Valor's Choice

by Tanya Huff

  Four dead. So far. But it could have been so much worse. It seemed that one of Silsvah’s ubiquitous swamps had saved them. The hatch began to give. *Doctor’s alive. Will send.* She wanted to send him immediately, but unless the universe had really buggered them, the Berganitan’s two corpsmen were in the troop compartment and she had no idea of what she’d find in the cockpit.

  Levering the seals with a steady stream of profanity, she finally opened the hatch enough to squeeze through.

  “Staff!” Lieutenant Ghard looked up from the captain’s body, facial ridges almost white, both hands red. “I can’t stop the bleeding!”

  Torin turned her head. “Doctor Leor!”

  To her surprise, he was at her side in a moment, and, after one look at the situation, at Captain Daniels’ side a moment later. She’d expected him to protest, or hesitate, or have hysterics or do any of the other useless things civilians did in an emergency—that he hadn’t was encouraging. Torin gratefully shifted him from “civilian” to a “will do his job so don’t worry about him” category.

  Moving back to let the doctor work, the lieutenant stared down at his hands, his mouth working but no sound emerging. Given the way that both control panels were flashing, they didn’t have time for him to go into shock.

  “Lieutenant Ghard!”

  Her tone blew much of the confusion off his face. He blinked and swallowed, a little color coming back into his ridges as he scrubbed his palms against his flight suit. “Staff Sergeant?”

  “The VTA needs seeing to, sir.”

  Facing forward, his shoulders stiffened. “The engines were hit…” Both hands and a foot began flying over the board. Torin didn’t understand the steady stream of what sounded like prayer, but behind her the female Krai aircrew gasped.

  Turning, she frowned. “You all right?”

  “I guess…” Blood ran down the lower ridges of her nose, dripping onto her uniform. She stared wide-eyed up at Torin.

  “You guess?”

  Once again, the tone did its job. “I’m all right, Staff Sergeant.” Straightening, she blotted the blood into her sleeve.

  “Good. And him?”

  Propped up against a canted wall, the other member of the bridge crew answered for himself. “Bumped head, Staff. Spinning…”

  “Stay there. The doctor will take a look when he’s done with the captain. You, Aircrew…?”

  “Trenkik, Staff.”

  “Aircrew Trenkik. Are the external scanners functioning?”

  Stepping across her fallen comrade to the other station, Trenkik scowled down at the board. “Topside bow seems fine, the rest…”

  “Topside bow’ll have to do, then. I need you to scan for enemy activity.”

  She dragged her thumb up a pressure bar. “Enemy, Staff?”

  “Unless those missiles were launched accidentally.”

  “You don’t think…” Then she caught sight of Torin’s expression and flushed. “Oh. Right. There’s nothing out there, Staff. Scanners show Silsviss life signs about thirty kilometers away. Our landing probably killed most of the local fauna.”

  They were right side up and essentially in one piece. Torin decided she’d count that as a landing, and the moment she got the chance she was buying Captain Daniels a beer. Deliberately looking past the doctor and the captain’s prone body, she scowled at the mud covering the window. “Trenkik, are we still sinking?”

  “Yes, but slowly.”

  The VTA was designed to withstand vacuum. With its physical integrity unbreached it could certainly handle a little mud. Unfortunately, the engine room had taken the brunt of the attack and the landing had pretty much finished it off.

  “Fortunately, the mud seems to be containing most of the leakage.”

  “Fortunately,” Torin agreed dryly. “Are the topside hatches usable?”

  “Only the forward hatch.”

  “Then that’ll have to do. Give me internal speakers.” She glanced over at the lieutenant. “With your permission, sir?”

  Ghard started, glanced down at the captain and suddenly realized what that meant. “Yes. Of course, Staff Sergeant.”

  * * *

  “…the situation as it stands. As Captain Daniels is badly injured and Lieutenant Ghard has his hands full with the VTA, until Lieutenant Jarret regains consciousness, you will be taking your orders from me.”

  “She had to tell us that?” Ressk snorted.

  “Idiot.” Binti smacked him on the back of the head. “She’s telling the civilians. Now they know we know, they can’t argue.”

  The staff sergeant’s omnipresent voice continued. “When the doctor has done what he can for Captain Daniels, he’ll come below. Sergeant Glicksohn, I want three fireteams, fully armed, at the forward hatch in ten. Once the area is secured, we’ll begin evacuation. That is all.”

  In the moment’s silence that followed, Mysho sighed deeply. “I don’t know about the rest of you,” she said in a voice that carried, “but I feel better knowing there’s someone in charge.”

  “Someone who knows her fukking ass from a mudhole in the ground,” Juan agreed.

  Even the wounded laughed. It would clearly take more than a couple of missiles and a swamp to suck a VTA out from under Staff Sergeant Kerr.

  * * *

  Up in the cockpit, Torin stroked off the communication board with a steady hand. Later, once those she was responsible for were safe from both enemy action and their own damaged equipment, she’d allow herself the luxury of a reaction. Right now, she didn’t have the time.

  “The communications array is badly damaged, Staff, but I may be able to jury-rig something that’ll enable us to send a…” The expression on her face cut Lieutenant Ghard off short. “What?”

  “Send a message to who, sir? The Berganitan is not in orbit.”

  “We have to send a message to the Silsviss, let them know what happened and where we…” Once again he stopped without finishing. “There’s only us and the Silsviss on this planet, isn’t there, Staff?”

  “As far as I know, sir.”

  The silence in the cockpit was so complete, Torin could hear the gentle hum of the doctor’s bonder reattaching a piece of Captain Daniels’ scalp.

  “Why would the Silsviss shoot us down, Staff?”

  “I don’t know, sir. But I intend to find out.” Reaching up over Trenkik’s head, Torin pressed her right thumb into the dimple at the edge of the weapons locker.

  “You’re going to question Cri Sawyes?”

  “Yes, sir.” Wrapping her fingers around the familiar stock of a KC-7, she lifted it out and checked the clip.

  “I’ll go with you.” He started to stand.

  “Lieutenant!” Trenkik’s voice held a touch of panic. “The rerouting you put in is failing! Leakage is rising!”

  He hovered for a moment, clearly wanting to be a part of any questioning, then finally, he sat. “Be careful.”

  Torin felt her lip lift, then decided it was just one of those things officers said. “Yes, sir.”

  I should never have left that lizard alone in there. I should have got up and taken him out when he least expected it. If anything’s happened… She’d got too used to thinking of Cri Sawyes as a friend.

  The stink still lingered in the civilian compartment and her short absence made it quite clear that it lingered most strongly around the Dornagain. Breathing shallowly, as she squeezed through the partially open hatch, Torin had to admit that she wasn’t surprised considering the way they smelled just generally.

  She was surprised to find Cri Sawyes had already been taken care of. Curiosity replaced anger as she tried to take in this astonishing development.

  The Silsviss had been barricaded into a corner behind several seats ripped out of the deck and webbed together. The largest of the Dornagain squatted on her haunches watching the barricade like an oversized cat watching a mouse hole. Resting her weapon on her hip, Torin cautiously approached. As no one seemed to have taken any injuries from
tooth or claw, she could only assume the Silsviss was in there because he’d agreed to the captivity.

  Why?

  As a gesture of goodwill, obviously. Given that he was presently trapped in a VTA with a platoon of Marines his people had just shot down, he was going to need all the goodwill he could get.

  Halfway across the compartment, the Mictok ambassador scuttled out to meet her. “Staff Sergeant Kerr, is it safe to assume that our vehicle has been disabled and we are confined to the ground?”

  “Yes, ma’am. It is.” The ambassador seemed relatively calm about the whole thing. In fact, as Torin looked around, none of the civilians seemed to be panicking—at least not within species parameters she understood.

  “We have assured the others that the military is in control of the situation.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.” That explained it. They were used to being taken care of. If she could herd them like sheep, she had a chance of keeping them alive. Unfortunately, as sheep wouldn’t have taken the initiative of confining Cri Sawyers, she suspected it wasn’t going to be that easy. More’s the pity.

  “We hope you have sustained no serious injuries.”

  “Not personally, ma’am, but I have four dead including one of my sergeants. Both aircrew tending the engines were probably killed instantly. Lieutenant Jarret is unconscious. Captain Daniels is also unconscious and more seriously injured. I don’t yet know the extent of the other injuries. You?”

  “We have sustained no damage, Staff Sergeant. Our protection was sufficient.”

  Torin stopped at the barricade. “And this?”

  “Upon emerging from our protection, we realized that, except for the Confederation members on board this vehicle, the Silsviss are the only missile-using species on this planet. Therefore it must have been Silsviss who shot us down and perhaps Cri Sawyes is not to be trusted.” One eyestalk swayed from side to side. “Strength Of Arm volunteered to guard him.”

  They were so proud of themselves that, in spite of everything, Torin had to hide a smile.

  The Dornagain’s ears went up, feathery tips brushing the ceiling. “He gave us no trouble, Staff Sergeant.”

  “No reassson why I should,” Cri Sawyes remarked dryly, framed in the triangular space between a seat top and bottom. “I am not your enemy. Thossse were not our misssilesss.”

  Torin snorted. “How do you know?”

  His inner eyelids flicked closed and he pointed through the barricade toward the view screen. “I sssaw them approach.”

  “And a quick glimpse at a missile moving at just under supersonic speeds allowed you to make a positive identification?” It wasn’t quite sarcasm.

  “I wasss in the military for mossst of my adult life, Ssstaff Sssergeant, and at war for much of that time. Alliancesss change quickly on Sssilsssvah, an ability to make a fassst, posssitive identification of incoming ordinance isss necesssary for sssurvival.”

  From what little Silsvah history she’d learned, that was certainly true. Still… “I doubt you can identify every single missile on the entire planet. You’d know your own, and your closest allies’ or enemies’.”

  His tongue flicked out. “You ssseem to be making my argument for me. If it was a Sssilsssvah misssile that I couldn’t identify, it’sss clearly from a group I have no affiliation with. Will I be held resssponsssible for the actionsss of my entire planet?”

  Son of a… He was making way too much sense. “For the moment,” Torin began, then paused as her implant chimed.

  *Contamination levels now at 2.5 and rising.*

  Humans could stand a contamination level of 5.7, di’Taykan a little more, Krai a little less. An initial warning at 2.5 gave everyone time to get clear. At least that was the theory. She had no idea how much time the three species of civilians would need, although the information was probably buried somewhere in her slate. Best just to hurry.

  “You I’ll deal with later.” She nodded toward their captive, more than willing to let Cri Sawyes’ loyalties slide for the moment. “Or the lieutenant will deal with you when he wakes up. The rest of you…” She found the massed attention of the civilians—particularly the massed attention of the Mictok—a little disconcerting and had to clear her throat before she could continue. “…get into your storage compartments and put together everything you’ll need for personal and species survival in the wilds of Silsvah. We’ve only got one working exit and we can’t get the sleds out of it, so you’ll be carrying your gear over some rough terrain. Remember that when you put it together.”

  They wouldn’t, but that could be dealt with later. It was more important now to get them moving, to give them enough to do that they wouldn’t start thinking about the situation. Which, as far as she could tell, didn’t bear thinking about.

  “Staff Sergeant?”

  Halfway out the hatch to the central axis, Torin turned. Grieving for her dead assistant, Madame Britt had broken the central feather in her crest. “Ma’am?”

  “This one wonders if it wouldn’t be safer to stay with the VTA?”

  “No. The engines were hit. The mud is containing most of the leakage for the moment, but that won’t last. We have to get clear.”

  “This one wonders if there is not enemy outside.”

  “Not according to the scanners, ma’am. But I’m heading out there now to check.” She offered the only bit of comfort she had. “Don’t worry. You’re with the Marines.”

  * * *

  The fireteams were waiting for her by the forward hatch. They’d managed to put together modified combat gear out of the limited supplies in the armory: helmets, vests, and belts over dress uniforms. The three heavy gunners were carrying KC-12s and, although the upper body exoskeletons they wore provided less than half of their usual amendments, they looked happier than they had since leaving the station.

  Ressk stepped away from the panel as she approached. “Ship’s scanners say there’s nothing out there; Staff. Well, nothing alive bigger than two-and-a-half centimeters anyway.”

  “Right. Let’s open it up and take a look.”

  Hollice tossed her a helmet, and she put it on as the hatch slid open.

  The VTA’s moving parts were not particularly thrilled to be moving. The reason became obvious as mud first trickled and then poured through the opening.

  The Marines retreated.

  “Topside’s not supposed to be buried!”

  “Get back here.” Torin braced herself against the flood, and by the time she finished speaking it was over. Mud had filled the corridor ankle-deep, but the hatch was clear and the sky outside was a brilliant blue. “It was just debris from the landing.” Ignoring the unpleasant sucking sounds, Torin stepped outside, flipping her helmet scanner down over her left eye. The grid remained empty. “Area’s clear. Now let’s find a way off this thing before that leakage gets worse and we run out of original chromosomes.”

  “This reminds me of a meal I had once,” Binti muttered as they waded back to the hatch.

  Ressk lifted his boot and stared down at the dripping, viscous brown mess ruining his shine. “I don’t want to hear any more comments about what I eat if this reminds you of a meal.”

  “Specifically, it reminds me of a couple of hours after the meal.”

  “I needed to hear that?”

  The area immediately around the VTA was a desolate, dripping mess. Beyond that was swamp. Torin sent teams out along both of the broad delta wings and up to the bow to scan for dry land. There wasn’t much point in abandoning ship if it didn’t improve the situation.

  * * *

  “All right, I’m getting something.” Squinting through his helmet scanner, Hollice ran the terrain program through one more time with the magnification on full. “That way.”

  Squatting at the edge of the wing, Binti stared out at destruction that looked no different than any of the rest and then up at the corporal. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “No. That way. Twenty meters, then there’s a ridge. We can fol
low it all the way to high ground.”

  “Your helmet’s fukked, Hollice.” Juan pointed his weapon along the line indicated. “I can see twenty meters and there’s no ridge.”

  “There’s a ridge, it’s just covered in more serley mud.” Ressk flipped his own scanner up and sighed. “And the way our day’s been going, it’ll be the only way out.”

  * * *

  Mud lapped at the edge of the wing. Either they’d hit bottom or the broader surfaces were keeping them from sinking any deeper. Since the result was the same, it didn’t matter much to Torin either way. The ridge would get them out of the swamp, but getting to the ridge…

  “Never an engineer around when you need one,” she muttered, glancing up at the sky. Just after noon. The sky was still clear, but at this time of the year in this part of the world, it usually rained after dark. Traveling with wounded and civilians, they had to be able to put up shelters by then. “Aylex!”

  Head turned into the breeze, the di’Taykan started. “Staff?”

  “You’re the closest thing to an engineer we’ve got.”

  “I am?”

  “You came up with a way to get us over that canyon back on Junnas.”

  “Well, yeah, but I could see the other side. This stuff…” He waved out at the mud. “It all looks the same. The scanners are all that’s telling us there’s solid land out there. I can’t even smell a difference.”

  “Your point?”

  He stared at her for a moment, then he sighed. “I suppose I could shoot a cable across to those stumps and string a bridge off that.”

  “Do what you have to. Remember, we’ve got wounded to evac, and it’s got to hold four Dornagain.” His eyes widened, but Torin kept talking, preventing the protest. Protesting wouldn’t change the fact that whatever he built had to stand up to the slow-moving weight of four very large responsibilities. “Corporal Ng, you’re in charge of the work detail. Defer to Private Aylex when it comes to the actual construction.” For a moment, she indulged baser instincts by wishing that one of the Dornagain had died instead of the birdboned Rakva and then reminded herself that the Dornagain could eat more of the local food and weren’t likely to blow away in the first bad storm. Not to mention that one of them had just saved her life. “I’ll send out as much help as I can. Corporal Hollice, as soon as there’s a way across, I want your team on recon. Check back when you’ve gone a kilometer up the ridge. Let’s go people, we’re running out of time.”