Valor's Trial (26 page)

“Yes, sir.” Torin brought her arms out from behind her back and showed him that her cuff believed it was 0917. “Technical Sergeant Gucciard has developed a way to use a pair of combats as a buffer and recharge off the power lines in the tunnels.”

“He's worked out a way to interface the combats with alien technology?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I'm impressed. Lieutenant!”

Lieutenant Myshai hurried over, hair swaying against her movement. “Sir?”

“Tell Staff Sergeant Pole that Technical Sergeant Gucciard is to have whatever he needs.”

“Yes, sir!”

“Maybe we'll get lucky,” he said thoughtfully as Myshai led the sergeant away, “and someone stored some decent music in their inseam. When do you plan on leaving, Gunny?”

“As soon as possible, sir.”

The twenty-second tone delayed his answer. As sergeants began sending two Marines from each squad to the pipe, Kenoton smiled. “I have a good idea of what you'll need from me, but I'd like to hear you say it.”

“I'd like to take Werst, sir.”

“Not what I meant, Gunny.”

The supplements had put some color back in his face, but the major, like everyone else at this pipe, was still painfully thin. She hated to ask, but if she'd intended to live doing only what she wanted, she'd never have joined the Corps. “If we could pull half the biscuits tomorrow and half the next day as well as filling a couple of sleeves with kibble, we'll have . . .”

“You'll have to find another food source.” He didn't sound like the loss of the biscuits bothered him much. Apparently
not giving a shit
had trumped
nearly starving to death
. “Even at only three biscuits a day, you're looking at five days. Maximum. Or two and a half out, two and a half back. You won't get far.”

“If we each have a sleeve . . .”

“An extra two days.”

They could cut rations further if they had to; let the Krai forage. Even starting from the rockfall with full canteens, water would be the problem.

“It's still worth attempting, sir.”

“If you go alone, you'll get a lot farther.”

That was true enough and Torin had lain awake in the dark at the base of the barricade, ignoring Kyster's grip on her sleeve, working the numbers over and over, knowing that every Marine with her meant one less day in the tunnels. But, bottom line, for whatever reason—imprisonment, the kibble, Craig—she didn't have it in her to carry the weight of three hundred Marines she couldn't see or hear or fight for. Make her responsible for the lives of six Marines who were right there, right in her face, and she didn't give a rat's ass how she personally felt or what the Others put in the food, she'd get them out. She'd come back for the rest.

“Hey, Gunny, my combats won't fukking charge.”

Torin looked up from tying off a sleeve of kibble. “Technical Sergeant Gucciard say why?”

Werst shook his head. “Said he could find out if Ressk managed to pull the diagnostic program up on the slate.”

“And Ressk said?”

“He'd have better odds of getting H'san opera.”

With the tech up and running, they had the time, environmental conditions, medical readouts, and a few of the actual physical functions. The body armor was iffy at best. She'd have to talk to Staff Sergeant Pole about vests.

Some Marines arrived in the small caves with vests, some didn't. As far as she could tell, it was completely random. She'd arrived with one, so had Mike, Ressk, and Kichar. Werst, Kyster, and Mashona hadn't.

None of the Krai had come through with boots. None of them seemed too upset about it.

Pole grinned as they skirted two dozen Marines grouped around one gesticulating di'Taykan. “Nermei has the first three seasons damned near memorized. Every afternoon, he does an episode—most of the dialogue and some of the action even.”

“How much do you figure he's making up?” Torin had been a bit of a
SpaceCops
fan herself, and she couldn't remember that particular gesture.

“Does it matter?”

“I guess not.”

“Point is, it's giving people something to do. Something to look forward to.” He snorted. “Hell, not even the di'Taykan can fuk all the time.”

“News to me.” Torin stopped walking, forcing Pole to turn and actually look at her. “Staff, this place is . . .”

“Safe,” he said quietly. “Now. Thanks to you. There's nothing out there but more tunnels, Gunny.” One hand rose to scratch at an ingrown hair on his throat. “You do what you have to, but my responsibility is with these Marines right here.”

“And if I find a way out?”

He shrugged carefully as though his uniform still rubbed against bone too close to the surface. “We'll reassess then.”

She nodded. There wasn't really another response available. “While I'm gone, Staff, the small caves need to be searched.”

“We'll maintain the patrols for incomers, Gunny.”

“Good, but we also need to find the way the Others are bringing the new Marines in.”

Pole's eyes narrowed. “We?”

“You.”

“Seems like something you could stay around for.”

“A way in doesn't necessarily mean a way out, Staff, and my gut says escape is on the other side of that rockfall.”

“Rockfall will still be there after the caves have been searched.”

“I know, but . . .” Torin looked around the node. At the pipe. At the Marines. At the place where Harnett died. At the episode of
SpaceCops
which had definitely not included
that
gesture. Had she started feeling like she belonged there? “. . . I don't have that kind of time.”

“Fuk, Gunny,” Pole snickered. “All you've got is time.”

Torin still had most of the supplements she'd been carrying but pulled another three sheets for each species from Harnett's stores. The only tube of sealant she could find was the one she carried, and the stores were skint of pain killers entirely, but there were enough filters that everyone who'd come through in a vest must've been carrying. That seemed like a sign to Torin, so since neither Kenoton, or, more importantly, Pole cared, she made sure that all of her people had the full set of three.

No one tried to stop her when she claimed the knives and clubs Harnett's men had carried.

Ressk and Kichar had hung onto the canteens they'd been given for the two-day trip between Baudry's and Mariner's pipes. Before leaving, Mike had somehow managed to talk Lieutenant McCoy out of one; Kyster still had the one he'd carried out to the barricade . . .

. . . and Torin had made damned sure she'd left Mariner's pipe carrying all three of the canteens she'd walked in wearing. One to Mashona, one to Werst; that left only one extra.

“Gunnery Sergeant Kerr?”

Jiyuu. Torin handed Werst the tied-off sleeve of kibble and turned.

Not only Jiyuu but Darlys and Watura as well. All three di'Taykan were in vests and carrying canteens—the three canteens that were to go out with the relief to the barricade, Torin assumed, and slung over Watura's shoulder was another tied-off sleeve.

“We want to go with you.”

“Why?”

Jiyuu glanced over at Darlys. Her hair flattened and she said, “You are
sa verniticna sa vey
. We need to atone for the evil we committed under Harnett. If we remain here . . .” She shook her head. “. . . it will be forgotten.”

Unable to stop herself, Torin searched out Private Graydon and found him standing, arms wrapped around his torso, at the edge of a group of Marines. “I don't think so,” she growled.

“Perhaps not by everyone,” Darlys admitted, ocher eyes so dark they looked almost brown, “but Akemi and Maeken are sleeping communally and only Terantowicz speaks of taking power again.”

Behind her, Werst snarled, “Terantowicz doesn't know when to fucking quit.”

No one argued.

“You want me to punish you?”

“We want to work toward your forgiveness.”

It might have been what Darlys wanted. She had a fanatic's attachment to that whole progenitor thing and was well on the way to making it a personal religion. Since Torin had considered herself the voice of God pretty much from the moment she made sergeant, she didn't have a lot of trouble with that in theory, but she'd be damned if she was going to give any of Harnett's people a way out.

“No.”

“We can be useful, Gunnery Sergeant.” Jiyuu's hand rose toward his masker, but at Torin's glare, he snapped it back to his side.

Jiyuu was doing what he'd done with Harnett, sucking up to power.

“I said, no.”

“You have no di'Taykan on your team,” Watura pointed out. “According to the Parliamentary regulations pertaining to the Corps, all three species must be proportionally represented in any maneuver.”

She didn't have the faintest fukking idea what Watura was up to although the way he was standing protectively behind Jiyuu suggested he was there only because the other di'Taykan was. How sweet. And it didn't matter. “What part of no don't you understand, Privates? You are not going with us to find forgiveness. You are not going with us because I'm the scariest thing left down here. And you are sure as shit not going with us because the Parliament that keeps fukking insisting that the Others don't take prisoners wrote you a fukking note!” She was right up in Watura's face, nerves singing with the proximity and more than willing to turn the low-level lust into violence.

“Gunny.”

Mike's voice, closer than he'd been, his voice held understanding and warning about equally mixed.

Torin stepped back, took a deep breath as soon as she'd gained some distance, and forced her fists to uncurl. She seemed to have been doing that a lot since she'd arrived in the tunnels.

Watura swallowed and wet his lips. He was visibly shaken, but only ']]]his hair gave it away. His voice remained steady. “Major Kenoton sanctioned our request to go with you.”

“He
sanctioned
it?”

“Yes, Gunnery Sergeant.”

“Did he make it an order?”

Darlys would have lied to force Torin's hand—Torin could see that on her face—but she let Watura answer.

“No. . . .”

“Then you're shit out of luck, aren't you?” She pivoted on one heel and scooped up her canteen. “Let's go, people. I want to get as far as we can before the lights go out.”

“Gunnery Sergeant Kerr . . .”

She indicated that the others should keep moving—Mike looked dubious but snapped the slate onto his vest and waved Kichar out on point—then she turned just far enough to growl, “When I say no, I mean no.”

Terantowicz gave them a one finger wave good-bye as they left the area. “You're going to die out there,” she said cheerfully.

“If I was certain of that, Private, you'd be coming with us,” Torin told her in exactly the same tone.

Her expression twisted and Torin could read
like to see you make
me
as clearly as if she'd spoken the words out loud. That she hadn't proved she was smarter than she looked.

“Ten to dark, Gunny.”

Torin acknowledged Mashona's observation but kept her team moving.

There was a red-brown stain on the smooth rock floor outside one of the small caves and the smell that spilled out into the tunnel coated the back of the throat with the taste of decay. All four Humans were breathing through their teeth.

“What is it?” Kichar fought to keep from gagging.

“Rot,” Torin told her shortly, a little surprised given the constant temperature and lack of moisture that the smell lingered over a tenday later. She figured it was likely the lack of other smells that made it seem so potent, and if it wasn't . . . well, she wasn't crawling into the cave to find out.

“Marines that Harnett left to die, Gunny?”

“Not exactly.” When Kyster glanced up at her, Torin shook her head. The story didn't need to be told. “Five minutes should get us to the next t-junction and around the corner. Air'll be fresher there.”

It was—although given that they were still underground “fresher” was a relative term. The air had the same recycled flavor as air on a station or ship—familiar enough to be disregarded—and Torin wasted a moment wondering where it was coming from. She hadn't seen any vents. Up by the top of the pipe where the lights made it impossible to get a good look at the “ceiling”? Probably.

Around the corner, one small cave cut into the left wall in the approximately twenty meters of straight tunnel. For thousands, maybe millions of years caves had meant security to early Humans, and Torin could feel herself responding to that racial memory. She hadn't even thought to question spending that first night in the cave with Kyster, so maybe she'd been more shocky than she'd thought because now, training took one look at a single, tiny entrance and screamed “trap.”

“Kyster.”

“Gunny?”

“Anything in this place but Marines?”

“No, Gunny.”

“No tunnel trolls?” Werst grunted.

Kyster stared at the older Krai, nose ridges slowly opening and closing. “Tunnel troll?”

“A troll that lives in tunnels.” The
you idiot
was silent but clear.

He glanced over at Torin, who shrugged. “We find a med-op down here to patch you up and you may try to kick his ass. Until we do, attempt to get along.” She checked her sleeve. Three minutes to dark. The question now became did they keep moving with the cuff lights or did they bunk down for the “night.” Six hours until the tunnel lights came back. A Marine could get by on a lot less sleep, and all of them had, but eventually fatigue impacted on decision making. Balance that against the need to get out before the kibble melted their will. Add in the potential for getting lost as it became harder to identify the correct turns and cross tunnels.