The Heart of Valour Read Online Free PDF Page B

ship, tossing it into a net strung across shuttle bay one to catch it. General Morris had been there when Craig had emerged from the pod.
    General Morris was a politician at heart, but he wasn’t
that
good a liar.
    He believed there was no escape pod.
    “I spoke of the escape pod in my mission report, sir.”
    “No, you did not.”
    Yes, I damned well did.
“If I could see…”
    “No, you can’t. The mission reports concerning Big Yellow are classified.” He leaned back, eyes narrowed within the folds of flesh. “But I assure you, Gunnery Sergeant, there was no mention of an escape pod in your mission report. Nor in any of the others. Nor at any of the debriefings.”
    The recon team had been debriefed separately and then sent back to their respective units. It was possible, if unlikely, that no one else had mentioned the escape pod. But she had. She remembered it clearly.
    “We’d lost the first one because we misinterpreted the controls, but the second one launched with CSO Craig Ryder inside.”
    The Elder Races insisted they were against violence in all forms; Torin found herself wondering how they felt about mind control. And why would they wipe General Morris’ memory but not hers or Craig’s?
    “I understand how the kind of attention you’ve been under lately can go to your head, but you, of all people, should know better than to exaggerate for the sake of your audience. Not that you should have an audience,” he continued as Torin blinked at him. “You know the information about Big Yellow is classified.”
    Okay. Firm ground here, at least. Even the patronizing tone was familiar. “Yes, sir.”
    “Thanks to Presit a Tur durValintrisy at Sector Central News, the greater part of the Confederation—those who were not actually on the mission—knows exactly what we want them to know. And we don’t want them to know anything else.” His eyes narrowed above florid cheeks. “Do I make myself clear, Gunnery Sergeant Kerr?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Good. You’re going to have to hurry to make your afternoon briefing.”
    “Yes, sir.” She came back to attention, pivoted on one heel, and left the office.
Well, that was a whiskey tango foxtrot conversation.
    “Gunny.”
    Torin stopped at Captain Stedrin’s desk.
    He glanced toward the open door to the outer office, where two corporals and the Krai private who’d been sent to fetch her toiled over the general’s data entry, and beckoned Torin closer.
    She leaned in.
    “Look, if you were anyone else, you’d have been up shit creek for that stunt this morning. I’m finding it hard to believe that the Marine I knew would make up a salvage claim even for a
vantru.
You’re golden right now, Kerr, but don’t let it go to your head.”
    “No, sir.”
    Lieutenant Stedrin—Captain Stedrin—had also been there when Craig came out of the escape pod.
    She made it to her afternoon briefing on time, but only just. Distracted by the certainty that something hinky was going on, she dropped into the wrong vertical and had to start again from the parade square.
    Major Alie met her as she entered the compartment. “Problem, Gunny?”
    Torin glanced at the multi-Sector chronometer on the front wall. She had thirty-seven seconds to spare. “No, sir.”
    The matter-of-fact tone seemed to throw the major a bit; the movement of her hair sped up, and she frowned slightly.
    Does she expect me to tell her that General Morris kept me late?
Torin wondered. If Major Alie expected her to feel chastised and show it, well, the H’san would take up knitting first.
    Maybe, because she was, after all, an Intelligence officer, the major was wondering
why
Gunnery Sergeant Kerr had asked about a nonexistent escape pod.
    Probably not, Torin acknowledged as she stepped forward to lay out her experiences with the Silsviss for the fourth time in two days. The integration of large, aggressive lizards into the Corps was of more immediate concern than either the possible existence of