An Ancient Peace (21 page)

Craig leaned in and Torin fought the urge to put a possessive hand on his shoulder. Full awareness of how ridiculous she was being wasn't enough to stop it.

“You look exhausted, Presit.” She could hear the concern in his voice. “Is everything all right?” He'd spent a lot more time alone with her than Torin had. She couldn't see tired.

“No . . .” Her tone added a clear
idiot. “. . .
everything are not being all right. If everything are being all right, would I be here?”

Of course not. If everything was all right, there'd be no story.

“So, what brings you into the light of glory?”

She wrinkled her muzzle, sharp white teeth gleaming against the
black gums. As it was Craig asking, they might actually get an answer. “If the light of glory are being your unnecessary Human dialect way of asking what are bringing me here into the Core, then I are here for the other side of the reason you are being here.”

Or not.

“Details,” Torin prodded.

“You are going first.”

“You followed us.”

“And again, I are
not
following you.”

“All right, then. We were here first.”

“Are we being kits now? You are going with that?” When she sighed, her fur ruffling, Torin could see the exhaustion Craig had noticed earlier, the effort it took to hold her head high. “Fine. I are searching for a dependent of my house, and I are not finding her. She are having fought with the
strectasin
some years ago when she are young and are having left, announcing as the young are doing that she are better off on her own. The clan are all expecting her to come back having proven her point, but time are passing and she are not home. She are sending messages . . .” A flick of her fingers dismissed the messages. “. . . to her
armenai
, but then, even that are stopping. More time are passing and no one are hearing from her for years. Finally, her
armenai,
who are having grown very old and are near dying, are having gone to the
strectasin
and are saying, I are wanting to be seeing her again before I die. We are a dependent of your house, and you are failing us. The
strectasin,
who are not being happy about the accusation, sends for me. She are totally ignoring that I are being in the process of putting together a story that are blowing the corruption in the office of the Ministry of Commerce wide open and she are sending me out as her representative. Granted, I are obviously being the best choice, and not only because I are direct blood line descent from the
strectasin,
but it are not like I are having nothing else to be doing with my time. She are, of course, not being willing to listen.”

Strectasin
ruled the matriarchal Katrien clans. Too many years of interacting with Presit, the reporter, made it difficult for Torin to see Presit, the put-upon family member.

“I are finding a contact who are putting her on Abalae recently, but
the Trun are not telling me anything of use. They are recognizing me, of course, and . . .”

“They don't want to spill to the press,” Craig said. “Because the people you were speaking to weren't exactly on the up and up.”

Presit nodded. “If I are understanding your up and up, yes. They are most definitely not wanting to talk to the press, and I are too well known.” She turned her attention back to Torin. “That are being thanks to you. Then I are seeing you speaking with Bufush . . .”

“That was you arguing with zir in the backroom,” Torin realized.

“Zi are an idiot,” Presit sniffed. “I are not being concerned with zir or the not entirely legal aspects of zir business and, although I are making that very clear, zi are being stupidly suspicious of my motives and are accusing me of attempting to be blackmailing zir. Like I are new at gaining information. All blackmail are ever going to be accomplishing are sealing zir mouth and that are being the opposite of what I are wanting. You are imaging my surprise, when I are seeing you . . .” She nodded at Craig. “. . . and Gunnery Sergeant Kerr, on zir security system. So I are following you . . .”

“How?” Ressk demanded.

“You are maybe not noticing you are the only ones of your respective species on Abalae?”

“On the entire planet?”

She waved the specifics off. “People are talking and if you are forgetting what I do for a living, don't. I are seeing you speaking with the facilitators and that are deciding me it are not a good idea to be having this discussion on Abalae where the facilitators will be doing what they can to be overhearing. How convenient it are being, you are being asked to leave. It are ridiculously easy to be finding where you are docked . . .” She focused on Craig and frowned. “Why are you having changed the name of the ship?”

“We're working, Presit; why do you think?”

“If you are trying not to be noticed, that are not really working out for you.”

“Micro notice is fine. Macro notice is not.”

Her lip curled. “I are being sure you are thinking you are making sense. Point I are making, while I are traveling to the tether—and I
are certainly not traveling freight, thanking you very much—I are finding you. You are taking so long to leave, I are half thinking you are knowing I are on my way and are giving me time to be reaching my ship . . . ?”

Craig shook his head. “Technical difficulties. Nothing to do with you.”

“So you are saying. I are ready to leave as you are finally detaching and I are following you.”

“How did you crack the buoy and find our jump coordinates?” Alamber demanded.

She turned an unimpressed gaze in his direction. “I are asking.”

“You just
asked
?”

“The government is required by law to provide full transparency to the press and the buoys are government run,” Torin reminded them.

Alamber's hair flipped out. “Yeah, but what if they ask you why you're here?”

Even given the full black of Katrien eyes, Presit put in enough effort to make the eyeroll obvious. “I are not hiding. I are searching for a family dependent. Although . . .” Her ears flicked, the Katrien equivalent of a shrug. “. . . everything I are doing are being press business in the end.”

And water was wet. “You're searching for Jamers a Tur fenYenstrakin,” Torin said before Alamber could continue the argument.

“Yes. Yes.” She'd clearly expected Torin to know the name. “The fenYenstrakin are being a dependent of my family within the clan.” Her gaze locked on Torin's. “Whatever Jamers are having done, whatever are bringing you in here after her, I are not having heard of it, not through any of my sources, and I are having the kind of sources the Wardens would be weeping to have. If I are not having heard of it, it are not being bad enough for you . . .” The rude gesture included them all. “. . . to be involved.”

“You haven't heard half . . .” Alamber began.

Torin glared him silent, then exchanged a look with Presit where they both agreed to ignore the interruption.

“So . . .” Presit spread her hands. “. . . I are saying one more time, go home. If we are being friends at all, allow me to be finding Jamers
and be bringing her back to our family. I are even saying please if it are helping, although I very much doubt it are.”

“We . . .”

Hand clamped on his shoulder, fingers digging her need for his silence into his flesh, Torin cut Craig off. “We need to discuss this without an audience, but I'm sure, at the very least, that we have information, that we
both
have information on Jamers we can share. When the block goes down, get back in touch. Ressk.”

The board went black.

“Block's in, Gunny. Full spread, implants as well.”

“So, we're sharing information with the press, Gunny?” When Torin turned, Binti pushed herself up off the bulkhead. “What happened to no one knowing?” she asked, folding her arms. “What happened to if the news of the grave robbing gets out, it'll start a war even if the H'san weapons cache is never found?”

“I reminded Presit there's information we
can
share,” Torin told her, voice falling into the familiar
I know what I'm doing
cadence designed for soothing second lieutenants and green recruits. “I didn't say we'd actually be sharing it.”

Binti's frown deepened. “But she's going to think that's exactly what you said.”

“No, she won't.” Swiveling the chair away from the board, Craig reached up and wrapped his hand around Torin's—she loosened her grip on his shoulder enough he could tuck his fingers under hers. “Presit's dealt with Torin before. She'll have heard exactly what Torin said and she'll know negotiations for sharing information aren't yet on the table.”

“How about this . . .” Werst snapped his slate onto his belt. “. . . we tell her that in exchange for what she knows about the H'san . . .” He broke off to close Alamber's mouth with a gesture significantly ruder than the one Presit had used. “Use your head, kid. She didn't mention the H'san by name, but she knows they're a part of this because she knows about the biscuit maker.”

“Yeah, but . . .”

“If she didn't know about the biscuit maker, she wouldn't have been
at Bufush's. If she tells us everything she knows, we, in exchange, will find Jamers for her and bring her home.”

Ressk nodded. “We definitely need more information on the H'san.”

Torin couldn't argue with that. “And how does Presit occupy herself while we ride to the rescue?”

“She goes back to work. Wins awards.” Werst shrugged. “Why do we care what she does as long as she backs off?”

“She doesn't know how to back off. She'll follow us.”

Alamber snorted. “Yeah, like we'll be handing over our Susumi equations.”

“She doesn't need our equations,” Torin reminded them. “She's followed ships through Susumi space at least twice before. Once into enemy territory. Considering what she's already done for her family, odds are she'll be willing to do it again.”

“That shit needs a crazy pilot.” Werst glanced over at Craig and his nostril ridges closed halfway in reaction.

Torin shifted far enough to see Craig's face had gone so completely expressionless, he had to be remembering the jump he'd made behind a Primacy ship, trusting Presit's equation, their survival owing as much to the little gray aliens as to either luck or skill. And if he wasn't remembering it, Torin sure as hell was.

Ressk broke the silence with a snort. “How many more pilots with Ryder's level of crazy can she find?”

“Skilled crazy pilots are rare.” Torin leaned in until as much of her weight was against Craig's side as it was against the chair. “But Katrien clans are huge and as the
strectasin's
choice, Presit has access to everyone—and everything they have access to.” The
strectasin
who'd pushed past her bodyguards to thank them after they'd taken down the furriers should have been wearing four stars. Torin had spent most of the meeting fighting the urge to salute. “I wouldn't bet against her having found exactly what she needs.”

Binti drummed her fingers against the bulkhead. “What if we tell her that we know what Jamers is involved with . . .”

“Which we do,” Ressk pointed out.

“. . . but we make it clear that she doesn't want to know the details? That if they got out they'd damage the family—because that's what this is all about right, family? We make sure she's aware that Jamers isn't a victim, she's a participant, but if Presit leaves it to us, we'll pull her out when we shut the operation down.”

“Yeah, but why would we do that?” Alamber demanded. “Why would we pull her out? What's in it for us?”

“What part about us needing information are you missing?” Werst growled. “We can't pull anyone out of shit until we know where that shit is.”

“You're terrifyingly articulate, you know that right?”

Werst flipped him off, a Human gesture both Krai and di'Taykan had adopted by virtue of Humans being the first into the newly formed Confederation military and profanity being the first parts of language soldiers shared.

“Presit's a friend.” Torin surprised herself a little with the declaration, but Craig's smile said it came as no surprise to him. “Also, Binti made an excellent point. If we don't give Presit the details of what Jamers is involved in, then she won't have to tell the
strectasin
and she can blame us. Knowing Presit, a chance to shift the blame will be a strong selling point.”

“So we're lying?” Still leaning on the back of Ressk's chair, Alamber fussed with his cuffs, his gaze on fabric and fingers. “Correct me if I'm wrong, but these grave robbers we were sent after, they aren't just rummaging about in boxes of bodies, they're searching for weapons. Weapons they'll either sell to a head case who figures they can profit from a few million more dead, or they'll try to collect that profit themselves. Either way, millions more dead.”

“You're not wrong,” Ressk muttered.

“And we're supposed to stop them without being spotted by the Elder Races because in retaliation they'd smack the Younger Races down and we won't stay down. War again. Millions dead. Rub. Repeat. Now the point of the recap . . .” Alamber held up a hand when Werst tried to jump in. “The point of the recap is that we're not shutting these guys down and calling in the Wardens; we're being paid to stop them. Where ‘stop them' means no one who went on the treasure
hunt for planet buster weapons in order to, you know, actually bust planets survives to spread the word and/or make a second attempt.”

Judge. Jury. And executioner.

Torin tightened her grip on Craig's fingers.