by Tanya Huff
“On your six.”
Werst fell forward, caught the branch the snake had dropped from, swung up, grabbed another with his left foot, and released, picking up speed as he moved. Surrounded by the movement of leaves and branches, of insects and birds, of Ressk following behind, he had a job to do and a team he could count on. If he found one of the mercs alone and circumstances forced him to beat the crap out of him—where beat the crap meant subdue in an entirely lawful manner—the day would be damned near perfect.
“Maybe next time I tell you to stay strapped to the rear bulkhead,” Torin snarled, focus finally shattered by Presit’s constant complaints, “you’ll damned well stay strapped to the rear bulkhead!”
“There, that are not being so hard, are it? Are you feeling better?”
Torin stopped and slowly turned. They’d left the trees when Presit had nearly fallen, recent arboreal ancestors no longer able to compensate for a lack of physical conditioning. She’d done well, considering, and they’d covered over half the distance to the VTA before they’d had to drop to the ground, but from the moment her feet hit dirt, Presit hadn’t shut up. She was tired. Her hands and feet were sweaty. Her eyes were watering. It was hot. They were taking too long. She was hungry. Leaves were sticking to her fur.
She looked tired and hot and there were leaves sticking to her fur, but they’d just spent the last ninety-seven minutes moving two point six kilometers through jungle, so what did she expect?
Presit spread her hands, unconcerned by the knife Torin held. Or her expression. “You are wanting to have said that since we are hitting the ground. I are watching your movements becoming tighter and tighter as you are holding it in. Now you are not having to hold it in.”
Her movements had become tighter because the Confederation had laws about silencing the press. Even temporarily. On the other hand, she did feel better. “We’re nearly there. Less than half a kilometer.” Torin recentered the signal from the VTA and slipped between two tangles of vine, walking along a fallen pillar, carefully avoiding the open doorway of a nearly intact structure. As long as Presit stayed on her heels, she’d be fine.
“I are also needing to thank you for saving my life.”
“You’re welcome.”
“There are being a large beetle on your back. It are not doing anything, but . . .”
“Presit, be quiet.”
“I are just thinking you are wanting to know.”
“Please, be quiet.”
The next two hundred meters were blissfully silent.
“I are smelling smoke. And considering how you are smelling, that are not an insignificant amount of smoke.”
“Craig dropped a VTA into a jungle clearing.” Torin could smell it, too, although given the humidity, she expected it was stronger closer to the ground. And stronger to those species with a better sense of smell than Humans. Which was most of them. She bent her knees, twisted to duck under a branch, and twisted again to avoid crushing a fungus. Those who’d fought on Rinartic knew spores were no one’s friend, and nightmares about vigorous growth in moist places had been common.
“I are not able to go on.”
“We’re less than half a kilometer away. I could throw you that far.”
“You are being so full of shit, it are being no wonder your eyes are brown. I are taking three steps for every one of yours. I are having walked three times as far.”
Torin had shortened her stride and slowed as much as possible. Without Presit, she’d have been back at the VTA long enough to have showered and begun familiarizing herself with the Primacy’s weapons. That said, even with environmental controls keeping her from overheating, her face was slick with sweat around the sealant on her cheek, her right hip ached with every step, and given the way her shoulders and arms felt, she clearly need to increase her resistance training.
Presit had every right to sound exhausted. “You’ve done a good job keeping up,” Torin said as she turned. “Given . . .”
The knife in her hand was not a throwing knife. Torin threw it anyway, yanking Presit toward her with her other hand.
The snake’s body writhed, blood and viscera painting loops on the ground.
“When something that size goes after something your size . . .” Torin reclaimed her knife and lifted the head on the blade. Clear fluid oozed from the revealed fangs. “. . . assume poison.”
Shed fur danced through a beam of sunlight slanting through the canopy. Presit opened her mouth, closed it again, and finally managed, “This are being a Class 2 Designate. You are not being permitted to kill the indigenous species.”
“You’re welcome.”
Several of the fist-sized beetles had already appeared. One approached the snake and took an audible bite. When the snake didn’t respond, the rest advanced. They were an efficient cleanup crew, and Torin assumed the beetle she’d seen after impact had been an advance scout, waiting to see if she’d been too injured to fight back.
“I are not needing to be standing here and watching that, Gunnery Sergeant Kerr!” After falling out of the VTA and traveling three kilometers of jungle, both in the trees and on the ground while wrapped in heat and humidity, it seemed the bloody efficiency of beetles devouring a snake had pushed her to the edge. Presit sounded close to breaking. “You are taking me back to the shuttle now!”
“So you can fall out of it again?”
If Presit lost it in front of Torin, given the relationship they had, she might never get it back.
Torin raised a brow when Presit glared at her.
“You are not being funny, Gunnery Sergeant Kerr.” Her lips curled back off her teeth. “If I are having this on camera, people are reacting to you entirely differently.” She combed her claws through her ruff with one hand, and pointed imperiously with the other. “If you are going to cut a path, I are suggesting you begin cutting.”
“You made terrible time, Gunny.”
Presit shrieked and jumped back as Firiv’vrak rose up out the underbrush.
• • •
His hand cradling her jaw, Craig brushed against the sealant on her cheek with his thumb. “You. Medical. On the knocker.”
“I’m fine.” Torin pressed a kiss into his palm, pulled his hand away from her face, and tugged him into step beside her as they crossed the clearing. Charred foliage crumbled under their boots. Freenim’s sitrep—perimeter established, weapons familiarizing begun—allowed her the time to reassure Craig who hadn’t developed the kind of high-level compartmentalization that years in and out of a war zone required. “I’ve a few cuts and bruises, but I need a hot shower, not medical. Neither of which we brought down with us.” Sonic showers were better than nothing, but only just.
“You jumped out of the VTA.” He sounded so neutral he was clearly still dealing with his reaction.
“I was the SO at the hatch. I had a drop sleeve.”
“You jumped out of the VTA.”
“Presit fell. I went after her.” Dalan had somehow managed to convince Bertecnic to carry Presit across the clearing. Walking alongside, he had his camera up to record her report of their three-kilometer walk. Presit managed to look exhausted and revitalized simultaneously. Dalan had brought her a spare pair of glasses, and she wore her clumped and matted fur like a fashion statement.
“By jumping out of the fukking VTA!”
Torin sighed, stopped, and turned toward him. “Craig . . .”
“Tell me you won’t do it again.” He grabbed her shoulder, snatched his hand back when she flinched. “I’ve learned to cope with people shooting at you . . .” His eyes crinkled at the corners although his smile looked reluctant. “. . . you seem to enjoy it, you freak, but I know what happens when a body leaves a ship unexpectedly. It’s never good. I’m not blind, Torin. You’re walking like you’re a hundred and forty.”
“But I only feel like I’m
a hundred and thirty-nine.” He didn’t smile. She could feel the heat of his hand on her waist, through her uniform. “Compromise, after I give Durlan Vertic . . .” No. “. . . after I record my after action, I’ll strip down and you can scan me.”
“If anything’s broken, you’re heading up to medical.”
She knew her body. She knew it whole. She knew it bleeding. She knew it broken. Reminding Craig of that wouldn’t help; he needed to know she was all right now. Nor did he like being reminded of the injuries war had written on her. “Fine. If anything’s broken, you can take me up to medical.”
The rigid line of his shoulders relaxed. “Good.”
“Warden Kerr!”
Torin turned, fully aware she’d be on camera.
Presit waved from Bertecnic’s back, as though Torin might have had no idea who’d called her. “I are agreeing with Warden Ryder on this one.” She laughed, a soft chuckle intended to let her viewers know she’d just gone through very trying circumstances, but was bearing up. “If it are up to me, we would not be doing such a thing again.”
“If you’d stayed secured to the rear bulkhead, as requested, we wouldn’t have done it this time.”
Her ears flattened. “I should be knowing you are somehow making this my fault!”
• • •
Vertic stood as Torin stepped into the shuttle, both hands tugging down the front of her tunic. “Repor . . . I mean, what happened.”
With only the energy screen activated, the air in the shuttle was as humid as outside it, but Torin suddenly found it easier to breathe. “Civilian went out the hatch, sir. I was wearing the rescue drop; I went after her. We landed safely and made our way back to the shuttle. I have additional information on the local wildlife.”
Her mane rose. “Dangerous?”
“So far, only to Humans.”
“You’re Human.”
Craig made a sound they both ignored.
“Fortunately, the discovery included minimal interaction.”
“I see.” Her lips twitched. “And your injuries?”
“Cuts and bruises. A little dehydrated.” Torin paused to accept the pouch of water Craig pushed into her hand. “Presit’s exhausted, but uninjured. Given the amount of exercise, she’ll stiffen up later.” Which might keep her out of trouble for a while, but Torin doubted it.
Vertic’s expression suggested her thoughts ran with Torin’s. Her mane settled and she nodded. “Well done, Gunny.”
“Thank you, sir.”
The golden eyes met hers. “Don’t do it again.”
“I’ll do my best.”
As she followed Craig to the rear of the shuttle, she noticed his shoulders had tensed up although she wasn’t sure why. Nothing she’d told Vertic should have been a surprise to him. As soon as he was satisfied she hadn’t been hurt, she’d find Freenim and they’d discuss how to use this new information to help keep their people safe.
Werst shifted his weight as the branch bowed beneath him, froze in place behind a screening spray of leaves, and held up his fist. Ressk dropped silently down by his side.
Up ahead, several buildings rose up out of the underbrush, the canopy significantly thinner around them in spite of a number of mature trees rising directly up from the stone. He’d seen these particular trees once or twice as they’d traveled. Tall and slender above the tentacle-like sprawl of their roots, they contributed few lateral branches of any size to the high road and seemed to only grow where the buildings were solid and barely covered by foliage. Ressk had speculated that those buildings had been built of a harder stone that fed different minerals into the soil. Different soil, different trees.
Werst didn’t care. He hadn’t stopped because of the trees, but because of what sat on one of the buildings.
The male Krai either wore a couple of different pieces of combat uniform, or the camouflage function had split the difference between winter and urban before it crapped out. Not female, so not Petty Officer Sareer. Not Commander Yurrisk, too high off the ground. Had to be Lieutenant Beyvek. They’d all been Navy and that might explain the combats—trust Navy not to be able to work basic tech. Crouched on a peak of decorative carving like he didn’t have an enemy in known space, Beyvek pulled something wriggling and banded out of a hole and dropped it into his mouth. Once. Twice. Three times. A nest of juvenile snakes maybe.
Werst plucked a large blue-and-yellow slug off a broad leaf by his hand, hunger aroused by watching another eat.
Easy shot, had he been allowed to take it.
Not significantly harder to take Beyvek out silently. The lieutenant’s weapon was a good meter away. Come up behind him, slit his throat, drag his body off, let his crew assume he’d been taken by a local predator. One less serley mercenary to deal with later.
But those weren’t his orders.
It was, unfortunately, easier to kill an opponent than to disable one and silently remove them from the fight.
It was easier to be a Marine than a Warden. The skill sets overlapped, but the morality had gotten a lot more complicated. Case in point, after the Paylent, Commander Yurrisk and his crew hadn’t been given the support they were entitled to. That didn’t make what they were doing right, but Werst carried enough of his service with him to make it . . . not there but for the grace of Turrist go I, but understandable.
He took one last look and shifted enough to meet Ressk’s gaze, signaling he should leave a DL at this location. With it secured and activated, they faded back, curving to the left where the foliage was thickest. From now on, they’d have to move slowly and carefully, using every bit of cover.
Humans had to be trained to look up.
Krai didn’t.
Toes spread, tail out for balance, Arniz sank into a deep squat and rested her head on her folded arms. The pre-destruction road was as clear as it was going to get. She listened to the Polint, Yurrisk, and Qurn tromping through the underbrush with Salitwisi and his ancillaries, their grief over Magyr’s death muted by a chance to examine ruins they had no legal access to. Her opinion hadn’t been sought. She didn’t do buildings and she’d already commented on the destruction of vegetative evidence. Forcefully. In an extended duet with Tilzon. They were ignored. Fine. She’d take this chance to rest and fantasize about what she could do if she’d only had the rudimentary poison sacs a small fraction of Niln were born with.
Sareer crouched beside her, weapon pointed across the road where Lows held his weeping bondmate, their remaining ancillaries at work clearing the ruins. Arniz assumed Yurrisk had put the geophysicists under guard in case their grief turned to violence. Violence was the Younger Races’ default, after all. Ganes, their own violent default, had been escorted back to the anchor by Gayun and Mirish so that he could help bug proof the visiting Humans. With any luck, he’d get the repellent and the acid wash confused.
“He wasn’t always like this.”
Had she said that out loud? “Ganes?”
“What? No. Commander Yurrisk.” Sareer spoke softly enough Arniz doubted anyone else could hear her. “The commander saved our lives when the Paylent was destroyed back in ’08. Mine, Beyvek’s, Gayun’s and Prius’. And ten more.”
“And where are they?” She peered around, the movement as silently sarcastic as she could make it. “The other ten?”
“Some are still serving. Some went home and actually fit in.”
Arniz snorted at the qualifier. “There’s counseling available, you know. It’s generally considered the civilized choice over kidnapping and murder.”
“I went to counseling.” Sareer didn’t pretend to misunderstand. Arniz appreciated the self-awareness, if nothing else. “Then the commander called.”
“And you answered.”
“And we answered. Counseling . . .”
The air tasted bitter.
“The Navy couldn’t figur
e out how to fix what they’d broken. Saving our lives destroyed his.”
“That doesn’t make you responsible for him.”
Arniz felt as much as saw Sareer shrug. “Maybe not. But we weren’t doing all that well without him. Now we have purpose again.”
“Because you’re killing again.”
“No!” She spat to one side and lowered her voice. “We’re keeping the DeCaal flying. The rest, that’s all Martin. If that serley chrika wasn’t here, no one would have died. We didn’t want him and his crew—not because some of them are Primacy, I mean, Qurn’s Primacy, or she was—but they don’t get it. They don’t understand.”
“Then why are they here?”
“The buyer insisted we bring muscle. They’re paying a lot for that weapon; they wanted their investment protected. But the commander made it clear when they came on board, they’re working for him.”
“Which makes him responsible for the killing.”
“No.”
Arniz sighed, suddenly as emotionally weary as she was physically exhausted. “Yurrisk all but gave the order for Martin to kill Dzar.”
“The commander’s not himself sometimes.” The words tumbled out as though they’d been said over and over and over again. “Martin plays on that.”
“You don’t like him.”
“Martin?” Her lip curled. “I don’t have to like him. I have to follow orders. That’s what keeps us safe.”
Arniz wished she knew more about the Krai as a species. Did they all require the safety of hierarchy? Or had the war twisted them—some of them—enough that they needed to bury personal responsibility in the structures that supported it? “Sareer . . .”
A muscle jumped in Sareer’s jaw. Surprise that Arniz had known her name?
“. . . why are you telling me all this?”
“You watch us. You question. You’re grieving the death of your student and you think you’re too old to worry about living or dying, so you say what you think. You’re wrong.” When Arniz finally turned toward her, Sareer moved her shoulders up and down in an awkward copy of a Human gesture. “I told you, I went to counseling. You want to know why, and I’m telling you so that you don’t ask the wrong question and have Martin answer. He’s here because he’s a professional bully. His people are here because he’s paying them. But the rest of us? We’re here because the commander is ours.”
