by Tanya Huff
“Couldn’t possibly,” Torin agreed.
A glistening purple tongue emerged from a lipless mouth, wrapped around a square meter or so of stems, and scooped the grasses up into its mouth. The background rasp Torin had assumed was insects moved to the foreground and was identified as the sound of the silicates being ground between whatever served the creature for teeth. The ground trembled as it took another step. Then it continued to placidly feed, ignoring its audience. In spite of its size, it was a performance that could only hold the attention for so long.
“All right.” Torin turned to the cluster of Marines. “Who told you lot to stop working?”
By the time the ghartivatrampas had moved out of sight behind the west building, only Cri Sawyes was still watching it. “I’ve been told they’re extremely tasssty,” he explained, when Lieutenant Jarret asked him why.
“Tasty?” Lieutenant Ghard looked intrigued. “I’ll just go have another look, then.” He glanced over at Jarret who waved him off.
“That’s the most enthusiasm he’s shown about anything since Captain Daniels was wounded,” Jarret murmured as they watched the Krai run into the building where a window would give him a framed view.
“I believe he wasss jussst asss enthusssiassstic about taking me apart,” Cri Sawyes mentioned offhandedly.
* * *
“Staff Sergeant Kerr, have you a moment?”
“Of course, Ambassador Krik’vir.” Torin stood and snapped her slate back onto her belt. She’d made her preparations. If the Silsviss didn’t attack, soon she’d have moved right through anticipation and into annoyance. And an annoyed staff sergeant is an ugly thing. “How can I help you?”
“Actually, we wished to know how we could help you. We have never been in a battle before and we are uncertain of how to behave.”
“The best thing a noncombatant can do in a battle is to stay out of the way.”
“We were actually thinking more of transporting your wounded to the doctor’s position. Using one of the wounded in the infirmary, we have determined we are strong enough working together to lift a stretcher and a Marine as well. We are capable of great speed and our movements are not restricted by bilateral symmetry.”
It took Torin a moment to work out which “we” involved all four Mictok and which were merely part of a communal speech pattern. “It sounds like you’ve really thought this through.”
“We have.” The ambassador paused, left antennae running up and down the right. “We did not agree with this battle,” she said at last. “As we are here, we will be of use.”
Did not agree? Diplomats, Torin thought. Can’t have a battle without filling in the paperwork. “You should speak with the lieutenant, ma’am.”
“Lieutenant Jarret is concerned with keeping us safe, Staff Sergeant. We find that admirable…” Her mandibles clicked a time or two. “…but stifling. We are civilians, yes, but we are also adults and able to make our own decisions. We understand you have survived many battles.”
“Yes, ma’am. But it wouldn’t be wise to remind the lieutenant that he hasn’t.”
“Of course not, but we hoped you would be willing to use that experience to put our offer in its best light.”
If the Silsviss ever arrived, they’d be vastly outnumbered.
If there were enough Silsviss, some of them would get through.
If some of them got through, Marines would be wounded.
If the Mictok acted as stretcher bearers, the one remaining corpsman could assist the doctor and she could keep all her Marines in the fight.
“I’ll speak to the lieutenant.”
“Thank you. Staff Serg…”
“Oh, yeah? You wanna fukking make something of it!”
“Tough guy! You weren’t plugged in, I’d flatten your ass!”
“Well, if that’s all that’s fukking stopping you!” Juan shrugged out of his vest and tunic in the same motion and was working on the fasteners of his shirt when he went down.
“If you’ll excuse me, Ambassador.” A dozen steps took Torin to the fight. Leaning away from a wild swing, she grabbed first Juan’s upper arm between two of the exoskeleton’s contact points and then mirrored the grip on the other Marine. Using their own momentum, she slammed their bodies together. “That will be quite enough of that.”
More surprised than stunned by the impact, they staggered apart, turned toward her, and began to simultaneously yell out their reasons for the fight.
Torin raised her hand and the yelling stopped. “I don’t care why,” she said. “If you two want to beat the snot out of each other on your own time, well, you’re adults, feel free. But, in case you hadn’t noticed, we’re at combat readiness right now which puts you on my time. You start up again and I will personally throw your sorry butts over the wall at the first Silsviss I see. Do you understand me, Private Checya?”
“Yes, Staff Sergeant.” He fiddled with his wrist point, looked as though he wanted to add something, and clearly thought better of it.
“Do you understand me, Private Anderson?”
“Yes, Staff Sergeant.”
“Good. Now, since you’re clearly bored, I can always find something for you to do…”
To no one’s surprise, they both suddenly remembered urgent preparations they needed to make.
“All right, you lot, show’s over.” Sergeant Glicksohn’s voice scattered the small audience. “You enjoyed that too much,” he said to Torin when they were alone.
“Nothing breaks up the morning like banging a couple of heads together.”
He nodded toward the place where Torin had been standing. “What did the sp…” When that raised an eyebrow, he finished, “…speaking Mictok want?”
“Oh, nice recovery.”
“Best you’ll get.”
“The ambassador was offering her party’s services as stretcher bearers.”
“And you said…”
“It’s not up to me, it’s up to the lieutenant.”
“Yeah, right.”
“I said I’d present their offer in the best possible light.”
“Well, here’s your chance. I think our fearless leader wants to know what all the shouting was about.” He sighed. “God save me from twoie looies who need to be kept informed about every little detail.”
“Give him a break, Mike. He’s not doing too badly.”
“He’s doing what you tell him.”
“No. He’s making his own decisions, but he’s listening to what I tell him.”
“It’s a start. Hey, Torin.” He stopped her as she turned away. “If I get hit, I don’t want a Mictok to be the last thing I see.”
“Easy solution. Don’t get hit.” She couldn’t make out the words, but from the tone his response was decidedly insulting. She was still smiling when she reached Lieutenant Jarret. “Yes, sir?”
“There was a fight…?”
“Not really, sir. Just a disagreement brought on by the waiting.”
“It does feel like we’ve been waiting forever, doesn’t it? Half the platoon’s asleep.”
A quick glance around the compound showed slightly more than half the platoon with their helmets pulled forward to shade their eyes. Corporal Conn appeared to be writing home—again—and from the faint sound of dramatic music, Binti Mashona had a game biscuit in her slate. Strictly speaking, during combat readiness the slates were for military use only, but Torin trusted her people to be ready when the fighting started.
“Old soldier’s trick, sir. Sleep when you can.”
“You’re not sleeping, Staff.”
“Staff sergeants never sleep, sir.”
“Ever vigilant?”
“You’ve been reading the brochure.”
He smiled, and she had a sudden memory of those incredible lips tracing a cool, moist line from her throat to her navel.
“Staff?”
It had to have been triggered by the heat. Or the waiting. Or that hit of pheromone she’d taken at dawn was sti
ll working on her. She buried the memory before the lips moved any lower and she embarrassed herself. And none too soon. My heart’s pounding like a…wait a minute. “Can you hear that?”
Jarret nodded, head cocked, hair fluffed fully out. “It sounds like an engine of some kind. An old one. Maybe internal combustion.”
It was a steady, regular thrum that seemed to thicken the air. The sleepers woke. The lookouts up on the roofs began twisting around, trying to pinpoint the direction. There was no direction. It came from all around them.
Weapon ready, Torin slowly turned in place. The civilians had spilled out of their building and stood in the compound, unmoving. Listening. Cri Sawyes, still unarmed, was standing by the well, tail lashing from side to side, throat pouch fully extended.
When she faced the north again, she understood.
Throat pouch fully extended…
“I don’t think it’s an engine, sir.”
“Then what else could it…”
One moment the surrounding low hills were merely an empty, purple horizon. The next, they were crowned with Silsviss. The thrumming from a thousand throats grew louder and ended in a bass note so deep, it continued to buzz through the silence that followed.
“Holy fuk.”
Lieutenant Jarret snorted. “Private Checya, I think you’ve just expressed the official reaction.”
Laughter banished the last of the buzz, and Torin threw a silent well done to the lieutenant. His ear points flushed slightly.
“Thisss explainsss why they took ssso long to arrive.”
“And if you could share that explanation,” Jarret suggested pointedly.
Cri Sawyes’ pouch had deflated by half but was still a pale circle at his throat. “They were waiting for the ressst. Thisss,” he scanned the horizon, “hasss to be every male in the pressserve.”
“Drawn by our crash?”
“I don’t know. Doesss it really matter why they’re here?”
“No. I guess not.”
“Why were they thrumming?” Torin wanted to know. “The Silsviss we fought yesterday shrieked.”
“Thossse you fought yesssterday were having fun. Thisss lot, however, meansss busssinesss.”
As the thrumming started up again, Lieutenant Jarret’s eyes darkened and his lips moved silently. Counting or praying, Torin figured, and given the situation, the later would probably be more useful. “Everyone’s in position, sir.”
“Good. Get Cri Sawyes a weapon.”
“Thank you.” He slapped his tail against the ground. “Although, ultimately I doubt it will make much difference.”
“Maybe not,” Jarret agreed, gaze locked on the surrounding Silsviss. “But it certainly can’t hurt.”
TWELVE
“Why are they just standing there?”
“I believe they’re making a point, sir.”
“A point?”
“That there’s more of them than there are of us.”
“Point taken.” Jarret flipped up his scanner and slid his helmet off so that his hair could move.
“Sir…”
“I know. Setting a bad example.” Sighing, he put it back on. “May I ask you a personal question, Staff?”
That was enough to move Torin’s gaze from the surrounding Silsviss to the lieutenant. At some point in their working relationship, usually while the shit was hitting the afterburners, junior officers always wanted to get to know their senior NCOs. She didn’t understand it, but she’d come to accept the inevitability. Unfortunately, Lieutenant Jarret had a better base to ask questions from than most. “You can ask, sir.”
“Are you afraid?”
And that moved her gaze back to the Silsviss again. Hundreds, maybe thousands of them; they couldn’t get a clear reading. Granted, they were attacking an entrenched position with primitive weapons, but the numbers…
“I’d be a fool if I wasn’t, sir.”
“And as you’re not…” He smiled. “Neither am I.”
“Glad to hear it.” More for something to do than because it had changed, she checked the tiny line of data running across the bottom of her scanner. “They’re well within range of the emmies, sir.”
“I know.” He rocked forward onto the balls of his feet and then back again. “But as Cri Sawyes insists it won’t scare them off, I’d just as soon keep the slaughter to a minimum. We still need the Silsviss to sign that treaty when this is all over.”
Whatever this is, Torin added silently. She’d seen enough combat to know that there were a limited number of reasons why sentient species killed each other en masse; patterns always evolved. The pattern currently evolving was so blatant, so slap-in-the-face obvious that she couldn’t help think it was hiding something. Eyes narrowed, she stared out at the enemy. Unfortunately, an awareness that there were a thousand or more eyes staring back kept the analysis from progressing very far.
“Why aren’t they making any noise?”
Torin and Lieutenant Jarret turned together to watch Lieutenant Ghard crossing the compound.
“I don’t get it,” he continued as he reached them. “Why are they just standing there? It’s unnerving.”
“I think that’s the idea, sir. Is this your first ground combat?”
Ghard looked sheepish. “Is it that noticeable? I don’t mind admitting I’d feel better if I was just a little more mobile and about thirty thousand feet up.”
“Look at the bright side, sir. If you get shot down here, it’ll hurt a lot less when you hit the ground.”
After a startled moment, he found a smile. “Thank you, Staff Sergeant.”
“You’re welcome, sir.”
“And thank you.” He turned toward the other lieutenant. “Firing from the infirmary windows will allow us to keep an eye on Captain Daniels.”
“Is she…?”
“No change.”
A sudden clatter from inside the building sheltering the civilians spun him around with enough force to drop his weapon strap off his shoulder. Torin caught it before it hit the ground.
“Thanks again, Staff. You know…” Both hands closed tightly around the grips. “…I’ll be fine once something starts. Why don’t we nail them with the emmy? Surely we’re in range.”
Excusing herself, Torin left for a walk around the perimeter as Lieutenant Jarret began explaining his first strike policy.
Halfway along the south wall, she paused.
“Aylex.”
The di’Taykan glanced up from his position, looking guilty.
“Put your helmet on.”
“But, Staff, my hair…”
It was standing straight out, a pale pink aurora.
“Your hair won’t protect your head. Put the helmet on.”
“But…”
“Now. And keep it on,” she added, continuing around the compound.
A heat shimmer made the distant Silsviss seem vaguely unreal. Facing them, the waiting Marines looked like the toy soldiers she’d played with as a child. They looked confident in their abilities, certain they could do what was necessary. No one fidgeted, no one spoke. She’d built this platoon out of the best Sh’quo Company had to offer—this was where it showed.
At the north wall, she paused again and peered toward the highest of the hills. There was something…Swarming up the grain bags stair-stepped by the side of the eastern building, she crawled over the thick thatch and stretched out belly-down on the roof. In a perfect world she’d have been able to exploit the advantage of height with more than just one fireteam per building, but she didn’t think the thatch would safely hold more than four bodies. Just hold me. That’s all I ask. “Mashona, get over here.”
Binti exchanged a speaking glance with the rest of her team—she’d been waiting for the summons ever since the four of them had been sent up.
“What’s the word, Staff?”
“Mashona, can you see that group, there, on the high point?”
Binti squirmed into place on the northeast corner of the buil
ding, squinted, and shrugged. “Sure.”
“What’s the guy in the middle holding?”
“Looks like—wait a minute, he’s moving—like a staff with a skull on it.”
“Silsviss skull?”
“Could be.”
“Can you take him out?”
Raising her weapon, Binti squinted through the scope. “This is just a standard KC,” she murmured, adjusting her sights. “I don’t even have a sniper scope on this thing.”
“If you’d had the scope, I wouldn’t have asked if you could take him out. I’d have assumed you could.”
“Thank you for that…” She dug her elbows further into the thatch. “…vote of confidence, Staff. Yeah, I think I can hit him.” Maintaining the position of the gun, she flashed a dazzling white smile back over her shoulder. “Do you want me to try?”
“I’ll let you know in a minute.” Crawling back to the side of the building, Torin spit out a mouthful of chaff, and called for the lieutenant. She could have used her helmet mike, but since he was barely ten meters away, there didn’t seem to be much point.
“What is it, Staff?”
“Excuse me, sir, but I think we’ve pinpointed the pack leader.” She dropped her voice as he came closer. “Mashona says he’s hittable. What do you want to do?”
“How do you know he’s the leader?”
“Just a guess—he’s holding a staff with a skull on it.”
“Yesss.” Cri Sawyes came up behind Lieutenant Jarret and flipped his head back almost ninety degrees to look up at Torin. “That isss the leader. Although, how it wasss decided with ssso many…” His voice trailed off as he lost himself in silent speculation.
“What would happen if he were killed?”
“Under normal circumssstancesss, it would throw a carreg in the nessst…”
If they got out of this alive, Torin planned on asking just what the hell that meant.
“…but thessse are not normal circumssstancesss.” He shrugged. “At bessst, they’ll fight amongssst themssselvesss and forget usss. At worssst, we’ll have one lesss enemy and our action will be taken asss a challenge and will prod them to attack.”