Authors: Tanya Huff
Unfortunately, he was a
two star
idiot.
Not counting Lieutenant Jarret and herself, she needed to find thirty-nine Marines—nine four-person fireteams and three sergeants—who had not only been cleared by Med-op for planetfall but who wouldn’t inadvertently turn a diplomatic mission into a bloodbath. Even had Sh’quo Company’s three infantry platoons been at full strength, choosing nine from the twenty-seven fireteams wouldn’t have been easy. Choosing from among the seventeen teams Med-op
had
cleared was a nearly impossible task.
It was a choice that didn’t involve the kind of parameters a computer could handle.
First Sergeant Chigma would’ve called his three Staff Sergeants together.
To pick our brains,
Torin thought darkly. It wasn’t a phrase she could say aloud, given the Krai’s unfortunate taste for Human tissue. Unfortunately, with her acting as First that left only two platoon NCOs and Med-op had Greg Reghubir tanked for the foreseeable future. Down to one. After a moment’s thought, she keyed Sergeant Sagarha’s implant code into the desk. He’d taken over what was left of Reghubir’s platoon. While it was likely he only knew the fireteams in his own squad, he was still the best source she had. Then she leaned around the edge of the dividing wall and into the next Staff cubicle.
“When you’ve got a moment, Amanda, I need you at my desk.”
* * *
“You’re running heavy on Humans here; there’s got to be another di’Taykan or two available somewhere.” Amanda tapped a fingertip against her screen until it protested. “What about Haysole?”
“I’m a little concerned about the class difference with our new lieutenant.”
Sh’quo Company’s other surviving staff sergeant raised an auburn brow. “You’d rather they worried it out in combat?”
“I’d rather they didn’t work it out in front of a dozen diplomats and a species we’re trying to impress.” Leaning back in her chair, Torin turned toward the other person at the desk. “What do you think, Sagarha?”
Sergeant di’Garn Sagarha frowned thoughtfully. “Might be trouble if di’Ka wasn’t an officer. Since he is, that shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll tell you what I would be concerned about, though: Haysole’s a fuk-up. He’s fine in combat, but the moment no one’s shooting at him, he gets bored, and the next thing you know, he’s got three days’ latrine duty.”
“Nothing wrong with clean toilets,” Amanda pointed out. “Is there anyone
else
?”
The three of them rechecked the lists.
“Not in a complete fireteam, no.”
“Then I guess Haysole’s going.” Torin moved the di’Taykan’s fireteam over to the platoon file. “If he gets too bored. I’ll shoot at him myself.”
“You’re a little low on Krai.”
“Only four of the six are available, and I’m taking one of them,” she pointed out.
“Why not take Ressk?”
“I’d love to. It’d be nice to have a few more brains along on this trip.” One of Sergeant Sagarha’s squad, Ressk had been known to make secure military programming sit up and beg. Intelligence wanted him, but fortunately for the company, he didn’t want Intelligence.
“You take Ressk, you also get Binti Mashona. I’ve recommended her for sniper school twice, but we keep shipping out before Admin clears the file.”
“Like I said, I’d love to, but isn’t their team leader still out?”
Sagarha checked his slate. “My Med-op download has Corporal Hollice cleared for duty in thirty-six hours.”
“I wonder why mine doesn’t,” Torin muttered, tracing a path through the icons. “Some idiot probably sent it to the First’s desk.”
“Some idiot probably thought that’s where you’d be,” Amanda pointed out, adding, “I thought Hollice lost a thumb?”
“He did, but Ressk dropped it in a cold box, and the corpsmen had it reattached before we got back to the station.”
“Bet Ressk was pissed at losing his snack,” she snickered.
“Marines do not eat other Marines,” Torin muttered absently. The eight teams they’d managed to come up with had used up all the “A” list and taken a few off the “B.” Pickings were getting slim. Finally, she sighed. “I don’t see any way around it. We’re going to have to use Corporal Conn’s team.”
“No.” Amanda shook her head. “I promised him some time to see his daughter. He’s got leave coming.”
“Point one, General Morris canceled all leaves. Point two, he’s all we’ve got left. It can’t be Algress, not with a reptilian life-form on the planet—not after Rarna IV.”
“I thought Psych took care of that.”
After a pregnant pause, the three NCOs snorted simultaneously.
“It’ll have to be Conn,” Torin repeated.
“But his daughter...”
With life expectancy at around a hundred and twenty old Earth years, most Human Marines put off having kids until they were either out of the Corps or had decided to make it a career. Corporal Grad Conn had fallen in love, applied for married quarters on station, and started a family. His daughter Myrna Troi had become Sh’quo Company’s unofficial mascot and everyone took a turn at spoiling her. Even Torin, who usually found kids about as inexplicable as the H’san, thought she was pretty cute. And it was hard not to admire a four-year-old who could disassemble a hygiene unit into so many pieces it took three engineers most of a duty shift to put it back together.
“Extend his liberty until we assemble for boarding.”
“On whose authority?”
“Mine.”
Voice conspiratorially lowered, Amanda leaned toward the di’Taykan. “She’s even beginning to sound like a First Sergeant.”
“Very dominant,” Sagarha agreed, smiling broadly.
“Very in charge of your butts,” Torin reminded them.
“Crap.” Amanda straightened, a sudden realization drawing her brows in over the bridge of her nose. “This means I’m going to be acting First while you’re gone. If I find out you’ve volunteered for this mission to get out of processing those new recruits...”
“Shall I tell the captain you’re volunteering to go in my place?”
“Not fukking likely.”
“What about sergeants?” Sagarha wondered.
“Are you volunteering?”
He grinned. “Not fukking likely.”
“I’d like to take Doctorow; he’s a pain in the ass, but he’s a socially apt pain in the ass and that could come in handy. Unfortunately, Med-op won’t release him until Psych has a chance to go in and do some dirty work.”
“You should tell them he’s always like that.”
“I did. They didn’t listen. That said, I want Glicksohn, Chou, and Trey.”
“Two humans and a di’Taykan?”
“The lieutenant’s di’Taykan. We’ll balance.”
The three of them stared down at the final list of thirty-nine names. “You think the captain’ll rubber stamp this?” Amanda asked.
“He’d better.”
“Something I’ve always wondered... what’s a rubber stamp?”
Torin shrugged, uploading the list into her slate. “Damned if I know.”
* * *
A short visit to the armory turned into over an hour of listening to complaints.
I should’ve bailed when I heard “Hey, Kerr, aren’t you acting First?” I can’t believe Chig put up with that.
Running late, Torin grabbed lunch at a species-neutral cantina in the core. Her day thus far called out for a big dish of poutine and a beer; unfortunately duty called out louder and she settled for a bowl of noodles garnished not very liberally with an indeterminate mix of greens and meat.
There are times,
she thought, deciding it might be best if the meat remained unidentified,
when I almost wish I’d stayed on the farm.
“Can I join you?”
Then there were those times when there was no
almost
about it. “It’s a public cantina, sir.”
Pulling up a stool, Lieutenant Jarret rested his elbows on the table and smiled. “And if it wasn’t?”
“Fraternization between the ranks is discouraged for a good reason, Lieutenant—di’Taykan with di’Taykan excepted, of course. It undermines the structure of command and it can lead to distorted judgment in life-and-death situations.”
“Are you telling me last night—you and I—never happened?”
“No, sir, I’m telling you it won’t happen again.” She stared into her noodles. “Although it would certainly help my position with, oh, just about everyone, if we both pretend it never happened.”
“Why?”
“Because every time I look at you I’m going to think of...” Lilac eyes glittered, and she smiled in spite of herself. “Yeah, all right, it’s a pleasant memory, but...”
“...you can’t have every Human in the platoon thinking about it every time you pass on one of my orders.” He returned the smile. “I understand the species parameters, Staff Sergeant Kerr, as regrettable as I may find them, which is what I actually sat down to tell you.”
“Oh.” A sudden burst of giggles from across the cantina gave Torin an excuse to move her attention to a small table overwhelmed by three Human teenagers.
“What is it?”
“You’re being watched, sir.”
He glanced over his shoulder at them, and, after a moment of stunned silence, one teen sighed, “Elves,” while the other two just sighed.
The off-the-record reaction of the First Human Contact Team upon meeting the di’Taykan had been, “Holy fuk, they’re elves!” To the horror of right thinking xenoanthropologists everywhere, the name stuck. Once exposed to the mythology that had engendered the remark, the di’Taykan as a whole didn’t seem to mind, and a number of the di’Taykan had embraced the lifestyle wholeheartedly. During basic training, Torin had actually met a di’Taykan who’d been named Celeborn after a character in an old Terran book.
The sighs turned to giggles.
“I think you may need to readjust your masker, sir.”
“I think you’ve forgotten what it’s like to be their age.”
“And happy to have forgotten.” She pushed the empty container into the recycling chute and stood. “It’s 1340, sir. The captain wants to see us at 1400.”
Lieutenant Jarret stood as well and nodded toward her slate as they crossed the cantina in step. “Is there anything specific I should know about the people you’ve chosen?”
“They all would’ve preferred that I’d chosen someone else, but other than that, no.” Torin considered it a good sign that the lieutenant was asking her for information. Too many officers came out of training thinking they were going to win the war single-handedly. Fortunately, that kind of officer usually didn’t last long in front of a combat unit—sometimes the enemy even got a chance to remove them. She frowned thoughtfully as they took the stairs up a deck. “They’re all good people to have at your side in a fight, sir, but I’m not sure how well they’ll manage ceremonial duties.”
“General Morris seemed to think that the Silsviss would be more impressed by your battle honors than by an ability to march in straight lines.”
“Lucky for us.”
“However, he did suggest that we run over some basic drill while in transit.”
Torin snorted.
“You don’t think it’s necessary, Sergeant.”
“Necessary? Yes, sir. Survivable?” She shrugged.
“The general seems to think that the platoon can consider this a sort of working leave.”
“Does he, sir?”
“You don’t?”
“Either we’re working, or we’re on leave. We can’t logically do both.”
“Good point, but the general thinks...”
Pausing outside the captain’s door, Torin sighed and turned to face the lieutenant. It was easy to forget, given their maturity in other areas, that a di’Taykan second lieutenant was as young and inexperienced as a Human one. “Begging your pardon, sir, but you’ll be giving orders to this platoon, not to the general. It might be best if you think for yourself.”
His ear points drooped slightly, but his tone showed none of the embarrassment he was clearly feeling. “I’ll take that under consideration, Sergeant.”
“Thank you, sir.” She meant it sincerely and made it sound as much like
thank you for listening
as she could. Nobody liked to be patronized, second lieutenants uncertain of their own power least of all.
Lieutenant Jarret studied her face, then suddenly smiled. “You know the general also told me that a good Staff Sergeant is worth her weight in charge canisters.”
“I suspect General Morris has never been in combat, sir.”
“Why?”
“Because if that’s all he’s getting for a good staff sergeant, he’s getting screwed...” Returning his smile, she stepped aside as the captain’s door opened. “...sir.”
“I
s this all of them?”
“All but one, sir.”
Lieutenant Jarret, who’d been studying the Marines milling about below him in the loading bay, turned to face his staff sergeant. “One?” he asked.
The emphasis made his actual question unmistakable. Torin, who’d been trying to avoid mentioning names, no longer had a choice. “Corporal Conn, sir.”
“The man whose extended liberty you authorized?”
“Yes, sir.”
“He does know we’re leaving this morning?”
Torin winced at the deceptively mild tone. There was something about the way the di’Taykan used sarcasm that could cut through bulkheads. Before she could answer, an imperious voice demanding to be put down rose above the general noise, and she smiled. “That’s him now, sir.”
Jarret watched the big man lift a flame-haired child off his shoulders and set her carefully on the deck. “He brought his daughter?”
“Yes, sir, Myrna Troi. She always comes to see the company off.”
“I can’t get over what Humans are willing to expose their children to,” Jarret mused as the little girl ran about, accepting the homage of the platoon as her due. “Until they reach di’ phase, Taykan are a lot more sheltered.”
“We’re a pretty flexible species, sir.”
“And we’re not?” Lilac hair lifted, adding entendre.
“Lieutenant...”
“Sorry.” He grinned, clearly not at all sorry, and headed for the stairs. “Since Corporal Conn has decided to join us, let’s get started.”
* * *
“Probably I’ll be bigger when you get back. Probably I’ll be this big.” Up on her toes, Myrna Troi waved her hand in the air as high as she could, which was just barely higher than the top of her crouching father’s head. “Probably I gonna be a surgent,” she told him sternly, russet brows drawn in over emerald eyes. “And then you gotta do what I say and then you gotta not leave.”