Valor's Trial

by Tanya Huff

  Kyster lay on his side at the base of the tunnel wall, right hand stretched out, fingers curled in toward the palm, Werst on one knee beside him. When she saw the younger Krai’s nose ridges moving, she let out a breath she hadn’t known she’d held.

  “Still out of it,” Werst muttered as she knelt beside him. “Minimal contact, and it blew him back.” He nodded across the tunnel at the collapsed wall and the glimpse of metal in the shadows. “Probably would have killed one of you lot or the di’Taykan, but we’re tougher.”

  “You build in the tops of trees,” Torin said absently, checking Kyster’s vitals. “Damn well better be able to take a lightning strike.”

  Werst snorted. “And we don’t break when we’re slammed into rock either.”

  Kyster’s eyes fluttered open and locked on Torin’s face. “Ker sa arratrinigre, sa kai terst.”

  When she glanced over at Werst, he was smirking. “Has to do with his mother and is not something he’d want you to hear if he was in his right mind, Gunny. Be better if he never realizes I heard it.”

  She’d got the gist of it from the tone, and Werst was right. “Go help Ressk get the team through the cables, Corporal. I’ll handle this.” Kyster needed to be able to move the moment Mike hit the upper level. No longer wandering through sections of the prison designated for the Corps, they were now where they weren’t supposed to be, and surely the Others would try to prevent them from getting any farther. No point in keeping prisoners if they were blithely permitted to escape.

  Thumb rubbing against Kyster’s palm, she gently worked his hand open, making sure all the small bones continued to be attached to all the other small bones and that they still worked the way they should. A bad hand along with the bad foot was the last thing the kid needed. The fingertips were burned but not badly. Only the second finger had even raised a blister; the others were no more than scorched. His hand trembled in her grip but seemed essentially undamaged.

  “You,” she said, when she realized the young Marine had actually managed to focus on her face, “are one lucky son of a bitch. If you’d gotten yourself killed, I’d have kicked your ass.”

  “I’m not dead?”

  “You’re bruised.” She ghosted her hand over the curve of his skull. “And you’ve got a knot on your head the size of a H’san’s balls, but you’re not dead.”

  He licked his lips and tried to sit up. “I’m sorry.”

  “Did you know the pipe was live before you touched it?”

  “No.”

  “Then it was an accident. No one’s fault.”

  “But . . .”

  “Don’t argue with me, Private. It makes me cranky.” She slipped a hand behind him and lifted him carefully until he was leaning against the wall. “Stay there until everyone’s up. Mashona!”

  “Gunny.”

  Torin straightened and nodded to the right as Mashona trotted over from the hole in the floor. “Give me three minutes down the tunnels that way.”

  “You think it’ll be a repeat of the pattern down below?”

  “Are we standing in a node?”

  Mashona looked around. “No.”

  “No. So not a repeat. Let’s find out what it is.” Her head felt clearer than it had since before the rockfall. She might’ve thought that they’d been wrong about an additive in the food and there was some kind of complacency gas being pumped into the lower levels except that she knew exactly when she’d stepped out of the fog. When Ressk had yelled down that Kyster was injured. Adrenaline. Clarity had followed the surge. Which explained how Harnett and his goons seemed to have more get up and go than the rest—their situation had kept adrenaline levels high. It also explained why the stims worked.

  If she wanted to keep her people sharp, she needed a series of constant stimulants.

  “Jiyuu.” A nod to the left. “Three minutes that way.”

  Fuchsia hair sagged. “I’m tired.”

  “Get over it.”

  “You’re only sending me because you don’t like me.”

  It seemed he was taking a break from sucking up. “I’ll like you one fuk of a lot less if you don’t pull your own weight. Now, move!”

  He didn’t move fast, but he moved.

  Mashona got back as the last di’Taykan came through the hole, leaving only Kichar and the sergeant below.

  “I went a little farther than three, Gunny. There was a rockfall. Big fukkers this time, but they’re like stairs up into another level. Looked like more tunnels,” she added before Torin could ask. “Didn’t go up, though.”

  “Good work.” Torin turned her head and raised her voice. “Jiyuu! Move your ass!”

  “And like magic he appears around the curve,” Ressk murmured as the di’Taykan came into sight.

  “When you call,” Darlys began.

  “Drop it,” Torin ordered, wondering if maybe shoving Darlys into the hole and smacking her head up against an electrical change would help.

  “Nothing that way, Gunny.” Jiyuu sounded almost petulant. “Just more tunnel. It keeps curving.” He sketched what looked like a sine wave into the air. “But there’s no little caves, no nothing.”

  “We’ve got access to a higher level the other way,” Mashona told him.

  The ends of his hair flicked back and forth . . . “Then why did I have to—” . . . and stilled as he caught sight of Torin’s expression. “Never mind.”

  Kichar’s cry of pain drew attention back to the crevice.

  “Ressk!” Torin dropped to one knee and shone her cuff light along the left wall.

  “She hit a charge.” Ressk had a foot wrapped around Kichar’s wrist and was holding her steady against the rock, her legs straddling the lowest cable.

  “Where?”

  “Near the top. Not sure which one, but it knocked her ass over tip.”

  “Kichar?”

  “I’m good, Gunny.” Her free hand was shaking as she rubbed at the dribble of blood on her chin from where she’d bitten her lip.

  “Stay there until you’re steady enough to climb.”

  Her eyes widened. “I can’t. The sergeant . . .”

  And right on cue, Mike yelled, “What’s happening up there?”

  Ressk twisted and peered down along the pipe. “Kichar took a hit from one of the cables, Sarge.” Then he turned and peered up into the light, eyes closed to slits. “I can keep her steady, Gunny, but I need to know what cable to avoid.”

  “No argument, Ressk.” Torin leaned out over the hole. “Any idea, Kichar?”

  “I was reaching . . .” She squinted and shook her head. “Sorry, Gunny. One of the top two, but I don’t know for sure which one I touched.”

  “Volunteer to check for a live cable?”

  “I’ll do it, Gunnery Sergeant.”

  “Sit down, Darlys, I was kidding. All right, Kichar, it looks like you’ll have to avoid both of them. Ressk, get her over there.” Torin shone her light on a cable about three meters from the top of the crevice on the opposite side from the cables in question.

  “She can’t reach the edge from there, Gunny.”

  “She doesn’t have to reach the edge,” Torin told him working her way around to the other side. “She just has to reach me.” As Ressk guided a visibly shaky Kichar up to the cable, Torin lay flat on the floor, upper body over the hole. The smooth stone felt surprisingly cool through vest and combats. “Mashona, Darlys, on my legs. Jiyuu, Watura get ready to take her from me when she’s at the edge. Come up close beside me and, as long as you’re there, a knee on my ass wouldn’t hurt; just hold the innuendo in reserve, we don’t have time for it right now. Kyster, Werst, make sure nothing shows up to interrupt the party. Technical Sergeant Gucciard,” she raised her voice, “climb slow.”

  He sounded amused. “I can do that, Gunny.”

  “Ressk, hold her steady. Kichar, lift your arms over your head. Grow another eight centimeters if you can.”

  “Gunny?”

  “Stretch, Kichar.”


  Bending at the waist, Torin let herself fold in over the edge. Kichar’s reaching hands were clammy, so she locked her fingers around the young Marine’s wrists, nodding in approval as Kichar, face pressed against the rock, mirrored the grip. Two deep breaths. Hold. And she straightened, back muscles clenched tight, arms taking up the last of the distance as Kichar planted her boots against the minimal foot-holds in the wall and helped as much as she could.

  As her hands came up to the edge of the floor, Jiyuu and Watura reached out and each grabbed a wrist to drag her up the rest of the way.

  “Boots!” Torin snapped as one of Kichar’s came a little close to her face as the private went by.

  “That’s not going to work with the sergeant,” Mashona pointed out, dragging Torin in from the edge with a handful of combats. “You’ll never be able to lift him.”

  The moment Mashona released her, Torin rolled onto her back and let the knots crack out of her spine. “Won’t have to. As soon as he’s on the cables, that’ll free up the rope. There’s seven of us up here. He’s a big guy, but he’s not that big. Ressk.”

  “On it, Gunny.”

  She rolled again in time to see Ressk and the sergeant hit the lowest cable at the same time. It rocked a little, and Ressk sucked air in through his teeth.

  “I’m getting a buzz, Gunny!”

  “Sergeant, climb two cables and then slide right, hard against the rock. Ressk get the rope and get out of there. You lot,” she lifted her head and glared around at the watching Marines, “quit blocking the damned light.”

  Safest to throw the rope, Krai to Krai—grow up that far from the ground and hanging on was a skill learned early. Torin moved out of the way so Werst would have room to make the catch, then wrapped the rope around her ass and braced herself, Mashona and the three di’Taykan on the rope between her and the hole.

  “Gunny, I’m getting more buzz!”

  Without boots, Ressk had no insulation from the power surge.

  “Climb me!” they heard the sergeant snap.

  “What?”

  “My boots are insulated, you’re not. You can reach the edge from my shoulders!”

  “Werst!”

  “I’m there, Gunny!”

  Ressk surged up over the edge, yanked the last meter by Werst’s grip on his wrist. The rope tightened. Torin threw her weight back against it, boots braced, as Mike scrambled up on Ressk’s heels. Darlys swore softly and adjusted her grip, but the line held. Odds were better than good they could have managed with a couple less di’Taykan, but Torin was a big believer in hedging her bets—particularly with a life on the line.

  “Sarge!” On his knees, Ressk leaned out over the hole. “Keep it tight to the wall! Your body’s out too far! Your shoulder’s going to . . . Fuk!”

  Fortunately, the shock slammed him forward not back. The rope went slack as one of the sergeant’s hands slapped up and over the edge, fingers scrambling for purchase, nails scraping along the rock as he began to slide.

  Werst grabbed for him and caught the cuff of his combats.

  Throwing himself flat, Ressk hooked a hand in under his vest.

  By the time Torin reached the hole, there was nowhere left to grab on. Hands held what they could; a bit of vest, a fistful of combats, the strap of his canteen, the sleeve of biscuits thrown over his shoulder. The sleeve gave way. There was a flash, the stink of burning meat, and the clatter of the biscuits bouncing off the pipe.

  “Heave!” Torin ordered both hands clutching fistfuls of air, refusing to let herself think the words, dead weight. “Come on!”

  Gravity defeated, Mike hit the floor hard enough to knock the breath from him in a pained grunt—a welcome sound, the dead neither breathed nor grunted. Torin moved in as Darlys flipped him onto his back, dropping to one knee by his side as his mouth opened and closed, his face growing alarmingly flushed as he tried to speak. Finally, he managed to spit out the word, “Slate!”

  “Slate?”

  “Off!” One hand slapped wildly at his vest where the slate hung.

  “His combats probably absorbed some of the charge,” Ressk explained, snatching the slate free. “He’s afraid that if the slate didn’t get caught in the initial surge, there’s still a chance off-charging could be enough to corrupt the data.”

  “You got all that off two words?” Jiyuu asked as Torin raised the sergeant’s torso off the stone to help him breathe.

  “Techs don’t like to waste words.” Ressk ran both thumbs along the screen and frowned. “I think we’re good.”

  “Sergeant Gucciard! Look at me!” Hand cupping his jaw, Torin turned Mike’s face toward her, locking their eyes. “Deep breaths. With me. In. Out.” If he kept panting, he’d hyperventilate and likely pass out—given the tremors she could feel running through the muscles of his back, she wanted him conscious. Breathing slowly, deeply, forcing him to match his rhythm to hers, she unfastened his vest and slipped a hand inside to press against the left side of his chest. She was almost certain that the charge had been too strong to send his heart into fibrillation, yet given that he apparently believed his combats had absorbed at least part of it, she wanted to be sure.

  His heart raced under her palm—but under the circumstances that wasn’t too fukking surprising. When it slowed without faltering, when his breathing echoed hers, she sat back on her heels and opened a canteen. “You’ll live,” she told him as she passed it over.

  “Too bad.” A little water ran down his chin. “Because I feel like shit.”

  He was sitting on his own, so she stood. Kichar’s eyes still had a tendency to show white all the way around, but otherwise, she seemed fine. Kyster was standing, leaning against the wall but on his feet. Without the med-alerts on a working slate, she had no way of knowing how much damage they were hiding and had no intention of assuming they weren’t. The sleeve readouts confirmed they were alive but little else. “Ressk.”

  When she held out her hand, he put the slate in it. “Still just sysop and translation running, Gunny.”

  Tonguing the codes that would have connected her own state into the com unit in her jaw, Torin stared at the screen, willing it back to life. Unsuccessfully. “Well, we’re up a level and no one died,” she announcedsnapping the slate onto her vest and drumming her fingers against it. As Ressk glared, she moved her hand carefully away. “I’d call that a win. Werst, stay by Kyster. Darlys, with Kichar. Jiyuu, Watura, help get the sergeant up onto his feet. Ressk, you’re with me on our six. Mashona, lead the way to the next level.”

  “You don’t think we should explore this level, Gunnery Sergeant?”

  “We’re not in a vid game, Kichar, we get no points for mapping the level. As long as there’s a way up, we take it.”

  “We get the hell out of Dodge, Gunny?”

  It was one of the Old Earth sayings Hollice used to drop into conversation. She shared a look with Mashona, a look that said Hollice might not be dead, and nodded. “That’s the plan.”

  “Dodge?” Kichar asked quietly.

  Darlys shrugged. “It doesn’t matter as long as the gunny knows.”

  The observation was accurate enough that Torin let it go.

  The tunnel to the right had taken some heavy damage.

  “Earthquake,” Mike grunted, definite enough that he clearly didn’t expect to be questioned.

  “So you’re a geologist now?” Torin asked watching him weave an unsteady path around the debris.

  He turned in Watura’s grip far enough to smile in her general direction. “Multitalented. Also, used to test weapons systems. This . . .” A nod toward the crack they were following. “. . . looks natural. Seeing this here, makes what happened below look natural. Earthquake,” he repeated, brows rising and falling for emphasis.

  “So you’re saying we need to haul ass out of here before the Others drug us into compliance and show up to physically try and stop us, or the whole place shakes down around our ears?”

  “Yeah . . .” A too vigorous nod ne
arly tipped him over. “. . . pretty much.”

  “Good thing we’re in the Corps and not the Navy,” Torin snorted, “or all that might be a problem.”

  “You don’t think earthquakes might be a problem, Gunny?” Kichar’s eyes were huge.

  “Give me a break, Private; you don’t get to be my age without learning how to make the earth move.”

  As expected, the three di’Taykan got it first. Drugs and physical deterrents and earthquakes got lost in the raucous comments and blatant speculation. Torin let it continue until they reached the place where the ceiling had collapsed, opening up the next level, and then she stopped it with a word.

  The rock had fallen in such a way as to create a crude set of stairs.

  “Piece of pie if we had a heavy with us,” Mashona noted, prodding the lowest boulder with her club. “Shove this here a little closer, and even the Krai wouldn’t have to jump for the edge.”

  “I think you mean piece of cake,” Torin corrected absently. She’d noted the lack of heavy gunners before, had assumed it was just that their exoskeletons had been removed during transport, but, now that she thought of it, heavies had a way of moving defined by the contact points sunk into their flesh. She couldn’t remember seeing a heavy gunner by either of the two pipes. “Mashona, Ressk—were there heavies in Lieutenant Colonel Braudy’s group.”

  “Don’t think so, Gunny.” Mashona looked over at Ressk who shook his head. “Hard to tell for certain without the skels, but none of ours for sure. Why?”

  “I’m betting there’re no heavies down here.”

  “Maybe they’re in a group by themselves?” Jiyuu offered.

  Possible, but Torin didn’t think so. Without their exoskeletons their augmentations meant nothing, so why wouldn’t the Others have imprisoned them as well? Because they only wanted the basic models of the three species? If so, why?

  “Maybe the Others were afraid they’d find someone like the technical sergeant to build them new skels out of kibble and spit and then they’d just smash their way free?”