by Tanya Huff
Trembley staggered across the infirmary in underwear and bandages.
“Where the hell are you going?” Ganes demanded, grabbing his arm.
“To help.” Trembley pulled free.
“Who?”
“The Warden!”
Ganes had no choice but to trust him; he couldn’t follow him out the door.
Werst forced the access hatch open to see Harveer Arniz hanging on Martin’s arm, wrapped around arm and KC both, preventing him from shooting again. Her tail flailed at his groin. She hadn’t made contact yet, but it was only a matter of time.
Some of the hostages were screaming, some weeping. Most were bleeding.
Head, arm, and one shoulder were out of the hatch. His implant was still fukked even though he could see the gleam of Vertic’s fur outside the anchor.
Martin stopped trying to shake Arniz off and reached around to his back with his free hand. “This wasn’t meant for you,” he snarled. His hand dwarfed whatever he’d pulled from his waistband. Werst didn’t recognize what he held until he fired four rounds into Arniz’s body. Then he fought harder to get free as Martin flung her across the room, arms, legs, and tail flopping.
Mirish moved quietly down the hall to the door of the Niln’s nest room, any noise her boots may have made drowned out by sounds of the fight. She raised her weapon, took a moment to aim, and fired.
Watching from just inside the infirmary, Ganes had nothing to throw, no way to take her down before she fired again. By the time he found something, the Warden and Trembley would both be dead.
He was screaming when he slammed into her, his hand half a meter behind him on the floor.
Werst had nearly worked himself free when Commander Yurrisk threw himself toward one of the open windows, nostril ridges closed, teeth bared. One step, two. He seemed to hang for a moment, then he dropped. And twitched.
Martin reached down, grabbed an arm, and flung the commander up over one shoulder. He fired the KC hanging from his other shoulder one-handed, then ran for the window.
Qurn sprinted across the room, scooped up the rolled data sheet, and followed.
Teeth clenched, Werst was halfway across the room, sure he could catch her given the weight of the plastic, when his implant pinged.
Out on the plateau, he saw Tehaven rear. Saw Qurn maneuvering her awkward burden through the fight. Druin were stronger than he’d thought—stronger than Freenim and Merinim had let on, and he’d have words to say about that later—but their spines were much like Human spines. He could break Qurn’s neck if he could get close enough.
He could . . .
He ran for Harveer Arniz instead, tonguing his implant as he dropped to his knees beside her. “Gunny, Martin is heading for the VTA. He has Commander Yurrisk.”
Torin changed course again, tense muscles loosening at the sound of Werst’s voice. “Has Commander Yurrisk?”
*The Commander’s unconscious. We need Ryder in the air ten minutes ago. Martin fired on the hostages before he ran.*
*On my way!*
“How many down?”
*Most of them.*
The shuttle’s medical facilities, as good as they were, wouldn’t be enough.
Torin tongued her implant. “CC 882Alpha Override.”
She passed an Artek fighting a Krai. Had to be Sareer, the others were accounted for.
*Strike Team Lead Warden Kerr, contact by implant is against regulations. That code should not be in your possession.*
Alamber had thought differently. Torin had agreed with him. “Get down here, now.” The red Polint, Netro-whatever, was on the ground with Vertic’s forefoot on his throat. “We have multiple civilian casualties.”
*Regulations keep this one in orbit until . . .*
“Now. Or their deaths are on your head.”
*You are not able to accuse this one of . . .*
A deeper, familiar voice broke in and Torin remembered a Dornagain rising up out of a well, an enemy in each hand. Finds Truth Through Inquiry, like others of her species, knew where the lines were drawn. *Detaching in ten, Warden Kerr. We’re on the way.*
Martin was almost to the VTA.
Torin lengthened her stride.
“Gunny!” Firiv’vrak came up beside her, one arm stretched out, flexible digits holding an oval shape the size of Torin’s palm. “Boarding pass. You didn’t see it and I never gave it to you.”
Torin snatched it out of the air as Firiv’vrak put on speed, her wedge-shaped body aimed at the running Druin carrying the plastic roll.
Werst had his palm pressed over a sucking chest wound when Merinim dropped to her knees by his side, sealant in hand.
“I’ve got this,” she said. “Ressk is upstairs!”
Torin saw the Druin brace herself and swing the roll as Firiv’vrak caught up. The blow flipped the Artek over onto her back. A second blow slammed her into Torin, cutting her feet out from under her. Head tucked in, Torin landed on her shoulder, rolled, snapped her helmet off leaving the strap tangled in Firiv’vrak’s legs, and got back onto her feet. Her uniform stiffened around her knee.
Martin, Commander Yurrisk over his shoulder, had reached the VTA’s ramp. The Druin wasn’t far behind.
She could hit them, hit both of them. Full auto, she couldn’t miss. But she wasn’t Binti Mashona. She couldn’t guarantee she wouldn’t kill them.
So tempting.
She hit the override on her cuff, turning the support for her twisted knee off, gritted her teeth, and ran.
Dr. Ganes and Mirish fought silently, rolling about on the hall floor. Ganes seemed to have the upper hand so Werst leaped over them, slamming Mirish’s head into the floor with a foot as he passed.
He landed on Malinowski’s shoulders, wrapped his feet around her neck, drove his elbows into her temples, and jumped clear as she began to fall. Ressk had Zhang half buried under bedding, but she continued to fight.
The di’Taykan, Pyrus, had curled up in a corner, head down on his raised knees. He was mumbling in Taykan, the same words over and over, and Werst suspected the fight had sent him back to the Paylent. His weapon was nowhere in sight. Not good, although it would have to do for now.
Zhang caught Ressk under the ribs with a boot heel. He grunted and fell back.
Werst took his place and grabbed her ankle. Yanking her in close, he blocked a blow to the side of his head, and, as she flailed, choked her out.
Ressk sat up, nostril ridges slowly opening. “I had that.”
“You’re bleeding.” His right sleeve dripped onto a pillow.
“Not mine. It’s . . .” His eyes widened and he scrambled up onto his feet and off the nest.
Werst followed to find him on his knees beside Trembley, two fingers pressed into the young Human’s throat. “Ressk . . .”
“It was a single shot!”
“The back of his head’s gone.”
“Fuk.”
Too late for the ramp, Torin jumped for the shuttle door, feet splayed awkwardly, boots magged. She slapped the thing Firiv’vrak had given her against the control panel, hundreds of tiny, flexible filaments slipping between the cracks.
Chasing Martin was low priority—way below rescue the hostages, avoid an incident that could cause another war, and arrest as many of the mercenaries as possible. But C&C was on its way down. If any Confederation/Primacy interaction on 33X73 had caused a renewal of war, that renewal had to have been planned in advance, and if she was with Martin, that would prioritize pursuit.
Although she didn’t want Martin as much as she wanted Martin’s employer. Someone had paid to send a crew of mercenaries after the ancient H’san weapons, playing on Major Sujuno’s desperation. Someone had paid mercenaries to accompany the DeCaal to retrieve another ancient weapon, playing on Commander Yurrisk’s desperation.
The corr
elations could be coincidence.
Could be the same someone.
Someone she needed to stop before more of the broken were further damaged, before more innocents died. Before the war started again.
*Gunnery Sergeant Kerr!* Vertic hadn’t forgotten how to command. *Let it go! That’s an order!
Torin had spent most of her adult life following orders. Good orders. Bad orders. She’d taken comfort in knowing she didn’t have to be responsible for the larger picture, that she could deal with the details that allowed her to complete the mission and bring her people home alive. A comfort she sometimes missed.
*Gunnery Sergeant Kerr!*
“Warden Kerr,” she replied, as the lights turned green and she forced the hatch open far enough for her to slide into the air lock. “And I’m doing my job.”
ELEVEN
TORIN FOUGHT TO KEEP the outer hatch of the air lock open, but without something strong enough to stand up to the force of its closing, she didn’t stand a chance. She could remember arguments among Marine air support—the dangers of a door that couldn’t be operated manually versus the dangers of a door that could. In the end, instinct had won as much as reason. A closed door was safer.
She stepped back as the clamps engaged and the light turned red again, turned, and felt the deck begin to vibrate under her boots.
Martin had started the engine.
Swearing, she dove for the inner hatch. Locked.
She’d left Firiv’vrak’s boarding pass attached outside.
The sudden surge up into the air almost dropped her to her knees. Hand slapped flat against the bulkhead, she managed to stay standing long enough that sitting became her choice. Knees up, boots magged to the deck, the pressure of her back against the bulkhead would keep her secure.
They’d cracked her jaw when she made Gunny and the implant upgrade that had made it possible for her to order C&C to the ground should have made it possible for her to contact her team even inside an ex-Navy air lock, on her way off planet. Should have. Didn’t.
The block had been lifted off Werst’s implant when the Druin-in-red had carried the plastic data sheet out of the anchor. Carried it all the way to the shuttle.
“Fukking plastic.” She let her head fall back and bounce once. Once more for the amount of trouble the plastic had been responsible for—where trouble meant not only centuries of carnage, but the discussion she’d be having later with Craig. He’d understand the situation, he understood the job; the lack of communication, not so much.
The inside of the air lock wore familiar patterns of wear—scuffs and dents in the matte-gray metal made by boots and equipment and people in too much of a hurry to be as careful as they should. The air smelled like the air on the plateau with undernotes of sweat and grime and age. Part of her found it reassuring, familiar.
The greater part of her wanted to write up the maintenance crew.
Unless the shuttle was in worse repair than it appeared or Martin was an idiot—both possible—he had to know she was there. On the one hand, he couldn’t space her. Safety protocols would keep the outer hatch closed so long as sensors read life signs.
On the other hand, when the inner hatch opened, he’d be ready for her.
On yet another hand, at least he hadn’t gotten away.
“What happened to your voice?”
Werst touched the scar on his throat. “Got put back together by an engineer. Everything works. You okay?”
“I’m good. He . . .” Ressk nodded down at Trembley. “. . . got that one . . .” He jerked a thumb at Malinowski. “. . . off me. He didn’t have a hope in hell of taking her out, but he gave me enough time to get a couple of solid hits in on the other one.”
There was a bruise rising on Ressk’s cheek. Werst sketched the edges with his thumb. “Chirtric dirin avirrk to take on all three.”
“Fuk you.” But he was grinning, so Werst counted it a win. “It was just Pyrus at first, the other two came out of nowhere. If Trembley hadn’t . . .”
“Yeah.”
“He was injured.”
“Yeah.” Werst held out a hand for half of Ressk’s zip-ties and knelt to secure Malinowski. “Deal with Zhang.”
Ressk shoved her over onto her back. “What do we do with Pyrus?”
The words the di’Taykan continued to repeat sounded like denial.
“Hang on.” When Werst got to the window, the fighting was over. “Mashona! Where’s Gunny?” He couldn’t raise her implant.
“On the shuttle. She went after Martin.”
*Of course, she did,* Craig muttered as he set their VTA down on the plateau.
*Her helmet are showing only dirt.*
*Of course, it is.*
“Fine. Plan B. How sane is Sareer?” Held by two Artek, she wouldn’t be happy. Werst didn’t care about her mood.
“How are we to determine sanity without a basis of comparison?”
He thought that was Keeleeki’ka. At this distance, in the artificial light spilling from the anchor, it was hard to tell. “Mashona!”
“Fine. Whatever. It’s not like I don’t have things to do.” Binti jogged over, bent down, and jumped back as Sareer snapped at her. “She’s fine. Why?”
“Pyrus is back on the Paylent.”
Sareer’s gaze snapped up to meet Werst’s. Turned out she had an extensive profane vocabulary. In multiple languages.
“True what they say about sailors,” Ressk muttered.
Binti grinned although Werst wasn’t sure if it was at Ressk’s comment or the profanity. Now the implants were working again, it could’ve been either. “I’ll bring her up.”
“What do we do with Trembley?”
Werst grabbed a piece of fabric out of the nest and dropped it over the corpse. “Gunny’s got body bags. When she gets back, we’ll treat him like a Marine.”
Both Commander Ganes and Mirish were unconscious, sprawled across the doorway. They rolled the commander carefully onto his back and, while Ressk secured Mirish, Werst retrieved the commander’s severed hand.
“Snack time?” Binti asked coming up the stairs behind Sareer.
“He’s Navy.” The wrist had been cauterized. Good. Well, good unless all the heat had cooked the interior. It didn’t smell cooked. Werst ran for the infirmary, tossed the hand into the empty stasis chamber and hit start. The things were supposed to be idiot proof.
Back out in the hall, Binti and Sareer stood waiting for Ressk to get out of their way. He kept spraying sealant on Ganes’ stump—although it had to have cauterized, too—and refused to move.
“It wasn’t supposed to go this far,” Sareer whispered as Werst crossed to stand behind his bonded.
He closed his hand on Ressk’s shoulder, thumb stroking the skin of his bonded’s throat. “It never is,” he said.
Arniz blinked awake, not entirely certain of where she was. Her unintentional naps weren’t usually painful. Though, to be fair, the pain was distant. Muted.
Inner lids slipped across dark eyes on the pale face above her. The clothes were black, not red. Another Druin. A different Druin. “Who are you?” Her voice sounded strange, slurred. Had she been eating rizkins? She didn’t think so. Her mouth tasted of copper, not mint.
The Druin cupped her cheek, gently moving her head. “I suppose that right now, I’m a Warden.”
“I see.” She didn’t. This Druin wasn’t speaking Federate. The voice Arniz understood came from the Druin’s slate. Also, her tail hurt. A lot. She shifted and hissed.
“It may be broken. I’m sorry, I don’t know anything about tails.”
“Why would you?” Frowning hurt, too. “Did we crash?”
“No.” The Druin blinked again. “You were shot.”
And it all came rushing back. “Martin.”
“Yes.”
“That k
i seewin!” Arniz assumed the noise the Druin made was a chuckle. “One of your people was with Yurrisk.”
“I know.” The Druin’s hands were bloody. The air tasted of death.
Arniz tried to reach out, but couldn’t move her arm. “Why?”
“Why was one of my people with Commander Yurrisk? We don’t . . .”
At first Arniz thought the roar was in her head. When the Druin prevented her from thrashing, she realized it was a shuttle landing very close to the anchor. It took her a moment to recognize the higher pitched foreground noise as Salitwisi yelling about the planet being a Class 2 Designate.
She sighed. And had trouble breathing in again.
“. . . Niln with internal dam . . .”
“More than . . .”
“. . . many dead?”
“. . . two stasis pods upstairs.” Arniz knew that voice. It was Ressk. The Warden. “Get Arniz into one. Get Lows into the other. The dead can move on.”
“In the sun,” she whispered. The Druin leaned in. “Her name is Dzar. Put her in the sun.”
“We can do that. We’re going to immobilize and move you upstairs now.”
The spray tasted of jasmine. A Human-sourced plant originally, it had become a noxious weed in northern parts of the Niln homeworld. Too many of them loved the scent to be thorough about eradica . . .
“Because we have a landing pad that was specially designed for landing on. I don’t care if you’re Wardens. I wouldn’t care if you were the original inhabitants come back from an extended vacation! The shuttle goes on the pad!” Salitwisi sounded one extended vowel away from hysteria. Arniz wasn’t entirely unsympathetic.
“I miss being unconscious,” she sighed. The stretcher shifted. She didn’t remember being put onto a stretcher. “Can you put me out again?” she asked the Druin as Salitwisi declared he and only he would keep his hand on his ancillary’s wound.
