The Better Part of Valour

by Tanya Huff

  “Torin.”

  *I’m here.*

  All at once, the situation didn’t seem so dire. Her voice gave him a new focus. He wished he knew how she did it but, for now, it was enough to be able to draw a full breath. “Jades took out nearly a third of the bugs. Still three dozen coming in, though.”

  *We can see them.*

  She sounded bored. As if being strapped into a salvage pen while three dozen enemy fighters blasted through a mere dozen defenders was something she did every day. Ryder grinned. Maybe it was.

  “Navy says we should trust them to do their jobs.”

  *As Dursinski would say, Goddamned Navy.*

  Dursinski. He had a sudden vision of her, blonde brows drawn tight into a worried frown. Since she seemed happiest with something to worry about, she was probably ecstatic right about now.

  “Is everyone okay?”

  *Yeah, most of them are sleeping.*

  “Sleeping?”

  *Why not? You get those bugs to climb in here with us and we’ll kick ass; until then, it’s been a long...*

  The Promise’s small port polarized too slowly to prevent purple-white dots from dancing across his vision. “Torin!”

  * * *

  “We’re fine,” she snorted, switching back to group channel for her answer, her tone making it quite clear she had no intention of allowing her people to be anything but fine. “You might not be aware of this, but it takes more than bright lights to damage a Marine. We’ve been highly trained to deal with loud noises, too.”

  Someone snickered. It sounded like a di’Taykan. Nivry probably. The Corps had to have put her through at least one leadership course and this situation was tailor-made for that last lesson in Combat Morale, “If you’re going to die anyway, see to it that your people die with dry underwear and a smile.”

  “We don’t usually get to watch the vacuum jockeys work from such good seats,” Torin continued before Ryder could respond. “Maybe we’ll finally find out why they get the big...”

  Not so bright this time, although the salvage pen rocked.

  “...bucks.”

  * * *

  “So if there’s three bugs for each of us, why the fuk are there five bugs on me!” Unable to take either hand from the thruster controls, Sibley jerked his head toward the stars.

  “At least they haven’t got a clear shot off.” Shylin’s hair stood out from her head in a cadmium nimbus. “And... I’ve... got... Damn it, Sib.” The salvage pen was now straight up. “How am I supposed to take them out when you keep...”

  The Jade slid down forty-five degrees to port and flipped ninety degrees.

  “Saving our collective ass?”

  “Yeah. That. I need a clear target; we’ve only got small stuff left.”

  “The AR-67s?”

  “One.”

  “We had four!”

  “Now we have one. And after that it’s FUs only.”

  “And after that we throw cocktail weenies—get ready.”

  A one-eighty flip and a short burst on the rear thrusters. Shylin’s shot hit the bug fighter a glancing blow, spun it into another fighter’s path, and sent the two of them careening out of control.

  “You know for a cadmium-haired sex maniac, you’re a decent shot.”

  “Thanks. For a...”

  “Superior officer.”

  “...Human, you’re a decent pilot.”

  “Was that an insult?”

  “Up to you.”

  Starboard thrusters. Full topside. The bottom of the Jade skimmed the side of the pen.

  * * *

  “Fuk!” Dursinski twisted around in her strapping. “I could read ‘made by the H’san coalition’ on the bottom of that thing!”

  “You can read?” Werst snorted.

  “Up yours.”

  Morale seemed fine, Torin noted.

  * * *

  “Squadron’s down to ten. B5 lost starboard thrusters, B3 lost power. She’s drifting, but the bugs are ignoring her.”

  “Great time to be an odd number.” Sibley slid them between two fighters, throwing one off course. The other got by. “Ryder! Heads up!”

  * * *

  “Heads up? Oh, that’s helpful, mate. Just bloody helpful.” An early shot had fried a rack of the Promise’s processors. Fire control was now manual. So was the coffeemaker, but with green smoke gathering under the ceiling, that didn’t seem as crucial somehow. Not that I’d turn down an offered double double...

  One of the port thrusters had taken a direct hit from debris, and although it continued to fire, its angle had to continually be adjusted.

  If he’d been an inch shorter, he wouldn’t be able to handle the board.

  “Can I help?”

  Goddamn it! He didn’t have enough going on—what with being the fukking center of attention and all? He had to have someone breathing down the back of his neck? Breathing his oxygen. Limited oxygen.

  “Ryder!”

  He jerked, realized two new trouble lights were flashing red, that the two systems he’d been monitoring were fluctuating wildly, that he was sitting frozen in place by a panic attack.

  And he realized that he didn’t want to die, that the odds of being killed by the Promise blowing apart around him were significantly better than by half a dozen unwelcome passengers sucking up his oxygen, that he needed help.

  Turning, he found Tsui gripping the back of the control chair, balanced on his one remaining foot.

  Fuk! The Marine really had been breathing down the back of his neck.

  And so what? Ryder surged up out of the seat and practically threw the smaller man down into it, grabbing his wrist and slapping his hand down by the thruster control. “Keep that between seventy-five and seventy-nine degrees! Use your other hand to code in seven-slash-slash-three every time that bar lights up red.”

  “What am I doing?” Tsui demanded as Ryder moved to the other side of the board.

  “Does it matter?” He glanced down at the stump of the Marine’s left leg. “Doesn’t that hurt?”

  “Neural blockers,” Tsui explained. “I’m good for another twenty minutes. After that...”

  “...we’ll be in the clear or we’ll be in pieces.”

  * * *

  “A great big hunk of the Promise just blew by.”

  “Important hunk?” Shylin asked without looking up.

  “Apparently not.”

  Ninety-degree flip, two seconds of forward thrusters; a last instant deflection of one of the enemy’s small missiles from the salvage pen.

  “I’m guessing they don’t care there’s also bugs in that pen.”

  “I think that’s the point, Sib.”

  “Take out the prisoners before they talk?”

  “Or whatever it is that bugs do.”

  He brought them around for another run. “You ever get the feeling we’re playing by different rules?”

  “You and me?”

  “Us and...”

  The bug fighter didn’t bother slowing down to take a shot. It hit the side of the salvage pen farthest from the Promise, cutting through the metal latticework, shearing off the last third of the pen.

  * * *

  Torin had been the last one into the pen, the closest—but for Captain Travik—to the end and the bugs. She didn’t see the fighter approach, but the impact jerked the strap up against her cracked ribs and turned her bones to jelly. The universe slowed. The pen begin to tear. The fighter slammed past. She saw stars through the deck plates. Realized her boots were attached to the piece breaking away.

  The universe sped up again.

  Boot release.

  Boot release.

  Boot release!

  Pain.

  Fingers of her right hand locked around a broken strap, Torin dangled into space, the rope around her waist only a meter long and ending in a charred fray.

  The bugs were gone. The end of the pen was gone. Captain Travik’s body was gone. The piece of deck that had been under her bo
ots was also gone and had nearly taken her with it. Fortunately the straps had held until she got the magnetic field off. On the down side, the ribs that had been cracked were now definitely broken and every breath was agony.

  She brought her head around so she could stare into the rain of the pen.

  Only the captain and the bugs seemed to be missing.

  “You lot must fukking live right. Well, don’t just stand there staring,” she added through clenched teeth. “Pull me in.” The only response was a continuing stunned silence as every eye stared out at the stars wheeling by as the Promise continued the spin begun by the impact. “NOW!”

  Shock fled, chased off by a more immediate danger.

  Her boots fumly locked, Nivry leaned out to the extent of her straps, grabbed Torin’s lifeline and yanked.

  The pain Torin’d been feeling in her upper arm exploded.

  “Staff?”

  She didn’t remember making a noise, but it seemed she had. “The chemical burn. Should’ve grabbed on with my other hand.”

  “Your other hand?” Nivry set her into the pen. “You should be dead.”

  “Well, thank you. Corporal.”

  “No. I mean... Look!” A gloved hand gestured past Torin’s shoulder.

  “I don’t think so.” She couldn’t open the fingers of her right hand. Her brain knew that she was safe, that her boots were remagged and firmly connected to the deck, that Nivry had pulled out new straps and she’d been resecured, but her body wasn’t taking any chances. Fine. Good. Smart body.

  A quick glance at the readouts running along her collar showed Huilin was unconscious—“Johnston, you’re showing a small leak. Find it and patch it! Heer, give him a hand.” Everyone’s respiration and heartbeat was up, and most of the suits were dealing with extra liquids.

  No surprise.

  “Staff Sergeant Kerr! What’s going on out there! I want a full repor...”

  * * *

  “With all due respect, sir...” Standing stiffly at attention. Lieutenant Stedrin lifted his hand from the general’s desk. “...this is not the time.”

  General Morris stared from his inoperative comm unit to his aide. “What the hell do you think you’re doing. Lieutenant?”

  “Preventing Staff Sergeant Kerr from telling you to get... stuffed. Sir.”

  * * *

  *Torin!*

  Torin didn’t know what miracle had cut off the general, but this was a voice she wanted to hear.

  *Torin, are you all right?*

  “More or less. We lost the bugs, and the captain. Everyone else is still here. You?”

  *AG field’s out. We got knocked around, but no one’s badly hurt. I don’t have the kind of external visuals you lot do, but it looks like the bugs are trying something new!*

  The skin between her shoulder blades tightened.

  “Oh, that’s just fukking great.”

  * * *

  “Now that’s more like it! Think you can outfly me? Dream on, bug breath!”

  “Sib! All the fighters are moving away from the Promise. The squadron’s following!”

  “And we’re driving them right into the rest of the group!”

  “That doesn’t make sense!”

  “They took out the bug POWs! You saw the bits go spinning into space.”

  “They can’t know they’ve got all of them.”

  “Then... Oy, mama.” The Jade flipped one-eighty. They came around just as a large hunk of debris hit its thrusters and turned into a fighter.

  It began to accelerate straight toward the broken end of the pen.

  “I’m not reading any weapons.”

  Sibley raced disaster back toward the salvage ship. “It doesn’t need a weapon. Remember how they took out the shuttle.”

  “They’re going to ram...”

  “Rams eat oats and does eat oats and little lambs eat ivy.”

  “What?”

  “Human thing.”

  * * *

  “Uh, Staff. I think you’d better turn around.”

  Something in Nivry’s voice overcame the fear paralysis part of it anyway. Fingers still clutching the broken strap, Torin turned.

  The bug fighter was some distance away but closing fast.

  “Ryder, now would be a good time for evasive action.”

  *Love to, but I’ve lost most of my power relays.*

  “So use the rest.”

  *Hey, if you don’t like the way I’m driving, you can get out and walk.*

  “It might be safer,” Torin acknowledged as the fighter grew rapidly larger. And just because she couldn’t stand and do nothing, she swung her benny around onto her hip.

  * * *

  “Sib, we don’t have anything big enough to stop it! And we’re low on fuel. If we’ve got to do much maneuvering...”

  “Won’t be a problem,” he interrupted, “’cause I’ve got a plan.”

  “Which is?”

  He dropped the Jade into the bug’s trajectory and hit all thrusters.

  “Oh. Good plan. And we’re ejecting at the last minute?”

  “You are. I’m staying in case she blinks.”

  “Compound eyes don’t blink, Sib.”

  “I know.” Amazed by how calm he sounded, he reached out and hit the release for Shylin’s half of the pod. As it blew clear, sealing him into his own small space, he forced his hands away from the thruster controls as the bug fighter filled his forward port. “Buh-bye...”

  * * *

  “Vacuum jockeys; goddamned show-offs,” Dursinski muttered, her voice cracking with emotion.

  “Convinced me they’re worth what they’re paid,” Werst grunted.

  Torin nodded and opened her eyes. She’d see that final explosion every time she closed them for months. But that was how it should be—sacrifice should be remembered. Honored.

  *Torin! All fighters have flipped one-eighty and are heading back!*

  She sighed. She could feel the Marines around her thinking, “A single ship attempting to ram failed. They’ll ram with everything they’ve got now.”

  *And the Others’ ship is... Fuk!*

  Which, in Torin’s professional opinion, was a fairly accurate assessment of the situation.

  The Others’ ship loomed suddenly to the rear of the pen, blocking out an impossibly huge section of the stars.

  “This is it. We’re going to die.”

  Eyes narrowed, Torin glared out at the ship. “Not until I say so, we aren’t.”

  “Get real, Staff, you can’t stop...”

  The Berganitan swooped in over the Promise, angling her bulk between the surviving Marines and the enemy. While she might have been small next to Big Yellow, she was immense at this range and kept coming for what seemed like hours although it couldn’t have been more than minutes.

  “Saw ‘made by the H’san coalition’ on the bottom of that, too,” Dursinski muttered.

  Torin’s temperature and radiation gauges shot into the black, and her suit began to overheat.

  Then the destroyer was past and the Others were on the run. “Staff Sergeant Kerr, this is Captain Carveg. Sorry we had to come in so close, but we wanted to hit the Others where they wouldn’t expect it. You lot all right?”

  The temperature gauge began to drop as empty space wrapped around them again.

  “We got a little cooked, but we’re okay.”

  “They’re running for Susumi, so we’ll be back in a few minutes to pick you up.”

  “We’ll be here, ma’am.” And so much for the one loose end. There was nothing like the backwash from a destroyer to wipe the memory off a slate. And off the suits... “Marines, check your environmental controls.”

  “Staff, my clock’s out.”

  “You got an appointment somewhere, Jynett?”

  “I’d like to have a chat with my recruiting sergeant,” the di’Taykan sighed, her hair fanning out to connect with the reflected stars on her helmet. “But I guess it can wait.”

  “Glad to he
ar it.”

  * * *

  By the time Torin stood on the Berganitan’s shuttle deck and pushed her helmet back, she could hardly stand the smell of herself. The panting she’d had to do in order to breathe around her broken ribs was probably the only thing keeping the stink bearable.

  Stripping carefully out of the suit, she was pleased to note Captain Carveg had made sure that the closest Navy personnel when the di’Taykan Marines broke seal were other di’Taykans. The release of trapped pheromones was so strong it roused Huilin out of his stupor as they laid him on a stretcher, and he grabbed the nearest corpsman’s ass.

  Fortunately, the Berganitan’s scrubbers cleared the air before much of it reached the Humans and the Krai.

  Tsui, Harrop, and Frii were already in Med-op, the Promise having been a lot easier to unload than a salvage pen with no air lock.

  “Staff!”

  She turned, took too deep a breath, realized the problem the instant the fog cleared from her vision. “Go with the corpsman, Werst.”

  “I’m fine!”

  “You broke your toe. Go.”

  “You’re next, Staff Sergeant.”

  Another turn. A more careful breath. And the sudden realization that long lines of red ran out from the cracks in the seal over the chemical burn, down her arm, and dripped off her fingers. She could see that the pair of corpsmen, an AG stretcher between them, were waiting for an argument. It didn’t seem worth it to give thein one.

  * * *

  *Torin?*

  It seemed the backwash hadn’t wiped her codes from the Promise. Activating her implant, she subvocalized, *Fine. You?*

  The medical officer working on her arm, glanced up, assumed Torin was talking with one of her own officers, and continued repairing the damage done by the chemical burn.

  *They won’t let me see you. Some crap about both of us needing to be debriefed.*

  *No crap. Policy.*

  *More crap. I’m a civilian.*

  *Later. *

  “Can I take it from your smile that your general is pleased with you?” the doctor asked as she tongued off her implant.

  Was she smiling? She was.

  “Too bad he’s not pleased enough to give you more time in here,” he continued, stepping back. “I’ve bonded the ribs, but they’ll be tender for a while, so no rough stuff. And lots of fluids—you may be a litltle light-headed from the loss of blood.”