The Better Part of Valor

by Tanya Huff

  “Take a deep breath,” he advised.

  “No shit.”

  She folded down all but one finger on her right hand.

  The world went dark.

  SEVEN

  “Staff Sergeant Kerr!”

  No response.

  Six running paces later, Nivry tried again. And six paces after that. Six paces after that brought them around the corner into NS1, the corridor leading to the air lock.

  All twelve jostled for position.

  “Fuk a duck,” Guimond breathed.

  It looked like the explosion had blown every piece of scientific equipment they’d humped off the shuttle into a barrier stretching wall to wall and very nearly ceiling high. Tendrils of gray-brown smoke pushed through the narrow opening and slowly dissipated. An HE suit had been fused across the front.

  “Hey!” Orla took a step closer, her eyes darkening. “That’s my suit!”

  “We are so screwed,” Dursinski murmured. “Those things aren’t supposed to melt.”

  Johnston swung the scanner around. “It’s not melted,” he said after a moment. “Its molecules have been integrated into the molecules of the equipment behind it.”

  “And that’s supposed to make me feel better how?”

  The engineer shrugged. “It didn’t melt.”

  “I don’t care if it’s stuck on with spit,” Nivry snapped. “We’re either going over or through. If there’s anyone alive, they’re on the other side of this thing.”

  “Not to mention,” Werst grunted, “so is the air lock.”

  “Not to mention,” the corporal agreed.

  * * *

  The darkness lasted thirty-one seconds—give or take the few seconds it took Torin to overcome panic and begin counting. The first twenty-eight seconds lasted forever; no sight, no sound, no smell, no touch, and only the bitter taste of burning chemicals in her mouth. At twenty-nine, she could move her legs. At thirty, her lower hand came free. At thirty-one, kicking and clawing for freedom, she dropped into dim gray light.

  Her legs absorbed most of the impact. She rolled and would have come up on her feet had another body not slammed into the same space—knocking her flat and driving the breath out of her.

  After a moment spent gasping, she slid her hand under a heavy, familiar shoulder and heaved.

  Ryder flopped to one side, coughing out a curse as his head hit the floor, and Torin fought to catch her breath. And wasn’t that the perfect end to an unpleasant experience? Still, it could have been worse. If the aliens did any probing during her trip through the flooring, they’d done it without her noticing and, as far as she was concerned, that was the preferable way to be probed—di’Taykan opinions on the matter aside. Hitting this new floor had left nothing more serious than bruises. Fortunately, Ryder’s elbow had been moving fast enough that her vest had absorbed most of the impact.

  The mask was gone. Wherever they were, the smoke hadn’t come with them. The air was clear, odor free but for the stink of fear-sweat that clung to her and Ryder. Torin could hear Ryder’s breathing and her own blood pounding in her ears but nothing else. As near as she could tell—given the light levels—the ceiling above her head was as featureless as the floor that had swallowed them. Rolling her head to the right, she could see a wall—looking like every wall they’d seen on the ship and, for that matter, like the floors and the ceilings. To her left, Craig Ryder’s profile filled most of her line of sight but a few meters beyond him, she could see another wall.

  Wherever they were, the scenery hadn’t changed.

  And where the hell’s the packing crate? It had been sinking as fast as they had, but it wasn’t with them now.

  Groping for the weapon that should have been lying along her right side, Torin realized that, although the strap remained over her shoulder, the benny was gone. H’san on fukking crutches! Drawing in her legs, she touched the knife in her boot—more for reassurance than because she planned on immediately using it—and sat up. Slowly. If anyone—or anything—was watching, she didn’t want to startle them.

  They were alone in what was essentially a cross section of one of the corridors—three meters by three meters by three meters of uninterrupted gray.

  A moan drew her attention to her companion. “You all right?”

  “I just got swallowed by a fukking floor!”

  Apparently civilians, like officers, were inclined to state the obvious. “And you survived it.” An obvious observation back at him. “Are you injured?”

  “Physically? No.”

  “Then move on.” Crossing her ankles, she stood.

  Ryder propped himself up on his elbows and glared at her. “Mind if I take a moment to have a freaking reaction to the experience?”

  Torin shrugged; it wasn’t like she needed his assistance. “Take all the time you want.”

  The shuttle had to have been destroyed by the explosion or Captain Travik’s implant would have been sending her his vital signs—or lack of vital signs. Considering how close he’d been to ground zero, he and his implant had likely been blown to pieces. Her orders from General Morris had been to keep the captain alive, but she had no intention of beating herself up over a death she couldn’t have prevented nor mourning an officer the Corps was inarguably better off without. And on the bright side, Sector Central News probably went with him, so there’s nothing to stop the general from having him die a hero’s death and everybody’s happy.

  Her helmet mike, snapped down before the explosion, still nestled against the corner of her mouth.

  “Corporal Nivry. Nivry, this is Kerr. Acknowledge.”

  No response. Not even static.

  “Corporal Harrop. Harrop, this is Kerr. Acknowledge.”

  “What are you doing?” Ryder groaned as he got to his feet.

  “Attempting to contact my Marines.” Lips pressed into a thin line, Torin slid her helmet off and checked the display. The telltale was green; if that still meant anything, the unit was working. It was possible that the internal structure of the ship was blocking the signal. It was also possible they could hear her, but she couldn’t hear them.

  Nivry’s code in the slate brought no results. Neither did any of the other eleven.

  Hooked into the Berganitan’s system, she could have used the tracking program to find anything with a familiar energy signature—other slates, comm units, weapons, living bodies. Without the Berganitan, she’d need one of the big scanners.

  Her slate’s mapping function had been disabled. Her own position was as unknown as the teams’.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m not getting through.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. You think it could have something to do with the alien technology we’re surrounded by?”

  “No need to be so sarcastic,” he grumbled, staring up at the ceiling. “You sure they’re alive?”

  “Yes.”

  The inarguable response brought his attention back to her. “You don’t know…”

  “I know they were alive when we went out of contact, and that was less than five minutes ago.”

  “Look, I don’t have to tell you that a lot can happen in five…”

  “They’re alive,” Torin growled, daring him to argue.

  Both hands lifted, he backed away.

  She couldn’t stop herself from taking another look around the cube.

  No scanners. No weapons. No Marines. Just Craig Ryder, pacing from wall to wall, fists clenched as though he wanted to hit something. “We have to find a way out.”

  “No shit. What do you think I’ve been doing?”

  “A piss-poor job. You’re not even touching the walls.”

  “Well, excuse me for distrusting solid surfaces.”

  Torin rolled her eyes and crossed to his side. “All you have to do is…” Her hand stopped a centimeter from the surface. Muscles along her arm trembled; she couldn’t bring herself to actually put flesh in contact with the wall. It felt as though she�
�d been stalled there for minutes, although it couldn’t have been more than five or six seconds at the most. Breathing slowly and deliberately, she continued the motion back to her vest and pulled off one of the recharge bars for her missing benny. “…tap on the walls with this.”

  The wall seemed to absorb the sound but was otherwise solid enough.

  She could feel him watching her, so she turned, one eyebrow lifted. “Did you need to borrow a bar?”

  He knew. She could see it in his eyes. He knew she’d stopped and he knew why.

  But all he said was, “No, thanks.” He pulled a screwdriver out of a pouch on his belt. “I’ll use this.”

  * * *

  “What a fukking mess.” His upper body sandwiched between the top of the barrier and the ceiling, Werst waved a hand to clear the smoke from his face. “Primary damage is at the far end of the corridor but the entire area between the barrier and the air lock’s filled with rubble. I see no survivors, but I can smell blood.” His facial ridges spread slightly behind the translucent filter covering the lower part of his face. “Human, di’Taykan, Krai, Niln…everyone took damage. I’m going down.”

  Feet holding a convenient piece of pipe, he dropped over the inside edge. “This side’s warmer, all right.”

  “Hot enough to block the scanners from picking up a thermal signature?”

  “Probably. Air temp reads 33.4°C, and the barrier’s warmer than that.” He grabbed a protruding corner, tested the stability, swung around, found another hold, swung again, and dropped to the floor. Facial ridges clamped shut, he froze, counted to ten, and slowly straightened, glancing down at his sleeve. “Nothing’s moving.”

  “Sensors show nothing’s moving.” Corporal Nivry’s correction was a quiet buzz in his ear. “Sensors gave no warning of the explosion or of what happened to Staff Sergeant Kerr. Be careful.”

  “Always.”

  “And no snacking.”

  “Up yours.”

  Joining a multispecies military had forced the Krai to change their battlefield eating habits.

  A soft thud and Orla crouched beside him. “I don’t care what Johnston says, Guimond’s never going to fit through there.”

  “Not my problem. Go left.”

  They found Harveer Niirantapajee and one of the Katrien scientists alive but unconscious in a sheltered triangle made by their half-slagged piece of equipment and the mess kit.

  * * *

  “Clear to casualties, Corporal.”

  Nivry nodded at Tsui and Dursinski who were carrying the patrol med kits. “Go.”

  As they reached the top, she sent the next two then waved ahead the four Marines needed to move the scanners.

  “We should leave the scanners,” Harrop murmured, watching Heer follow Jynett over the barrier at the wider of the two points. “We can come back and get them.”

  Nivry shook her head. “No. If that air lock’s been blown, we’ll need them to find our way out of here. I don’t trust this place enough to leave gear where we can’t see it.”

  “If that air lock’s been blown, we’re fukked.”

  Neither corporal mentioned that the shuttle pilot would have contacted them by now had she been able to.

  Harrop nodded at the barrier. “Command should be on the other side. I’ll watch the rear.”

  The situation’s serious, he thought as Nivry slid through the narrower point, when that gets no comment from a di’Taykan.

  Too bulky to be worn, the scanners were passed over the barrier from hand to hand, most of the weight on both sides held by the augmentation worn by Johnston and Heer. Once the scanners were safely on the deck, Guimond climbed to the same space, looked dubiously through it, then back at Harrop.

  “Hey, Corporal, maybe we should widen this.”

  “There’s a three-centimeter difference between you and that space, Guimond. Now move.”

  Arms, head, shoulders…

  Heer grabbed a double fistful of Guimond’s combats while Johnston shoved from behind.

  “Son of a…”

  Chest.

  Most of his descent was headfirst, then he swung in Heer’s grip, and dropped.

  Heads turned at the impact.

  * * *

  “Air lock’s gone. Although Heer’s still scanning it, looks like the shuttle went with it. There’s a six-by-four-meter hole in the wall likely caused by the something Staff Sergeant Kerr mentioned. We’ve got two casualties—both unconscious—one dead Katrien and a whole lot of body parts that may or may not add up to the other civilians. What we don’t have is either of our two missing personnel. Captain Travik wasn’t in vest and helmet, but both the captain and Staff Sergeant Kerr were in combats and we’ve found no trace of uniforms. We all know this,” Nivry’s gesture took in the destruction, “was not enough to obliterate…”

  “Big word.”

  “Shut up, Tsui. This…” She repeated the gesture. “…was not enough to obliterate two MCCUs. Have I missed anything?”

  There was a negative response around the circle.

  Nivry stared down at the one clear section of floor, her eyes so dark they’d lost almost all color. “So, considering one of Staff’s last transmissions said, and I quote, ’We’re being sucked into the goddamned floor!’ does anyone have any better ideas about where the staff and the captain are?”

  No one did.

  Nivry bounced a piece of wreckage off the area in question. Then stepped out onto it. And back. And took the time to breathe before saying, “Johnston, start scanning.”

  “If they’re more than a meter and a half down, I’m not going to find them,” the engineer warned, squatting and setting the scanner facedown on the cleared bit. “We haven’t been able to go more than a meter and a half through any of these walls.”

  “Good thing this is a floor.”

  “But what happens if they’re more than a meter and a half down?” Dursinski demanded.

  “We start digging. Johnston?”

  “Give it time. It can’t interpret half the data coming back and that…Got it! Just over a meter of something solid—same organic metal combo that the walls are made of—then some open space, then two thermal sigs. Except they’re both Human. Captain Travik should be showing three to four degrees higher.”

  “Maybe he’s wounded and his body temp has dropped.”

  “No. These are Human—and look at that hot spot there, and there.” He tapped the display. “That’s a slate and that’s a helmet PCU. I’d say we’ve found the staff sergeant and one of the civilians but not Captain Travik.”

  “No serley loss.”

  “Werst.”

  He snorted unapologetically.

  “What now?” Johnston asked, straightening.

  “We make contact.” Nivry stepped out beside the scanner. “Staff Sergeant Kerr, this is Corporal Nivry. Acknowledge.”

  The only sound in the ruined corridor was the hum of the mess kit turning the remaining food into field rations and the hiss of Harveer Niirantapajee’s labored breathing.

  After a moment, she stepped back. “I can’t get through to her slate either. Can we adapt the scanner to signal her?”

  “Sure. I could hit her with a couple of different things, and if she’s running a scan protect, she’ll even know I’m doing it. Other than that…” Lifting his helmet, Johnston ran a hand back over his scalp. “We could probably burn through with the bennys.”

  “It’d drain the lot of them,” Dursinski pointed out. “We’d be disarming ourselves. I really don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Nivry told her dryly. “Given what happened the last time, we’re not putting holes in these walls.”

  “How about a low-tech solution?”

  Heads turned as Guimond slapped a metal bar into one palm.

  “You’re going to try and beat your way through?” Johnston asked, eyebrows nearly at his hairline. “Through a meter of a substance the entire science team couldn’t get a scrapin
g of?”

  “No.” Flipping the bar around, he tapped it against the floor. Three short. Three long. Three short.

  Over the ambient noise came the sound of realization dawning.

  Werst shook his head. “You’re not as dumb as you look.”

  * * *

  “Do you hear something?”

  One ear cocked toward the ceiling, Torin frowned. “Tapping.” They listened for a moment. Her frowned deepened. “It almost sounds like there’s a rhythm to it.” She snapped her slate off her vest.

  Ryder snorted and began walking again, around and around the perimeter of their prison. “Vermin dancing in the pipes.”

  “Unlikely.” Recording the ambient noise onto her slate, she boosted the gain and played it back.

  “That was in the way of being a facetious observation.”

  “I know. Shut up.”

  Three short. Three short. Long short long.

  “Son of a bitch…”

  Her smile stopped Ryder in his tracks. “What?”

  Smile broadening, Torin looked the civilian up and down. “You’re what? A little taller than one point eight meters?”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m a little shorter and I need to reach the ceiling.”

  “We already threw stuff at it,” he protested. “It’s solid.”

  “Yes, but we have a new situation.” Slipping the strap of her benny off her shoulder, she uncoupled the ends. Holding the lighter piece, she whipped the heavier up against the ceiling. The thud sounded loud in the cube, but it wasn’t enough to stop the pattern still tapping out of her slate. “Damn. They can’t hear it.”

  Charging across to her, Ryder grabbed her shoulders and kept her from making a second attempt. “Who can’t hear us?” he demanded. “Who?”

  “The Recon team banging s-s-k, Staff Sergeant Kerr, into the floor up above.”

  “They’re tapping out letters?”

  She had to admire a man who didn’t need a long explanation. “It’s Morse code.”

  “They’ve found us?”