The Better Part of Valor (2 page)

“Ressk…”

“I haven’t even read the book!”

*Report to shuttle bay twelve for decontamination in thirty minutes.*

“If I can, I’ll talk to Captain Rose before I go.”

“Thanks, Staff. You’re a real
chirtric
.”

It wasn’t every day she was called a delicacy, Torin reflected as she continued toward her quarters, but even if she managed to talk to Captain Rose he’d have no time to speak to the general before the shuttle left the station.

*   *   *

The captain’s Admin clerk agreed to pass the message along. “You do know that captains aren’t in the habit of paging two star generals and suggesting they should make use of personnel with what amounts to illegal computing skills, don’t you, Staff?”

“Not my problem.” Torin thumbed her kit bag closed. “I told him I’d try to talk to Captain Rose. The captain was unavailable, I spoke to you. My conscience is clear.” Her slate made a noise somewhere between a snort and a snicker. “You have something to add, Corporal?”

“Just my best wishes for a successful mission and a safe return, Staff Sergeant.”

“Thank you. Kerr out.”

The double tone closing the connection sounded as she glanced one last time around the room, noted both living and sleeping areas would pass at least a cursory inspection, and crossed to the door. The empty sockets of the Silsviss skull on the shelf over her entertainment unit seemed to follow her every move. A couple of the more politically correct Battalion NCOs had objected to having the skull of a sentient species mounted in the Senior Ranks’ Mess, so rather than stuff it into a recycler, she’d brought it home.

“Don’t look so concerned,” she told it. “I’ll be back.”

*Report to shuttle bay twelve for decontamination in twenty minutes.*

In spite of a crowd on the lower beltway, she made it with seven minutes to spare and could walk across the lounge to the shuttle bay without challenging the belief, widely held by the lower ranks, that sergeants and above controlled time and therefore never had to hurry.

“Staff Sergeant Kerr!”

Torin checked her watch, then turned. His lilac eyes a couple of shades darker than his hair, Second Lieutenant di’Ka Jarret, her platoon commander, rushed around the end of an ugly gray plastic bench and hurried toward her. As incapable of looking awkward as any of his species, he didn’t look happy. “Sir?”

“You were just going to leave?” He didn’t sound happy either.

“The general’s orders were specific, sir. I had forty-six minutes to get to decon and you were at Battalion. Captain Rose sent you a copy of the orders.”

“I received the captain’s transfer, Staff Sergeant,” the di’Taykan informed her, drawing himself up to his full height. Torin stared at the pheromone masker prominently displayed at his throat and just barely resisted the urge to crank it up a notch. A small indiscretion some months prior had left her more susceptible to the lieutenant’s chemical invitation than she should have been. One night he’s a pretty young di’Taykan—one of the most enthusiastically undiscriminating species in the galaxy—and next morning he’s her new second lieutenant. There were times Torin thought the universe had a piss poor sense of humor.

Had her time been her own, she could—and would—have waited indefinitely for him to continue. His last declaration had exhibited an indignation junior officers needed to be trained out of—the greater portion of the universe, not to mention the Marine Corps, ticked along just fine without them ever being consulted.

However, as she was currently on General Morris’ clock…

“I sent a message as well, sir. Wrote it on the beltway. Station should have downloaded it to your slate by now.”

She half expected him to check his inbox. When he didn’t, she allowed herself a small smile. “I appreciate the chance to
say good-bye, sir. You must have really hauled ass to make it all the way down from Battalion in time.”

“Well, I…”

“Staff Sergeant Torin Kerr, report to decontamination at shuttle bay twelve.”

“Tell the whole station,” Torin muttered, as her name, rank, and destination bounced off the dull green metal walls of the lounge.

“I think they did.” The lieutenant’s hair and ears both had clamped tight to his skull. “You’ll, uh…” When Torin lifted an eyebrow in his general direction, a skill that had been well worth the price of the program, he finished in a rush. “…you’ll be coming back?”

“I always plan on coming back, sir.” She took a step closer to the decontamination lock. “Every time I go out.”

“I know. I mean…”

“I know what you mean, sir.” One of the most important functions staff sergeants performed was the supporting of brand new second lieutenants while they learned how to handle themselves in front of actual—as opposed to theoretical—Marines. The realization that this relationship wasn’t necessarily permanent, that said support could be pulled out from under them at the whim of those higher up the chain of command, always came as a bit of a shock to the young officers. “During the time I’m temporarily detached from the company, you can have complete faith in Sergeant Chou’s ability to handle the platoon.”

“I do.” He opened his mouth to continue, then closed it again. After a moment’s thought, he squared his shoulders, held out his hand, and said only, “Good luck, Staff.”

“Thank you, sir.” When, like any di’Taykan, he tried to extend the physical contact, she pulled her hand free and moved into the decontamination lock’s proximate zone.

“Staff?”

A half-turn as she stepped over the lip and into the outer chamber. The lieutenant was smiling, his eyes as light as she’d ever seen them.

“Is it true you called General Morris a bastard?”

*   *   *

Torin stowed her bag in the enclosure over her seat and took a look around the military compartment. Forward, a pair of officers sat on opposite sides of the aisle. The Human artillery captain had already slid his slate into the shuttle’s system and, from the corner of screen Torin could see, had accessed the hospitality file—although it wouldn’t dispense his drink until they were in Susumi space. Her seat on full recline, it appeared that the di’Taykan major had gone to sleep. Torin wondered if she’d already made the captain an offer and was resting up. And if that’s why the captain was drinking.

In the aft end of the compartment, half a dozen privates and a corporal were settling in. According to their travel docs—available to sergeants and above from the shuttle’s manifest—the corporal from Crayzk Company’s engineering platoon was heading Coreward on course and the six privates were on their way back to Ventris Station to be mustered out.

She had the NCO compartment to herself.

As the shuttle pulled away from the station, the walls separating the sections opaqued. Although the center aisle remained open along the length of the compartment, it was easy enough to maintain the illusion of privacy between the ranks—an illusion Torin was all in favor of. She as little wanted to be responsible
to
the officers as she wanted to be responsible
for
the junior ranks.

Half an hour later, the shuttle folded into Susumi space. Since little changed from trip to trip, they’d be spending only eight to fourteen hours inside, emerging four light-years away at MidSector at the same time they left. Torin pulled a pouch of beer from her alcohol allotment and settled back to watch the last three episodes of
StarCops
, one of the few Human-produced vids she hated to miss.

But neither Detective Berton’s attempt to find the smugglers bringing the highly addictive di’Taykan
vritran
into Human space nor Detective Canter’s search to find the murderer of a Krai diplomat could hold her attention. She might as well have been watching H’san opera. When the third episode featured a government official throwing his weight around, she thumbed it off and glared at her reflection on the screen.

If General Morris wanted a recon team to investigate an unknown alien spacecraft, the Corps had plenty of teams he
could choose from. Torin didn’t know whether he wanted her to replace the staff sergeant from an established unit or to be a part of a team he’d built from scratch, but either way she didn’t much care for the idea. It was inefficient. And bordered on stupid.

She could do the job. She understood that as a member of the Corps, she was expected to pick up and move on as the Corps saw fit. And she took full responsibility for the actions that had lodged her in the memory of a two star general.

But stupidity at high levels really pissed her off.

Because stupidity at high levels was the sort of thing that got people killed.

A Krai territorial cry sounded from the rear compartment, closely followed by a stream of happy Human profanity. Jerked out of her mood, Torin was startled to see she’d been brooding for almost an hour.

The profanity got a little less happy.

Not her problem.

She heard the corporal’s voice rise and fall and then the unmistakable sequence of flesh to flesh to floor.

Now
it was her problem.

Standing, she shrugged into her tunic and started down the aisle.
No point in letting a bad mood go to waste…

The corporal was flat on his back. One of the Krai privates—probably the female given relative sizes—sat on his chest, holding his arms down with her feet. He wasn’t struggling, so Torin assumed he’d taken some damage hitting the floor. The smaller Krai had a pouch of beer in the foot Torin could see and was banging both fists against the seat in front of him, nose ridges so dark they were almost purple. The di’Taykan were nowhere to be seen—all three of them had probably crammed themselves into the tiny communal chamber the moment the shuttle had entered Susumi space—which left, of the original six privates, only a Human who seemed to find the whole thing very funny.

He spotted Torin first. By the time she’d covered half the distance, his eyes had widened as the chevrons on her sleeves penetrated past the beer. By the time she’d covered the other half of the distance, he’d stopped laughing and had managed to gasp out something that could have been a warning.

Too late.

Transferring forward momentum, Torin wrapped her fist in the female Krai’s uniform, lifted her off the corporal, and threw her back into a seat.

The sudden silence was deafening.

She reached down and helped the corporal to his feet.

Someone cleared his or her throat. “Staff, we…”

Her lip curled. “Shut up.”

The silence continued.

“If I hear one word from any of you while Corporal Barteau…”

No one seemed at all surprised she knew the corporal’s name.

“…is telling me what the hell is going on back here, I will override your seat controls and you will spend the rest of the trip strapped in.” Eyes narrowed, she swept the silent trio with a flat, unfriendly stare. “Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Staff Sergeant.”

“Good. Corporal.”

They walked back to the wall dividing the lower ranks from the NCOs.

Torin pitched her voice for the corporal’s ears alone. “You all right?”

“Just a little winded, Staff. I didn’t expect her to jump me. They’d been drinking, and I think she was showing off for Private Karsk. I was studying.” He nodded toward the schematics spread out over the last two seats. “I asked them to keep it down. Next thing I knew…”

An unidentifiable sound from the back of the compartment pulled Torin’s head around. All three privates, sitting exactly where she’d left them, froze, wide-eyed like they’d been caught in a searchlight. She held them there for a moment—half hoping they were drunk enough to cause more trouble—then turned slowly back to Corporal Barteau.

He shrugged. “They’re on their way home, Staff.”

“I know.”

“Privates Karsk and Visilli were at Beconreaks and Private Chrac, she was aircrew, Black Star Evac. They flew at…”

“I know, Corporal, I was there. Your point?”

“I don’t think they deserve to be put on report. Not for celebrating the fact that they’re going home.”

“I agree.”

He looked surprised. “You do?”

Torin exhaled slowly and forced the muscles in her jaw to relax. From the corporal’s reaction, she suspected she’d looked like she was chewing glass. “Yes. I do. I’ll have a word with them and,
if
we get to MidSector without any more trouble, that’ll be the end of it.”

“You’ve already scared the piss out of them,” the corporal acknowledged.

“Yeah, well, I’d say that was my intent except the shuttle service would make me pay for having the seats cleaned.”

*   *   *

Feeling considerably more clearheaded, Torin accessed the hospitality screen and a moment later pulled the tab on a pouch of beer.

Ours is not to question why.

I’ll do
, she said silently, with a sarcastic toast to absent brass,
but I’ll be damned if I’ll die.

*   *   *

The detoxicant Torin had taken when they folded out of Susumi space had done its job by the time the shuttle docked at MidSector. Although the military and civilian passengers had been kept separate during the trip, exit ramps emerged into the same crowded Arrivals’ Lounge.

There were a lot fewer uniforms in the crowd than Torin was used to.

“Excuse me.”

Torin had a choice. She could stop, or she could walk right over the di’Taykan standing in front of her. She stopped. But it was a close decision.

The di’Taykan had lime green hair and eyes, the former spread out from her head in a six-inch aureole, the latter so pale Torin wondered how she could see since none of the light receptors seemed to be open. Her matching clothing was unusually subdued—in spite of the color—and the combined effect was one of studied innocence.

Torin didn’t believe it for a moment. Anyone studying that hard had to be working against type.

“One of my
thytrins
was supposed to be on that shuttle, Sergeant di’Perit Dymone. I didn’t see him get off so I was wondering if he, well, missed his flight again.” Her hair flattened
a little in embarrassment. “He missed the last flight he was supposed to be on.”