An Ancient Peace (43 page)

“Why were you shooting them in the head?” Marines were taught to aim at the dead center of the target's mass. Regardless of species, there was less chance of a miss and a greater chance of hitting critical organs.

“You shoot zombies in the head,” Wen snorted, the
duh
implied.

The major tossed the appendage over onto the body and wiped her hand on her thigh. “Once the head's hit, they flail. Eventually their armor gets knocked askew so you can get a chest shot.”

“You can't shoot through the armor?”

Her lip curled. “Not through the chest plate. Not unless you can hit the exact same spot at least three times.”

“If we want to use their weapons to cut down their numbers . . .” Ressk draped the net over the open skull. “. . . I need an intact power source and an appendage with a working contact.”

“How are we supposed to get that?” Wen demanded.

Ressk sighed. “You don't shoot them in the fukking head.”

“You don't need the head?” Torin clarified while the lieutenant moved to stand between her bonded and Ressk.

“No, just a power source and a contact point.”

“The wires around the power source?” On the second corpse, Ressk had skipped the step with the ax and cut a dozen or so wires running from the box out into the body.

“Only the box.” He held it up. “And an appendage.”

“Why not all of them?” Werst asked.

“I can only reconnect one per power source.”

“All right, then.” Torin lifted the strap of her KC off her shoulder, hung it on Werst's, and pulled out her boot knife. “Mashona.”

“Gunny?”

“I'm going to go stand by the threshold for seven minutes and attract a guardian. I'll need you to shoot out its knees.”

“I didn't know they had knees,” Binti said as she checked her weapon.

“Closest equivalent.”

“Gunny . . .”

Torin looked down at Werst.

He shook his head. “Never mind.”

As they headed down the dark hall leading past the three sets of barracks to the storerooms and finally the exit, Torin realized they weren't alone. “What?” she demanded, without turning. Someone had their light on and she needed her eyes to adapt to the lower levels in the storeroom.

After a moment's silence, Wen said, “We want to watch.”

“I want to see you die. Why not honesty?” the major demanded at the ripple of reaction.

Why not?

“Werst.”

“I'll watch her.”

“Ressk, keep an eye on Nadayki. It's long odds, but if he gets something working, I don't want him behind me when my attention's needed elsewhere.”

“I need the power unit intact, Gunny.”

She grinned. “Yeah, yeah, I heard you the first twenty times. Mashona will set up at the farthest point where she has a clear shot.
I'm not guaranteeing the guardian won't get a few shots off, so the rest of you can wait where you like.”

No one followed her across the storeroom. During her seven-minute wait at the threshold, she cleared the area; an accidental skewering on a piece of broken shelving was not a part of her plan.

At seven minutes and twelve seconds, Torin heard the approach of a patrolling guardian, the syncopated rhythm unnaturally constant. The lights in the side corridor, lights that had come on for both Major Sujuno's people and hers, stayed off.

She held her ground until the last moment, then dove right as the guardian surged over the threshold and Binti's first shot rang out. Old bone was brittle bone and the joint, unprotected by armor, blew. A lower appendage collapsed and it spun to the left, its shot shattering an already damaged set of shelves. Binti's second shot spun it left again around a second destroyed joint. Its weapon gouged a line across the stone ceiling. With a third joint destroyed, it collapsed to the floor.

Three running steps and a boost off the angle of its hip, and Torin balanced on the center of its back. With one hand on the top of its head, she reached around with the other, and slid her blade in under the metal collar that protected its throat. Cut through soft tissue. Found the join between two vertebrae. Cut up, not straight across. The sarcophagi holding the pieces of H'san had been an education.

The cone-weapon fired again, angle close enough that Torin dropped to her knees. An upper appendage reached back, hooked black nails around her lower leg, and gouged bruises into her calf as it tried to drag her forward. She braced her other knee and twisted the knife. Felt one bundle of wires give. Then the other.

Separated from its programming, its head bouncing over a pile of debris, the body ran straight for a wall on the shattered stumps of its legs. The impact flung Torin off, fingers still gripping tufts of hair. She rolled as she hit the floor, got her feet under her as the headless H'san spun in place, grabbed the appendage with the weapon, drove the point of her blade into the exposed elbow joint, popped it, cut the wires, and detached it from the body.

Arm and weapon flew in different directions.

The body rolled. Torin rolled with it, clawing her way around until
she sat on its chest, the chest plate providing a secure handhold. Unfortunately, she had to cut the chest plate off. Fortunately, the leather strapping was nothing more than it appeared to be. Four quick slashes cut the plate free as what was left of the guardian thrashed from side to side, the plate clipping her in the mouth as it flew free. She spat blood and adjusted her grip, tucking in. Up close, she could see where repairs had been made in the center of the chest. See where three rounds had gone through its shoulder—chipping the bone and shredding the flesh, but not, it seemed, doing enough damage to require repairs. She ducked a flailing limb that could have eviscerated her had it any control, slid her knife between two ribs, leaned her weight against the handle, and pried the ribs apart.

The dead H'san—the guardian—headless, appendages both flailing and failing, made no noise. The re-animator hadn't given it a voice. Torin was good with that.

She appreciated the minimal fluids as well. A beheading was usually a lot messier.

The power source glimmered through the space she'd opened. She slid the tip of her knife around it, cutting it free from the gleaming golden lines that anchored it in the dead H'san's chest.

The guardian collapsed, one piece at a time, like a puppet having its strings slowly cut.

When it finally stilled completely, Torin tested the security of her front teeth, wiped the blood off her upper lip onto her sleeve, and climbed off to retrieve the amputated appendage.

Another guardian charged through the door.

Three fast shots took it out—the first dented the armor, the second opened up the bottom of the dent, the third went through the hole and destroyed the power source.

It slid to a stop at Torin's feet, shoulder nudging her boot.

“You might want to quit lingering near the door, Gunny.” Binti sounded amused. “Unless you're planning to have me take the lot of them down one at a time.”

“You'd just get big headed,” Torin told her, tucking the appendage and weapon under one arm, grabbing the remains of the first body,
and dragging it between the shelves and pieces of shelves until she met the others near the back of the room.

“Wen, Verr . . .”

Torin couldn't see the major's face through the light clipped to her shoulder, but she sounded disappointed.

“. . . get the other one and get it back here.
We
don't leave it close enough to the door that the others can retrieve it.”

“Feel better?” Werst asked as Torin handed him the piece of H'san.

“Little bit, yeah.”

“W
HAT STINKS?”
Eyes squinted nearly closed, Craig rubbed his nose against his sleeve and sucked air in through his teeth.

Hanging in over the edge of the engine well, Alamber dragged his tunic up over his mouth and nose. “We must've vented something.”

“In a ship that's been empty for millennia?”

“Hey, could be the zombie H'san hanging out in here bitching about how boring it is being a guard.”

“You think there's more than one of them?”

“So do you.” When he looked up, Alamber shrugged. “If there was only one of them, the boss would've been back by now.”

Craig glanced at the timer on his cuff. Torin and the others had been gone just over four hours and if he'd had to bet on why, he'd bet they'd been cornered by the undead patrol. Maybe they were with the mercs. Maybe they weren't. Maybe Torin had already dealt with the
and executioner,
but he doubted it. Torin would be dummying up a way to get everyone out alive—although without the comms, he had nothing to go on but his belief in Torin's ability to get the job done. If precedent held, she'd come back to him bleeding and angry, but she would come back to him.

“You think firing up the engine will draw the zombie H'san away from her?” Alamber asked. “I mean, from them.”

He'd meant
from her.
Craig was all right with that. “I think live engines on a dead ship should catch their attention, yeah.”

“Okay, try this.” Shifting up onto one elbow, Alamber handed over
a small, curved tool with a long handle that looked like a close cousin to the tool he'd used on the hatch. “I've never slipped it into an engine before—insert innuendo here—but nothing else is working.”

“What is it?” It was heavier than it looked and small enough to get past the conduit.

“
Ad sitina hunn
. Closest Federate would be a . . .” His lips moved silently for a moment. “. . . a spintite socket wrench with a male adapter and an extended grip.”

“How close?” It didn't look like a socket wrench.

“Does it matter? You're about to stick it into the controls of an alien engine.”

“Valid point.”

They were counting on form following function. A shuttle engine provided enough lift to break out of the gravity well and attain orbit. With no identifiable antigravity tech, the H'san shuttle needed to provide one hell of a lot of lift, which should have simplified things. It hadn't. Craig had no idea what all the conduit was for.

It wasn't until they'd pried the access cover off and he'd lowered himself into the generous amount of space required for an adult H'san that he'd truly realized what
ancient alien mechanical systems
meant. It meant neither of them had recognized a damned thing. Still, duxing out the impossible beat sitting around doing nothing, waiting for Torin to return.

Throwing his weight against the conduit, he opened up enough space to slide the tool through. Probing individual circuits had accomplished a big fat nothing, but the curved end on the not-wrench would allow him to give two at a time a turn. Elbow jammed in the gap, he twisted the tool until . . .

The engines roared.

The flash nearly blinded him. Power surged up the tool, locking his fingers to the grip. He threw himself back, breaking the connection, losing his balance, and sliding down the metal bars on other side of the access well.

The engines shut off.

“You okay?” Lying on the deck, most of his upper body unsupported, Alamber stretched a long arm toward him.

Craig raised a hand to keep the kid from attempting the last six centimeters and falling on his head. It took a couple of tries to get his voice working. “I'm fried but fine. How long?”

“The engines? Not very. Microburst at best.”

“Seemed longer.”

“Yeah, well, you were busy watching your life flash before your eyes.”

The fingers that had been clamped to the grip felt scorched, and he was both sweating and chilled. “It wasn't that bad.”

“Looked that bad from up here.”

“Let's . . .” He started to get to his feet, felt as though the gravity cut out, blinked, and sat down again.

“You need some help? The boss would give me such crap if you got hurt handling my tool.” Craig looked up and Alamber smirked.

It hurt when he laughed. “On the bright side, we can start the engines. We just need to figure out a way to do it that doesn't hurt so much.” Stretching out a leg, he hooked his heel over Alamber's not-wrench and dragged it toward him. “Now we know how to turn this thing on, let's chuck back to the control room and take another crack at the board.”

“Now?”

His legs felt more fluid than he was comfortable with. “In a minute.”

“That's an arm–ish–like thing.” Nadayki stayed well out from the counter, eyes light as he watched Ressk cut the dried flesh back to expose the wires running down to the contact. “It's disgusting.”

“Not arguing,” Ressk grunted, snapping off about eight centimeters of exposed bone. “I've never handled so much meat I don't want to eat.”

Nadayki tossed his head, lime-green hair feathering out around him. “Really, because I've got . . .”

Major Sujuno cleared her throat and he froze, hair clamping in tight to his head, arms wrapping around his torso. Torin hadn't noticed it in the cache—they'd both been distracted by their history—but she'd had never seen a di'Taykan in such touch distress. Nadayki
was undeniably a murdering shit, but she had to fight to stop herself from crossing to him and tucking him in against her body. Ressk was distracted by his combination of engineering and surgery, but Binti and Werst seemed to be having much the same reaction. Torin shook her head when Binti caught her eye. With Wen and the lieutenant taking their cues from the major, Nadayki probably hadn't been touched since Dion's injury. For it to be this noticeable, she'd bet the major hadn't touched him for all the time they'd been together.

Which meant the major willingly suffered from an even higher level of touch distress. High odds Nadayki had been going skin to skin with the Humans at least, but Torin would bet the major hadn't. Had Sujuno been Torin's major, she'd have done something about it—a destabilized officer made bad decisions. As she wasn't, and as Nadayki
was
, in fact, a murdering shit, it wasn't her problem, as hard as it might be to ignore.

Her expression entirely neutral, Torin stepped between them. “Nadayki, we need a weapon that'll cause maximum destruction without bringing the roof down.”

“Destroy lots of guardians, minimal property damage?” Hair swinging, he turned and sauntered back into the cache. “It's a good thing for you that I'm a fukking genius.”

He hadn't checked with the major. The major didn't look happy about it. Torin reminded herself that she didn't care.

Alamber had gone for the med kit the moment they'd gotten back to the control room and Craig's hand hurt enough he'd sat on the floor, leaning back against a relatively flat bit of the pilot's chair, and let him spray sealant on the reddened skin. He sighed and slumped as the pain receded.

Then straightened again almost immediately.

“Did I do it wrong?”

“No, of course not.” He reached out and touched the back of his fingers to Alamber's cheek as he kicked the bottom of the control console on the visible dent one of them had left behind. A section of panel dropped off to hit the floor with a surprisingly dull thud.

“Well, that's going to make things easier.” Alamber leaned in, eyes
dark. “If we can hook the hardware together, I might be able to force cooperation. Hang on.”

“Not going anywhere,” Craig said as Alamber dove back into his pack and came up with a small case.

“Universal connection.” He grinned and waved a wire before pushing one end into his slate and heading back under the control panel with the other.

“No such thing.”

“You'd think that, but Big Bill was all about me getting into places I wasn't supposed to be and it's not like there isn't H'san tech all over known space. I mean, if even you salvage guys grabbed some . . .”

“It can't be that easy.”

“It's not. This is one use only and I may fry my slate—even with the kind of firewalls that'd stop actual fire.”

“And if you do?”

He shot a grin back over his shoulder, and a piece of hair unwrapped from around the injured strands to wave. “If the cable still works, I'll take a shot at frying yours.”

“Stand back.” Ressk, hand wrapped in a piece of H'san textile that Nadayki had sworn would insulate, completed the connection between the power source and the cone weapon. The beam left a scorched line the length of the counter and blew a circular chunk about half a centimeter deep out of the bunker wall.

“It did more damage when the dead guy was using it,” Wen scoffed, curling his lip when Werst growled.

“That's because it's an energy beam used as blunt force,” Ressk explained setting the weapon back on the counter. “Pull the trigger, swing the beam, and it's like swinging a big invisible bat.”

“Well, this is a bigger bat.” Nadayki dropped a . . . Torin assumed it had to be a weapon as Nadayki had carried it out of the weapons cache, but it didn't look like any weapon she'd ever seen. It
was
big. Triple barrels, each barrel slightly cone-shaped and wrapped in what looked like braided fiberoptic cable. The base of the barrels twisted around a . . . She had no idea. For a BFG, it was lighter than it looked.

“There's no contact point on the grip!” Ressk's teeth showed. “We need a weapon that'll work with the power source!”

“Calm down and cut the covering away. Here.” Nadayki tapped the textile wrapped around the grip with a slender finger. “To here. It's what's stopping the entire grip from being a contact point on your little bitty weapon as well.”

Ressk's nostril ridges fluttered. “I should've seen that.”

“Yeah, you should have.”

“Fuk you.”

Torin stepped between them. “Nadayki, you've been in the cache since we arrived. Go get something to eat. Ressk . . .”

“I can't take a break, Gunny. We have to get out of here.”

Torin tracked his gaze to the nearer of the two doors leading to the other side of the bunker—officers' quarters and Med-op instead of barracks and admin. The Med-op had held a number of cubes that flattened under a minimal touch and nothing any of them had recognized, biology being significantly more variable than engineering. As they watched, Binti and Werst emerged, having gone to check that the guardians had made no unexpected inroads.

“We have to get out of here,” Ressk repeated as Werst gave the all clear. “I have to get him out of here and to the Med-op on the ship. Let me work.”