The Truth of Valor (38 page)

Mashona grinned. “So we can skip out without paying it.”

“Cherish the small things,” Torin agreed. “Now go before I get any older and this plan gets any more ludicrous.”

There were three ways to get to System Administration from the Hub. With no reason to be anywhere near the staff quarters or the maintenance tubes, Torin took the obvious and most public route.
What was your business in Admin?
would be a lot easier to answer than,
Why were you skulking about?
should her journey come to Big Bill’s attention in the next . . .

Torin glanced at her slate.

... twelve hours and forty-one minutes.

The section of corridor directly off the vertical was utilitarian. Gray. Cleaner than the public areas, granted, but also less streamlined. Not all the mechanicals were hidden and it reminded her of the engineering sections of a battle cruiser. It was stupid o’clock in the morning station time, between shifts, so she expected to be alone, but four meters away at the access to a second vertical, a Krai in maintenance overalls stood swearing at an open panel. Glanced up as Torin’s boots hit the deck, dismissed her as unimportant, and returned to profanity. Big Bill could almost definitely pick the Grr brothers out of a crowd, but his maintenance workers? Not likely. Not unless they were behind on their fifteen percent. Ressk would get to Communications right after she did, and no one would see him coming.

System Admin had its own set of decompression doors.

According to the schematics, Communications was at the end of the next corridor, the last in a line of closed, unlabeled hatches leading to Records, Finance, and Weapons Control.

Torin couldn’t see the surveillance cameras, but she didn’t doubt they were there. To be on the safe side, she stayed as far from the locks as the corridor allowed. Her new code opening them in sequence would sure as shit attract the wrong kind of attention. Enough attention to justify waking Big Bill should he have gone to sleep.

The hatch to Communications was already open.

Unable to see how it could possibly be a trap, Torin stepped in over the lip. A glance at her slate showed Ressk’s sweeper program had picked up no surveillance in the room. So far, so good.

Communications was long and narrow. Two extended boards ran along both side bulkheads with a double row of monitors over each. The monitors offered a tour of the station’s surveillance cameras, three seconds on each view. Torin noted four different angles on the Hub, the interior of half a dozen bars or half a dozen interiors of the same bar, interiors of the shops—Vrijheid had a masseuse? Pirates got stressed?—and one fuk of a lot of empty corridors. Looked like a dedicated monitor on the last hatch before the ore docks. Each monitor had its own station. The room also held two wheeled chairs; minimum staff to cover maximum distance. An ocher-haired di’Taykan sprawled in one chair. The other chair was empty.

The di’Taykan looked up and frowned. Although the Taykan showed few visible signs of aging to non-Taykan, Torin’s experience with Staff Sergeant Beyhn on Crucible made her think this was a di close to turning qui. That meant she wasn’t here because she was young and stupid. She was here because she chose to be here.

“Who the fuk are you?” she demanded.

New plan.

“New hire,” Torin said, moving closer, careful to make it look like she was watching the monitors.

“And I’m supposed to train you? At this hour? Fuk that. Wait . . .” Her eyes darkened, most of the ocher disappearing as the light receptors opened. “. . . I saw you with the boss. Couple of times.”

“That’s what I said. New hire.”

“What, and you’re here to keep an eye on me? I don’t fukking think that . . .”

As a species, the Taykan had long slender necks. Easy to get an arm around. Lots of room to cover the mouth and nose. Easier for Torin to kill her than disable her, but Werst had made that impossible. Ignoring the fingers clawing at her sleeve, Torin wondered if she should thank him.

As the ends of agitated ocher hair stung her face, Torin moved her mouth in close and murmured, “Big Bill sent me.”

The di’Taykan stiffened momentarily before finally going limp. Message received.

The thin plastic panels fronting the vertical bottoms of the control boards—solid and unchanging under her touch—were easy enough to slide off although Torin had to open up four sections before she had room for the unconscious di’Taykan. Stretching her out on her side, Torin turned her masker up full, slid the panels back on, and stood. No way the di’Taykan would be out for the full twelve hours and thirteen minutes, but she’d be out of the way for a couple of hours at least. And when she came to, she’d remember Big Bill had been responsible and she wouldn’t raise the alarm.

For a while.

With any luck.

If the vids were right about bad people being willing to suspect other bad people without question.

With luck, with her masker turned up, Alamber would consider any whiff of the other di”Taykan just a part of the ambience of the small room.

“I knew you couldn’t resist me,
trin
.”

Speak of the devil. Torin turned to face the young di’Taykan as he closed the hatch behind him and leered at her, pale hair fluffed out in anticipation.

And, back to the old plan.

Before Torin could speak, he frowned, his hair flattening. “Where’s Nia?”

“I told her to leave.”

He smiled and his hair lifted again. “That’s right. You don’t like to share. Doesn’t mean you can order people around,
trin
. Naughty, naughty.”

“Big Bill’s hired me on.”

“A man with taste, our employer.” If anything, Alamber’s mannerisms broadened at the mention of Big Bill, a shield he could hide behind. “He’s hired you on to do what?”

“Can’t say. Not yet.” She could deal with him the way she’d dealt with Nia. Faster, definitely, but she suspected that rather than slink off to safety, Alamber would raise high holy hell when he came to.

In order to save Craig and destroy the armory in less than twelve hours,
high holy hell
topped her list of things to avoid.

Not to mention that taking out both people in Communications would leave no one watching the store and definitely attract unwelcome attention.

“You can’t say, but Big Bill’s hired you to a position that not only lets you tell Nia to leave but has Nia actually listen? Interesting.” Alamber dropped into the chair, sprawled out with effortless grace, and looked up at her from under half lidded eyes, more blatantly seductive than di’Taykan usually wasted time bothering with. “Well, if you’re here to see me,
trin
, I’m all yours.”

Torin sat on the edge of a board, rested one boot in the space between his spread knees, and held him in place. “How old are you?”

His smile picked up edges. “None of your damned business.”

It was hard to tell under the black-and-white makeup—Torin had never seen a di’Taykan use makeup, so she had no basis of comparison—but up close he didn’t look old enough to join the Corps, and that was far, far too young to be here on this station although Torin knew better than to assume lack of years meant lack of life experience. Humans had a tendency to be delusional about the Taykan because of the way they looked. Torin didn’t. There were bastards in any species. She shrugged. “You know about me. You want me. I want to know about you.”

He spread his hands, the fingers nearly bone white against the dark, fingerless gloves. “I’m awesome.”

“Details?”

“Recordings, if you like.” A nod toward the monitors, hair moving fluidly out over his face and back again. “I like to leave my quarters active.”

“I’ll bet.” That might mean he could turn the surveillance cameras off. It also might mean SFA. “How did you get the hell and gone out here? Tagged along with
thytrins
?”

“Tagged along?” He sighed, the sound suggesting he’d expected better from her. Long fingers stroked her ankle above the boot. “I came with my
vantru
, okay?”

Torin hid her reaction. A
vantru
? The rough translation may have been primary sexual partner but the way Alamber said it layered on shades of meaning that took it a Susumi fold from the relationship Jan and Sirin had. And for a di’Taykan to choose to have a
vantru
with or without shading at Alamber’s age? Not impossible, but . . .

“She died in a bar fight almost a year ago.” His eyes darkened so they nearly blended with the thick band of black makeup around them. His lips were pale enough his tongue looked shockingly pink as he swept it along the lower curve, rising and falling over the piercings. “You could make me feel better about it.”

“Why me?” Torin wanted to hear his answer, but she didn’t need to. Not all relationships were between equals. His
vantru
had definitely been older. Female. Stronger personality. In charge. Almost a year ago, Torin’s presence on Presit’s vids about Big Yellow and Crucible had been inescapable. Alamber didn’t want sex—actually, he was di’Taykan, so of course he wanted sex—but he was also looking to her for familiarity. Comfort.

“What happened to that salvage operator you hooked up with?” he asked running two fingers up the back of her calf.

“We’re spending time apart.” The pull on the broken knuckle reminded her to relax her hands.

“You don’t sound happy about it.” His voice dropped to a purr. “I can make you happy.”

Considering the way he was working this, working her, Torin had started to be happy his
vantru
was dead. Particularly, given the suspected age difference. Particularly, because Vrijheid was a place where bad people ended up. “You can make me happy by teaching me how the communications system for the station works.”

“Not what I meant.”

The panel by the door flashed green and in her peripheral vision, Torin caught sight of a Krai outside a closed hatch on one of the monitors.

Ressk.

She stood and went around behind Alamber’s chair, one hand on his shoulder, keeping her body between him and the door. “But it’s why I’m here. We’ll start at the far end.” No surprise the chair ran smoothly along the deck.

“What exactly did Big Bill hire you to do?”

As she swung him up to the section of control board farthest from the door, still blocking his view with her body, she leaned forward until she could have touched the curve of his ear with her tongue and whispered, “Not you.”

“Too bad.” His gaze dropped to his hands on the board. “You could do me during your free time.”

This close she could see the fine tremble underlying his cocky delivery and she felt a little dirty watching him react as she growled, “You can do as you’re told.” But not as dirty as she would have had she let him talk her into applying the power he granted her to sex.

Sitting on the deck, propped against the edge of the hatch, fighting endorphins and the hour to stay awake, Craig straightened as the exit to the station opened. He sagged in place again as Almon came through carrying a shallow box. As Almon crossed the docks toward the pod, Craig wondered if he should be worried. If the big di’Taykan decided to bail him up, he was in no condition to fight back.

On the ups, he had one less body part to have beaten than the last time.

The box turned out to be the bottom cut from a supply container. Inside, smaller containers.

Hair flicking back and forth, Almon stopped just before he’d have had to step over Craig’s legs and peered into the pod. His hair sped up as he looked down and snarled, “Where’s Nadayki?”

“Went to take a piss.”

“I don’t like you being alone with him.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t like being alone with you, so it seems neither of us can have what we want.” He was still reacting to Almon’s pheromones, but the effect had gone from painful to endurable.

“Smart mouth on you, Ryder.” Almon set the container bottom down on the deck. “Maybe I should smack you in it a couple more times. Teach you to keep it closed.”

Maybe I should have my girlfriend kick the crap out of you.
Craig snickered.
And now he’s going to ask . . .

“What’s so fukking funny?”

“You’re just very predictable, mate.”

“And you think you’re ...”

“Leave him alone.” They turned together as Nadayki closed the hatch behind him and hurried across the dock. “I’m serious, Almon. Back off.”

“He tried to kill you.”

“Yeah, but he didn’t.”

“You’re still limping.” Almon sounded confused.

“Doc cut his toe off and fed it to Huirre. I win. Now move.” He shoved the larger di’Taykan out of the way, and stepped into the pod. “I don’t have time for anything if that’s what you’re here for. This fukking seal has fail-safes on the fail-safes.”

Almon’s hair flattened slightly. “I got you some takeaway from that kiosk you like.”

“Give it to Ryder. He can divide it up.” Hands in the small of his back, Nadayki stretched, moving his hips in a sinuous curve that—if he was translating the noise Almon just made correctly—put Craig on the same page as Almon for the first time ever.