A truth of Valor

EIGHT

"So where do we start,Gunny?" "With the bars. Drunks aren't known for their discretion. The Heart of Stone scored big with Jan and Sirin's salvage. People brag. They got hit with a Susumi wave. People talk. And I'm betting…" Torin remembered the look on the gray-haired woman's face as she pushed past her toward the game. "… that Nat owes money to more than one person on this station."

Mashona snickered. "Interesting emphasis, Gunny. I like how you make her name sound like a target."

The four of them had taken half a dozen steps away from the docking arm hatch when the hatch of the bar directly opposite them opened and a roar of laughter spilled out onto the concourse, closely followed by a flailing Human-traveling about a meter and a half off the deck and covering an impressive distance before landing.

"Gravity always wins," Ressk observed as the middle-aged man hit the deck, rolled twice, and finished flat on his back.

Arms and legs splayed out, breathing heavily, the man waved a stained finger in the general direction of the bar while a turquoise-haired di'Taykan yelled, "And don't come back!" out the open hatch. He jerked as the hatch slammed shut, announced with the overly precise diction of the very drunk that it had totally been worth it, flopped over onto his left side, and went to sleep.

"We'll start there," Torin said.

The Vritan Kayti was a di'Taykan bar, and the trick with di'Taykan bars was to take a good long look into the corners, realize that sex was not a spectator sport, and get on with things.

Not a spectator sport for most people, Torin amended, dropping into a chair at an empty table and ordering a beer from the center screen. Took all kinds. Werst was at the bar, Mashona had disappeared behind a drape of multicolored gauze, and Ressk had joined a game of darts. Torin doubted she had any subtle left, and since the last thing they wanted to do was give the game away and spook the bastards into killing Craig, it seemed like a better idea to let people come to her.

She ran her thumb around the inert plastic edge of the screen.

As more of them recognized her, someone would.

It was merely a matter of time.

Or would have been if she'd had any time to spare. Not counting time spent in Susumi space, Craig had been with the pirates for approximately twenty-eight hours. If they'd folded directly here after scooping him out of the debris field, he'd spent anywhere from three-and-a-half-to-five days in Susumi-couldn't be more precise without the exact equations but three-and-a-half days minimum.

The militaries of oldEarth had a saying: Everyone breaks on the third day.

But Craig had information they needed. Page's death had been an accident, an accident that said they'd wanted him alive more than they'd wanted him dead. They'd take their time with Craig.

Three-and-a-half days minimum in Susumi. Another day in real space.

Four days.

If it was true that everyone broke on the third day-and Torin had no way of judging because the Primacy hadn't taken prisoners-what happened on day four? Did they keep him around, keep him alive, in case they had other questions?

What if she was wrong?

What if he was dead?

What did she do then?

Destroy the people who killed him. Easy answer. But what happened after?

"… think you're too fukking good to pay attention?"

The voice had been a constant background drone for a few minutes, but that last bit had volume enough to break through her thoughts. The grip on her shoulder snapped her the rest of the way back to the here and now.

The slam of bone against the table brought a moment's silence, a roar of laughter, then the business of the bar carried on.

He was Human, Torin's height, and his bare arms were heavily muscled. He might have been attractive, but the blood running down his face from above one eyebrow made it hard to tell.

Torin grabbed a fistful of vest and hauled him up onto his feet. Looking past him, she spotted three di'Taykan and a Human who were still finding the situation funny. "He with you?" she asked, raising her voice slightly. When one of the di'Taykan indicated he was, she shoved him in their general direction, sat down, and accepted a fresh beer from Werst.

"Price of these things is fukking proof piracy isn't confined to space," he said, as she took a drink. They sat silently, watching an orange-haired server clean up the blood with practiced efficiency. "Seems like you've solidified your more badass than thou reputation, though," he continued once they were essentially alone again. "Nicely done, Gunny. I know how you did it and barely saw you move. You okay?"

"Thought you said you were watching?"

"Not what I meant."

"I'm fine."

"Really? Because I'd be willing to bet you haven't bothered doing anything since Ryder was taken but try to get him back."

"Your point?"

"I'd be willing to bet," he repeated, "you haven't ranted or raged or used any of time you spent in Susumi to fall apart for a few minutes."

"Who would that help?"

"You."

Torin thought about sticking with the party line, gunnery sergeants didn't fall apart-not for a few minutes, not at all-but gunnery sergeants had the entire Corps helping to hold them together, and she'd given that up.

"All that pressure you're under…" Werst tapped a fingernail against his glass. "Cracks are starting to show, Gunny."

A missed drop of blood gleamed a translucent crimson in the light from the menu.

"I'm not under…"

What if Craig was dead? What if they were too late?

Fuk it. Torin took another swallow of the overpriced, watered beer. "Trust me, I'll use that pressure, let it blow when we find the Heart."

Werst shrugged. "As long as it doesn't use you. The Heart's here. It was here with a cargo. It went away. It came back sometime yesterday."

"But while they were here the first time," Ressk added, sitting down, "word is, they were acting strange. Rumor has it they'd scored big but weren't sharing. Were selling only a small fraction of what they had, and weren't talking about the rest. And then Big Bill got involved. That Krai ship, the Dargonar-you questioned the crew…"

"I know what I did, Ressk."

"Right, well, it left the same time as the Heart. Sent out with the Heart by Big Bill. They aren't back yet."

"Given their last meeting with the gunny, that's a good thing," Werst muttered. "And now the Heart's docked down where the processed ore used to get loaded onto the drones. It's not on an arm, it's sucking on the actual station. And no one docks way the fuk down there without Big Bill's approval."

"No one docks at this station without Big Bill's approval," Torin reminded them.

"Yeah, but where the Heart is now, that's off the beaten path."

"Considerably off," Ressk agreed. "Question still outstanding is why?"

"You could always ask Mackenzie Cho, ex Naval officer, current captain of the Heart of Stone." Mashona grabbed an empty chair from the next table and sat carefully. "Seems he finds di'Taykan service distracting." Her teeth flashed white in the dim light of the bar. "He drinks down the concourse at the Sleepless Goat."

Mashona watched Werst go into the Goat through narrowed eyes. "You sure this is going to work?"

"You've known me almost ten years," Ressk snorted. "If we switched clothes, could you tell the two of us apart?"

"Are you likely to switch clothes?" Mashona's brows went up. "Is there something you want to tell me?"

"Fuk off. Point is, it's a Human bar. Werst asks the bartender if he's seen Cho because the serley chrika stiffed a friend of his, bartender's not going to suddenly ID Werst from the furball's vids."

"You know she can hear you, right?"

"Doesn't scare me."

"And you're supposed to be the smart one."

"Smart enough not to sit on that bench. Your nose is just decorative, right?"

Leaning back against the recycling chute, eating a steamed momo she'd bought from a food cart, Torin kept the camera attached to her tunic pointed toward the door of the Goat and listened to Mashona and Ressk fill time with meaningless chatter. She chewed a little more vigorously than the minced filling required, the burn of the chutney almost covering the familiar taste of the vat. Years in had taught her how to wait but didn't change the fact that waiting sucked.

Craig was on the station. Or on a ship attached to the station.

So close.

When Werst finally emerged, although objectively he hadn't been more than ten minutes, he stopped by the same food cart for a kabob before joining them. Torin had known he was going to do it, throw off any attention he might have gained, but she still had to bite back an order that he get his ass in gear and deliver the damned sitrep.

"Cho hasn't been in since the Heart got back to the station." Werst took a look at the bench and stayed standing. "None of his crew have. Whatever they needed your boy for, it's keeping them at the ship.

Ressk held out a hand and Werst dropped the last bite of kabob into it.

"Seriously, guys…" Mashona's brows were back up. "… is there something you want to tell me?"

"You're sitting in…"

"Not about that."

Torin crumpled the momo's wrapper and tossed it down the chute as she straightened. "They're all in one place. Let's go." "I warned him about fukking around." Cho's voice was an ice pick that slammed into Craig's head beside the hot pokers.

Hot and cold shifted when Huirre let go, and Craig's knees hit the deck. Feeling like his head was about to explode, he curled forward, hands digging into his hair trying to relieve some of the pressure. Somehow, he managed to get an eye open as footsteps approached and stopped, and he found himself staring down at the toe of Doc's stained boots.

"He was alone with a di'Taykan, Captain." Doc sounded amused. "I'm not surprised."

"Not actual fukking!" Cho snarled. "Not this time. Nadayki says Ryder forced himself to vomit."

"And Nadayki's an expert on Human physiognomy now? Beyond the obvious? Isn't it more likely," Doc continued, before the captain could answer, "that as he defines himself by his skills, he hates needing Ryder's help to get into the armory. Odds are high, he's lying."

"Doesn't matter if he is. He says he can get through the last layer on his own. You said the station medic needs organs…"

Cho's foot connected with his ribs. Craig slammed down on his side, gasping for breath. The way he felt right now, they could take his brain. He wouldn't miss it.

"While breaking him down for parts…"

Oh, fukking hell. Craig tensed, sending muscles into painful spasms. They weren't kidding about the organs.

"… would bring us a tidy profit," Doc agreed, "consider two things." Even through the pain, Doc sounded terrifyingly reasonable. Craig tried to crawl away, but another kick from Cho dropped him flat on the deck. "All right, three points. One, stop bruising the merchandise. And two, at this point in the proceedings, I have to reiterate that Nadayki could be talking out of his ass. He says he can get through the last layer on his own, but you have no reason to trust that and every reason to believe it's what he wants you to believe to maintain his place in the crew. It might be wise to keep Mr. Ryder around until the job is done."

Cho snorted. "In case Nadayki is, as you say, talking out of his ass."

"As far as his organs are concerned, a few more hours will make no difference."

"And your third point?"

"Ryder's crew. No one gives a shit if you kill a prisoner, but you can't kill a member of the crew for puking."

"Doc's right, Captain." Huirre sounded pretty much exactly the way Craig imagined a man caught between a rock and a hard place would sound. "I mean, you've got to keep discipline, sure, but if puking's a killing offense, whole crew'd be dead a couple of times by now."

"I can kill anyone I want to!"

"Yeah, but…"

Craig cracked the eye again. Huirre was looking to Doc for support. Surprisingly, he got it.

"You can kill anyone you want to," Doc agreed. "But that's not a philosophy people will follow, and you need a minimum of four crew to keep the Heart of Stone profitable."

Huirre shifted nervously back and forth, toes flexing against the deck, but it seemed that Cho was actually thinking about what Doc had said. From anyone else, the observation would have sounded like a threat, but it hadn't taken Craig long to learn that Doc didn't make threats.

Breathing shallowly, one arm wrapped around the newly rebruised ribs, Craig began to relax. He didn't want to die and now, it seemed as if he might get through this little adventure in one piece. Not counting the pieces of his gut he'd already hurled to the deck down in the pod.

"You're right," Cho said at last. "If Ryder's crew, he gets treated like crew. Nadayki could be full of shit about his chances of getting through that last bit of code, and he could be bullshitting about Ryder doing this…"

The toe of his boot jabbed the bruise rising from the earlier kicks. Pain surged out from the contact like waves of flame. In its wake, his body felt burned.

"… to himself, but maybe he isn't. Maybe Ryder's worried that once he gets me into that armory we won't need him anymore, so he's fukking around. Fukking around delays the payout to the crew. We can't have that." Cho sounded pleased with himself.

"No, we can't." Doc still sounded reasonable.

"He needs to be taught that the crew comes first. That we don't fuk around and delay payouts. Take a toe."

Huirre had him held down before Craig realized what take a toe meant. He got an elbow up, Huirre grunted, then Huirre's foot closed around his forehead and slammed the back of his head into the deck. Struggling to escape became weak flopping between the four points Huirre had locked down.

Doc got his boot off with terrifying efficiency.

He felt cold air against his sole.

A strong hand closed around his ankle, grinding the small bones together.

Metal pried the smallest toe on his left foot out from the one next to it.

Given the spikes of pain in his head, it wasn't the new pain that dragged the cry out of him. It was the crunch of the blades going through the bone.

The salt-copper smell of blood.

Closely followed by the crunch of Huirre's jaws.

Then the new pain hit. Over the years, the squatters had made very few changes to the layout of the station. Outside of the additional docking arms, most changes seemed to be a case of areas being used in ways the planners hadn't intended.

"Not much they can do to the internal structure," Ressk noted as he climbed out the lip of yet another double decompression hatch. "This thing's been designed to break apart into independent segments rather than hole and blow in case of an explosion. Limits the damage. It used to be the default for stations supporting mining operations, but these days, not so much."

Mashona shook her head as she stood just the other side of the opening, watching back along their six. "You're just a font of knowledge, aren't you?"

"Knowledge is power."

"I think you're overcompensating for something."

"You think?"

"Less chatter, people." They weren't saying anything Torin gave a H'san's ass if Big Bill heard, nothing about Craig or the Heart or why they were actually here since they'd left the masking noise of the Hub, but she saw no point in sending up flares, giving him sound on top of everything else.

"Big Bill's got this whole place under surveillance, Gunny." Ressk brushed a hand over his slate. The gesture would have meant nothing to anyone watching, but it told Torin he was mapping that surveillance out.

"Eyes and ears in the whole place limits him," Werst grunted, dropping down into the new section. The double decompression hatches were wide enough the Krai found it easier to climb over than step over. "He can't watch the whole serley place at once."

"We get into an area that's off limits, we'll trip a sensor. Talk, don't talk; doesn't matter. He'll know we're here."

Werst waved it off. "He didn't say this area was off limits. He didn't say any area was off limits."

"He's too smart to lay down those kind of rules for these kind of people," Mashona said, falling back into position behind the two Krai.

"You head out here when you're tired of rules," Torin reminded them. That was why they'd told Big Bill they were on Vrijheid. Better to leave it at bad things happen to people who go where Big Bill doesn't want them to; that implied choice.

Each new section as they moved away from the Hub had been less used than the one before. The pale gray bulkheads of this section had been scored and dented by old machinery-Torin neither knew nor cared how they got machinery over the hatch lips-but it felt as though it had hardly been used since. Every other light was out in the band along the ceiling, and the black rubber treads running down the center of the deck were barely worn. It felt abandoned.

This was the most direct route to the ore docks. Once the ore carriers stopped, there'd been no reason to use it.

"They're still using the smelter," Mashona said suddenly, as though she'd been following Torin's thoughts. "Not the actual smelters but the area they were in. Machinery's gone, and it's a big open space like… a parade square. They use it for things that affect the whole community. Trials and shit. Oh, and fights every now and then."

"Fights that affect the whole community?" Ressk asked.

"Fights the whole community makes book on, you ass."

Torin picked up the pace. According to the original schematics, this was the last section before the storage pods. This was the last hatch, last pair of hatches, between her and Craig.

The first hatch was closed.

And locked.

The lock had been added recently.

"Ressk…?"

His nose ridges flared as he exhaled long and loud, fingers stroking the screen of his slate. "That's a good question, Gunny. Under normal circumstances, no problem, but this isn't going to take a simple digital jimmy. I need a way into the system, and this place is locked down tight. So far, no cracks."

"Not surprising," Mashona acknowledged, "given the rumors about how Big Bill scored this place."

"Yeah, exactly. I can break it. I can break anything eventually, but it'll take time."

How much time did Craig have left?

"How much time?" Torin asked, voice hard.

Given Ressk's expression, he'd heard the first question, too. "From outside the system? I couldn't tell you."

The gray plastic housing around the lock remained a gray plastic housing under her touch.

"Let's go." She pressed her palm against the hatch-Craig was on the other side-then turned and headed back the way they'd come.

"Where to now, Gunny?"

"We're going to see Big Bill."

"Okay." Mashona fell into step beside her. "Why?"

"We're going to take him up on that job offer." "You're probably wondering, why I didn't just have Huirre bite the toe off." Doc removed a wad of blood-soaked bandaging, sprayed sealant on the stub, and began to apply an old-fashioned dressing. "Thing is, I can't trust him to stop and the loss of an entire leg becomes a bit more than an inconvenience."

Breathing heavily through his nose, Craig stared at the other man in disbelief. "Inconvenience?"

"Comparatively."

"It fukking hurts!"

"It's fukking supposed to. If I give you something for the pain, there'd be no point in taking off the toe." He stroked down the last bit of gauze, the heat in his thumb causing it to adhere to the layer below, then straightened, leaving a thin smear of blood across his cheek as he pushed his hair back off his face. "This way you'll remember that no one likes a delayed payout and you'll stop fukking around."

Doc had tended to the amputation like he hadn't been the crazyassed psycho wielding the tin snips. Watching him switch back and forth made Craig feel like he should add whiplash to his list of injuries.

"Now things are tidied up, I'd hustle your ass back to that storage pod before the captain thinks you're less than committed to the job and that it's not fair Krisk didn't get a bite. When you get to the pod, try and keep the foot elevated."

"Sure. Elevated." Balanced on the edge of the table, Craig took a moment to try and get enough air into his lungs, trying not to remember the sound of Huirre chewing on his toe. "How do I get back to the pod?"

Doc smiled, cracking the dried blood on his cheek. "Walk carefully. Keep your weight on your heel." Big Bill had claimed the station's central old admin area as his own and disabled all but one access.

He wasn't stupid, Torin reminded herself as they crossed the Hub to the one vertical that would take them up to his level. She needed to remember that.

"Hey, you!" The woman staggering toward her was very drunk. "You're the bitch who found the plastic aliens."

Torin kept walking.

The drunk managed to keep up. "Whole thing was a fukking fake. I seen vid shows before, you know. I know when shit is fake."

Torin ignored her.

"Hey! I'm talk…" The rest of the sentence devolved into a pained shriek that lingered for a moment, then disappeared into the ambient noise behind them.

"She made a grab for you, Gunny," Werst explained.

"I didn't ask."

They had the vertical to themselves between the Hub and the admin level although they could hear whooping and laughter drifting up from below.

"Didn't pull out of the dive in time," Mashona guessed when the whooping ended in a thud and a scream and the laughter grew louder.

"Kids," Ressk snorted.

"Drunks," Werst amended.

The section leading into admin had been recently painted a pale blue, the deck treads a darker blue, and the area between the treads and the bulkheads, patterned with polished steel. The hatch at the end of the section was closed, and Torin would bet big it was locked. To the left of the hatch was a sensor pad that clearly hadn't been part of the station's original equipment.

Alamber waited on the right.

"That's weird," Werst muttered.

"Which?" Mashona asked, moving up behind Torin's left shoulder. "His hair blending with the bulkheads or the way the black makeup makes his eyes look white?"

"Either. Both."

The di'Taykan smiled as they approached, gaze locked on Torin's face. "Saw you get into the vertical. Not all I saw either; saw you down by the ore docks."

"And?" He wore black, like a Marine, but the similarity ended with the color. His legs were covered in fabric so tight it looked more like paint. He wore at least half a dozen layers of different styles and lengths over his torso, sleeves ending in either fingerless gloves or excessively frayed cuffs. On his feet… Torin had no idea why a di'Taykan, a species that topped two meters by default, would wear boots with thick soles and heels that high.

The rings in his lip glinted when he smiled. "Big Bill's going to want to know what I saw. I won't tell if you ser vernin ta lambelont."

Werst snorted. "You double-jointed, Gunny?"

"You could always tell him you're old enough to be his progenitor," Mashona snickered.

"When have you ever known a di'Taykan to give a crap about age?" Ressk asked.

Alamber ignored them, shoved his hands in his pockets, and leaned back against the bulkhead. "So, what's it to be, trin? You and me, or me and Big Bill?"

Torin laid her palm against the sensor pad. "You and me and Big Bill."

His eyes darkened and his hair stilled. "That's not…"

"We were heading in anyway, might as well make it a party."

"Heading in? No one goes in to see Big Bill without an invitation."

"Got one."

He shook his head and laughed. "Oh, trin, you forget I'd know if you…"

The lock disengaged with an audible clang, probably for effect. The hatch swung open.

"Let's go." Torin stepped past him, over the lip. When only Alamber remained in the first section, she paused, and turned toward him. "Well?"

"Strange, but it seems I just don't want to share you. So…" He spread both hands. "… I'll pass."

Torin had spent enough time with new second lieutenants to know when a confident smile was a fake. To recognize when bravado twisted the curve and softened the edges. And fuk, the kid was young. What the hell was he doing here? "I won't mention this to Big Bill."

"You don't share either. All right." This smile was the real thing. The fingernails on the hand he waved had been painted black. "When you realize I'm the best thing that could happen to you, you can find me in Communications. No surveillance on the surveillance; sets up a feedback loop. You can do what you want with me, trin. Go crazy wild."

As the hatches slammed shut, Torin sighed and said, "Don't push it, kid."

"At least he only wants to get into your pants," Mashona pointed out as they moved toward the only open hatch in the corridor. "Whole lot simpler than Darlys wanting to deify you."

Torin snorted. It was a nice change.

The open hatch led into a large outer room dominated by a wall of vid screens all playing a news feed, and the Grr brothers sitting together on a heavy, black leather sofa.

As she stepped over the threshold, one of them looked up, eyes swollen nearly shut over visibly bruised nose ridges. His lip curled as Werst, Ressk, and Mashona followed her into the room. "Boss wants your people to wait here." He nodded toward an inner door. "You go on in."

"They're watching you, Gunny," Ressk said quietly.

"Yeah. I noticed." All of the screens were playing one of Presit's reports. Torin shifted so the camera she wore could catch it. It never hurt to stroke Presit's ego. "Don't let them provoke you into a fight." This mostly to Werst. "You take the first swing, and it doesn't matter if I ate their souls on toast. It's on."

"How do you know so much about a freak cult most Krai have never heard of?" Werst demanded, curling his toes under and cracking the joints.

"I used to be a gunnery sergeant." Torin squared her shoulders and headed toward the inner door. "And I still know everything." The walk back to the storage pod became extended torture. Every time the heel of his left foot hit the deck, the impact sent a jolt of pain up his leg. By the time Craig got to the air lock, the muscles of his back had knotted. By the time he got to the pod, every other muscle on his body had knotted; his back had moved on to spasms.

Nadayki had gone to his knees in front of the seal, his eyes now at the same level as the tiny screen. He shuffled around when Craig lifted his injured foot over the hatch lip, the muscles of his other leg trembling with the effort.

The slow sweep of Nadayki's hair stopped. When it started moving again, it flipped around his ears in short choppy arcs. "I'm not sorry. It was your own fault. You shouldn't have been fukking around."

Somehow Craig managed to get enough air into his lungs to snort. "Yeah. So I've heard." Sweat dribbled down his sides. His skin was cold and clammy under the overalls. "And I heard you say… you don't need my help… anymore. So I'm just going to park my ass over here… and put my foot up like the doctor ordered." Everything from his left hip down throbbed and burned. He didn't so much sit as collapse to the deck. It still stank a bit of chunder, but that was a minor inconvenience compared to being horizontal.

When he finally turned his head toward the armory, Nadayki was staring at him, eyes dark.

"What?"

Nadayki's eyes lightened. "Nothing. This coding is complete crap. Don't get comfortable because I'll be through any minute now."

"Great."

"Asshole!"

"You had your chance, kid."

"That's not what I… Fine. Whatever." Eyes narrowed to lime-green slits, he jerked back around to face the lock.

Craig made himself as comfortable as he could and, if he hadn't thought it would hurt like fuk, he'd have smiled. Were he a betting man, and he was, he'd bet the kid wasn't getting through that last layer any time soon. Having refused the chair, Torin stared across the desk at Big Bill-directly at him, not at a point just over his shoulder, he was no officer of hers-and wondered if she'd heard him correctly. "You want me, us, to train… pirates?"

He raised a hand. His palm was pink and, as far as Torin could see, completely free of calluses. "I prefer the term free merchants."

"Fine. You want us to train free merchants to fight? As a unit?"

"Yes. We'll start by training the crews who frequent this station, but once word gets out, I expect our numbers will grow." Head cocked, he studied her face. Fortunately, Torin had long since learned to keep her opinions of even more asinine plans to herself. After a moment, he sighed, and shuffled a pile of paper around without actually moving it anywhere. Torin had never seen paper piled on a desk before. How did he access his screens? "Things are going to hell in a hand-cart, Gunnery Sergeant Kerr," he said at last. "You should know, you pushed the cart off the cliff. You and your discovery of the gray plastic aliens. I've been watching you, you know, and during the short time you've been in this room, you've managed to touch most of the visible plastic."

Torin curled her fingers in toward her palms.

"You're looking for them." Big Bill picked up a plastic stylus, spun it at eye level, then put it back down. "You know they're still around. You know they're still fukking with us. And you ask why I want you to train these people? I should think it would be obvious. We're going to take what's rightfully ours. What the gray plastic aliens have taken from us when they involved us in this war."

Had she been here for any reason other than to get to Craig, she'd have asked him what the hell he thought had been taken from him. She could almost hear Presit demanding an answer from Big Bill's image on the monitor. As it was, she didn't give a flying fuk. All she wanted to do was move this conversation as quickly as possible toward Big Bill giving her an all points access pass. "Why me? You have muscle."

"Muscle. Exactly. Ignoring for the moment that their present job keeps them surprisingly busy, the Grr brothers have a reputation with the people who use this station that would ensure compliance but little actual learning. Your reputation, on the other hand…" He leaned toward her. "You brought the Silsviss into the Confederation. You fought the enemy to a standstill in the depths of the Big Yellow ship. You escaped from an inescapable prison. You're someone people listen to, aren't you? You can turn the free merchants into a force that a government who lies to us over and over and over will have to take notice of."

It was almost funny-in a bitterly painful way-that the salvage operators and the free merchants wanted the same thing. To have the free merchants noticed by the government. Sure, the salvage operators wanted them noticed by a battle cruiser, and who the fuk knew what kind of notice Big Bill had in mind, but still the similarities were hysterical. Interestingly, Torin could feel hysteria beckoning. "What will this force be armed with?" she asked, her reaction safely locked behind the gunnery sergeant. "Harsh language?"

Big Bill's chair creaked a protest as he leaned back and steepled his fingers. "I just happen to know where I can gain access to a Marine Corps armory. Still sealed. Contents intact."

Torin heard a nearly audible click as the last piece fell into place. Jan and Sirin had scooped an armory up out of their debris field, and everything else made perfect sense.

Still sealed.

"You haven't opened it?" Even to her own ear, she sounded like she couldn't quite catch her breath but figured there were valid reasons enough, given a sealed armory. Big Bill wouldn't question it.

He didn't. Asked only, "What difference does that make?"

They hadn't opened it. But it was on the station and the Heart was docked, so that could only mean they were working on getting it open. Working on getting past the seal the original CSOs had used to lock it down. Using the CSO they'd grabbed to break the code when Page had died before giving them what they needed. Using Craig. Who was alive. After a moment, Torin realized Big Bill was waiting for her to answer his question. Back in the day, it had been part of her job to remain calm regardless of the situation. Surrounded by a couple hundred juvenile sentient lizards. Trapped in the belly of an unidentified ship. Under fire by their own training equipment. In a prison that shouldn't exist. She could do this. She could sound like she didn't want to dive across the desk and grab Big Bill's ears and slam his head into the wall over and over and over until he agreed to take her to Craig.

Torin regained enough motor control to shrug. "It makes a difference because you don't know what's in the armory."

"We don't know exactly what the contents are…" Glancing down, he shuffled a few papers on his desk and looked up again. "… but I'm sure you could draw up a reasonably accurate inventory."

"I'd have to see it. There's more than one type of armory. Platoon support, armored support, hell, even air support."

Craig was at the armory.

"So you'll take the job?"

If she agreed too quickly, he'd get suspicious. If she agreed too slowly, there'd be yet another delay in getting to Craig.

"Depends. On what kind of an armory you've found," she expanded when his brows rose. "No point if it's carrying the wrong gear. And," she added before he could speak, "it depends on what's in it for me."

"You'd be at the forefront of the revolution."

"And?"

"And?" He laughed. "And do you have any idea how much fifteen percent of everything amounts to Gunnery Sergeant? You'll be very, very well compensated."

"After the revolution. I'm not taking a job that offers nothing more than the possibility of being well paid."

"You do your job right, and that possibility is a certainty."

"Chance is always a factor."

He stared at her for a long moment. Torin kept her expression absolutely neutral. And here she thought she'd never have anything to thank General Morris for.

"You and yours stay here free," Big Bill said at last. "Air, food, water-you work for me, I pick up the tab. Plus extra credit you can spend on the station."

Thus tying them to the station.

"No deal until I see the armory."

Big Bill smiled that smile he'd learned from the Krai. "Seems like you've already attempted to take a look at it. My station, Gunnery Sergeant," he added, more teeth coming into view as his smile broadened. "I know everything that happens on it. I assume you had a good reason to be down by the old ore docks?"

"We did."

He waited and, when Torin didn't expand on her answer, finally snarled, "Let's hear it, then, and I'll decide how good it is."

"We heard rumors that the Heart of Stone had come in with a big haul and wasn't sharing. No one mentioned the word armory, but we thought we might convince the captain to share. For a small finder's fee."

"Running percentages." He nodded. "I do like you, Gunnery Sergeant Kerr, but only I run percentages on this station. Understand?"

Torin had seen warmer expressions on corpses. "Perfectly, sir."

The "sir" pulled out a real smile. Torin had known it would; it was the most manipulative word in a NCO's arsenal. "Right, then. Let's go take a look at the armory, and you can tell me what we have." Pulling a pile of paper toward him, Big Bill added, "Wait for me in the outer office." An order given to establish the chain of command. "There's no need for your people to hang about; send them back to the ship. Do not mention the armory. You can fill them in when we have all the details worked out."

The vid Presit had shot on the prison planet filled all screens when Torin went back into the outer office. Each screen showed a different feed, a different point in the recording. She could see herself, Mashona, Presit, the plastic alien, and, given the HE suit, Craig's knees. Two screens had subtitles in languages Torin didn't recognize.

The Grr brothers sat staring at the screens, ignoring the other people in the room.

Appearing to ignore the other people in the room.

Keeping the two Krai in her peripheral vision, Torin beckoned Werst, Ressk, and Mashona in close, a hand signal moving Mashona far enough to the left to block the pertinent details of their interaction from Big Bill's muscle. "We've been offered a job. Training the free merchants to fight."

Werst recovered first. "With what?" he snorted.

"I'm about to find out." Hands on her hips, Torin stretched out her index finger and wrote armory on the screen of her slate. Ressk's eyes widened slightly and she stroked the word away. "Go back to the ship, I'll fill you in when I know what's going on." Wrote locked. "If you stop in the Hub for a drink, don't mention the job offer where you could be overheard. There's no guarantee we're taking it." Stroked the word away.

"Haven't had any better offers," Mashona muttered.

"Granted, but we're not going in blind."

Werst's nose ridges were nearly shut. "What's the payment?"

"For now? We get to breathe and eat."

"Activities I'm fond of," he admitted. "However…"

"Still here?" Big Bill asked, stepping out of his office.

Torin shifted slightly, just enough to put herself directly in Big Bill's line of sight. "They were just leaving."

"Gunny?" Werst didn't quite growl the word.

"Don't worry. Standing next to Big Bill is the safest place on the station."

"It's true." He brushed a bit of nonexistent dust off his shoulder. "Everyone loves me."

Ressk gave him a look that suggested he was wondering how the large man would taste with a nice red sauce. Given Big Bill's amused expression, Torin suspected he'd been looked at that way before.

"You're wasting… Big Bill's time," Torin pointed out. The pause had been small enough it could be explained by any number of reasons. If Big Bill asked, she'd think of one. He didn't ask. They were wasting her time. Craig's time. Big Bill could shove his time up his ass for all she cared. "Go."

They still recognized an order when they heard one.

When they heard the hatch close at the end of the corridor, the Grr brothers snapped off the screens and stood.

Big Bill shook his head. "If anything comes up, the gunny'll take care of it. Right?"

Torin shrugged. "Your first one's free."

"I do like you."

The Grr on the left made a noise Torin nearly echoed.

The Grr on the right rolled his eyes and dropped back onto the sofa, grabbing for the remote.

As she stepped out into the corridor, Torin heard the sound come up on one of the screens and Presit say, "You are having aliens and he are having aliens in your heads-being lovers who are being reunited and who are discovering way to be saving the day. Very romantic."

And Big Bill said, "Whatever happened to that lover you were reunited with?"

"We had aliens in our heads," Torin growled, stepping through the hatch.

When he laughed, Torin resisted the urge to turn and slam him in the throat, crushing his windpipe. But only just.

No one approached them when they crossed the Hub although everyone tracked their progress, voices rising and falling as they passed in a wave of sound that had become familiar to Torin over the last few years.

"Feel free to use your implant," Big Bill told her as they started toward the ore docks, his voice pitched intimately even though there was no one around to overhear. "Many of the free merchants do, although, given that free merchants are strongly individualistic, very few of them have tied into the station. In the interest of security, I've had to have the station's sysop capture and record all signals, even those using ship's computers as SPs."

Torin moved her tongue away from the contact points. None of her crew had implants-the Corps installed them in sergeants and above-but Craig did and Craig was alive on the station. Walking half a stride ahead of Big Bill in an empty corridor, it had seemed like a good time to let Craig know she was there. Just a ping. A moment's contact. And now her codes and Craig's had been captured by the station. They wouldn't know who he was, not yet, but the moment they did, they could connect him to her, and that could be fatal.

"Over the years I've noticed a specific muscle twitch, just here…" Big Bill touched his own face, not hers. Good thing. She didn't have a Krai's jaw strength, but she'd have made a damned good attempt to bite his finger off. "… when an implant is in use."

The bastard didn't miss much.

"Of course, when you agree to work for me, I'll need your codes." Nadayki slapped his palm against the locker, his hair standing out around his head in a lime-green aurora. "The last eight digits are a fukking date!"

It hurt to laugh; the vibrations felt like glass ground into the stump of his toe. Craig didn't let that stop him. All his delaying had been completely fukking pointless.

Patterns could be sussed out and, once found, broken, but finding a random date without hooking up a slate, with no way to tell if the first seven numbers were correct until the last number was in-time to pack a lunch. Not all CSOs added that extra layer of protection, but it wasn't uncommon. Birthdays. Anniversaries. He'd changed his to the day he'd walked late into the briefing room on the Berganitan and first saw Torin staring down at him like he'd just crawled out of a H'san's ass. Those who knew him had a chance of figuring it out. A stranger? No fukking way.

It was the digital version of a steel bar across the door.

"You're a salvage operator, this is a salvage operator's seal. Did you know them?"

Craig actually had his mouth open to answer when he realized Nadayki didn't know that Jan and Sirin had been friends. No one knew. Up until now the crew of the Heart had gone by the old truism that space was big and hadn't asked. "Sure I did, kid. You know di'Akusi Sirin? You're di'Taykan, they're di'…"

"Fuk you. And if you think the captain'll stop at a toe, you're wrong. If he thinks you're screwing him over, he'll have Doc take out organs. And sell them."

Lovely. Craig shifted, trying to ease the burn in his left leg. "Why would you crew under someone who'd allow that?"

"Are you kidding?" Fingers paused on his slate, Nadayki grinned down at him. "That's hardcore. No one fuks with the captain."

What kind of upbringing did the kid have, Craig wondered, that he was impressed by casual cruelty? Looked like the Taykan were just as capable of fukking up their kids as every other species in known space. "Seems to me," he said, grabbing his thigh and shifting his leg, "that it's more like no one fuks with Doc."

Nadayki shook his head, hair flipping in counterpoint. "Yeah, but Doc signed on with Captain Cho, so…"

Craig missed the rest. He could see Nadayki's mouth moving, so the kid was still talking, but all he could hear was the ping of his implant coming on-line.

Torin.

Had to be Torin.

She was close. She'd found him.

He couldn't answer, not with Nadayki staring right at him, eyes dark, as he laid out all the reasons he admired a thief and murderer. His hands were shaking, so he dug his fingers into the leg of his overalls and hung on. Hung on so tightly to the bunched fabric that his knuckles were white.

He couldn't answer, but he could listen.

His throat was dry. He swallowed. Waited.

Except Torin never spoke.

Just the ping.

One small noise

One small noise that could have been caused by the damage the tasik had done. A random firing of neurons that just happened to sound like an implant coming on-line. A familiar noise created by hope and applied current.

"… and when I get this thing open-because I fukking will…" Nadayki half turned and slapped the side the of the weapons locker. "… the captain will lead us as we take back what's rightfully ours!"

"What's rightfully yours?" Craig repeated when the pause seemed to indicate he was expected to respond. "What's been taken from you?"

"The universe! I am meant for more than this crap," Nadayki continued, arms and hair spread. "I'm smarter than all of those tregradiates who said my attitude wasn't right for their academy, and the captain'll help me prove it. They're going to pay!"

"Yeah, okay." Craig smoothed down the two handfuls of crumpled overall. "How old are you, kid?"

"Stop calling me kid! And I'm old enough to know who has the power and that's more than you can say."

"You have a…"

A hatch clanged in the distance. Too far away to be at the ship, so it had to be the point where the ore docks joined the station.

Nadayki's ear points swiveled toward the sound, his hair following the movement. "Sounds like two pairs of boots."

"Probably people in them, too," Craig grunted, shifting around so his back was against the wall and a corner of the armory stood as bulwark between him and the storage pod's open hatch.

"Captain's on board, so it's got to be Big Bill. He's the only one allowed down here."

"Big Bill? You're bullshitting me, right?"

"What? No. It's what they call him." He fumbled with his slate. "I need to tell the cap… Ablin gon savit! Lost the last fukking screen. Good thing I can… Captain? Big Bill's on the dock."

Craig couldn't quite catch the captain's answer. It was just another layer of sound.

"Yeah, but… I know, but… Yes. Okay, I will." Forefingers and thumbs tapping on the screen, Nadayki kept his eyes locked on his slate as he said, "Captain's on his way."

"Joy." Craig let his head fall back against the bulkhead. He could hear a man's voice, a deep burr of monologue growing louder and ending in a question eliciting a monosyllabic answer from his companion.

He knew that grunt.

He knew the tone and the timbre.

He knew the feel of the lips and the taste of the mouth.

Torin.

Torin.

Torin.

It hurt to breathe.

Torin had never seen the docking bay of an ore processing facility, but she assumed they were all much the same. Large enough for loading and unloading ore carriers and probably a lot more interesting when they hadn't been left unused for years. These ore docks weren't that large, the ore wasn't stored but passed through to the smelters while supplies went the other way onto the ships, but it was empty enough that their footsteps all but echoed.

She'd just spotted the air lock where the Heart was docked-visible lights were green-when Big Bill pointed toward an open hatch.

"I've had the armory moved into that pod. Originally designed for storing explosives until they were needed dirtside, it's the best place to both control access and minimize damage to the station. If it blows, any force the pod can't contain will be blown out along fault lines here and here." His gesture followed shadows that moved out to the outer hull. "Depressurizing this part of the station and possibly damaging any ship at the lock, but it's an allowable risk given the payoff, don't you agree?"

Torin made a noncommittal noise. The hatch on the pod needed to be closed in order for it to contain anything, but since she'd be perfectly happy watching this station broken up into its component parts and everyone on it sucking vacuum, it seemed hypocritical to point out the problem.

When she picked up the pace, he said, "Must be strange going unarmed after all that time in the Corps. Bet you can't wait to get your hands on a weapon."

He thought he knew her, and she could use that. Was using that to hide the truth. If I didn't need you to get to Craig, I'd kill you with my bare hands wouldn't get her far. When they reached the open hatch, Big Bill waved her on ahead.

Torin stepped over the lip into the pod and froze.

It was one thing to be told that Cho, and by extension Big Bill, had a sealed armory. It was another thing entirely to stand in front of it. A sealed armory meant people she wouldn't trust as far as she could spit a H'san were in possession of enough firepower to do significant damage. The kind of death and destruction she'd spent her adult life trying to prevent, the only difference being the Primacy's forces had been made up of soldiers, just like her, not amoral assholes

Torin ignored the green-haired di'Taykan and stepped closer. She couldn't walk away from this. She had to…

Craig.

He was sitting on the floor, wearing a pair of ugly navy blue overalls, his eyes bloodshot and darkly shadowed, his lips chapped, his face bruised, his hair looking like it hadn't been brushed in days.

Alive.

His lips were pressed together, and he was breathing fast and shallow.

Torin had seen enough pain over the years to recognize it now.

He was in pain.

But alive.

He didn't seem surprised to see her.

There wasn't enough air in the pod.

Torin locked her leg muscles and braced one hand against the armory to keep from throwing herself into Craig's arms. Both Big Bill and the di'Taykan were behind her by the hatch. There were footsteps approaching.

There were a thousand things she wanted to say in the seconds she had. Craig would know that whatever it looked like, she was there to get him out. He'd know she couldn't just leave the armory. He had to be told the implants were tapped before he tried to contact her. He'd know they were live, he must've heard the ping.

So out of all the thousand things she wanted to say, she mouthed, Implant tapped.

He swallowed, she watched his Adam's apple rise and fall. He nodded; a small, careful movement.

And that was all the time they had.

"Captain Cho, excellent timing." Big Bill was smiling his Krai smile, Torin could hear it in his voice. "I hope there's been some progress made."

Captain Cho.

Captain of the Heart of Stone.

The captain who'd given the order to take Craig.

Torin began to turn. Paused. Craig wore a standard soft-soled boot on his right foot, but his left was bare of everything but a bandage folded over…

… the empty place where the smallest toe should be.

Craig felt as though his heart had stopped when Torin came into the pod. It stopped again as she looked up from the bandage and turned toward the hatch.

He knew that expression.

Last time he'd seen it, Doc had been wearing it.