The Better Part of Valor (40 page)

Both inner and outer doors were still closed. The lock itself was unpressurized. He was alone in the cabin. A full report to General Morris would keep things that way for a good long time.

“Ryder! Goddamn it, answer me!”

One hand reached back for the comm controls.

“I think you’re forgetting that I don’t work for you, mate.”

*   *   *

“Remember, the ship’s AG field stops at the outer hull. I want one Marine to a civilian, one helping Tsui, two carrying each of the stretchers. You drop your baggage, you grab an armload of suits, you haul ass back to Big Yellow.” A shadow flickered over the thin membrane of the tube. No way to tell if it was a bug fighter or a Jade. “I want a minimum of time spent in this worm casing.” And what was taking the goddamned pressurizing so long?

“Staff Sergeant Kerr, we are not being carried…”

“Yes, you are. We don’t have time for sloppy maneuvering in zero gee.”

“Captain Travik! I are asking you…”

“The captain can’t answer you, ma’am.” Torin glanced back at the corpse. “Saving all our lives took everything he had. He’s drifting in and out of consciousness again.”

*   *   *

“Black Seven,
this is
Red Three.
We’ve got bugs heading toward your position.”

“So stop them,” Shylin muttered, her fingers dancing across her targeting data.

“They appear curious rather than hostile. We see no attack patterns.”

“Yet.”

“Roger,
Red Three. B7
out.” Sibley took the Jade down over the tube, around and under the deploying salvage pen. “You know, Shy, you’re starting to be a real downer.”

*   *   *

Clutching her helmet in both hands, Presit surged forward as the air lock door opened, took one look at eighteen meters of ribbed tube stretching out to the
Promise
’s lock, and her toes clamped down on the edge of the deck.

“I are not…”

Before Torin could speak, Nivry grabbed the reporter from behind. “Yeah, you are.”

Three long strides took her to the edge of the hull, and a graceful dive—made less graceful than di’Taykan norm by an armload of squirming Katrien—took them both out of the AG field and to the
Promise
just as the outer lock opened. She caught herself on the edge of the lock and practically threw a vehemently protesting Presit into Ryder’s arms.

Torin grinned at his expression and began to strip out of Huilin’s suit.

Nivry back. Huilin and Gytha.

Huilin back. Orla and the
harveer.

Two shadows passed over the tube almost too fast to register.

“Keep it moving, people.”

Orla back.

Heer and Werst with Tsui on the first stretcher, Tsui
protesting all the way that he could manage without a foot in zero gee.

“Tsui.”

He tilted his head enough to see her around Heer.

“Make sure nobody touches Mr. Ryder’s stuff and,” she raised her voice loud enough to be heard inside
the Promise
, “gag that reporter if she doesn’t shut the fuk up!”

The torrent of Katrien protests shut off.

Tsui grinned into the sudden silence. “You got it, Staff.”

Still standing at the outer edge of his air lock, Ryder tossed a smile in Torin’s direction. Torin, in turn, tossed Huilin his suit. And blamed any visceral reactions on residual pheromones.

Frii.

Of the serious casualties, only Harrop remained on Big Yellow.

*   *   *

“They’re going for the tube, Sib!”

“I’m on them!”

A hard burst with both left and right upper thrusters, intended to drop the Jade down behind the bug, put them into a spin. Sibley swore, corrected, and raced to intercept.

“What happened?”

“Forgot about the new lefties. I hit them too hard.”

Fingers gripping the edge of the panel, right thumb a whisper above the fire control, Shylin shook her head. “We may not get a lock.”

“We have to.”

Her hair flipped forward. “You got anything encouraging to say that’s not a cliché?”

“At this hour? I doubt it.” He fought to get everything he could out of the Jade. “Goddamned bug is not getting away.”

“Target has flipped one-eighty. She’s coming back at us, Sib.”

“Good.” Teeth clenched, he headed the Jade right down the bug’s throat. “We’ll use less fuel catching her.”

*   *   *

One piece of the debris hit the
Promise.
The others passed to the left of the tube.

“Son of a…! Torin!”

Nivry, Orla, and the stretcher holding Harrop were between
them, but there was no mistaking the terror now in Ryder’s voice.

“This thing won’t take a direct hit from a thrown turd. If it punctures…”

If it punctured with both air locks open, it would at the very least decompress the smaller ship, killing everyone on it and probably sucking two or three Marines into space before the emergency protocols closed the inner doors.

She kept her own voice vaguely disinterested. “What do you suggest we do about it, Mr. Ryder?”

Nivry and Orla had Harrop inside. She could see him now. More importantly, he could see her. When she locked her gaze to his and lifted a deliberate brow, he grinned and shook his head. “I suggest we don’t throw any turds.”

Torin nodded. “I can support that idea.”

“So.” He leaned against the ship and folded his arms. “The Marines teach you to be calm in the face of disaster, or are you naturally like this?”

“The Corps believes in making use of natural ability.”

He flinched as another shadow passed the tube, but it was a minor movement. Had she not been watching him so closely, she’d have missed it.

“And what do you believe in?” he wondered.

Then the two di’Taykan were pushing past him and launching themselves down the tube. Nivry landed, took three running steps to kill momentum and was safely inside Big Yellow.

Another shadow, closely followed.

Orla hit the AG field with her feet still in the tube, turned the landing into a shoulder roll, and bounced upright. “I meant to do that,” she muttered as she went inside.

“Captain Travik, you are coming inside now!”

About to tell Ryder to get his door closed and the tube cast off, Torin tried to remember why it had seemed like a good idea to give Presit that helmet. A quick glance at the body reminded her. The Corps had also taught her to make use of available resources. She flipped down her mike. “Presit’s right, sir. You can’t ride in the cargo pen, you’re injured. There’s room inside.”

“I ride with my Marines.”
The voice was barely audible; the upper class Krai accent unmistakable. If this backfired,
Werst could always join her in a fulfilling career in musical theater.

“But, sir…”

“I’m the officer, Staff Sergeant. I give the orders.”

“Yes, sir.”

The mike went back up. She looked down the tube toward Ryder, ignoring the Katrien who continued to babble about or to Captain Travik. “Thanks for coming back.” She couldn’t see past him, but she knew how crowded the small cabin had to be. Even if she hadn’t known how he felt about sharing the space, she’d have seen it in the way he rocked back and forth, muscles rigid. A muscle had to be damned rigid to see it from eighteen meters away. “And as much as I’d enjoy standing here talking to you all day, get your ass inside.” She reached out and tapped the tube. “Dump this. Get the salvage pen below the lock and as close to the hull as you can. Once we’re in, just concentrate on getting us back to the
Berganitan
in one piece.”

“Just?” He looked like he was about to launch himself toward her.

“Just keep doing what I tell you, and everything’ll be fine.”

Half a smile showed in the shadow of his beard. “Words to live by, then?”

“People do. I’ve been thinking…”

“When did you have time?”

“Shut up. Did you give your implant codes to anyone on the
Berg
? Then run mine into the program the
Promise
uses to contact you,” she continued quickly when he shook his head. “You can talk to me any time you need to with no one else being the wiser.”

“How did you know I…?” He shook his head again, more in wonder this time. “Never mind. Stupid question. It’s your job to know.”

“You’re not part of my job—but I think I’ll keep you alive anyway.” Stepping back, she reached for the lock controls. “Inside. Now.” The tone that had terrified a thousand recruits pushed him into the ship as effectively as if she’d reached out a hand and shoved. “Close up and go.” Hand raised, she didn’t touch her controls until she saw his door close.

And that was all she could do for him right now. He had to get through the next bit without her.

She had problems of her own.

“Uh, Staff. You better come see this.”

Already suited, Dursinski had remained on guard at the barricade.

Sealing the front of a mercifully pheromone-free suit, Torin ran to join her.

The bug was standing in the center of the passage. She wore no armor. She carried no weapons. All four arms were spread. The air smelled of cinnamon and melted butter.

“What the fuk’s she doing?” Dursinski’s benny took a bead on the bug’s head.

Torin pushed it down. “She’s surrendering.”

Werst limped up beside them and snorted derisively. “The Others don’t let their soldiers surrender.”

“Granted, but this lot has lost contact with their ship. They have no leaders left alive. They recognize the sound of an engine and they know what it means as well as we do. They’re desperate. They don’t want to die.”

“Who does?” Dursinski sighed.

Two more bugs came out into the passage, armorless, weaponless, carrying vaguely familiar gear across their arms. Behind them, two more.

“And,” Torin continued, “they’ve got their own suits.”

“You can’t trust them, Staff.” Nivry’s voice came from behind her left shoulder.

“They’re the enemy,” Werst agreed.

“I don’t trust them.” She handed her benny to the corporal and stepped beyond the barricade. “But I’m not leaving them here.”

*   *   *

“This is fukkin’ weird,” Johnston muttered, shrugging his suit up over his shoulders.

Settling his tank, Heer glanced over at the five surviving bugs getting into their own suits under the supervision of Dursinski’s and Jynett’s weapons. “This is fukkin’ history,” he amended, ridges flared.

“I flunked history.”

“And now you’re part of it. Weird or what?” He tucked his head into the collar ring and came up with his emergency rations tube in his mouth. “Soup’s on and life is good.”

Johnston grimaced as the other engineer swallowed with
every indication of enjoyment. “You want to talk about weird…”

*   *   *

“Salvage pen’s in place. Any time, Torin.”

“First group’s on their way.”

The first group consisted of four Marines and two bugs. Torin, the captain’s body still propped behind her, opened the outer doors and motioned them forward. The bugs’ reaction transcended both the lack of a common language and the bulk of their suits. They took one look and backed up, pushing Marines and weapons both out of their way.

“We don’t have time for this. Nivry.”

Torin grabbed the back of the corporal’s suit as she stepped out into space. A push and release sent her angling down into the pen.

“Johnston.”

“But…”

“Now.”

Two Marines safely loaded reassured the bugs.

When we get a minute, I’ll have to find out what “you guys are fukking idiots” smells like
, Torin mused, pitching the last of the first group. “Half done, Ryder. We’re…”

As she closed the outer doors, the background vibrations moved suddenly to the foreground. “Fuk!”

“Torin?”

“Not now!”

Inner doors open.

“Get in here! Move!”

Everyone remaining in Big Yellow surged forward.

Inner doors closed.

“Here!” Torin tossed the loop of rope still connecting her and Captain Travik. “Grab hold!”

The three bugs imitated the Marines.

Torin slapped the outer control panel.

“Staff! The pressure hasn’t…”

“Just hang on!”

The outer doors opened. Five Marines, three bugs, and the rope sucked past her into space. Torin’s boots held but only just. “Another chance for you to be a hero,” she muttered, grabbing Captain Travik’s body with both hands, aiming him
toward the clump of Marines now tethered in the pen, and throwing him as hard as she was able.

The outer door began to close.

Torin released her boots as the rope around her waist jerked her out through the rapidly disappearing opening. She swore as the door slammed her injured arm and spun her around, Marines, bugs, pen,
Promise
, all spinning against a background of stars.

“Get your thumbs out of your butts and pull us in!” she snapped. “Ryder! Get moving!”

“But you’re…”

“Six meters from a ship that’s about to fire main engines!”

The first two bodies on the rope were in the pen.

“My engines…”

“Are one thousandth the fukking size!”

Three. Four.

She’d stopped spinning and was now moving steadily toward the pen.

Two bugs holding as much to each other as the rope slipped inside.

They were probably thinking they should have stayed with Big Yellow. Not that she blamed them.

Below her, below the salvage pen, the
Promise
began to move.

Too goddamned slow!
Her breath sounded unusually loud in her ears.

The rope jerked violently.

Someone screamed.

Torin threw out her arms and instinctively grabbed the body that slammed into her.

“I thought I told you to hold on!” she gasped, hoping the rib had cracked and not actually broken.

“Sorry…Staff…”
Orla’s voice sounded wet and bubbling.

“You hurt?”

Her boots touched the outside of the pen.

“I…don’t…I don’t…I…I…”

There was no mistaking the sound of someone puking into a comm unit.