Valour's Choice

ALSO AVAILABLE FROM TANYA HUFF AND TITAN BOOKS

THE CONFEDERATION SERIES

The Better Part of Valour

The Heart of Valour
(February 2014)

Valour’s Trial
(April 2014)

The Truth of Valour
(June 2014)

Peacemaker
(November 2014)

THE ENCHANTMENT EMPORIUM SERIES

The Enchantment Emporium
(January 2014)

The Wild Ways
(March 2014)

The Future Falls
(May 2014)

The Silvered

Valour’s Choice

Print edition ISBN: 9781781169667

E-book edition ISBN: 9781781169674

Published by Titan Books

A division of Titan Publishing Group Ltd

144 Southwark Street, London SE1 0UP

First edition: December 2013

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

Copyright © 2000, 2013 by Tanya Huff. All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

DID YOU ENJOY THIS BOOK?

We love to hear from our readers. Please email us at:
[email protected]
or write to us at Reader Feedback at the above address.

To receive advance information, news, competitions, and exclusive offers online, please sign up for the Titan newsletter on our website.

www.titanbooks.com

A
writer and philosopher of the late twentieth century once said, “
Space is big.”
There are three well-known corollaries to this. The first is that the number of planets where biological accidents occurred in the correct order to create life is small. The second is that the number of planets where life managed to overcome the odds and achieve sentience is smaller still. And the third is that many of these sentient life-forms blow themselves into extinction before they ever make it off their planet of origin.

If space is big and mostly uninhabited, it should be safe to assume that any life-forms who really didn’t get along could avoid spending time in each other’s company.

Unfortunately, the fact that said life-forms
could
avoid each other doesn’t necessarily mean that they would.

When the Others attacked systems on the borders of Confederation territory, Parliament sent out a team of negotiators to point out that expansion in any other direction would be more practical as it would not result in conflict. The negotiators were returned in a number of very small pieces, their ship cleverly rigged to explode when it would do the most damage.

The Confederation found itself at a disadvantage. Its member races had achieved an interstellar presence only after they’d overcome the urge to destroy themselves or any strangers they ran into. Evidence suggested the Others had flung themselves into space without reaching this level of maturity. Clearly, in order to survive, the Confederation would have to recruit some more aggressive members.

Humans had a bare-bones space station and a shaky toehold on Mars when the Confederation ships appeared. Some fairly basic technology by Confederation standards, combined with the information that the Others were heading Earth’s way, convinced humanity to throw its military apparatus into space where they took to interstellar warfare the way the H’san took to cheese.

Some one and a half centuries of intermittent war later, borders had shifted, and Humans had been joined by first the di’Taykan and then the Krai. Much of the military terminology introduced into the Confederation’s common tongue remained Human although, as the three races became increasingly more integrated, di’Taykan and Krai words began creeping in. The Krai, for example, had sixteen useful adjectives describing the impact of an antipersonnel weapon on a soft target.

Although the induction of younger and more aggressive species had undeniably solved the problem presented by the Others, it had also irrevocably changed the face of the Confederation. Feeling just a little overwhelmed, many of the original species spent their spare time sighing and reminiscing about the good old days.

R
eveillie was not the best thing to have reverberating through one’s skull after a night of too much and too little in various combinations. Making a mental note to change the program to something less painfully intrusive, Torin tongued the implant and tried to remember how to open her eyes during the five blessed seconds of silence before the first of her messages came in.

*At the chime, it will be 0530.*

The chime set up interesting patterns on the inside of her lids. What
had
she been drinking?

*Your liberty will be over at 0600.*

Which might be a problem, considering how much trouble she was having with basic bodily functions. Groping for the panel beside the bed, she applied what she hoped was enough pressure for dim lighting and cautiously cracked an eye. From the little she could see, these were not her quarters. The less than state-of-the-art wall utility suggested station guest quarters— for a not particularly important guest.

Finally managing to sort current sensation from memory, she turned her head toward the warm body pressed up against her side. The di’Taykan’s short lilac hair swayed gently in response to her exhalation, the pointed tip of an ear covered and uncovered by the moving strands.

A di’Taykan.

That explained things. It wasn’t a hangover, she had pheromone head.

Sliding out from under the blanket, Torin stood, stretched carefully, and filled her lungs with air that hadn’t been warmed by the di’Taykan’s body heat. As memories returned, she smiled. Not only did Humans find the Taykan incredibly attractive, but a Taykan in the di’ phase was one of the most indiscriminately enthusiastic life-forms in the Galaxy and offered the perfect and uncomplicated way to chase the memories of that last horrible planetfall right back to the galactic core.

*Captain Rose wants to see you in his office at 0800.*

There were two piles of clothing on the room’s one chair, both folded into neatly squared-off piles.
He must’ve been raised by one strict
sheshan, Torin thought, grabbing her service uniform and ducking into the bathroom. It had taken most of her nine years in the Corps to achieve that precise a fold, regardless of distraction.

When she emerged a few moments later, fully dressed, all she could see of her companion was a lithe lump under the blanket and a moving fringe of uncovered hair. Relieved, she moved silently toward the door, pausing only long enough to turn off the lights. A di’Taykan considered, “
Once more before breakfast?”
to be a reasonable substitute for “
Good morning.”
And, with no time to spare, she was just as happy not to have to test her willpower.

Outside in the corridor, the familiar “something’s leaking somewhere” smell of the station’s recycled air drove the last of the pheromone-induced haze from her head.

*0547*
her implant announced when she prodded. Thirteen minutes before her liberty ended and her flasher came back up on screen. Thirteen minutes to get to a part of the station that wouldn’t incite prurient speculation among the duty staff.

“I should’ve reset wake-up for five. What was I
thinking
?” she muttered, diving into the vertical—fortunately empty at this hour—and free-falling two levels. Grabbing a handhold, she swung out onto the lock level. Easy answer, actually. She’d been thinking that she needed to forget the carnage, forget those they lost limping back to the station on a ship that had won its battle but nearly lost its own little slice of the war, forget the messages she’d sent to family and friends, and forget that new faces, always new faces, would soon be arriving to replace those they’d lost.

And she had been able to forget. For a while.

A di’Taykan wouldn’t feel used. She didn’t think they could.

* * *

Considering the time, it was a good thing station guest quarters were on the same side of the core as the barracks. Another vertical, another lock, and she was in NCO country.

*0600.*

Heading for her own quarters, Staff Sergeant Torin Kerr had her implant scan the night’s reports for any of the names she kept flagged. Apparently, no one had died and no one had gotten arrested.

Things hadn’t fallen apart while she was gone.

No harm done, and it wasn’t as if she’d ever see that particular di’Taykan again...

* * *

At 0758, showered, changed, and carrying her slate, Torin approached the captain’s door, turning over the possible reasons he’d moved their morning meeting up an hour. As senior surviving NCO, she’d been his acting First Sergeant since the battered remnant of Sh’quo Company had arrived back at the station. Clearly that wasn’t going to last, but it was unlikely Battalion HQ would send out a new First before the recruits needed to bring the company up to strength—unlikely but possible, she admitted after a moment’s reflection. Battalion HQ had shown what could only be called
unique
leadership in the past.

It was also possible that they were promoting her and the captain needed to tell her in time for her to make the 1000 shuttle. With a war on, it didn’t take long to make sergeant, but after that, promotions tended to slow down, common wisdom suggesting that by the time a grunt got that third chevron, they’d learned to duck. Still, with the company losing their First, there’d be a gunny moving up and that’d leave room for her.

She’d have rather had First Sergeant Chigma back. The few Krai who went into the Marines usually opted for armored platoons or air support—their feet just weren’t built for infantry—so those few who not only chose to be grunts but rose in the ranks left big shoes to fill in more than merely the literal sense. Unfortunately, since Chigma had ended up on the wrong end of an enemy projectile weapon their last planetfall...

*0759*

Maybe Med-op had scheduled the captain for new treatments at nine.

Look at the bright side,
she reminded herself, laying her palm against the sensor pad centered in the door.
We’re in no condition to be sent back out.

* * *

The presence of a two star general in the captain’s office did not come as a pleasant surprise. In Torin’s experience, when generals ignored the chain of command to speak directly to sergeants, it was never good news. And smiling generals were the worst kind.