The Better Part of Valor (22 page)

“Thank you. Should you get an implant, I’ll keep that in mind.” She rocked back on her heels and stood. “What made you put him in the HE suit?”

“It was his, and I thought it would be easier than carrying them separately. He’s not hooked in, so I left him in his combats and got the arm of the suit to conform.”

“Good thinking. Let me know if he comes to again.”

The rest of the Recon team stood a cautious distance from the only sealed container in the room that hadn’t scanned as a solid object, watching Werst direct the beam of his benny along the seam between box and lid. Without hinges, without a hasp, it was the only way in. As Torin returned from attempting to contact the
Berganitan
, he was just finishing the last side.

As she slid back into the position she’d vacated at Orla’s summons, Guimond half turned and flashed her a welcoming smile. “Any luck, Staff?”

Other heads turned until there were as many eyes on her as on Werst.

“Well, I could offer you possibilities and speculation—but I won’t. This much I know for certain; Captain Travik was conscious long enough to activate his implant. Unfortunately, he lost consciousness before he could tell me if the
Berganitan
replied.”

Guimond’s smile broadened. “That’s great! They know we’re alive.”

“They know Captain Travik’s alive,” Tsui snorted. “But why would they wait around for
him?
”

Torin leaned far enough forward to spear the lance corporal with an icy glare. “Tsui, I don’t really give a crap what your opinion of our OC is and that means, I don’t want to hear it. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Staff Sergeant.”

“Good.”

“I’m through,” Werst grunted in the sudden silence that had replaced the constant background noise of the benny. “Charge is down to twelve point four percent.”

Standard operating procedure called for power packs to be replaced when the charge hit ten percent, not before. Packs carried in were to be carried out and inspected by the senior NCO who was responsible for ensuring both that all packs were accounted for and under the minimum charge. NCOs who consistently came up either under count or over charge were written up. Combat officers who recognized the reports were a load of crap tended to lose them, but they were exactly the sort of thing Captain Travik would enjoy passing on.

Captain Travik was unconscious.

Not that it would have made any difference.

“Open it,” Torin told him. “Take cover, people. Huilin, Jynett, Dursinski…”

As Marines ducked behind other cases, the two di’Taykan stepped forward wearing their HE suits, helmets up. Dursinski, also in her suit, held her benny pointed toward the crate. If anything unpleasant came out of it, the suits would keep them alive long enough to get it closed again.

Or at least they lengthened the odds.

“You’re just not much of a risk taker, are you, Staff Sergeant?”

“It’s my job to keep these people alive, Mr. Ryder.”

“And, sometimes, doesn’t that mean riding the whirlwind?”

Torin turned just far enough to meet his gaze. “I don’t ride whirlwinds, Mr. Ryder. I beat them into submission.”

One corner of his mouth lifted. “And just thinking of you doing that is turning me on.”

“Turn yourself off again.”

The lid slid clear.

Nothing emerged.

Inside, were thirty-six medium gray, empty boxes. The interior of the case showed only smooth gray walls identical in color and texture to the walls in both the original corridor and the cube.

After removing the boxes, the entire company, with the exception of Orla and the captain, stared at the empty case.

Torin sighed. “Son of a fukking bitch.”

“You’re thinking that’s the way out?” Ryder asked in much the same tone.

“Yes, I am.”

Tossing one of the boxes from hand to hand, Guimond shook his head. “Uh, no disrespect, Staff, this thing’s solid. See?” He tossed the box back into the crate where it bounced noisily.

“Solid is a relative term around here,” Torin reminded him wearily. Before she could tell him to remove the box, the lights dimmed and an earsplitting burst of static evoked some creative profanity in three languages as helmets were snatched off.

“What was
that?
” Nivry demanded, hair an emerald aurora around her head.

“Let’s assume it was a suggestion from Big Yellow that we move on.”

“Big Yellow?”.

“There’s a limit to how long I can refer to something as ‘the alien ship’ and that seemed the obvious name.” Replacing her helmet over hair nearly as wild as the di’Taykan’s, Torin nodded toward Guimond. “Take the box from the crate.”

The big Marine shrugged good-naturedly, grabbed the edge with his left hand, leaned in, stretched, slipped a little, and froze. “Staff…”

It was the first time Torin had heard him sound anything but cheerful. From the sudden surge forward, it was the first time for all of them. By the time she reached the crate, she had to shove Marines out of her way in order to get a place by Guimond’s side. The fingers of his right hand had sunk into the floor up to the first joint. When he turned to face her, his eyes were huge in a flushed face, pupils so dilated the irises had all but disappeared.

“I can’t…I can’t get them out.”

“Stop trying; you’ll hurt yourself.” She reached in and gripped his arm, stopping the constant jerk, jerk, jerk as he tried to pull free. The muscles under her fingers felt more like stone than flesh. “It’s all right, Guimond, you’ve just found the way to the next level.”

“I have?” He managed a wan smile. “Good for me. You want me to keep going?”

“I don’t think you have a choice.”

“We could cut his fingers off.”

Giving Guimond’s arm a last squeeze, Torin straightened. “Shut up, Tsui.”

“No, really; six months or so with his arm in a regen sleeve and he’ll grow a whole new se…” The last word got lost in a strangled squawk as Werst grabbed a fistful of combats at around Tsui’s waist and lifted the larger Marine off his feet.

“What part of shut up,” he growled, “do you not understand?”

“Werst, drop him.”

“Unfortunate choice of words,” Ryder murmured by Torin’s ear as Tsui hit the deck, both hands yanking fabric away from his crotch.

“Deliberate choice of words,” Torin told him, aiming her reply under the covering shouts of laughter and at least three voices telling Guimond what had happened. “All right, people,” she cut the noise off as Tsui got to his feet, “listen up. This is our way out. Private Guimond is on point.” A touch on his shoulder and she was pleased to hear a chuckle from within the crate. “But I want two Marines in there immediately, and I mean immediately after him. Tsui, Werst, you just volunteered. Huilin, Jynett, Dursinski, stay in your suits. Frii, you help Orla with the captain. Johnston, go find our civilians and get them over here. Someone bring me Guimond’s pack, I’ll take it through.” A pause and she raised her voice just a little. “Let’s
go
, Marines, we’re moving out.”

*   *   *

Clutching the edge of the crate so tightly that silver polish flaked off her claws, Presit stared down at the visible two thirds of Guimond’s hand. “I are not going through there.”

“Yes, you are,” Torin told her absently, catching the end of the line connecting Tsui and Werst to Guimond and tossing it back into the group of Marines who secured it. “You ready?”

Tsui looked anything but ready. Werst grunted an affirmative.

“Heer, Johnston?”

“Scanners up and running, Staff.”

Both scanners were reading a big fat nothing under the crate, as though reality ended halfway up Guimond’s right hand. But that was about to change. Because it had to change. It had to become the way out. It had nothing to do with faith. It had everything to do with putting all the pieces together in the right order.

“Just relax, Guimond.”

“Trying to, Staff.”

There didn’t seem to be any way around Guimond going through to the next level headfirst.

“You won’t drop until your entire body is in the open so you’ll actually fall no more than a meter.”
Provided this works like it did the last time
, amended a snide voice in her head. Torin ignored it. “Tuck and roll and you’ll be fine.”

“Tuck and roll,” Guimond repeated. “Right.”

Under the circumstances, he sounded remarkably cheerful.

Stepping back, Torin nodded to Tsui and Werst. “Go.”

Bending, they each lifted one of Guimond’s legs. The moment they released the pressure against the crate, he began to sink.

He sank very fast.

Seconds later, Tsui and Werst hit the bottom together, and were almost instantly ankle-deep.

“Let the line play out,” Torin snapped, as it began to tighten, “we’ve got plenty.” Watching the line run into the crate, she began to count under her breath, ignoring the watch on her sleeve. It was more important that she
do
something than that the count be accurate to the nearest nanosecond. “One MidSector Station. Two MidSector Station.” The top of Werst’s helmet disappeared. “Three MidSector Station.” The crate was empty again. “Four MidSector Station. Five MidSector Station. Six Mid…”

“Staff Sergeant Kerr, this is Private Guimond, do you read?”

The cheering was a little premature but she let it run anyway. “I hear you, Guimond.”

“We came through fine and you were right.”

“It’s part of the job description.” Never let the relief show. They had to believe she never worried. “But what—specifically—was I right about this time?”

“We’re standing in what looks like a station corridor heading fore and aft and there’s one of those three-dimensional signs on the bulkhead.”

“One of
what
signs, Guimond?”

“The kind that tell you where you are. You know: you are here and this is how you get to docking bay seventeen.”

Torin sighed. “Guimond, are you trying to tell me there’s a map down there?”

“Uh, affirmative, Staff.”

A map.

“Is the air lock marked on it?”

“Seems to be.”

Things were looking up.

“Corporal Nivry.” Torin motioned toward the crate.

“They’re your squad.”

Nivry, Frii, Johnston…

“Staff, we have a problem.”

“What is it, Corporal?”

“Johnston’s scanner and the exoskelton didn’t come through.”

“Did he lose any body parts?”

“No, he’s fine.”

“Then it’s a problem we can live with.”

With Squad One on the lower level and their immediate area secured, Torin had the captain passed carefully down through the floor into Guimond’s waiting arms. She’d half hoped, half feared that the trip would bring him back to consciousness but Nivry reported no change.

Both scientists attempted to take readings as they went through the floor. Although they were unsuccessful, at least
they
got to keep their equipment.

As Guimond announced he was back in position, Torin turned to the remaining Katrien. “Your turn.”

“No.” Presit stared into the crate, black eyes narrowed suspiciously. “I said, I are not going through there.”

“You can’t stay here all alone,” Torin pointed out reasonably.

“I are not wanting to stay here all alone. You are getting me out a different way.”

Waving away a cloud of shed fur, Torin stepped closer. “There is no other way.”

“You are not knowing that!”

“I know it’s frightening.” She was using the voice she used on new recruits. The one that gave comfort and no options in equal measure. “But everyone else went through all right.”

“I are not caring about everyone else. I are not going through that.”

“Yes, you are.” Abandoning reason, Torin grabbed the Katrien
under the arms and swung her up over the edge of the crate. “Guimond, incoming at speed.”

“Ready, Staff.”

The reporter nearly folded in half, trying to get out of Torin’s grip.

Torin let go.

“I are going to do you FOR THI…”

“Got her, Staff.”

Squad Two stood grouped in an admiring half circle as she turned.

“If this situation comes up again,” Orla murmured, her eyes so light they looked pale pink, “can I do that?”

“Sure.” Torin held up a bleeding wrist. “She scratches. Mr. Ryder…”

He stared at her for a long moment, then nodded and jumped.

“Corporal Harrop…” The edge of the crate had been melted smooth by the benny. Torin ran her thumb up and down one of the curves. “Send your squad through on my word. Leave the line tied where it is; I’d rather lose it than risk…” She didn’t want to think of what they might be risking; she certainly didn’t want to say the words out loud. Not right before…

She tightened her grip. Adjusted the straps of Guimond’s pack. Wondered why she hadn’t just dropped it down.

And jumped.

Her gaze went straight to Craig Ryder when she landed, one hand against the new deck, her knees absorbing the shock. He looked like she felt. She very carefully arranged her features so that she looked like nothing at all.

A few seconds later, Heer came through stripped of scanner and exoskeleton. Torin’s best guess was that the ship disliked being probed. No one else lost a benny, leaving her the only one without a weapon. At the moment, it was merely embarrassing. She could only hope it didn’t become something more.

Corporal Harrop was the last through the crate. The rope dropped with him.

In a silence so complete even the Katrien had stopped talking, Torin lifted a loop off Harrop’s shoulder and saluted the
ceiling with it; “Thanks.” Then she tossed it to the corporal. “Get this packed up again, we may need it later.”

He glanced at the ceiling, shrugged, and began rolling the line as half a dozen conversations were resumed.

Torin hid a smile as she turned back toward the map; Recon didn’t much worry about a line of retreat at the best of times. Which these weren’t.
Although
, she admitted, tracing a mental line from “you are here” to “closest available air lock,”
things
are
looking up.