The Better Part of Valor

by Tanya Huff

  “If it comes to it, a passageway will do fine. There’re only two approaches in a passage, making it easy enough to defend. I don’t know about you, but I’m hesitant to lock myself into anything on this ship.”

  “Even after the map, you don’t trust it?”

  “I don’t trust anything I don’t understand.”

  * * *

  “What am I looking at?” Captain Carveg leaned over the screens at one of the science stations.

  “These are the last views Lieutenant Commander Sibley took of the air lock, Captain. And these are our most recent images.”

  “It looks like it’s healing.”

  “The ship is partially organic, ma’am. The science team was able to determine that much before…”

  “Before they blew that air lock and killed one of my shuttle pilots?” the captain snorted.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And what’s so important about what I’m looking at?”

  “This area here. Where the ship has, for lack of a better word, healed. Notice the beginnings of a ripple in the hull. A ripple like…” The screen split. “This. This is the ripple on the opposite side of the hull, pretty much exactly in the same relationship to the Others’ ship as the destroyed air lock is to us.”

  “So it’s possible that the Others were here previously—while making one of their smash and grab forays into Confederation space—landed a boarding party, left—because they didn’t want to hang around in Confederation space where a stationary target is likely to get its ass blown off—and are now back to pick up their people who are stuck inside having also blown their air lock?”

  “That’s one theory, ma’am.”

  “I’m open to any others.”

  The silence stretched and lengthened.

  “All right.” She ran one hand back over her scalp. “Let me guess this next part. The closest air lock the Others can now use is the same air lock the Marines are heading for.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  By the time Staff Sergeant Kerr—and it would be Staff Sergeant Kerr because on a good day Captain Travik was a serley chrika with delusions of grandeur—got her people to the next available air lock, there had to be a shuttle waiting for them. Unfortunately, the next available air lock was dead center on the belly of the beast, visible to the Others. The Berganitan’s gunners could shoot an enemy shuttle off the spot without even trying. Captain Carveg had to believe the Others’ could as well.

  Unless Big Yellow made arrangements for a peaceful pickup.

  Hopefully, there’d be someone left alive to pick up.

  “So.” Hands locked behind her, she rocked back on her heels. “There’s an unknown number of the enemy inside Big Yellow with the Marines.”

  “There’s an eighty-seven point two percent probability of it, ma’am.”

  “Then we need to tell them that. Where’s that serley comm unit now?”

  A graphic of the drone approaching the alien ship replaced rippled yellow hull. “Almost there, Captain. We should be able to open communications in seventeen minutes, twelve seconds.”

  “Good. Let’s just hope we’re the first to give them the news.”

  * * *

  The next level down had red and green lights running randomly along the bulkheads.

  “I wonder whose head these came out of.”

  “Who cares?”

  The passage was about to end in a T-junction. According to the map, six meters starboard there was another vertical that would take them two levels down and into a passage that ran aft for a full kilometer.

  “You know,” Guimond murmured as they moved up on the junction, “they could have reconfigured this thing into one long corridor aft, and a single four level drop. I wonder why they didn’t?”

  Werst shot the big Human a look that suggested he’d like to see him on a serving platter with an apple in his mouth.

  “Maybe they wanted you to have something to chat about.”

  Guimond grinned. “Maybe.”

  A quick look showed the corridors empty both to port and starboard and a moment later they stood on either side of the vertical. About to lean into the shaft, Werst froze, and looked up at Guimond. Voice barely clearing his facial ridges, he muttered, “Did you hear something?”

  TEN

  “You’re sure?”

  “Werst recognized the language. The Others used bugs when they took Drenver Mining Station; Werst was there.”

  “Okay, have them hold just to this side of the vertical. Secure the entrance to the shaft and establish perimeters in the passageway; we’ll regroup there.”

  “Roger, Staff.”

  Torin pulled her slate free and, one-handed, thumbed in the next level of the map. “And why am I not surprised,” she muttered, switching to group channel. “Werst, take a quick look at the map from the bottom of the vertical.”

  “It’s changed.”

  “Yes, it has.” Instead of an essentially straight path, they now had options. Several corridors. Cross corridors. Chambers. Access…tunnels? Galleries? Shafts? Whatever the hell they were called, they were registering as about a meter square. “This isn’t the interior of Drenver Mining Station, is it?”

  “No.”

  “Good.” Because they’d lost at Drenver. Not badly, 2nd Recar’ta, 1st Battalion, Delta Company had managed to rescue most of the station’s workforce and not lose many Marines doing it, but the Others had taken the station. And still held it. Torin assumed it was on somone’s list of things to get back. Trouble was, the bugs were good in enclosed spaces and—although they’d have to strip off most of their gear in order to fit—they could move like shit through a H’san in passages a meter square.

  “Johnston, Heer, I want you to replace me and Frii on the captain’s stretcher.” The thought of the height difference brought a reluctant smile, but if there were bugs around they needed to free up as many weapons as possible and carrying the captain in comfort took a backseat to winning any potential firefights. Although the youngest on the team, the di’Taykan scored better than both the engineers in combat skills and she needed to be free to move around. The moment one of the engineers arrived, she’d make sure the civilians—a particularly shrill bit of Katrien conversation bounced off the walls and around the inside of her skull—didn’t give their position away.

  “Harrop, keep your Tailends sharp,” she added, taking another look at the map. “The way this bastard layout’s changing, the bugs could end up behind us.”

  “Roger, Staff. How the hell you figure they got in here in the first place? You think Big Yellow could be an enemy ship after all?”

  “No. I don’t.” She could hear the entire team waiting for her response. “We all know their tells and we haven’t seen any of them—outside or in. As to how the bugs got in here,” nodding her thanks to Johnston, she handed over her arm of the stretcher, “that, people, is not our problem.”

  * * *

  “All I can say is, it’s about time!” General Morris stomped into the small ready room off the Combat Command Center and rocked to a stop, face flushed, in front of Captain Carveg’s desk. “You have a situation here, Captain, and I very much resent being kept out of the loop.”

  “You’re in the loop, General. All the main monitors are linked through to your office and you’ve been kept informed of any developments.”

  “I have been locked in!”

  “Marines are always locked in their attachment during a red alert. If we have to drop you off, we like to know we’re dropping all of you.” It took an effort, but she managed to keep from sounding like she’d prefer to drop him out an air lock at the earliest opportunity. “As there’s only the two of you, I’ll lift the restrictions if you give me your word you’ll stay out of the way.”

  “I do not get in the way,” the general sputtered, cheeks darkening.

  Captain Carveg lifted her upper lip, just a little. “Your word, General.”

  “Fine!” He spat it across the des
k at her. “You have my word!”

  “Thank you. Access extends to Lieutenant Stedrin as well, of course.”

  “And do you want his word, too, or will my assurances suffice?”

  “Your word will be quite sufficient, General.” As the di’Taykan lieutenant had been locked in with only the general for company, she very much doubted getting in the way would be on the top of his to do list. “I requested your presence just now because the modified comm unit has been attached to Big Yellow and we’re about to contact your Marines.”

  “Finally!”

  As lives were at risk, she decided to ignore the implication that members of her crew hadn’t been working to the general’s standards. “My people felt that, even amplified, implant to implant would be the most secure.” She stood. “If you’ll come with me, we’ve decided to bring the signal through to the communications station in C3.”

  Taking a deep breath, he fell into step beside her. “I apologize for my bad temper, Captain, but I’m sure you’ll understand the stress I’m under here. Had I lost Captain Travik, the war effort would have lost the support of your people in Parliament.”

  “My people are on board this ship, General. I don’t really care what a group of idiot politicians from my home world do.”

  “Those idiot politicians can see to it that the Berganitan’s docked indefinitely,” he snorted, following her through the hatch into C3. “And that you spend the rest of your career watching the borders of the Confederation grow ever smaller.”

  Before she could answer—before she was even certain what she’d answer—the science officer in charge of the contact project crossed the room toward them, looked from her to the general, and finally decided where to deliver his news. “I’m sorry, General, but although Captain Travik is still alive and his implant is functioning, we can’t raise him. You’ll be speaking to Staff Sergeant Kerr.”

  “Thank God.”

  The general’s response was quiet, almost prayerful, and Captain Carveg found herself smiling as she returned to her station. Just when I’m convinced there’s nothing to like about the man, he goes and says something like that.

  * * *

  “…and Presit a Tur durValintrisy.”

  *The reporter is alive?*

  “Yes, sir.”

  *Then, for God’s sake, keep her happy, Staff Sergeant.*

  Torin glanced down the passage to where Presit sat sulking. She’d had to finally threaten to gag both Katrien before they’d shut up.

  *The last thing we need,* the general continued, *is for this to look worse than it is in the media.*

  “Yes, sir.” Which could be, when necessary, a polite way of saying, “Fuk you.” Torin couldn’t remember it ever being quite so necessary before.

  General Morris missed the subtext. *Remember, Staff Sergeant, it is vitally important to the war effort that Captain Travik come out of this mission looking good.*

  “Sir, right at the moment, he’ll be lucky if he gets out alive.”

  *Alive’s not good enough, Staff Sergeant.*

  “I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t catch that. You’re breaking up. The Others must be jamming the sig…” She tongued her implant off. “Asshole.” After a moment, when it became clear he wasn’t going to use the command codes to override, she moved silently up the passage to join the rest of the Marines. Gathering them close, she quietly filled them in on the situation. “They have the list of survivors, they know we’re heading for the air lock, they know we have bugs. Conversely, we now know they’re being held in place, there’s an Others’ ship being held on the opposite side of Big Yellow, and they aren’t allowed to shoot at it. On the upside, they will pick us up at the air lock. On the downside, they tell me this is going to look really bad on the vids.”

  Tsui snickered first, then it swept the circle.

  After a moment of low-voiced but inventive profanity—mostly having to do with where General Morris could stick his PR problem—Torin raised a hand for silence. “Listen up, people, this is what we’re going to do. The perimeter pin’s reading no movement in the shaft, so I’m taking Jynett and Werst down with me to see where the bugs actually are. Werst.” She turned to the Krai. “I know you’ve been working point, but you’re the only one with any actual bug experience.”

  He nodded, his expression so neutral it bordered on blank. “And the simulation?”

  “Jynett and I are the only ones who’ve qualified.”

  “How do you know that?” Jynett whispered. “It never came up.”

  “I know everything, Jynett. Get used to it. The rest of you stay sharp. This area is secure now, but it may not stay that way. Maintain PCU silence and do your best to keep the civilians quiet. You might want to take a crack at that last bit, Guimond. They seem to like you.”

  He flashed her a dazzling smile. “Everyone likes me.”

  “Oh, puke,” Werst grunted.

  The vertical was no different than verticals on any station Torin had ever been on except that the low-gravity cylinder was only two levels long—far too small to be cost effective on a station. Holding a borrowed benny, she dropped in headfirst and caught herself on a loop just above the lower exit, her body swinging around until her boots touched the deck. Given the ship’s on again off again solids, she maintained her grip on the loop.

  Werst landed beside her. Jynett to the other side of the exit.

  Over the years, the Corps’ R&D had developed a number of small drones that could be sent in advance of personnel to search for the enemy. And over the years, the enemy had found every one of them. Once or twice, the drones had been the first the enemy had known there were Marines deployed in the area. Eventually, R&D had discovered what Marines in the field already knew—it was impossible to replace an informed set of eyes and ears.

  On the other hand, there was no point in being stupid about it.

  Torin flipped down her helmet scanner and unhooked the narrow cable that ran around the inside of the rim. Holding it about six inches back from the camera end, she crouched and poked it around the corner just off the deck.

  No bugs. No movement.

  Nothing but an empty corridor, a junction, and two closed hatches. Illumination seemed even spottier than it had up above, but at least this level had no red and green running lights.

  Werst’s facial ridges flared, Jynett’s hair flattened, and even Torin could smell the lingering bug scent. Approximately a third of their language was scent based and to Human noses the dominant notes were cinnamon and formaldehyde—not exactly unpleasant but unmistakable in combination. The scent trail raised the odds the bugs weren’t in suits, which meant they’d have to be just as careful about shooting holes in bulkheads or releasing toxins into the life-support system. Two definite pluses if it came to combat.

  With any luck, it wouldn’t.

  Taking a perimeter pin from her vest, Torin set it so that it covered the approach from the bow and pointed the other two members of the team toward the first hatch.

  No bugs.

  The compartment looked like a repair shop as much as it looked like anything. Tools, accurate enough in their rough shapes but lacking details, hung from the walls, and disassembled equipment had been spread over the center bench. A fast glance showed nothing they could use. About to turn away, a familiar shape caught Torin’s eye. It took her less than a minute to find all the pieces of her missing benny and less even than that to check it and reassemble it.

  She checked it for traps, then she wrapped her hand around the grip. It responded instantly, showing a full charge—which was interesting because she distinctly remembered firing into the floor. At an interrogative lift of Jynett’s hair, she shook her head and transferred the strap of the borrowed benny to the returned weapon, slinging it across her back. Until she knew for certain it had been returned unchanged, she was taking no chances.

  “And put your damned helmet on,” she growled at the di’Taykan as they left.

  The second compartment was a
mirror image of the first. The parts on the bench had all been shoved to one side, and the room reeked of an animated discussion.

  Looked like the ship had borrowed a bug’s weapon as well. And returned it.

  So the ship knows what both sides are carrying. Would that be a problem? And it allowed us to know that it knows. Was that even relevant? One thing’s for sure, Torin acknowledged as they covered the last few meters to the T-junction, a good old-fashioned firefight is going to come as a relief after all this does it or doesn’t it crap.

  Twelve meters up the starboard arm of the T-junction, they found a dead bug. Although it was always dangerous to extrapolate with an unfamiliar species, the sticky patch on one side of its abdomen looked remarkably like a field dressing. A bug’s vital organs—heart, lungs, brain—were in its abdomen behind not only the thickest bits of exoskeleton but body armor as well. In order to gain access to the wound, two pieces of armor had been removed. From the position of the entry hole, it looked as if something had gotten in a lucky shot, angling up in through both armor and exoskeleton at the break where the first section of millipedelike legs appeared. The carapace had been cracked, fluids had been seeping out.

  “She probably took the hit during the explosion that destroyed their air lock. They carried her this far, she died. When they moved on, they took her weapon but left her body armor because,” Torin flipped a finger into the air “they want to travel quickly and because,” a second finger, “they don’t know we’re in here.”

  “How do you figure that second one, Staff? We can’t use this stuff.”

  “We can use this.” Torin knelt and peered down at a section of the thorax cover. “In the simulation, this was a comm unit.”

  “No translation program,” Werst reminded her. “Even if we can get it to work.”

  “And it doesn’t look like it comes off.”

  “It won’t have to.” Ignoring Jynett’s silent request for more information, she rocked back on her heels and stood. “I think we can safely say the bugs have left this area. Put a perimeter pin around that corner facing aft, another on this hatch here, and let’s bring the rest down.”