The Better Part of Valor Read Online Free PDF Page B

“Fuk you!”
    “After breakfast.”
    “Deal.”
    When Harrop looked startled, Torin grinned and shook her head. “You
have
served with di’Taykan before, Corporal?”
    “Sure, Staff. Hundreds.”
    “Then stop looking so damned surprised. At the moment,” she continued, now that the room’s attention had returned to her, “I know little more about this mission than you do; we’ll be first on an alien, deep-space craft found drifting by a civilian salvage operator. Briefing’s tomorrow morning, 0900 hours, across in the
Berganitan.
General Morris would like us all to attend.” Torin paused long enough for the expected rumble of complaint but not so long that the rumble turned into something more. “Whether he expects our presence to reassure or intimidate the civilian scientists who will also be in attendance remains unclear at this time.”
    Lance Corporal Ken Tsui snickered—there was one in every team who always got the joke—and several Marines smiled.
    “At the briefing,” Torin continued, “we’ll meet our commanding officer, Captain Travik.”
    Johnston’s slate squawked as he closed his fist around it. A heartbeat later, eleven of the twelve started talking at once.
    “…serley
asshole couldn’t command his way out of a wet…”
    “…had a
thytrin
with him at Horohn…”
    “…part of a fukking PR show…”
    “…bastard tries that ‘hero’ shit on me…”
    “…General Morris trying to get us fukking killed…”
    Torin folded her arms and met Werst’s eyes across the room. He took a long drink of his
sah
, expression no different than it had been before she’d started speaking. One by one the other Marines noted her position and their protests trailed off.
    “All right, now that you’ve got that out of your system,” she told the renewed silence, “let’s get a few things clear. One, General Morris is not trying to get us killed. The Krai in Parliament want more senior officers, and Captain Travik was the politicians’ choice. Unless the general wanted a repeat of ’89, his hands were tied.”
    “Fuk the politicians,” someone muttered.
    Torin snorted. “Thank you, but no. Two, this is not a public relations show. Until we’ve determined exactly what we’re dealing with, we’re under level four security and a full media lockout—which is why they didn’t move in an existing team. The media watches troop movements, they don’t watch individual Marines.”
    “Staff?”
    “What is it, Dursinski?”
    “Why a full media lockout?” The lance corporal’s frown fell into two well-defined vertical lines in the center of her forehead. “Is there something about this ship they’re not telling us?”
    “Probably. But I’m sure if you all put your little minds to it, you could come up with an infinite number of reasons for command to keep the discovery of this ship away from civilians until we’ve determined what it is.”
    “Well, if it’s one of the Others’ ships, they could get hurt.”
    “While I appreciate enthusiasm, Private Guimond, I wasn’t actually asking for reasons.”
    Head cocked to one side, his lips moved as he silentlyrepeated her previous statement. “Oh.” His smile grew a little sheepish. “Sorry, Staff.”
    “It’s okay. Three…” She swept the room with a flat, emotionless gaze. “…Captain Travik is a Marine Corps officer and his orders, passed to you through me, will be obeyed. What you think of him personally is irrelevant. Do I make myself clear?”
    A ragged chorus of, “Yes, Staff.” Scattered nods. Werst took another drink.
    “Good. Form up in the passageway at 0830. I’ll see you then.” She paused, one hand on the hatch, and turned back to the room. “Private Orla.”
    “Staff?” The young di’Taykan looked startled to be singled out.
    “I’m sorry to hear about your
thytrin.
For what it’s worth, I expect your contact with the captain will be minimal.” When Orla nodded, Torin stepped out of the compartment