A Peace Divided

by Tanya Huff

When Vertic tried to silence the resulting commentary, Torin caught her eye, shook her head, and mouthed, let it go. Credit where it was due, Vertic seemed to understand the reasoning.

  “Integration seems to be going well.” Freenim had crossed to Torin’s side during the initial flurry of speculation.

  Torin opened another coffee. “It’s a di’Taykan thing.”

  “I remember.”

  “Still nothing on the Druin in red?”

  “Surprisingly, no.” He blinked, inner eyelid sliding across the black. “Our government seems to have forgotten to load a full Druin population census onto our slates.”

  Torin toasted him with the coffee.

  “But Merinim says she dresses well.”

  • • •

  The bulkhead outside the Polint quarters rang under Bertecnic’s fist. Dutavar grabbed his shoulder and hauled him back with enough force his front feet came off the deck.

  Torin moved toward them, mouth open to call for backup, and staggered sideways as Vertic raced passed her, the width of the passage not adequate for an adult Human and a running Polint. When she reached the males, Vertic grabbed an ear in each hand, yanking them first apart and then into their quarters. Bertecnic’s tail flicked out of the way at the last second as the hatch slammed closed behind them.

  The silence was definitive.

  And quickly broken.

  “Do not be asking them about the Ner. They are getting emotional,” Presit added as Torin turned toward her.

  The Ner rode the Polint into battle. Torin had faced them at the siege of Simunthitir and while they were small, they were vicious fighters and good shots—the latter remarkable as the Polint ran like cats. “The durlan and Bertecnic lost theirs before the prison planet, in the battle that destroyed Sh’quo Company,” she pointed out. “They were over it then.”

  Presit combed her claws through her whiskers, right side, then left. “Then, yes, but now Dutavar are still being military and are having to leave his Ner behind. He are still being unhappy and that are reminding Bertecnic about being unhappy. They are not willing to be sharing being unhappy.” She snorted dismissively. “Competitive grieving.”

  “Maybe they’ll bond over it.”

  “Is that being what the young are calling it?”

  • • •

  “We can’t hide in the trees and pick them off one at a time; we’ll risk the hostages’ lives.” Torin folded her arms. “We can’t land on the plateau and swarm them; we’ll risk the hostages’ lives. We can’t bomb them from orbit; we’ll . . .”

  “. . . risk the hostages’ lives.” Vertic didn’t join the chorus, but everyone else did.

  “And we aren’t carrying the ordinance anyway. There’s a shitload more we can’t do,” Torin continued. “I know it. You know it. We’re done discussing it. Bottom line, doing the job means getting all the hostages out alive. Recon team will drop in this clearing here . . .” She tapped the image. “. . . Craig lands the shuttle here.”

  “You and me on recon, Gunny?”

  She wanted to put boots on the ground. Wanted to look up and see sky. Wanted to get from point A to point B over hostile terrain, with someone she trusted watching her back. Wanted her eyes on the mercenaries instead of on briefings. No one would argue her dropping with Werst—they were the only two members of the extended team with time in reconnaissance.

  “You and Ressk,” she said, expanding the image until they could see through the canopy. “You can take the path of least resistance. Move faster.”

  Werst shook his head, nostril ridges closing. “Ressk . . .”

  “Was a Marine, like the rest of us. And he has better range scores than you do.” Torin held Werst’s gaze. “I convinced Commander Ng your bonding wouldn’t affect your performance in the field. Calling me a liar?”

  “No, Gunny.”

  “Good.” Ressk would likely have more to say about it, but she was done. “Get the lay of the land, max out the DLs, then head back. Top speed. DLs, look and listen,” she added in response to Vertic’s silent question. “Surveillance.”

  “One of our people should go as well.” Dutavar’s mane lifted as Torin turned toward him. He was challenging? He was showing respect? She could not get the hang of the mane movements. “This is a joint mission.”

  “Artek are frequently used in reconnaissance,” Freenim said. “They’re adaptable to a number of environments and hard to kill. As long as the three Polint remain unaware the Wardens have been joined by the Primacy, they’ll assume local insect life.”

  “Which are large.” Alamber stared unhappily at hard light images of sixteen insects that ranged from half a meter to a meter long.

  “Only nine are on this continent . . .” Torin deleted seven images. “. . . only four of those are poisonous, though not to all of us, and the med kit will have finished the inoculates in plenty of time.”

  “Yeah, not exactly comforting, Boss.”

  “Insects and snakes.” Merinim spun another screen of images, bright colors flashing. “This one has wings. It’s a snake. With wings.”

  “Vestigial. It can’t get its entire body off the ground.”

  “Since it’s big enough to swallow me whole, not really comforting, Gunny.”

  “The Artek . . .”

  “Are not trained for this,” Firiv’varic broke in. “Pilot.” Her antennae flicked toward Keeleeki’ka. “Civilian. You point me at a target, I can fight, but don’t expect me to know what I’m doing scuttling through the undergrowth on my own.” The scent of heated milk momentarily overwhelmed the air filters. “And don’t expect anything of her.”

  Keeleeki’ka snapped her mandibles. “I’m here to witness.”

  “Us die?”

  “Enough.” Torin swept an uncompromising gaze over her team. “We rescue the hostages, we attempt to capture rather than kill the mercenaries, we do it together. And we do not question every word out of my fukking mouth. Is that clear?”

  A low rumble of yes, Gunny and clear, Gunny ran through the room. Not exactly resounding, but Torin would take it. Craig, leaning on the bulkhead by the hatch, winked.

  “I’d still rather avoid the jungle.” Vertic spread her hands, claws emerging. “We’re good climbers, but we’re heavy. Our people are more comfortable on rocks than trees. If we drop into the cleft . . .” She expanded the edge of the plateau. A waterfall poured out of the jungle one point seven three kilometers in from the advancing tree line. The anchor was barely visible. “. . . it’s a two-point-two–kilometer climb.”

  “We’d still have to land far enough away the mercs won’t hear the shuttle.” Torin adjusted the angle. “And there’s jungle at the bottom of the cleft.”

  “The river . . .”

  “No room to land upstream, so we’re shit out of luck on a nice silent float.” Craig shrugged. “Trust me, I looked. Unless we want to announce our presence with authority and land on the plateau, it’s hack through approximately five klicks of jungle and then climb the cliff, or hack through eight klicks of jungle, skip the cliff.”

  Vertic looked ready to keep arguing, visibly stopped herself, and nodded.

  Torin threw up a meteorological report before the Primacy officer could change her mind. “It’ll be hot and humid under the trees, but they have three di’Taykan to our one and, as they’re not in uniform, they don’t have access to environmental controls. That’ll be to our advantage. There’s an impressive amount of pollen, so no one forget broad spectrum antiallergens before leaving the VTA.” She stepped away from the image and folded her hands behind her back. “All but one of the hostages are Niln or Katrien, so they’ll be easy to identify.”

  “And small enough to be considered a food source by most of what’s in the jungle,” Ressk noted.

  Bertecnic snorted. “So are you.”

  “Not my idea to
be here. They came willingly.”

  Merinim brought up the information on the scientists. “Their license is only for the plateau. They’re not to explore past the tree line. Nondisruptive sensor sweeps only.”

  Ressk spread his hands. “Because most of what’s in the jungle will kill them.”

  “But the plateau is safe.”

  “Except for the mercenaries.”

  “I’d rather be shot at than swallowed.”

  Everyone turned to stare at Binti.

  “What?” she demanded. “I hate snakes.”

  “So you are being the Strike Team’s sniper? You are providing long-distance cover for the dangerous jobs they do, that are being correct?”

  “It is.”

  Presit shifted under the intensity of Binti Mashona’s regard. “I are asking you to stop doing that.”

  “Doing what?”

  She was wanting to say, don’t be paying so much attention to me, but she are not being able.

  • • •

  “I are hearing congratulations are in order. For your bonding,” Presit added before either Krai could be voicing the question she could see on their faces. “I are imagining it are a great assistance to be having your bonded with you on a mission like this.”

  “Can’t see why,” Werst grunted. “He’s useless in a fight.”

  “And he couldn’t use polymorphism to create a set from an array.”

  “What the fuk does that mean?”

  “That you’re proving my point.”

  “Sex is good, though.”

  Ressk’s nostril ridges fluttered open. “Very.”

  • • •

  “Sure, it’s strange having all these other people on the team, but on the other hand . . .” Alamber’s eyes darkened. “. . . there’s all these other people on the team. Have you looked under Bertecnic?”

  • • •

  “Are you serious? Freenim will pouch when we decide it’s time to have children, and I don’t want to discuss it. We’re here to assist in the rescue of innocent hostages not talk about . . . that.”

  • • •

  “So you are being a pilot? Of small fighter craft?”

  “I was.”

  Presit sneezed at the sudden overpowering scent of cherry candy.

  • • •

  “Torin told everyone to cooperate fully.” Craig drew the brush carefully over Presit’s shoulder.

  She frowned at the amount of fur in the air. “I am being very sure she did.”

  “You two need to talk.”

  Torin let her head fall into her hands. “Alamber . . .”

  “Something’s got Craig’s nuts in a knot, Boss.”

  “If you’ll stop sounding like Werst, I’ll talk to him after Vertic and I go over the order of the march.”

  “You’re marching? It’s jungle. How do you march through all that . . . stuff?”

  “Go away.”

  • • •

  “Exiting Susumi in three . . .” Craig held both hands over the board. “Two.”

  Torin drummed her fingers on her knee. In order to enter the system unnoticed, the Promise was nearly a million kilometers away from the buoy and regulated safety. Torin trusted Craig significantly more than any Susumi engineer the Navy had ever used, but solid objects cared sweet fuk all about trust.

  “One.”

  The stars reappeared.

  “Yay.” Binti twirled a finger, unsnapped her harness, and stood. “We survived again. Second seat’s all yours, Firiv’vrak.”

  “Got bonzor eyes like Binti’s on board, might as well use them,” Craig had explained, back when they’d all started working together.

  Neither of them had acknowledged that the extra heartbeat Binti’s eyesight might give them would make no difference if they exited Susumi bearing down on an asteroid, or a planet, or another ship. The only people with more superstitions about survival than Marines were civilian salvage operators.

  As the Artek were unable to sit in chairs designed for bipedal species, Firiv’vrak rose nearly vertical on her rearmost legs and shuffled sideways into the narrow space between the copilot’s chair and the board, both chair and board supporting part of her weight. She didn’t look comfortable, but the growing scent of cherry candy said she was happy.

  “I need that light at 521.” Both hands busy, Craig pointed with an elbow. “Slide it left.”

  Firiv’vrak had piloted an unfamiliar VTA off the prison planet and close enough to the Promise to run a gangway between air locks. When she’d asked to learn the Promise’s controls, Craig, who’d been on that VTA, could find no good reason to refuse.

  “Shitload of bad reasons,” he’d admitted. “I’m not going to hand her the keys and tell her to be back by 26:30, but she’s an ace pilot and I’m not going to insult her either.”

  “That shuttle was made of plastic aliens. You could argue they were flying themselves and that she had nothing to do with it.”

  “You can argue it, I won’t. She stinks of burning hair when she’s unhappy.”

  The Artek didn’t perceive color like a biocular species and, although Confederation numbers were only a combination of ten symbols, they were ten symbols newly learned. She’d never be able to fly the Promise, which made keeping her happy a minimal risk scenario.

  They passed the planetoid at the farthest edge of the system, close enough to its gravity well to pop proximity numbers out above the control panel.

  Torin stood and leaned over Craig’s chair to get a better look. “Two hundred thousand klicks? Cutting it close.”

  “Plenty of room. It’s a warning, not an alert. I’m using the planet to mask our emergent point if the mercs have a sweep going.”

  “What are the odds?” Binti asked. She’d moved to stand against the HE lockers along the back bulkhead instead of taking another seat. “If Ganes hadn’t got word out, no one would know they were there. They’re in the clear if they’re gone before the university’s supply ship returns.”

  “Bet your life on it?” Craig asked.

  She smiled. “I’d bet yours.”

  Firiv’vrak waved an arm, both antennae swaying in counterpoint to delicate fingers. “I’d bet. Four of a kind beats a full house. Royal flush beats a straight flush.”

  When Torin glanced over her shoulder, Binti shrugged. “Four days in Susumi, Gunny.” Her smile slid into a smirk. “Couldn’t spend it all planning a rescue, reading briefings, and fluffing Presit.”

  “Warden Mashona owes me a week’s wages and a duck.”

  “Let me see that.” Arniz pushed Salitwisi away from the monitor with her tail.

  When one of the recalibrated scanners got a hit just inside the point where the leading growth of the jungle met the plateau, Yurrisk had most of her equipment moved to where he could watch both the monitors and the excavation of another latrine.

  Arniz suspected he didn’t trust them. “These aren’t similar readings,” she said, splitting the screen and pulling up the original data. “They’re identical readings.”

  “Which means?” Yurrisk leaned forward, one hand shading his eyes as he squinted at the screen.

  “Eventually it’ll mean that a great many people will be spending a lot of time trying to work out why, but, for now, with next to no information, I think I can safely say that identical molecular readings of what could be plastic residue in multiple latrines . . .”

  “Latrines used by a non-plastic-using civilization,” Salitwisi added.

  “. . . means, colloquially speaking, it’s the same stuff. There . . .” Arniz waved a hand in the general direction of the first unsanctioned hole in the ground. “. . . and here.”

  “There’s more residue in the second latrine.” Yurrisk expanded the second reading.

  “I’m aware.” Roug
hly, eleven times more. Her tail twitched with the effort of not hauling his hand off her equipment. He’d ruined the joy of discovery, the feecont. She should be teasing answers out of Dzar, guiding her to an application after years of study, not reciting the de con talbin to her spirit every night. “There’s more of everything in the second latrine,” she snapped. “It’s five times the size and most likely communal. Which we’d know for certain if we hadn’t abandoned science for a treasure hunt.”

  “How do you even know it’s a latrine?” Trembley asked, frowning at the pile behind the digger. “It looks like dirt.”

  “Darker dirt,” she told him, softening her tone. “Before my complicity in the destruction of an irreplaceable archaeological site . . .” She scowled at Yurrisk. “. . . I could have shown you the differences in vegetation caused by the nutrients available in subsurface rot.”

  “But the rot . . .” Trembley began.

  “Enough.” Yurrisk cut him off. “Is the residue at the same historical level?”

  Arniz sighed and turned to face the Krai, arms folded over her field overalls. “What part of latrine do you not understand? The contents of latrines rot. We’re not plucking data out of the stratification of bedrock here, it’s shit and piss and whatever they—whoever the pre-destruction they were—used to wipe themselves clean. Easily identified by a high localized concentration of urea and sulfides, it’s why we start our ancillaries—like the one you murdered—on them.”

  “Bodies get dropped into latrines.” Martin had suddenly appeared by Trembley’s side. For a big man, he could move quickly and quietly, and he clearly wasn’t happy about Trembley being part of this discussion. Possibly because there was half a chance the young Human was still intellectually flexible enough to learn, to move from archaeology 101 to taking a second look at the morality of murder.

  “I bow to your greater knowledge of what happens to a body destroyed by violence.” She used the tone she’d perfected for her department head: so completely devoid of sarcasm, it verged on insult. “But that’s not the point. Anything we find in a latrine now will be among the last things that were ever put in there. So, technically, the answer is yes. It doesn’t matter that we found the two bits of residue at different depths, if a weapon ever existed, it existed immediately pre-destruction.”