Valor's Trial (39 page)

His hair parted. His eyes were so light that, although he was staring at her fingers, she doubted he could see them. “You didn't like him.”

“Doesn't matter.”

“You don't like me.”

“Doesn't matter.”

“We were Harnett's.”

“Now you're mine.” She maintained the contact until Werst called out and the net dropped.

With one of the two lower ranking Druin up, the heavier of the two male Polina, Samtan Tern Helic'tin volunteered to go up first. “If it can hold me, it can hold the durlin.”

“If it can hold you, it can hold me,” Bertecnic, the other male, muttered. Since Freenim ignored him, so did Torin. It was an understandable observation.

Helic'tin worked all four legs through the bottom of the net, smoothed down the fur that had been ruffled up in the wrong direction then, holding the net up like a skirt, he walked to the edge, took a deep breath, snarled wordlessly, and nodded.

“He's ready!”

The rope tightened as they hauled in the slack.

“On three,” Werst yelled. “One, two . . .”

Stepping off the edge knowing four enemies, one skinny biped, and three giant bugs were all that kept gravity from winning, knowing that there was already a body broken and bleeding at the bottom of the shaft, knowing all that and stepping off anyway was one of the bravest things Torin had seen for a while.

He dropped almost his body length down, then began inching up toward the open door.

“You need to lose a little weight!” Ressk yelled.

“Less talk and more pulling!” Helic'tin snarled.

“Samtan Tern Helic'tin.” Torin murmured to Freenim. “Samtan? Lowest rank?” The translation program ignored it, so it could be a rank or a species designation. When the other NCO nodded, she opened her mouth to fill him in on their rank structure and closed it again.

Freenim smiled. “How much to tell the enemy. When we get out of here, the war will not be over.”

“Our private equals your samtan.” She snorted. “If you can win the war with that information, you deserve to.”

There was cursing and claws scrabbling against stone with enough force to fling chips down the shaft when Helic'tin reached the end of his journey but no screaming, so they counted it a win. Bertecnic went up a little easier. Durlin Vertic easier still.

“We've worked the bugs out of the system!” Ressk yelled.

The slate translated bugs as Artek.

The Druin who'd flung the rock earlier swung first, but Kichar didn't hesitate to try to pound the hairless ivory head into the floor. Torin grabbed at a dark gray uniform and hauled the Druin up as Freenim grabbed Kichar and dragged her to her feet.

“Trade?” she suggested.

He grinned and tossed the young Marine toward her, catching his own with the other hand.

Kichar sagged in Torin's grip, blood dripping from her nose, eyes still wild. “He started it, Gunnery Sergeant!”

“And you know why, Private!
You
heard both halves of that translation. Defensive moves would have been enough.”

“You always said that the best defense was a strong offense!”

“So you were doing what I would have?”

“Yes, Gunnery Sergeant!”

And the truly frightening thing was that Kichar was probably right. “Then next time, use your head instead of mine.”

“Yes, Gunnery Sergeant.” She wiped her sleeve across her lower face and frowned at the red blaze on the fabric. “I'm sorry, Gunny.”

“If you've got that much energy to spare, get up there and take your turn on the rope.”

“I don't . . .” She was going to say she didn't need the net. Torin could read it in the stubborn set of her shoulders, but she reconsidered at the last minute. “Yes, Gunnery Sergeant.”

As Mike and Mashona helped her into the net, Torin moved over to Freenim.

“Samtan Everim was not injured, Gunnery Sergeant.”

“I'm glad to hear that, Durlave Kan.”

“But he knows he will be if he tries something so stupid again.” Freenim gave the handful of uniform he still held a little shake. “Doesn't he?”

“Yes, Durlave Kan.” Given their different physiognomies, Everim looked no more repentant than Kichar.

Mike went up next with the slate, then Everim, then Freenim . . .

“Your officer is already up there,” Torin pointed out when he suggested he should be the last up.

. . . then Mashona.

One hand holding the net, Watura touched the pale blue quills in his vest pocket with the other. “I don't want to leave him, Gunny.”

He wasn't talking about the nameless di'Taykan.

Torin reached out and touched the inside of his wrist this time, a more personal touch than the back of the hand. It drew Watura's gaze off the bottom of the shaft and he turned his head to stare into her face, his eyes so dark barely any of the lime green showed. “I give you my word,” she said quietly, “that we will come back for him. For him and for everyone down here. We will not leave anyone behind.”

“Your word, Gunny.” It wasn't a question, so she let it stand. His hair flicked forward. “Have you started to believe what Darlys says about you, then?”

She grinned, more a Krai expression than anything, but left her fingers pressed against his skin. “I believe what the Marine Corps says about me.”

“Exiting Susumi space in three, two, one . . .” The sound of the engines changed as the Susumi drive went off-line and Craig's hands flew across the board.

“If we are being right behind the Others' fleet, I are wanting some good high resolution shots.”

“Not now,” he grunted, shrugging Presit's tiny hand off his arm. He'd expected more buffeting given the dumbass stunt they were pulling, but although
Promise
both rocked and rolled, she'd come through a lot rougher rides. Not to say that he was actually in control at the moment, but they were still in one piece so he was counting it as a win.

Then the proximity sensor went off.

“Is it being the Others' battleship!”

“Worse. It's a fukking asteroid field!”

“Why are that being worse?”

“There were only three ships, and there's one fuk of a lot more . . . son of a bitch!” He still wasn't exactly steering, but the upper jets pushed them down out of the way of a tumbling rock that would have shattered them had it connected. Then the starboard jets. Then the aft port jets. Then he was finally in an area clear enough to control the tumbling.

“Out of Susumi space into an asteroid belt,” Presit snorted, adjusting her glasses as the star fields stopped spinning. “That are being too cliché for vids.” She was trying to look blasé about the experience, but the drift of shed fur heading for the scrubbers gave her away. “So, where are the Others being?”

“I'm not reading them.”

“Are your sensors being broken?”

“No, they're working fine.” Ignoring the lines of sweat dribbling down his sides, he waved at the screen. “There's nothing out there.”

“They are hiding in the asteroids.”

“No, they aren't.”

“But we are following them. We are having gone where they are having gone!”

“Apparently not.”

“Then you are doing it wrong!”

“Fuk you, too.”

Her lips pulled back off her teeth, and her hair puffed. “I are havingseen you! You are playing with the screens, with your fingers, when you are making equations.”

“So you're saying I sent us careening into the back of Bourke on purpose.”

“The back of Bourke?” She frowned. “I are not knowing where that is!”

He looked out at the totally unfamiliar stars and sighed. “That makes two of us, mate. That makes two of us.”

“FIRIV'VRAK IS SURE THIS IS THE UPPERMOST
level, Durlin.”

“Firiv'vrak is sure,” the durlin repeated glancing down at the Artek by Sanati's side. “And the other two?”

“Not convinced, Durlin.”

The Artek clicked something that sounded distinctly rude, the odds rising when Sanati didn't bother translating. It seemed Firiv'vrak was the actual name of Cherry Bug. Or as close as species with soft mouth parts could manage.

“Until at least two of the Artek agree, or we find the exit, we keep looking for a way up.”

“Yes, Durlin.”

As Torin moved past, she glanced down at the Artek and found herself staring at her reflection multiplied in the cluster of six black eyes. Both antennae whipped around, sweeping forward over the eyes, down past the mandibles, and back to lie with the tufted tips about four centimeters above the thorax. It looked so much like an eye roll that Torin wondered just how much the Artek understood of the common tongue. Not being able to speak it only meant their mouth parts weren't capable of the shapes; it said nothing about comprehension.

“You know what I miss,” Ressk sighed around a mouthful of biscuit. “I miss my gran's
gringern
. She'd get the outside all nice and crispy, but the inside stayed runny and warm. Now that's
chrick.
What about you, Sarge? What do you miss?”

Curious, Torin paused long enough to hear Mike's answer.

“Sarge!”

He glanced up from the slate. “What do I what?”

“What food do you miss?”

“Pizza. Thin crust pie, a minimum meter diameter, sliced pie fashion so it's slightly floppy triangles with about a four-centimeter base, and can be folded over properly. Hot sausage, pepperoni, salami, beef, smooth sauce, with just a hint of sweetness to match up with the spice from the sausage, and a thick gooey cover of mixed cheese.” He sighed and stared into the middle distance. “With a big glass of milk on the side.”

“You've been thinking about it, Sarge?”

He snorted. “We've been eating fukking biscuits for days. Damned right I've been thinking about it. I'd trade my mama for a slice of pizza right about now.”

“Trade mine, too,” Ressk acknowledged. The Krai had no trouble digesting the favorite foods of the species they served with. Hardly surprising, Torin admitted, since they could also digest both species. “Got anything else up yet?”

“Think so. Still code to untangle.”

“Want me to take a crack at it?”

“Not yet.” He dropped his attention back to the screen.

Ressk caught Torin's gaze as she passed and definitely rolled his eyes. Hip-deep in the recovery, Mike didn't want to share. Since he was senior to Ressk by a considerable margin, it was his call.

“How are the rest of your people dealing with the death?” Freenim asked as she drew even with him.

Torin nodded toward Darlys walking ahead as gracelessly as it was possible for a di'Taykan to walk. “I'm about to find out. Yours?”

“There are always those happy to deal with one less enemy.”

“Can't say as I blame them,” Torin admitted; she lengthened her stride and fell into step beside Darlys and Mashona, a gesture sending the corporal forward to walk with Watura and Kyster.

“Hey, kid, did I ever tell you about the time that the gunny took on three Silsviss in a bar fight?”

Kyster looked up at the taller Marine like she'd just passed over a bowl of Ressk's gran's
gringern,
and that was more than enough encouragement for Mashona to start talking.

She'd almost finished the story, only slightly exaggerated and remarkably accurate considering she'd been in a bar fight of her own in a different part of the same establishment while Torin had been taking on the three Silsviss in question, by the time Darlys finally spoke.

“Gunnery Sergeant Kerr?”

“Darlys.”

“It was my fault.” Her hair lay flat against her head, and her eyes were so light that Torin wondered how she could see. “My fault that Jiyuu died.”

As much as Torin didn't like Darlys, both for what she'd done under Harnett and for the asinine way she'd reacted to the whole progenitor nonsense, she couldn't let that stand. “You didn't push him.”

An assumption, but a reasonable one—she wouldn't have done anything to have pissed Torin off to that extent. It would've been much more likely had Watura or Jiyuu pushed her.

“I was the first to fall.” Her hair rippled once, front to back “He lost his balance because I lost mine.”

“You purposely lost your balance?”

“No.” Another ripple. “When Werst stepped off onto the ledge, I shifted too far out of position.”

“Intending that Private Jiyuu fall?”

“No!” The ends of her hair flipped up. “But then I was falling, and I pushed off on Jiyuu's shoulders to save myself!”

“Survival is a species imperative, Private. I allowed you to make the climb. Was it my fault that Jiyuu fell?”

“You couldn't have known . . .”

“Neither could you. It wasn't your fault. It was a tragic accident. Nothing more.”

“Then you forgive me?” Her eyes had darkened slightly.

“There's nothing for me to forgive, Private. At least not in this particular instance.” She might not have killed Jiyuu, but Torin wasn't letting her off for earlier deaths.

They walked half a dozen steps in silence.

“We've left him behind. What will we tell his
thytrin,
Gunnery Sergeant?” Despair made the question less than rhetorical.

“We tell his
thytrin
that we got help and went back for him because that's exactly what we're going to do.” She didn't add that she'd given her word to Watura.