by Tanya Huff
She wouldn’t let anything happen to them.
The air lock finished cycling.
“What’s taking so long?” Alamber’s hair had started to twitch. Waiting silently had never been one of his strengths.
Ressk elbowed him in the thigh. “Maybe they’re reconsidering.”
“Maybe they’re nervous,” Binti suggested.
“Of us?” Werst snorted. “They’re not stupid, that’s encouraging.”
The telltales on the inner hatch turned green.
The team shifted into defensive positions.
Suddenly surrounded, Ng raised a brow.
“You were a lawyer before Justice tossed us in your lap,” Torin explained over the hiss of the releasing seal. “If they exit waving a subpoena, we’ll stand down.”
They exited waving two feathered antennae above six eyes, in turn above a meter-and-a-half-long, half-a-meter-high body encased in a brown-on-brown-patterned exoskeleton, four upper arms, and a multitude of short, variably jointed legs under chitin flaps. Mandibles clacking together, the Artek sped toward Torin, smelling of cherry candy.
As Ng jerked back, Torin stepped forward. “Firiv’vrak.”
The Artek, one of the Primacy’s warrior species, slid sideways as it stopped. “I have a voice for your ears this time, Gunnery Sergeant Kerr!” The mandibles clattered once more. “Or should I say Warden Kerr?”
Torin held out her hands, fingers spread, and brushed the ends of the extended antennae. “I think you’ve earned the right to call me Gunny, Firiv’vrak.” She looked up at Alamber’s quiet gasp and squared her shoulders as she turned to face the smaller of the two Polint stepping out into the passageway. “Durlin Vertic.”
“No longer durlin, Gunny. Like you, I’ve left the military.” The golden-haired Polint twitched at a soft fold of her teal jacket and smiled, only showing her lower teeth. “You’re looking good.”
“As are you.” The last time Torin had seen the young officer, the durlin had been unable to use one of her rear legs due to a deep burn from a spray of molten rock. Torin herself had been starved, scorched, and covered in seeping blisters. Good times. All things considered, the Primacy’s first three choices were no surprise and she felt the tension in her shoulders ease as she nodded at the reddish-brown male who pushed up close to Vertic’s hindquarters. “Bertecnic.”
“Gunny.”
With Firiv’vrak greeting Craig and the two Polint moving to Werst and Ressk, Torin turned her attention to the pair of Druin in civilian clothing who followed them. “Durlave Kan Freenim.”
“Gunnery Sergeant Kerr.” Vertic might no longer be a durlin, but it seemed an ex-durlave kan was as much a contradiction in terms as an ex-gunnery sergeant. “You remember Santav Merinim. Although she’s santav no longer.”
The ex-santav’s inner lids slid across large black eyes. “Gunny.”
The Druin were taller than the Krai, but not by much, and Torin’s height gave her a clear view of the matching pattern dyed into the upper arc of their hairless heads. When she raised a brow, Freenim nodded. “Yes. We have been leetinamin.”
“Joined,” Merinim added over her shoulder, interrupting her reunion with Binti.
“Congratulations.”
Torin had no idea how the Primacy program translated the sentiment, but Freenim flushed, his skin turning from pale ivory to slightly darker ivory, and said, “The pouch will remain empty for a while, but it’s good to be with someone who understands.”
“Impossible to be with someone who doesn’t,” Torin agreed as Craig argued about the modifications to the Promise with Firiv’vrak. The Artek, as a species, had been active in all branches of the Primacy military, but they loved to fly. Firiv’vrak had been a fighter pilot and from what little Torin overheard, civilian flying just wasn’t the same.
The air lock, having cycled through again, reopened and another two Druin emerged followed by a slender Polint with variegated fur—the exposed skin of his face and hands matching the variegation—and, behind him, another Artek.
“Gunnery Sergeant Kerr.” Vertic folded over herself until she faced the air lock—Torin had forgotten how flexible the Polint were. “This is Keeleeki’ka.”
The second Artek, paler than Firiv’vrak, with raised patterns, paler still, on their carapace, ducked their antennae, and, smelling of licorice, muttered, “We’ve heard so much about you, Warden Kerr.”
“So much about all of you,” the variegated Polint added. His upper teeth showed as well as his lower. “For the entire nine days in terinmun.”
“Seven and a half,” Keeleeki’ka corrected.
“Ah. Seemed longer.”
“And this,” Vertic said sharply enough her voice cut off the buzz of conversation, “is Santav Teffer Dutavar. He volunteered.”
The efficient management of violence had fairly universal parameters, and all three of the Younger Races had a variation of never be first, never be last, never volunteer.
Given Vertic’s emphasis, it seemed those parameters were more universal than Torin thought.
“Still serving?” Vertic had mentioned both name and rank.
Broad shoulders moved inside civilian clothing as though he wanted to shrug it off. Claws showed on all four feet and both hands. “I am.”
Had he volunteered to be the military’s eyes on? Torin watched a ripple run through the fur on his haunch, black and gray and white and orange all shifting slightly as though he’d thrown off a fly in the enclosed, filtered interior of Berbar Station. “And you, Keeleeki’ka?”
“Not serving now. Never did.”
“But you volunteered as well?”
Both antenna flicked down, then up. “No. I was chosen.” The licorice scent intensified.
“Good. Good. Now you’ve all met.” The more elaborately dressed of the two Druin frowned at Torin for a moment, flicked his inner eyelids across both large black eyes, scanned the crowd in the corridor, and turned to Commander Ng. The other Druin, tucked close to his right side, clutched what appeared to be the Primacy version of a slate, and looked apprehensive.
“Warden Commander Ng.”
Ng nodded. Once. “Representative Haminem.”
“I apologize for the invasion . . .”
The other Druin winced.
“. . . but when our volunteers saw a crowd of people waiting . . .” Pale, long-fingered hands spread in what Torin assumed was a conciliatory gesture. “. . . they charged past me.”
“They were concerned for your safety?”
“Oh no, I’m sure they’d happily toss me out an air lock without a suit.” Representative Haminem seemed pleased about the animosity. “Were you not informed? All but two of our volunteers were part of the unveiling of the grand deception on the plastic aliens’ prison planet.”
“Volunteers?” Torin asked quietly.
Freenim’s head tilted toward her. “I assume we could’ve refused the council’s request. I can’t prove it, though.”
“Unveiling of the grand deception?”
“He’s a politician. And he’s not wrong about us being happy to toss him out an air lock. He’s going on to the restitution meetings.” After a short pause filled by the bass rumble of Bertecnic telling Alamber the story of how a tiny crippled Krai had punched him in the nuts, Freenim added, “I’d rather be shot at.”
“Who wouldn’t.” Torin ignored Alamber’s offer to examine Bertecnic’s nuts with the ease of long practice. Consenting adults. None of her business.
“Warden Ryder . . .”
The noise dropped off. Everyone in the corridor waited to hear what happened next.
“. . . you’ll accompany the Representative and myself while we examine the packets before installation.” As Craig nodded, the commander turned his attention to Torin. “Warden Kerr, IA-3 has been opened for our visitors.”
“Yes, sir.” She could see the half-dozen warnings he wanted to add flick across his face and appreciated him closing his teeth on all of them.
IA-3, the largest of the level’s interrogation rooms, was a right turn and four meters from docking arm eight. The passageway stretched empty in both directions as Torin stepped through the hatch, and she moved to the left so Werst could lead the Primacy team out of the arm. Half the station wanted a look at their recent enemies, but DA8 was used so infrequently, it seemed no one had been able to fake an official reason to be in the area.
She hadn’t been told why the powers that be wanted to keep their seven Primacy visitors isolated, although she assumed at least part of the rationale came from there being seven of them in the midst of thousands.
A high-pitched shriek snapped Confederation and Primary both into defensive positions. Torin turned to see a Human child race toward them, a Human male in wide-eyed pursuit.
“Luiza, get back here!”
“Bug!”
“Werst, keep them moving!” Torin would have put odds on a child heading for the Polint, who were furry and looked like they could be ridden. Dropping to one knee, she made a clean interception, the small body slamming into her outstretched arm.
“Bug!”
Torin stood and passed her to the Human male.
He held her struggling body with the ease of long practice. “I’m so sorry, Warden. There’s never anyone here, so when she’s bouncing off the walls, we bring her down and let her run with no distractions until she’s sleepy. When the CCI sounded, we were going to slide into IA-2, but she got away from me.” Adjusting his grip, he caught a foot heading toward his crotch—Torin was impressed by his reaction time—and added, “She met a Ciptran on the concourse about three tendays ago and she’s been fixated on insectoids ever since.”
“Daddy, bug!”
“She met a Ciptran?” The Ciptran, who were built a little like a giant praying mantis, gave lie to the belief that only social species achieved sentience. Torin had never seen two together or one in a good mood.
“It went better than you’d think.”
Luiza twisted herself around until she hung nearly upside down. “Daddy! Bug?”
“Artek. My people are called Artek.”
Her dark eyes widened as Firiv’vrak settled by Torin’s side. “Talks?”
“Yes, child. I talk.”
She straightened up so quickly Torin would have worried about whiplash on an adult and put both palms on her father’s cheeks. “Down? Please, down.”
“Warden?”
Torin glanced behind her, making sure Werst had the rest out of sight in IA-3. Then she glanced down. Firiv’vrak’s antennae waved slowly from side to side, but, otherwise, she was completely still, all four arms tucked close to her body, as nonthreatening as a giant insect could look. Torin didn’t trust the Primacy, but she trusted her history with this specific Primacy member. “It’s safe.”
Luiza’s father didn’t look entirely convinced, but he bent and slowly set his daughter on her feet, a finger hooked behind the crossed straps of her overalls. Luiza threw herself against his hold and got both arms as far around Firiv’vrak as she could reach.
Which put her soft, baby face right up against mandibles Torin had seen crush bone. Muscles jumped in Luiza’s father’s arm as he fought the urge to yank her back, glancing between his daughter and Torin as though checking for any indication that he should panic.
Luiza giggled as the tufted tips of antennae stroked skin and shifted around to pat Firiv’vrak’s carapace when her father reluctantly released her on Torin’s nod. She squatted to look at the many legs, but didn’t touch, then straightened, leaned forward, and licked along one of the swirls of darker brown.
Torin caught one word in five, but, given the disgust, it wasn’t hard to work out Luiza’s negative reaction to Firiv’vrak not tasting like she smelled.
“Luiza! We don’t spit on the deck!”
Amusement intensified Firiv’vrak’s cherry candy scent.
Embarrassment having displaced a good portion of his unease, Luiza’s father snatched her up and set her back on his hip. “All right, you’ve met the Artek. Now we have to let the Warden get back to work.”
Not for the first time, Torin noticed the same tone that worked on second lieutenants worked on small children.
“I know we’re not supposed to be here, Warden, but if we could deal with the consequences later . . .” He pressed a cheek against his daughter’s hair, looking resigned.
Firiv’vrak replied before Torin could. “It was a pleasure to meet a child.”
“And your pleasure has been noted.” Although Torin had no intention of reporting the security breach, the CCVs had recorded not only Luiza and her father’s presence in a restricted area, but unregulated contact with the Primacy. “You need to head for the perimeter hatch. Now.” There’d be Wardens waiting on the other side.
“Before it looks like we’re lingering.”
“A little late for that. Feel free to blame me.”
“Blame you?”
“Tell them I said I was expanding the parameters of the peace.”
“And that’ll . . .” His eyes widened. “Holy shit, you’re . . .”
A small hand covered his mouth. “Daddy! Swears!”
He pulled her hand away and shook his head. “Come on, baby girl. We need to go.”
A head of dark curls and a small hand appeared over her father’s shoulder as he hurried away. “Bye, bug!”
“Artek,” he corrected firmly.
“Bye, Arkek!”
“Close enough,” Firiv’vrak allowed. They stood silently for a moment, then Firiv’vrak rose and pivoted on her lower legs. “You are known in your Confederation,” she said as she dropped back to the deck. “We are also known for exposing the manipulations of the plastic aliens. There were many tests to prove we told the truth, that the images were real, that the manipulation occurred.”
It sounded as though the translator paused before deciding on tests. Torin wondered if there was a way to find out what other words had been considered.
“The young of many mammals fear us,” Firiv’vrak continued, as though she hadn’t just implied that the years after the prison planet had been less than pleasant. “It was good to see one who doesn’t.”
Luiza hadn’t cared that the Artek were Primacy. She didn’t yet know the concept of enemy. “Changing perceptions, one two-year-old at a time.”
Antenna brushed against the back of Torin’s hand. “Indeed.”
• • •
“Because this is the first joint venture between our two people . . .”
“Second,” Werst muttered.
Ng ignored him. “. . . we, the Confederation and the Primacy . . .”
“Does he think we’ve forgotten who . . . Chreen!”
Standing at the side of the room, Torin appreciated Ressk silencing Werst’s running commentary before she had to.
“. . . have agreed the mission to 33X73 must be documented.”
“Documented not only in case this attempt at cooperation fails,” Representative Haminem added, “but also should it succeed.”
At the back of the room, Vertic crossed her arms, one front foot clawing at the floor. “You believe we have a better chance of success if we’re being watched?”
“Yes.” Haminem moved a hand up and down in front of his narrow chest. A nod by any other name. “We do. Impartial witnesses bring out best behaviors.”
Not in Torin’s experience. “This wasn’t in the briefing packet,” she pointed out, not liking where things were going.
Haminem’s inner eyelid flickered. “Politics. And,” he continued, “there was an extended discussion about who to embed—those in favor of impartiality on one side and those in favor o
f experience on the other. There is, of course, no such thing as impartial experience that I’ve found in my own extended experience.”
If his phrasing had been intended to be funny, no one laughed.
“It’s in the briefing packet now,” Ng said bluntly. “Credentials and clearly stated parameters.” He squared his shoulders and met Torin’s gaze. “In the end, given the dangers involved, experience won.”
“Sir?” She really didn’t like where things were going.
Right on cue, the hatch opened.
“So, ex-Gunnery Sergeant Kerr, we are meeting again.” The Katrien paused just far enough inside the hatch to allow her camera operator to enter behind her. Confederation law required cameras large enough to be easily seen in order to prevent any perceived invasion of privacy. As lights on top of the camera indicated recording was in progress without the required signed permissions from everyone in the room, it appeared privacy applied as little to the Strike Teams as it did to the military.
Fluffing silver-tipped dark fur, the highlights too artfully natural to be real, Presit a Tur durValintrisy of Sector Central News and a reoccurring stone in Torin’s boot, waved a small hand that looked like a black latex glove emerging from the cuff of a thick fur coat, and declared, “We are not being at all surprised to be finding ex-Gunnery Sergeant Kerr are leading the first combined Confederation and Primacy law enforcement exercise. It are sure to be an eventful trip.” She paused, the finger she raised for silence hidden from the camera by her fur. At a nod from her camera operator, she adjusted the dark glasses that protected sensitive eyes from the light and turned to sweep a disdainful gaze over the assembled company. “That are being enough for now, this room are being too depressing to be shooting in. The government are clearly buying ugly gray paint in bulk. We are going to be getting individual interviews when we are having a more attractive background.”
