Fragile Bond (18 page)

Marc mumbled a response that sounded like, “Yeah, it’s definitely hard,” but Hamm wasn’t sure if he’d heard the human properly.

They located Reccin’s scout posted along the northern edge, behind the larger rock formation jutting up between the trees. Though well hidden and quiet, the scout looked—and smelled—terrified of his appearance, stared at him with wide eyes, hackled at Marc, glanced back and forth between them as though his eyes were pebbles careening down a hillside.

“Stand down and hold your position, scout. We’re just here to observe.” He motioned to the meadow beyond, and then edged up to get a look at what had transpired during their short absence. The scout reluctantly turned back to observing the landing party, eyes still a little wide.

“This is not meant as a show of force, Chief Reccin.” The human’s voice sounded deliberately loud, easily carrying across the meadow. “My presence here is intended as a show of respect. To your people, and to your commander who risks himself to ensure peace is established successfully.”

Marc eased up alongside him, crouched close.

Hamm forced himself to remain where he was. Nearby, the scout sniffed audibly a few times in rapid succession before turning back from the meadow, very slowly. To stare at a point in the small space between Hamm and Marc, not moving a muscle.

Hamm really didn’t want to deal with the scout’s awareness of their synched pheromones beyond the illusion that he was doing it to exert some control over a prisoner. Now a tenuous ally, from the looks of things. Beyond that, it wasn’t their concern. Wasn’t anyone’s except his and Marc’s.

“Tell me something, Staille.”

“Sure.” The male’s voice was flat, the response absentminded. His entire focus was on the meadow, Hamm could see as much. “I see two additional armed troops, the Mother Commander’s personal guard from the looks of it.” Marc glanced over, taking Hamm’s measure very thoroughly before turning his attention back to the group in the distance. Hamm felt his mane bristle, fluffing, beneath that perusal. It made his skin tingle, arousal thickening in his blood as though responding to Marc amping up his pheromones. Only he couldn’t do that. It was just a look. Very intriguing.

“I’d still call it an evenly matched show of force, considering. And they’ll know you and Reccin. Know what you’re capable of. To some degree.” Hamm canted his head a fraction when Marc turned toward him again. “Is that what you wanted to know? That I see no sign of nefarious purpose?”

Reccin’s scout growled and shuffled away, radiating displeasure at the confrontation. Hamm watched in silence as the scout retreated, relocating to a different vantage point nearby.

“It wasn’t what I was going to ask, no. But it’s good to know that.” He doubted Marc would let his fellow humans hurt him. But that might require more influence than Marc had.

“Let’s go find out why the Mother Commander is here. This ought to be interesting. If you want to cut out all the middlemen in negotiating peace with us, Hamm, this is who you do it with.”

Hamm purred his approval and straightened, felt confident for the first time in weeks as he strode out to meet the human leader face-to-face. With one of their own at his side, armed.

They stepped out of the tree line and immediately drew Reccin’s notice. His second struggled between relief and distress, and since he was best known for his rational approach to emotional responses, it was not an encouraging sign.

Marc knew this wouldn’t go smoothly when the Mother Commander’s guards offered a chilly welcome. The lot of them looked prepared to get a bead on him if he dared twitch in the wrong direction. Small consolation that the Mother Commander seemed to assess the full situation in the time it took him and Hamm to close the distance.

What were the odds the conclusions drawn were completely wrong and dangerously off base?

Reccin laid a hand on Hamm’s arm, drawing him away to growl and rumble in low tones. As low as their resonant vocalizations got, at least. Once again, his translator decided it wasn’t any of his business. Fine.

“Mother Commander, I take it you’ve met Chief Reccin? This is his superior, Commander Orsonna. He is the leader of the furr forces. Their battlemonger.” The pair of guards moved back, but didn’t look comfortable with the close proximity of two furrs. Marc gave them props for not underestimating the threat. “Commander Orsonna, this is the human in charge of the Mother Diaspora, the Mother Commander.”

Hamm rumbled something to Reccin, a curt sound, then removed the chief’s grip from his arm and stepped close. Marc could feel the furr’s physical presence, a warm weight pushing gently against the back of his arm.

“Greetings, Mother Commander.” Hamm didn’t offer a salute or bow of any kind. He held his hands free and loose at his sides, but at least he kept his claws sheathed.

“Whose weapon are you anyway, Sergeant?” The Mother Commander eyed Marc’s position beside Hamm, brandishing Mat half-cocked, safety off, finger braced stiff on the trigger guard. Reccin stood at Hamm’s other shoulder, and though the chief was slightly shorter, to Marc the pair still resembled an impenetrable wall.

“Mine, sir. I have to live with the burden of my actions. I think I’ll decide for myself when to squeeze the trigger and where to aim my scope.”

“Sounds more mercenary than SFI, Sergeant. Is that your final decision? Mutiny?”

Mutiny? Marc’s skin went cold, his pulse hammering suddenly in his temple.

“I’m not rejecting the authority of the Mother Commander, sir.” It felt like he was backpedaling, but part of him didn’t much care. He kept talking, yet his attention remained focused elsewhere. The only thing he didn’t bother watching was Hamm. Even Reccin earned a glance or two, given his unpredictable reactions to offense. Interesting shift of trust, if that’s what it signified. “Maybe mercenary is all I’ve ever been. Because SFI doesn’t have soldiers—I wasn’t trained for combat, that’s not what SFI’s purpose is. And I can’t think of a time when I stepped up to fight for anything. I’m a hunter. A glorified bodyguard for a bunch of science geeks and strip miners. Until now.”

He had no idea where the words came from. The Mother Commander’s eyes went wide and white, though that was the only reaction. Aside from the silence. He could hear the breeze rustling through the grass, the branches of the trees. Even with the two shuttles idling nearby.

“Well, Sergeant Staille, you’ve certainly made it apparent where your loyalties lie.” His superior didn’t look particularly pleased with the outcome once the shock of its delivery wore off. Judging from the tone, Marc should perhaps stop talking. But this was too important to not risk discharge.

“I just want the best possible relations between humans and furrs. Under the circumstances, I’m best equipped to do that. They think we’re at war with them, and we’re plowing through the sandbox completely oblivious. I’d like to think we aren’t malicious in our decisions. Sir.”

“Strong contrasting perceptions, Sergeant. But rest assured—” the commander shifted focus directly to Hamm “—that we are not malicious. It’s apparent there was a disconnect of some kind in our process. We wouldn’t have proceeded had we known you were here. Now that we’re no longer oblivious, we shall make an effort to comport ourselves respectfully.”

“And retreat?” Hamm held the commander’s gaze as he spoke, and Marc echoed his question for the Mother Commander.

“Disarm immediately, for starters. Retreating is more complex. We came here in search of a compound we require in large quantities. Those quantities exist here.”

And just like that, from consideration to negotiation. From being receptive to the furrs’ interests to focusing on getting what they’d stopped here for in the first place. Or was he just hypersensitive to how the team treated Hamm?

Marc stepped a fraction closer to the furr, shifting his rifle with natural ease. Muscle memory. “I thought interaction and negotiation were the reason for the C-C team, Commander.” Key term there being the team, not the head honcho from the mothership. Priorities, hello? But the commander seemed to think hijacking the process and bulldozing through to the desired objective remained a viable tactic. Preferable, even.

Half of him wanted to demand they be given a half decent chance to do their jobs. The other half of him, well, saw nothing but incompetence regardless of where he looked. So he probed for clarification on Hamm’s behalf, knowing Hamm would follow along just fine. Whether Hamm would interject with further opinions or questions, he wasn’t sure.

“I think the conclusion will be obvious enough. The rest of this is formality, data for research purposes, and documentation. Field decision, Sergeant. You have a problem with that?” The Mother Commander’s gaze still didn’t shift from Hamm’s.

Marc had as much desire to give a knee-jerk “no, sir” as he did to take it up the ass with Mat’s barrel in front of everyone.

A resolution that led to an amicable “armistice”—no, he didn’t have a problem with that. Except it was way too easy.

The flying sucker bunnies hadn’t been this easy. The aerial vampire rabbits, or AVR, had decimated anyone who set foot on their planet. In rabid swarms.

He hadn’t seen anything that resembled “easy” on a forward scout embed yet.

Horace Deuce-Niner had been as close to easy as he’d seen. Ever. What flaming idiot had thought this perfectly habitable planet would lack a sapient race?

After fumbling past the fail-safes designed to catch just that sort of presence, they were eager to rush into any agreement that would permit them to stay planetside in search of this substance the Mother needed to mine or harvest.

Off you go, secure the valley for the advance battalion
—who was accompanying the team of scientists attempting to locate the nearest deposit of white carbon.

Marc narrowed his gaze, wary. His superior maintained an open expression, an easygoing demeanor.

No flinch, no twitch. No tell. Poker face.

Hamm huffed and fisted his hands as though to refrain from unsheathing his claws. The edge of discomfort visible in the tense lines of his body, his face, didn’t fade when he addressed the commander again. “You speak of quantities. I need to know what you’re after.” When Marc translated his words again, it earned him a hostile glance from the Mother Commander. Beside him, Hamm made a wordless rumble-purr that didn’t translate, and nudged Marc.

“That would put us at a disadvantage in negotiations, Sergeant.”

“If we were at war, I would agree.”

“They think we are. I observed the earlier interactions and conversation. And what you’re suggesting goes against established protocols.”

“That wasn’t my suggestion. That was Commander Orsonna’s demand. You want greatest benefit from least effort? From what I’ve seen, I think we stand to gain more by establishing a healthy, long-term relationship. You want to convince them we’re not at war. It makes sense to start behaving in a way that communicates as much.”

The C-C team stepped up to flank the Mother Commander, Andruski on one side, with Cortannas and Makko opposite him. The ambassador’s intense focus, and the furrow creasing his brow, drew Marc’s attention. “You know their culture better than anyone else at this point, Sergeant Staille. What say you? Will dominance earn us more respect?”

Marc wanted to scream. His hand twitched toward Mat’s barrel. “They are not animals. Sir.” He glanced up at Hamm, who met his gaze and nodded. “It’s best to show some respect if you wish to earn some. They’ve witnessed enough aggression from us, don’t you think?”

“You want us to show weakness.”

Startled by the Mother Commander’s tone, Marc hesitated. “Commander Orsonna, this is where you need to step in.” Marc fumbled, grabbed his wrist and tugged.

With another rumble-purr, this one a deeper resonance, Hamm stepped forward. Drawing the attention of the Mother Commander and the lieutenant major back to him. “No, Mother Commander. I want to see that you’re willing to stand on a level playing field. To give as you take.”

The Mother Commander stared from Marc to Hamm and back again, studying them in silence, perfectly still, as Andruski translated. Slowly and with extreme reluctance, from the looks of it.

Cortannas hissed through clenched teeth, shifted as though to interrupt. The commander stayed her with a raised hand.

“Is that what this is about? They are concerned with being seen as weak?” Hamm growled, attention lingering on Marc’s fingers on his wrist. The smooth warmth of the furr’s skin distracted Marc. The flex and shift of tendons and muscle beneath his touch registered more prominently than it should have. He glanced up to find Hamm watching him. As though all the rest of this collection of invading humans didn’t even exist. Just Marc, with Mat dangling down his back like a dead weight of guilt. Branding him.

Killer.

No. It was a tool. Death stick.

Hamm ran his gaze over the Mother Commander and the C-C team, assessing and intense. Then he studied Marc, who met the furr’s piercing stare and held steady. “You tell these humans that if they wish to remain here and purchase or trade goods, I want to know why. What is so valuable to your kind that you would kill this way? How desperate are you for it that you would go to such lengths?” Marc didn’t have to translate, didn’t get a chance; Andruski was already doing it. He gritted his teeth when Hamm turned to face the others, a hostile edge creeping into Hamm’s voice. “I want a detailed explanation. What? How much of it? How much it’s worth to you? We aren’t unfamiliar with commerce. But we also aren’t unfamiliar with abuse and subversion.”