The Privilege of Peace Page 15

  This wasn’t her first dance. She brought her KC up as her knees buckled, finger sliding behind the trigger guard . . .

  * * *

  “Hey, Boss! Remember how you didn’t even want me to carry a weapon, let alone shoot one?” Crossing behind the targets, now continuously flashing green as the shooters downloaded their scores, Alamber shook his head, hating the way the rain beat his hair flat. He might as well leave his helmet on; then, at least, it would be flat and dry. “Well, I changed my mind, and I’m now in total agreement.” Light receptors all the way open, he still couldn’t see Torin through the downpour, and the smoke from the chemical propellant was the only scent strong enough to identify. But he had to be close. “I’ll just go back to the canteen. Maybe put the coffee on.

  “Boss?”

  He shook his head again as the wind stilled and the rain gentled. “Seriously, Boss, if you snuck back under cover, I’m . . .”

  She lay on the ground, head turned toward him, panting through her half-open mouth. Her lower legs were folded under, toes of her boots digging into the mud. Her weapon lay canted up by her hip, fingers of her right hand gripping it loosely. Her left hand pressed against her stomach where the rain washed away the red seeping between her fingers.

  “CRAIG!”

  Muddy water sprayed over her face as his knees hit the ground. He wiped at it frantically with one hand while pressing the other over hers to stop the bleeding. He didn’t have sealant. Why didn’t he have sealant?

  Her eyes were half open, but he didn’t think she could see him.

  Heart pounding, he tongued his implant on. He’d maintained the team’s connection to the Promise in orbit. He didn’t know these people. He didn’t trust these people. He really was smarter than he looked.

  *CRAIG!*

  *The fuk? Alam . . .*

  *Torin’s been shot!*

  She was still bleeding. Warmth rose up around the edges of his fingers. Should he straighten her legs? Could he straighten her legs? He’d taken the classes. He couldn’t remember. He could remember his vantru bleeding out like this. Blood pooling on the tiles. A crowd gathering. Her skin this cold and damp. “No, it’s rain. That’s all. Rain.”

  He bent his head, and his hair touched the edges of her face, shielding it.

  “Alamber! Where . . . ?”

  A heavy hand closed on his shoulder and tried to pull him back. He resisted, putting pressure on the wound. His breathing matching hers.

  “Don’t leave me alone.”

  “God fukking damnit!”

  He felt the ground tremble as Craig threw himself down. But that was impossible.

  “Alamber! On three, lift your hand. One. Two . . .”

  Do what?

  A sharp pain in his left arm.

  Lift his hand!

  “Three!”

  He lifted his right hand. Heard the hiss of sealant. Craig was their field medic. He’d know what to do.

  Alamber bent closer until he could feel warm air against his mouth and whispered, “Keep breathing.”

  “Come on, kid.” Hands around his arm. “Let them work.”

  Pressure, gentle but relentless, pulled him back and, still on his knees, he sagged against Ressk’s solid body. Craig knelt against Torin’s hip, checking the seal while Werst crouched across from him, hands under her back. He could feel the others gathering around, but no one came close enough to reach even his peripheral vision.

  “No exit,” Werst grunted.

  “She’s still lost a lot of blood.”

  “Not the biggest problem.” Werst’s nostril ridges flared. “It didn’t go through. It hit bone and tumbled.”

  “Fuk! Stretcher?”

  “There’s an autodoc, must be a stretcher.”

  “Had a stretcher.” Ranjit stepped forward, PCU in her ear. “Last training trip, it went into the nearest hospital and never came back. We can make . . .”

  “No time!” Craig shifted his weight up off his knees, and reached . . .

  “Let me!” Zhou was suddenly there, spitting out words in a staccato stream. “I was born on Paradise, like Gunny. Don’t have to compensate for her heavier bone and muscle, and I can take advantage of the lower gravity.”

  Alamber could see Craig’s chest heaving and braced himself for the protest. It wasn’t much of an advantage, Zhou didn’t have Craig’s bulk, and the boss was Craig’s vantru. He wouldn’t release her.

  But Craig got out of the way and said, “Go. I’m right behind you.”

  It took both men and Werst to lift the dead . . . no . . . to lift the limp weight. Zhou adjusted his hold—light receptors wide open, Alamber could all but see muscle settle into the most efficient configuration—took one step, two, and began to run. Craig ran on his heels. Why wasn’t Werst with him?

  “Come on, kid. On your feet.” Ressk’s voice held the don’t bother arguing with me tone he usually used on Werst. “Serley chrika, I keep forgetting how tall you lot are.”

  Then other hands wrapped around his arms, and he could smell the spicy warmth of Tylen’s pheromones as she cradled him for a moment, his face pressed against the bare skin of her neck while Cap sent the ex-Corps out in a pattern they clearly recognized. That was why Werst had stayed. Made sense. If asked, Alamber would have said that boots against wet ground couldn’t sound intimidating, and he’d have been wrong. He closed his teeth on a laugh. Good thing we were at the range, they’re all armed.

  We’re all armed.

  Not that this group was ever entirely unarmed.

  “Come on.” Tylen shifted her grip. “Let’s go.”

  The di’Taykan, faster on the flat, moved out to flank Zhou’s position, the Humans made an inner, protective wall of muscle, and the Krai covered the rear.

  Covered their six, Alamber corrected. That’s what the boss would say. He stayed as close to Craig as he could, fully aware that at a dead run he could recognize a threat but didn’t have a hope in hell of hitting it on a cool, sunny afternoon, let alone after dark in heavy rain.

  Wait. How could Zhou see where he was going? Human eyesight sucked after dark and, even with his helmet, this kind of heavy rain made thermal useless.

  He wished he could stop thinking and just run, but Zhou wasn’t moving fast enough.

  Why wasn’t he moving faster?

  Was this as fast as Humans could run?

  The targeting system! Zhou was a sniper. His helmet scanner had multiple ancillary programs. Well, Binti’s did. Zhou’s must. If he locked targeting, kept it centered, he could aim himself. Had to be what he was doing.

  Where did I leave my helmet? He hadn’t had it when he found . . .

  Werst had smelled more than blood.

  A tumbling bullet would have torn up her intestines.

  Just like his vantru.

  He hadn’t thought of her in years.

  She’d died in his arms.

  And left him alone.

  The yard in front of the canteen blazed with light, poles turned up to full illumination, spotlights Alamber hadn’t known existed adding to the brilliance. The rain fell in silver sheets. Boots impacted against the gravel like they were crushing rock and he couldn’t stop a huffed-out laugh when he realized they were running in step.

  Marilissa met them three meters from the big double doors, hair dripping down into her face. “Autodoc’s up and running.”

  “Petty officer,” he heard Elisk snicker behind him. Alamber wanted to tell him it wasn’t funny, but maybe in the Navy it was.

  She reached for Zhou’s arm. “Do you need help?”

  “Get. Out. Of. The way.” Paradise advantage or not, he’d still run over a kilometer carrying almost two meters of solid muscle.

  As Zhou crossed the threshold, Lieutenant Maaren threw open a door on the other side of the canteen and ye
lled, “Over here! I’ve got med-evac incoming,” he added, leading the way down the corridor. “Given the storm, fifty minutes. Probably more.” He darted through another open door, adding an unnecessary, “In here.”

  Alamber sagged against the wall as Zhou and Craig followed Maaren into the final room. Listened to the lid on the autodoc seal, listened to Elisk out in the canteen ordering the building’s defenses. Heard Marilissa protesting she hadn’t held a weapon since she got out and wasn’t going to now. He wondered why Maaren was wet. Not as wet as Marilissa who’d come out to meet them, but he’d obviously just towel-dried his hair.

  A moment later, Zhou backed out of the room, helmet under his arm, hair dry in contrast to the water dripping off the rest of him.

  “Elisk’s locking us up tight,” Alamber said, falling into step beside him. Zhou’s chest visibly rose and fell, and the water running down his face smelled faintly of salt, but those were the only signs of physical exertion. The Strike Teams were in stupidly good condition. Maybe not so stupid. “Cap’s got pairs of ex-Corps out searching for the shooter.” When Zhou glanced over at him, Alamber felt his hair lift. “I thought you’d want a sitrep.”

  “Yeah, thanks. Why aren’t you helping?”

  “Not military, I’d slow them down. I . . .” Needed to be sure the boss was safe. He clipped his slate off his belt. “Now I’m out of the rain, I can cover more ground with this.”

  “Zhou!” Elisk still wore his helmet; from the shimmer, he was using the scanner as a screen, and the helmet’s integrated PCU was significantly more powerful than the same unit stuffed in the ear, so Alamber supposed the helmet made sense. “On the roof. Provide cover for Kaur’s teams as they come in.”

  “Sir!” Zhou grabbed his KC off a table as he passed. He’d obviously tossed it to one of the ex-Navy when he’d gone to help the boss. Seemed to indicate he’d known how Cap would use the Corps. Fuk, but Alamber got tired of how everyone knew things he didn’t, how they’d had it coded into neural pathways and didn’t have to think about it. They had the luxury of reacting and knowing everyone around them would react the same way.

  “Alamber?”

  He held up his slate.

  Elisk nodded. “Go to it.”

  Good thing he knew things they didn’t.

  * * *

  • • •

  “You’re in the planetary satellite system.”

  “With malice and forethought,” Alamber agreed and kept working. He’d been efficient, not gentle.

  “That’s not . . .”

  “Warden.”

  He could feel the weight of Lieutenant Maaren’s regard change. “I’m sorry, son, but that doesn’t give you . . .”

  “Article 12.3: Field officers of the Justice Department outrank Planetary Law Enforcement when a field officer of the Justice Department has been injured in the line of duty.”

  “You made that up.”

  Alamber ignored him, concentrating on his screen. There were electrostatic disturbances all the way up to the edge of the atmosphere.

  “I’m going to have to report this.”

  “You do what you have to.”

  After a long moment, Maaren sighed, and Alamber heard the dull thud of a full mug hit the table by his elbow. “Here. It’s fresh.”

  * * *

  • • •

  “Nothing.” Cap pulled off her helmet and squeezed the twist of hair at the top of her spine. “If there’s any clue to the shooter out there, the rain’s washed it away.”

  The ex-Corps from the three Strike Teams filled the canteen. They came in together, each of them jogging purposefully through the door, continuing until they had space enough to strip off wet clothes, KCs kept close at hand. They must’ve met up in the courtyard and exchanged information, because they weren’t talking now.

  Cap set her weapon carefully down on the table and peeled out of her work shirt. “Now, they could be very good,” she continued catching a thrown towel, “or it could be the storm, but we’re never going to find a single shooter out there.”

  PCU still in his ear, Elisk pulled his helmet off. “You sure it was a single shooter?”

  “No, but it was a single shot.”

  Alamber stood. “The odds are high it was a single shooter. There was a satellite pass just before the rain started,” he continued as multiple, quiet conversations paused and attention turned toward him. “I pulled imaging, so unless there’s a group out there in military-grade cammo, blocking thermals . . .”

  “Electrostatic?” Yahsamus asked, leaning around his shoulder to get a look at the screen.

  Thunder cracked, close enough the windows rattled.

  “In this shit?”

  She nodded, dark green hair flattening. “Point.”

  “So, unless they’re in military-grade cammo, a group would show. Therefore one shooter.”

  Cap nodded. “While I wouldn’t put the cammo past them . . .” She didn’t have to define them, at this point, they could only be Humans First. “. . . we’d have found a group.” She had the boss’ certainty. Alamber didn’t doubt her. Then the big screen caught her attention, and she frowned at the thermal image of the protesters’ campsite.

  Alamber couldn’t determine what exactly she was frowning at. After dark, the cameras had switched to thermal, the cheapest option, and on the screen the multiroomed tent read as a yellow/orange/red blob.

  “Lieutenant Maaren.” The ice in Cap’s voice pulled attention to Maaren, who’d been helping his people provide towels and deal with wet gear. “Why haven’t your lot brought in the protesters?”

  “My lot? No one crossed the perimeter . . .” Maaren began.

  Cap snorted. “Who in here can’t disable a perimeter pin?”

  The PLEs looked pissed—Alamber assumed it was because they’d never learned—and Marilissa raised the hand not holding the coffee carafe. “I’m a cook,” she explained as the teams turned toward her. “Which one of you lot can make a creme brûlée?”

  “They’re over fifteen kilometers away,” Maaren began again.

  “Is that so?” Cap rolled right over him. “Fine. If it’s too far for the PLE, we’ll get them.”

  “No!” Maaren shouted over the sound of chairs being pushed back and weapons picked up. If he saw what Alamber did, he saw people who’d not only gone to war, but come back. From the vehemence of his denial, he clearly didn’t trust what he saw in a civilian environment. Usually, that wasn’t an issue, the Strike Teams knew where the lines were. Here and now, Alamber suspected Maaren had made the smart call.

  The five PLEs, no longer holding towels and coffee mugs, but arming up with attitude of their own, obviously thought so, too.

  “Suit up.” Maaren’s gesture got them moving toward the door, movements stiff under the weight of scrutiny. “Meet at the vehicle shed in five. We’ll take the sled out and bring them back in their crawler.”

  When only Maaren remained in the building, Cap’s voice stopped him on the threshold. “When you return, we’ll need to talk to your people, too.”

  The lieutenant shot her a flat, unfriendly stare. “My people don’t use guns.”

  “Yeah, well, the person who did this was a lousy shot. They were close enough, Gunny knew they were there . . .”

  “While it was bucketing down rain,” Werst growled.

  “. . . and they didn’t manage a kill shot.”

  “Could be they didn’t intend to kill her.”

  “Could be you live in an interesting world down here. We don’t. Remember, one of the protesters could be armed although they’d be smarter to have ditched the weapon on the way back to the camp.”

  “Armed?” Binti said the moment the door closed. “And none of us are going with them?”

  “If it was one of the protesters, they wouldn’t have gone back to the camp. They
’d disappear into all this nothing heading for a prearranged pickup.”

  “They’re all Human,” Elisk said quietly.

  At first Alamber thought he meant the protesters, who weren’t, then he realized Elisk had been referring to the group of PLEs.

  Cap nodded. “I noticed, but I’m giving the screening process for a law enforcement position the benefit of the doubt. Also, Humans First doesn’t strike me as the sort of organization who’d plant a long-term sleeper agent. We didn’t know we were heading here until just before we left.”

  “We didn’t,” Aszur, Ch’tore team’s Krai pilot, pointed out.

  “Noted.” Cap accepted a mug of coffee with a quiet thanks. “Alamber—the med-evac?”

  “I’m tracking.” He hadn’t taken Maaren’s word they’d been called. “Still fifty-five out. There was a lightning strike in Glinford, a town fifty klicks out from Anchoring, where the hospital is, and they say since the boss is in an autodoc and seventeen people in Glinford aren’t, she can wait.” Intellectually, logically, they were right, but Alamber knew his hair had pressed flat against his head. The . . . Torin needed a tank, not an autodoc.

  “All right.” Sounded like Cap agreed. “While we’re waiting, get started on your after actions while everything’s fresh. We might find information we can use.”

  The roar of the sled leaving the compound could be heard over the rain.

  “Needs a tune-up,” Zhou muttered.

  “Uh, Cap?” The undertones in Yahsamus’ voice caught Alamber’s attention. “You may want to look at this.” She held out her slate.

  Brows up, Cap shifted her coffee to her other hand, took it, and glanced down. “Fukking hell. Bilodeau!”

  The room fell so silent Alamber swore he could hear the hum of the autodoc.

  Standing watch at the western window, Marie jerked around. “Cap?”

  “Yahsamus pulled the target data. Your target showed nineteen out of twenty possible hits.”