of Human physiology, his passenger had gone to sleep.

  TWO

  “Staff Sergeant Kerr?”

  “Yes, sir.” The lieutenant waiting outside the fighter bay had hair and eyes the palest blue Torin’d ever seen on a di’Taykan. His Glass Cs had been perfectly creased, his boots and brass magnificently shined, even his masker gleamed.

  He seemed momentarily disappointed that her spit and polish matched his.

  “I’m Lieutenant Stedrin, General Morris’ aide. The general wants to see you right away.”

  She’d been traveling for the last fifteen hours. What she wanted was a shower—although perhaps wanted wasn’t the most accurate word.

  Stedrin’s eyes darkened, as though he were trying to see her expression in more detail. Then he stepped back and gestured to the right. “The Corps’ attachment is this way.”

  They walked in silence, watched covertly by the Berganitan’s crew. Torin and a warrant exchanged nods as she passed his work party, but the lieutenant might as well have been moving through an empty ship. She wondered if he’d have shortened his stride had she not been tall enough to keep up and decided, after casting a quick glance at the rigid muscles of his jaw, he probably wouldn’t. Must make him real popular with the Krai. Why the hell didn’t he just message my implant?

  “The general thinks highly of you.” Stedrin made the sudden announcement in a tone that suggested the general was alone in that regard. “He says that without you, it’s doubtful we’d have gained the Silsviss as allies.” The pause was too short for a reply. Too long to have been anything but deliberate emphasis. “I think you’ve taken as much advantage of that as there is to be taken. Do you understand me, Staff Sergeant Kerr?”

  “Yes, sir.” And that answered the message versus personal touch question. He’d come all the way down to the fighter bay to warn her to play nice or she’d have him to deal with. The overachieving, armament up the butt attitude was unusual for a di’Taykan. Willing to lay odds that he had a minimum of eight letters in the unmentioned half of his name—which would put his family low in the Taykan caste system—she kept her face expressionless under the weight of his regard.

  “I get the impression you’re not taking this seriously, Staff Sergeant.”

  Stepping forward, she checked that the lock lights were green and opened the hatch separating the Marine attachment from the Berganitan proper. “Sorry, sir.”

  “For what?” he demanded, walking over the seals with the self-conscious care of one who’d spent very little time in space.

  “For your mistaken impression, Lieutenant.” She dogged the hatch closed and turned to meet his eyes. “I take everything I do seriously. It’s how I keep my people alive.” After a moment, she let him look away.

  Hair clamped tight to his skull, the lieutenant took a step back, opened his mouth, then snapped it closed again. Torin gave him credit for recognizing he was in a battle he couldn’t win and waited patiently while he brought his emotions under control. The general’s compartment was barely three meters down the passage, and the last thing he’d want was to have General Morris inquiring about his temper.

  Or wondering where the hell he’d been.

  Seconds before Torin was about to point that out, the di’Taykan turned on one heel and marched down the passageway, graceful in spite of a rigidity of spine that promised they weren’t through.

  * * *

  “You’re looking better than the last time I saw you, Staff Sergeant.”

  “Thank you, sir.” So was he. Last time she’d seen the general, he’d had two black eyes, a broken nose, and a poleaxed expression—all of which she’d been essentially responsible for.

  Given his current expression, he was thinking pretty much the same thing. “Yes, well, we’ve a new situation here, so let’s put the past behind us, shall we?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  It was more neutral noise than agreement, but General Morris took the words at face value, smiling and nodding—both of which put Torin on edge. Damn, she hated smiling generals.

  “You’re probably wondering why I had Lieutenant Stedrin bring you to me.”

  She was, but she wasn’t expecting an explanation. The pause went on long enough so Torin began to think the general himself was also wondering. She was about ready to throw in another Yes, sir, to prod him forward, when he squared beefy shoulders and said, “You’ll be Senior NCO for this mission and, as you were my personal choice, I felt I should be the one to introduce you to the officer commanding.” He touched the edge of his comm unit. “Lieutenant.”

  “Sir.” Stedrin’s voice snapped out of the desk so crisply Torin knew he’d been hovering over it, waiting for the call.

  “Have the captain report to my office immediately.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Generals did not make introductions for staff sergeants.

  Staff sergeants did not ask generals what the hell they were up to.

  Unfortunately.

  General Morris sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers, looking over their blunt ends at Torin. “How much do you follow politics, Staff Sergeant?”

  “I don’t, sir.”

  “You just do your job?”

  Best to ignore two star sarcasm.

  “Yes, sir.”

  He nodded and continued. “As you’re well aware, politics are a part of my job. The balance of power in Parliament is very tenuous right now. Many of the old races feel the Confederation isn’t making enough effort to deal with the Others diplomatically—in spite of the fact that diplomacy so far has resulted in nothing but dead diplomats. There’s a very real possibility that the arguments between the various factions could result in the same crippling of the government as happened back in ’89 when, with defense spending stalled, the Others took over most of SD38, including the Ba’tan home world. It would be nice,” he continued dryly, and Torin
got the impression he was talking as much to himself as to her, “if this time, things could stabilize without such a drastic kick in the collective ass. Surprisingly enough, it’s been the Krai who’ve been causing the most trouble of late, throwing one faction against the other so that the military will take notice of their complaints that there aren’t enough of their people in top positions. They’ve been insisting Krai officers, Navy and Marine, receive more chances to serve in those places where promotions are most likely.”

  “The front lines, sir?”

  The general looked startled by her question. “No, not the front lines. They’re looking for a higher survival rate.”

  Aren’t we all.

  “Sir!”

  Torin wondered if Stedrin stood at attention when he addressed the general over the comm. It certainly sounded like he did.

  “Yes, Lieutenant?”

  “The captain is here, sir.”

  “Send him in.” General Morris stood, tugged his tunic into place, and came around the desk, shooting Torin a look that seemed almost apologetic.

  Bugger it. That’s not good. She’d been standing easy, so when the door opened behind her, she came around ninety degrees, presenting her back to neither the general nor the entering officer.

  He looked vaguely familiar. Which wasn’t necessarily relevant since the Krai as a whole had very little color or size variance and, to any species without a highly developed sense of smell, all seemed pretty much the same.

  “Staff Sergeant Kerr, I’d like you to meet your commanding officer for this mission, Captain Travik.”

  Oh, crap.

  Captain Travik’s rescue of the besieged research station on Horohn 8, his reckless charge through the Others’ perimeter recorded by the station’s sensors, had captured the attention of the public and made him a celebrity. He’d been feted all through the sector, his image turning up every time the Corps got mentioned on any kind of a popular broadcast, his reputation growing as every new program fed on the one before it, his ego growing with his reputation.

  Most of the Marines who landed under the captain’s command hadn’t survived.

  To the public, that made him even more the hero.

  To the Corps, particularly those who’d studied the recording, that made him a reckless hotshot who knew how to manipulate the media.

  And here he was.

  Because the Krai government wanted more Krai in top military positions.

  Torin glanced over at the general and thought of a few more things to call him.

  * * *

  They folded into Susumi space early evening ship’s time when the last two members of the recon team finally arrived. According to the data on the desk in Torin’s small office, the twelve Marines had been detached from as many different units for security reasons. A decision had been made at the highest levels to keep the media away from the alien vessel and individual Marines moving about the Sector were deemed a lot less noticeable than a squad taken from one location.

  From a combat perspective, it was inefficient, but Torin couldn’t fault the security reasoning. She only hoped they’d be spending enough time in Susumi space to make the word team relevant. Even with specialized training in common, it was going to take a while to shake three different species and twelve different personalities into a smoothly functioning unit.

  Although there’d be common ground the moment they knew who was commanding.

  Might as well get it over with.

  * * *

  “That was Staff Sergeant Kerr giving us a ten minute warning,” Corporal di’Marken Nivry announced, upper body leaning through the hatch. “She wants us all. You two better get some clothes on and get in here.”

  The two dripping Marines on the shower platform exchanged glances as identical as Human and Krai physiognomy allowed.

  “Briefing’s tomorrow morning,” Werst growled, turning the air jets on. “She can’t wait?”

  “She doesn’t have to,” Nivry reminded him and disappeared.

  Lifting both heavily muscled arms over his head, Werst turned and scowled at the man standing next to him. “What?”

  August Guimond scrubbed his fingers through the maximum amount of thick blond hair the Corps allowed, smiling broadly. “She was checking out my package.”

  “Dirsrick anbol sa serrik tanayn.”

  “That’s Krai, isn’t it?” Guimond turned off the air and stepped down. “What does it mean?”

  “Roughly: who the fuk cares.”

  * * *

  Torin glanced around the compartment. Five di’Taykan, five Humans, two Krai—pretty much the usual split for the Corps. The engineers, Lance Corporal Danny Johnston and Corporal Heer, were sitting together, slates out. The two highest caste of the five di’Taykan—Privates First Class di’Por Huilin and di’Wen Jynett—appeared to be playing “my family compound is bigger than yours,” and looked as though they’d been interrupted in the midst of getting to know each other better. Which was pretty much standard operating procedure for di’Taykans and a heartbeat after she left all five would be in the communal compartment. For a moment it looked as though Pfc di’Sarm Frii was having a small spasm and then she saw the earphones almost covered by swinging ocher hair—although his hair seemed to be keeping a different beat than either hands or feet.

  And Private First Class August Guimond, who was one of the biggest Humans Torin had ever seen, must have found something or somebody pretty funny given the size of his smile.

  The rest were waiting more or less attentively for her to speak. The other Krai, who therefore had to be Pfc Werst, cradled a mug of sah in both hands. It took a security scan to release the stimulant to the Krai and, given the effect on Humans, Torin was glad to see Werst also wore an expression that promised critical damage should anyone try to take it from him.

  She drew in a deep breath, noted that the silence became more attentive, waited for a blocky blonde—Lance Corporal Lesli Dursinski—to drive an annoyed elbow into Frii’s ribs, and began. “My name is Staff Sergeant Kerr and I am your Senior NCO for this mission. Like you, I got dragged away from my team and my friends and the job I was doing and, like you, I know that doesn’t matter one goddamned bit. The Corps calls—we answer. This is your new team…” A sweeping gesture with her right hand. “…these are your new friends…” Followed by a sweeping gesture with her left. “I don’t care if you like each other, but you will respect each other’s abilities and you will work together as Marines. Whenever that seems too difficult for you, remember there’s sixteen of us and over two thousand sailors out here.” Her left eyebrow lifted and her tone dried out. “I’m not saying that it’s us against them, I’m just saying that sixteen Marines, working together, should have no trouble with two thousand sailors.”

  “Bring ’em on, Staff!” Pfc di’Benti Orla was on her feet. “I could do two thousand sailors myself before breakfast!”

  One of the Humans, Corporal Harrop, snickered. “Yeah, I’ve heard that about you.”

  Orla flipped him the finger, a Human gesture the di’Taykan had adopted wholeheartedly. “Fuk you!”

  “After breakfast.”

  “Deal.”

  When Harrop looked startled, Torin grinned and shook her head. “You have served with di’Taykan before, Corporal?”

  “Sure, Staff. Hundreds.”

  “Then stop looking so damned surprised. At the moment,” she continued, now that the room’s attention had returned to her, “I know little more about this mission than you do; we’ll be first on an alien, deep-space craft found drifting by a civilian salvage operator. Briefing’s tomorrow morning, 0900 hours, across in the Berganitan. General Morris would like us all to attend.” Torin paused long enough for the expected rumble of complaint but not so long that the rumble turned into something more. “Whether he expects our presence to reassure or intimidate the civilian scientists who will also be in attendance remains unclear at this time.”

  Lance Corporal Ken Tsui snickered—
there was one in every team who always got the joke—and several Marines smiled.

  “At the briefing,” Torin continued, “we’ll meet our commanding officer, Captain Travik.”

  Johnston’s slate squawked as he closed his fist around it. A heartbeat later, eleven of the twelve started talking at once.

  “…serley asshole couldn’t command his way out of a wet…”

  “…had a thytrin with him at Horohn…”

  “…part of a fukking PR show…”

  “…bastard tries that ‘hero’ shit on me…”

  “…General Morris trying to get us fukking killed…”

  Torin folded her arms and met Werst’s eyes across the room. He took a long drink of his sah, expression no different than it had been before she’d started speaking. One by one the other Marines noted her position and their protests trailed off.

  “All right, now that you’ve got that out of your system,” she told the renewed silence, “let’s get a few things clear. One, General Morris is not trying to get us killed. The Krai in Parliament want more senior officers, and Captain Travik was the politicians’ choice. Unless the general wanted a repeat of ’89, his hands were tied.”

  “Fuk the politicians,” someone muttered.

  Torin snorted. “Thank you, but no. Two, this is not a public relations show. Until we’ve determined exactly what we’re dealing with, we’re under level four security and a full media lockout—which is why they didn’t move in an existing team. The media watches troop movements, they don’t watch individual Marines.”

  “Staff?”

  “What is it, Dursinski?”

  “Why a full media lockout?” The lance corporal’s frown fell into two well-defined vertical lines in the center of her forehead. “Is there something about this ship they’re not telling us?”

  “Probably. But I’m sure if you all put your little minds to it, you could come up with an infinite number of reasons for command to keep the discovery of this ship away from civilians until we’ve determined what it is.”