by Tanya Huff
. . . where the Druin had her fingers spread over Commander Yurrisk’s chest and her mouth to his ear.
The commander shoved her away and jumped to his feet. “Sergeant Martin!” His voice filleted the layers of sound. His nostril ridges were closed, his teeth exposed, and he was terrifying in the way of those beyond consequences. His eyes were dead. His teeth were . . . cracked. With his lips back that far, Werst could see the shadow where a triangular piece had broken off. Krai teeth didn’t break. Werst could see the blood and hear the screaming. What the fuk had happened on the Paylent?
The noise fell off as Martin turned. Werst suspected Harveer Arniz had slapped her hand over her colleague’s mouth, but he didn’t dare turn to check. Didn’t dare take his eyes off the commander. Had to be ready for anything because anything could happen. The commander had gone to the place in his head where the war continued. Where everything was a dark and terrible absolute. Sliding, sliding, sliding . . .
Werst had seen a Marine break during a battle. Took twenty-seven rounds to stop his charge and no one looked close enough to be sure they’d all come from the enemy.
“You will not discharge your weapon inside, Sergeant. Not among my people. It isn’t safe.” The dead gaze flicked to the hostages. “You will sit and be quiet and stay safe.” One more flick to Werst. “Do you think this is funny?”
“No, sir.”
“Find what that thing says about my weapon. Now.”
The threat, the blood and screaming, the flaying, the devouring—it was all in the delivery.
“Yes, sir.”
He frowned at Werst’s response. “I don’t . . . I don’t know you! How did you get in here?” He dropped his head between his shoulders, took a step forward, and stopped, a red-gloved hand on his arm.
“He’s the Warden who fell in the hole. He was injured with Gayun.” The Druin stood at the commander’s side, her voice calm, matter of fact. Where had she come from? Werst hadn’t seen her move. “He’s Krai.”
“I can see that!” More a protest than a confirmation.
“There are no Krai among the enemy.”
“Of course . . . no Krai . . .”
“He’s here to solve the data sheet.”
“When we sell the weapon, we can keep flying.”
“Yes.”
He met Werst’s gaze. The Paylent had returned to haunting the back of the commander’s eyes. “Find my weapon, Warden.”
“Yes, sir.”
The commander straightened. Tugged at the hem of his tunic. Swayed right, then right again. Swallowed. His nostril ridges slowly opened. “Sergeant, stand down. Remember, you won’t be paid until my weapon is found.”
Zhang had put her back against the wall. A muscle jumped in Martin’s jaw, but he moved his hands away from his weapon, spreading his arms with exaggerated emphasis.
Commander Yurrisk was like keeping a bomb around. Most of the time, it was a metal cylinder taking up space, no big deal. Every now and then, it began to count down and then all anyone could do in its immediate area was hope it didn’t explode.
Werst had to admit that in Martin’s place, on the planet with the weapon, with the ship in orbit, and Zhang available to fly her, he’d have shot the commander just to keep from waking up and finding himself ankle-deep in blood.
Why hadn’t Martin?
Torin could see the jungle thinning up ahead, actual open space between the trees, the perpetual dusk under the heavy parts of the canopy broken by broad bands of sunlight. “That’s far enough.” She pitched her voice to Dutavar at the front of the line. “If they can see us, they can shoot us. We’ll base here. Ressk, you and Bertecnic set out perimeter pins. High and low. They’ve Krai on their side; we can’t assume the canopy is safe.”
Bertecnic circled back around, but Dutavar stayed where he was, arms folded, facing the plateau. When Freenim moved toward him, Torin shook her head. Freenim met her gaze for a moment, then tipped his helmet back and rubbed at the red dimple in his forehead. “We’ve got time for food before we lose the light.”
Torin nodded in turn. “I could eat.”
As she joined Dutavar, she heard Freenim giving Merinim and Mashona their orders. He asked for Vertic’s assistance. Good chance he’d be having a talk with his bonded later about the difference.
Dutavar stared out at the anchor.
“If it’s possible,” she said, “your brother will be your responsibility. If it isn’t . . .” And this was the corollary she hadn’t mentioned before. “. . . I need to know you’ll follow orders.”
He cocked his head and turned to meet her gaze, vertical pupils narrowed, gray eyes speculative. “You’ve left the question of my loyalty a little late, haven’t you, Warden?”
“I’ve left you enough time to make up your mind. You didn’t have enough information back on the Promise; if I’d asked, I wouldn’t have believed your answer.” She hadn’t had enough information either, and he had no reason to believe her.
“And if I told you my duty to my family comes first?”
“I’d remind you our best chance of success comes as a team. And then, if I had to, I’d take you down.”
“Incentive to lie.”
“You think I wouldn’t know?”
He tried to look away. Frowned. And finally said, echoing Torin’s early words, “If it’s possible, my brother will be my responsibility. If it’s not possible . . . try not to kill him. He won’t surrender. Honor demands he fulfill the terms of his contract and if he has to be killed to prevent that, our mother will not be pleased.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“Then I will as well.” She nodded toward the anchor. At this distance it looked small and fragile. A tiny rectangle of safety on an alien planet. “Do you see anything?”
“No. Scans say the plateau is empty.”
Torin’s scanner showed a flock of ground-feeding birds, four tiny mammals, seven lizards, and the ubiquitous unnumbered insects. But she allowed his point. Not far from the edge of the jungle, she could see a hole and a pile of dirt. Beyond that, on the forty-five, a fabric shelter holding a few pieces of equipment. Not weapons. Her scanner’s database held no matches. The old Navy VTA was a half kilometer from the anchor which was, in turn, significantly closer to the edge of the cliff than to the jungle. Martin had locked in the lower shields, activating the defensive grid that kept her scanner from reading anything more than a spaceworthy rectangular cube. There was a faint heat signature in one of the upper windows. Probably the closest shooter Martin had to a Mashona—without Mashona’s eyesight or her skill.
Of course, she now had access to the enemy who’d once cracked anchors open. “Your opinion, Santav Dutavar.”
“I don’t understand why he’s keeping the Polint inside.”
“They’re safe inside.”
“They’d be safe outside.”
Not necessarily. They had Mashona. “He could be using them to intimidate the hostages, or to intimidate Werst . . .” She wasn’t sure Werst could be intimidated. “. . . or he doesn’t trust them out of his sight.”
“When we’re bought, we stay bought. It’s a matter of honor.”
“Good to know. He could be using them to intimidate and control Commander Yurrisk and his crew.”
“Martin is working for the commander.”
“Commander Yurrisk can’t afford to keep his ship flying, so he can’t afford mercenaries. Martin’s working for the buyer of that weapon.”
“Why do they need Yurrisk, then?”
“He has a ship. It puts another layer of separation between the buyer and the seller. And it muddies the water when Justice gets involved.”
“My people could also be here to make the water dirty.”
Close enough. “Vertic thinks they’re here to take down Strike Team Alpha.”
Dutavar huffed out a thoughtful, “Good strategy.”
“Not a guarantee.”
“As you say, Warden.”
She gripped his arm. “Go get some food. It’s going to be a long night.”
“Are you . . . ?”
“In a minute. If I stare long enough, I’ll drag Martin outside by force of personality.”
“That’s . . .” His mane lifted. “You’re making a joke.”
Torin raised a brow, then shifted just enough to refocus on the anchor. Dutavar snorted, then started back toward the jungle.
“That was impressive, Gunny.” Firiv’vrak’s approach had been silent, but the odds were high only one thing on 33X73 smelled like cherry candy. “Would you have carried out your threat to take him down?”
Glancing down at the Artek, Torin smiled. “I don’t make threats.”
TEN
“WE ASSUMED A SMALL exploratory expedition, wiped out by a native weapon. Perhaps even accidentally. We were wrong.”
Werst, sitting cross-legged in front of the plastic sheet, weight carefully off the bruises on his left side, froze as he heard the slap of Commander Yurrisk’s feet against the floor, felt the air currents shift as the commander’s arm waved over his head. As it had become clear that “Ressk” had no answers, the commander had grown agitated, muttering and pacing, Qurn’s low voice a constant background hum.
“This data sheet changes everything. The plastic were here to observe the native population. They were discovered and destroyed, but not before compiling a warning that was never retrieved. The natives would have given the weapon that saved them a place of honor. In a temple or a shrine. Protected from the elements.”
“It wasn’t put in stasis,” Werst muttered, rolling his eyes.
“I’m not crazy.” The commander’s breath ghosted against Werst’s ear as he leaned in close. “I know the weapon won’t work, not after all this time. That doesn’t matter. The buyer will take it as is. Pay me for it. Keep us flying. Save my ship. Save my crew.”
Werst suspected the odds were higher that the plastic, when discovered, had wiped out the native population, destroyed the weapon, and left a scorecard behind. Fixated on keeping his ship and crew . . . Werst huffed out a breath. He might as well use what was clearly the relevant word. Fixated on keeping his ship and crew safe, the commander had done minimal research on the planet as a whole. He didn’t know all the planetary populations had disappeared around the same time. Werst could see how genocide wouldn’t have occurred to the scientists, but it sure as shit should have occurred to Robert Martin.
He closed his teeth on a grunt of pain as Commander Yurrisk squeezed the bruise on his shoulder. “If the plastic continues to hold their secrets safe, we need to find the temple by other means.”
“It’s a big city,” Qurn reminded him gently, tugging his hand free.
“Pop quiz: How can we locate specific buildings in under the trees?” Harveer Arniz crossed to Werst with a bowl of food. From the Katrien stores, given the smell. “We can’t,” she continued as his stomach growled. “How many times do we have to go over that?”
Werst heard boots approaching and when Martin’s foot appeared, arcing through his peripheral vision, he gripped Harveer Arniz’s tail with his foot, and dragged her clear.
The food went flying, at least half of it onto Werst’s lap. Harveer Arniz clutched a handful of his overalls and pressed unhurt against his side.
Martin seemed satisfied with the mess. “You don’t eat until you get me some answers.”
“Your finger looks like a sausage,” Werst said, lips off his teeth. “And you wouldn’t like me when I’m hungry.”
“I don’t like you now.”
“Out of his way, Sergeant. Your assistance is not required.” Commander Yurrisk’s voice was ice and iron. “Send the harveer back to her people.” The iron had gone, but the ice remained.
“She should clean up the spilled food first.” Qurn seemed permanently set to calm and supportive. Or to subtle manipulation. Werst hadn’t yet determined which. He’d bet the Primacy had different laws about AI, though. She’d aced that creepy, serene robot thing popular last season on the vids. “When the spilled food has been removed, Warden Ressk can return to work.”
“Doing what?” Zhang asked. When everyone turned to stare, she shrugged. “Just asking. What’s he good for? If he can’t do shit without a slate, and you won’t give him one he can use, it’d make more sense to shoot him, right? Take an enemy out before the fight starts and all that.”
She wasn’t wrong. And she should keep her mouth shut.
“As long as we hold Ressk, we have leverage for negotiations with the Wardens.”
Everyone, including Zhang, turned to stare at Martin.
“What?” He spread his hands. “We’re going to want to leave the anchor eventually.”
Commander Yurrisk nodded. “We can trade him for the weapon.”
Which sounded reasonable except Gunny didn’t have the weapon, wouldn’t go looking for the weapon, and had been instructed not to negotiate with the hostage takers. Martin had to be aware of the first two points and suspect the third. What was he playing at? Seemed he wanted “Ressk” alive for more than his tech abilities. Why?
Too many unanswered questions. Time to double up.
“Commander Yurrisk, sir.” Werst stood, only mildly exaggerating the amount of pain he was in, and stared at a point over the commander’s left shoulder. “When the symbols shifted, I thought I saw a pattern I recognized.”
“You knew the symbols?”
“No, sir, but the pattern looked almost familiar. Like leaves against the sky.” The commander was Krai, he’d understand that. Werst saw a fine tremble run through his body and remembered too late that Commander Yurrisk’s injury denied him the trees.
The commander swayed right, then right again. Swallowed. Shook his head. Turned and vomited into the metal bowl Pyrus held ready. Spat. Straightened. Sareer handed him a pouch of water as Pyrus took the bowl away as quickly and unobtrusively as he’d brought it.
Werst had also forgotten one of the most common side effects of vertigo. Krai didn’t vomit. Krai didn’t waste food. He felt his face heat, embarrassed for Commander Yurrisk, wanting to shield him from the non-Krai in the room.
“Unless there’s something on the wall I should know about, look me in the face, Marine.”
To Werst’s surprise, the commander’s eyes were clear and focused. As though physically hitting bottom had reset his mind. “Sir.”
“Will you know the pattern if you see it again?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then back to it, and keep me informed.”
“Yes, sir.” He turned back to the plastic, aware of Qurn studying him. Seemed like she had a thing for Krai. He could understand that.
As he sat, carefully avoiding the last of the spilled food, Commander Yurrisk informed Martin that he wanted Malinowski to report any movement on the plateau so that they could begin the negotiations.
“She was sent up there to shoot . . .”
“Her orders have changed. There are six Wardens on a Strike Team. We have one. Leaving five to face us. If their pilot stayed with the shuttle, four. As long as we remain in the anchor, we’re safe. They have to negotiate.”
No, they didn’t. Werst let the conversation fade to background as he eased himself back down, crossed his legs, and slid the slate out of his pocket.
Harveer Arniz moved closer, tossing a wet cloth into the empty bowl. “Those are my overalls, Warden, and you’ve made a mess of them.”
“Hey, you made the . . .” Her expression wouldn’t have been out of place on any Corps DI. “Sorry.” He picked a soft square of noodle off his thigh and ate it, sliding the slate into the matching pocket on her lower leg, mouthing Ganes before saying, “At least they’re waterproof.
”
Inner lids flickered across her eyes. “Not my point.”
Before she turned to go, she touched his cheek with her tongue.
“We’re hard to see at the best of times if we’re not specifically being targeted. In the dark, with no one aware we’re here, I could stroll to the VTA.”
“We.”
Firiv’vrak’s antennae flattened. “You’re not coming with me.”
“I am.” Keeleeki’ka’s translation sounded smug, and she smelled of acetone. “I’m learning your story now.”
“No . . .”
Torin cut her off. “Unfortunately, the reasons for not leaving Keeleeki’ka on our VTA still stand.”
Even the clack of Firiv’vrak’s mandibles sounded peeved. “We have to humor her because of her political position.”
“Close enough.”
“I’m standing right here,” Keeleeki’ka muttered. But the smell of acetone began to fade.
Torin shifted in order to meet as many of Keeleeki’ka’s eyes as possible. “You will obey Firiv’vrak in the field. Agreed?”
“Agreed.”
“Firiv’vrak, you will treat Keeleeki’ka as a comrade in arms. Agreed?”
The biscuit Firiv’vrak held cracked. Neither Artek had eaten much. They ate their own dead, so Torin assumed they’d been living off the land. “Agreed. Although I’m not a story.”
The smell of acetone grew stronger. “Everyone’s a story.”
*I are agreeing and as I are recording you eating and talking and not accomplishing anything, we are going to consider this the extended personal interest segment.*
“It can’t all be thrilling runs through the jungle, Presit.”
*Trust me, Gunnery Sergeant Kerr, except for when you are having been attacked, the running are not being especially thrilling. Dalan are having to edit extensively. I are thinking, montage.*
They’d settled to eat on the cleared road where they had full three-sixty visuals, however limited in distance some angles might be. Overhead, the break in the canopy allowed them to see the sky. Torin checked her cuff. Still sixty-one minutes to sunset, twenty-three minutes after that to full dark. Unless this turned into a siege, one way or another they’d be done before the moons rose. She turned back to the Artek, who smelled of heated milk and were ignoring each other. “You’re sure you can get into the shuttle if Beyver’s locked the door behind him?”
