An Ancient Peace (22 page)

Or millions more dead.

Alamber swept the room with eyes darker than the light levels called for. Dark enough, Torin suspected, that he'd opened the light receptors he thought he needed to catch nuance. It wasn't the answer that was important to him, it was the reason behind it. “So if we tell Presit we'll find Jamers and get her out, are we lying? Now me, I don't have a problem with lying, just so we're clear on that, but for the sake of consistency, I'd like to know up front.”

“Or are we actually going to get her out?” Ressk asked.

“Against orders,” Werst added.

Craig pulled his hand free and folded his arms. “We don't take orders from the Corps.”

“We took money from the Corps,” Alamber reminded him.

Torin listened to them argue for a moment, Craig against Alamber and Werst. Binti against Ressk. Ressk and Binti against Alamber, Werst, and Craig. Four to one. Two to three. Argument passing as democracy. Finally, she said, “Best guess says Jamers a Tur fenYenstrakin is an independent contractor. We've already agreed only the Younger Races would go after the weapons, so we are
not
 . . .” The negative was a definitive negative. “. . . revisiting that argument. It's significantly less noticeable to have a Katrien flying in and out of this part of the Core than any of the Younger Races, and smart people would hire out rather than be that visible. Given that Jamers has been skimming artifacts off the top, she may have no idea of what the end goal is.”

“Because only the Younger Races think weapons before they think cash,” Binti said dryly.

“Weapons will get you more cash.” Alamber pointed out.

“And that's made my point.”

“If we say we're getting her out,” Craig growled, “then we're getting her out.”

“Gunny?” Werst was more of a realist.

“We don't lie, we're the good guys.” Torin ignored Werst's snort of disbelief. “We don't disobey orders—even when those orders are phrased as requests by the people paying our bills. We'll stretch their parameters as far as it takes to get the job done, but that's it. And we don't tell Presit one thing and then do another.”

“Although we're not responsible for her expectations.”

Torin touched her nose. “Point to Binti. We'll do our best to get Jamers out, but we don't know how deep in the shit she's sunk and we can't make promises we might not be able to keep.”

“And that'll be enough?” Werst looked dubious.

Craig didn't. “I think
Torin's best
will be enough.”

Torin shook her head. “That's not . . .”

He cut her off. “She likes you a lot more than the two of you pretend. More importantly, she respects you. She's seen your best, Torin, a couple of times; she knows what it means.”

“And, Gunny?” Ressk waved a hand to get her attention. “Not to continue chewing an empty
trysh
, but we need more information on the H'san or we're not going anywhere. She scratches our backs, we scratch hers.”

“She grooms our backs, we groom hers,” Craig amended.

“You've groomed her, have you?” The edges of Alamber's hair flicked out around his face. The di'Taykan equivalent of wagging eyebrows.

“Mate, I have groomed the hell out of her,” Craig sighed. “And no one can dummy out a way to make cleaning forty kilos of undercoat from the vents sound sexy.”

“What makes you think she knows more than we do?” Werst demanded before Alamber could accept the challenge.

“Presit makes it a point to know more than I do,” Torin told him.

“What makes you think she's going to tell you what she knows?”

“We're following Jamers, she's following us. Odds are, she thinks we know where we're going.”

“You know what you should do, Boss?” Alamber sketched possibilities in the air with both hands. “You should . . .”

“No.” Torin didn't care how enthusiastic Alamber got. “Craig does the talking.” She considered ordering the rest out, but she was staying
and Presit had never minded an audience. “He has the best poker face, and she's annoyingly overt about how much she likes him.”

“Jealous?”

“Shut up.”

“Why would the best of Gunnery Sergeant Kerr not be being enough for me? Is she not being responsible for having ended the war?” Presit spread her arms in what might have been surrender but was more likely a benediction. The sarcasm had sounded unexpectedly sincere. “If you are wanting it, then I are giving my word I are not going to follow. I are well aware there are being many things a dependent of my family could be doing that I are not wanting to have to pass on to the
strectasin
. Nor are I wanting to be giving the H'san an opportunity to be linking my family's name to the desecration of their dead and the selling of their grave goods like so much
frincreesten
. So . . .” Her smile held relief and curiosity and small, white, pointed teeth about equally mixed. “. . . what are you needing to know in exchange?”

Craig leaned back and swung his feet up onto the edge of the panel, crossing them at the ankle, his lower heel on the worn edge that marked a thousand such positions. “You assumed you'd turn up Jamers on Abalae?”

“That are right, but then you are always having been smarter than you are looking.” She fluffed her ruff, not quite selling the indifference. “If Jamers are finding a market on Abalae, then she are going to be returning to it when she are having new . . . items. Me, I are not following her into the H'san home system, abandoned though it are being, if I are not having to.”

Where the fuk did you find the coordinates for the H'san home system?
Torin closed her teeth on her response. Heard the sharp click of enamel against enamel that said either Ressk or Werst had been less metaphorical about it.

Craig ignored the equivalent of four of a kind hitting the table. “You sure that's where she was heading, then—the H'san home system?”

“Where else are she going to be going? She are not going to abandon an easy money maker once she are having found one, and the
abandoned planet where they are having been ridiculous about their dead are the only place it are possible that she are finding the pottery. Who else are wanting to be buried with a H'san biscuit warmer? Well, maybe you.” Presit shifted her focus off Craig just far enough to shoot Alamber a narrow-eyed glare. “Your collar are being ridiculous.”

His collar was half a dozen rows of silver-tipped, black ruffles held in place by his masker. “What do you know about fashion, fuzzball?”

“Clearly, I are knowing more than you.”

Eyes lightening, he smiled. “Get mange.”

Torin took advantage of Presit's lengthy response in her native language to hold a silent conversation with Craig—who cut off the stream of irate Katrien with a raised hand. Proving once again, Presit really
did
like him. “The Justice Department tends to be sanctimoniously vague where we're concerned, so as a favor, can I put eyeballs on your coordinates? And if you could toss out a little more good oil on the H'san, it'd be helpful in finding your . . . Jamers.”

Her fur ruffled again. “She are not my Jamers. I are never having even met her. She are a dependent of my house, no more. But the sooner you are finding her, the sooner I are getting my life back, so . . .” She turned slightly away from the camera, shouted a Katrien command, turned back and said, “. . . I having sent over everything we have.” Head cocked, she wrinkled her muzzle until the sharp points of her front teeth showed. “You are knowing that changing the name of the ship are not being exactly covert if I are still able to contact you the same way I always are.”

“We aren't hiding from you, luv.”

“
You
aren't.” She flashed more teeth in Torin's general direction. Torin flashed teeth back and they held their positions until the board pinged and Presit shifted her attention back to Craig. “My files on the H'san are not being in Federate, so I are having sent them through a translation program—I are not guaranteeing they are not having been scrambled.” Her eyes narrowed. “
Are
Justice been talking out of their collective
byz
?”

“Talking out of their collective
byz
is business as usual for Justice. But comparing these . . .” He dropped his feet down to the floor and leaned in over the board. Torin wasn't sure if he was trying for
innocent or curious, but trusted him not to overplay his hand. “These coordinates are . . . Where did you get them?”

“How are I knowing?” Her fur rippled over the shrug. “It's not like they are being a secret. How long are you thinking this are going to be taking?”

“As long as it takes.”

Her lip curled and a little energy returned to her voice. “Craig Ryder, I are hearing Gunnery Sergeant Kerr using your mouth. I are not waiting here indefinitely, never knowing if you are having been destroyed by H'san planetary defenses or murdered by the criminals Jamers are working with.”

“Because you care.”

“Because I are not wanting to be waiting here indefinitely.”

“Two tendays,” Torin said. Now they knew where . . .

“One. And then I are coming in after you.”

. . . they were back to simple. Stop a war. Hell, she'd done that once already. “Deal.”

Presit took a deep breath and Torin heard a faint clicking sound, identified it as her claws tapping together out of range of the camera. “Jamers are not a bad person. She are not being young now and she are having been away for a long, long time so no one are knowing what she are like, but . . .” The clicking stopped. “I are hearing that she are having been lazy, and are having been not very smart, and are having been always looking for the easy way, but she are being a part of my family so I are asking you are remembering that when you are finding her.”

“I'll treat her like I'd treat you in the same circumstances,” Torin said blandly.

Presit looked surprised, her ears up, then she laughed. Her image disappeared off the screen.

“Ressk?”

“Got it covered, Gunny. I killed both bugs she sent with the coordinates.”

“Both?” Craig asked, glaring at the board as though he could see them slinking through the code.

“The obvious and the not so obvious.”

Presit, Torin acknowledged, was fairly obvious herself. “Check for a physical tracker either on or heading for the hull.”

CSOs depended on the strength and complexity of their scanners, sweeping a debris field for the remnants of working tech or a DNA smear that would bring closure to the family of a sailor or a Marine. At heart, in spite of the additions and the temporary name change,
Promise
remained a CSO's ship. She could find a recording device the size of a thumbnail attached to the upper surface of the shuttle's wing.

“Son of a . . .”

“She'll go, but she won't go quietly,” Craig said, sounding fond. “Of course, she doesn't do anything quietly.”

Torin hummed a noncommital response and stared out at the distant red giants. The control room grew as quiet as possible for a small area holding six adults. The chairs creaked as Craig and Ressk shifted their weight. Fabric rustled as Alamber twitched at his sleeves. Binti leaned against the rear bulkhead, arms folded, sniper patient. Werst cracked his knuckles. Torin contemplated tossing him out the air lock. No one made the obvious observation.

They were waiting for her to make it.

“So . . .” She shifted around enough to catch reactions. “. . . the coordinates for the H'san home system aren't a secret.”

Binti drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Either Presit . . .”

“And her pilot,” Werst pointed out.

“. . . lied . . .”

“Don't think so.”

“. . . or Colonel Hurrs lied.”

The colonel was Intell. If it got the job done, he'd declare blue was orange. That's why officers had noncoms, to keep them from getting lost in the big picture, and Torin had been very good at her job. “He wasn't lying.”

They took her word for it.

“It seems the more important point . . .” Alamber dropped into an empty chair. “. . . is that the coordinates to the H'san home system aren't a secret to everyone else. Just to the Younger Races.” He frowned. “Or maybe just the military.”

“No.” Torin was sure. “Colonel Hurrs thought stopping this was important enough to run an unsupported black op. He'd have pulled information off civilian channels if the military channels were blocked.”

Ressk nodded, nostril ridges opening and closing. “He said searching for the coordinates had started attracting attention, but he didn't say from who.”

“We didn't ask,” Werst snorted. “That was stupid.”