by Tanya Huff
Only the H’san had apologized, but even they’d been vague on what they were apologizing for.
The war went on, but diplomatic efforts to end it were now being managed by the species involved in fighting it. When the Elder Races had protested, both branches of the military had diplomatically told them to fuk off. Or as Presit had pointed out in her award-winning interview with the Mictok’s parliamentary representative: “The Elder Races are being the ones who put weapons in their hands. Were you seriously thinking you are always being able to control where they pointed them?”
Things were changing.
“I’ve been compromised,” Torin reminded the commandant.
“We’ve all been compromised,” the commandant snorted. “We move past that or we self-destruct. As it is, we face the threat of civil disobedience turning into civil war. Even the Methane Alliance seems to have their fringes in a knot. We could use people who can get the job done.”
She couldn’t. Or she didn’t want to. Six of one, half a dozen of the other. She hadn’t had to say it to Craig; he’d seen it on her face, in her eyes. Felt it in her touch maybe. She sure as hell wasn’t going to say it to the Commandant of the Corps.
“You can use people who don’t remind everyone that they’ve been compromised,” Torin snorted. Even months later, the recording of two gray lines running down her face still ran daily on at least half the available vid channels.
“We know you’re clear. Hell, if we know anyone in the Corps is clear, we know it about you. There isn’t a part of your body that hasn’t been mapped at the subatomic level. There isn’t a memory in your head we don’t have on record.” The commandant’s eyes flicked up the ramp toward the air lock. “Yours and his.”
“Knowing is one thing. Believing, that’s something else.”
Pale eyes narrowed. “If I didn’t believe, you wouldn’t be leaving.”
“If you’d really wanted me to stay, you wouldn’t be letting me leave.”
The pause stretched. Lengthened. Torin settled her weight back on her heels and waited. Wondered when the ambient noise at Ventris Station had grown so loud.
“Granted,” the commandant admitted at last. “Gunnery Sergeant Torin Kerr is a little bit too much of a distraction with the situation the way it is right now. I’d like to think we could work around that, but—bottom line—I’m a realist. And you still haven’t answered my question.”
Was she certain she’d made the right decision?
“I’m certain.”
“Good enough.” She held out her hand. “Good luck, then.”
“Thank you, sir. You, too.”
“We’ll need it. We’re short a gunnery sergeant.” When Torin lifted a brow, High Tekamal Louden grinned. “Yes, well, that sounded a lot less lame in my head.”
“You’re certain about this?”
“Oh, for fuk’s sake, Craig, not again.” Torin got up off the bunk, crossed the cabin, and poured herself a mug of coffee. “I’m certain. If you’re having second thoughts . . .”
“I’m not.”
“Because I’ve heard the Senior Ranks’ Mess is running book that I’ll stuff you out the air lock within the first three months.”
“What kind of odds?”
“Even.” Even over the sound of the Susumi drive, she heard him stand and take the three long strides that put him directly behind her. She could feel the air warming against the bare skin of her back and then his skin against hers. “But it’s twenty to one you’ll stuff me out an air lock before we reach Paradise.” She wanted to see Craig interact with her father. Laugh together. Share embarrassing stories. She wanted her mother and her brothers to meet him and know she’d made the right decision. She was clearly growing stupidly sentimental in her old age.
“Before Paradise, eh?” A burly arm wrapped around her waist. “They should have more faith.”
“Some of them have worked with me.”
“Good point. Why twenty to one, then?”
“I’m not just going to let you do it, now am I?”
Reaching past her with his free hand, he snagged the second mug and held it up for her to fill. “I got a message from Werst just before we went into Susumi space. He says there’s a rumor going around that the last visit by the Commandant of the Corps means she’s sent you off on a secret mission to deal with the Gray Ones.”
“She didn’t.”
“But if we run into them . . . ?”
Twisting in his hold, she turned to face him. “Space is big.”
“Apparently not as big as we thought.” Craig dropped his forehead against hers. “Torin, if we run into them, do you have orders?”
“No.” She smiled. Made it as reassuring as she figured he’d believe. “I’m out of the Corps. If we run into them, they’ll just have me to deal with.”
