Valor's Choice

by Tanya Huff

  “Ah, yes, the Others.” Long claws dug absently at a tangle of his cream-colored fur. “You are aware that their ships have been seen approaching this sector?”

  “Approaching? How close?” she demanded, then added a quick, “Sir.”

  “I am afraid I am not aware of their exact position, Staff Sergeant, only that the nearness of the enemy prods us to make our decisions based on expediency rather than what might be best for both the Confederation and the Silsviss.”

  Torin ran that through her translator one more time, just to be sure she understood. “You think we’re letting the Silsviss into the Confederation too soon?”

  “They are not as sociologically advanced as I would like.”

  “They’re at about the same level Humans were, and you let us in.”

  “Because we required someone to fight our battles.”

  “Still do,” Torin reminded him.

  “Yes.” The Dornagain nodded slowly, smoothing his whiskers with the back of one hand. “I had much the same conversation with your lieutenant, only he used the di’Taykan as his example. So I will ask you what I asked him: Do you not think it would be better if we learned to fight our own battles?”

  “It’s a little too late for that, Ambassador. It’s now our battle, too. On the other hand, we wouldn’t say no if you wanted to help.”

  “Help?”

  “Fight.”

  “Ah. Yes.” Eyes half closed, he began grooming again. “I will have to think about that.”

  Hoping he hadn’t considered it a personal invitation—while amateur soldiers weren’t the last thing she wanted, they were low on the list—Torin bowed and left him to his deliberations.

  As near as she could figure, the approaching Others were still a diplomatic situation, not yet a military one. With any luck, someone would let her know if that changed. Hopefully, before the shooting started.

  The other three Dornagain appeared to be asleep, the doctor was studying his slate, the Charge d’Affaires and her remaining assistant were having a low-voiced discussion—hopefully not about their missing team member, now involved in Sergeant Glicksohn’s cross-cultural exchange—and all four Mictok had webbed themselves into a corner. Torin didn’t know what they were doing and she wasn’t going to ask.

  Carefully skirting one of the sleeping Dornagain and the surrounding musky atmosphere, she joined Cri Sawyes at the vid screen. It wasn’t until they reached the edge of the forest that she realized the mottled green field they’d been flying over was actually the tops of trees. “We seem to be above a whole lot of nothing.”

  “One of the wildernesss pressservesss,” the Silsviss explained. “Our governmentsss put large areasss assside to ensure our young malesss are properly challenged.”

  Torin knew better than to be drawn into a discussion of alien gender issues but she couldn’t stop herself from asking, “Only your males?”

  “We only have a sssurplusss of malesss.”

  “So challenged means…”

  “Exactly what you think it meansss, Sssergeant. We have too many malesss not to weed out the weak.”

  They were passing over low hills. Something moved down in one of the valleys, something big, but they were by too quickly for Torin to see exactly what it was.

  “Young malesss reach an age when their body chemissstry requiresss them to essstablish their posssition. They…” He glanced over at Torin and his tongue flicked out. “We will fight any other male we meet. It isss much easssier on sssociety if malesss during that time are placed where they can do the leassst damage.”

  “To everything but each other.”

  “Yesss. Within the pressservesss, we form packsss, continually challenging for the leadership. A good leader throwsss pack againssst pack, keeping hisss followersss too preoccupied to take him down. Eventually, chemissstry changesss again and the sssurvivorsss realize there isss more to life than fighting.”

  “Like sex?”

  His tongue flicked out again. “Sssex is much like fighting for my people, Sssergeant, but if you mean reproduction, then yesss. And that requiresss a sssocial posssition you cannot gain by tooth and claw in the wildernesss.”

  “Your females don’t fight?”

  “Not without cause. Our malesss outnumber our femalesss almossst twenty to one. There may have been a reason for such dissscrepancy once—I don’t know, I’m not an anthropologissst—but technology overtook evolution and now we do what we mussst to maintain civilization.”

  “Which is why all your soldiers are male?”

  “Yesss; It helpsss integrate the young malesss back into sssociety, maintaining the hierarchy ssstructure they’re familiar with and teachesss them waysss to advance that don’t involve biting off an oponent’sss tail and ssstrangling him with it.”

  “But armies are just bigger packs.”

  Cri Sawyes nodded and drummed his claw tips against the edge of the screen. “Thisss will be an interesssting transssition for my people. The arrival of your Confederation ssstopped a major war and half a dozen border actionsss. Thanksss to your Confederation, we are becoming one.”

  “It was much the same with my people,” Torin admitted. “Well, not the gender differences,” she amended as he turned to stare, “but the becoming one part.”

  “And was it difficult for Humans?”

  She shrugged. “We’re an us against them kind of species, Cri Sawyes. As far as I can tell, and I’m no more an anthropologist than you are, we just redefined us and them.”

  “I sssee.” He turned to stare back down at the screen, muscles tensing as they passed over an area burned clear. “I think it will be harder for usss.”

  They’d been to three large cities, each run by a male and two or three females. Remembering the scars on the males, Torin wondered if the delegates were being given the tour of Silsvah while the overall leadership of the planet was being determined.

  And then cleaned up after.

  Not my species, not my problem.

  On the screen, the wilderness was replaced by cultivated land.

  * * *

  There was a band at the landing field in Hahraas. At least, Torin assumed it was a band. Although she couldn’t hear anything that might resemble a melodic line, there was a beat that could be marched to and she didn’t actually ask for more than that.

  Besides the band, there was a mirror image platoon, a number of civilian dignitaries matching theirs, a banner, and a new team. The landing field had been resurfaced for their visit.

  Same old, same old, Torin thought as Mike took his squad down the ramp. It was amazing how quickly the strange became the familiar and how soon after that familiarity bred contempt. As she followed Squad Three out of the VTA, she made a mental note to try and keep her troublemakers too exhausted to make trouble.

  * * *

  “You wanted to see me, sir?”

  Lieutenant Jarret glanced up from his slate and waved Torin into the room. “Captain Daniels is on her way in from the landing field with a message from the Berganitan.”

  “Is there a problem with the link?” The captain had the access codes to both her slate and the lieutenant’s—if there was a problem, her maintenance programs hadn’t flagged it.

  “No, no problem.” He tossed his slate onto the desk and stood, rolling his shoulders forward and back. “We’re not entirely certain our communications are secure, so she’s bringing it personally.”

  Torin frowned, trying to remember all the contact she’d had with the aircrew since they’d landed. “You think the Silsviss have cracked our link?”

  “Not really, no. But it doesn’t hurt to be careful.” Grinning, he grabbed his left elbow behind his back and stretched. “Actually, I suspect Captain Daniels is bored spitless and is taking advantage of a loophole in her orders to stay with the VTA.” Switching elbows, he continued to stretch.

  “Are you stiff, sir?” The words were barely out of her mouth before she realized what she’d said. What a question to as
k a di’Taykan! Especially one you’ve got a history with. As his eyes brightened and his grin broadened, she raised a cautioning hand. “Not an invitation, sir. I was just asking about your back.”

  “My back?” For a moment, she thought he wouldn’t let the innuendo go and then he smiled. “It’s nothing, I’ve just been sitting in one position for too long.”

  “Should I get Dr. Leor?” she asked, when her imagination kept filling the silence with other suggestions. She was not going to offer to rub it.

  The lieutenant looked confused. “For a stiff back?”

  “Of course not. Sorry, sir.” Clearly, the troops weren’t the only ones getting restless. She needed something to do. Something real. Something physical. All this ceremonial standing around left her far too much free time. And if she felt that way, she’d better start keeping a closer eye on the troops. “Any idea what Captain Daniels’ message is?”

  “She didn’t say.” The sound of approaching bootheels ringing against the polished stone floor drew the lieutenant around to the front of his desk. “But I think we’re about to find out.”

  * * *

  “Captain Carveg sends her regrets, but the Berganitan was the closest ship.”

  “If long range sensors have detected a possibility of the Others near the edge of the sector, her responsibility is clearly to investigate.” Lieutenant Jarret sounded as sincere as only a young officer with his first command could. “We’re perfectly safe down here until they get back.”

  Torin wondered if considering that statement to be a fine example of famous last words made her unduly paranoid or just conscious of historical precedent.

  “I hope your civilians take it as well.”

  “I don’t think they’ll be surprised,” Torin offered, remembering her conversation with the Dornagain ambassador. “They knew the Others were approaching.”

  “If they’re just making a recon flight, it’s nothing the Berganitan can’t handle.”

  If, Torin added silently.

  Captain Daniels ran a hand back through thick, black hair, standing it up from her scalp in damp spikes. “Have these people never heard of air-conditioning?”

  The lieutenant snorted. “Modern buildings have all the conveniences, but we keep getting billeted in these historic piles of stone. Not,” he added afer a moment’s reflection, “that the Silsviss are big on cooling things down at the best of times. You and your crew have it easy. All the comforts of home and you got to show off in that air show.”

  “Oh, yeah, that was fun. Flying a VTA in atmosphere is like wrestling a H’san—let your mind wander for an instant and you’re eating dirt.” The pilot wandered from window to window, peering down into the empty courtyard, and finally settled one thigh on the broad stone sill. “So, still managing to hold up under the weight of the ceremonial circuit?”

  “Honestly?” Lieutenant Jarret dropped down onto a stool, caught himself with a practiced motion, and leaned carefully back against the wall. “I’m beginning to wish they’d sent me into battle instead.”

  “Be careful what you wish for.” The captain waved a chiding finger and then turned to Torin. “And what about you, Staff? How’re the troops holding up?”

  “No casualties so far, sir. Which reminds me…” She nodded toward the lieutenant. “…I should go check on Haysole and tell the platoon about the Berganitan.”

  “How do you think they’ll react?”

  “To the navy buggering off and leaving them on their own?” She grinned at the two officers. “Same old, same old.”

  * * *

  “It sure is boring being a guard.” Binti tossed her tunic across the end of her bunk and collapsed down onto the bag of heated sand the Silsviss in this part of the world used as a mattress. “And what the hell are we guarding against anyway? I thought the Silsviss were supposed to be our allies?”

  Various forms of grunted assent answered her as Squad One filed into their temporary barracks and found their bunks.

  “It’s for fukking show,” Juan grunted, carefully racking his weapon before dropping onto his own sandbag. “Lets them lizards see we’re ready to fight if we have to be.”

  Ressk hissed through his teeth as he stretched out his toes. “Staff better not hear you calling them lizards.”

  “But they are fukking lizards.”

  “Who’s fukking lizards?” Haysole asked, coming in from the shower. He shook his head to settle his hair back into place and glanced around at the bodies on the bunks. “Come on, who?”

  “Besides you?” Binti snickered.

  “It was an adjective, not a verb,” Corporal Hollice interrupted. “Not that you morons would know what that means.” A raised hand cut off the protests of his fireteam and those other squad members close enough to hear. “Don’t bother proving it.”

  “This is a new low. We’re arguing about grammar.” Punching his sand into shape, Ressk settled back. “Me, I pray to all the gods of my tarlige that this will be over soon.”

  “Might not.”

  All heads turned toward Haysole.

  “Staff came in as I finished the crappers, just before Squad Two headed out to replace you. The Berganitan has left orbit.”

  “What?”

  “Sensors read Others at the edge of the sector and they took off.”

  “Leaving us here, ass-deep in ceremonial fukking duties?” Juan struggled up into a sitting position and glared at the di’Taykan. “You’re fukking kidding, right?”

  “Wish I was. Staff told me to let you guys know when you came in.”

  “You know what this means? This means we could be finished with this gig before they get back and we could be stuck here. This could just go on and on and on and on.”

  “What if they never come back?” someone muttered.

  “Okay, that’s it.” Binti stood up and grabbed her tunic. “I can’t stand it anymore, I’m out of here.”

  “Mess is right next door. Big change.”

  “I’m not going to the mess. I’m taking my souvenir Silsvah money in my souvenir Silsvah belt pouch—which appears to have been made from a souvenir Silsviss—and I’m going out for a drink and a little action.”

  Ressk’s eyes snapped open. “You’re what?”

  “Look, we know they drink, we’ve had the beer, and that means they have to have places they drink in.”

  “Maybe they drink alone.”

  “Did you pay no attention in school?” she demanded, smacking him on the side of the leg. “So far, only social species have achieved sentience…”

  “Oh, yeah. Big achievement.”

  Binti ignored him. “The Silsviss are sentient, which makes them social, which means somewhere in this godforsaken town there’s a bar.”

  “At the risk of sounding like the voice of reason,” Hollice interrupted, “our orders are to stay put.”

  “No one’s saying you have to come.”

  He snorted. “You think I’d let you run around without adult supervision?”

  Ressk stared up at the corporal, then sighed and began putting his boots back on. “Come on, Juan. Looks like we’re moving out.”

  “Praise the fukking lord.”

  “Anyone else want to come?”

  The other Marines in the room declined. One or two expressed opinions about the wisdom of the trip, but no one raised any major objections. They all knew that someone had to be the first over the wall.

  “Haysole?”

  “I should get some sleep. My team’s got the last watch.”

  “And your point is?”

  “Give me a minute to get dressed.”

  It took very little more than a minute and then the five of them slipped to into the hall and past the mess, heading for the boiler room at the end of the corridor.

  “Of course I know that door leads outside the compound,” Haysole muttered when asked. “You think I was cleaning the crappers because I wanted to?”

  “And where do you lot think you’re going?”
>
  Hearts in their throats, the five turned as one, falling instinctively into a defensive position, the heavy gunner out in front.

  Mysho grinned at them. “From the spreading stain in Juan’s crotch, I guess I’ve got that impersonation of Staff Sergeant Kerr down pat.”

  “Fukking trilinshy,” Juan muttered, unable to stop himself from looking down.

  “Trilinsha,” Haysole corrected, scowling darkly over his head at the corporal. “Female tense. But other than that…”

  “Name-calling; very mature. It’s a good thing I’m going with you.”

  “You don’t even know where we’re going,” Binti pointed out, shuffling impatiently from foot to foot.

  “You’re going out to find a bar and get stinking with the natives. I don’t need to be a H’san to figure that out.” Mysho’s grin slipped, and she jerked her head back toward the mess. “If I have to spend another evening in there listening to Justin analyze old Earth entertainment, I’m going to deactivate my masker and give us all something more interesting to do.”

  “Hey, he makes some very good points about Babylon Space Five.”

  “Moron. It’s Deep Babylon Nine.”

  “Whatever.”

  A sudden noise from the mess moved them toward the boiler room again. Slipping single file past the storage tanks, they reached heavy metal door.

  “Wonder what the fukking sign says.” Juan flicked the painted letters with a finger.

  “Keep out. Authorized personnel only.”

  In the silence that followed, five heads turned toward Ressk—only Haysole kept his attention on the lock.

  “You read Silsvah?” Binti asked after a moment.

  Ressk snorted. “Don’t need to. That’s what it always says on these sorts of doors.”

  “Okay, we’re through.” Haysole straightened, twisting a pair of connections together. “This is what gave me away the last time.”

  “Security system?”

  “I think Staff said it was a fire alarm.”

  “You think?”

  “Doesn’t matter.” He closed the door behind them, careful not to let the connections slip. “I’ve fixed it.”

  They were in a long corridor, wide enough to hold three Marines walking abreast. It appeared to be made of Silsvah’s poreless concrete and it sloped gently up toward a blue light—the only source of illumination.