Valor's Trial (53 page)

“Just make sure you record this.” Craig's mouth barely moved as the gray swelled out of his tear ducts and the fingers around Torin's wrist tightened past the point of pain. No problem. She'd cope with a few more bruises.

“Please. I are knowing how to do my job,” Presit reminded him with a disdainful sniff. A small, HE-clad finger poked Torin's hip. “You are better getting that before it are reaching his beard.”

A small part of Torin had to give Presit credit for maintaining attitude in the face of truly fukking weird. She lifted the hand Craig still held, letting his breath slide warm across her palm for just a moment, then lifted her other hand to the other side of his face and mirrored what he'd done—one finger to the end of each of the lines.

She half expected them to feel wet, like actual tears, although experience said they wouldn't. She expected them to feel different from the last of the aliens that had poured out of Major Svensson. They'd been a part of Craig for a lot longer. They didn't feel wet. They didn't feel different. They didn't feel like a part of Craig. They felt like nothing at all.

Blisters protesting as the skin shifted, Torin squatted and stretched her finger toward the roiling mass on the floor. One of the peaks elongated. Then it flicked forward too fast to really see, and the gray glob on her finger was gone.

Hands slapped against uniforms as, behind her, everyone reached for the weapons they weren't carrying.

“I fukking hate tentacles,” Werst muttered.

Sucking air in through her teeth, Torin straightened. “Presit.”

“I are recording.”

“Give the camera to Craig.”

“You are not telling me what to . . .”

“You went through the floor on Big Yellow as well.”

This time the silence was so complete the only sound was a barely audible swoosh that had to be coming from the alien's movement. Another tentacle rose and was reabsorbed. Werst mimed shooting it.

Presit broke the silence with a snort. “Oh, no. I are not having that thing in my brain. I are having . . .”

“The same markers Craig and I had.”

“Yes and no. I are tested.” She handed the camera off to Craig but then stepped back quickly and flipped the hood of her HE suit back up. “You are having aliens and he are having aliens in your brains— being lovers who are reuniting and are discovering the way to be saving the day. Very romantic. I are not having aliens in my brain, so you are getting away from me! I are not having . . .” Her back impacted with Mashona's legs, and the Marine took a firm grip on her shoulders.

Torin crouched again so she could get up close and personal with the reporter's faceplate. Behind it, she could see her reflection in the mirrored glasses Presit hadn't taken the time to remove. “Helmet off,” she said quietly. “You're not reporting the story anymore; you're a part of it.”

“I are not a part of this!”

“Take the helmet off, or I'll take it off you, hold you upside down, and squeeze the fukking aliens out of your head.”

“You would not be daring!”

Torin allowed just exactly what she would dare to show on her face.

Presit flipped the helmet back down and with trembling hands— the movement visible even through the HE suit—reached up and pulled off her glasses. “This are exactly why my people are arguing against allowing the Younger Races into the Confederation,” she muttered. “If it are soaking into my fur, I are never forgiving you!”

“That's fair.”

This time the alien didn't emerge from tear ducts but appeared as a faint gray film over the dark gleam of Presit's eyes. As Torin moved her index fingers carefully in toward the curve, she thought it looked as though the reporter had gone temporarily blind. Couldn't have, though, or they'd have all heard about it. The Katrien as a species didn't tend to suffer in silence. The gray film rose out toward her finger like tenting fabric then, with a faint sucking sound, came free.

Not bothering to combine them, Torin flicked the two new pieces of alien—the two new collections of a polynumerous molecular species—into the waiting pile.

The pile sank down, flattening into a disk about a meter and a half in diameter, the edges fluttering like the propulsion unit on one of the more showy species in the Methane Alliance. Maybe it was telling them something, but Torin suspected it was merely regrouping and sharing information.

“So what do we do now?” Craig was a warm, solid presence by her side.

She needed him to move away. Needed him to not stand so close that he was a distraction. Needed him to move because she couldn't. Couldn't tell him that either, so all she said was, “We wait for it to tell us what the fuk is going on.”

“What makes you think it's going to?”

“It's still there. If it didn't want to talk to us, it sure as shit wouldn't have stayed around. This stuff is fast, and it can break into pieces too small for the naked eye to see.”

“It's still not talking to us.”

“Give it time.”

“Gunny, on Crucible you had Iful make the alien a voice.”

“Yes, I did, Kichar, but it wasn't necessary. Evidence is that these things can mimic cellular structure so perfectly they can't be found on scans, so they can fukking well make themselves a mouth and ears. It's not like there's a shortage of design options.”

“What are making you so sure it will do what you are saying?” Presit's voice was a little shaky, but the glasses were back in place and her posture suggested she'd take out the knees of anyone who dared comment.

“Part of it was in my head,” Torin reminded her.

“Oh, and that are enough!” the reporter snorted. “You are apparently not being so special; part have been in my . . .”

“Gunny? You want me to shut her up?”

She jerked forward, out of Mashona's grasp. “You are not able to be silencing the . . . Oh.”

Sliding through the spectrum and then fading back into gray, the alien mass rose in the middle, rounded the crest, extruded two short arms, and created a vaguely bipedal shape. Given the mass it had available, it wasn't tall and the minimal features made it look like a cross between the Krai and the Druin.

Forming gray-on-gray eyes, it blinked twice and locked its gaze on Torin's face. “We have sufficient data.” It spoke both Federate and Primacy—echoing itself the way the slate had been echoing every word spoken since Mike had gotten the translation program working.

Torin passed the slate back to Ressk. “Block the thing's input; we haven't time to listen to translations of translations.” Then she turned her attention back to the alien and snarled, “You have sufficient data on what?”

“The interaction of life-forms we have encountered.”

“Interaction?” Another piece fell into place. “You used the war to gather subjects to study.”

“Yes.”

Arms behind her, at parade rest. Easier to hide the way her hands were trembling. “This isn't a prison, it's a laboratory.”

“In the manner you understand laboratory. Yes. We built this area to observe reactions in a more controlled environment.”

“There was something in the food.”

“There was.”

“But it didn't affect me.”

“Because you engineered an escape?” The ripple that passed through the gray rearranged its mass slightly, its facial shape picking up the longer lines of the Polina. “So, too, did Durlin Vertic. We have been gathering data for a very long time. For generations of your species. There have been other escapes. Others whose chemistry fights the control. And then there is new data. The tunnels challenge. The technology challenges. Meeting those considered the enemy challenges. The planet itself challenges.”

“But we would have heard about escapes,” Vertic growled.

“No one
escaped,
” Torin corrected. She could feel her heart pounding against the inside of her ribs. She could hear the sound of nineteen people breathing. She could feel the back of Craig's hand lightly brushing hers. She could fortunately smell nothing of the mix of seven unwashed species. The Human nose was smart, it shut down when things became too much for it.

She was seeing red. Blood was red. Iron-based blood. Technical Sergeant Mike Gucciard's blood. Private Jiyuu's blood. Staff Sergeant Harnett's blood. The Artek's blood was copper-based. If they understood what was going on, Torin was pretty goddamned sure they'd be seeing green. “If this prison was created to observe in a more controlled environment, then you had to have also been observing in a less controlled environment. You didn't infiltrate the Confederation after Big Yellow. When we chanced on Big Yellow, you used the escape pod to add new parameters to the experiment. One fuk of a lot of people have died over the last few centuries but not, as they believed, in a war. In another laboratory.”

Torin didn't remember moving, but Craig had hold of her arms and Werst had shoved his shoulder up against her hips, stopping her blind charge. The alien had to have retreated or, judging by how far down the corridor she'd come, she'd have stomped right through it, scattering it into pieces. As it remained whole, she felt as though she'd scattered herself to pieces instead.

Strangely, it was Presit who pulled her back together.

“I are wanting to be hearing from . . .” Her glasses shifted as she frowned. “From the Gray One now. The one that are being gray becauseit are choosing to, not because it are filthy,” she expanded with a sneer.

Torin nodded down at Werst, and he moved aside. She shrugged out of Craig's grip, felt his touch linger, and said, “We're all waiting to hear from the Gray One.” A gesture directed its minimal face toward the camera. “Explain.”

It actually cocked its head. Torin just barely stopped herself from kicking that head off its shoulders. “It takes time to collect sufficient data on new species. Creating extreme situations erases all but essential behaviors and shortens the duration of the study.”

“Did that fukker just say they started the war so they could simplify us?” Ressk asked over the rising murmurs of protest.

“We began the conflict to shorten the duration of the study. We continued the conflict until we had sufficient data.”

“You continued the conflict?” Ressk was shouting now. “You kept us fighting?”

This time, perhaps because the question was directed specifically at it, it answered. “We did what was necessary to maintain the research parameters we required.”

Torin grabbed Darlys' combats as she charged by and swung the nearly hysterical di'Taykan easily into the circle of her arms. “There's no point,” she murmured against the singed ocher of her hair. “You can't touch it if it doesn't want you to.”

“It destroyed the diplomatic ships! It kept the war going! I have lost
thytrin!
”

“Yeah, so have a lot of people.” No point in adding that the Marines Darlys had helped Harnett kill had
thytrin
as well. Here and now, facing the reason so many had died, that was barely relevant. Breathing shallowly through her mouth, contact jacking arousal up to uncomfortable levels, she eased Darlys back into Watura's arms. He swayed but managed to stay standing.

The sound of claws against the floor shifted Torin to one side as Durlin Vertic staggered closer, one hand braced on Kyster's shoulder. She drew in a deep breath and visibly shook herself free of the pain. “Now you have sufficient data, what do you intend to do with it?” she demanded.

“The data must be analyzed.”

“And then?”

“We will know when we analyze the data.”

“Not good enough.”

It shrugged. It copied the Human motion better than the Krai. “We will know when we analyze the data.”

“On a more personal level,” Torin growled. “What the fuk were you doing in my head?”

“Analysis requires context. You provided context.”

“Only if you get out of here alive, you little fukker.” Craig moved closer to Torin.

“You also provided context.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

Durlin Vertic cut any further comment off short. “Gunnery Sergeant Kerr.”

“Sir?”

“Is there a way to destroy this . . . creature?”

“Yes, sir. Very high temperatures will cook the organic components.” If the durlin gave the order, Torin would do her damnedest to follow it.

“It would be an entirely pointless gesture.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Let's keep it in reserve.”

“Yes, sir.”

Kyster shifted more of his weight off his injured foot as the durlin shuffled around to glare down at the Gray Ones, her grip on his shoulder tightening. Torin had to remind herself that the Krai were a lot stronger than they looked.

“Why have you decided to end your experiment now?”

“We have sufficient data.”

“I know what sufficient means,” the durlin snarled. “And it doesn't mean that the experiment came to an end.”

It blinked again. Only the second time, Torin realized. Creepy little fuk. “There was some indication we were discovered.”

“Yeah, well, a disappearing escape pod gets noticed,” Craig snorted. “Should've wiped our memories, too, mate.”

“You needed to retain your memories.”

“Oh, yeah, to give you
context
.” He said context like it was a new form of profanity.

“The memories brought you here. All of you. Although that was not the indication we referred to.”

“It was back on Big Yellow,” Torin began slowly fitting the final pieces together. “You intended to add new experimental parameters inside the Primacy, too. More context. You deep scanned some of the Artek, but they couldn't get off the ship in time and their Command destroyed their own people rather than let us take them . . .” She turned just enough to see her reflection in Firiv'vrak's eyes. “Did your people know?”