The Truth of Valor (37 page)

“The Corps’ armory, the Corps’ problem,” Mashona muttered.

“Exactly. Even if Presit allowed Merik to fold the moment they got the first image ...” Presit’s camera now rested on the edge of the control panel with no way for them to tell what Presit’s reaction had been to the new information. “. . . what are the odds of the Corps getting out here in under fourteen hours when they’re not going to be able to cut the orders without a Parliamentary decree?”

“Slim,” Mashona offered.

“Slim,” Torin agreed.

“So it’s up to us.” Ressk nodded at whatever plan he had unfolding inside his head. “We rescue Ryder. We get the armory far enough from the station to blow it without the explosion sending pieces back through the station.”

Torin stared at Ressk for a long moment. “We figure out a way to blow the armory,” she said at last. “We’re not military, and I don’t give a H’san’s ass if the station goes with it.”

The silence thickened until it dragged at her legs. Six paces across the cabin. Six back. That was weird. Seven paces across
Promise
’s cabin and the
Star
was larger. One. Two. Three . . .

“Gunny.” Werst stepped out in front of her. No room to go around him, so she stopped. “Bartenders. Waiters. Whores. Shopkeepers. Maintenance personnel. Techies. Hell, even that weird black-and-white di’Taykan with the hots for you. Okay, sure, they live off theft and murder second- and thirdhand like you said, but they don’t deserve to die. And you don’t get to make that decision.” His nose ridges opened and closed, slowly. “You don’t
have
to make that decision. Not this time.”

Werst didn’t look bad, all things considered, but his natural mottling couldn’t hide the bruises, one eye was swollen almost closed, and Kyster had definitely been supporting him as they moved toward her. Torin could see abrasions on one wrist and knew there’d be a matching set on the other wrist and both ankles. He hadn’t just laid there after he’d been staked out, he’d fought the bindings. A bloody scab weighed down one corner of his mouth, but his lips still rose off his teeth. “Harnett?”

“Dead.”

“Edwards?”

“Also dead.”

His grunt suggested he found the news of Edwards’ death disappointing. Torin assumed that was only because he’d had plans to take care of it himself. “How many total?”

“Seven. Eight, including Harnett.”

A sudden impact jerked Torin out of the memory. She blinked and stared at the blood smear marking the place where she’d slammed her right fist into the bulkhead.

The pain hit right after the visuals.

“Gunny?”

Raising her left hand, palm out, she drew in two deep breaths and let them out slowly. Clear and bright, the pain sliced through all the shit in her head and left only three things behind. Craig. The armory. The certain knowledge that
this
couldn’t happen right now. The shit couldn’t win. She had to hold things together for just a little while longer. One more deep breath, then she let her left arm fall back by her side and nodded.

She’d barely finished the motion before Ressk, holding her right wrist in a gentle grip, pushed her back into the pilot’s chair. Mashona knelt beside her and opened the first aid kit.

“That was stupid.”

“Werst!”

Looking over their heads, she locked eyes with Werst. “No, he’s right. Seeing Craig threw me, but I’m thinking clearly now.”

“So you punched the wall to clear your head? Bullshit.”

“And yet, my head is clear.” Her tone told him to drop it. Trouble was, Werst hadn’t listened back when she had actual rank to enforce the order. And now . . .

He folded his arms, his tone matter-of-fact. “If you’re losing it, Gunny, we need to know.”

“Fuk you.”

“He’s right, Gunny.” Mashona’s hand rested warm on her thigh. “You don’t have to prove anything to us. We’re here.”

Yes, they were.

Ressk flashed Werst a look that made Torin suspect Mashona might be right about something going on between them then, nose ridges flaring, asked, “What would you say, Gunny, if one of us pulled a dumbass move like punching a bulkhead?”

Good question. The pain blocker he’d shot into her hand dulled the edges of the clear and bright but not so much the shit could creep back in. It was all still there—Cho, Big Bill, Craig’s injury, a station not entirely full of thieves and murderers—but she owned it now, not the other way around.

“I’d tell you to not let it get so bad again.”

“Yeah,” Mashona snorted. “But you’d be more emphatic.”

She’d have been as emphatic as required for them to hear her. “True.”

“So, consider yourself told.” Werst’s teeth flashed white. “What’s the plan?”

“First . . .” This was the easy part. “. . . we need to be able to communicate with Craig. Not only to get him out, but because he’s with the armory.” She sucked air in through her teeth as Ressk’s thumb pushed at cracked bone.

Ressk’s grip tightened. “No point in bonding the knuckle when it’s halfway down your fukking hand,” he reminded her. “Stop twitching. If Big Bill’s blocked his codes, then I can block yours and Ryder’s. I just need to get into the sysop. Once in . . . Gunny!”

“I’m not twitching.”

He snorted noncommittally and maneuvered the bone into place. The pain flared bright and clear for an instant, then settled back to a constant reminder of why punching bulkheads was definitely dumbass.

“Once in,” he began again, “I can lock our slates out, too.”

Mashona handed him a tube of sealant and sat back on her heels. “Wouldn’t it be easier to just lock out the
Star
? Since we use her as our SP?”

“If I lock out the
Star
, the docking clamps release because the station thinks we no longer exist.”

“So you’ll be locking out the codes.” With the split skin over Torin’s knuckle sealed shut, Mashona dropped the empty tube back into the kit. “Good thing you’re an evil genius.”

“Doesn’t take a genius to lock out codes,” Ressk snorted, frowned down at the repair, then set the hand gently on Torin’s knee with a look that said it was the best he could do. “But it’ll take time to get into the system unnoticed.”

“We now have less than thirteen hours for the entire mission.” Torin reminded him.

“Then I need to get to one of the station’s boards. Easy in from there.”

“I have an all-access pass to the station—apparently the
free merchants
need to see I have Big Bill’s trust,” she explained as she handed Ressk her slate. “But whatever I do, wherever I go, Big Bill will be watching. That’s a given.”

“Then we need him to look away.” Ressk dropped back into the second chair and worked both thumbs across the screen. “Or we need him to believe he’s seeing something he isn’t. This . . .” He tapped the lines of code. “. . . is almost too simple. Your slate will identify you to any locked hatch. The lock, in turn will record your presence.”

“Tracking me.”

“Yeah. But it’s not hard to see Big Bill’s point. He’s just given the most dangerous person he’s ever likely to meet the run of the station. He’s going to want to know where you are.”

“
Serley
suck-up,” Werst snorted.

“Best part of it is,” Ressk continued, ignoring him. “I can separate out the ID code that makes this work. These things aren’t random, they’re sequential. I copy the whole thing into my slate and give myself the next lower number, and I now also have an all-access pass.”

Mashona held out her slate. “Do one for me.”

“The next lower number that Ressk is using already belongs to someone.” Torin took her slate back as Ressk began messing about on his own. “Let’s send up as few flares as possible.”

“So how does
chrick
and geeky here get to a board?” Werst asked.

“Alamber.”

Torin stopped checking the movement in her hand—eighty percent, she could work with that—and stared at Ressk. “No.”

Ressk shrugged. “At worst, Big Bill will think you’re heading to Communications to build and consolidate a power base.”

“Fukking a di’Taykan is like breathing air,” Werst pointed out. “Evidence suggests Big Bill’s too smart to see anything else in it.”

“Then he’ll just think Gunny’s getting some.”

Mashona raised her hand. “I volunteer to get some.”

“Weirdly, Alamber wants Gunny.”

Werst unsuccessfully hid a snicker. “You’ll have to use your wiles, Gunny.”

“I don’t have wiles,” Torin snapped. Unfortunately, she couldn’t think of a better idea. “What if Alamber was lying and Communications
is
under surveillance? You think Alamber and I getting it on will make Big Bill look away?”

Ressk looked up at that. “Who notices a di’Taykan having sex? If Big Bill happens to stumble over the recording, he’ll think nothing of it. And, if it turns out he’s still up and watching live, you’ll be distracting him while I slip in and crack his system. More to the point, you’ll distract Alamber.”

Unfortunately, Ressk was making sense. “If I’m there to see Alamber, why would I bring you with me?”

“You wouldn’t. Aren’t. I’m bringing myself.” Ressk patted himself on the chest. “Most of the station maintenance is done by Krai wearing blue overalls much like these. Unless they’re into seams and pockets, anyone watching will just see another maintenance worker. Humans usually can’t tell us apart.”

“True.” Mashona rolled back up onto her feet and moved to stow the first aid kit.

Gross physical features like height and weight aside, Humans—with their substandard sense of smell—could only identify individual Krai by the pattern of mottling on their scalps. Put them in uniforms, remove the individuality of clothing choice, and the Humans working with them when they were integrated into the Corps had to learn new recognition skills. Fast. Outside the military, most Humans never bothered.

“If the Grr brothers are watching?” Torin asked.

“Acceptable risk.”

Werst suddenly grinned. “So he slips in while Alamber’s slipping in?”

“Oh, fuk you,” Torin sighed.

“That would make a stronger man than Big Bill look away,” Mashona pointed out, rolling back up onto her feet and moving to stow the first aid kit.

Werst raised both arms and flexed. “Not the first my
cernit
’s scared off.”

“Deformed?”

“Enormous.”

“Enormous would
be
deformed on a little guy like you.”

It sounded like business as usual, but Torin could hear the concern under the banter. She was the one thing they shouldn’t have to worry about. Be a whole lot easier if people started shooting at them. That, she could deal with in her sleep.

Speaking of . . . It was 2426 ship time, and there’d be no chance of rest until this was done.

She stood, flexing her hand. “I hope you caught some sleep while I was gone. Werst, Mashona, go back out into the Hub and find out everything you can about the
Heart of Stone
. How many in her crew, who they are, what kind of training. How many weapons they have. Their captain, Cho . . .” The bonded knuckle pulled painfully but held as her fingers curled into a fist. “. . . he’s ex-Navy. And there’s a young di’Taykan named Nadayki working the seal, doing the same sort of shit Ressk can. If necessary, use that information to get people talking. Take into account that anyone off a ship is an amoral s.o.b., and the support staff isn’t a lot better. If you’re done before Ressk and I are back, the armory is in an old explosives storage pod off the ore docks, up against the back bulkhead, maybe ten degrees off from the lock. The
Heart
’s at the lock. Go into the schematics of this place and find the fastest way to get the armory off the station. Quick and dirty, we’ve got no time for finesse. And speaking of no time for finesse ...” She sighed and headed for the air lock. “Come on, Ressk. Let’s see if Alamber really does spend all his time in Communications.”

“What are you going to . . . ?”

Torin cut him off. “I’ll decide when I get there.” She glanced down at the camera on the edge of the control panel, thought briefly about pretending to forget it, and changed her mind. Ultimately, rescuing Craig trumped her ego. “Whatever happens,” she muttered, reaffixing the camera to her tunic, “you’re editing this bit out.”

Torin would have preferred to have avoided the Hub entirely, but it was the only way to get from the docking arms into the station. “Remember,” she said quietly, pitching her voice under the noise of the games on the big screens and a fight between two di’Taykan under the nearer one, “play nice. Recon only. Do not engage.”

“If they swing first?” Mashona asked, arms folded.

“Win.” Torin swept a disdainful gaze around the Hub. At first glance, she couldn’t tell the pirates from the station crew. The thieves and murderers from the support staff. Fukking Werst. “Might makes right with this lot.” The two di’Taykan were rolling around on the deck. Given they were di’Taykan, it wouldn’t be a fight much longer. “If it comes to it, I want this lot to think twice about pissing us off.”

Wrest flexed his toes against the deck, cracking the knuckles. “Just twice?”

“Twice is fine. It’s 0341 now; if we’re not back at the ship by 0830 station time ...” Five hours was more than twice the time Ressk said he’d need. “. . . assume we’ve been caught. Abandon subtlety. Blow the docking clamps, haul ass, and call in the Marines to deal with the armory.”

“This is subtle?”

“Werst.”

His nose ridges flared. “These are bad guys, Gunny. You get caught doing bad things, they’ll assume it’s because you’re a bad guy, too. Not because you’re a good guy trying to screw them.”

“Figuratively speaking,” Mashona muttered under her breath.

“You get grabbed,” Werst continued ignoring her, “precedent suggests you’ll haul your ass and Ressk’s out of the fire. We’ll wait.”

Torin opened her mouth to tell him she’d just given him an order and, from his expression, he knew exactly what she was about to say. Easy enough to figure out his response. With less than fourteen hours, they didn’t have time to argue. “Fine. Presit can call in the Marines. She’ll know before you do.” Nodding toward the nearest bar, she added, “Put your drinks on my tab.”