An Ancient Peace (40 page)

Steadying himself on the dark metal curve of the engine, Craig peered around the corner.

He'd seen enough dead H'san lying curled in sarcophagi over the last two days to recognize one standing. It wore what looked like metal-and-leather armor. Even before he'd joined up with Torin, he'd known that
looked low tech
was often a dangerous lie. In one appendage, it held a short, fat cone by a handle that looped out of the narrow end. Looking directly into the wide end, he couldn't tell if the cone was solid or hollow. The H'san stood completely still,
completely
still, and looked more like the statues up in the cavern than a living creature. The eyes that were a little too large for the face, giving H'san an appearance of youth and innocence to every species in the Confederation who birthed live young, were open and staring right at him.

Shite.

He whipped back. Motioned Alamber to silence. Held his breath.

Heard movement.

The movement was deliberate rather than quick, but they couldn't outrun a H'san. He knew that because he'd heard a H'san could outrun a Ciptran and he'd seen a motivated Ciptran keep up to a skimmer.

“Down.”

Alamber grabbed his arm. “What?”

“Down into the blast bay.”

“That's insane!”

“Only if the engines fire.” He grabbed his pack, slid it between the curve of the engine and the floor, and dropped it. “It's not that far. Move!”

Credit where due, Alamber moved.

His pack preceding him, he moved faster through the narrow space. His head, instead of Craig's head and shoulders, remained stuck up over the edge of the floor when the H'san came into view. Eyes suddenly dark, he disappeared so quickly Craig knew he'd let himself go, free sliding between polished metal and stone.

Craig cracked his chin on the edge when he followed. He moved a lot faster when he ran out of engine, hit a solid surface, rolled, slammed into a warm body, and froze.

Alamber's arms went around him and when he looked up,
instinctively given that it was pitch-black in the blast bay, he felt the di'Taykan shake his head.

They waited. And then, as their eyes adjusted and a gray ring began to define the walls of the bay, they waited some more.

Finally, he felt Alamber relax. “It's gone. It circled the ship and kept going. I guess the dead are all ‘out of sight out of mind'; programming stripped down to the basics.”

“The H'san programmed their dead?”

“Someone did. Necro-neuro programming.”

“You made that up.” The bottom of his chin was sticky and hurt like fuk when he touched it.

“Well, yeah, but the dead don't get up and walk around on their own. And speaking of up . . .”

Craig caught himself as Alamber released him and stood. “What are you doing?”

“Seeing if I can reach the bottom of the engines so we can climb out.” He was a line of darker gray against the wall. “No. But we didn't fall that far, so if I stood on your shoulders, I could reach. Probably be able to inch my way up. Of course, once I was up, how would you get out? I doubt I could brace myself securely enough to pull you up into the crevasse.”

“There's rope in Werst's pack.”

“And nothing to tie it to. Nothing personal, but you'd drag me back down. Maybe we could tie a couple of packs together and jam them tight.” His voice had begun to circle the bay. “Wait, I just remembered the collapsible tubes in the cavern! I could tie two or three of them together for strength and, no, that wouldn't work. There's nothing to brace them against.”

Craig put out a hand, searching for his pack, touched something that rocked, and reached for it. Felt eyes, a nose . . . the jaw was missing. It was wet and cold. He swallowed. Tasted bile. Swallowed again.

“What?”

He didn't remember making a noise, but he must have. “Head that belongs with the pieces, I assume.” It was dark enough in the center of the bay, he couldn't see it. Death, he could cope with. Violent
death, not so much. Teeth clenched, he wiped his hand on his thigh and stood. “Can you see?”

“Not right into the middle, too much contrast. I'm getting a good look at the walls, though.”

“As long as the light doesn't go out.”

“That's it. Look at the bright side. The boss has definitely rubbed off on you.”

“Yes, she has.” Craig fitted the response with a di'Taykan emphasis. When Alamber laughed, the dark seemed less grim. “How's your head?”

“Managed to avoid smacking it into the rock. Still feels like I set it on fire.” He pushed Craig's pack into his hands. “Not that I've ever set it on fire. Turns out
I'll try anything once
is more of a guideline.”

Untangling the straps by touch, Craig realized he could now see the blacker oval of the broken skull and found he couldn't look away, waiting for his eyes to adjust enough to see a face.

“Oh, hey. I might have found us a way back up.”

Grateful for the distraction, he shrugged into the pack. “How?”

And blinked at the sudden spill of light as a rectangle opened in the curved wall.

Alamber grinned. “I thought we'd take the stairs.”

“It's moving.” Werst straightened and took a step back, aiming between the H'san's eyes.

Ressk grabbed the H'san's shoulder with a foot and continued to work the saw. “No, it isn't.”

“Yes, it is.”

It twitched violently enough to dislodge Ressk's grip and he fell back, nostril ridges slamming shut. “Yes, it is.”

The saw blade wobbled, abandoned between the two pieces of bone. The H'san wobbled with it.

Werst watched Ressk reach slowly out, grip the saw, steady it, and push the blade forward again.

The H'san twitched.

“The metal of the saw is closing a contact in the tech that's controlling the brain.”

Werst stared at him in disbelief. “You can't know that.”

“Yeah, I can. This is nothing more than creepy engineering.”

“You're not an engineer.”

“I am.”

They turned together to glare at Wen. The H'san twitched. All three Krai twitched with it.

“You're an engineer?” Werst asked, adjusting his aim.

“Sure.” Wen shrugged. He was better at it than most Krai. “I was air crew.”

Ressk sat back on his heels, lips rising off his teeth. “Then why weren't you taking this apart yesterday? We'd know what we were facing.”

“We're facing zombie H'san,” Wen sneered. “And they don't fly. Or does infantry not know what
air crew
means?”

“Seems to mean useless,” Ressk spat. “Help us turn the body.”

Wen backed away, both hands raised. “Not likely. It's your stupid idea and I'm not your bonded.”

Teeth showing, Werst crouched again, grabbing on where told and flopping the body over on its other side, nostril ridges closing at the smell rising out of the cut. If he had to shoot Wen himself to keep the desecration of an Elder Race from starting another war, well, right at the moment, he was good with that.

Binti had gone back into the weapons cache to “keep an eye on Nadayki.” He was messing with H'san weapons, so she supposed Gunny's order made sense in spite of the repressed feelings she could hear seeping through the words. She just hoped he didn't snip the wrong wire and turn the whole place into a smoking hole with her a meter from ground zero.

He gave her a dismissive toss of his hair when she arrived, the kind that said
why should I care about you; you're not good for anything but violence
. Although after the Trun, she might have been reading more into it than was there, given he'd been a pirate and all. Still, it pissed her off so she watched him from the top of a pile of pink-and-cream crates, flipping one of her knives from hand to hand. Werst and Gunny could roll a blade sharp enough to cut air in and out of their fingers, but she preferred her fingers attached.

After a few minutes, she realized Nadayki had moved as close to her as he could get and continue to work on his chosen weapon.

She frowned and leaned back. She was a sniper, she saw better from a distance.

His arrogance was less defensive, more an actual belief in his superiority, but, that aside, he reminded her of Alamber when he'd first joined them on the
Promise
, needing touch and not sure how to ask a non-Taykan for anything that wasn't sexual. Although he'd had no trouble asking for sex.

Nadayki wasn't asking, but he certainly seemed to be craving touch.

Which was weird because there was another di'Taykan around. And sure, she was a major, but rank didn't erase a di'Taykan's need for contact.

Binti sprawled a little more, stretching out her legs, and Nadayki shifted a little closer.

Yeah. Weird.

The top of the H'san's skull dropped to the floor, ringing in a way that didn't sound like any bone Torin had ever heard.

“Gunny, what's that thing Humans say when they want to show off something triumphantly?”

“I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“Tah dah?” offered Dion. He'd been delirious a few minutes ago, but it seemed he was back with them.

“That's it.” Ressk bent over the skull cavity, punched the air, said, “Tah dah. Hair-thin metal strands woven through the tissue, looks like gold and platinum, and I bet they're following neural pathways all through the body—the signals from a living brain replaced by control codes.”

“They don't die unless we also destroy their superior heart,” the major pointed out, leaning against the long counter beside Torin.

“Power source.” He sat back on his heels and knocked his knuckles against the broad expanse of bone.

Torin turned toward the weapons cache. “Mashona! Bring up that ax we found!”

“On it, Gunny!” She sounded as though she was down a well.

“Ax?”

“Yes, Major, ax. Careful maneuvering around brain tissue might have been necessary . . .” Given it was dead tissue, Torin wasn't entirely convinced of that. “. . . but I'm not waiting for him to saw through ribs that have been cemented back into place. We need to get out of here.”

“To warn the rest of your people about the patrols, of course. How long until they come after you?”

“They'll stay where I told them to stay, Major.”

“And the patrols will go where the patrols go. If I gave you an order, Gunnery Sergeant Kerr, would you obey it?”

The non sequitur pulled Torin around to face her.

Her gaze remained on the dissection going on across the room. “You still use your rank. I still use mine. They say there's no such thing as an ex-Marine, and I admit I used that belief to maintain discipline during our expedition. So, if I gave you an order, would you obey it?”

“I don't obey bad orders, Major.” Although it would be more accurate to say that ensuring bad orders weren't given had been a large part of her job.