Valour's Choice (22 page)

“You’re sure?”

He needed her to be sure, so she showed him her lower teeth, as close to a Krai social cue as she could manage. “Yes, sir. The only thing we have to worry about is how many teenagers are approaching.”

“Probably clossse to a hundred,” Cri Sawyes announced. When both officers, Torin, and Ressk locked eyes on his face, he lightly tapped the ground with his tail. “The leader of the nearessst pack would never allow hisss sssubordinatesss to examine the crash without him for fear they’d find sssomething that would enable them to take power,” he explained. “Nor would thossse sssubordinatesss allow the pack leader to invessstigate on hisss own. They’re all coming.”

“And quickly.” Torin squinted toward the northwest wondering how much dust a hundred Silsviss would raise. “We’ll never reach those buildings before they catch up. Are you sure they’ll attack?”

“Yesss. As I told you, a good leader throwsss pack againssst pack, keeping hisss followersss too preoccupied to take him down. However, I think you’ll have time; they’ll check out the crash sssite firssst.”

“Are you sure?” Jarret demanded.

“Not one hundred percent sure, no, but clossse. We are on their ground, as sssoon ass they crosss our path”—all eyes turned from Cri Sawyes to the broad, muddy trail that led back into the swamp—“they’ll know they outnumber usss. They’ll believe they can take usss out any time, ssso firssst they’ll sssatisssfy their curiosssity about the crash.”

“Their weapons?”

“Pre-technology. Only what they can make from materialsss in the pressserve. Once at the buildingsss, we should be able to hold them off indefinitely.”

“Then we have to reach the buildings, Staff.”

“Listen up, people!” Her voice carried to the far edge of the camp, stopping both movement and conversations. “Pack up and get ready to move. If you brought it in, carry it out!”

“Hey, Staff! What about them?” Mysho pointed downwind at the four immobile heaps of multihued golden fur.

“I’ll wake the Dornagain.” They were large, they had claws, and for all Torin knew, they woke up cranky. She started toward them, deciding it might be safest to begin with Thinks Deeply.

“Wait!” Ghard blocked her way with an outstretched arm.

Rocking to a stop, she stared down at the Krai. She thought they’d settled that whole chain of command thing. Apparently, Lieutenant Ghard thought otherwise. While she had some sympathy for his insecurities—grounded pilots were all a bit squiggy having been forcibly ejected from their natural element—she had none whatsoever for his timing. Fortunately, the platoon continued readying themselves for the march, paying no attention. “Sir, I have my orders.”

“But what if the Silsviss don’t go to the crash site first?” he demanded. Without giving her a chance to answer, he jerked his head around to face Jarret and Cri Sawyes. “If they don’t go to the crash site and we start for the buildings now, they’ll catch us spread out and unable to defend ourselves. Maybe that’s what
he
wants.”

The emphasis aimed the pronoun directly at Cri Sawyes.

“If the march isss overrun, I alssso will be overrun,” he pointed out, his voice as impatient as Torin had ever heard it.

“So? You’re one of them!”

“No, I am not.” His throat pouch swelled enough to flash a crescent of lighter skin and then deflated. “Firstly, I am an adult and secondly, I am not of their pack.” One hand swept down the length of his torso, drawing attention to gray-on-gray markings. “And although I may be of the sssame ssspeciesss, I’m not of their race. I am in thisss with you, Lieutenant Ghard, whether you want me there or not.”

“Lieutenant Jarret...”

“I’ve made my decision.” Eyes dark, Jarret stared at Ghard a heartbeat longer. Then, without moving his head, he snapped his gaze over to Torin. “You have your orders, Staff Sergeant.”

“Yes, sir.”

“A word with you in private, Lieutenant Ghard.”

Judging from his tone, Lieutenant Jarret was about to give his junior officer a well deserved reaming out.

“What’re you looking so approving about?” Mike asked as she passed.

Torin paused and nodded back toward the two officers. Ghard’s shoulders had slumped, but as Jarret continued talking, they began to straighten. “I like the way Lieutenant Jarret is taking command.”

“As opposed to the way twoies usually take command?” He squeezed his voice into a shrill falsetto. “I’m an officer and I’m in charge, so you’ve got to do what I say, no matter what!” Then his voice dropped back down into its normal range. “And I’m inclined to think that’s better than the overly earnest—if some idiot just out of the college is going to get me killed, I’d as soon not die thinking at least their intentions were good.”

“So this time we got lucky.”

“We’ve been lucky before.”

“So this time let’s keep him alive.”

The sergeant sighed. “That’s the trick, isn’t it?” Head to one side, he looked up at Torin through thick lashes. “If I were a betting man...”

She snorted.

Grinning, he continued. “...I’d say you liked him.”

Just for a moment, she wondered what he knew.
She
hadn’t given anything away. Had the lieutenant? Then the moment passed. If she wasn’t hearing about her unfortunate indiscretion from the other di’Taykan, then no one knew. “I appreciate his ability as an officer...” Which she did. “...and I appreciate his appearance...” Safe enough, after all, she wasn’t blind. “...but he’s very young...” Not that age was relevant with a di’Taykan. “...and that’s as far as it goes.” Regardless of how far it had gone.

The grin broadened. “Yeah. That’s what I meant. You like him.”

Torin rolled her eyes. “I have an idea. Instead of making crude innuendoes...”

“You have a dirty mind, Staff.”

“...find us some stretcher bearers and four grunts to hump those emmies.” Continuing toward the sleepers, she added, “I don’t want to hear any complaints about who’s had to carry what the whole way.”

* * *

“Lieutenant, while my people are not in the habit of violence, we are more capable of defending ourselves than the wounded. If you hold the march to our speed, you delay getting them to safety. Four Marines, one Marine for each of us, will certainly be sufficient protection.”

“I appreciate your offer. Ambassador, but it’s just too dangerous.”

The Dornagain ambassador stroked the back of one hand over his whiskers. “Come now, Lieutenant, it’s only three kilometers to the buildings. Even we can cover that much ground in the time it will take our young Silsviss friends to travel over twice that, pause to examine the VTA, and then come after us.”

Jarret frowned. “What do you think, Staff?”

“The ambassador makes a good point, sir. It
is
only three kilometers.”

“True. But I don’t like dividing our march.”

“We will fall behind regardless, Lieutenant. Would it not be best to work with the inevitable?” The ambassador smiled down at the Marines, showing an impressive double ridge of teeth. “There is no need for everyone else to be made uncomfortable by the pace we set and no need for my people to be made guilty realizing that.”

The lieutenant still looked unconvinced, and they were running out of time to convince him. From where Torin stood, the Dornagain were realists. She appreciated that in a species.

Dr. Leor, who’d been listening to the discussion, arms crossed and feathers flat, suddenly stepped forward. “This one would like the wounded under cover as soon as possible,” he announced, “so that this one will be able to perform therapies impossible to attempt while on the move.”

All eyes turned to the stretchers and quickly slid away again.

“All right.” One hand raised, palm out, the lieutenant surrendered. “The Dornagain can set their own pace, but I’m sending Marines back to deepen your escort as soon they’ve dropped packs.”

“I find that an acceptable compromise.”

The doctor fixed the lieutenant with a gleaming black stare. “Then if the decision has been made, this one wonders why there is no forward movement.”

“A good question, Doctor. Staff, assign a fireteam to the Dornagain and let’s get this...”

Torin thought of several less than diplomatic descriptions. “...show on the road.”

“Yes, sir.”

* * *

With the stretcher bearers setting the pace, the column pulled rapidly away from the Dornagain and their escort. The ground was dry and firm and the vegetation short enough to make walking easy—especially compared to the mess they’d spent the morning in.

Walking near the front of the column, Jarret leaned down and plucked a stalk of Silsvah grass. “There’s a lot of silicate in this,” he said, rubbing it between thumb and forefinger.

Given the way it crunched, Torin acknowledged that seemed like a reasonable observation.

“But that doesn’t explain why it’s so short.”

“Grazing, sir.”

“Grazing?” he repeated, flicking the pulp away.

“Yes, sir. Pasture fields all over look pretty much like this. It’s a dead giveaway when the only plants over a certain height are woody and too tough to chew.”

“Too tough for
what
to chew, Staff?” His mouth opened to check the scent on a breeze and closed again significantly faster. “What the
sanLi
is that?”

Torin grinned as her less efficient sense of smell picked up the only possible odor bad enough to make a di’Taykan who’d just crawled through a swamp blaspheme. “I suspect your second question is about to answer your first.”

As di’Taykan profanity moved down the line, she scanned the area upwind and finally pointed. “There. Under the cloud of insects.”

Jarret’s eyes darkened, but he shook his head. “I don’t see...”

“It’s a pile of shit, sir. If I can have a closer look, I’ll be able to tell for certain if it’s out of our grazer.”

“How can you tell that from
shit?”

“Herbivores are fairly distinctive. And if there’s something walking around here big enough to drop that, I’d like to find out what I can about it.”

“What about Cri Sawyes?”

They could hear the Silsviss behind them, arguing points of the Confederation treaty with the Charge d’Affaires.

“He’s not from around here, sir. And he’s a city boy, besides.”

“Fine. Go.” He waved her on, looking so appalled that she couldn’t stop herself from snickering as she double-timed over to the pile, pack bouncing against the small of her back. As expected, the insects ignored her. Across the planet, Silsvah insects had ignored every species in the party except the Mictok. The non-Mictok carefully refused to speculate on a reason.

Almost two meters in diameter, the pile was half that high and had definitely come out of the back end of a single herbivore. In spite of the heat it had barely crusted, leaving Torin to believe said herbivore either hadn’t gone far or had moved one hell of a lot faster than the cows back home.

Returning to the column, she filled in the lieutenant, adding, “It’s heading off due west, about forty-five degrees to our line of march. I think we can safely ignore it for now.”

“Well, I’m convinced; staff sergeants
do
know everything.”

“You should never have doubted it, sir.”

They walked in silence for a few moments.

“Staff...”

“I grew up on a farm, and farming and shit are pretty much synonymous.”

“A farm?”

She nodded. His voice and expression suggested he’d never even seen a farm. Hardly surprising given his family’s rank.

“So why did you leave?”

Torin grinned. “I just told you, sir.”

It took him a moment to make the connection. He smiled when he did but refused to drop the subject. “All right, then, why did you join the Marines?”

Their shared past granted him an honest response. Torin wasn’t sure why; it had, after all, lasted only one night and was never to be referred to again, but somehow it kept her from throwing out any number of the slick answers she kept ready. “I had a fight with my father, about crop rotations if you can believe it. I was sick of the farm, but it defined his whole life. Next thing I knew, I was standing in a recruiting office having a blood test, and twenty-four hours after that I shipped out. Crop rotations.” She sighed. “A truly stupid reason to kill and be killed for.”

“Then why do you stay? Why make it a career?”

Again, that shared past kept her from a glib response. And if it didn’t entitle him to the part of the truth that involved love and honor, duty and sacrifice, it at least ensured that the truth be present. Because it sounded like he really wanted to know, she thought about it a moment. “Well, sir, it’s a dirty job, but someone
has
to do it.”

When he nodded, she knew he’d understood the emphasis. Unfortunately, understanding didn’t stop the questions. “But why you?”

“Why me?” She considered saying,
Why not me?
and being done with it but found herself saying instead, “I’m good at it. In fact, I’m better at it than most. Parts of it I enjoy. All of it, I feel fulfilled by.” This was getting perilously close to the line a single night’s sex didn’t get to cross. “There’s a whole lot of people in this universe who wish they could say the same.”

“And no one’s shooting at them.”

“Maybe that’s their problem, sir,” Torin said dryly.

“My whole family was career military,” he told her after a dozen paces when it became clear she wasn’t going to ask. “Every single di’Ka since contact has served the Confederation, and we served at home before that. It was a di’Ka who kept the military from shooting down the First Contact ship and the first di’Taykans to swear into both the Confederation Marine Corps and Navy were di’Ka. One of my progenitors even remained on the Admiralty staff in an advisory role after she shifted to qui’.”

“So you’re a professional soldier, sir.”

“I suppose.” He kicked at a purple bloom, beheading the flower and infuriating a large, yellow bug, who spat or possibly excreted something on his boot, and flew off. “All I know is that every time I give an order I can feel them all lined up behind me passing judgment.”

“I wouldn’t worry about them, sir.”

Squinting slightly in the sunlight, the shadow of his hair not quite deep enough to block the glare, he snorted. “You don’t have to worry about them. They’re not your family.”