by Tanya Huff
“Yes, sir.”
“Long, but better than the alternative.”
Interesting emphasis on the last word. Torin thought back to their conversation in the gym and wondered if the major believed the Elder Races had placed a saboteur in the Corps. Or, because the possibility made her so furious, was she reading more into his tone than was there?
“Is there any chance Staff Sergeant Beyhn, not being in his right mind—or at least his usual mind—is responsible for what happened at the node?”
“I’m not ruling anyone out, sir.”
“From now on, no one goes anywhere alone. Tell the sergeants it’s for the troops’ own safety—which has the added benefit of being the truth.”
“Yes, sir.”
“So . . .” He straightened and grinned. “When you say you haven’t ruled anyone out, are you on your list, Gunny?”
She returned the grin and pretended she didn’t notice the way his left hand was trembling. “That would be ridiculous, sir.”
* * *
“Gunny?”
“Private Cho.” Torin moved out and around rather than under one of the big evergreens, scanning the dark recesses between the branches as she went. They were an hour out from the node and still no energy readings. She was beginning to think that McGuinty’s massive power surge had grounded the drones.
“Do you think we’ll make Dunstan Mills tonight?”
“Yes.”
A few paces more, then a tentative protest from the Marine on her left.
“Don’t you mean that if we’re lucky, we’ll make Dunstan Mills tonight?”
“Afraid I’ll call bad luck down on us, Stevens?”
“No, Gunnery Sergeant! We make our own luck in the Corps!”
Had to be said, but Torin was just as happy she hadn’t had to say it.
* * *
“It are surprising to be seeing you here, Mr. Ryder.” Presit a Tur durValintrisy smiled up at the waitress, her teeth a flash of pointed white within the dark fur of her muzzle, and wrapped a small hand around the pinched waist of her glass. Against the glossy black of her fingers, her nails looked like they’d been chromed. “I are not knowing there are salvage out by Rosenee.”
“There isn’t,” Craig told her, shooting a smile of his own at the waitress. What’s a couple of battlers like us doing in a place like this? it asked her. When she set his beer down, her breasts pressed against his shoulder. Tactile sympathy.
Presit cleared her throat, the sound not quite an impatient growl. “Then this important story we are needing to talk about are not being about salvage?”
“It’s not, it’s . . .”
“Good. Because I are knowing nothing about salvage.” She stroked her whiskers, left side then the right. “So when I are getting your message that you are here at Rosenee and you are needing to be talking about an important story with me, I are not imagining what you are needing to be talking with me about.”
“Big Yellow.”
Her exaggerated shock was so perfect—both hands in the air, her eyes wide, ears up and swiveled forward, the tip of her tongue very pink against dark lips—that Craig forgot how much he disliked the chattering little furball and actually laughed.
“Yeah, okay, I get it, you’re not surprised.” He took a drink—whoever was brewing the local beer had half an idea of what they were doing—set the glass back on the table, and leaned forward although between the ambient noise and minimal volume the Katrien’s acute hearing required there was little chance he’d be overheard. Presit paused, a piece of skewed fruit from her cocktail halfway to her mouth, and leaned in to meet him. “I hauled ass out here beyond the black stump,” he said, “because we need to speak about the escape pod.”
Then he waited.
“Why?” she asked and ate the fruit.
“You remember the escape pod?”
Even in the minimal illumination of the bar, the silver edging the dark fur of her shoulders rippled with highlights as she sat back and plucked another skewer of fruit out of her drink. “Oh, yes, I are just saying to myself this morning, I are wondering what are happening to that escape pod from Big Yellow.” Presit sighed heavily, ate the fruit, and fixed him with a flat, black stare. “I are remembering the escape pod,” she told him, her tone suggesting he get to the point. “Why?”
“You didn’t mention it in your broadcasts.”
“You are having seen my broadcasts. How sweet.” Chromed claws stroked through her whiskers again. “I are not mentioning the escape pod in my broadcasts because General Morris are been asking me not to, in return he—and the military—are guaranteeing me exclusive rights when the story are breaking.”
“No one remembers the escape pod.”
She sighed. “No one remembers because it are never mentioned on vids.”
“People who were there don’t remember.”
Her nails sounded metallic against the plastic table. “You are remembering. I are remembering.”
“Yeah, and Gunnery Sergeant Kerr are . . .” He fought his way out of the Katrien syntax and started again. “Gunnery Sergeant Kerr remembers. No one else.”
The impatient tapping stilled as Presit’s upper lip curled. “Gunnery Sergeant Kerr? That are higher than staff sergeant.” When Craig agreed that it was, the lip curled higher. “She are having been promoted, then.”
“Listen up, you bloody galah, she’s also the one pointing you at the biggest fukking story of your career, so let the old shit go and ask yourself why no one but the three of us remembers. Why only us?”
“We are not in common . . .” Her eyes narrowed and although the thick fur made it difficult for him to tell for sure, he thought she was frowning thoughtfully. “We three are being together on Big Yellow . . .” Without looking, she picked out the last skewer of fruit. “Many are together on Big Yellow, though, not only us.” She slipped the first piece of fruit off the skewer and chewed slowly. The soft gray fur on her throat moved as she swallowed. “We are not getting on or off together.” The second piece of fruit followed the first. “We are not being alone together . . .”
“Oh, for fuk’s sake, we were all sucked through the floor and brain scanned!” He returned a glare from a neighboring table. “Don’t even go there, mate,” he wearily warned the young turk in the suit that probably cost as much as his Susumi drive. “I’m having one fuk of a day.”
“You are having a worse day if you are getting me thrown out of here,” Presit hissed. “This are the only decent restaurant on station!” She thumbprinted the bill and slid off her chair, glaring up at him in a way that made her seem a lot more dangerous than anything a meter high should. “We are talking elsewhere. Now.”
Craig sighed and stood. At least she hadn’t expected him to pay for the drinks.
* * *
“There are being no evidence that the Elder Races are erasing memories.”
Craig stretched out his legs, the only comfortable way to sit in a chair with his ass barely up off the deck and shrugged. “Who, then?”
“We are only having Gunnery Sergeant Kerr’s word for it that the memories are gone,” Presit snorted. “Perhaps she are wanting me to be breaking this story and be made a fool.”
“Yeah, not entirely an unattractive prospect, but if you break this story, it’d bring some bad news down on the Corps and she’d never go there.”
After a long moment, the reporter heaved an exaggerated sigh. “You are being right. She are totally a pawn of the military structure.”
“Not a pawn . . .”
Silver-tipped ears swiveled forward.
It didn’t seem worth the energy to argue a losing position. This was a conversation where he had to pick his fights. “Yeah, all right, she’s a little overly invested.”
“I are not so much concerned with there being no memory of the escape pod,” Presit murmured, her attention dropping to her slate, “as there being other memories tampered with. The military must not be having given a hidden agend
a.”
“Having given?”
She ignored him. “You are trusting her word, I are not having to. I are a reporter, I are only interested in the facts. Ah!” Trilling in Katrien, she turned her slate toward him.
Craig snorted. Light levels in Presit’s quarters were low enough he could barely make out the screen let alone the information on it.
“I are finding three Katrien scientists who are having been on the Berganitan when it are investigating Big Yellow.”
All but two of the scientists who’d been on Big Yellow were dead.
“If they never left their labs, what are the odds they even heard about the escape pod?”
“One are being a structural components engineer—she are hearing about it, I are guaranteeing! I are messaging her for being interviewed. If she are not remembering . . .” Her teeth gleamed as she grinned. “. . . then we are having a story.”
“All right, then.” He stood, remembering this time to hunch forward and not slam his skull into the low ceiling.
“I are having a few things to be tying up with my very important story here, so we are leaving tomorrow, then.”
That jerked him erect. “We?” he snarled, rubbing the back of his head.
“There are being no commercial flights from here to Cetem—they are being at the university there. I are having to be traveling Coreward and then be transferring two, maybe three times. That are taking too long.”
“No.”
“You are not being my first choice either.” She waved off his protests. “I are remembering your ship and how scented she are being, but you are being here. I are messaging Sector Central News, and you are being paid.”
“It’s not about being paid, mate.”
She shrugged. “You are not liking others in your space. Retri serintare heh—stop grooming yourself. This are about the story. You are saying Gunnery Sergeant Kerr are asking questions. She are not a reporter. She are not know how to ask questions. If there are being mind wiping, and she are asking the wrong questions, then maybe they are knowing there are memories they are missing. We are not having time to be dealing with you having issues!”
Both hands pressed hard against the ceiling in a valiant and bloody futile effort to keep it from coming in on him, he sighed. It was hard to argue with the same position that had sent him looking for the reporter in the first place. “You have a point,” he admitted reluctantly.
Crossing the room, she patted him on the knee. “I are always right. You are remembering that and we are doing fine.”
* * *
They stopped at midday only because they had injured.
“We’re not making the kind of time I’d like.”
Torin kept her gaze moving over the platoon and not on the purple-gray half circles under Major Svensson’s eyes. “We’re moving into deeper snow, sir. It’s only to be expected, but we’ll make Dunstan Mills before full dark.”
“Think there’ll be a welcome there?”
“I expect there’ll be something, sir.”
“Think we’ll run into whoever attacked us last night?”
That hadn’t occurred to her. “We haven’t seen any tracks, sir. They might be following, but I very much doubt they’re out in front. Not when they still control the system.” McGuinty and Piroj were sitting a little apart from the others, and McGuinty had the staff sergeant’s helmet balanced on his knee.
The major followed her line of sight. “So what’s tech support up to now?”
“I’m seeing if he can pull some particulars off Staff Sergeant Beyhn’s scanner. According to the sergeants, the senior DI gets a better look at the drones.”
“Going to spread the program among the troops?”
“If McGuinty can get it off, sir.”
“Socialist move there, Gunny.”
“Knowledge is power, sir.”
“Yeah, that was kind of what I meant.” He grinned and massaged his left hand through the mitt. “Still no sign of any local drones?”
“No, sir.” The di’Taykan not on watch were clustered around the staff sergeant’s stretcher. Torin wondered if they’d determined a minimum safe distance, or if they just didn’t care about taking a hit from his pheromones. They were damned well going to walk with the consequences, so she hoped they’d thought it through. “I’m a little surprised there’ve been no more long distance drones moving in.”
“With this CPN out, they’ll have to take the scenic route.” She turned to look at him then, and he smiled. “The long-distance drones navigate from node to node. Last night’s meltdown means that instead of following us from point a to point b . . .” He reached down and drew a straight line in the snow. “. . . they’ll have to take the scenic route around.”
“So whoever blew the CPN last night did us a favor.”
“Somehow, I doubt they intended to.” As he straightened, he used his right hand to move his left out of the way.
“Sir?”
For a moment, it looked as if he might not answer, then he lifted his head and snorted. “Just a weak arm, Gunny. The rest of me’s fine. No head pain, no memory loss, no need to fret.”
“Has Dr. Sloan . . .”
“Dr. Sloan’s been a little busy. Don’t worry,” he said as he stood, “I can keep up with a couple of concussions and a stretcher.”
“Yes, sir. Where . . .”
The major sighed. “To take a piss, Gunny. I’ll let you know if I have any trouble.”
She topped his sarcasm with sincerity. “Thank you, sir.”
* * *
“Did you eat?”
“I ate.”
“Must’ve inhaled it. How are you feeling?”
“Like I’ve acquired an obnoxious growth I can’t get rid of,” McGuinty snapped turning to glare at the Krai sitting beside him. “Back off!”
“Can’t do that.” In the gray light of day, with his heartbeat back to normal and the fear that he’d fukked up badly enough to be sent home fading, Piroj hadn’t been thrilled about his baby-sitting duties. They weren’t, however, completely without amusement value. “Gunnery Sergeant Kerr said I was to watch out for you, and that’s what I’m going to do.”
“Well . . . fine.” Gunnery Sergeant Kerr trumped annoyance. “Can you do it from a little farther away!”
“Nope. Went away last night and look what happened.” He considered resting his chin on McGuinty’s shoulder but tossed the idea as being too di’Taykan. Also, his chin didn’t quite come up to McGuinty’s shoulder regardless of how close to a normal height the Human was. “What are you doing?”
His attention dropped back to the helmet. “Gunny asked me to separate out the staff sergeant’s drone identification program. Apparently, he can see them better than the rest of us.”
“Yeah, didn’t do him much good.”
“Wasn’t a drone took him down, Piroj—it was biology. If it was tech, I could fix it.”
“Like you fixed the CPN last night?”
“Fuk you, man.”
“Hey!” Hands up, Piroj carefully kept his teeth covered. “Just asking.”
“I didn’t melt the fukking node!”
“Okay, then.”
McGuinty sighed. “I didn’t.”
“Okay.”
“I had a worm running, something that might slide in deep enough to get me the data I needed, but it got fired. I figured I could refine a copy of it, but then Gunny put me on this . . .” He tapped the helmet. “. . . and I haven’t had time.”
“Can you walk and separate?” When McGuinty frowned up at him, he jerked his head toward the larger mass of the platoon on its feet. “Looks like we’re getting ready to move out.”
“Oh, great . . .”
Piroj swung his pack up onto his shoulders and frowned at the soft white flakes drifting past his nose. “Hey, it’s snowing.”
“Shoot me now,” McGuinty moaned slipping the slate into his vest, reaching for his pack. “I hate weather.”
* * *
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Barely visible behind a curtain of falling snow, Dunstan Mills was a cluster of prefab buildings within the curve of a frozen river. There was a small hydroelectric power station—a dummy but a good-looking one—thirty or forty individual dwellings and a two-story building that, with any luck was exactly what they were looking for.
Lying flat on one of the ubiquitous ridges of rock, Torin adjusted her scanner and tried for more detail. A dummy anchor, built like the power station as a prop, would do them no good. They needed a real anchor, one used by Marine engineers to put this fake colony into place on Crucible and then left as part of the scenario.
It looked good, but she could only be a hundred percent certain by getting up close and personal, and that, unfortunately, wasn’t going to happen right away.
Sliding down to rejoin one/one, who’d taken point after the break, she frowned at the data scrolling across her scanner from the EYE she’d left up on the vantage point. Too small to be read by the enemy and useless more than three meters from a scanner, it was having a little trouble with the snow. Calibration helped, and the blip from the nearest sentry reappeared where it was supposed to be.
“You don’t post sentries unless you’re expecting trouble,” Kichar declared. “The enemy has the town.”
“Looks that way,” Torin agreed. Another time she’d have been amused by Kichar’s certainty.
“Activated or reprogrammed, Gunny?”
“Activated. If they’d reprogrammed, they’d never have positioned a sentry.”
“Because when we saw the sentry, we knew they had the town.”
“I think we’ve all got that, Kichar.”
“What about the Other that blew the CPN and took out McGuinty, Gunny?”
She ran the scan one more time just to be sure. “There’s no life signs anywhere in the settlement. Only drones, so now we need to figure out how to beat the scenario.”
Sakur’s eyes lightened as he drew his focus in to his scanner. “We don’t know what the setup is.”
“Sure we do. First, it’s supposed to teach you lot something.”
“Teach us what?” Sakur muttered.
“Good question. We figure that out and we’ve beaten it. In this scenario the enemy has attacked the planet Dunstan Mills is on. They’ve attacked the planet, Bonninski, because the Others don’t attack a single town and they’re our only enemy.”
