Valor's Trial (55 page)

Craig shrugged. “We wouldn't have lived long enough to get home anyway.”

“I are not dying here!”

“Good.” Torin squared her shoulders. “Neither am I. Pulse the recording again.”

“It was quite the transmission,” Captain Carveg said dryly. “There might have been a bit of a problem believing it except that all six ships jettisoned an escape pod just after we received it the first time.”

Torin stared at the wall over the captain's left shoulder and tried not to think about how much the healing blisters on her thighs itched where the newly issued combats rubbed.

“And when I say all six ships jettisoned an escape pod,” the captain continued, “that's exactly what I mean. No one gave the order. And then, funny thing, it turned out that all six ships still had a full complement of escape pods in spite of what we all saw, and in spite of what was on the computer records. Then, when the escape pods . . .” Her hands rose in air quotes, and that was a weird enough gesture from a Krai that Torin actually dropped her gaze to the captain's face. “. . . combined and, according to long-range scanners, joined up with your VTA, well, let's just say it was a good thing the shooting had done minimal damage until that point.”

“So there were Gray Ones on the ships, on all the ships, on both sides, and now they're gone?”

Captain Carveg's lips pulled back off her teeth. The three other officers in the room mirrored the action although none of them were Krai. “I think we can all agree they were here and that they were fukking around in, well, let's say our Susumi equations for a start given that we suddenly found ourselves emerging into a brand-spanking-newsection of space, but as to whether or not they're gone, I don't know, Gunnery Sergeant Kerr, because, apparently, there is no fukking way to tell. So, if you have some more insider information you'd like to make the rest of us privy to . . . ?”

The initial debriefing down on that slag heap of a planet had been just short of brutal. Had Torin not shared a history with Captain Carveg, she doubted that she and Craig and Presit would have ever been allowed onto the
Berganitan
. The Primacy captains had been more willing to take their people off although they had kept weapons aimed at the Marines while they loaded their VTA.

Durlave Kan Freenim had been the last to leave.

The blood on both their hands had made the contact sticky.

Once Captain Carveg had been convinced her ship would be in no danger from bringing them aboard—and Torin had no idea what it was that had finally convinced her—the Marines had been taken to Med-op, but Craig and Presit had been scooped up immediately by Intell. It was news to Torin that the Navy even maintained intelligence officers on their destroyers. She'd closed her teeth on the nearly irresistible comment and assured Presit that vivisection was unlikely.

“Gunnery Sergeant Kerr?”

“I have no further information on the Gray Ones, sir. But I believe they're gone.”

“All of them?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You believe?”

They said they had sufficient data. She lifted her chin, just a little. “Yes, sir.”

“And that should be enough, should it?”

She was still a gunnery sergeant in the Confederation Marine Corps. “Yes, sir.”

Torin had a private room in Med-op while the
Berganitan
's doctors checked her over. Her injuries were superficial—burns, bruises, a bit of malnutrition—which allowed them to move right to scanning her brain without having to bother pretending that wasn't their entire interest. Since the Corps' scans hadn't found a damned thing previously, she figured the odds of the Navy finding something now were slim to none, but she kept that opinion to herself. A couple of the doctors looked as if they might consider vivisection to be a good idea.

They wouldn't let her see Craig.

When one of the doctors tried to remove the salvage tag, she convinced him to let her keep it.

“What's that old Human saying?” Captain Carveg snorted as two corpsmen carried the doctor out. “Physician, heal thyself? You get into a fight with another member of my crew and I'll have you on charges so fast you'll think you've got a Susumi drive up your ass. But this one . . .” She reached out and gripped Torin's shoulder for a moment. “. . . this one you get to win.”

Torin waited, fingers wrapped around the tag. Captains didn't visit gunnery sergeants to tell them they weren't to be brought up on charges.

The captain's nose ridges closed, her grip tightened for a moment, then she let her hand fall back to her side. “The prison collapsed. It looks like earthquake damage. We're reading working tech but no life signs.”

There were three hundred Marines down there, maybe more, and at least that many members of the Primacy. There were six destroyers in orbit maintaining a reluctant peace. Room for everyone.

“Gunny?”

“Everyone, sir?”

“I'd like to say there's always a chance, but . . .” She shook her head. “We have teams bringing out the bodies. No one will be left behind.”

Torin thought of Jiyuu at the bottom of the elevator shaft and her promise to Watura and of Mike burning as he held open the air lock door. “Thank you, sir.”

After the captain left, she slid out of bed and paced the length of the room, seven paces there and seven back. There and back. There and back. No point in testing to see if they'd let her leave. She'd seen the two burly, well-armed sailors standing outside her door. Sure, she could take them, but eventually sheer numbers would beat her down.

“Gunny?”

“Kyster. How did you . . . ?”

He shrugged and limped a little farther into the room. “They didn't see me. I'm good at not being seen. Did they tell you?”

“About the prison?”

He nodded.

“They told me.” She let her back hit the wall and slid down it until she was sitting on the floor. Major Kenoton. Lieutenant Myshai. Staff Sergeant Pole. Lance Corporal Divint. Private Sergei. Private Graydon.

“Do you think . . .” His nose ridges opened and closed. “Gunny, do you think the durlin is okay?”

“She's with her people, Kyster.” Colonel Mariner. Second Lieutenant Teirl. Lieutenant Cafter. Lieutenant O'Neill. Major Ohi.

“But do you think she's okay?”

He was still very young.

Torin opened her arms. The impact nearly cracked a rib, but she held him the way Durlin Vertic had, in the circle of her folded legs, held him while he sobbed and murmured what Krai words of comfort she knew.

“Are you certain you've made the right decision?”

Torin stepped off the end of the ramp and held Craig in the open air lock with a raised hand. He didn't look happy about it, but he stayed where he was, arms folded and glowering. “Mashona, Ressk, and I are all that survived of Sh'quo Company.” Captain Rose. Lieutenant Jarret. First Sergeant Tutone. Sergeant Hollice.

“There are other companies. And a war that's been fought for centuries doesn't end . . .” High Tekamal Louden's mouth twisted into a humorless smile. “. . . without a fight. It's not going to be all politics and diplomacy and no hard feelings no matter what the H'san seem to think.”

The Elder Races had issued statements simultaneously insisting that they'd never been under anyone's control and that they'd always said the war wasn't their fault. The actual statements were significantly longer and filled with the kind of bullshit rhetoric that Torin had come to expect from the Elder Races, but that was the gist of it. She tried not to enjoy the fact that their more elder than thou attitude had been shattered by molecular-sized bits of organic plastic. She tried not to wonder if they were lying.

Only the H'san had apologized, but even they'd been vague on what they were apologizing for.

The war went on, but diplomatic efforts to end it were now being managed by the species involved in fighting it. When the Elder Races had protested, both branches of the military had diplomatically told them to fuk off. Or as Presit had pointed out in her award-winning interview with the Mictok's parliamentary representative:
“The Elder Races are being the ones who put weapons in their hands. Were you seriously thinking you are always being able to control where they pointed them?”

Things were changing.

“I've been compromised,” Torin reminded the commandant.

“We've all been compromised,” the commandant snorted. “We move past that or we self-destruct. As it is, we face the threat of civil disobedience turning into civil war. Even the Methane Alliance seems to have their fringes in a knot. We could use people who can get the job done.”

She couldn't. Or she didn't want to. Six of one, half a dozen of the other. She hadn't had to say it to Craig; he'd seen it on her face, in her eyes. Felt it in her touch maybe. She sure as hell wasn't going to say it to the Commandant of the Corps.

“You can use people who don't remind everyone that they've been compromised,” Torin snorted. Even months later, the recording of two gray lines running down her face still ran daily on at least half the available vid channels.

“We know you're clear. Hell, if we know anyone in the Corps is clear, we know it about you. There isn't a part of your body that hasn't been mapped at the subatomic level. There isn't a memory in your head we don't have on record.” The commandant's eyes flicked up the ramp toward the air lock. “Yours and his.”

“Knowing is one thing. Believing, that's something else.”

Pale eyes narrowed. “If I didn't believe, you wouldn't be leaving.”

“If you'd really wanted me to stay, you wouldn't be letting me leave.”

The pause stretched. Lengthened. Torin settled her weight back on her heels and waited. Wondered when the ambient noise at Ventris Station had grown so loud.

“Granted,” the commandant admitted at last. “Gunnery Sergeant Torin Kerr is a little bit too much of a distraction with the situation the way it is right now. I'd like to think we could work around that, but—bottom line—I'm a realist. And you still haven't answered my question.”

Was she certain she'd made the right decision?

“I'm certain.”

“Good enough.” She held out her hand. “Good luck, then.”

“Thank you, sir. You, too.”

“We'll need it. We're short a gunnery sergeant.” When Torin lifted a brow, High Tekamal Louden grinned. “Yes, well, that sounded a lot less lame in my head.”

“You're certain about this?”

“Oh, for fuk's sake, Craig, not again.” Torin got up off the bunk, crossed the cabin, and poured herself a mug of coffee. “I'm certain. If you're having second thoughts . . .”

“I'm not.”

“Because I've heard the Senior Ranks' Mess is running book that I'll stuff you out the air lock within the first three months.”

“What kind of odds?”

“Even.” Even over the sound of the Susumi drive, she heard him stand and take the three long strides that put him directly behind her. She could feel the air warming against the bare skin of her back and then his skin against hers. “But it's twenty to one you'll stuff me out an air lock before we reach Paradise.” She wanted to see Craig interact with her father. Laugh together. Share embarrassing stories. She wanted her mother and her brothers to meet him and know she'd made the right decision. She was clearly growing stupidly sentimental in her old age.

“Before Paradise, eh?” A burly arm wrapped around her waist. “They should have more faith.”

“Some of them have worked with me.”

“Good point. Why twenty to one, then?”

“I'm not just going to let you do it, now am I?”

Reaching past her with his free hand, he snagged the second mug and held it up for her to fill. “I got a message from Werst just before we went into Susumi space. He says there's a rumor going around that the last visit by the Commandant of the Corps means she's sent you off on a secret mission to deal with the Gray Ones.”

“She didn't.”

“But if we run into them . . . ?”

Twisting in his hold, she turned to face him. “Space is big.”

“Apparently not as big as we thought.” Craig dropped his forehead against hers. “Torin, if we run into them, do you have orders?”

“No.” She smiled. Made it as reassuring as she figured he'd believe. “I'm out of the Corps. If we run into them, they'll just have me to deal with.”