The Heart of Valour (19 page)

Dr. Sloan shook her head. “No. Like I said, the drugs he used to delay the change have messed up his system. He’s changing now, but it’s happening slowly and painfully.”

“Is he functional?”

“Define functional. He’s breathing on his own, his heart is beating. We can get liquids down him, but I’m not so sure about solids.”

“Can he walk?”

“No.”

Under the circumstances, that wasn’t unexpected. “All right, we move him on a stretcher.”

“I’d rather not move him at all, Major.”

“Unfortunately Doctor, staying here isn’t an option.”

The major forestalled further protest by turning his attention back to Jonin. “How does the staff sergeant’s
condition
affect the di’Taykan?” When Jonin paused a little too long before answering, the major sighed. “We just had a single species mutiny, Recruit. There’s obviously an effect. What is it?”

“We have to protect him, sir.”

“Have to?” Imperatives with the Taykan took only one form. He nodded toward Jonin’s masker. “New pheromones?”

“Yes, sir.”

The major’s attention shifted to Torin. “Did you know about the pheromones when you ordered this one, Sakur, and Lirit to stand guard?”

Torin shook her head. “No, sir, but they obviously weren’t going to leave him alone, and that seemed the best compromise.”

“Good call.” He drew in a long breath and let it out slowly. Information gathering had finished, Torin realized. Time for decisions. “The staff sergeant’s masker isn’t enough to block the effect?”

Torin frowned as Jonin’s hair stilled. “You’ve taken the masker off him, haven’t you?” she asked.

He straightened; shoulders squared, chin up. “It’s wrong.”

“For the qui’Taykan to wear a masker?” Major Svensson looked less than thrilled, and Torin didn’t blame him. In accepting three different species into the Corps, Command had realized it would have to make certain concessions, but some of those concessions were damned inconvenient.

“Yes, sir.”

Interesting that Jonin’s tone suggest he didn’t quite agree with the party line. It sounded to Torin like he was looking for a way out. “Major?”

The major sighed. “Go ahead, Gunny.”

“It is entirely possible Oshya died because she was distracted by Staff Sergeant Beyhn’s situation. This stopped being training the moment that tank showed up. This is combat now. If the di’Taykan want to protect the staff sergeant, they have to have their wits about them. They have to be Marines.”

Jonin’s eyes began to darken. “We can protect him better if he’s in the masker.”

“Yes.”

He stared at her for a long moment, his eyes almost cobalt again. Then his shoulders relaxed and his hair began to move, long slow sweeps front to back. “Permission to give that as the rationale for your order to the other di’Taykan, sir?”

Major Svensson snorted. “Do it. And then get the masker on Staff Sergeant Beyhn. Double it if you have to.”

“Even with the masker, one of us will have to be with him at all times, sir.”

“As long as he’s not walking, I’ll make sure the stretcher bearers are di’Taykan.”

“Thank you, sir.” He stood and took a step away.

“Jonin.”

“Sir?” Startled by the steel in the major’s voice, he stopped.

“Do not forget that this is a Marine Corps problem, not yours alone. If you ever try to take matters into your own hands again, I will personally see to it that you are not only brought up on charges leading to, at best, a dishonorable discharge but given a good swift kick in the ass on the way out—and when I say you, I mean every di’Taykan in this platoon. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir!”

The salute was pixel perfect. Torin had no idea how he managed to pivot on one heel in ankle-deep snow, but he managed it. “That went better than he’d expected,” she said quietly as Jonin rejoined the other di’Taykan at Beyhn’s shelter.

“You gave him an option he could work with as both di’Taykan and Marine. Nice work, Gunny.”

“Thank you, sir.” The di’Taykan aristocrats who became Marines tended to head for officer training, and Torin realized she’d just been shown why that was very much to the benefit of the Corps. They’d been raised to lead and some of them had been well raised, indeed.

“I’m not sure about calling it the staff sergeant’s condition though.”

“Seems a better choice than calling it the result of the staff sergeant’s dumbass behavior, sir.” Just for that moment, Torin didn’t bother hiding her disgust. Maybe the situation with the Elder Races had left her feeling a little sensitive about betrayal, but by putting his own desires ahead of the Corps, Beyhn had abdicated his responsibility for the Marines under his command—and that was the one thing she couldn’t, wouldn’t forgive.

Major Svensson stared at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable.

Torin honestly didn’t care if he thought she was being too hard line. She only hoped he wasn’t going to suggest she try to be more understanding of Staff Sergeant Beyhn’s motives because that would definitely put a crimp in their working relationship.

“I think we’ll stick with condition,” he said at last. Folding his arms, he stretched out his legs and crossed them at the ankle—a parody of relaxation. “So, what do we do now? We’re not in what anyone would call a defensible position, and once the Others gain better control of Crucible’s systems, we’ll be thoroughly fukked. It’ll take time. I’m betting the Corps’ programmers were sufficiently paranoid to layer security on the scenarios and even the drones themselves, but a few decent techs, given enough time, could take out every Marine on the planet. Zero risk of retaliation and they’re gone by the time the Navy gets back.”

“We need to know how far their control extends,” Torin said, frowning. “If we could get into the closest CPN…”

“Not without Staff Sergeant Beyhn’s codes.”

“They’ll be on his slate.”

“Behind heavy encryption,” the major snorted. “If those codes get into the wrong hands…” His voice trailed off into irony given whose hands currently held the system.

“I think I can deal with that, sir.”

His brows rose up to meet the edge of his toque. “You have hacker skills I don’t know about, Gunny?”

“Not exactly, sir.” Since the Others had the satellites, they had the ability to pick up the signals from the PCUs—all dirtside frequencies were logged with the Orbital Platform on approach. Easy enough to fix by changing frequencies and setting up eavesdropper alarms, but, for the moment, keeping their location secret was worse than pointless. Torin switched from group to the NCOs’ channel. “Sergeant Jiir.”

“Jiir here. Go ahead, Gunnery Sergeant.”

“A moment of your time.”

“On my way.”

The major looked intrigued. “Sergeant Jiir has hacker skills I don’t know about?”

“No, sir. He has…” As Jiir chose that moment to jog up, Torin turned her attention to him. “Sergeant, who’s the best hacker in the platoon?”

“Gunny?”

She could hear the concern in his voice and smiled. “By the time a platoon hits one twenty, there’re always a few recruits trying to crack the system.” Back in Sh’quo Company they had a lance corporal who could not only crack the system but break it into bits and make those bits march in straight lines. Torin wished Ressk was here right now. “Which one of them were you watching in case they actually managed it?”

“That would be McGuinty; he’s station-born, been in and out of all kinds of systems his whole life. But…”

“He’s not in trouble, Sergeant. In fact, he could very well save our collective asses. Have him pick up Staff Sergeant Beyhn’s slate and bring it here.”

* * *

McGuinty shoved his helmet back on his head and frowned at the major. “You want me to hack into the staff sergeant’s slate and get the codes that give access to the CPNs, sir?”

“Is that a problem, Recruit? Sergeant Jiir said you were close to cracking the Ventris codes.”

“Did he? That’s great, sir.”

“Not exactly,” Major Svensson pointed out dryly, “but since we’re about to take advantage of your skills, we’ll let that slide.”

“Sir! Yes, sir!” When the major raised a brow, his thin cheeks flushed. “Sorry, sir. Won’t Staff Sergeant Beyhn be furious about… that doesn’t matter, does it, sir?”

“No.”

Cautiously, looking ready to dive for cover with the slightest encouragement, McGuinty glanced over at the slate now slaved to Torin’s. “When do you…”

“The moment the gunny finishes transferring what she needs. Which would be right now,” he added as Torin tapped out of the connection and passed the staff sergeant’s slate back to the recruit.

He looked from the major to Torin and back to the major again. “Will the two of you be watching, sir?”

“What part of
now
are you having trouble understanding, McGuinty?”

“None, Gunnery Sergeant!”

“So get to work.”

“Yes, Gunnery Sergeant.”

Torin sighed, put her hand on his shoulder, and pushed him down into a sitting position on the other end of the major’s log. He gave a muffled squeak, and keeping his eyes locked on the screens, pulled out his slate and slaved it to the staff sergeant’s. After a few minutes, he looked up.

“I’m going to have to open…”

“Open what you need to,” Torin interrupted. “If any information gets out that shouldn’t get out, I’ll know who passed it on.”

“Yes, Gunnery Sergeant!”

She went reluctantly when the major beckoned her away, fully aware that her presence was intimidating but hoping to use it to speed things up.

They didn’t go far, stopping at an old stump where the major sank down and sat staring up at the stars, right hand absently working the muscles of his thigh.

“I was just thinking.”

Torin waited. A thinking officer wasn’t always a good thing.

“With Staff Sergeant Beyhn down—we’ve got the codes allowing us to contact the OP.” Torin tracked his gaze as he stared up into the sky, at the empty space between the stars where the Orbital Platform had been. After a long moment, he sighed. “All right, then.” Pulling off his mittens, he rubbed his palms together. “They change the scenario, we change the scenario. No more games, no more moving from point A to point B. Our mission now is surviving until the Navy gets back. Huddle with the sergeants, they know this place a lot better than we do, and find us something we can hold.”

“Yes, sir.”

* * *

“Dunstan Mills.” Sergeant Jiir tapped his screen, and everyone’s maps scrolled north. “It’s set up like a colony that’s been taken by the Others. Training platoon has to get it back. Sergeant Dleer’s group ran it just before they reset this section.”

“So it’s full of drones just waiting to be activated,” Annatahwee sighed. “Why is it we’d want to go there?”

“It’s set up like a colony,” Jiir repeated, like that should make his reasoning obvious.

Torin, born and raised on Paradise, the first new world the Confederation had settled Humans on, smiled. Every year growing up, she’d been forced on a pilgrimage to the First Landing Historical Site. “You’re thinking it’ll have an anchor.”

When the Confederation set a colony of the Younger Races down on a new planet, the first building, the anchor, was a cross between the Marine Corps packets and a large Vacuum-to-Air transport. Thirty meters by twenty meters by six meters, it could withstand both the rigors of space and an atmospheric entry. It held everything the new colony needed to get started and once emptied became a community center, a hospital, and—if necessary—a fortress.

“I grew up on Sacurr,” Jiir told them. “And every year we went to the Festival of First Seeding and I’m telling you, seventy-one years later that anchor was still in great shape. The
verrkark
things are indestructible.”

Annatahwee frowned at her screen. “And Dunstan Mills has one?”

“Should have.”

“But you don’t know for sure?”

“It’s set up like a colony…”

“So you keep saying,” she interrupted sharply. “But why would they waste one of these indestructible anchor things on Crucible?”

“To teach Marines how to do their jobs,” Torin said before Jiir could answer. “Any colony the Corps is sent to defend—or retake—will have an anchor. Therefore, any colony used in training needs to have an anchor as well. It won’t need to be completely tricked out, but it will need to have the same structural integrity. If Dunstan Mills is set up like a colony, it will have an anchor, and when we can get to it, we can hold it for as long as we need to.”

Annatahwee shook her head. “They know where we are, and they’ll know where we’re going.”

“They’ll know that no matter where we go, so we might as well head somewhere that’s worth the trip.”

* * *

“You want me to what, sir?” McGuinty stared up at the major with wide eyes.

“There’s a CPN at ninety-seven degrees and 1.3 kilometers; use the map on the staff sergeant’s slate to find it, then use his codes to gain access. If the Others aren’t in control, shut it down. If they are, take the system back.”

“The system? The whole system? Sir, if the Others are in control, taking the system back won’t be easy. They’ll have encryptions, sir. Alien encryptions. Those’ll take time to break.” His gaze turned inward, his brows nearly touching over his nose. “Maybe a lot of time,” he muttered.

“Did I say it would be easy, McGuinty?”

The brows snapped apart. “No, sir! How long do I have?”

“We’re moving out at dawn.”

“Dawn. Right.” He glanced up at the sky as though the stars would give him some hint of when dawn would be. “I’ll disable the staff sergeant’s slate so it can receive but not send. That’ll isolate it, and I’ll use it to back up my work. If you get me to another CPN, I can pick up where I had to leave off.” The silence pulled his attention back to his listeners. “Uh, if that’s okay, sir.”

“By all means, disable the staff sergeant’s slate.” The major wasn’t bothering to hide his amusement. “And we’ll see what we can do about getting you hooked back up if you have to bail tonight. Take another recruit with you—someone who
won’t
be fascinated by what you’re trying to do and will therefore actually keep watch and keep an eye on the time. They’re to check in with the gunny once you’ve got to the CPN and, if you can’t immediately shut the node down, every hour after.”