The Better Part of Valor (13 page)

Poor boy. Doesn’t want his reporter’s attention on someone else.

“Ah.” Presit went to claw her whiskers and frowned down at the heavy glove. “It are for Marines or for Navy?”

“Both Marines and Navy personnel have been laid there.”

“And some of them were even wounded,” Guimond added, ingeniously.

As the scientists craned around in their seats to see what the Marines were finding so funny, Torin waved Guimond away and leaned over the seat backs, her mouth by Captain Travik’s ear. “Sir, we need everyone in their seats. If you could convince your news people to stop recording for a moment…”

“Wait.” Presit’s raised hand held Cirvan where he was. “This are a ship-to-ship shuttle, Staff Sergeant; why are it carrying weapons?”

“All STS vessels carry weapons, ma’am.” Torin turned her head just enough to see her reflection in Presit’s glasses. “Because sometimes that second ess doesn’t stand for ship.”

The reporter’s brow creased, her fur folding into dark and light bands. “Ship to shi…Oh. You are being funny, Staff Sergeant. Marines are all being funny.” The black line of her upper lip curled up. “You are taking your act on the road?”

“We’re
trying
to, ma’am. Sir?”

“I think you’d better sit your crew down, Presit.” Captain Travik touched the reporter lightly on the shoulder of her suit, clearly enjoying the thought that they were his news people. “I’d hate for anything to happen to the recording.”

“Ah, yes, the recording.” Presit trilled something in her own language and Cirvan howled something back as he sat down. Which incited the Katrien scientists to add their two credits’ worth in a register that made Torin’s teeth vibrate.

She straightened and somehow resisted the urge to beat her head against the bulkhead.

“Captain Travik, this is Lieutenant Czerneda. We’re green for detach. Waiting for your go.”

“Staff Sergeant Kerr.”

“Yes, sir.” Torin dropped into her seat and slaved her slate to the shuttle with one hand as she tightened her straps with the other. “Johnston, your left foot’s not secured.”

“Fuk. Sorry, Staff.”

The last telltale flashed as she slid the toes of her boots under the plastic loops. “All personnel are secured, sir, air lock is sealed.”

“Lieutenant Czerneda, this is Captain Travik. We’re green for go.”

“Roger, Captain. Detach in three, two, one…”

A familiar shudder ran down the length of the shuttle closely followed by a series of loud cracks. Torin had long suspected the Navy pilots of feeding sound effects through the comm system. In a universe that included furniture in a tube and spreadable broccoli, there was no other reason for the clamps to sound as though they’d been broken off rather than released.

She swallowed as they dropped into zero gee and swallowed again before saying, “If you’re feeling queasy, take the suppressant. No one wants to be chasing puke through the compartment.”

Behind her, she could hear someone shifting in his or her seat. Could be the captain, could be either of the Katrien, they were about the same size.

“This shuttle are having no gravity generator?” Presit asked, her voice pitched a little higher than usual and almost loud enough to echo off the facing bulkhead.

“I
am
sorry.” The captain sounded more smug than apologetic. Krai were virtually immune to all negative effects of zero gee; no nausea, no disorientation, no decrease in red blood cells, no bone loss should the lack of gravity be maintained over time. When the Confederation made first contact, they were planning a trip to a star almost three light-years away in zero gee the whole trip.

A repeated pressure on Torin’s left shoulder turned out to be Ryder’s shoulder nudging against hers. When she glanced over, he had the shuttle’s schematics on his slate. “This thing’s
got
a gravity generator,” he murmured for her ears alone—although as the Katrien were talking again, it wasn’t a particularly soft murmur.

“Uses a lot of energy,” Torin told him. “Navy won’t waste it if it isn’t necessary. Might need it for something else.”

He nodded appreciatively. “And there’s a lot of something else in here, too. This shuttle’s got more lethal bells and whistles than a H’san toilet.”

“I wouldn’t know. And you’re in files you shouldn’t be able to access.”

“‘Shouldn’t’ is such an interpretive word.” Three fast
screens went by; he lingered on performance variables. “Looks like the Navy bought next year’s model. Do you Marines have this kind of fancy flight equipment?”

“Not likely. Marines just want the damned things to fly and drop explosives.” She keyed her override code into her slate and his screen went blank. “If you survive this mission, I’m going to have to have you mind-wiped.”

“You’re joking.”

She shrugged. “Okay.”

“I mean about surviving the mission. What’s to survive?”

“We won’t know until we get there, will we?”

“Fair enough.” He sighed, snapped his slate back on his suit, sagged within the confines of his straps, folded his arms, and stared at nothing in particular. After a moment, he focused his gaze on Torin’s face. “Are we there yet?”

Torin ignored him.

“You’re smiling, Staff Sergeant. I can see the corner of your mouth rise.”

Oh, damn, she
was
smiling. There was nothing to do but continue ignoring him although she could feel his triumphant grin dancing between them. She pushed her chin against the collar of her suit, activating the HE’s comm unit. Because the helmet detached, it carried almost no tactical equipment. “All right, Marines, suit check. Communications, first. Sound off by squad…”

They’d barely completed the checklist when Lieutenant Czerneda informed the compartment they’d be attempting first attach in ten minutes. Captain Travik unstrapped and stood, twisting in his foot loops to face the scientists.

“Doctor Hodges,
Harveer
Niirantapajee, I believe this is your area of expertise.”

Torin figured he was being gracious for the news recording. Or sucking up for reasons of his own. He certainly seemed to manage better with civilians than with other Marines.

The two scientists, a Human and a Niln, unstrapped carefully. The Human, Dr. Hodges, pushed off the front bulkhead, flew the length of the compartment, turned just before Med-op, realigned himself, and snapped his boots down just before impact with the inside door of the air lock. A few Marines applauded, shouting out observations more or less complimentary,
and Torin had to admit she couldn’t have performed the maneuver much better herself.

Harveer
Niirantapajee, her balance off with her tail down the leg of her suit, walked the entire distance hissing softly as she detached, swung, and reattached each booted foot.

Guimond dug his elbow into Werst’s side as the Niln passed. “Looks like she tucks left.” The snicker took him by surprise. “Hey, you’re laughing.”

“And you’re pathetic.”

“But funny.”

Arms folded, slumped low in his straps, Werst growled something that could have been an agreement.

As the pair of scientists opened an instrument panel surface-mounted beside the airlock’s emergency manual controls, Torin stood and leaned over the seat back toward the captain. Under normal circumstances, she’d have subvocalized over the implants, but with the Katrien still talking, she didn’t see much point. She’d have to shout to be overheard.

“Sir, do you think you should order helmets on, just in case?”

Travik looked confused. “In case of what?”

“Vacuum.”

He glanced toward the air lock and reached for his helmet. “Good idea, Staff. Make it so.”

“Sir?”

“Just give the order, Staff Sergeant.”

“Yes, sir.”

The civilians followed the Marines’ example.

“Check each other’s seals, people. You have no idea of the size of the report I’ll have to write if one of you pops an eyeball.” She slipped her feet out of the loops and flipped up and over to the captain’s side. “Sir.”

“I am capable of securing my helmet, Staff Sergeant,” he sniffed indignantly.

“Yes, sir, but regulations are clear on this matter. I check you, you check me.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want you to have any trouble.” His smile was a patronizing pat on the head. “Would we?”

“No, sir.”

“You should tighten your right shoulder connection.”

“Yes, sir.” She resisted the urge to crack the seal on his
tank. To give credit where credit was due, however reluctantly, he’d put himself together perfectly.
High marks for self-preservation.
Flipping back over the seats, she found Craig Ryder waiting for her.

“Odd man,” he reminded her as she slid her feet back in the loops. “If you wouldn’t mind.”

The man got in and out of his helmet half a dozen times a day when putting together a load of salvage. He no more needed his seals checked than she did. She checked them anyway. Hard vacuum was as unforgiving as it got.

Before she could move away, he checked hers.

“Just in case,” he murmured, helmet to helmet. She nudged her comm system off group channel before he could continue. The pickup was sensitive enough to throw his opinion out to every Marine in the shuttle. “No offense, but I wouldn’t trust that captain of yours to recognize a weak seal if it opened under his nose.”

“Thank you.” And back on again—no one had missed her. “Heer, that had better not be your emergency rations I hear you eating.”

“Wouldn’t think of it, Staff.”

“I don’t care what you’re thinking about; stop it,” Torin snapped, grabbing a di’Taykan scientist as he floated by, arms and legs flailing.

“It seemed significantly easier to navigate in zero gravity on the training vid,” he complained, without even the expected double entendre about being grabbed. She sent him back toward his seat where two pairs of hands snagged him and dragged him back down to his straps.

Oh, this
is
going to be fun.

“Attempt first attach in three minutes.”

“Weapons, people, we don’t know what’s coming through that door.”

The Marines’ weapon of choice was the KC-7, a fairly primitive, chemically-operated projectile weapon, impervious to electrical disruptions and solidly enough built that even nonfunctioning, it made a deadly club. Every Marine, no matter what their specialty or trade, qualified on the KC-7 during basic training or they didn’t qualify to be Marines. Unfortunately, projectile weapons were a bad idea in space, where
shooting holes in the structure containing the life-support system was inevitably fatal.

On those rare occasions where the Marines were thrown into ship to ship fighting, they used a BN-4, a weapon which combined a cellular disrupter for antipersonnel use and a tight band laser operating off the same energy pack. The Marines called them bennys and those who preferred them to the KC never admitted it.

“Are weapons wise, Captain Travik?”

Torin’s lip lifted. The full disclosure laws granted the reporter access to both the group and the command comm channels. The Others had forced Parliament to acknowledge the need for both Confederation-wide branches of the military but nothing could force them to like it.

“What,” Presit continued, “if the aliens of the ship are coming in peace?”

“Then we won’t shoot but we prefer to have the option.”

Well, good for him.

“Did I ever tell you about the time I outshot half a dozen of the Others’ top marksmen while I freed Horohn 8?”

“Yes, Captain. You are telling me three times already.”

And good for her.

“Attempting first attach in three, two, one…”

If not for some creative cursing from
Harveer
Niirantapajee as she worked at the new control panel with a filament probe, contact would have been too smooth to notice.

The telltales flickered and turned green.

“We have a seal. Equalizing pressure.”

Torin had put together a boarding plan that Captain Travik had approved and presented to the general as his own. She didn’t give a damn who got the credit as long as she was able to implement it. “Squad Two, defensive positions.”

“Opening inner door.”

“Squad One; into the lock. Squad Two; maintain your positions, this side. If I can’t talk you out of this, Mr. Ryder, stay with me.”

“Oh, I’m right behind you, Staff Sergeant.”

“And stay off the comm.”

The air lock on a Navy shuttle held fifteen bodies—a few less if they were Dornagain, a few more if they were Katrien or Niln. Torin placed her people around the edges and waited.
After a short argument with his colleague, Dr. Hodges joined them.

The shuttle’s inner door closed.

Torin hated how loud her breathing sounded within the confines of the helmet.

After the atmosphere had been pumped out—so many things reacted badly with oxygen—Dr. Hodges walked across the lock to the outer door where the telltales were already green. “I am now opening the outer door.”

“Sounds like he’s talking for fukking posterity.”

“Tsui.”

“Sorry, Staff.”

The outer door opened.

The alien ship was even more yellow up close. Torin’s helmet polarized slightly.

“I am now laying the sensor band against the ship.” As he spoke, Dr. Hodges placed a strip of something about thirty centimeters long and no more than five wide along the center axis of the ship’s outer door. Tiny red and green lights flashed up and down the length.

Never underestimate the power of a flashing light.
Torin resisted the urge to snort.

After a moment, the lights changed their pattern, and the doctor removed it. “The door is now ready to be opened. Commence opening,
Harveer
.”

The Niln made no reply the comm could pick up.

The solid yellow acquired a thin black line.

“Come on, baby,” Ryder breathed. “Papa needs a new O
₂
scrubber.”

There was vacuum on the other side.

Torin strained to see what they were facing.

The line grew thicker, and became an opening into what was unmistakably another air lock.