The Truth of Valor (52 page)

“Are you two being done with the touching?” Presit snorted, poking Torin in the hip with a claw. “There are still being more documentation to be signing, and I are having better things to be doing than waiting around here to be acting as your witness. I are having awards to be winning.”

When Torin turned, Presit had her muzzle raised, teeth very white against the black of her lips. “You got the interview with Big Bill.”

“I are having the exclusive,” Presit bragged as the three of them started down the corridor. By the time the Navy had reached Vrijheid, most of the pirates had scattered. William Ponner had refused to leave the station, his station, and had been taken. “He are being most cooperative and are being willing to identify those who are have been using his station.”

“Fifteen percent of them, anyway,” Craig said dryly.

“You are not being funny,” she snapped. “Remember, I are having to be turning over to the Wardens everything Torin are having shot for me on the station . . .”

“It was an illegal camera.”

“It are having been an illegal station!” Presit extended her protest all the way down to the station’s financial office, covering the failures of media law, media ethics, and the personal failure of Sector Central News to defend genius.

“You sure about this?” Craig asked, thumb running along the inert plastic trim of the desk as the financial officer sent the final numbers to their slates.

Torin shook her head. She didn’t know how Craig had got the idea she didn’t want to be paid for risking her ass for the greater good. It was how she used to make a living after all. “I’m sure.”

The mining cartels that had lost ore drones to the Vrijheid pirates had put together an obscenely large reward. Presit had skimmed a little off the top, but the rest was Torin and Craig’s to divide as they saw fit.

“And you’re sure that’s all you want?” Torin asked the reporter, thumb over the screen.

“Any more,” Presit sniffed, indicating that Torin should close the deal, “and I are being in danger of losing my status as being an objective observer.”

“And you’ve already made close to this by licensing an interview you haven’t shot yet,” Craig pointed out.

“I are having to overpay staff,” Presit told him, silvered claws glittering as she waved him off. “It are not like I are spending it all on manicures.”

Craig added his thumbprint beside Torin’s, then Presit added hers to the master file, and a sizable portion of the reward disappeared to cover bills already incurred.

“Easy come, easy go,” Craig sighed as they stood.

“You think that was easy?” Torin snorted. Craig grinned, and they both let their fingers linger over the plastic switch cover as they left the office.

“You are letting me know the next time you are riding to the rescue,” Presit said as they walked her to the first vertical. “I are being there.”

Torin closed her hand around Craig’s. “There won’t be a next time.”

Presit paused at the hatch, head cocked, Torin’s reflection in her mirrored glasses. “Not like this, I are hoping for that, too. But . . .” She waited until a pair of Rakva exited, chattering about yeast cakes, then her ears flicked forward. “I are not doubting that there are being a next time of some kind. You two are not being destined for having a quiet life.”

“You think Presit’s right?”

“About us not being destined for a quiet life?” Torin shrugged. “I think precedent agrees with her. I’m not sure I do.”

None of the verticals in Admin went all the way to the docking level, so they found one that descended as far as the atrium, shared one strap, and ignored the glances and giggles from rising office workers. Given that more rumors had been generated in verticals than in bars, they maintained a companionable silence until they flipped out into the three-story open area at the center of the station.

A few people might have recognized them, but the size of the station and the crowds granted a certain anonymity.

“If Presit is right,” Craig said thoughtfully as they crossed to the vertical that would take them to the lower levels. “I don’t want to be seen as the victim next time.”

“You got grabbed and tortured by pirates,” Torin pointed out.

“Sure, but I delayed the opening of the armory. You might not have gotten there in time if I hadn’t.”

“True.”

“So let’s not do that again.”

“Deal.”

They walked another couple of meters in silence, then Craig let out a breath Torin hadn’t realized he’d been holding and said, “You know, I was thinking just before Presit showed up pretending to be the
Berganitan
that we needed a miracle, and I half thought that . . .”

When his voice trailed off, Torin had no difficulty finishing the sentence. “You half thought that Pedro and the rest would have realized they were wrong, that they should have listened to me and come after you, that at the last moment, a ragtag fleet of salvage ships would blast out of Susumi and wreck vengeance on the pirate fleet that dared to go after one of their people.”

He half laughed as they detoured around a cart selling fake H’san ceramics. “Yeah.”

“Me, too.”

“I figured, given your reference to a ragtag fleet and all.” After another half dozen steps, he added, “That’s not who they are.”

“They?”

Craig threw an arm around her shoulders. “Seems like it might be who I am. And don’t worry, I’ll get your pension back from Pedro when we return the
Second Star
.”

Torin hadn’t been worried. She looked forward to facing Pedro and the rest with Craig at her side.

As they reached the verticals, he turned to face her, mouth twisted. “I would have gone after him.”

“I know.”

Werst, Ressk, Mashona, and Alamber were waiting for them in the
Legless Worm
.

“Did they just randomly cram two words together to name this place or what?” Torin muttered, sliding into a seat. She picked up the six-centimeter plastic KC-7 that had clearly come out of Alamber’s glass and had probably once skewered a piece of fruit. She thought about asking what the hell he was drinking, and decided she didn’t want to know.

“
Promise
is almost ready to go.” Torin’s slate pinged as Ressk sent over the specs. “All the damage has been repaired, and the new quarters have been added where the pens were. Just the new converter to hook up, and we’re good.”

She scrolled through the schematics and turned to look at Craig in the chair beside her. “So we’re really going to do this?”

It hadn’t been that long ago that sharing the limited resources of a tiny one-man ship had given Craig panic attacks. Space was unforgiving, and he was used to being alone. But then, the
Promise
wasn’t a tiny one-man ship anymore. And he wasn’t alone.

He took a long swallow of the beer just set down in front of him, and nodded. “We’re really going to do this.”

The Wardens had brought the
Promise
to this MidSector station as evidence. It had been pure dumb luck that the station included the sector’s second largest dockyard. The Wardens had been convinced to pay to have the aft end of the
Promise
extended and a shuttle pad added because the Wardens had decided to put them to work.

“It appears to be obvious, ex-Gunnery Sergeant Kerr, that the end of the actual hostilities with the Primacy, regardless of how much fighting continues to occur, has created social voids that we as a government organization are not equipped to investigate. Speed of investigation appears to be becoming essential when gathering certain facts for later deliberation. When you are finished with this inquiry, we have an offer for you and your companions.”

“And we’re really going to do this,” Craig continued, “because I got the impression it wasn’t an offer any of us would be permitted to decline.”

“Good point,” Torin admitted, raising her glass.

“
Any
of us?” Alamber leaned back, all loose limbs and promises, but Torin could see the insecurity under the
more di’Taykan than thou
posture. He had no family, they’d destroyed the life he’d managed to find for himself, and he desperately needed somewhere to belong. Someone to tell him what to do.

For her own peace of mind, Torin planned to wean him off the latter need as soon as possible. “I’m not turning you loose, Alamber. So, yeah, any of us.”

Craig’s shoulder bumped hers. “Are we ready for children?” he sighed.

Alamber’s eyes lightened even further. “I was thinking three-some.”

“They’re really not ready for that,” Werst snorted.

Torin threw the plastic KC-7 at him.

He snatched it out of the air with a foot and threw it back. “Your round, Gunny.”

Torin beckoned the server over but kept the little plastic gun when he cleared the glasses. Her assigned Corps therapist would probably have a field day about how much more comfortable she felt having even a pretend weapon close to hand.

“So . . .” Alamber took a long swallow of his new drink, the same pale blue as his hair. “I keep meaning to ask, back on Vrijheid, I know Big Bill had the docking clamps locked, so how did you really break your ship free of the station?”

“Easy.” Ressk looked pleased with himself, but Torin figured he had the right. “First, I disabled the proximity alerts, then I removed her from the sysop, and the station kicked us free.”

Alamber shook his head. “Uh-uh. I know that story, but you’re totally talking through your ass if you expect me to believe it. Big Bill had sleeper programs in place to prevent that.” Generally, it wasn’t easy to spot a di’Taykan rolling his eyes, but Alamber made the motion obvious. “Come on, seriously, it’s not like you were the only ones there with brains. Big Bill was an ass but a clever one.”

“Yeah, but . . .”

“No but.” Alamber pulled out his slate. “Link up. I’ll sketch out the defense programs, then you tell me how you got past them.”

They all watched silently as Ressk stared down at his screen. “That isn’t . . .”

“I’m not done,” Alamber sighed. “Keep your boots on.” He sketched with the back of a painted fingernail instead of a stylus. “There. You know, roughly.”

Ressk’s nose ridges actually fluttered as they opened and closed. “He’s right.”

“Of course I’m right.”

“I didn’t even see that code. The docking clamps shouldn’t have released.” Ressk didn’t look pleased with himself anymore. If Torin had to name his expression, she’d say
freaked
covered all bases.

“Yeah, but they did,” Werst reminded him.

“So the question becomes
how
did they release?” Mashona drained her glass and added, frowning, “Or maybe the question is why.”

“Way I see it . . .” Alamber snapped his slate back onto his belt. “. . . the only way you . . .” He paused, his hair flicked forward. “. . .
we
could’ve gotten free was if there was what amounted to a physical failure of a part of the clamp at exactly the time you needed it to give way. Exactly. Bottom line, you guys . . . us guys . . .”

“We.” Mashona held his gaze until he nodded.

“Okay.
We
were either a part of the biggest fukking coincidence ever or we have the kind of luck that says
we’re
loved of the gods.”

“What gods?” Werst wondered.

He shrugged. “Does it matter?”

Torin looked down at where the little plastic KC-7 had been. Then she checked the floor in case she’d knocked it off the table. “Alamber, what were those docking clamps made of?”

“What were they made of? Same thing every other docking clamp is made of. Metal. Ceramic. Plastic.” He looked around the table, eyes darkening. “What?”