TEN

“WE ASSUMED A SMALL exploratory expedition, wiped out by a native weapon. Perhaps even accidentally. We were wrong.”

Werst, sitting cross-legged in front of the plastic sheet, weight carefully off the bruises on his left side, froze as he heard the slap of Commander Yurrisk’s feet against the floor, felt the air currents shift as the commander’s arm waved over his head. As it had become clear that “Ressk” had no answers, the commander had grown agitated, muttering and pacing, Qurn’s low voice a constant background hum.

“This data sheet changes everything. The plastic were here to observe the native population. They were discovered and destroyed, but not before compiling a warning that was never retrieved. The natives would have given the weapon that saved them a place of honor. In a temple or a shrine. Protected from the elements.”

“It wasn’t put in stasis,” Werst muttered, rolling his eyes.

“I’m not crazy.” The commander’s breath ghosted against Werst’s ear as he leaned in close. “I know the weapon won’t work, not after all this time. That doesn’t matter. The buyer will take it as is. Pay me for it. Keep us flying. Save my ship. Save my crew.”

Werst suspected the odds were higher that the plastic, when discovered, had wiped out the native population, destroyed the weapon, and left a scorecard behind. Fixated on keeping his ship and crew . . . Werst huffed out a breath. He might as well use what was clearly the relevant word. Fixated on keeping his ship and crew safe, the commander had done minimal research on the planet as a whole. He didn’t know all the planetary populations had disappeared around the same time. Werst could see how genocide wouldn’t have occurred to the scientists, but it sure as shit should have occurred to Robert Martin.

He closed his teeth on a grunt of pain as Commander Yurrisk squeezed the bruise on his shoulder. “If the plastic continues to hold their secrets safe, we need to find the temple by other means.”

“It’s a big city,” Qurn reminded him gently, tugging his hand free.

“Pop quiz: How can we locate specific buildings in under the trees?” Harveer Arniz crossed to Werst with a bowl of food. From the Katrien stores, given the smell. “We can’t,” she continued as his stomach growled. “How many times do we have to go over that?”

Werst heard boots approaching and when Martin’s foot appeared, arcing through his peripheral vision, he gripped Harveer Arniz’s tail with his foot, and dragged her clear.

The food went flying, at least half of it onto Werst’s lap. Harveer Arniz clutched a handful of his overalls and pressed unhurt against his side.

Martin seemed satisfied with the mess. “You don’t eat until you get me some answers.”

“Your finger looks like a sausage,” Werst said, lips off his teeth. “And you wouldn’t like me when I’m hungry.”

“I don’t like you now.”

“Out of his way, Sergeant. Your assistance is not required.” Commander Yurrisk’s voice was ice and iron. “Send the harveer back to her people.” The iron had gone, but the ice remained.

“She should clean up the spilled food first.” Qurn seemed permanently set to calm and supportive. Or to subtle manipulation. Werst hadn’t yet determined which. He’d bet the Primacy had different laws about AI, though. She’d aced that creepy, serene robot thing popular last season on the vids. “When the spilled food has been removed, Warden Ressk can return to work.”

“Doing what?” Zhang asked. When everyone turned to stare, she shrugged. “Just asking. What’s he good for? If he can’t do shit without a slate, and you won’t give him one he can use, it’d make more sense to shoot him, right? Take an enemy out before the fight starts and all that.”

She wasn’t wrong. And she should keep her mouth shut.

“As long as we hold Ressk, we have leverage for negotiations with the Wardens.”

Everyone, including Zhang, turned to stare at Martin.

“What?” He spread his hands. “We’re going to want to leave the anchor eventually.”

Commander Yurrisk nodded. “We can trade him for the weapon.”

Which sounded reasonable except Gunny didn’t have the weapon, wouldn’t go looking for the weapon, and had been instructed not to negotiate with the hostage takers. Martin had to be aware of the first two points and suspect the third. What was he playing at? Seemed he wanted “Ressk” alive for more than his tech abilities. Why?

Too many unanswered questions. Time to double up.

“Commander Yurrisk, sir.” Werst stood, only mildly exaggerating the amount of pain he was in, and stared at a point over the commander’s left shoulder. “When the symbols shifted, I thought I saw a pattern I recognized.”

“You knew the symbols?”

“No, sir, but the pattern looked almost familiar. Like leaves against the sky.” The commander was Krai, he’d understand that. Werst saw a fine tremble run through his body and remembered too late that Commander Yurrisk’s injury denied him the trees.

The commander swayed right, then right again. Swallowed. Shook his head. Turned and vomited into the metal bowl Pyrus held ready. Spat. Straightened. Sareer handed him a pouch of water as Pyrus took the bowl away as quickly and unobtrusively as he’d brought it.

Werst had also forgotten one of the most common side effects of vertigo. Krai didn’t vomit. Krai didn’t waste food. He felt his face heat, embarrassed for Commander Yurrisk, wanting to shield him from the non-Krai in the room.

“Unless there’s something on the wall I should know about, look me in the face, Marine.”

To Werst’s surprise, the commander’s eyes were clear and focused. As though physically hitting bottom had reset his mind. “Sir.”

“Will you know the pattern if you see it again?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then back to it, and keep me informed.”

“Yes, sir.” He turned back to the plastic, aware of Qurn studying him. Seemed like she had a thing for Krai. He could understand that.

As he sat, carefully avoiding the last of the spilled food, Commander Yurrisk informed Martin that he wanted Malinowski to report any movement on the plateau so that they could begin the negotiations.

“She was sent up there to shoot . . .”

“Her orders have changed. There are six Wardens on a Strike Team. We have one. Leaving five to face us. If their pilot stayed with the shuttle, four. As long as we remain in the anchor, we’re safe. They have to negotiate.”

No, they didn’t. Werst let the conversation fade to background as he eased himself back down, crossed his legs, and slid the slate out of his pocket.

Harveer Arniz moved closer, tossing a wet cloth into the empty bowl. “Those are my overalls, Warden, and you’ve made a mess of them.”

“Hey, you made the . . .” Her expression wouldn’t have been out of place on any Corps DI. “Sorry.” He picked a soft square of noodle off his thigh and ate it, sliding the slate into the matching pocket on her lower leg, mouthing Ganes before saying, “At least they’re waterproof.”

Inner lids flickered across her eyes. “Not my point.”

Before she turned to go, she touched his cheek with her tongue.

“We’re hard to see at the best of times if we’re not specifically being targeted. In the dark, with no one aware we’re here, I could stroll to the VTA.”

“We.”

Firiv’vrak’s antennae flattened. “You’re not coming with me.”

“I am.” Keeleeki’ka’s translation sounded smug, and she smelled of acetone. “I’m learning your story now.”

“No . . .”

Torin cut her off. “Unfortunately, the reasons for not leaving Keeleeki’ka on our VTA still stand.”

Even the clack of Firiv’vrak’s mandibles sounded peeved. “We have to humor her because of her political position.”

“Close enough.”

“I’m standing right here,” Keeleeki’ka muttered. But the smell of acetone began to fade.

Torin shifted in order to meet as many of Keeleeki’ka’s eyes as possible. “You will obey Firiv’vrak in the field. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

“Firiv’vrak, you will treat Keeleeki’ka as a comrade in arms. Agreed?”

The biscuit Firiv’vrak held cracked. Neither Artek had eaten much. They ate their own dead, so Torin assumed they’d been living off the land. “Agreed. Although I’m not a story.”

The smell of acetone grew stronger. “Everyone’s a story.”

*I are agreeing and as I are recording you eating and talking and not accomplishing anything, we are going to consider this the extended personal interest segment.*

“It can’t all be thrilling runs through the jungle, Presit.”

*Trust me, Gunnery Sergeant Kerr, except for when you are having been attacked, the running are not being especially thrilling. Dalan are having to edit extensively. I are thinking, montage.*

They’d settled to eat on the cleared road where they had full three-sixty visuals, however limited in distance some angles might be. Overhead, the break in the canopy allowed them to see the sky. Torin checked her cuff. Still sixty-one minutes to sunset, twenty-three minutes after that to full dark. Unless this turned into a siege, one way or another they’d be done before the moons rose. She turned back to the Artek, who smelled of heated milk and were ignoring each other. “You’re sure you can get into the shuttle if Beyver’s locked the door behind him?”

Firiv’vrak waved her arms. “Not my first boarding party, Gunny. That’s a CFN223 VTA. I’m sure I can get into it.”

“Good.” For values of the word relevant to present need. The past could stay in the past—and considering the weight she continued to carry, Torin was aware of the hypocrisy of that thought. “Once in, secure Beyvek before he gives the alert. Then shut down the implant search pattern so that Alamber can return to cracking the mercenaries’ slates.”

“Do we even need to disrupt their communications?” Binti gestured with a protein stick. “They’re all inside. They can shout.”

*Once I get into a slate that contains the anchor codes, I can control the anchor’s defenses.*

“He can open the door,” Bertecnic snickered.

*If the door prevents us from accessing the interior, it’s a defense.*

“Yeah, but I thought that was Werst’s job.”

*I can let him open the door. Make him feel useful. But once I’m into the emergency evacuation protocols, I can pop the window shields.*

Vertic leaned in, although Alamber was eight kilometers away in the other direction. “What good will that do?”

*Time it right, and it’s mercenary flat packs.*

*You are not being permitted to be killing indiscrimin . . .*

“He knows, Presit. We can use it as a distraction. Firiv’vrak, when you’ve taken the shuttle, open a private channel to Craig.”

*Fair go that, between us, we can get anything in the air.*

“We don’t need it in the air.” Every pilot Torin had ever met assumed that if it flew, they could fly it. Given what she’d seen both Craig and Firiv’vrak do, in this case, they might be right. “We need to know if there’s anything on board we can use against the anchor and you need to hold it in case of an attempted escape—where hold it means lock the hatch. Craig can talk you through how to keep it secure in case of an attempted breach.”

“I have successfully breached the CFN223 . . .”

“So you said . . .” Past in the past. “. . . but this time you’re on the other side. Now, about the anchor. The upper windows are uncovered, but if we approach across the plateau, they’ll pick us off. Cover enough for an Artek is not cover enough for the rest of us.”

*Just one shooter so far, Gunny.* Ressk waited at the edge of the plateau, keeping watch. Closer to Werst.

“Glad to hear it.” She caught the pouch of coffee Binti threw her. “Precedent says mercenaries don’t spend their money on helmets.”

“Can’t use a helmet to kill someone,” Freenim noted.

Torin caught herself waiting for Werst to disagree. She doubted anyone else had noticed the pause. “Probably the reason. This lot seems typical.” There’d been no visible helmets in the hours of images the DLs had acquired. “We’ll assume there’s still scanners in the VTA and they haven’t been sold for fuel or food or air, but the Artek throw a minimal heat signature.” It had given them an advantage infiltrating Confederation positions during the war. Sh’quo Company hadn’t run into a lot of them, but Gamma Company in Sector Nine had specific, Artek-generated profanity. “Once the Artek are on board, they won’t be a problem for the rest of us. The anchor has external security cameras. Once we’re in range, we’re committed, so they have to be taken out.”

“That’s me,” Binti acknowledged.

“But they know we’re coming.” Merinim scooped a brown gelatinous glob out of a pouch and licked it off her fingers. “They’ll have prepared.”

“They don’t know we have Primacy assistance.”

“So they think there’s five of you out here?” Dutavar shook his head. “No offense intended, Warden, but they have a secured location. What do they think a single Strike Team can do?”

“So far everything we’ve been sent to do.” Binti spread her arms. “We’re just that good.” She shrugged as Torin cocked a brow in her direction. “Well, we are.”

Slate balanced on her thigh, Torin pulled up the map of the plateau and surrounding area. Adjusting the angle, she zoomed in on the cliff. “Durlan, could the Polint move at speed along this ridge . . .” She traced it with a finger. “. . . from the edge of the jungle as far as this diagonal crack?”

Vertic stretched her upper body out toward Torin’s leg and cocked her head, vertical pupils open wide. It wasn’t a large image. “I wouldn’t risk the section three meters lower or anything closer to the waterfall, but that upper ridge, that’s easy enough.”

“Can it be done while carrying Ressk?”

She took another look at the ridge. “Given his flexibility, yes.”

*The infirmary window?*

“The infirmary window,” Torin agreed. “It’s on the far side of the anchor, and they know we’re coming in from the jungle.”

Freenim nodded. “They don’t think we can reach it without being seen.”

“That, and smarter people than Martin have forgotten to include the infirmary in their battle plan, fixated on how they’ll need it later. Ressk will slip into the second floor and deal with the shooters unless Mashona’s already neutralized them. Once they’re out of the picture, Ressk, get to Werst. Dutavar, Bertecnic, you’ll be making the run.”

“No,” Vertic protested, rearing back. “I won’t be left behind. And I’ve already carried Krai, just like Bertecnic. All three of us go, or Dutavar stays.”

Torin met her gaze. “Dutavar has military kit. That means military strapping and that’s safer for Ressk. He’s the best shot of the three of you and the security cameras on the rear of the building need to be taken out. His coloring also provides the best camouflage, although Bertecnic is dark enough that he’s unlikely to be seen. You’re bright.”

“Bright?”

“Gorgeous,” Binti told her. “But visible. Any small amount of light will just bounce off all that gold.”

“It’s possible you were never chosen for a night infiltration during the war,” Freenim said quietly. “You’d have been sprayed dark. My unit durlan, who had similar coloring, hated it, and opted out when she could.”

“Dutavar flickers.” Firiv’vrak rose up so her eyes were even with Vertic’s. “Although as our vision combines multiple images, that could be us. In the dark, Bertecnic blends. You glow.”

Vertic sighed, settling her bulk back down in the cradle of her legs. “But I’m not staying behind because of my coloring, am I?”

“No,” Torin told her, the memory of Vertic’s rank, the habits of a lifetime keeping the cutting edge off her voice. “You’re staying behind because I say so. There’s three young male Polint in the anchor. What happens if you call to them?”

“Call? Unless they’re standing in the upper windows, we’ll have to amplify my voice to be heard inside, so . . . nothing. Even if Alamber sends it through their slates, nothing. But,” she continued before Torin could speak, “face-to-face is different. In the presence of a female who hasn’t gathered, at best, biology will negate the contracts, they’ll switch sides and turn on my enemies to impress me. It’s more likely, though, that they’ll be confused and, therefore, easier to take down.” Vertic shrugged and unwrapped another food pack. “As I said . . .” She nodded at Dutavar, who tossed his head, his mane up. “. . . not many of our males make Santav Teffer.”

“Then you need to be out front where they can see you. You two . . .” Torin pointed at Dutavar and Bertecnic. “. . . will take them from behind.”

*I always miss the good stuff,* Alamber muttered.

Vertic ignored him. “How will they see me if they’re inside?”

“If you’re right,” Torin told her, “and they’re here to take me down, I’ll present myself for the taking to draw them out.”

“Present yourself?” Freenim asked in the dry, matter-of-fact tone common to senior NCOs addressing officers they felt were about to commit stupidity.

Torin didn’t appreciate it being used on her. “I’ll offer to negotiate for the hostages.”

“Your Justice Department has ordered you not to negotiate.”

“The mercenaries don’t know that. They’re trapped. It’s logical we’d offer them a way out.”

“And then you’ll betray them?”

“Yes.” She raised a brow when Freenim laughed.

“You didn’t pause before you answered,” he explained.

“Makes more sense they’d shoot you, though.” Binti shrugged as all attention turned to her. “Well, it does.”

“Not a problem.” Attention turned back to Torin. “Ressk will be in the anchor by then and will have taken out their shooters. And if he hasn’t . . .”

*So little faith, Gunny.*

“If he hasn’t . . .” Torin repeated, then fell silent as another piece fell into place. She was good, she knew that, but there were Marines who were better. Martin could have stacked the deck with numbers alone and had an easier time of it than going to the trouble of finding and hiring the Polint. “If I’m killed by members of the Primacy, that could crack the peace.”

Vertic ran a claw between two flagstones. “Think highly of yourself, Gunny?”

*She are not needing to—although I are also believing she does. Gunnery Sergeant Torin Kerr are being the face of the peace for much of the Confederation. Her death may not be starting the shooting again, but it are going to be affecting the current talks, there are not being a question of that.*

*And who wants the war to continue,* Craig muttered. *Those who manufacture the weapons. Who manufactures the weapons in this sector . . .*

“Anthony Justin Marteau.” The military industrial complex was huge, but MI made weapons and weapons couldn’t be repurposed.

*I know you liked him.*

“I’ve liked assholes before.”

He laughed. *True enough.*

“And it’s all circumstantial so far.”

*No smoke without fire.*

“That’s not . . .”

*Torin, let me have my moment.*

“The moment is yours, Warden Ryder.” Torin turned her attention back to Vertic. “Once the Polint emerge to go after me, you advance and scramble their perceptions while Dutavar and Bertecnic come around the building and join the fight. Freenim, Merinim, and I will slip inside before the door closes again.” She turned further until she faced Dutavar and Bertecnic. “How fast can the two of you cover the distance to the cliff if you’re out in the edge growth where it’s open enough to run?”

Dutavar rubbed at one of the larger patches of orange fur on his hip. “It’s about five kilometers . . . eight minutes.”

“Give or take,” Bertecnic agreed.

Both Artek made a speculative sound, and Keeleeki’ka clicked, “Fast.”

Freenim shook his head. “We’re lighter. Closer to the weight of the Ner. It should be one of us instead of Ressk.”

“Can you get up that diagonal crack, balance on Dutavar’s shoulders, then jump for a second-story window?” He frowned and Torin added, “I don’t ask rhetorical questions, Durlave Kan.”

“We can.” He blinked. Exchanged a speaking look with Merinim. “But not easily.” The corners of his mouth twitched up. “Point taken. Ressk’s the better choice.”

“Dutavar hasn’t carried Krai before.” Bertecnic emptied a handful of nuts into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. “We can switch harnesses. I can do it.”

“You’re too big for my harness.”

*You’re not wrong.*

“Alamber.” Torin pulled the heat tab on a second coffee pouch. “Thank you for offering, Bertecnic, but Dutavar carries Ressk.”

Bertecnic shrugged. “Happy to make the run without being weighed down by Ressk’s fat ass, Gunny.”

Ressk’s muttered announcement that he was going to tie Bertecnic’s tail in knots was indistinct enough, Torin ignored it.

“Mashona finds a perch . . .” Binti flicked a sloppy salute in Torin’s direction. “. . . and the rest of us make for the tent.”

“Tent’s lousy cover, Gunny.”

“If they don’t know we’re there, they won’t shoot at it. Incentive to get to it quickly. Also, as you say, a tent’s lousy cover, they won’t expect us to use it—we’re known to be smarter than that. It’ll put us closer to the anchor, coming in at an angle they won’t expect.”

“If everything goes in our favor.” When Torin glanced over at Freenim, he laughed again. “Never mind. Plans. Combat. Improvise. It’s a theme.”

“Once Ressk’s inside, his implant will be blocked. How do we coordinate aggression?” Vertic shifted her foreleg to the left and began digging on the other side of the flagstone she’d uncovered. “What if the slates are blocked as well?”

“Then we trust Ressk to do his job . . .”

*I take out the shooters, I free Werst. Werst goes Marine Corps on their asses.*

“. . . and we act accordingly.”

Torin glanced at her cuff. “Sunset in seventeen.” She swept her gaze around the team. “Pack up. Firiv’vrak?”

“Heading out, Gunny.” She folded in her arms and rose. “I’ll send Ressk back and wait on your word to go.”

“We will send Ressk back,” Keeleeki’ka corrected, scrambling into place by Firiv’vrak’s side. “And your story will go on.”

“Joy,” Firiv’vrak muttered as they disappeared into the underbrush, leaving a lingering odor of wet dog and cinnamon.

Martin paced across the common room adjusting his path to intercept any movement, enjoying the scramble out of his way. His reputation, like that of most bullies, had been built on air; if not constantly reinforced, it disappeared. He was, however, staying away from the hostages, and showing more control than Werst had expected him to, so . . . points for being a mature asshole.

“Sergeant!”

When Martin stopped in front of Commander Yurrisk, Werst shifted to keep both of them in his peripheral vision.

“I want Lieutenant Beyvek back in the anchor where it’s safe.”

“I told him to return after blocking their implant frequency. Seems he hasn’t managed that yet.” As the commander opened his mouth, Martin cut him off. “Disrupting the Wardens’ communications will keep us all safe.”

“You don’t think the Wardens can work around such a minor disruption? These Wardens?”

Credit where due, the commander’s dismissive tone made Martin’s sound petulant.

“I think we need to cut them off from their VTA so that they can’t put it in play at the last minute. And, yeah,” Martin cut off the commander’s response, “they’ve got slates, but the time it takes to activate a com unit is time we can use.”

“That’s not a good enough reason to risk a life, Sergeant.”

“How is he at risk?”

“He’s not here. With me.” Yurrisk unclipped his slate. “I’m bringing him back.”

“At this time, it would be more dangerous for him to cross to the anchor.” Qurn gripped Commander Yurrisk’s arm and spoke loudly enough to be overheard. Werst had no doubt the volume increase was deliberate. She wanted him to hear her. “If the sniper you told me of is in position, he’ll never make it. Beyvek is in a VTA behind a secured air lock.”

“I should have kept him here.” The commander’s lips were off his teeth when he turned his attention back to Martin. “You said he’d be back in minutes!”

“He should’ve been, but we grabbed the wrong Warden. That di’Taykan of theirs is clearly better with tech than the . . .”

Werst heard tree fukker in the pause. Wondered what would happen if Commander Yurrisk heard it, too.

“. . . one we have.”

The commander’s eyes narrowed, and he stared at Martin for a long moment. “If anything happens to Lieutenant Beyvek, you will answer for it, Sergeant Martin.”

“As you say.” Martin pivoted on a heel and stomped back toward the plastic. “And what do you think about grabbing the di’Taykan?” He slammed his knee against Werst’s shoulder.

Werst rocked sideways, sucking air through his teeth at the sharp flash of pain. He’d fought through pain before. A twist and a snap and he could hamstring the asshole. Couldn’t bite through the combats covering his legs, but he could crush and tear and not have to fill his mouth with Martin’s blood. Tempting.

“Evidence suggests he’s not as useless as you are.”

Did Martin expect Ressk to straighten and declare, “I’ll show you who’s useless,” then solve the mystery to prove Martin wrong?

“So who fuks the di’Taykan? Everyone or just Kerr? Got to be everyone, right? He’s di’Taykan. Of course . . .” Martin slammed Werst’s shoulder again. Werst ground his teeth and thought about yanking tendons off bone. “. . . Humans are amazing in the sack, so maybe Kerr’s enough for him. She fuk you, too?”

“No time,” Werst snapped, nostril ridges flaring and closing as he breathed through the line of fire that spread out from the continuing impact of Martin’s knee with his shoulder. “She’s too busy cleaning up Human stupidity.”

“What?”

“But she appreciates you removing the apostrophe,” Werst sneered. “Misplaced apostrophes really piss her off.”

“Yeah, well, fuk her. Yeah, fuk Gunnery Sergeant Torin Kerr and her whole shit-doesn’t-stink life.” His finger stopped just short of Werst’s chest and was withdrawn significantly faster as Werst curled his lips back off his teeth. “She needs to pace herself. We’ve changed more than the apostrophe.”

Bam. They hadn’t suspected Humans First because of the species purity party line. Looks like they were wrong. “So what’s with the Polint?”

“You ever see them fight?”

“I have.”

“That’s what’s with the Polint.”

The scientists had no fight in them so it seemed Martin had planned ahead in case a Strike Team showed up. The Polint were weapons. Insurance. That made Martin smarter than Werst had thought.

“What do you think you’re doing, lizard?”

I’m helping bring you to justice for the deaths of Dzar and Magyr, you ki seewin. Arniz held out the covered dish. “I’m taking your young Trembley a bowl of soup. His body requires nourishment to heal.”

“Why should you care? You’re not Human.” Martin stomped across to her, the metal in his boot heels ringing against the floor. Was the noise supposed to frighten her? Please, she’d heard forty-seven firsters leave a lecture hall on the last day of classes. “Lift the lid off the bowl, lizard.”

She sighed and lifted.

“Taste it.”

“It’s Human food.”

“And too good for you. Taste it.”

“Are you assuming I’ve poisoned it?”

“Taste it,” he repeated, smiling.

It seemed Sergeant Martin wasn’t aware the Niln could consume seven substances fatal to Humans. When Dr. Ganes joined the expedition, they’d all been required to learn what those seven substances were. To think she’d once been appalled at the concept of accidental death.

Dzar had been conscientious about memorizing the list and ensuring none of the seven were included in their stores. Shortsighted of her, as it happened.

Holding the bowl against her chest, Arniz tucked the cover under her elbow, and pulled a spoon from the narrow breast pocket on her overalls. The soup package had been labeled chicken noodle although the makers of the soup had been civilized enough to use a nonflesh-based chicken substitute.

“Well?”

She forced herself to swallow the spoonful of broth. “It’s disgusting.”

“You’re disgusting,” he said conversationally. “Sterilize the spoon before you give it to him. What do you want?”

The di’Taykan with the pale pink hair—Pyrus—had risen. “I’ll take the food up. I want to see Gayun. He shouldn’t be alone.”

“He’s in stasis.”

“Sergeant . . .”

“No.”

“Sergeant.” Yurrisk’s repetition of Martin’s rank didn’t sound like the same word. It sounded like know your place and don’t make me come over there. “You can’t open the pod, Pyrus.” His voice gentled. “Gayun won’t know you’re there. Let Harveer Arniz take the food up. You two . . .” He waved Mirish closer to Pyrus. “. . . stay together. Watch each other’s backs.”

Arniz could hear grinding from Martin’s mouth, and his jaw made small movements back and forth, but he unclamped it to say, “Zhang.”

“Sarge.”

“Accompany the lizard upstairs. Move Trembley into the infirmary, then spend . . .” He checked his cuff. “. . . a moment or two with Ganes. He hasn’t had enough Human contact.”

“He’s in medical. I hate medical, Sarge.”

“I don’t care. Move Trembley, see Ganes, then take up position in the window of the room you moved Trembley from. We’ve got plenty of ammo; they have to worry about precision, you don’t.”

“Sucks to be them.” Zhang headed for the stairs. “Come on, lizard.”

“Why do you hate medical?” Arniz asked as they began to climb. Knowledge was power. She’d never realized that so viscerally before.

“It smells funny.”

The height of the risers was a compromise between the many species who might use an anchor. Slightly high for Arniz, slightly low for Zhang. They climbed three steps side by side.

“You smell funny, too,” Zhang added on the fourth.

At the top of the stairs, the mercenary shoved her toward the infirmary. “In you get,” she ordered as Arniz stumbled and nearly dropped the soup. “Stay out of the way. Malinowski! Help me move Trembley.”

“The bunk’s on rollers,” Malinowski’s voice came from the room the Niln had used for their night nest. Arniz’s tail lashed. She’d probably touched personal belongings. It wasn’t enough the Warden wore her overalls? “Move him yourself.”

Zhang rolled her eyes until whites showed all the way around. It was a fascinating feature of Human eyes. “Lazy cow!”

“Fuk you, Zhang. There’s a Strike Team out there I need to shoot.”

“Like you could hit them without using a ship.” She turned to Arniz. “Navy gunner. A terrible shot if the target isn’t half a kilometer long. What are you still doing out here? Go.”

Arniz ducked a second shove and stepped into the infirmary. Dr. Ganes moved back to give her room. He’d been standing just inside the door, watching. Maybe listening to voices from downstairs. How well did Humans hear? She held up the covered bowl. “I’ve brought food for Trembley.” Which was when she realized she had no food for Dr. Ganes. Who was a colleague.

He must have read the realization off her face because he smiled. “It’s all right, Harveer. There’s protein shakes up here if I get hungry. I’m fine.”

Across the hall, Zhang cursed at Trembley’s bed. Arniz moved closer to Ganes and slid the slate out of her lowest pocket. “The young Warden sent this.”

“It’s Dr. Lows’.” The Katrien slate looked tiny in his hand. “Did he mention what he wants me to do with it?”

“We didn’t have time for an extended conversation. I assume he thought you’d know.”

Ganes opened his mouth, closed it again, and finally muttered, “He must need help with the block. It’s the only tech we discussed. Still, if he had to send me a slate, I wish he’d been able to send mine.”

“Se tenis tin arramani ki haliven.” Arniz spread her hands. “If wishes were . . .” And frowned. “Never mind. It loses a little in the translation.”

Martin was now the only Human in the common room. He paced—no, he prowled. Every movement said look at me, I’m in charge. Or maybe notice me, Werst allowed. There was a lot of psychology tossed around during Warden training; why people did what they did. Werst didn’t care about why, only what, but some of it had stuck. Bullies often felt they could only be seen by being shitheads. Understanding didn’t make them any less a shithead, though.

As he prowled, Martin watched Commander Yurrisk and his crew as much as he watched Werst or the hostages. His hands were in constant movement over his . . .

Not his. Werst knew the gouge on the barrel. The discoloration on the butt. He half rose, then settled again. There was nothing he could do about Martin carrying his weapon. Did he think Martin would apologize and return it? At least Werst would know where it was when the fighting started.

Martin was waiting for something.

For dark, Werst assumed. For the attack.

“Be ready,” he told the Polint. The Polint looked unimpressed, but all three stood, stretched out the stiffness in their muscles, and began checking weapons. As well as the heavy machetes, they’d all strapped on multiple knives. Netrovooens had a leg sheath—redundant bordering on ridiculous given it hung eight centimeters above claws Werst had seen used to disembowel a Marine.

Be ready for what? Martin could hold off the Strike Team indefinitely from inside the anchor. And as long as he had the hostages, he had the upper hand in any negotiation.

Too bad people safe in government offices had decided they didn’t negotiate with hostage takers.

They weren’t here. Fukkers.

“You, Ressk, I should’ve let you bleed out. You, Tehaven, lock him in the storage room behind the kitchen.” He smiled down at Werst, showing teeth, but spoke to Tehaven. “If he decides to be a hero, rip him apart.”

Werst held both hands up where Martin could see them and flipped him off.

Martin had been Corps. He knew the Krai gesture. “Fuk you, too. You and you . . .” Martin pointed at Pyrus and Mirish. “Get the data sheet down. We don’t want to chance it being destroyed in the fighting,” he added as the commander rose to his feet.

“There will be no fighting, Sergeant. The anchor is safe. We’re safe in the anchor.”

Commander Yurrisk had believed he’d gotten his people to safety on the Paylent, only to find he hadn’t. The word safe haunted the commander. Werst suspected he could put most of the important parts back into the redacted report.

“Suppose the hostages panic? There’s your map to the weapon, gone.”

“I need that weapon.” He swayed to the right. And again.

“I know.”

Martin’s reply sounded more like no shit to Werst.

Commander Yurrisk’s bristles made a harsh shunk shunk against his palm as he rubbed his head with both hands. “Pyrus, Mirish, take the sheet down. Carefully. Let it roll.”

After four days in Susumi, Werst recognized a Druin frown when he saw one. Seemed Qurn didn’t believe the sheet to be in any danger. Could be she wanted to keep studying it herself. Could be taking it down had been Martin’s idea and she trusted him as far as she could spit a vertak. Could be she’d attacked an anchor during the war and knew how unlikely anyone would get in without heavy artillery.

Well, anyone but Gunnery Sergeant Tor . . .

Fuk. Martin expected Gunny to breach the anchor. That’s why the Polint were prepping. In close quarter fighting, even these kids would be deadly. Mashona would lay down a covering fire, driving Zhang and Malinowski back. Gunny, the Druin, and Ressk would come in, raised to the second floor by the Polint—who’d be left outside. Even if they could get to the windows, their big asses couldn’t get through it.

Gunny, the Druin, and Ressk—they’d restrain Zhang and Malinowski. They couldn’t free Ganes. They’d slip down the stairs, expect surprise to be on their side, and be met by the Polint. They’d be unable to fire weapons because of the hostages. They’d . . .

“Get up.” Tehaven’s hand engulfed his shoulder, thumb pressing into the edge of the largest bruise. “I don’t want to miss the fight.”

Would Gunny realize it was a trap? Better question, would that stop her?

“Coming through!”

Trembley was pale, teeth clenched as Zhang shoved his bed into the infirmary. One end bounced off a machine of some kind. Arniz couldn’t identify it, she was too busy scrambling out of the way.

“Be careful,” Ganes snapped, swinging the autodoc clear at the last moment. “You may need this equipment later.”

“You’re not the boss of me,” Zhang told him cheerfully, parking Trembley’s bed by the window. “Give the kid his soup, lizard. Then get back downstairs with the rest.”

“Not a kid. And you’re a crap driver,” Trembley muttered.

“And you’re a crap patient.”

He rolled his eyes and she slapped his leg. “Ow!”

“Yeah, yeah, you’ll live. So, Ganes . . .” Giving Trembley’s largest toe a final squeeze, she crossed to Ganes and leaned up against him. They were close to the same height, both significantly smaller than either Martin or Trembley, Ganes’ deep brown skin contrasting beautifully with Zhang’s lighter tones. Arniz hadn’t previously been aware of the color variety Humans exhibited. The differences among her own species, and there were many, were significantly more subtle. Although, subtle was not a word anyone would apply to Zhang, she realized, as the young female continued to breach Ganes’ personal space. “Martin said you needed human contact. Got time for a quickie? Sex is easier than conversation, am I right?”

He removed her hand from his groin. “You hit me in the face with your KC.”

“You were trying to get to the communications equipment. Opposite sides, no hard feelings.”

“And yet I’m not interested.” He sidestepped, cleared the piece of equipment Zhang had him backed against, and moved away.

Why didn’t Ganes try to overpower her? But then, he couldn’t leave the infirmary, could he? Overpowering her would be the end result, and he’d be punished for it. Observation suggested Trembley no longer blindly followed Martin’s philosophy, but Arniz doubted he was ready to take up arms against the sergeant. She, herself, had no idea of how to work a gun. Wasn’t sure if she could fire at another sentient being even if Ganes taught her how. She thought of Dzar falling. Of Mygar falling. Perhaps she could fire at Martin.

Zhang didn’t seem bothered by the rejection. She grinned and spread her arms. “Your loss. Oh, hey, drugs . . .” When the cabinet door refused to yield to either her fist or her weapon, she shrugged and headed for the infirmary exit. “You . . .” A finger with a blackened nail pointed at Arniz. “. . . soup and get out. Come on, lizard, a little hustle. Me and Malinowski, we’ve got Wardens to shoot.”

Arniz crossed to Trembley’s bed. She’d never really internalized the size of the infirmary, the multiple shades of gray made it difficult to get a handle on the dimensions. The size and the contents of infirmaries were legislated lest people not take their health and safety seriously, but—if she’d thought of it at all—she’d have assumed a Human-sized bed would have filled any free space. It didn’t. Room remained for both people and equipment to maneuver. If her estimate of the dimensions was correct, there was room for another Human-sized bed if needed. In a world less restricted by the government, they could have had another lab.

“You look thoughtful.” Trembley sounded rough, but he tried to smile. Or perhaps it was a grimace.

“You look horrible.” She cocked her head. “Although not as horrible as you did, so that’s some progress at least. I brought you food.” The broth was urine yellow, the mushy noodles almost white, and the chunks of beige were allegedly protein. It had tasted mostly of grease. Trembley’s midsection made noises under the bandaging. “Can you sit up?”

“I think, I . . .” He sucked air through his teeth when he moved, his expression as much embarrassment as pain.

Then Ganes was there, one large hand between Trembley’s shoulders, supporting him until he could move a triangular form into place. “Don’t undo my work.”

“Yes, sir. I mean, no sir.”

Arniz gratefully passed Trembley the soup. The smell had begun to curl her tongue. She rubbed the spoon against her sleeve before she handed it over.

“Move it, lizard! Wardens to shoot!” Zhang called from the door.

“That’s Ganes’ bed you’re in,” Arniz said, patting Trembley’s bare arm with her fingertips. The skin was warm and damp. “Now you have something in common to talk about. Remember, though . . .” She held his gaze. “. . . he’s Navy, so try to get along.”

“Well, I don’t know . . .” This curve of his mouth was definitely a smile. “. . . if he’s Navy.”

She touched his cheek with her tongue. He tasted of pain. The younger races were tougher than they looked if they made these kinds of life and death decisions all the time.

“Good one, lizard.” Zhang struck her shoulder as they left the infirmary. “Gotta say I like you reminding Trembley that Ganes was Navy.”

She hadn’t.

She’d reminded Trembley he’d been a Marine.

“You don’t look much like your brother up close,” Werst said cheerfully, scanning the corridor for a way out. The walls were too smooth to climb and too far apart for him to work his way along the ceiling. Given the way he felt, he was just as happy not to have to make the attempt. “I mean the variegated fur, yeah that’s him, but the shape of your face, I don’t see it.”

“Shut up.”

“Your chin’s pointier.”

“Shut up.”

“Your mane’s darker. And shaking us doesn’t do shit,” he added, hanging off Tehaven’s hand as the Polint flung him around. He’d have bruises on his right shoulder later to match the left, but it was worth it for the look on Tehaven’s face. It also let him use his feet to check if the door they were passing was locked. It was. “Look, kid, not my species, but doing the dirty work for a serley chrika like Martin isn’t going to score you any points with your females.”

“Shut up!”

Werst let his knees take up the shock as his feet slapped back down onto the floor. He kept his left heel raised, but it still hurt like fuk. “Dutavar explained the whole ‘trying to prove your worth now there isn’t a war on,’ but, honestly, I wasn’t listening.”

“He thinks his way is the only way!” At the end of the corridor, Tehaven jerked him into the kitchen, empty of everything but the smell of food. “I can fight. I don’t need a uniform. I don’t need his control.”

“You don’t need the crap this is going to land you in either, kid.” This close, Werst could see the bright green PCU in Tehaven’s ear. Confederation built—the Confederation had its colon in knots when it came to privacy laws and hidden tech, thus the size and the color. It explained how Martin made himself understood.

Tehaven reached out his other hand and yanked open the heavy door that kept the storeroom secure during the anchor’s drop to dirt. “Stop calling me . . . Dupoht!” He froze. “How do you know my brother?”

“Dutavar? We served together.”

“That’s not possible . . .”

As confusion loosened his grip, Werst twisted free, dove between the Polint’s front legs, and used the webbing under his stomach to propel himself out between his back legs. He snapped his teeth as he went by. Polint balls didn’t exactly hang free, but they were obvious enough.

Tehaven leapt forward.

Werst slammed the door behind him and locked it. Then he sagged against the polished metal to catch his breath, fingertips against the scar on his throat. Still seemed to be holding. The door shivered under his back as Tehaven threw himself at it, but the storage room was too small for him to get a good run. The door had been designed to survive drop impact, and Werst only needed a few minutes.

There were vents in the kitchen ceiling.

Torin lost sight of Dutavar and Bertecnic a lot sooner than she’d expected. She knew the success of any part of a plan didn’t guarantee success of the rest, but it never hurt to start a fight on a positive note.

“I wonder if we’d be harder to see at dusk,” Firiv’vrak said thoughtfully by Torin’s knee. “As the light changes, as mammalian vision adapts, we’d be another shadow against the . . .”

Dirt sprayed up no more than two meters out from the point where the ancient road left the jungle.

“They’re shooting at shadows,” Torin noted.

Firiv’vrak’s antennae flattened. “So they are.”

“Take them when you can, Mashona. Keep them alive if possible.”

*Roger, Gunny. No clear shot yet. Shooter’s being careful.*

Another shot. Another spray of dirt.

*Correction, shooters. There’s a second one two windows to the right of the first.*

The last of the light faded, and the sound of the insects intensified.

“Firiv’vrak. Keeleeki’ka. Go.”

They dipped on and off Torin’s scanner, proving the ground wasn’t as flat as it appeared.

*At the cliff, Gunny. Heading down.*

“Roger, that. Ressk?”

*Not so much climbing as . . . Garn CHREEN!*

“It’s okay,” Torin said as Vertic’s ears flattened. “He’s enjoying himself. And he should do it silently,” she added as Ressk whooped. “I’d rather they didn’t hear you coming.”

*Sorry, Gunny. Teeth together.*

“At least he’s not dwelling on the state of his bonded.”

“There’s that. All right, Durlan, wait here until the Polint emerge. You can cover the distance fast enough there’s no reason to expose yourself before it’s necessary. You’re a big, bright target.”

“So I’ve heard,” she huffed. “And if the young males don’t emerge?”

“New plan.”

Vertic’s tail flicked. “Can you share this plan?”

“Not yet.” Torin grinned. “It depends what emerges in . . .”

The plateau lit up like midday under a white dwarf, each blade of grass standing out in sharp relief. Torin couldn’t see the Artek, but they were out there. Exposed.

“Mashona!”

*On it, Gunny.* One. *I haven’t got anything . . .* Two. *. . . big enough to take it with a single shot.* Three. Four. *But if I keep hitting the same spot.* Five. Six. Seven. Eight . . .

And it was dark again.

Rounds from the anchor hit up in the trees.

Torin blinked and tried to recover her night sight. “Remind me to make yet another requisition for impact boomers.”

*With pleasure. I’m moving left. Two, three trees over.*

“You think they can hit you?”

*At this distance with what they’re firing? The way they’re firing? Not a chance. But if I get a better angle, I can hit them.*

“Gunny!”

Torin followed the line of Vertic’s arm. One of the shooters had begun tearing up the dirt about two hundred meters from the shuttle.

“What the fuk are you doing, Malinowski?” Martin threw his slate down on the desk in the anchor’s communications room.

“I saw a bug!”

“Yeah, well, this armpit of a planet is all about bugs.” The security feed from the plateau side of the anchor filled the desk’s surface with blurry shadow, a pixilated mass rising up into the air on the other side of the darker mass of the shuttle. “What idiot installed such a worthless piece of shit?”

Peering through a small air vent over Martin’s head, Werst silently echoed the question. The NOD had a crap image intensifier, low luminous sensitivity, and enough visual noise only experience let him identify the fuzzy mass as flying dirt.

“Not a bug, Sarge, a . . . FUK! I’m hit!”

Werst’s lips curled back off his teeth. One for Mashona.

“How bad?”

“Through the fleshy . . .” She sucked a breath through her teeth, loud enough the slate picked it up. “. . . fleshy part of my arm. The new one. Damn, that’s going to void the warranty.”

“Seal it. Mashona’s better than we thought. I’m sending the di’Taykan up. They get there, you and Zhang come back down.”

“You said the Wardens wouldn’t shoot to kill. Looks like the sniper’ll put a hole in whatever she can hit.”

“Good thing we’ve got non-Humans to waste, then.”

The vent was smaller than the palm of Werst’s hand. He had Martin alone, and couldn’t get to him. Couldn’t squeeze enough of himself through to do any damage. That pistol they’d taken off the gunrunners would have come in handy in such close quarters. Two shots at the base of his head—bam, bam, severed spine. As he followed Martin out of the room, slithering through the rigid tubing, thankful the bruising was on his back not his front, Werst was starting to see the pistol’s attraction.

At the edge of the common room, the tubing narrowed as it ran vertically up toward the second floor and broadened as it dipped and ran along the inside wall just above floor level. About five centimeters past the junction, a bundle of cables came through the lower curve. He couldn’t go up. His skull wouldn’t fit, let alone his shoulders. He’d have to follow the cables.

So the vents on the roof were out. Fine. Cables running in such a convenient location meant there had to be an access hatch somewhere close. Or it was an idiotic design. He wasn’t ruling that out.

“Pryus! Mirnish!” As Werst passed a small oval vent, Martin barked out the di’Taykan’s names as though he had the right to command.

“Mirish!”

He ignored the correction. “Get upstairs. Send my people down.”

“Sergeant . . .” The commander sounded unimpressed.

“Malinowski’s been hit. Zhang helping her. We need shooters in those windows to keep everyone safe.”

Not hard to see how Martin, the waste of oxygen, had been manipulating the commander all along.

“Go, then. But Mirish, Pyrus, fire defensively only. Our position will be stronger during negotiations if no one dies.”

Two of the hostages were already dead.

Werst stretched out his arms, grabbed two handfuls of cable, and dragged himself through the barely adequate space, the slick fabric of the Niln overalls all that made movement possible.

He ignored the bruising. Ignored the pain.

Imagined passing both on to Robert Martin.

*Beyvek has been neutralized. Am in process of shutting down search program.*

*He didn’t fight back,* Keeleeki’ka added. *He had a weapon and time to fire, but used neither. I am securing him. There is urine.*

“Artek can be startling if you’ve never seen one before,” Freenim said quietly.

“And a hell of a lot more startling if you have,” Torin noted. “Lieutenant Beyvek was Navy. Mashona?”

*I’m set.*

“Freenim, Merinim, let’s go.”

Although 33X73 was a MidSector planet, its rotation had their particular piece of it pointing away from the core. The stars were scattered enough their light was neither help nor hindrance. Torin locked her scanner on the tent’s position. Three meters and one thirty-five degrees off her zero, Merinim followed. Freenim had their six.

*Search program requires command codes. Keeleeki’ka, ask the prisoner . . .*

*Beyvek is nonresponsive. How does he breathe with his nostrils closed so tightly?*

*I’ve got this.* Craig sounded amused. *Don’t mean to skite, but I’ve rebuilt more control panels than the yard at Ventris. One on one, Firiv.*

Torin ran at full speed, crouched low, KC in her left hand, pack humped high on her back, her silhouette as non-Human as she could make it. The tent, reflective in sunlight, absorbed what little light there was, and she was almost on it when her scanner flared.

The ground to the right dropped six meters.

As the soft dirt crumbled and her right foot went out from under her, she threw herself to the left, landed on her knee, pivoted, and subvocalized, “Pit at my ninety!”

Then she threw herself forward, grabbed Merinim’s wrist and yanked her hard enough that her next two strides were on air. Impact knocked Torin’s breath out, but she got her arms around the Druin and rolled them away from the edge.

“Seriously?” Merinim sighed into Torin’s chin. “Another one?”

“This one reads as dirt all the way down. I assume the archaeologists are responsible.”

“That makes all the difference.” She rolled off Torin and up into a crouch.

“Tent,” Torin said, eyes on the anchor. “Now.” Merinim slid in under the fabric. As Freenim raced up, she indicated he should follow. Then she gave them a ten count. Had Craig dropped out of sight like that, she’d appreciate a moment.

“Where the fuk is Tehaven!”

Werst dragged himself a few painful centimeters farther along the conduit, his breathing fast and shallow.

“Might be eating.”

One of the Polint. Werst couldn’t tell which.

“Eating? Who said it was snack time? You, Camaderiz, go haul his hairy ass out of the kitchen!”

It wasn’t so much a tent as Torin defined it as a fabric shelter over an assortment of equipment—some partially disassembled. In the center of one of the two longer tables, a violet light was flashing. Torin recognized two screens and what might be a microscope. Nothing else. The tables could be folded, the stools had broad feet so they wouldn’t sink into the dirt, and none of it would be any help cracking the anchor. The actual entrance to the shelter was ninety degrees off the anchor—also no help—so the three of them dropped and peered out under the side opposite from where they’d entered.

*And we’ve dummied it out. Wholesale destruction saves the day. Scan is off. You’re on, Alamber.*

*Already locked and blocked our implant frequency . . .*

“He’s fast,” Freenim murmured.

*Not if you need me to go slow,* Alamber purred. *Well, hello there. Thanks, Keeleeki’ka.*

“For?” If Keeleeki’ka was improvising, Torin wanted to know about it.

*She just sent me the codes to Beyvek’s slate. From Beyvek, I can get into every slate he’s had contact with. Relevant to this mission, that’s his crew and Martin. Once I’m into Martin, I’m into the rest of the mercenaries. This won’t take long now, Boss.*

The Artek hadn’t mentioned computer skills. “Keeleeki’ka?”

*I carry the story of Inwetermin who said to the government, that information is ours and if you keep it from us, I will take it.*

*Uh, Gunny, should we be worried that Inwetermin’s familiar with Confederation codes?*

“Not our job, Mashona.” Torin’s scanner marked two of the upper windows empty of glass, but the angle was too acute for her to pick up a heat signature. “Not our job.”

“You useless, four-legged idiot!”

“It’s not my fault!” Tehaven’s voice, halfway between a growl and a whine, cut clearly through the wall. “The Warden said he knew my brother!”

“How?”

“He said they served together, but that’s complete shit.”

“He said? He answered you?”

“Yeah. Then he went after my balls and locked me in the storeroom.”

“I don’t care if he tried to remove your balls with his teeth!” Martin wasn’t so much shouting as screaming. He was pissed. Werst snickered as he dragged himself forward another half a meter, Martin’s reaction easing his pain. “Your PCU has a translation program!”

“So?”

“So that’s how you understood him. How did he understand you, huh? How? I knew that tree fukker was hiding something.”

Delusional dimwit. Heartbeat pulsing in his throat, Werst sucked air through his teeth as his fingertips touched lapped metal.

“Malinowski! Zhang! Get to the roof. He’s Krai. If he’s in the vents, he’ll have gone high!”

And he would have, had the vertical not been as big around as his dick.

*I’m in, Boss. A few minutes more and I’ll have control.*

“Can you patch me through? Slate to slate?”

*How much of you?*

“Voice only.”

*No problem. Audio takes almost no space.*

Torin crawled forward on her elbows until her hips were clear of the tent, then drew her legs in under her.

“You’re certain they won’t shoot?” Freenim murmured behind her.

“I’m certain they’re lousy shots.”

“One out by animal attack, one into the pit with Werst, one hit by Mashona, one down in the shuttle—four casualties, eleven mercenaries remaining. They can’t all be lousy shots.”

Technically, five mercenaries and the crew of the DeCaal. “They can’t all fit in those two windows either.”

*Gunny, we’re in back of the anchor. Dutavar has used the Artek weapon to take out the camera.*

“The camera? Singular?” The Artek weapon fired silently, but she’d expected half a dozen cameras.

*Scientists seem to trust walls. Infirmary window is unshielded, lights are on.*

“Proceed with caution.”

She grinned as Ressk grunted, *Where’s the fun in that.*

*Okay, Boss, I’ll have control of the anchor in no more than five, but you’re in now. You talk, they’ll hear you.*

“Hey, Dr. Ganes? Doc? There’s something crawling on the window.”

“Insect, attracted to the light.” Ganes crossed the infirmary to stand by Trembley’s bed. The young man had been plucking at the covers since Harveer Arniz had left—the outward sign of an inward turmoil. Ganes had left him to stew, but was willing to interact should he have something to say. Young and stupid was, after all, a correctable condition. “See the way the wings pick up the light?”

“It’s . . . huge.”

“Wingspan of approximately eleven centimeters. The mandibles are prominent, but we’re still not sure if it’s a predator or . . .”

A long-fingered hand wrapped around the central body and, with a panicked flutter of wings, the insect disappeared.

“Not good!” Trembley groped for a weapon that wasn’t there.

The circular end of a narrow rod clicked against the window. Clicked again. Faster until the sound became a continuous soft burr. Fractures ran across the theoretically unbreakable glass and a moment later the sheet collapsed into pieces, each no more than five millimeters square, small enough it sounded like rain when it hit the floor.

“Well, that worked. Points to R&D.” The Krai climbing into the infirmary flashed teeth. “Commander Ganes?”

“Dr. Ganes.”

He paused, bare feet three centimeters above the floor. “Didn’t think that through . . .”

Ganes pulled the extra blanket off the end of the bed—his extra blanket, his bed—and used it to sweep the glass aside.

“Thank you, Commander.” His finger slid over the trigger guard as he shifted his grip on his weapon. “If it isn’t Private Emile Trembley.”

“He’s no threat. He’s been injured.” Ganes leaned out the window and saw two large shapes heading for the corner of the anchor. He didn’t think they were Dornagain, they looked a little more like H’san. “Warden Ressk?”

“How do you know . . . Werst!” Nostril ridges shut, he ran for the stasis pods. “Where is he?”

“Your bonded is downstairs. Weak from blood loss, but walking and talking. I repaired the hole in his throat and unless he’s done something extraordinarily stupid, it should have held.”

Warden Ressk blinked. “Your bedside manner sucks, Commander. Doctor.”

“I’ve been told.”

“Attention in the anchor. This is Strike Team Lead Warden Kerr. Surrender the hostages immediately.”

“What’s she doing?” Trembley demanded.

“Negotiating.”

“That sounded more like an ultimatum.”

“Yeah, that’s what I said. Stay in here.” Without waiting for a response, Ressk slipped out of the infirmary and across the hall to the Niln sleeping chamber.

“Who’s that?” Ganes heard Malinowski snarl over the sound of two sets of boots descending the stairs from the roof.

“Go!” Martin yelled.

Arniz watched the Polint race for the air lock. Watched Qurn struggle to keep Yurrisk by her side. His nostril ridges were closed, his teeth exposed, and unless the Druin was a lot stronger than she looked, she wouldn’t manage it for much longer.

“Once the hostages have been surrendered, unharmed, we will discuss the multiple infractions committed against the laws of the Confederation.”

Like the murder of innocents. Like the murder of Dzar. Like the murder of Magyr.

Torin raced for the air lock door as Vertic ran across the plateau roaring a challenge. One of the Polint running toward her stumbled. Dutavar and Bertecnic charged out from behind the anchor.

*Everyone stay clear of the windows!*

The shields fell first, then the glass, leaving six large openings behind.

Torin changed course.

There were more than three Polint outside the anchor. Had Martin been hiding more Polint in the shuttle?

“New plan!” Turning from the windows, eyes narrowed, Martin lifted his weapon and pulled the trigger.

Arniz began moving before the screaming started.

“Too many!” Fingers white on the edge of the mattress, Trembley swung his legs out of bed. “The Warden’s outnumbered!”

Ganes watched Malinowski charge into the Niln sleeping chamber after Warden Ressk, Zhang at her heels. If she’d remembered she was holding a KC in one hand, the Warden would already be dead. As it was, a Krai in close combat against two Humans and a di’Taykan wouldn’t stand a chance.

Trembley staggered across the infirmary in underwear and bandages.

“Where the hell are you going?” Ganes demanded, grabbing his arm.

“To help.” Trembley pulled free.

“Who?”

“The Warden!”

Ganes had no choice but to trust him; he couldn’t follow him out the door.

Werst forced the access hatch open to see Harveer Arniz hanging on Martin’s arm, wrapped around arm and KC both, preventing him from shooting again. Her tail flailed at his groin. She hadn’t made contact yet, but it was only a matter of time.

Some of the hostages were screaming, some weeping. Most were bleeding.

Head, arm, and one shoulder were out of the hatch. His implant was still fukked even though he could see the gleam of Vertic’s fur outside the anchor.

Martin stopped trying to shake Arniz off and reached around to his back with his free hand. “This wasn’t meant for you,” he snarled. His hand dwarfed whatever he’d pulled from his waistband. Werst didn’t recognize what he held until he fired four rounds into Arniz’s body. Then he fought harder to get free as Martin flung her across the room, arms, legs, and tail flopping.

Mirish moved quietly down the hall to the door of the Niln’s nest room, any noise her boots may have made drowned out by sounds of the fight. She raised her weapon, took a moment to aim, and fired.

Watching from just inside the infirmary, Ganes had nothing to throw, no way to take her down before she fired again. By the time he found something, the Warden and Trembley would both be dead.

He was screaming when he slammed into her, his hand half a meter behind him on the floor.

Werst had nearly worked himself free when Commander Yurrisk threw himself toward one of the open windows, nostril ridges closed, teeth bared. One step, two. He seemed to hang for a moment, then he dropped. And twitched.

Martin reached down, grabbed an arm, and flung the commander up over one shoulder. He fired the KC hanging from his other shoulder one-handed, then ran for the window.

Qurn sprinted across the room, scooped up the rolled data sheet, and followed.

Teeth clenched, Werst was halfway across the room, sure he could catch her given the weight of the plastic, when his implant pinged.

Out on the plateau, he saw Tehaven rear. Saw Qurn maneuvering her awkward burden through the fight. Druin were stronger than he’d thought—stronger than Freenim and Merinim had let on, and he’d have words to say about that later—but their spines were much like Human spines. He could break Qurn’s neck if he could get close enough.

He could . . .

He ran for Harveer Arniz instead, tonguing his implant as he dropped to his knees beside her. “Gunny, Martin is heading for the VTA. He has Commander Yurrisk.”

Torin changed course again, tense muscles loosening at the sound of Werst’s voice. “Has Commander Yurrisk?”

*The Commander’s unconscious. We need Ryder in the air ten minutes ago. Martin fired on the hostages before he ran.*

*On my way!*

“How many down?”

*Most of them.*

The shuttle’s medical facilities, as good as they were, wouldn’t be enough.

Torin tongued her implant. “CC 882Alpha Override.”

She passed an Artek fighting a Krai. Had to be Sareer, the others were accounted for.

*Strike Team Lead Warden Kerr, contact by implant is against regulations. That code should not be in your possession.*

Alamber had thought differently. Torin had agreed with him. “Get down here, now.” The red Polint, Netro-whatever, was on the ground with Vertic’s forefoot on his throat. “We have multiple civilian casualties.”

*Regulations keep this one in orbit until . . .*

“Now. Or their deaths are on your head.”

*You are not able to accuse this one of . . .*

A deeper, familiar voice broke in and Torin remembered a Dornagain rising up out of a well, an enemy in each hand. Finds Truth Through Inquiry, like others of her species, knew where the lines were drawn. *Detaching in ten, Warden Kerr. We’re on the way.*

Martin was almost to the VTA.

Torin lengthened her stride.

“Gunny!” Firiv’vrak came up beside her, one arm stretched out, flexible digits holding an oval shape the size of Torin’s palm. “Boarding pass. You didn’t see it and I never gave it to you.”

Torin snatched it out of the air as Firiv’vrak put on speed, her wedge-shaped body aimed at the running Druin carrying the plastic roll.

Werst had his palm pressed over a sucking chest wound when Merinim dropped to her knees by his side, sealant in hand.

“I’ve got this,” she said. “Ressk is upstairs!”

Torin saw the Druin brace herself and swing the roll as Firiv’vrak caught up. The blow flipped the Artek over onto her back. A second blow slammed her into Torin, cutting her feet out from under her. Head tucked in, Torin landed on her shoulder, rolled, snapped her helmet off leaving the strap tangled in Firiv’vrak’s legs, and got back onto her feet. Her uniform stiffened around her knee.

Martin, Commander Yurrisk over his shoulder, had reached the VTA’s ramp. The Druin wasn’t far behind.

She could hit them, hit both of them. Full auto, she couldn’t miss. But she wasn’t Binti Mashona. She couldn’t guarantee she wouldn’t kill them.

So tempting.

She hit the override on her cuff, turning the support for her twisted knee off, gritted her teeth, and ran.

Dr. Ganes and Mirish fought silently, rolling about on the hall floor. Ganes seemed to have the upper hand so Werst leaped over them, slamming Mirish’s head into the floor with a foot as he passed.

He landed on Malinowski’s shoulders, wrapped his feet around her neck, drove his elbows into her temples, and jumped clear as she began to fall. Ressk had Zhang half buried under bedding, but she continued to fight.

The di’Taykan, Pyrus, had curled up in a corner, head down on his raised knees. He was mumbling in Taykan, the same words over and over, and Werst suspected the fight had sent him back to the Paylent. His weapon was nowhere in sight. Not good, although it would have to do for now.

Zhang caught Ressk under the ribs with a boot heel. He grunted and fell back.

Werst took his place and grabbed her ankle. Yanking her in close, he blocked a blow to the side of his head, and, as she flailed, choked her out.

Ressk sat up, nostril ridges slowly opening. “I had that.”

“You’re bleeding.” His right sleeve dripped onto a pillow.

“Not mine. It’s . . .” His eyes widened and he scrambled up onto his feet and off the nest.

Werst followed to find him on his knees beside Trembley, two fingers pressed into the young Human’s throat. “Ressk . . .”

“It was a single shot!”

“The back of his head’s gone.”

“Fuk.”

Too late for the ramp, Torin jumped for the shuttle door, feet splayed awkwardly, boots magged. She slapped the thing Firiv’vrak had given her against the control panel, hundreds of tiny, flexible filaments slipping between the cracks.

Chasing Martin was low priority—way below rescue the hostages, avoid an incident that could cause another war, and arrest as many of the mercenaries as possible. But C&C was on its way down. If any Confederation/Primacy interaction on 33X73 had caused a renewal of war, that renewal had to have been planned in advance, and if she was with Martin, that would prioritize pursuit.

Although she didn’t want Martin as much as she wanted Martin’s employer. Someone had paid to send a crew of mercenaries after the ancient H’san weapons, playing on Major Sujuno’s desperation. Someone had paid mercenaries to accompany the DeCaal to retrieve another ancient weapon, playing on Commander Yurrisk’s desperation.

The correlations could be coincidence.

Could be the same someone.

Someone she needed to stop before more of the broken were further damaged, before more innocents died. Before the war started again.

*Gunnery Sergeant Kerr!* Vertic hadn’t forgotten how to command. *Let it go! That’s an order!

Torin had spent most of her adult life following orders. Good orders. Bad orders. She’d taken comfort in knowing she didn’t have to be responsible for the larger picture, that she could deal with the details that allowed her to complete the mission and bring her people home alive. A comfort she sometimes missed.

*Gunnery Sergeant Kerr!*

“Warden Kerr,” she replied, as the lights turned green and she forced the hatch open far enough for her to slide into the air lock. “And I’m doing my job.”