The Better Part of Valor (9 page)

“A Better Fukking Find Me.”

“We’re looking for a Better Fukking Find Me?”

“You having receiver trouble? It’s a Flishing 117, isn’t it? I can take it apart without cracking a seal on your suit…”

“Thanks, my receiver’s fine.” He blocked the reaching hand with the back of his forearm. “You Marines are a literal lot, aren’t you?”

Heer snickered. “You have no idea.”

“Play poker?”

“Does a
gruinitan
go better with red sauce?”

“I’m guessing…yes?”

Torin had been surprised to see Ryder come through the hatch, HE suit draped over his arm. He’d brought the basics, borrowed tanks, and now, as she watched the air-lock door close behind him, she wondered why he’d come.

Probably bored.

She knew more than one Marine back on OutSector who ran the simulation chamber just for the hell of it. Given what Marines did for a living, she always thought the di’Taykan way of filling spare time made a lot more sense.

“Hey, Staff, will Ryder be going through again or does Squad Two get a different objective?”

Nivry’s question snapped her back to the here and now. “Squad Two,” she told them, “gets a wounded comrade to carry out.”

“Who?”

“You’ll know when they know.”

Every eye in the squad turned toward August Guimond who was watching the action in the chamber like it was an adventure vid he’d heard good things about. None of the other Marines matched his size. Only Craig Ryder came close, and he wouldn’t be there to carry the body.

After a moment, the pressure of half a dozen pairs of eyes drew his attention from the simulation. “What?”

“It won’t necessarily be Private Guimond,” Torin pointed out.

When those same eyes turned to her, she smiled.

Werst’s upper lip came off his teeth. “Crap. Crap.
Serley
crap.”

No one disagreed.

*S
taff Sergeant Kerr, report to my office immediately.*

Torin tongued in an acknowledgment adding aloud for the pickup in her jaw, “We’re in the midst of our last simulation, Captain, twenty minutes to endgame.”

Captain Rose would have told her to take the twenty minutes. But then, in the same circumstances, Captain Rose would have been monitoring the simulation with her—after having run it once himself.

*Immediately, Staff Sergeant Kerr.*

“Yes, sir.”

Squad Two had come up against enemy fire, and they were pinned down. Squad One was working their way through adjacent corridors trying to relieve them. Nothing in the briefing suggested the alien ship had to be empty. Granted, any aliens on board could be as cuddly as the H’san but a “hail fellow sentients, well met” kind of first contact didn’t need to be practiced. Craig Ryder was currently flat on the deck—when the shooting started, Werst had dropped him down out of the target zone by simply kicking his feet out from under him and letting him fall. Torin made a mental note to commend Werst for his initiative.

Fuk; if they have to promote a Krai, why don’t they promote Werst?

She punched in the simulation’s override code, throwing open all channels as the lights in the training module came up. “Sorry, people, you were kicking simulated ass but the captain’s called me away from the board. Get the gear stowed, then you can stand down. When I get back, we’ll take a look
at the vids; see if we can up our survival rate. Mr. Ryder, thank you for your participation; you’re welcome to stay.”

“Anything for the Marine Corps, Staff Sergeant.”

Although she couldn’t see his face through the reflections on the curve of the helmet, Torin could hear the charmingly supercilious smile in his voice as he pushed himself into a sitting position.

“But,” he continued, “I’d better get back to my ship; I have a busy night planned.”

“Fine.” What made him think she cared what kind of a night he had planned?
Asshole.
“You’re on your own, people.”

“Good luck, Staff.”

That had to be Guimond; from anyone else, it would have sounded like sucking up.

Wondering just what exactly Captain Travik had up his butt this time, she headed for the other end of the Marine attachment at a quick walk.

It hadn’t sounded like an emergency.

The captain had sounded enthusiastic.

Experience had taught her that an enthusiastic officer was a bad thing; an enthusiastic idiot in a captain’s uniform was a very bad thing.

*   *   *

“Staff Sergeant Kerr, what took you so long?” Captain Travik chewed, swallowed, and leaped up from behind his desk as she entered his office. “I’ve had a…” His lips curled back. “You’re out of uniform.”

Torin looked down at her combat fatigues and back up at the captain. “Simulations today, sir.”

“I know that—but you were monitoring.”

“Yes, sir.”

“All right, then.”

All right, then?
Torin regarded him with some suspicion from behind a carefully neutral expression. The lights were at Krai levels, and the green filters made the mottling on his scalp look like lichen or moss—which she supposed was what it was meant to do from an evolutionary standpoint. It just looked damned weird in their present circumstances.

“What,” he asked, nose ridges flushed with excitement, “do you think about a formal inspection?”

He really didn’t want to know what she thought. Fortunately, he didn’t want an answer to the question either.

“How often,” he continued, “do combat Marines travel with a general? I want to give him the opportunity to see what we’re made of.”

“Due respect, sir, but combat Marines aren’t usually made of anything that shows well in a formal inspection.”

“Nonsense. A little applied spit and polish and they’ll be fine.”

Remembering the last time she’d heard that and what the ultimate result had been, Torin lost the next bit of the captain’s announcement in the noise of battle, picking it up again at:

“…dress uniforms, medals if they’ve got them.”

He was salivating—which, given how fond Krai were of Human flesh, Torin found just a little disconcerting. Horohn 8 had netted him a Nova Cluster, and he clearly needed to show it off. She wanted to smack the condescending little bugger. “Sir, this mission was minimum kit; no one has their dress uniform with them.”

“I do.”

Of course he did.

“The rest of you can shine up your service uniforms. I’m sure the general will understand.”

“You’ve already asked him, sir?”

“These are my Marines, Staff Sergeant, I don’t have to ask the general’s permission to hold an inspection and…” He stepped closer and poked a finger toward her chest. “…I certainly don’t have to ask yours.”

“Have you already asked the general to
attend
, sir?”

The finger withdrew. “Oh. I informed him of my intention. It’s not like he has anything else to do on this tub. As I have no aide, myself, you can go over the details with his.”

“Yes, sir.”

Won’t that be fun.

*   *   *

“Sir, it’s irrelevant that the general is also traveling with a full dress uniform.” And not really surprising. “The officers should be in service uniforms as well.”

The ends of Lieutenant Stedrin’s pale hair made short choppy motions in the still air. “But the general…”

Torin ignored the bristling. “The general doesn’t need tassels and fringe, Lieutenant, he’s a general—my people all know that. And the Marine Corps doesn’t need to emphasize artificial divisions between the officers and the enlisted—not if we’re going to function as a team when it counts.” Maybe if this mission went in General Morris’ favor, he’d be able to add a gunny to his staff. She shouldn’t be the one explaining the facts of life to his aide. Closely following that thought came the sudden and horrible realization that she, herself, was due for a promotion to gunnery sergeant.

“But, Captain Travik…”

“Excuse me, sir…” Rattled by promotion possibilities, the interruption emerged a little sharper than she’d intended. “…but the general is mission CO, not Captain Travik.”

“I’m aware of that, Staff Sergeant.”

“And you’re the general’s aide, sir, not Captain Travik’s.” Torin banished an unknown future and shrugged. “But it’s not my place to tell you how to do your job.”

Stedrin met her gaze. After a moment, his eyes lightened. “That’s a load of crap.”

He was learning. “Yes, sir.”

*   *   *

The inspection was a stupid idea, but not necessarily a bad one. Traditionally, Marines spent the time before their carrier emerged from Susumi space wondering if maybe
this
was the time the engineers had forgotten to carry the one and popped them out directly in front of an object too large for the bow wave to clear. They’d remember the
Sar’Quitain
and the battalion of Marines who’d slammed into the gas giant with her. They’d speculate about the
Sargara-West
, and the Marines who’d disappeared into Susumi space with her never to emerge—although twelve years later unconfirmed sightings continued to make the news.

They were helpless during a situation that could be terminal, and they hated that helplessness.

Captain Travik had given them all something new to think about.

No harm, no foul.
Torin watched from her place in the rear as the three officers moved slowly past the dozen Marines.
It’s not as if they liked him to begin with.

*   *   *

The “all clear” sounded as the
Berganitan
blew out of Susumi space right on schedule.

The alien ship remained exactly where Craig Ryder’s equations had placed it.

“You know, I can’t help thinking of the HE suits,” Torin muttered a short time later as the first pictures came down to the Marine attachment.

Nivry’s eyes darkened for a closer look. “Why?”

“The bright colors.” Torin nodded toward the screen at the tiny image of the brilliantly yellow ship. “It makes them easy to find.”

Forty-six hours of deceleration later, the
Berganitan
came to a full stop one hundred and eighteen kilometers away from the alien ship, maintaining the minimum distance required by both defensive and offensive systems.

The two squadrons got their orders to hit vacuum.

*   *   *

“All I’m asking is that you
try
to remember you’ve got a fukking big surveillance system bolted to the front of your bird.”

Lieutenant Commander Sibley swallowed the last of his stim stick and shot Chief Warrant Graham an incredulous look. “Bolted?”

“Figure of speech; just remember it’s there.”

He grinned and shrugged the flight suit up over his shoulders. “Vacuum, Chief, no resistance. Aerodynamic doesn’t count.”

“Yeah, sir, I know that. But if you have to fire…”

“Can’t fire you, Chief, you’re in the Navy. And there’s nothing to fire at out there.” An elbow waved more or less toward the air lock as he sealed his cuffs.

“Maybe some boffin’ll want you to shoot off a sample, I don’t know, but if you have to fire, that system’s going to cut a chunk off your forward arc, port,
and
starboard.”

“You get that, Shylin?”

His di’Taykan gunner settled her helmet over cadmium hair. “I got it.”

“She’s got it,” Sibley informed the chief. “Probably not catching. And since Lieutenant Shylin’s going to be jigging your system—not to mention doing the shooting should it
come to it—maybe you ought to tell her what you’ve done to my baby.”

Graham folded his arms. “The lieutenant knows, sir. As does the rest of your wing. Now, I’m telling you.”

“You still haven’t forgiven me for what happened at Sai Genist, have you? I brought most of her back, and you’ve got to admit I did some pretty flying.”

“Considering what you had left to fly, sir…” The chief showed teeth in a reluctant smile. “…yeah, you did.”

One hand on the air-lock controls, Shylin twisted around to face her pilot. “You coming, Sib, or am I flying this thing from the back seat? Squadron’s launching in five.”

*   *   *

Dave Graham watched until the Jade dropped free of her bay and scratched at his cheek where the depilatory was beginning to wear off. No rigger, from the FNG to the master warrant, liked to see the fighters go out—they all spent too long waiting for them, and their crews, to come back.

“Chief?”

He recognized the voice of his newest petty officer. “I’ll be there in a minute, Tristir.”

“Bay’s empty, Chief. She’s gone.”

“I know.”

The Krai rigger walked over to stand by his side. “At least this time, we’ll get her back in one piece.”

“Fuk, Tris, I wish you hadn’t said that.”

*   *   *

“One hundred and eighteen kilometers, Captain Carveg?” Arms folded, eyes locked on the vast expanse of yellow ship filling the screen, General Morris shook his head. “Couldn’t you bring us any closer?”

The
Berganitan
’s captain shot him a look Torin recognized. “Considering the size of my ship and the size of that ship and the relative size of the galaxy, one hundred and eighteen kilometers is plenty close enough, General. And just so you know, we get one ping off it, any energy indication at all, and I’m backing up so fast you’ll taste yesterday’s lunch.”

Torin had always liked Captain Carveg—unlike some, she understood the meaning of orbital support. And, it turned out, she had a way with words.

The general stared down at the much shorter officer for a
long moment; then he nodded. “You are, of course, in command of the
Berganitan
, Captain.”

“Yes, sir, I am.”

Torin heard the silent,
this time
, on the end of that agreement even if no one else in the room did.

With the exception of the enlisted Marines, the same people were back in the same briefing room for the first data from the flyby.

“The general wants you there for the flyby, Staff Sergeant.”

“Why?”

Lieutenant Stedrin stiffened but had clearly been instructed to answer if asked. “Captain Travik will be there, and General Morris wants you to have the same information the captain has. Did you have something better to do?”