by Tanya Huff
“I was thinking the same thing, ma’am.”
Carveg didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “Thank you, Staff Sergeant. Now, I’d better get back before the general convinces my XO to stuff my ship up that thing’s bright yellow butt. I just wanted you to know that when you go in, I’m not going anywhere.” She waved off Torin’s thanks and headed back to the front of the room, pausing by Captain Travik to say a few words as she went. Torin would have loved to have known what those words were because they moved him back to Lieutenant Stedrin’s side PDQ.
Lieutenant Stedrin didn’t look very happy about it.
“G’day, Staff Sergeant. Is this seat taken?”
Torin glanced pointedly around at the empty seats between her and the clusters of people at the front of the room. Craig Ryder watched the motion, a smile creasing the corners of both eyes, and sat down anyway. She was pleased to see he had the brains to leave a seat between them.
“I wasn’t lurking around behind you or anything,” he said, leaning back and making himself comfortable. “I was just waiting until you finished your conversation with the captain.”
Maybe if she ignored him, he’d stop talking.
No such luck.
“So, what are you doing way back here? No, wait, let me guess; General Morris told you to find yourself a seat where you could see everything and, for you, everything includes everyone. Am I right?”
“Does it matter?”
“Just wanted to prove I’m more than a pretty face, Staff Sergeant Kerr. Or can I call you Torin?”
She turned to face him. “You can call me Staff Sergeant Kerr. Or just Staff Sergeant if that’s too much for you.”
“The Marines call you Staff.”
“They’ve earned the right.”
“By doing a few simulations?” With exaggerated chagrin, he crossed both hands over his chest. “I did simulations.”
“They earned it the moment they put on this uniform.”
“Ouch.” After a moment, he added, “Is this where you hand me the three white feathers?”
“The what?”
“You know, for cowardice because I’m not a Marine.”
Torin sighed. “Mr. Ryder, you blind jump out of Susumi space in a vessel smaller than the average SRM. You secure potentially hazardous salvage in vacuum, with no backup, leaving you essentially screwed if something goes wrong. I do not think you’re a coward.”
He cocked his head and she could see a glint in the blue eyes. “You think I’m a scavenger who makes his living off the misfortune of people you call friends.”
“It’s like you were reading my mind, Mr. Ryder…”
“Call me Craig.”
“…but that doesn’t make you a coward.”
“Or a Marine.”
“What makes you think we’d have you?”
“Ouch again.”
“Lick your wounds a little quieter, please, they’re starting.”
“Are you smiling?”
She was. “No.”
“Okay.”
* * *
The two squadrons had set up in a grid pattern at one kilometer out. When the first flyby evoked no response from the ship, Captain Carveg had the flight commander bring Black Star Squadron in to five hundred meters while the Red Maces held their position.
“We might as well be circling a large yellow turd for all the notice it’s taking,” Sibley muttered, manually keeping his Jade an exact five hundred meters from every protrusion.
Shylin checked that the data stream was on its way back to the Berganitan. “Are we even sure this is a ship?”
“Scans say it’s hollow inside.”
“So’s your head, but that only makes you a vacuum jockey with bad taste in men.”
“Hey, did I know his family and yours have been feuding for generations? No.”
“Coming up on alleged air lock coordinates.”
“I’ve got it. Oy, mama.” He flipped his ship so they could get a look at it from another angle. “That alleged air lock looks just like an air lock. You copy, Command? We’ve got a docking collar and, eyeballing it from here, it looks like it’ll take a universal coupling.”
“We copy, Black Star Seven. Do you see anything that looks like external controls?”
“Negative. You think they left the key under the mat?”
“Could have. Find the mat.”
* * *
They found the rest of the air locks—one larger, one smaller, three the exact same size, now marked in blue on the screen in the briefing room. Opposite the single aft air lock, portside, they found a ripple in the hull of the ship. The scientists receiving the data were momentarily excited until a continuing scan showed the ripple otherwise identical to the rest of the hull. They found no fighter bays, no shuttle bays, and nothing they could identify as an exterior sensor array. Close up, the ship did have a number of protrusions that looked more extruded than built, and these were now marked in red. Readings at the dimpled end confirmed it was indeed part of some kind of a propulsion system, but until those readings could be analyzed, not even the propulsion engineers could tell what kind.
“You know, I’m not one to cast disparaging remarks about the vast sums spent on military equipment and training, but you guys haven’t found anything I didn’t find with my two rubber bands and a gerbil.”
That was just weird enough to merit a response. “What’s a gerbil?”
“Small rodent.”
“Okay. Two things: One…” Torin nodded toward the continuous stream of numbers rolling down one side the screen. “…they’ve barely started analyzing the incoming data. And two, those aren’t my guys, they’re Navy. You send in the Marines, you get an immediate response.”
“Someone tries to kill you.”
“It’s not that easy.”
“And good on that, since I’ll be going in with you.”
Torin twisted in her seat. “What if I promise not to touch anything—will you stay back with the science group then?”
“If you promise not to touch anything?”
“Yes.”
Smiling broadly, Ryder tucked his chin in and looked up at her through thick lashes. “No.”
“Very pretty. But it’s not going to get you anywhere.”
He blinked. Then laughed, loudly enough to turn a few heads. “Are you always this direct, Staff Sergeant?”
“No. Usually, I’m armed.”
“Am I in…”
Torin cut him off with a raised hand, her attention drawn back to the front of the room by the sudden agitated clumping of the Naval officers. Captain Carveg held a hurried conference with her flight commander who snapped a series of orders into her headset, one hand raised to cover the line of sight to her mouth.
Whatever it was, she didn’t want to panic any watching civilians—although as far as Torin could see, every scientist in the room but the Ciptran was involved in an argument of some kind. The big bug just sat holding his/her version of a slate in his/her hand, attention apparently divided between it and the screen—apparently because it was pretty much impossible for anyone to tell where any of his/her compound eyes were focused.
On the screen, six of the bright lights representing the fighters peeled away from the ship and disappeared in a double wing formation off the edges of the screen.
Torin could feel Ryder watching her. “What is it?” he asked quietly.
“The ship’s sensors have picked something up. It’s nothing big, the flight commander only sent two wings and didn’t pull the others back in, but it hasn’t identified itself as a friendly or she wouldn’t have sent any at all.”
“Do you think it’s trouble?”
Captain Carveg was now speaking to General Morris.
“Always.”
The general turned to Lieutenant Stedrin who unhooked his slate from his belt.
*Staff Sergeant Kerr.*
From his slate to her implant. Whatever was going on, they wanted it kept quiet. She t
ongued in an acknowledgment.
*The general wants you to bring the Recon team up to combat readiness. You’re to slip out quietly and join them.*
So as not to panic the civilians.
She sent the affirmative, stood, and unhooked her own slate all in one smooth motion.
“What is it?” Ryder was standing as well, effectively blocking her way to the aisle. There’d be no trouble getting by him, but the result wouldn’t be considered slipping out quietly.
About to input Corporal Nivry’s code, Torin paused and adjusted her grip on the slate. “You’ll know when they decide to tell you,” she told him flatly. “I think you should get out of my way now.”
He studied her expression for a moment longer, then, with a grin, spread his hands in surrender—a gesture he seemed fond of, Torin noted—and turned sideways, leaving room for her to get by but not without close contact.
One long stride put her very close to his left shoulder, where she said, so softly he had to cant his head to hear, “I could kill you and not make a sound doing it. They’d find your body sitting in this seat, looking surprised and beyond revivification. Get. Out. Of. My. Way.”
For a big man, he could move quickly when he had to.
“Thank you.”
The grin was gone. “Staff Sergeant, I’m sorry I…”
“Attention, Berganitan, I are Presit a Tur durValintrisy of Sector Central News. I are needing immediate assistance!”
Captain Carveg looked like she was about to take a bite out of something, preferably Presit a Tur durValintrisy. “Sector Central News, this is Captain Carveg of the Berganitan, narrow your bandwidth! You’re jamming all ship’s frequencies!”
“I are saying again. I are needing immediate assistance. My ship are having difficulties upon exiting Susumi space!”
There was no mistaking Katrien syntax. The Katrien scientists seemed excited by the contact and more excited when the captain strode over to them. Actually, as far as Torin was concerned, the Katrien always seemed excited about something.
*Staff Sergeant Kerr, General Morris says that’s a negative on combat readiness. Stand down the team.*
Torin sent the lieutenant an affirmative and an expression that clearly asked, It’s the media; are you sure?
After a moment’s exaggerated consideration, he nodded as a call code sounded from her slate.
Hitting audio only, she brought it up by her mouth.
“Staff Sergeant Kerr? What the hell was that?”
“That was exactly what it sounded like, Corporal Nivry. The media appears to have breached a class four security. When I know more, you’ll know more.”
“You think it was Captain Travik?”
The general certainly seemed to, although the captain appeared to be vehemently denying the possibility. Torin looked pointedly at Craig Ryder, standing barely an arm’s length away. “I think we have to consider all possibilities, Corporal. Find the best hacker on the team and have them go over the attachment’s security. I don’t want a further breach.”
“I’m on it, Staff.”
“You think I had something to do with this?”
Torin replaced the slate on her belt and, turning only her head, looked over at the salvage operator. “No. The more people who know about the ship, the better the odds someone’ll try to jump your claim—and you’re way too paranoid to let it slip.”
“But you said…”
“That we had to look into all possibilities.” She refocused her attention on the officers at the front of the room. “You are not the only possibility, Mr. Ryder.”
His sigh had force enough to move a strand of hair against her cheek. “And here I thought we were getting along.”
There wasn’t any point in responding to that.
He sighed again. “I shouldn’t have blocked your way, should I?”
“No.”
“I said I was sorry.”
“I know.”
“I meant it.”
“Okay.” Answering a gesture from the general, Torin left him standing there—hopefully reevaluating his place in the current scheme of things, but she doubted it. An ego like his had to be resilient.
“Staff Sergeant, I want you to accompany Commander Verite and the security detail she’ll be taking down to meet our unexpected visitor. I want to know everything that’s said.”
“Yes, sir.” She shot a glance at Captain Travik—who was looking petulant—and slid it over to Lieutenant Stedrin.
General Morris read her question from the motion. “I’m not sending the lieutenant, because I don’t want to give this representative from Sector Central News too much credence.”
“Yes, sir.”
He didn’t bother explaining why he wasn’t sending Captain Travik. But then, he didn’t need to.
* * *
“Hey, Sib, that ship’s particle trail leads right back to the exact point the Berg exited Susumi space.”
Sibley frowned over at the tiny ship surrounded on all planes by the six fighters, their extended energy fields all that was holding it together. It was smaller than an STS shuttle, smaller than the Promise would be without her cargo panels. “Is there even room in that thing for a Susumi engine?”
“Well, they sure as sanLi didn’t take the long way out.”
“Good point. And good piloting. Given the readings coming off it, I’m amazed they’re not sucking vacuum.”
* * *
The nine members of the security team were wearing side arms. Neither Torin nor the commander were carrying weapons.
“Sensors read three Katrien in there,” Commander Verite said softly as they took up positions at the air lock’s inner door. “No weapon signature, but if this is some kind of an elaborate trick, Staff Sergeant, I want you to get out of the way and let my people handle it.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Telltales are green, Commander.” The crewman by the door had one hand on his weapon, the other about a millimeter above the release pad.
“All right.” She checked her masker and nodded. “Open it.”
Torin had been on Sai Genist when the media had landed—it was like being attacked with both hands tied, with the Marines helpless to do anything in their own defense. Fortunately, it hadn’t lasted long. The vid crews seemed to believe that, while they were shooting, they were immune to what everyone else was shooting. They weren’t. And the signal from their equipment made it easy for the enemy to lock in. Torin’s platoon had been covered in debris, but the enemy’s aim was so exact no Marine was actually injured.
Vid crews got smarter after that. At least the vid crews from that particular news company. She didn’t think they belonged to Sector Central News although a number of the crew had been Katrien.
The moment they had room enough between the door and the bulkhead, the three Katrien pushed out into the corridor, all talking at once.
Torin recognized the one in front. Recognized the silver fur edging the dark mask and running in single lines down each side of the muzzle. Recognized the way the black vee ran up the collarbone and over both shoulders to spread into a dark cape that ended in a narrow triangle halfway down the spine. And if that’s not enough, they’re the same fukking dark glasses.
“Staff Sergeant Torin Kerr.” The Katrien pushed right by the commander. “I are Presit a Tur durValintrisy, Sector Central News. I are thanking you for your help in leading us to this story.”
The next Katrien out was definitely recording.
Torin could feel the eyes of the entire security team now locked on her rather than on their visitors.
“Staff Sergeant?” The commander’s voice was a low growl. Things were about to get ugly.
“One minute, Commander.”
There was a slow way to get to the truth, and a quick way. Torin chose the latter.
Katrien were small, barely a meter high. They were, like all of the Elder Races, noncombatants. They were also very fast, but they had to know they were suppose
d to start running.
Torin dropped to one knee and leaned forward until her nose was almost touching the damp black tip of Presit a Tur durValintrisy’s muzzle. Reaching up, she pulled off the dark glasses and locked eyes with the Katrien. “Please, explain,” she said softly in a tone that had once caused a new recruit to piss himself in fear.
A wave rippled down the soft gray fur of the reporter’s throat as she swallowed. “We are interviewing Captain Travik, and he are saying he are leaving on a top secret mission with General Morris. We are knowing General Morris are using you, Staff Sergeant Kerr, on his previous secret mission, so we are watching all shuttles from OutSector for Marines of your rank. Once we are finding you, we follow and find out you are going to Berganitan, then we are following Berganitan. You are not giving away the secret mission. We are not intending to cause you trouble.”
“Thank you.”
Pupils constricted to pinpricks, she put her hand on Torin’s wrist. “Glasses?”
“Of course.” Torin returned them and straightened.
Presit a Tur durValintrisy shook herself and spun around to face the Katrien who was recording. “Are you getting that? I are threatened!”
Ears flipped up and then down, the Katrien equivalent of a shrug. “Staff Sergeant are saying ‘please’ and ‘thank you.’”
Torin got the distinct impression that Presit a Tur durValintrisy was less than popular with her crew. Hardly surprising if the near fatal trip had been her idea.