The Better Part of Valor

by Tanya Huff

  Torin grinned at Guimond’s cheerful question. “It would explain why we’re here, but, somehow, I doubt it.” She kept her attention locked on the general’s face. When, eyes narrowed in irritation, he met her gaze and nodded, she stood.

  “MARINES, ATTEN—SHUN!”

  Her voice filled the room, wall to wall, deck to deck. It filled in every single space that wasn’t already occupied by a physical form.

  Twelve pairs of boots slammed down on the deck as twelve Marines snapped up onto their feet. This time, because it counted, it was a textbook maneuver.

  The silence that followed was an unsure and tentative thing. Faces furred and bare stared from the general to the solid wall of black so suddenly behind them and back to the general again. Craig Ryder and the Navy officers had moved from Torin’s line of sight, but Captain Travik was obviously amused by the scientists’ discomfort. If Lieutenant Stedrin found the situation amusing, he didn’t show it. The latter went up, the former down in Torin’s regard.

  General Morris swept a stern gaze across the first three rows of seats. “I would like to remind you all that until we are one hundred percent certain this vessel does not belong to the Others or one of their subject races, this will remain a military operation. Mr. Ryder’s scans as well as information extrapolated from them have been downloaded into your laboratories or workstations where you may go over them in as much detail as you wish. When you have chosen the four scientists who will be first to board the vessel after it has been secured, have them report to Staff Sergeant Kerr so that she can ensure they will be neither a danger to themselves or to her team. That is all.”

  The Ciptran unfolded its lower legs and stalked out of the room.

  The remaining scientists shuffled in place for a moment, then the Katriens—all trilling loudly—led the exodus.

  A moment later Captain Travik waded through the stragglers and headed for the back of the room.

  “Staff Sergeant Kerr.”

  “Sir.”

  “General Morris would like a word with you after you dismiss the team.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Nice to see the fear of the Corps in the eyes of those serley chrika. I told the general he should use the Marines to keep the civilians under control.” He sounded like he believed it, too.

  “Yes, sir.”

  She sent the team back to the Marine attachment under Corporal Nivry and followed the captain to the front of the room, where General Morris was speaking with Lieutenant Stedrin.

  “Staff Sergeant Kerr?”

  Most of her attention still on the general, she half turned to find Craig Ryder smiling at her. Up close, she could see that his eyes were very blue and the secrets in his smile had taken on a strangely intimate extension.

  Intimate? Where the hell was that coming from? She’d never met the man.

  “So, Captain Travik tells me you’ll be helping him out on this little excursion.”

  Torin shot a look at the captain, who showed teeth. It was quite possibly exactly what the captain had told him. Verbatim.

  “I’m Captain Travik’s senior NCO, Mr. Ryder, if that’s what you mean.”

  “Is it?” Both brows flicked up. “All right, then. Well, as Captain Travik’s senior NCO, I thought you should know that I’ll be heading inside with you on that first trip.”

  “No, Mr. Ryder, you will not.”

  “Yes, Staff Sergeant, he will.”

  She slowly pivoted to face the general. “Sir?”

  “It was one of the conditions Mr. Ryder imposed when he agreed to take us to the ship. And what I intended to speak with you about. As Mr. Ryder has beaten me to the punch, you two might as well carry on with your discussion.” The general’s expression made it clear, at least to Torin, that he appreciated the CSO’s interference. “Lieutenant…”

  “Sir.” The di’Taykan fell into step beside the general as he left the room. After a moment’s hesitation, Captain Travik hurried to catch up.

  “Alone at last.”

  Torin pivoted once more, a little more quickly this time. “Are you out of your mind? You have no idea what’s in that ship.”

  His eyes sparkled. “Neither do you.”

  “But we are trained to deal with the unexpected, the dangerous unknown.” Torin held onto her temper with both hands. “You, Mr. Ryder, are not.”

  “I intend to protect my investment, Staff Sergeant.”

  “From what? We don’t want your salvage.”

  “Nice try, but I’ve worked with the Marines before. You don’t know you don’t want my salvage until you’ve had a good look at it. Just to keep things on the up and up. I’ll be looking at everything you do. Might as well accept it graciously.”

  “Graciously?”

  “Kindly. Courteously.”

  “Mr. Ryder, if your presence endangers any of my people,” Torin told him in as gracious a tone as she could manage, “I’ll shoot you myself.”

  “Woo.” He rocked back on his heels, both hands raised in exaggerated surrender. “I don’t like to criticize, Staff Sergeant, but have you ever considered cutting back on your red meat?”

  A moment later, watching the rigid lines of the staff sergeant’s back disappear out the hatch, Ryder grinned. “Well, when I’m wrong, I’m right wrong—looks like I’ll be having fun with the Marines after all.”

  THREE

  The temperature in the narrow corridor had risen to just over 47°C, but the line of sweat running down Torin’s neck had more to do with exertion—inside her suit, it remained a chilly 13°. For the last half hour, her suit had been maintaining di’Taykan conditions and couldn’t be reset.

  At least the environmental controls worked.

  Early on, an electromagnetic pulse had knocked out her mapping program. Fortunately, the homing beacon had been unaffected and she’d been moving steadily back toward the air lock through a maze of corridors. The builders had gone in big for dead ends, rooms with no recognizable purpose, and huge pieces of machinery that seemed as much historical as alien. Torin had looked down a ladder into the heart of a steam turbine and, shortly after, on a long straightway, had raced against something that wouldn’t have seemed out of place back on her family’s farm—had any of the farm machinery ever tried to kill her.

  The air lock was now only eight meters to her right.

  Behind a wall.

  She was standing at the bottom of an L-shaped area. Another dead end.

  She had twenty-three minutes of air left.

  There had to be a way.

  Slowing her breathing, she mentally retraced her steps.

  And smiled.

  Three long strides toward the end wall and she released her boots. Momentum kept her moving forward. Feet up, she pushed off hard.

  Negotiating the corner involved a bit of a ricochet, but she got twisted far enough around to hit nearly the right vector. “Nearly” equaling no more than a bruised shoulder. It wasn’t pretty, but as long as it worked…

  At the next T-junction, she flipped over, remagged her boots, and walked straight up the wall to a second-level gallery.

  Visibility was bad. Particulates saturated what passed for atmosphere and had gummed up most of Torin’s faceplate. It took her five long minutes to find the tube she’d remembered, seconds to confirm that it went in the right direction.

  Air lock entry 22.86 meters away. One level down.

  An earlier laser bounce had measured the tube at 16.3 meters. Which would put her on the other side of the wall she’d been staring at.

  It was a tight fit.

  Seven minutes of air left.

  On the bright side, the tight fit allowed her to brace after impact, take up the shock with her knees, and keep from careening back the way she’d come.

  Air lock entry 6.56 meters away. One level down.

  Torin slapped down a shaped charge. It activated on impact.

  With four minutes and twelve seconds of air, a thirty-second fuse delay took forever.<
br />
  Stripping the suit of everything detachable, she jammed it in over the charge, and shuffled back.

  Three minutes and forty-two seconds later, she shoved the rest of the debris through the hole, followed it, remagged her boots as she hit the deck, and jogged to the air lock.

  As the door cycled closed behind her, she dug her gloves into the shoulder catches and dragged her helmet off the second the telltales turned green, sucking back great lungfuls of air less redolent of staff sergeant.

  It took her a moment to identify the sudden sound through ringing ears.

  Applause.

  Torin turned, swept her gaze over the half circle of watching Marines and brought it to rest on Huilin and Jynett who were looking like anxious parents. “You two are a pair of sadistic sons of bitches,” she said, unhooking her empty tanks, too tired to think of a Taykan equivalent.

  Their eyes lightened.

  Jynett pounded Huilin on the shoulder and ducked his return swing. “Thank you, Staff.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “You had seventeen seconds’ worth of air left, Staff,” Nivry observed, coming forward to catch Torin’s tanks as they dropped. “Why the rush?”

  “Well, Corporal, it’s like this…” She paused long enough to remove her left glove. “I didn’t want anyone to think I was hogging the simulation.”

  “Very considerate.”

  “Aren’t I.” A hoot of laughter spun her around. Her thrown glove slapped against Guimond’s chest. “You’re next, laughing boy.”

  “All right!” The perpetual smile broadened and he waved the glove like a trophy. “Thanks, Staff.”

  You couldn’t not laugh with him, Torin thought, as she unsuited against one side of the fake air lock and Guimond suited up by the other. With only two hours of air, they weren’t bothering to hook in the plumbing, so the whole procedure took half the time it might have—and twice the time it would have had there not been so many people helping out.

  The Corps’ hazardous environment suits were high-tech marvels that allowed a full range of movement and protected the wearer against almost anything an unfriendly universe could throw against it—up to and including most personal projectile weapons, although a hit anywhere but the head or torso left a nasty bruise. The helmet co-opted H’san technology and held two different shapes. Dropped off the back toggle, it collapsed down the back of the suit like an empty bag; snapped back up over the head, it became a rigid, impenetrable sphere capable of polarizing to maintain any programmed light level.

  Helmet up, if the outside atmosphere held oxygen and nitrogen in any combination, the suit could filter in something essentially breathable to support the tanks. It recycled fluids, all fluids, almost indefinitely. Self-contained, they were comfortable for six hours, livable for eight, and, if breathing was still an option, got progressively nastier after that. They glowed under a number of different light conditions in order to make it easier for S&R crews to find the bodies. Marines loved them and hated them about equally.

  August Guimond was the first Marine Torin had ever seen who looked happy putting one on.

  “All right…” She let the suit drop, stepped out of the boots, and rolled the kinks out of her shoulders. “…let’s say a two-and-a-half-hour turnaround, a little longer if the subject doesn’t survive and we need to debrief. Even simulated deaths are meaningless if we don’t learn from them.”

  Nivry’s eyes lightened. “That’s deep, Staff.”

  “It’ll get deeper as the day goes on. Pack a shovel.” Her suit in one hand and a cleaning kit in the other, Torin turned back to Huilin and Jynett. “Can that thing spit out another twelve programs?”

  “No problem, Staff.”

  “Twelve different programs,” she qualified.

  “The Hazardous Environment Course 2 comes with an infinite number of nasties.”

  “How realistic. So,” her voice reached out to include the entire team, “we’ll spend today and tomorrow running through singles and then break into squads. Guimond, you won’t need that much ammo for your KC. We’re playing variations on ‘find your way home,’ not ‘search and destroy.’”

  The big Human looked down at the double handful of clips he was loading into bulging leg pouches and then up at Torin. “It’s simulated ammo,” he reminded her with a grin.

  “True.”

  “And you had explosives.”

  “I fail to see the connection. Demolition packs are standard Recon equipment.” She draped her suit over one shoulder and tossed a pack across to him. “Don’t leave home without it.”

  “And the ammo?” he asked, snapping the demo pack to his belt.

  Torin sighed. “Take what you think you’ll need.”

  “Thanks, Staff.”

  “But…” Her attention expanded to once again include the entire team. “…if I get the impression any of you are becoming too dependent on the suits, we’ll run a couple of minimals.”

  About to settle his helmet, Guimond paused. “So, Staff, you’re saying you’d rather send me in naked with a knife in my teeth?”

  Torin waited out a pause almost di’Taykan in its implications, then said, “Knife in your hand, Guimond. I’d hate to see you cut your head off. Now, check your system and get in there; we’re all getting older even if the universe isn’t.”

  * * *

  “A five percent death rate, Staff Sergeant?” Captain Travik shook his head in dismay. “I think you’re making the simulations too easy.”

  “These Marines were specifically chosen, sir. They’re good.”

  “Still, five percent. I don’t want General Morris to think I’m not taking your training seriously.”

  As the captain’s only contact with the team so far had been in the briefing room, Torin figured General Morris would have grounds. On the bright side, if the captain wasn’t involved, he wasn’t screwing things up. “The programs were taken from the HE2, sir.”

  “Two?” His brow furrowed until it met his upper nose ridges. “Did I order you to run two?”

  “You weren’t specific about which simulations to run, sir. These were the best we had on hand.”

  The extra ridges smoothed. “The best; I see.” He beamed in approval.

  Torin suspected he’d just edited reality and made the HE2s his idea from the start—standard operating procedure for bad officers. As far as she was concerned, he could claim to be the guy who’d dreamed up close order drill just so long as he didn’t put her people in unnecessary danger.

  As for the HE2s: in the interest of getting a leg up on his next course, Huilin had picked up a bootleg copy of the advanced simulations and, together, using information they’d acquired on their last course, he and Jynett had managed to crack the instructor’s code so it would run—nothing Captain Travik needed to know.

  She glanced down at the report she’d just finished summarizing. “We’ll be running individual simulations tomorrow as well, sir.”

  “Excellent.”

  “Will you be coming by?”

  “I don’t think so, Staff Sergeant.” Shifting forward in the chair, his chin rose, his chest went out. “The troops’ll stand a better chance if they’re not worried about me watching them.”

  “I was thinking you might want to run the simulation yourself, Captain.”

  “Me?”

  Is there another captain in the room? Calmly meeting his indignant gaze, she elaborated, “As your senior NCO, it’s my responsibility to point out that it’s been a while since you’ve suited up.”

  “Your responsibility?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “To point out that it’s been a while since I’ve suited up?”

  “Yes, sir.” It was like talking to a primitive translation program that changed the pronouns and repeated everything said to it. Unfortunately, it was like talking to a primitive translation program wearing a captain’s uniform.

  “A while?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He stood,
drawing himself up to his full height and jerking his tunic down in the same practiced motion. His shoulders squared, his head angled slightly, his lips curled back off his teeth. Torin couldn’t shake the impression he was staring into a vid cam only he could see. “Horohn 8 was a hazardous environment, Staff Sergeant, and I’m sure you’ve heard that I suited up there. In fact, I spent four hours in that serley suit; four hours fighting for my life while all around me, Marines were dropping like…” His nose ridges flushed lightly. “What is it that Humans have things dropping like?”

  “Flies, sir.”

  “Yes, exactly. All around me, Marines were dropping like flies. When an officer comes out of that kind of a situation, Staff Sergeant, he doesn’t need a hazardous environment course. He’s survived the only course that means anything.” The left half of his upper lip curled higher. “This mission is a mere moo two…”

  “Sir?”

  “A moo two.” His ridges flushed darker. “Military operation other than war. MOOTW.”

  “Oh.”

  “Exactly. I won’t be putting the mission in danger by not participating in your little drills, Staff Sergeant, and I resent the implication that you think I will. Continued insubordination will be reported to the general. Don’t think it won’t.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He stared at her for a moment, trying to work out just what she was agreeing with. Torin gave him no help. “Good,” he said at last, hiding his uncertainty in movement. Dropping down into his chair, he propped one foot up on his desk and reached for his slate with the other. “Now, if you actually want those simulations to do some good, go have a word with your friend Mr. Ryder. He hasn’t the benefit of your training or my experience. I’d just as soon not have to include the details of his death in my report, and I’m sure you won’t want to be encumbered by his body while securing the alien vessel.”

  * * *

  With the bleed off from the Susumi drive giving her power to burn, the Berganitan used an internal transit system indistinguishable in every way but size from the links on the stations. Unable to go directly from the Marine attachment to the shuttle bays, Torin found herself waiting at an isolated transfer point. As much as she hated to agree with Captain Travik about anything, his observation on the Navy’s inability to draw a straight line had merit.