A Peace Divided

by Tanya Huff

  Firiv’vrak waved her arms. “Not my first boarding party, Gunny. That’s a CFN223 VTA. I’m sure I can get into it.”

  “Good.” For values of the word relevant to present need. The past could stay in the past—and considering the weight she continued to carry, Torin was aware of the hypocrisy of that thought. “Once in, secure Beyvek before he gives the alert. Then shut down the implant search pattern so that Alamber can return to cracking the mercenaries’ slates.”

  “Do we even need to disrupt their communications?” Binti gestured with a protein stick. “They’re all inside. They can shout.”

  *Once I get into a slate that contains the anchor codes, I can control the anchor’s defenses.*

  “He can open the door,” Bertecnic snickered.

  *If the door prevents us from accessing the interior, it’s a defense.*

  “Yeah, but I thought that was Werst’s job.”

  *I can let him open the door. Make him feel useful. But once I’m into the emergency evacuation protocols, I can pop the window shields.*

  Vertic leaned in, although Alamber was eight kilometers away in the other direction. “What good will that do?”

  *Time it right, and it’s mercenary flat packs.*

  *You are not being permitted to be killing indiscrimin . . .*

  “He knows, Presit. We can use it as a distraction. Firiv’vrak, when you’ve taken the shuttle, open a private channel to Craig.”

  *Fair go that, between us, we can get anything in the air.*

  “We don’t need it in the air.” Every pilot Torin had ever met assumed that if it flew, they could fly it. Given what she’d seen both Craig and Firiv’vrak do, in this case, they might be right. “We need to know if there’s anything on board we can use against the anchor and you need to hold it in case of an attempted escape—where hold it means lock the hatch. Craig can talk you through how to keep it secure in case of an attempted breach.”

  “I have successfully breached the CFN223 . . .”

  “So you said . . .” Past in the past. “. . . but this time you’re on the other side. Now, about the anchor. The upper windows are uncovered, but if we approach across the plateau, they’ll pick us off. Cover enough for an Artek is not cover enough for the rest of us.”

  *Just one shooter so far, Gunny.* Ressk waited at the edge of the plateau, keeping watch. Closer to Werst.

  “Glad to hear it.” She caught the pouch of coffee Binti threw her. “Precedent says mercenaries don’t spend their money on helmets.”

  “Can’t use a helmet to kill someone,” Freenim noted.

  Torin caught herself waiting for Werst to disagree. She doubted anyone else had noticed the pause. “Probably the reason. This lot seems typical.” There’d been no visible helmets in the hours of images the DLs had acquired. “We’ll assume there’s still scanners in the VTA and they haven’t been sold for fuel or food or air, but the Artek throw a minimal heat signature.” It had given them an advantage infiltrating Confederation positions during the war. Sh’quo Company hadn’t run into a lot of them, but Gamma Company in Sector Nine had specific, Artek-generated profanity. “Once the Artek are on board, they won’t be a problem for the rest of us. The anchor has external security cameras. Once we’re in range, we’re committed, so they have to be taken out.”

  “That’s me,” Binti acknowledged.

  “But they know we’re coming.” Merinim scooped a brown gelatinous glob out of a pouch and licked it off her fingers. “They’ll have prepared.”

  “They don’t know we have Primacy assistance.”

  “So they think there’s five of you out here?” Dutavar shook his head. “No offense intended, Warden, but they have a secured location. What do they think a single Strike Team can do?”

  “So far everything we’ve been sent to do.” Binti spread her arms. “We’re just that good.” She shrugged as Torin cocked a brow in her direction. “Well, we are.”

  Slate balanced on her thigh, Torin pulled up the map of the plateau and surrounding area. Adjusting the angle, she zoomed in on the cliff. “Durlan, could the Polint move at speed along this ridge . . .” She traced it with a finger. “. . . from the edge of the jungle as far as this diagonal crack?”

  Vertic stretched her upper body out toward Torin’s leg and cocked her head, vertical pupils open wide. It wasn’t a large image. “I wouldn’t risk the section three meters lower or anything closer to the waterfall, but that upper ridge, that’s easy enough.”

  “Can it be done while carrying Ressk?”

  She took another look at the ridge. “Given his flexibility, yes.”

  *The infirmary window?*

  “The infirmary window,” Torin agreed. “It’s on the far side of the anchor, and they know we’re coming in from the jungle.”

  Freenim nodded. “They don’t think we can reach it without being seen.”

  “That, and smarter people than Martin have forgotten to include the infirmary in their battle plan, fixated on how they’ll need it later. Ressk will slip into the second floor and deal with the shooters unless Mashona’s already neutralized them. Once they’re out of the picture, Ressk, get to Werst. Dutavar, Bertecnic, you’ll be making the run.”

  “No,” Vertic protested, rearing back. “I won’t be left behind. And I’ve already carried Krai, just like Bertecnic. All three of us go, or Dutavar stays.”

  Torin met her gaze. “Dutavar has military kit. That means military strapping and that’s safer for Ressk. He’s the best shot of the three of you and the security cameras on the rear of the building need to be taken out. His coloring also provides the best camouflage, although Bertecnic is dark enough that he’s unlikely to be seen. You’re bright.”

  “Bright?”

  “Gorgeous,” Binti told her. “But visible. Any small amount of light will just bounce off all that gold.”

  “It’s possible you were never chosen for a night infiltration during the war,” Freenim said quietly. “You’d have been sprayed dark. My unit durlan, who had similar coloring, hated it, and opted out when she could.”

  “Dutavar flickers.” Firiv’vrak rose up so her eyes were even with Vertic’s. “Although as our vision combines multiple images, that could be us. In the dark, Bertecnic blends. You glow.”

  Vertic sighed, settling her bulk back down in the cradle of her legs. “But I’m not staying behind because of my coloring, am I?”

  “No,” Torin told her, the memory of Vertic’s rank, the habits of a lifetime keeping the cutting edge off her voice. “You’re staying behind because I say so. There’s three young male Polint in the anchor. What happens if you call to them?”

  “Call? Unless they’re standing in the upper windows, we’ll have to amplify my voice to be heard inside, so . . . nothing. Even if Alamber sends it through their slates, nothing. But,” she continued before Torin could speak, “face-to-face is different. In the presence of a female who hasn’t gathered, at best, biology will negate the contracts, they’ll switch sides and turn on my enemies to impress me. It’s more likely, though, that they’ll be confused and, therefore, easier to take down.” Vertic shrugged and unwrapped another food pack. “As I said . . .” She nodded at Dutavar, who tossed his head, his mane up. “. . . not many of our males make Santav Teffer.”

  “Then you need to be out front where they can see you. You two . . .” Torin pointed at Dutavar and Bertecnic. “. . . will take them from behind.”

  *I always miss the good stuff,* Alamber muttered.

  Vertic ignored him. “How will they see me if they’re inside?”

  “If you’re right,” Torin told her, “and they’re here to take me down, I’ll present myself for the taking to draw them out.”

  “Present yourself?” Freenim asked in the dry, matter-of-fact tone common to senior NCOs addressing officers they felt were about to commit stupidity.
>
  Torin didn’t appreciate it being used on her. “I’ll offer to negotiate for the hostages.”

  “Your Justice Department has ordered you not to negotiate.”

  “The mercenaries don’t know that. They’re trapped. It’s logical we’d offer them a way out.”

  “And then you’ll betray them?”

  “Yes.” She raised a brow when Freenim laughed.

  “You didn’t pause before you answered,” he explained.

  “Makes more sense they’d shoot you, though.” Binti shrugged as all attention turned to her. “Well, it does.”

  “Not a problem.” Attention turned back to Torin. “Ressk will be in the anchor by then and will have taken out their shooters. And if he hasn’t . . .”

  *So little faith, Gunny.*

  “If he hasn’t . . .” Torin repeated, then fell silent as another piece fell into place. She was good, she knew that, but there were Marines who were better. Martin could have stacked the deck with numbers alone and had an easier time of it than going to the trouble of finding and hiring the Polint. “If I’m killed by members of the Primacy, that could crack the peace.”

  Vertic ran a claw between two flagstones. “Think highly of yourself, Gunny?”

  *She are not needing to—although I are also believing she does. Gunnery Sergeant Torin Kerr are being the face of the peace for much of the Confederation. Her death may not be starting the shooting again, but it are going to be affecting the current talks, there are not being a question of that.*

  *And who wants the war to continue,* Craig muttered. *Those who manufacture the weapons. Who manufactures the weapons in this sector . . .*

  “Anthony Justin Marteau.” The military industrial complex was huge, but MI made weapons and weapons couldn’t be repurposed.

  *I know you liked him.*

  “I’ve liked assholes before.”

  He laughed. *True enough.*

  “And it’s all circumstantial so far.”

  *No smoke without fire.*

  “That’s not . . .”

  *Torin, let me have my moment.*

  “The moment is yours, Warden Ryder.” Torin turned her attention back to Vertic. “Once the Polint emerge to go after me, you advance and scramble their perceptions while Dutavar and Bertecnic come around the building and join the fight. Freenim, Merinim, and I will slip inside before the door closes again.” She turned further until she faced Dutavar and Bertecnic. “How fast can the two of you cover the distance to the cliff if you’re out in the edge growth where it’s open enough to run?”

  Dutavar rubbed at one of the larger patches of orange fur on his hip. “It’s about five kilometers . . . eight minutes.”

  “Give or take,” Bertecnic agreed.

  Both Artek made a speculative sound, and Keeleeki’ka clicked, “Fast.”

  Freenim shook his head. “We’re lighter. Closer to the weight of the Ner. It should be one of us instead of Ressk.”

  “Can you get up that diagonal crack, balance on Dutavar’s shoulders, then jump for a second-story window?” He frowned and Torin added, “I don’t ask rhetorical questions, Durlave Kan.”

  “We can.” He blinked. Exchanged a speaking look with Merinim. “But not easily.” The corners of his mouth twitched up. “Point taken. Ressk’s the better choice.”

  “Dutavar hasn’t carried Krai before.” Bertecnic emptied a handful of nuts into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. “We can switch harnesses. I can do it.”

  “You’re too big for my harness.”

  *You’re not wrong.*

  “Alamber.” Torin pulled the heat tab on a second coffee pouch. “Thank you for offering, Bertecnic, but Dutavar carries Ressk.”

  Bertecnic shrugged. “Happy to make the run without being weighed down by Ressk’s fat ass, Gunny.”

  Ressk’s muttered announcement that he was going to tie Bertecnic’s tail in knots was indistinct enough, Torin ignored it.

  “Mashona finds a perch . . .” Binti flicked a sloppy salute in Torin’s direction. “. . . and the rest of us make for the tent.”

  “Tent’s lousy cover, Gunny.”

  “If they don’t know we’re there, they won’t shoot at it. Incentive to get to it quickly. Also, as you say, a tent’s lousy cover, they won’t expect us to use it—we’re known to be smarter than that. It’ll put us closer to the anchor, coming in at an angle they won’t expect.”

  “If everything goes in our favor.” When Torin glanced over at Freenim, he laughed again. “Never mind. Plans. Combat. Improvise. It’s a theme.”

  “Once Ressk’s inside, his implant will be blocked. How do we coordinate aggression?” Vertic shifted her foreleg to the left and began digging on the other side of the flagstone she’d uncovered. “What if the slates are blocked as well?”

  “Then we trust Ressk to do his job . . .”

  *I take out the shooters, I free Werst. Werst goes Marine Corps on their asses.*

  “. . . and we act accordingly.”

  Torin glanced at her cuff. “Sunset in seventeen.” She swept her gaze around the team. “Pack up. Firiv’vrak?”

  “Heading out, Gunny.” She folded in her arms and rose. “I’ll send Ressk back and wait on your word to go.”

  “We will send Ressk back,” Keeleeki’ka corrected, scrambling into place by Firiv’vrak’s side. “And your story will go on.”

  “Joy,” Firiv’vrak muttered as they disappeared into the underbrush, leaving a lingering odor of wet dog and cinnamon.

  Martin paced across the common room adjusting his path to intercept any movement, enjoying the scramble out of his way. His reputation, like that of most bullies, had been built on air; if not constantly reinforced, it disappeared. He was, however, staying away from the hostages, and showing more control than Werst had expected him to, so . . . points for being a mature asshole.

  “Sergeant!”

  When Martin stopped in front of Commander Yurrisk, Werst shifted to keep both of them in his peripheral vision.

  “I want Lieutenant Beyvek back in the anchor where it’s safe.”

  “I told him to return after blocking their implant frequency. Seems he hasn’t managed that yet.” As the commander opened his mouth, Martin cut him off. “Disrupting the Wardens’ communications will keep us all safe.”

  “You don’t think the Wardens can work around such a minor disruption? These Wardens?”

  Credit where due, the commander’s dismissive tone made Martin’s sound petulant.

  “I think we need to cut them off from their VTA so that they can’t put it in play at the last minute. And, yeah,” Martin cut off the commander’s response, “they’ve got slates, but the time it takes to activate a com unit is time we can use.”

  “That’s not a good enough reason to risk a life, Sergeant.”

  “How is he at risk?”

  “He’s not here. With me.” Yurrisk unclipped his slate. “I’m bringing him back.”

  “At this time, it would be more dangerous for him to cross to the anchor.” Qurn gripped Commander Yurrisk’s arm and spoke loudly enough to be overheard. Werst had no doubt the volume increase was deliberate. She wanted him to hear her. “If the sniper you told me of is in position, he’ll never make it. Beyvek is in a VTA behind a secured air lock.”

  “I should have kept him here.” The commander’s lips were off his teeth when he turned his attention back to Martin. “You said he’d be back in minutes!”

  “He should’ve been, but we grabbed the wrong Warden. That di’Taykan of theirs is clearly better with tech than the . . .”

  Werst heard tree fukker in the pause. Wondered what would happen if Commander Yurrisk heard it, too.

  “. . . one we have.”

  The commander’s eyes narrowed, and he stared at Martin for a long moment. “If anything
happens to Lieutenant Beyvek, you will answer for it, Sergeant Martin.”

  “As you say.” Martin pivoted on a heel and stomped back toward the plastic. “And what do you think about grabbing the di’Taykan?” He slammed his knee against Werst’s shoulder.

  Werst rocked sideways, sucking air through his teeth at the sharp flash of pain. He’d fought through pain before. A twist and a snap and he could hamstring the asshole. Couldn’t bite through the combats covering his legs, but he could crush and tear and not have to fill his mouth with Martin’s blood. Tempting.

  “Evidence suggests he’s not as useless as you are.”

  Did Martin expect Ressk to straighten and declare, “I’ll show you who’s useless,” then solve the mystery to prove Martin wrong?

  “So who fuks the di’Taykan? Everyone or just Kerr? Got to be everyone, right? He’s di’Taykan. Of course . . .” Martin slammed Werst’s shoulder again. Werst ground his teeth and thought about yanking tendons off bone. “. . . Humans are amazing in the sack, so maybe Kerr’s enough for him. She fuk you, too?”

  “No time,” Werst snapped, nostril ridges flaring and closing as he breathed through the line of fire that spread out from the continuing impact of Martin’s knee with his shoulder. “She’s too busy cleaning up Human stupidity.”

  “What?”

  “But she appreciates you removing the apostrophe,” Werst sneered. “Misplaced apostrophes really piss her off.”

  “Yeah, well, fuk her. Yeah, fuk Gunnery Sergeant Torin Kerr and her whole shit-doesn’t-stink life.” His finger stopped just short of Werst’s chest and was withdrawn significantly faster as Werst curled his lips back off his teeth. “She needs to pace herself. We’ve changed more than the apostrophe.”

  Bam. They hadn’t suspected Humans First because of the species purity party line. Looks like they were wrong. “So what’s with the Polint?”