by Tanya Huff
“If this is a wilderness preserve, why are there buildings at all?” The nose filters the di’Taykan had been forced to wear made Lieutenant Jarret’s voice sound flat and angry.
It was a good question, though. Since the lines in the dirt were telling Torin nothing much, she looked up at Cri Sawyes.
“I have no idea.”
The lieutenant’s eyes narrowed. “Why not?”
“I’m not from around here.” His tongue flicked out. When neither the two officers nor the three NCOs squatting around the crude map seemed to appreciate the humor, he expanded his explanation. “Sssome of what we Sssilsssvisss do isss bound by biology and therefore relatively ssstandard planet-wide. All our young malesss are sssegregated until hormonal balance isss achieved and they—we—are able to control our aggresssion. Behavior within that sssegregation fallsss within biologically determined parametersss.” He glanced around the circle of light, checking that his listeners understood. When no one indicated otherwise, he continued. “There are, asss I’m sure you’re aware, many cultural differencesss even within a planet’sss dominant ssspeciesss and I believe that the buildingsss are one of thossse differencesss.”
“A useful difference if we can get to them,” Sergeant Chou muttered.
Heads nodded around the circle.
“The long-range scanner on the VTA placed the closest Silsviss at thirty kilometers to the northwest.” Lieutenant Jarret jabbed a stick into the ground. “Approximately here. As the buildings are southeast of our position, we can assume they’re empty.” He frowned up at Cri Sawyes. “Could you tell if they were intact?”
“At that altitude and that ssspeed? No. I only sssaw them for a moment.”
“But you’re sure of where they are?”
“Within reason.”
“Staff?”
Torin sat back on her heels and exhaled slowly. All things considered, it could have been worse. That she was fairly certain it was going to get worse didn’t actually impact on the current decision. “We can’t run away from a fight because of the wounded, so I’d prefer to have something solid between me and the enemy if we have to dig in.”
“So would I. At first light, send a fireteam out to scout the position.”
“Yes, sir.” A sudden commotion in the darkness on the other side of the camp pulled Torin’s attention.
“That sounds like Hollice,” Mike muttered, head cocked to better separate the voices.
The unmistakable sound of a KC discharging brought everyone to their feet.
“Sergeant Glicksohn!”
“On my way, sir.” He slapped down his helmet scanner and broke into a run.
Ghard shook off the lethargy he’d worn since abandoning the contaminated VTA to the swamp, dropped his weapon off his shoulder, and jerked the muzzle around toward Cri Sawyes. “Are they attacking?”
“Are who attacking?” Jarret demanded.
“His people!”
“It’s not the Silsviss, sir.” Torin turned slowly so as not to startle him into pulling the trigger. Tentative friendship aside, they needed Cri Sawyes alive—he’d already proved a valuable resource. “We’re close enough to the VTA that all implants are still online and mine registered no perimeter violations.”
“Nor did mine.” Jarret stepped forward and gently pushed the other lieutenant’s weapon down toward the ground. “And the sentry’s helmet scanners are slaved to Staff Sergeant Kerr’s. If there was anything, anyone advancing toward us, we’d know.”
Ghard reluctantly moved his hand away from the trigger. “Then what was Corporal Hollice shooting at?”
* * *
“A snake, Sarge.”
“A snake?” Glicksohn repeated.
Hollice nodded and moved aside.
“Holy fuk.”
“You know, Sarge, that’s just about exactly what I said.”
The snake was as big around as a man’s arm and over three meters long. A tight beam of light played down its length picked out dull green diamonds bordered in mud brown. Difficult to spot in daylight, it would have been almost impossible to see at night. Almost. The tip of its tail was a brilliant orange, and it had two stubby orange legs a handspan back from the bloody stump where its head had been.
“It must’ve crawled up from the swamp, Sarge. I heard it slithering.” Hollice kicked at the body and shivered when the dead weight merely rocked slightly, absorbing the blow. “I hate snakes.”
“Was it poisonous?”
“What’s left of it isn’t,” Ressk answered from the shadows.
There were a number of regulations pertaining to the use of weapons within a camp perimeter. Looking down at the snake, Sergeant Glicksohn considered and discarded all of them. “Nice shot,” he said.
* * *
The night passed without further incident.
“Sleep well?” Mysho asked, passing a red-eyed Hollice on her way from the di’Taykan’s communal tent to the latrine.
Hollice shoved his fist up against a yawn. “I’m not sleeping until we’re off this stinking planet,” he snarled.
The Krai and Cri Sawyes had snake for breakfast.
* * *
It was midday by the time they finally got clear of the swamp. Torin didn’t know who the morning had been harder on: the Dornagain, who’d struggled to keep moving at nearly twice their normal speed, or everyone else who’d had to fight the urge to leave all four of them behind. Even the stretcher bearers had been moving faster, and she’d be willing to swear they’d been passed by the local equivalent of a slug at least twice during the early part of the morning’s march.
Having seen to the security of their makeshift camp, Torin stood and looked back down the ridge into the shallow valley that held the swamp. From her vantage point, she could see that dumb luck had dropped the VTA right next to one of only three fingers of higher land. Torin had never been a great believer in luck, preferring to trust in training, preparation, and strong artillery support, but it was impossible to deny the good fortune that had caused them to crash precisely where they had.
Good fortune and crash in the same sentence…that’s something you don’t hear every day.
Running her hand back through damp hair, she tried not to think of how wonderful a bath would feel or how badly they all needed one. Even one of the torrential downpours they’d been pummeled by at every other landing site on the planet would have helped, but the sky was almost painfully clear. Designed to repel dirt, the uniforms were surprisingly clean—the Marines wearing them were not. Even with an only Human sense of smell, Torin suspected the di’Taykan had removed their nose filters a little early.
Over the years she’d fought the Others on every sort of terrain imaginable, a number of them significantly more dangerous than the ground they’d just crossed, but she couldn’t think of a battlefield that had smelled worse. Fortunately, as the land had risen, the ground had dried and thick stands of sharp-edged grasses had begun to take over from the multilayers of rotting vegetation. By the time they reached what turned out to be the edge of a low plateau, the ground cover had become nothing but grass and an occasional clump of low bushes. Nothing in the immediate area smelled worse than they did.
Which was a mixed blessing at best.
At least the lieutenant’s scavenging parties won’t have any trouble finding their way back to the VTA. She could see the muddy scar of their crash from where she stood.
And if she could see it, so could anyone else.
Reluctantly replacing her helmet, she flipped down the scanner and pivoted slowly a hundred and eighty degrees. There were no registered species—Confederation species or Other—within the five-kilometer range. Which had to be considered good news although Torin would have preferred to know exactly how close the young males of the preserve had come during the night. Only an idiot would assume they weren’t planning to investigate the crash. And I can guarantee they’re making better time than we are.
Glancing over at the Dornagain, she wa
tched Strength of Arms lick up the last dregs of something they’d reconstituted the moment the lieutenant had called a rest. Finishing, she set the large bowl carefully aside and sagged almost instantly into sleep. From the state of her companions’ bowls, it looked as though exhaustion had won out over hunger.
In contrast, the Mictok, affected by neither the mud, nor the heat, nor the distance were chittering cheerfully to themselves just out of range of her translator.
Well, it sounds cheerful anyway, Torin acknowledged. They could have been discussing ways to bisect the politician who’d sent them to Silsviss and was therefore responsible for getting them into this mess.
The Charge d’Affaires and her one surviving aide were grooming matted feathers. Dr. Leor was at the stretchers—every now and then Torin could hear Haysole’s voice rising in a question. She hoped it was distance and position muting the doctor’s answers and not the seriousness of Haysole’s situation. Cri Sawyes had stretched out in the sun and, except for the team on watch, the Marines were stretched out by the stretchers, sharing a thin slice of shade. Lieutenant Jarret had given the di’Taykan specific orders not to wander off in search of a little privacy.
And considering how little privacy a di’Taykan needs… Torin cut off the thought before it took her places she didn’t have time to go.
Thumbing a dribble of sweat out of her eyebrow, she decided that a few moments in the shade might be a good idea. As she walked past the piles of discarded gear, the pair of boxed emmies caught her attention. The targeting scanner on an EM223 covered between fifteen and twenty kilometers depending on conditions. Unfortunately, since the Silsviss had been considered an ally…
“Ressk.”
The Krai lifted his head and blinked blearily at her. “Staff?”
“Can you download the data on the Silsviss from your slate into the emmy?”
“Sure.” As he rolled up onto his feet, he pulled his slate from his belt. “But it’s not targeting data.”
“Can you reprogram the scanner to work with it?”
That stopped him cold, and a number of the others raised their heads to better follow the exchange.
“You want me to reprogram the scanner?”
“That’s right.”
“To target an allied species?”
“Yes.”
“It’s against regs,” Ressk reminded her gleefully.
“So’s being overwhelmed by a pack of adolescent liz…Silsviss,” she corrected quickly, “and being beaten to death with sticks. Do what you can and do it quickly. The lieutenant wants us to move out as soon as the report’s in on those buildings.”
“The lieutenant wants?”
Torin caught his gaze, held it, and slowly lifted a brow. It had taken an implanted learning program to teach her the trick, but she’d never regretted the lost sleep.
Ressk’s ridges flushed. “Sorry, Staff. I’ll, uh, start working on the emmy.”
* * *
The fireteam sent out to recon Cri Sawyes’ buildings reported both intact and one nearly filled with large cloth bags of grain.
“And water?” Torin asked.
“There’s a well, of sorts. Not a lot of water, but what’s there is clean. The Krai can probably drink it straight.”
Jarret flipped down his own mike. “Is it a position we can defend if we have to?”
“It’s the best position I’ve seen since we grounded, sir.”
Which wasn’t saying much.
Before reprogramming, the targeting scanner found no enemies to lock onto. Had the Others shot down the VTA, they were apparently satisfied with the result and seemed uninterested in finishing the job.
That was the good news.
After reprogramming, it showed Silsviss only 7.3 kilometers away.
“Trouble is,” Ressk admitted, around the disassembled piece of the emmy he had clamped between his teeth, “I can’t get the program to tell me if that’s one Silsviss or a hundred.”
“Or if it’s the local teenagers or the local army,” Ghard added.
“I’ve already considered that, sir.” Torin stepped between the lieutenant and Ressk before Ghard could make a grab for the targeting screen. “The Silsviss military knows what we’re capable of; we’ve been doing demonstrations all over the planet. If that,” she jerked her head toward the screen, “was an army, they’d be opening fire with artillery by now.”
“You’re sure?”
He needed her to be sure, so she showed him her lower teeth, as close to a Krai social cue as she could manage. “Yes, sir. The only thing we have to worry about is how many teenagers are approaching.”
“Probably clossse to a hundred,” Cri Sawyes announced. When both officers, Torin, and Ressk locked eyes on his face, he lightly tapped the ground with his tail. “The leader of the nearessst pack would never allow hisss sssubordinatesss to examine the crash without him for fear they’d find sssomething that would enable them to take power,” he explained. “Nor would thossse sssubordinatesss allow the pack leader to invessstigate on hisss own. They’re all coming.”
“And quickly.” Torin squinted toward the northwest wondering how much dust a hundred Silsviss would raise. “We’ll never reach those buildings before they catch up. Are you sure they’ll attack?”
“Yesss. As I told you, a good leader throwsss pack againssst pack, keeping hisss followersss too preoccupied to take him down. However, I think you’ll have time; they’ll check out the crash sssite firssst.”
“Are you sure?” Jarret demanded.
“Not one hundred percent sure, no, but clossse. We are on their ground, as sssoon ass they crosss our path”—all eyes turned from Cri Sawyes to the broad, muddy trail that led back into the swamp—“they’ll know they outnumber usss. They’ll believe they can take usss out any time, ssso firssst they’ll sssatisssfy their curiosssity about the crash.”
“Their weapons?”
“Pre-technology. Only what they can make from materialsss in the pressserve. Once at the buildingsss, we should be able to hold them off indefinitely.”
“Then we have to reach the buildings. Staff.”
“Listen up, people!” Her voice carried to the far edge of the camp, stopping both movement and conversations. “Pack up and get ready to move. If you brought it in, carry it out!”
“Hey, Staff! What about them?” Mysho pointed downwind at the four immobile heaps of multihued golden fur.
“I’ll wake the Dornagain.” They were large, they had claws, and for all Torin knew, they woke up cranky. She started toward them, deciding it might be safest to begin with Thinks Deeply.
“Wait!” Ghard blocked her way with an outstretched arm.
Rocking to a stop, she stared down at the Krai. She thought they’d settled that whole chain of command thing. Apparently, Lieutenant Ghard thought otherwise. While she had some sympathy for his insecurities—grounded pilots were all a bit squiggy having been forcibly ejected from their natural element—she had none whatsoever for his timing. Fortunately, the platoon continued readying themselves for the march, paying no attention. “Sir, I have my orders.”
“But what if the Silsviss don’t go to the crash site first?” he demanded. Without giving her a chance to answer, he jerked his head around to face Jarret and Cri Sawyes. “If they don’t go to the crash site and we start for the buildings now, they’ll catch us spread out and unable to defend ourselves. Maybe that’s what he wants.”
The emphasis aimed the pronoun directly at Cri Sawyes.
“If the march isss overrun, I alssso will be overrun,” he pointed out, his voice as impatient as Torin had ever heard it.
“So? You’re one of them!”
“No, I am not.” His throat pouch swelled enough to flash a crescent of lighter skin and then deflated. “Firstly, I am an adult and secondly, I am not of their pack.” One hand swept down the length of his torso, drawing attention to gray-on-gray markings. “And although I may be of the sssame ssspeciesss, I’m not of their rac
e. I am in thisss with you, Lieutenant Ghard, whether you want me there or not.”
“Lieutenant Jarret…”
“I’ve made my decision.” Eyes dark, Jarret stared at Ghard a heartbeat longer. Then, without moving his head, he snapped his gaze over to Torin. “You have your orders, Staff Sergeant.”
“Yes, sir.”
“A word with you in private, Lieutenant Ghard.”
Judging from his tone, Lieutenant Jarret was about to give his junior officer a well deserved reaming out.
“What’re you looking so approving about?” Mike asked as she passed.
Torin paused and nodded back toward the two officers. Ghard’s shoulders had slumped, but as Jarret continued talking, they began to straighten. “I like the way Lieutenant Jarret is taking command.”
“As opposed to the way twoies usually take command?” He squeezed his voice into a shrill falsetto. “I’m an officer and I’m in charge, so you’ve got to do what I say, no matter what!” Then his voice dropped back down into its normal range. “And I’m inclined to think that’s better than the overly earnest—if some idiot just out of the college is going to get me killed, I’d as soon not die thinking at least their intentions were good.”
“So this time we got lucky.”
“We’ve been lucky before.”
“So this time let’s keep him alive.”
The sergeant sighed. “That’s the trick, isn’t it?” Head to one side, he looked up at Torin through thick lashes. “If I were a betting man…”
She snorted.
Grinning, he continued. “…I’d say you liked him.”
Just for a moment, she wondered what he knew. She hadn’t given anything away. Had the lieutenant? Then the moment passed. If she wasn’t hearing about her unfortunate indiscretion from the other di’Taykan, then no one knew. “I appreciate his ability as an officer…” Which she did. “…and I appreciate his appearance…” Safe enough, after all, she wasn’t blind. “…but he’s very young…” Not that age was relevant with a di’Taykan. “…and that’s as far as it goes.” Regardless of how far it had gone.
