[Confederation 04] Valor's Trial

by Huff, Tanya

  Toes of her boots just about to the edge of the hatch, Torin tossed her club into the air lock. The inner door was open, and there was nothing to indicate that the ship was using power in any way, but then again there was nothing that indications of power usage were mandatory. The club bounced on the deck, rocked a few times, and stilled.

  It seemed safe.

  The interior was unique but familiar enough to determine function. Two rows of six, three-meter benches standing up on their ends filled the main compartment. Enough light spilled in through the open hatch to examine the closer of the dozen benches. The deep gray surfaces weren’t particularly well padded, but the dangling deep red straps suggested a safety harness, which suggested in turn that this was passenger seating.

  “Check what’s behind the hatch at the back,” Torin said, heading up to the front of the compartment to examine the pilot’s control panel. The narrow window above the single meter-by-two-meter panel let in enough light for her to see that the console looked nothing like the one on the Promise although there might be similarities a pilot could spot. The two stools, however, were identical to those in the control rooms. Stools told her that the ship used internal dampers. The pilot’s console told her nothing at all. And Ressk told her that the space at the back of the ship was an empty cargo bay.

  “So, no Susumi drive.”

  “I’m sorry, Gunny.”

  “Why? Did you remove it? You have nothing to apologize for.”

  “But we can’t . . .”

  “I know. And in no galaxy is that your fault.” She ran her hands back through her hair, feeling more of it break off. “Does the ship even have power?”

  Ressk examined the console, nose ridges opening and closing. “I don’t actually want to touch anything.”

  “Yeah, well, neither of us wanted to get dumped on this burning shithole of a planet, so suck it up. We need to know.”

  “There might be an easy way . . .” He turned and headed out of the pilot’s compartment.

  “Ressk?”

  “Hang on, Gunny. We’ll know in a minute.”

  In less time than that, the lights came on. The ship had power.

  “Good.” She nodded as Ressk came back through the hatch. “If nothing else, maybe Firiv’vrak can figure out how to fly us back to the prison.”

  Ressk stared at her for a long minute. “Back? Why?”

  “It’s where the food is.”

  “If the bug gets into orbit . . .” He stared at her for another long moment, then shook his head, nose ridges closing. “No. Probably not.” The bulkhead boomed, hammered by the side of his fist. “No way they’d have dumped us somewhere fukking convenient. Technical Sergeant Gucciard died for nothing.”

  “He died saving eighteen people from a firestorm.”

  “So we could die later.”

  “Later is always the preferred option, Corporal.” Torin lightly touched the edge of the console where a bit of the shine had worn off. “Technical Sergeant Gucciard died buying us time.”

  “Gunny, if you’re about to add that where there’s life there’s hope, please don’t.”

  It hadn’t occurred to her. It wasn’t hope that kept her going, it was just that not going wasn’t an option. She almost wished it was. Still, a few days catching up on her kibble consumption and it would be.

  On the way out, Ressk paused by the air lock and the lights went out. When Torin threw a questioning glance in his direction, he reached up and slapped the wall to the right of the hatch. The lights came back on.

  “There’s a switch just inside the air lock?”

  “There is.”

  “Well that’s just . . .” Frowning, she slapped the spot and the lights went out. “. . . unoriginal.”

  “It’s where every biocular sentient race installs it, Gunny. Everyone except for the H’san,” he amended. “I saw a vid that told how they like to have the switch on the floor.”

  “Handier if you’re carrying groceries,” Torin agreed dryly, leading the way down the ramp.

  “Do you think that’s . . .” He ran to catch up. “Never mind.”

  The bulk of the ship kept them from being able to see anything but the upper corners of the window into the building’s control room.

  “You feel like they’re watching you?” Ressk asked, scratching at a bit of peeling skin on the back of his head.

  “They are watching us, Corporal.” The link looked like it was functional. All the right lights were on. There was, however, only one way to be sure. She stepped in and waited. “Ressk?”

  “I don’t know, Gunny.” A flick of his finger dislodged the dead skin from under his nail. “I mean, two buttons, one for up one for down and only two places it could go; it seems simple, but I gotta say, I don’t trust simple.”

  “Four hundred and twenty stairs, Ressk. Counting those . . .” She nodded toward the forty-two at the end of the bay. “Four hundred and sixty-two. Against gravity. Each step a little higher than Human norm and one hell of a lot higher than Krai norm.”

  He shook his head, sighed, and stepped into the box. “Untried alien tech, Gunny. This is nuts.”

  “Four hundred and sixty-two steps,” she repeated sagging against the burnished metal wall. “Do the honors.”

  Nose ridges flared, Ressk pushed the upper button.

  Nothing happened immediately, then the light in the link flickered, and the door very slowly began to close.

  “We could still jump out.”

  “Yes, we could.”

  They didn’t. Ressk shifted his weight from foot to foot as they waited, but Torin didn’t have the energy even for that. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so tired. Or the last time she’d slept. Or, for that matter, the last time the lights had gone out.

  Fuk!

  First day here, she’d taken a stim and then forgotten about them. There was always a chance that the heat outside had destroyed their effectiveness, but there was equally a chance that the inner pocket in her vest had offered enough protection. Being able to pry them out of the packaging was a good sign. So was the familiar bitter flavor. Unfortunately, except for a nasty taste in her mouth, she didn’t feel any different.

  “Gunny?”

  “What is it, Corporal?”

  “When this is over, if we get out, they’ll be the enemy again, won’t they?”

  The words in her mouth were of course because whatever happened between her Marines and certain members of the Primacy on this burning shithole of a planet had no effect on anything off this burning shithole of a planet. But the words that found their way out were, “Not mine.”

  “Gunny?” He didn’t quite understand.

  She wasn’t entirely certain she did.

  The door finally closed. The burnished metal box vibrated slightly.

  “Just because it looks like a link,” Ressk muttered, “doesn’t mean it is one. It could be a decom chamber.”

  “Then we’re clean.”

  “Or an oven.”

  “Then we’re cooked.”

  “Or a disintegration box for garbage.”

  “Then we’re dead.” The doors opened onto the upper corridor. Torin pushed herself off the wall and stepped out. “But it’s a link.”

  “There was no way you could have known,” Ressk muttered, following her.

  Torin turned just far enough to raise an eyebrow in his direction.

  “Except that you’re a gunnery sergeant,” he amended. “Now what?”

  “Now we tell the durlin that it appears to be a functional VTA, and while we might be able to get into orbit, without a Susumi drive that’s the extent of our travel plans.”

  “I are not believing that you are finding seven planets out there and there are only being one with an atmosphere.”

  “They’ve all got atmosphere,” Craig muttered as he ran the orbital equations one more time. “There’s only one with a breathable atmosphere.”

  “And when you are saying breathable,
you are being too generous.”

  “If you can go outside with only a filter, that counts as breathable in the larger scheme of things.”

  “Larger scheme.” Presit folded her arms, sagged back against the bulkhead, and snorted. “I are not going outside in a filter. And I are not going outside and be cooked. That kind of heat are being very bad for the fur. You are needing to find another. There are being billions and billions of stars, so you are needing to create the equations to the next one.”

  The argument was old. The last bit about the equations, that was new.

  “I need to what?”

  She sighed, jumped down off the bunk, and crossed to stand beside him. “I’ve been thinking about the problem.”

  That worried him. That and the sudden use of Federate syntax.

  “You are having long-range sensors, right?”

  “Right.”

  “So you are gathering all the data possible and you are creating an equation for a very, very short jump. No farther than your sensors can see.” A small black hand waved dismissively at the planet below. “If there are not something better than this, then you are doing it again.”

  Slipping in and out of Susumi space in small jumps . . . No pilot in their right mind would try something so fukking stupid, but if Promise could see the destination, then it wasn’t exactly an open-ended equation because math worked in two directions. If he could describe where they were going, he could work the equation backward to determine where they were. “At that distance, we’d have nothing more than the grossest details.” He couldn’t believe he was actually considering it. “We wouldn’t have the faintest fukking idea of what we’d jump out into.”

  “The Susumi wave would be pushing small stuff out of our way,” Presit reminded him.

  Craig snorted. “Some of that small stuff could be ships with other people on board.”

  “Enemies.” She waved a hand dismissively, fur ruffling in the created breeze.

  “How do you figure?”

  “We are here because we are following Others’ ships. So this are being Others’ space. So ships are belonging to the enemy.”

  “That doesn’t mean we can just destroy them.”

  “Excuse me, but I are believing that is exactly what enemy are meaning.” She frowned, the silver pattern on her forehead folding into a stylized M. “I are believing you used to be a gambler. Did Gunnery Sergeant Kerr have your balls when she are dying? What are the worst thing that could happen?”

  His chair creaked as he shifted his weight. “We die.”

  Presit shot a scathing look out at the planet. “I are not seeing much potential for a long life staying here.”

  She had a point. Actually, she had a number of them, and they were digging into his arm again. A hand around her wrist, he lifted her claws free and stared down at the seething mass of clouds below them.

  Fuk it. He’d rather die in space. “All right.”

  “And that are meaning?”

  “You’re right.” A flick of a finger brought the long-range sensors back on line.

  She snorted. “And if you are realizing that sooner, we are being so much closer to home now and I are being so much closer to filing my story and— What are that?” Shoving past him, a bronzed claw tapped one of the screens where an equation flashed. “Are there a ship out there?”

  “No, sensors are still locked on the planet. I hadn’t redirected them yet.”

  “There are a ship on the planet?”

  “No.”

  “You are not knowing what’s on the planet?”

  “I know.” There wasn’t enough air in the cabin. There wasn’t enough room in his chest. He could actually feel himself start to sweat. “It’s a salvage tag. It’s one of my salvage tags.”

  Either the stim had worked on some level, or she was just too tired to sleep. Torin stood at the back of the control room, not so much watching Ressk and Sanati trying to work out the panel as staring over their heads into the launch bay. If they could get the force field open, and if Firiv’vrak ever woke up, they could use the VTA to hop back to the prison and get food. Then Firiv’vrak could take it up above the cloud cover and find out where they were. Maybe send a message if they could figure out the com system. Of course, the message would take years to get anywhere regardless of where it was sent, and figuring out the com system was a pretty big if.

  Back to the prison for food seemed to be the best they had going. She’d lost two people getting this far and what had it gained them? Sweet fuk all. If they’d stayed in the prison, Mike and Jiyuu would still be alive. Maybe Ressk was right. Maybe Mike had sacrificed himself for nothing.

  “I think the Artek are rousing.” Freenim stepped into place beside her.

  “You think?”

  He shrugged. “They are large bugs. It is hard to tell for certain, but two of them seem to be breathing faster. And there is some leg movement.” One set of fingers waggled patterns in the air. Torin didn’t bother trying to interpret them. “Or not. Everyone else is asleep.”

  “Good.”

  “Your Private Kyster is lying with the durlin. I think she is taking him like her Ner.”

  “That’s a pretty strong bond?” Torin guessed. Not exactly a long shot considering.

  “Very strong. Although in this case, I think it is habit and wishful thinking. He was bonded to you?”

  “No. Not like that. He’d been through some stuff and doesn’t like to be alone.”

  Freenim shrugged again. “Who does? Why is your chest glowing?”

  “Pardon?”

  He pointed. “Your chest is glowing. It comes up through the neck of your vest.”

  Torin ducked her head but couldn’t see anything. If her chest was glowing, there could be only one reason. Well, one reason she felt able to cope with. Frowning, she caught hold of the cord for the salvage tag and dragged it out. In the harsh light of the control room, it was just barely bright enough to see and still cool to the touch when she closed her fingers around the familiar shape. “I accidentally activated it a while ago. It’s probably just playing out its program.”

  *Torin? Can you hear me?*

  She didn’t realize she’d sat down until she found herself on the floor, legs folded, staring down at the tag.

  “Gunnery Sergeant?”

  *Torin? I’m reading your tag! Answer me, damn it!*

  Her hands were steady, but her tongue was trembling as she activated her implant. Had she been asked, she’d have said that tongues didn’t tremble. Had she been asked, she’d have said that Craig Ryder was half a universe away. “Craig?”

  The silence continued long enough that she started to think she’d imagined she’d heard him.

  Then . . .

  *You’re alive?* His voice sounded like it had been shattered and badly reassembled. She wouldn’t have imagined that. It had to be him. It had to be real.

  “Gunnery Sergeant Kerr?”

  Freenim, Ressk, and Sanati stood in a half circle, staring down at her. Reminding her that she was Gunnery Sergeant Kerr and not someone who’d just heard a voice she’d never expected to hear again. There’d be time to indulge that other person later. She took a deep breath, closed her fingers around the tag, and watched the light leak out between them. She sounded like Gunnery Sergeant Kerr. Mostly. “I certainly hope I’m alive because this would be one fukked afterlife if I wasn’t. There’s a ship in orbit,” she added, having gained enough control of her expression to look up. Before her more immediate audience could speak, she held up a hand to cut them off. “You are in orbit, aren’t you?”

  *They told me you were dead.*

  She could hear another break. Hear it hastily repaired. “Understandable mistake. We always believed the Primacy didn’t take prisoners.”

  *The who?*

  “The Primacy, it’s what the Others call themselves. We always believed they didn’t take prisoners.”

  “We do not,” Freenim pointed out. Interesting that a “what
the fuk” expression remained so similar regardless of facial features.

  “Gunny’s listening to her jaw implant,” Ressk said slowly, nose ridges snapping open and snapping closed. “There’s a ship in orbit.”

  “A ship?”

  “A ship.” He blinked, and his nose ridges stayed open. “Holy fuk! There’s a ship in orbit! We’re saved! We’ve got to . . .”

  Torin reached out, grabbed a handful of his combats, and jerked him to a stop, shaking her head. When things seemed too good to be true, in her experience they usually were.

  *So the Primacy took you prisoner?*

  “No. The Primacy doesn’t take prisoners. We’re in a prison with the Primacy. Some of the members of the Primacy. Soldiers. Like us.”

  *But who . . . ?*

  “No idea.”

  *Okay, not the Primacy. There’s a third side to this war?*

  “Space is big.” She should probably stand, but she wasn’t sure she could trust her knees. “What the hell are you doing here, Craig?”

  *They told me you were dead. Torin, the rock . . . the rock where you were standing was fukking melted. We went there, to Estee, to the planet where they said you died . . . *

  “We?”

  *Presit’s with me.*

  *No, you are being with me, or you are not getting to the planet where the gunnery sergeant are believed to be dying at all.*

  Fukking great. She was on an open com. “You went to the planet where they said I died,” she prodded.

  *Yeah, we went, but . . . fuk, it was glass, no DNA, no nothing.*

  Glass? “How much glass?”

  *I don’t remember . . . uh, thirty square kilometers, give or take. Why?*

  And just like that, Torin realized that she’d assumed the rest of Sh’quo company was alive. That Mashona and Ressk had been scooped up with her, but the rest were still on Estee, still fighting. “How many dead?”

  The pause went on a little too long.

  “Craig?”

  *Over seven hundred.*

  Her turn to sit silently. The others in the control room hadn’t heard Craig’s answer, but they’d heard her question. They knew what her reaction meant.

  *Torin?*

  Time enough to mourn later. Always time enough to mourn no matter how little time there was. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “You were on Estee. How did you get here?”