Valor's Trial (2 page)

“There's been a lot of action out on the edge of the sector. Long-range sensors have picked up Susumi portals here, here, and here.” Captain Rose touched three points on the star field currently mapped out on the briefing room's HMU and frowned at the resulting red lights. “Navy swears they're not responsible.”

Second Lieutenant Jarret's lavender eyes darkened as light receptors opened to give him a better look at the map. “Civilians, sir?”

The captain sighed. “It's always possible some dumbass corporation or university has decided to scout the perimeter—those types always think they're invincible until they find out they aren't and we have to pull their butts out of the fire—but I don't honestly think so. We usually get some kind of a heads up just so we're available
to
pull those butts out of the fire, and, so far, no one's admitting they've gone visiting.”

“What about independents, sir?” Second Lieutenant Heerik was brand new, on her first posting with none of her enthusiasm blunted, and more than one of Sh'quo Company's officers and NCOs bent over their slates and hid a smile at the intensity of the Krai lieutenant's question.

“What kind of independents did you have in mind, Lieutenant?”

“Well, maybe civilian salvage operators.” Her nose ridges flared. “It was a CSO who found Big Yellow.”

And Torin felt the attention of the room shift to her.

“Gunnery Sergeant Kerr?”

Torin had served with the captain long enough to know he was amused her
relationship
—or whatever the hell it was she had with Craig Ryder—had made it into the briefing. Although his reaction was subtle enough, the odds were good no one else could see it. “CSO Craig Ryder found Big Yellow because of a small error in his Susumi calculations.” She waited out the murmur of reaction. Small errors in Susumi calculations were usually fatal errors. “Spaced as they are . . .” She nodded toward the lights on the map. “. . . these portals are clearly deliberate. Salvage operators follow rather than lead, and there's nothing happening out there. No debris, no reason for them to be deliberately jumping that way.”

“Unless there's something happening out there,” Lieutenant Jarret said thoughtfully.

“Unless,” Captain Rose agreed. “Which is why the Navy has sent the
Hardyr
out to have a look around. Captain Treis came out of Susumi space here . . .” Another touch on the star map illuminated a fourth portal, this one green. “. . . and is proceeding with due caution to this system, ST7/45T2 . . .” One last touch. “. . . here.” The system was equidistant from all three red portals.

“How long is due caution expected to take, sir?” Lieutenant Joriyl wondered.

“You'll likely be headed Coreward before it happens, Lieutenant.”

Her pale orange eyes darkened as she smiled. “And not a moment too soon, sir.”

Lieutenant di'Pin Joriyl was the senior platoon officer. With her heading into Ventris on course that meant . . .

Torin blinked as she realized that meant Second Lieutenant di'Ka Jarret would be senior. The voice of reason and experience for Second Lieutenant Heerik and an even greener second lieutenant to be named later. It hadn't been quite a year since a very green Jarret had been tossed into a stew of giant lizards and diplomacy gone bugfuk, and suddenly Torin felt old. Life was moving just a little too fast of late.

“Captain Treis will keep Recar'ta Station informed, Recar'ta will keep Battalion informed, and—if we're really lucky—Battalion will let us know what the hell is going on before they ship us out to deal with it. Platoons are nearly at full strength for the first time in a long time, so let's make sure everyone's geared up and ready to go.” The star field flicked off. Captain Rose swept his gaze around the room, then nodded once. “Details have been downloaded to your slates; get out there and get ready to save the galaxy's ass yet again. Gunnery Sergeant Kerr, remain behind.”

“Yes, sir.” Torin stood as the officers and NCOs made their way out of the small briefing room, Jarret throwing her a distinct
we'll get together later
before turning his attention back to Heerik, who continued talking about the best responses to possible foothold situations, unaware of expressions exchanged nearly a meter over her head. Torin had been Jarret's staff sergeant for that snafu of a giant lizard diplomacy trip, and she'd been impressed by the way the young officer had handled himself—both independently and under her guidance. If he stayed beyond his first contract, he'd be a credit to the Corps, and she'd be happy to serve under him again.

When the room emptied, she followed Captain Rose and First Sergeant Siaosi Tutone through the door to the captain's office.

“Opinion, Gunny?” he asked, dropping into the chair behind his desk. Captain Rose's voice had always seemed about three sizes too big for his body, but here, in the relative privacy of his office, he sounded tired. No, weary. Tired of all the crap that came from being a fair distance down the military food chain.

Or maybe Torin was reading too much into it.

“I think three Susumi points definitely indicates the Others are interested in something in that end of the Sector,” she told him. “I think the lack of any significant attempt to hide their presence means they're coming through in force. I think the Navy should have sent more ships because if the Others get that force on the ground we're looking at Battalion moving the whole Ground Combat Team out in response. And I think that the music selection in the Senior Ranks' Mess changed for the worse while I was gone.”

“That would be my selection,” the first sergeant pointed out. His voice was as deep as the captain's although less incongruous, rumbling up as it did from the depth of an enormous barrel chest. Torin was tall, but Tutone topped her by a head and a half—taller even than most di'Taykan—and proportionately broad. His hands were enormous, and muscle strained against the confines of his Class Cs.

“Good choice, First. It's past time I broadened my musical tastes,” Torin added, although she wasn't sure whether she was aiming for more or for less sincerity.

Tutone grinned, teeth flashing white against the rich mahogany of his skin.

Captain Rose leaned back in his chair and smiled as well. “Welcome home, Gunny. It's good to have you back.”

“Thank you, sir. It's good to be back.”

“Recar'ta Station agrees with your analysis, by the way. When the orders come down, they'll come down for the entire GCT. That's why you're here, specifically here with Sh'quo Company when we don't generally rate a gunny. Aman's short, and she's not reupping. Unless we deploy in the next tenday, that'll leave Jura's platoon with a shiny new second lieutenant and Heerik, who's almost as shiny, with a green staff sergeant. We'll move the new staff sergeant in under Jarret, since he's got a whole year of experience . . .” Pale eyes rolled, although for the most part he kept the sarcasm from his voice. “. . . but that's going to leave the company scrambling for experience among the officers and senior NCOs. We need you to be a kind of utility player, coming in off the bench where needed both at the platoon level and keeping the company connected to Battalion.”

“Off the bench is a sports metaphor,” Tutone offered. “Baseball.”

His tone was dry enough that Torin couldn't quite tell if he was being helpful or facetious, so she settled for a neutral, “Thank you, First Sergeant.” The league on Paradise had teams on all three major continents, and the year she left to join the Corps, New Alland—a minor continent or large island depending on who was speaking—had petitioned to have their teams recognized as well. According to the news download in the most recent packet from her younger brother, they still hadn't managed it.

“Until we ship out,” Captain Rose continued, “you'll base at a desk by First Sergeant Tutone's, your primary duty to liaise with the rest of the GCT as we attempt to get ready for whatever's coming down the fukking pike. Eventually, I expect you'll be at the first sergeant's desk.”

New gunnery sergeants were expected to indicate which way they intended their careers to go—to the combat position of first sergeant or to the staff position of master sergeant. After the incident on Crucible, where both the system and the officer in charge had been taken over by unknown alien forces and Torin had led the training platoon of one-twenty recruits while they fought both the system and the aliens to a standstill, Command had made it quite clear which choice they'd prefer Torin to make. Fortunately, it was the choice she wanted to make. Tutone's desk had been her goal since she'd received her corporal's hooks.

“I wasn't planning on going anywhere, sir.”

For an instant, Torin thought the first sergeant had been reading her mind, and then she realized he'd been responding to the captain's statement.

“Glad to hear that, First. I was just starting to get used to you. So, Gunny, is it true what Command says, that there's nothing we can do about the microscopic bits of a big yellow alien scattered throughout known space?”

“That's the gist of it, sir.”

“Since the search teams haven't found anything, any chance they've buggered off back where they came from?”

“The bit I spoke to told me they didn't have enough information, sir. I expect they're still collecting data.”

“Why can't the search teams find them, then?” Before she could answer, Tutone raised a massive hand. “Never mind. The answer is probably that they can't find their anus with both hands and a map, so . . .” He waved off the end of the sentence.

“Any chance that when they spoke to you, they were messing with your head?” the captain wondered.

Given that some of them had just emerged from Major Svensson's head, Torin sure as hell hoped not. “I don't think so, sir.”

Captain Rose sat and stared up at the ceiling for a moment. Specifically stared at the ring of gray plastic around the recessed light over his desk. Tutone followed the captain's gaze, but Torin refused to look. “It's like discovering the enemy is an inanimate object,” he muttered, dropping his gaze. “Any inanimate object.” Then he shook his head and double tapped his desk, blows ringing against the plastic. “All right. Let's get going on a job we can do.”

Both NCOs recognized the dismissal, coming to attention and snapping out a “Sir!” in unison.

Rolling his eyes, the captain stroked one hand down the edge of the lower, right side screen. “I'm sending your first problem out to your desk, Gunny. And I know you've got things to deal with, First Sergeant, so let's have a little less smartass spit and polish and a little more work out of both of you. Gunny?”

Torin paused at the door. “Sir?”

“Can we be expecting General Morris to drop by any time soon?”

General Morris had become Torin's personal pain in the brass. He'd sent the platoon out to Silsviss, he'd sent her out to Big Yellow, and he'd been contaminated by the alien. Torin had a feeling he blamed her for the last. After all, if she hadn't blown the whistle, he'd never have known. Or, specifically, no one would have ever have known it about him. Given their history, the thought of him showing up once again at the Four Two made her feel a little chilled. Their time spent together never ended well.

“I sincerely hope not, sir.”

“Glad to hear it.”

In the outer office, Torin settled in behind her desk—easy enough to identify as it was the one the first sergeant hadn't settled his bulk behind—and opened the file the captain had sent.

“New desk, new job, eh, Gunny?”

She looked up to find the first sergeant watching her. “Same old war, First. Same old war.”

He smiled and nodded, but she had a suspicion that he didn't entirely agree with her. She had no problem with that. There were days when she didn't entirely agree with it herself.

Granted, it had turned out not to have been the Elder Races messing with the memories of those who knew about Big Yellow but Big Yellow itself, and while that was moderately less distressing than the alternative—always better to be screwed over by an unknown factor than an ally—that didn't actually address either question. Were there things the Elder Races weren't telling the Humans, di'Taykan, or Krai who fought their war? And why hadn't one of the three Youngest ever been invited to join the missions sent out to try to end the war? Over a century of attempted diplomacy had resulted in a few thousand dead diplomats, so why hadn't Parliament tried every possible option?

And, most importantly, had she been discussing the Elder Races with Major Svensson or with the alien living in his brain? If the former, was there discontent growing within the Corps? If the latter, did the aliens know something the Youngest didn't?

Too many questions.

Torin wanted to go back to the days when the only question she ever asked was
What do I have to do to get my people out of here alive?
Unfortunately, once the round was out of the barrel, there was no stuffing it back in. Those days were long gone.

“The company will be at full complement when we deploy, Sergeant—three full platoons plus NCOs plus officers.” Torin leaned forward just far enough to tap the screen currently showing the potential packet layouts. That leaning forward also brought her well into the transport sergeant's personal space was intentional. “We're short here. And here.”