Valor's Trial (47 page)

It was light, really light suddenly, and Kyster saw the sergeant straighten, close his eyes for a second, then reach into the panel.

The door opened.

Torin saw the door open as she hit the edge of the platform, Watura a dead weight across her shoulders. No, a limp weight. Not dead. Not so close.

Durlin Vertic grabbed Kyster by the collar and hauled him through the door, keeping her body between him and the firestorm.

When she got a moment, Torin really had to ask about the whole ride/ridden relationship

Freenim thrust Merinim inside, then he and Everim each grabbed an end of an Artek and tossed them in. Sanati and Ressk grabbed another.

Werst flipped the last onto its back and dragged it.

As soon as the Krai were in, Helic'tin and Bertecnic charged over the threshold.

Mashona, Darlys, and Kichar were at the door.

Then she was at the building.

On the threshold.

Turned.

Mike's teeth were clamped so tightly together a muscle jumped in his jaw. His eyes were open. He had his far hand braced against the building, most of his weight on it in spite of the angry, painful looking red the skin had turned, blisters erupting in the heat of the firestorm. The hand thrust into the control box was a twisted mess of bone and char.

“Mike!”

He lifted his head. Sucked a breath in through his teeth. Focused on her face and straightened, lifting his hand off the wall, snapping the slate off his vest. He nodded, once. Tossed the slate at her, then threw his body to the side, forcing his arm around, turning the ruin of his hand.

Torin threw herself backward, Watura's heels knocked hard against her thighs by the closing door, the slate bouncing off his ass and clattering against the floor. On her knees, she could hear people breathing all around her. Rough rasps of air sucked through dry mouths and throats. Damaged, but alive.

Watura rolled off her shoulders, grunted when he hit the floor and, with that question answered, she crawled forward. Hands and knees. Not enough left to manage on knees alone.

Even through the filter she had no energy to remove, the inside of the door was cool against her cheek.

She couldn't hear Mike burn, not through the door.

Except . . . she could.

WHEN RESSK CRAWLED INTO HER LINE
of sight and pulled himself up onto his feet by the control panel, frantically pawing at the cover, Torin roused herself enough to lightly touch his shoulder.

“He's dead, Ressk.”

“You don't know that!”

“I do.” The filter hadn't moderated that final blast of heat and her lower lip, baked dry, split as she forced it to form words. “The firestorm hit as the door closed.” She nodded at the line of char that marked the edge of the opening. “Concentrate on getting the inner door open.”

“But . . .”

“He's dead,” she said again, tasting blood. “Technical Sergeant Gucciard gave his life to save ours. He knew he was dead the moment he closed that connection.” She'd seen that knowledge in his eyes; he'd chosen the manner of his death, sold his life for the highest price possible.

It was the kind of sacrifice Marines got medals for.

Posthumously.

“I should have gotten the door open!”

“Sarge said a piece was missing.” Werst.

Torin turned and slid down the door until she was sitting, back against the barrier Mike had used to save them, broken blisters on her knees weeping fluid. “He said there was a piece missing in the controls?”

“Yeah.”

Werst was on his feet, and Torin realized that he and Ressk were probably in the best shape of all of them. They'd gotten a ride from the prison. Kyster . . . Kyster was tucked in the cradle of Durlin Vertic's front legs but she'd deal with that in a minute.

“He looked into the panel,” Werst continued. “Said there was a piece missing. When time ran out, he shoved his hand in.”

“Sounds like you couldn't have gotten the door open, Ressk.”

Behind the shimmer of the filter, his nose ridges were opening and closing so quickly they seemed to be fluttering. “It could have been my hand!”

“And then we'd be mourning you.” She met Werst's gaze and knew they were both remembering another time, another life given. “Sucks to be the ones moving on without him, but he gave us that chance and we're not going to waste it. Go get the inner door open.”

“But, Gunny . . .”

“That's an order, Corporal.” She didn't wait to see if he obeyed, heard him move across the air lock as she sucked air through her teeth and dropped back onto her knees so she could reach Watura and flip him over onto his back. “Werst, I need a reading on the air quality.”

He snorted, finally noticing her lack of uniform, glanced down at Watura and Darlys, and then down at his sleeve. Frowned. Slapped the fabric a time or two. “Uh, mine never worked, Gunny.”

Right. She knew that. “Kichar?”

“I'm sorry, Gunny. It's fried.”

“Wonderful. All right . . .” Watura's pulse was thready, but his heart was beating and his lungs were filling and he was alive. The rest would have to wait. It was only cool in the air lock in comparison, but it was enough to bring the di'Taykan some relief. “. . . help me get my uniform off him. His sleeve had protection for roughly half the distance, it might still work. Durlave, if you and Everim could strip Mashona's combats off Darlys.”

“I've got it, Gunny.” Mashona sat up and gasped. The blisters were less evident on her much darker skin but they were just as present.

“Let me.” Freenim touched her lightly on the shoulder as he knelt by Darlys, Everim moving around to pull off her boots. Merinim sat slumped against one of the side walls blinking rapidly, the filter off her eyes but still covering her mouth and nose.

As Torin slid Watura's arm out of his vest, Kichar reached for the fasteners of his combats. “I've got it, Gunny.”

Torin let her have it. Bracing one hand against the inside of the door, she stood and walked in a more-or-less straight line across to Durlin Vertic. Besides the damage to exposed skin, her back felt twisted, the ache radiating down into her right cheek, and it hurt to breathe deeply. “Sir. You're injured.”

“Burned. Painful, but I will live.”

“And Private Kyster?”

Her hand stroked Kyster's shoulder; it looked like she was petting him. “He stopped Helec'tin from destroying the control panel.”

Helec'tin's claws scraped the floor as he shifted his weight, but Torin couldn't read his expression at all. She settled for demanding, “Why the hell would you want to do that?”

“I thought it would open.”

“He did not think at all, he reacted,” the durlin snapped. “It is a problem with our males! I should have been watching more closely!”

If Vertic wanted to take the blame, Torin wasn't going to stop her. She hissed out a breath as she dropped to one knee by Kyster's side and gently turned his head so she could get a better look at the bruising coming up on one side of his face. “You stopped Helec'tin? How?”

“He reared and I punched him in the balls.” Before Torin could ask why, he added, “It was what you would have done.”

Given their respective heights, probably not, but it was a sweet thought. His eye was likely to swell closed and from even a cursory examination of the damage, had he not had the Krai's nearly unbreakable bones, impact would have smashed his skull like a melon. “What can't I see?”

“He cannot lift his right arm.”

His nose ridges flared. “I can!”

The durlin snorted. “It causes him pain to lift his right arm,” she amended dryly. “See to your own injuries, Gunnery Sergeant. I will watch him.”

“I'm not . . .” Actually, she was. “Yes, sir.” As she started to straighten, Bertecnic was there, bending at the waist, a hand shoved under her arm. She didn't even begin a second protest, just let him help her up. Mashona was already standing and in spite of exhaustion, Torin didn't blame her—it was the only position where the blisters touched nothing.

This lock, like the other, was big enough for a skimmer, but with nine of them in there and two of them still flat on the floor, there wasn't much room to spray sealant.

“The Artek?” she asked as she pulled their second tube of sealant out of her vest.

“I believe they are dormant.” Sanati knelt by Firiv'vrak, her ear pressed against the chiton. “I believe they chose to do this in order to survive.”

“Can you wake them up?” She stepped over Darlys to get a better angle on Mashona's legs.

“No. I believe they will wake when conditions are favorable.”

“Define favorable.” When Sanati looked confused, Torin shook her head and tried another angle to get at Mashona's burns. “Never mind.”

“Give it here, Gunny.” Werst stood as Kichar peeled Torin's combats down Watura's legs. “I don't have to bend.”

With the sealant on and air no longer hitting the broken blisters, the pain dropped to ignorable levels. Torin accepted her combats from Kichar, considered what would happen as they rubbed against the burns, and decided against putting them on.

“Besides,” Mashona pointed out as she refused hers, “they reek of pheromones, and I'm in no shape to start an orgy. You owe me,” she added, poking Darlys gently in the side with the toe of her boot.

The di'Taykan managed a weary obscene gesture. “I'm lying down.”

Werst snorted and lifted Watura's arm. “Got a reading, Gunny. Same as at the prison, but CO2 levels are rising.”

“It's an air lock,” Torin sighed. “They're notoriously underventilated. Ressk.”

In answer, there was a hiss of air pressure balancing, a few eddies that didn't stink of sweat and blood and sulfur, and the interior door slid open.

Freenim held up a hand for silence and leaned just far enough out to peer up and down the corridor. “Empty.” He started to pull the filter off and snarled out a string of words neither the slate nor Torin's implant bothered to translate as the band remained firmly attached to his skin.

Grunting as muscles pulled, Torin reached back, dug her fingers into the soft seal between the band and her skull, and dragged it off. “The hair probably helps to break the seal,” she muttered, frowning at the amount of hair turned brittle in the heat that had broken off with the filter.

“Then it's just your hair, Gunny.” Mashona had three fingers from each hand digging at the band, but it didn't budge.

It seemed that only Torin's came off easily. Even Merinim's with the actual filter hanging in tatters around the edges of her face seemed stuck tight.

“You checked each seal, Gunnery Sergeant,” Durlin Vertic reminded them. “Perhaps they keyed to your touch.”

“Then, if I may, Durlin . . . ?”

She inclined her head, giving Torin access to the back of the band. It didn't come off easily and a chunk of the Durlin's pelt came with it, but it came off.

“Fukking alien tech,” Werst muttered as Torin tried to keep as much of his scalp as possible attached to his head. “Good thing you didn't cak it, Gunny or these fukkers'd be permanent.”

“Hang on to them,” the durlin ordered, tucking the filter into her vest as the two males helped her to her feet. She touched her right foot down, took a step, snarled, and curled the leg up against her belly. “We do not know what we will face in this building.”

“I'm guessing tunnels,” Werst snorted, rubbing his head.

The corridor outside the air lock looked like it could have been in any one of a hundred stations Torin had visited during her time in the Corps. There were two doors sharing the wall with the air lock entrance, another almost directly across from it, and one to the right of that.

Werst snorted again. “Or not.”

“Ressk, get to work on that door.” Torin nodded at the door across the hall. They needed to go deeper into the building to find the landing bay and that seemed to be the only route. “Mashona, Kichar, help Darlys and Watura. The rest of you make sure to move the Artek out of the air lock before the door closes and we can't get it open again.”

“When will they wake up?” Kichar asked as she draped Darlys' arm across her shoulders.

Lifting the end of an exoskeleton, Freenim shrugged. “Because they keep so much to themselves, the details of their species are not well known even by those who also serve.”

“But they will wake up?”

He grunted a little at the weight. “Probably.”

“If they don't,” Werst began.

“Allies,” Torin reminded him. No need to be more specific; she knew exactly what he'd been about to say, and the Krai's eating habits were best kept within the Corps.

Before Werst could respond, the door across the hall opened.

“Fast work, Ressk.” She crossed toward it, followed by Durlin Vertic, who waved everyone else back. Kyster followed anyway. Torin wasn't entirely certain if he was following her or the durlin.

Ressk shot a look of contempt at the control panel. “It wasn't locked, Gunny. It's just a pressure pad. Just had to get the cover off, then it doesn't get anymore straightforward. It's like we've got this far, and they've stopped messing with us.” He smacked the side of his fist into the wall. “Too late for Technical Sergeant Gucciard, you bastards.”

“Let's not punch inanimate objects until we've got a better idea of what's going on here,” Torin suggested. “Don't forget what happened on Yenal's Five.”