by Tanya Huff
Hollice shrugged. “It’s a gift. Let’s just hope he never uses it for evil.”
“Half the time, I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” Binti muttered, shaking her head.
* * *
Although the door was open, the lieutenant wasn’t alone. Moving quietly across the wide hall—an action made more difficult by the steel-reinforced heels of her dress boots—Torin paused in the open door. Rank had gotten Lieutenant Jarret a pair of adjoining rooms on the upper floor. Out of the half dozen available, he chose two at the top of the central stairs and Torin had to admit she liked the symbolism. Enemies of the Confederation would have to go through him to get to the civilians.
She liked the symbolism of the doctor and the corpsmen setting up shop directly across the hall a little less.
The room the lieutenant had decided to use as his headquarters was huge, painted a deep, under-the-canopy green, and mostly empty. It held what passed for a desk on Silsvah, a long, low table along one wall, a number of stools of varying heights, the lieutenant, and a Silsviss male. At least Torin assumed it was a male; it was difficult to tell the genders apart without either a size comparison or an inflated throat pouch.
He was standing with his back to her, facing the lieutenant across the desk. A pair of scars ran parallel across the dark gray of his right hip and another marked his right shoulder.
Left-handed, Torin thought. Weaker on the right.
He wore three narrow metal rings spaced evenly around the lower end of his tail and a military-style harness with about half the hardware that had been attached to the soldiers who’d met them at the landing field.
“Of courssse there’sss no intention of making thisss your permanent embasssy should we decide to join your Confederation.” His voice, while still annoyingly sibilant, was deep and, allowing for the variables of translation, he spoke with a confidence Torin rather liked.
She cleared her throat.
The Silsviss reacted a fraction of second before the lieutenant but waited for his host to look up before he turned.
Retired officer, she decided. One of the good ones. Catching the lieutenant’s eye she said, “Excuse me, sir, but you wanted to go over the duty roster.”
Lieutenant Jarret had clearly forgotten he’d ever given her such an order, but he recovered quickly and beckoned her into the room. “Yes, of course. Staff, I’d like you to meet Cri Sawyes, our Silsviss liaison. Cri Sawyes, Staff Sergeant Kerr.”
“Ah, yes, your Rissstak.” The flat black gaze weighed and measured. Whistling softly—it was a quieter version of the sound the crowd had been making, so Torin assumed he approved—Cri Sawyes turned back to the lieutenant. “Here we have a sssaying that a good Rissstak isss the equal of location and sssuperior numbersss.”
“We have a similar saying.”
“Sssoldiersss are sssoldiersss whatever their ssspeciesss.” Tapping his tail lightly against the floor, Cri Sawyes moved toward the door. “I will leave you two to your dutiess. When you need me…” He indicated the squat, pale green box on the desk. “…you have only to call. A pleasure to meet you, Ssstaff Sssergeant.”
“Sir.” Torin waited until the sound of his claws faded, then leaned over the desk. “And this is?”
“A communications device.” Lieutenant Jarret looked speculatively down at the pattern of slots. “It’s set up for claws, but I expect I can make do with a stylus.” He held out his hand for her slate. His fingers were warm where they brushed against hers—a quick glance at his cuff showed his climate controls still at the lowest setting. He couldn’t be comfortable, but it didn’t show. “You have fireteams with di’Taykan standing watch at night when it’s cooler?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good.” He downloaded the schedule into his own slate and handed hers back. “Everything looks in order. Let me know if you make any changes.”
“Yes, sir.”
“The desks are somewhat less than we’re used to, aren’t they?”
“Yes, sir.”
He drummed his fingertips against the wood and sighed. “In fact, I’d have to say that, officially, they suck.”
Torin smiled, more at his indignation than anything, but he didn’t need to know that. “Yes, sir, they most certainly do suck.”
“The doctor says we’re all on rations tonight until he finishes testing the local food, so I’ve had a reprieve.”
“A reprieve?”
“The local versions of state dinners.” Jarret dropped down onto a stool. “I’d rather be shot at.”
“That’s because you’ve never been shot at, sir.”
His hair lifted. “And how many state dinners have you attended, Staff.”
“None, sir.”
“Then I’d say neither of us have a basis for comparison.” Smiling up at her, he leaned back and caught himself just before he fell off the stool.
FOUR
The week in Shurlantec went remarkably quickly. To Torin’s surprise, the entire platoon kept their off duty behavior within acceptable parameters—no one got arrested, eaten, or shot. She didn’t want to know how Haysole’s shoulders got gouged and since Sergeant Glicksohn assured her that both the di’Taykan and diplomatic relations were essentially unaffected, she didn’t have to ask.
Although he had a tendency to make enthusiastic and inappropriate suggestions, Lieutenant Jarret allowed her to do her job without unnecessary interference. By the time they reboarded the modified VTA, Torin had to admit that, so far, she had no complaints. The lieutenant would make a fine addition to any Intelligence or Administration unit. Whether he could command a combat unit was still open to question.
With minor geographic differences, experiences at the next two cities on the Silsvah Marine Corps tour were much the same.
Daarges, the largest city in the Southern Hemisphere, took hot and humid up a notch to hot and raining. Cri Sawyes, now traveling with them, explained that the south was in the midst of their rainy season. During a discussion over a jar of green beer, one of the local NCOs shot a disgusted look at the sky and told Torin it didn’t actually get much dryer.
“Agriculture down here, technology up north.” He sorted through a bowl of small amphibians and tossed a pale yellow one into his mouth. “Not an entirely fair sssyssstem, but it worksss.”
The citizens of Daarges were more green than gray, and both fingers and toes were webbed. Torin had never seen a species as good as the Silsviss at waterproofing; exposed metals were coated in an organic sealant and even hand weapons could be fired underwater. Once she got a look at some of the things that lived in the water, she understood why.
“In the old daysss in thisss part of the world, the young malesss went into the water with only a knife to prove themssselvesss against the karn and win the right to breed. Thisss hasss not been allowed for sssome time.”
Torin looked where Cri Sawyes pointed and only just managed to stop herself from backing off the other side of the narrow boardwalk and right into the swamp.
“That’s the biggest snake I’ve ever seen.” Lieutenant Jarret’s tone suggested polite interest—his hair, flattened to his head, suggested a slightly less sanguine reaction.
“That isss the more mobile sssection of the karn. The greater part of itsss body isss buried in the mud.”
The thought of going up against such a monster with only a knife drew both Torin’s brows up almost to her hairline. A handheld missile launcher with soft target impact detonating charges, yes. A knife, no. The expression on the lieutenant’s face indicated a similar thought.
“I can see why they put a stop to it,” he murmured.
Cri Sawyes made a sound between a sigh and a hiss and his claws curled into the damp wood. “The karn isss now a protected ssspeciesss. One by one, our young lossse the challengesss that help them to mature.”
Torin was impressed that the karn had needed protecting and, not for the first time, gave thanks that the Silsviss were coming in on the right side. The
last thing she wanted was to face off against someone who went up against something the size of a karn with only a knife. Those kinds of crazy people were dead to reason and nearly impossible to stop.
The third city, Ra Navahsis, was a pleasant surprise. The temperature still hovered between uncomfortable and slow roast, but the air was dry and even the di’Taykan found it bearable. The city was inland and everything, including the Silsviss, was more gold than green.
Given to flashy colors and brilliant displays, the inhabitants kept everyone moving so quickly between ceremonies that Torin barely had a moment to call her own and at that, she had a significantly better time than the lieutenant. After his first Ra Navahsis banquet, he’d staggered into their temporary barracks, gazed glassily at his assembled NCOs and was suddenly, noisily, sick. Not at all sympathetic, Dr. Leor suggested he try eating perhaps half as much the next time.
“There wasn’t actually a chance to turn anything down,” Jarrett explained as Torin helped him back to his quarters after the doctor had done what he could. “They knew what local foods each of us could eat and they were determined to feed it to us. The Dornagain seemed to enjoy it—I think one of the ambassador’s assistants changed her name to Well If You Insist Just One More—the Rakva can’t eat enough of the local food to have a problem, Ambassador Krik’vir and her lot switched to external digestion and that got them off the hook, but it was up to me to uphold the honor of the Marines.”
“The Marines appreciate it, sir.”
“Don’t patronize me, Staff, or I’ll puke on your boots.”
“Sorry, sir.”
“Maybe I should deputize one of the Krai to eat in my place.”
Torin eased him down onto his bed. “I’m not sure any of our Krai would be up to that kind of a ceremonial function.”
“Ceremonial function, my brass. More like competitive gluttony.”
“That, they’d be up to.”
He belched, exhaling a breath redolent with Silsvah spices, and fell back against the ridge in the top of the mattress that passed for a pillow. “Don’t think for a moment they weren’t judging my abilities, throwing food at me until they knew exactly where I stood.” One hand clutching his masker, he closed his eyes. “See if you can get them to shoot at me instead. I’m sure I’d feel a lot better if I’d just been shot.”
“I stand by my theory that that’s only because you’ve never been shot, sir.”
“Fine. You shoot me.”
Torin had no idea how the lieutenant managed to survive the continuing round of banquets his rank obligated him to attend, but the only shooting involved an elaborate display of military marksmanship where the visitors outscored the home team over two to one with their own weapons and then proved themselves laughingly inept with the Silsviss small arms.
The Silsviss, on the other hand, took to the KC like a H’san to cheese.
* * *
“Sorry, Staff.” Ressk pulled his slate back from Torin’s jaw and ruefully shook his head. “I can’t get a clear enough interface with your implant. The data I’m getting’s so scrambled, I can’t find what needs fixing.”
“So I’m stuck with the sibilants?”
“’Fraid so. Bottom line, you need an upgrade.”
Her hand rose to protectively cup her left cheek. The tech team insisted that the installation was essentially painless, but Torin had found a lot of leeway within that qualifier. “There’s an automatic upgrade coming with my next promotion. Can’t it wait?”
He shrugged, a Krai adaptation of a Human gesture. “That depends.”
“On?”
“Time frame. Your opstem’s on the downward slide. Eventually, it’ll degrade into piss and wind and even your primary programming won’t run. Now, if it was up to me, I wouldn’t wait for that piece of shit the techs’ll put in; I’d get me a Bg347 with a direct cerebral uplink.”
Torin snorted. “And if I could afford that, why would I be here, wasting my time with you lot?” She headed for the door without waiting for an answer. “Thanks for the diagnostic, Ressk.”
“There’ll be a little something added to my pay chit?”
“No.” Pausing just inside the door’s sensor range, she grinned back over her shoulder as it cycled. “But I’ll ignore your little excursion up on the Berganitan.”
“How did you…?”
“I’m a staff sergeant. I know everything.” She stepped over the hatch’s raised edge and added, as the door cycled shut behind her, “And don’t ever do it again.”
“I told you she’d find out,” Binti muttered, lightly smacking the back of his head as she passed behind him.
“No, you didn’t.”
“Yes, I did.”
“Didn’t.”
“Did.”
“Would you two shut your fukking holes.” Arms stiff, Checya glared at them in mid-push-up and jerked his chin toward Conn. “You think the poor bastard doesn’t already miss his four-year-old? You two have to remind him of her?”
The corporal looked a little startled at suddenly being the center of attention. “Were you guys talking to me?” He held up his slate. “I was just writing to Myrna. Captain Daniels told me she’d squirt a letter up to the Berganitan when we land.”
“Tell her I said hi.” Stepping over the heavy gunner, Binti hung her tunic over the back of her assigned position and continued toward the hatch in the back of the troop compartment that led to the APCs.
“Where are you heading?”
“I thought I’d go play with the di’Taykan.”
Corporal Hollice cracked one eye and glanced up at the board. “You’ve got half a standard hour before we’re to strap back in.”
“Plenty of time if we skip the small talk.”
Hollice opened the other eye and glanced around the troop compartment, counting Marines. “There’s four of them in there.”
“So?”
“Hey, if you can march after that, more power to you, but you know the rules about other races joining in with the di’Taykan. No allowances made. You play, you pay. And your basic Human bits are just not…”
“All right, killjoy, I get it.” Binti frowned, turned, and dropped back into her seat. “Maybe I’ll just play a level of Goopa Elite instead.”
Hollice smiled and closed his eyes again. “Probably wise.”
“I think it’s time someone took his sergeant’s exam,” she muttered, shoving a game biscuit into her slate.
* * *
The Silsviss had asked that they stay within the atmosphere while traveling between cities so that as many people as possible could see the alien ship. As they were willing to provide the extra fuel it burned, Captain Daniels flew the fine line between too close to the ground and insulting their hosts.
Distances that could have been covered in a hop and skip out of the atmosphere took hours.
Torin had pulled the NCOs out of the troop compartment as soon as the VTA had reached its cruising altitude. Too much off duty time spent with the troops tended to turn even the most levelheaded sergeant into a playground supervisor—which left no one happy.
She’d have ignored the game in the armory, but the sight of a Rakva perched behind the ammo case they were using as a table pulled her in for a closer look.
“For the sake of our beginner here, we’ll keep it simple.” Mike dealt one card up and four down to all six players. “The game’s five card draw. Jack bets.”
The junior Rakva extended a slender digit and tapped the plastic square. “This is a jack?”
“That’s a jack.”
“Ah.” He scooped up his other four cards and fluffed out his crest as he studied them. “This one thinks that this one understands but would like to know one small thing again.”
Scratching his cheek where the follicle suppressant was beginning to wear off, Mike shrugged. “Anything.”
“What is it that beats a pair of eights?”
Torin grinned as the sergeant tossed his hand down in disgust. T
he metal ammo case had reflected the cards far too fast for Human eyes but not for Rakva. “You’re not gambling in here, are you, Sergeant Glicksohn?”
“Wouldn’t think of it, Staff. We’re just involving our feathered friend here in a cross-cultural exchange.”
The Rakva’s crest fell. “This one thought you were teaching him to play poker?”
Torin left him to explain.
Her rounds bringing her back into the civilian’s seating behind the bridge, she straightened her tunic and put on her best company expression before stepping into the sensor field. Although about half the size of the troop compartment for significantly fewer people, the four Dornagain made the area seem cramped and overcrowded. Her nose twitched. And, in spite of the best efforts of the ventilation system, just a little rank.
The lieutenant was talking to the Dornagain ambassador, and she wondered how he was coping. Breathing through his mouth wouldn’t help—the most sensitive scent receptors were along the edge of his soft palate. Did he need rescuing?
Given the way the ends of his hair were flicking back and forth, she’d say that would be a yes.
Fortunately, Listens Well And Considers All spoke significantly faster than he moved, and at the first natural pause, Torin stepped forward. “Excuse me, Ambassador, Lieutenant. Sergeant Trey needs to speak to you at the APCs, sir.”
“Thank you, Staff Sergeant.” To have shown that much relief in his voice would have been rude, but Torin read it in the sudden stillness of his hair. “Excuse me, Ambassador, duty calls.” He bowed and turned, and mouthed a second, silent thank you as he passed.
“Staff Sergeant Kerr.”
“Yes, Ambassador?” She thought he was smiling at her, but she wasn’t as familiar with Dornagain social cues as she should be. His ears were up, only his bottom teeth were showing, and he was resting back on his haunches—although that last bit was more an indication of the compartment height than any sort of mood.
“How are you finding the Silsviss thus far?”
I don’t have to find them, they’re all over the bloody place. “I think they’ll make fine allies against the Others, sir.”
