Valour's Choice (18 page)

“The lieutenant’s awake.”

“I know.”

“He seems to think it might be a better idea to stay with the VTA.”

“Does he?” Torin spotted lilac hair coming into the troop compartment from behind the ruined wall. “I’ll deal with him, you get moving on evac.”

“Staff...”

She began threading her way between the remaining seats. “Don’t worry. I’ll be polite.”

* * *

“Lieutenant Jarret.” When he turned toward her, Torin could see that the side of his face was badly bruised and she was willing to bet that his cheekbone had been broken. “I’m glad to see you back on your feet, sir. Has the doctor taken a look at you?”

“No. I had the corpsman give me a pain block.”

Only the unbruised side of his face moved when he spoke. If it was a side effect of the pain block, it was a new one. Given di’Taykan muscle control, Torin suspected he was still in pain and attempting to minimize it. “You should have the doctor rebond that bone, sir.”

“There are Marines who need the doctor a lot more than I do, Staff Sergeant,” Lieutenant Jarret told her stiffly. “He can take care of this...” His hand rose and two fingers lightly touched his cheek. “...when he’s finished with them.”

“Yes, sir.” It was the textbook “good officer” response
—See to my men first
—but there was a world of difference between those officers who made the declaration because they felt they should and those who meant it. The lieutenant seemed honestly insulted that she’d even made the suggestion, as though she should know him better than that. All things considered, she supposed he had grounds. “Sergeant Glicksohn has filled you in on the state of the platoon, sir?”

“Yes.” He looked past her, eyes focused on the bodies across the room. “Four dead. Three badly injured. Seven others injured but mobile.”

“Seven? I thought eight...”

As he turned toward her, she realized he hadn’t counted himself among the injured, and she really hoped he wasn’t so young that he’d consider
I’m fine
to be the last word on the subject. “Sir...”

“I’m fine.”

Her expression provoked a smile on both sides of his mouth.

“For now,” he added before she could speak. Then the smile vanished. “I hear you took command while I was unconscious.”

“Yes, sir. Captain Daniels was badly injured and Lieutenant Ghard felt he should concentrate on the VTA. We lost one of the civilians, but the others have only minor injuries. Although contamination levels are rising quickly, we’ll be able to get all personnel clear of the ship before any irreversible damage is done. There’s a bridge being built from the ship to what passes for dry land in these parts, Hollice’s team is scouting a route out of the swamp, and the wounded are being evacuated topside before the leakage gets any higher.”

“What?”

She chose to misunderstand. “Topside, sir. We’ve settled so deeply into the mud that only the forward hatch topside is working.”

“What I meant, Staff Sergeant, is
why
are you evacuating the wounded?”

Under other circumstances she’d have admired the edge in his voice; under these circumstances she really hoped he wasn’t about to pull rank. “Sir, as I said, contamination levels are rising quickly.”

He shook his head and didn’t quite manage to hide the pain the motion caused. “No. I’ve just had a look, and the engine room wall hasn’t been breached. If we’re under attack, the VTA is the safest place to be. The Silsviss haven’t the technology to get us out.”

“With all due respect, sir, just because you can’t see a breach, doesn’t mean there isn’t one.” Her protest emerged as unchallenging as she could make it. The trick was not to sound as if she were talking to a three-year-old. “Your implant may not be functioning; we’ve been getting readings...”

“My implant is functioning fine, Sergeant. The last reading was at 3.5. That’s still not enough of a threat for us to take civilians out into hostile territory.” His gaze focused past her shoulder again. “Corporal Mysho! Leave that stretcher where it is!”

“Sir?”

So much for being polite, Torin decided. This had to be stopped before it got messy. “Sir, the reading was 3.5 and
rising...”

He cut her off. “Still well within species tolerances. The Mictok can take levels as high as 9.2.”

“Good for them. I can’t. Neither can you. Neither can any other Marine under your command.” His mouth opened, but she continued in the same low voice before he could speak. “The engine
has
been breached, there’s
no
telling how high the contamination will rise and, according to the ship’s long-range scanner, the
only
hostiles are a primitive band of male adolescents thirty kilometers away. Sir.”

In this particular instance, sir meant: “
These are the facts. I suggest you adjust your decision making accordingly.”

Torin could feel the corporal waiting for new orders. With any luck, she was the only witness to this standoff. With any luck, it wouldn’t be the first of many.

“Primitive band of male adolescents?” the lieutenant repeated at last.

“We came down in a wilderness preserve.” As understanding dawned, she added, “Sir, I realize that shepherding a group of mixed species diplomats through a swamp fills you with justifiable aversion, but killing them slowly isn’t the answer.”

For a moment she thought he wasn’t going to see the humor in that last statement, but then the uninjured side of his mouth twisted up into a crooked smile. “It isn’t?”

“No, sir, it isn’t.”

The smile twisted a little more. “You have everything under control, don’t you?”

There were a number of ways to deal with that kind of incipient self-pity in a junior officer. “Thank you, sir,” she said brightly.

“That wasn’t...” He paused.

Torin met his gaze levelly. She could almost see the wheels turning behind his eyes.

His smile untwisted and turned to honest amusement. “All right, Staff Sergeant, you win. Upon considering all the options, I’ve decided to continue the evacuation. Corporal Mysho!”

“Sir?”

“Carry on.”

“Yes, sir.”

By a mutual, albeit silent, agreement they ignored the relief in the corporal’s voice.

“All right...” Lieutenant Jarret gestured at the rapidly emptying compartment. “The Marines are taken care of. What about the civilians?”

“Two of them are helping build the bridge, the rest are packing.”

“Packing? To march through a swamp?”

“Yes, sir.”

“On their own?”

“Yes, sir.”

He began to shake his head but stopped, hair flat, before the motion really got started. “Send one of the walking wounded up to supervise their choices, or the doctor will want to take along his specimens and the Mictok will be packing art supplies.”

“Yes, sir.” Half turning, she beckoned the last of the minor casualties away from the corpsman and passed on the lieutenant’s order. “Anything else, sir?”

“I think we’d better go have a look at that bridge.” He swayed as he stepped forward, and without thinking, Torin reached out and slipped an arm around his waist, holding him until he steadied. When she released him, he stared at her for a heartbeat, eyes dark, and she wondered if she’d overstepped the line. It was one thing to keep him from making stupid mistakes—in fact, that was essentially her job description concerning second lieutenants—and another thing entirely to imply he couldn’t stand on his own two feet. Young males of any species tended to be overly proud and young male officers...
Fuk it.

“Are you all right, sir?”

Twitching his tunic down into place, he pushed past her. “I’m fine.”

Ready to catch him if it came to it, Torin fell into step behind him. “Yes, sir.”

A
s they made their way up the central axis, Torin glanced over at the lieutenant and frowned thoughtfully. Although the bruising made it difficult to tell for certain, he seemed to be carrying what she called a “once more into the breach” expression on top of stiff shoulders and as close to a graceless walk as a di’Taykan could manage. From this point on, he’d do or die trying. And that had to be nipped in the bud before it was exactly what happened.

“Crisis of confidence, sir?”

Anyone but a di’Taykan would have tripped. “What?”

“You think you’re off to a bad start. Through no fault of your own, you were unconscious when you should have taken command, and when you finally joined the party, you think you made the wrong decision.” He
had
made the wrong decision, but reminding him of that wouldn’t help. “You’re determined to prove yourself because even though you’re a trained combat officer and not a diplomatic baby-sitter—no matter how perfectly your background prepared you for the latter—you’re afraid there’s nothing you can do that I can’t do better.” She timed the pause so that he barely got his mouth open before she continued. “And you’re beginning to wish that you’d had the doctor bond that bone because your head hurts like hell.”

He’d stopped walking, so she stopped as well and turned to face him, counting silently to herself. If she got to twenty before he spoke, she’d begin an apology.

At nine, his eyes narrowed.

“There’s a reason telepathic races are universally hated,” he growled. “Do you always speak your mind so freely, Staff Sergeant Kerr? Because if this is some Human response to having sex...”

“Not at all, sir. It’s part of my job description.”

“Keeping me in my place?”

“No, sir. Keeping good officers alive by not letting them get trapped inside their own heads.”

This time she only got to five.

“Good officers?”

“Yes, sir.” She kept her answer matter-of-fact, as though he shouldn’t have had to ask, and was rewarded by a long exhalation, a visible release of tension, and a grateful smile.

“Suck up.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Staff, why do you think the Silsviss shot us down?”

Torin shrugged. “They may not have, sir. Cri Sawyes was at the vid screen when it happened, and he says they weren’t Silsviss missiles.”

Jarret jerked to a stop and reached out to grab her arm, only barely managing to keep his fingers from closing—the situation had not yet deteriorated to the point where he’d be excused for panic-clutching his senior NCO. “Cri Sawyes!”

“Contained, sir.”

“Contained?” When she nodded, he started breathing again. “I can’t
believe
I forgot there was a Silsviss on board.”

“Well, I wasn’t the one who contained him,” Torin admitted dryly, figuring one confession deserved another. “The Mictok ambassador arranged it while I was in the cockpit.”

“Really?”

“Not something I’d be likely to make up, sir. And you, at least, had the excuse of having been knocked unconscious.”

Fingertips lightly touched the bruise purpling his cheek. “Careless of us both, Staff Sergeant.”

“Yes, sir.”

He held her gaze for a moment, then started walking again. “Strangely enough,” he said, his matter-of-fact tone an almost exact copy of her earlier one, “the discovery that you’re not perfect is making me feel significantly more confident.”

Unable to decide if she was insulted or amused, Torin fell back into step beside him. “I’m glad I could help, sir.”

“Do you believe Cri Sawyes when he says the missiles weren’t Silsviss?”

“I believe him when he says he doesn’t recognize them, sir. As to whether or not they’re Silsviss...” She shrugged. “I don’t know. He also points out that we can’t hold him responsible for the actions of the entire planet.”

“We can,” the lieutenant corrected wryly. “The question is whether or not we should.”

“He says he isn’t our enemy.”

“And do you believe
that
?”

“Well, lying is in his best interests right now, but I don’t think he was.”

“Why not? Because you like him?”

“Essentially, sir, yes.” When Lieutenant Jarret shot her a questioning glance, she shrugged again. “Not much to go on,” she admitted, acknowledging his expression.

“I wouldn’t say that.” He nodded toward the rank insignia on her collar. “You didn’t get those by being a bad judge of character.”

Surprised at the depth of her reaction, Torin touched the stacked chevrons over the crossed KC silhouettes. “Thank you, sir.” For no good reason, she found herself feeling better about the unmitigated mess they were all facing.

*Contamination levels now 3.9 and rising.*

A little better. Not a lot.

* * *

“Pontoons?”

“The empty storage units float, sir, and they’ll hold the Dornagain.”

Standing just behind the lieutenant’s left shoulder, Torin leaned around him and glanced pointedly at Strength of Arm’s muddy haunches.

“Well, they will now,” Aylex amended, grinning. “As long as they cross one at a time.”

Stepping onto the first of the completed sections, Lieutenant Jarret bounced thoughtfully. Dried mud flaked off the sides of the containers into slow moving ripples as the bridge undulated along its entire length. The omnipresent odor of rotting vegetation grew momentarily stronger. After one final bounce, he turned, stepped back onto the VTA, and yelled, “Well done!” over the sudden crash of two more units bouncing down the wing. “How soon can you have it finished?”

Aylex looked over at his crew and shrugged. “Well, sir, as long as Strength of Arm keeps tearing things apart and Gar’itac keeps tying them together...”

The Mictok was actually tying the storage units together with cable but doing it with a speed and dexterity impossible to match with only two arms.

“...it’ll be done before it’s time to leave.”

* * *

“Talk about out of the frying pan into the fire,” Hollice muttered. He squatted and stared into the water, but nothing had changed over the last fifteen seconds—suspended organic matter still made it impossible to see below the surface. “Damn.”

Once they’d slogged their way out of the splatter zone, the ground, although not much higher than the swamp around it, had been relatively dry. Relative to the swamp. Given the unfamiliar terrain and the massed vegetation, they’d made slow but steady time.