Torin saw no hand signals. Big Bill and the Grr brothers had implants, then. But Big Bill wouldn't want his conversations recorded by the station-too much risk-so there had to be a way of opting out. A way for her to be in contact with Craig. Ressk would know.
"So." Big Bill settled in behind his desk and smiled up at her. He didn't look like a man heading into his second 28-hour day. Maybe he didn't sleep on the station's day/night schedule. "Your best guess as to the armory's contents."
No reason not to tell him, Torin acknowledged silently. He'd never get a chance to use the weapons. The way Craig saw it, he now had a few options.
He had somewhere to go if he made a run for it. He'd made it from medical out of the ship to the storage pod; he could make it to Torin. Now he knew she was on the station, now they weren't watching him so closely-or at all-he could get to her.
Except there was a chance that Nadayki could crack the seal in the eleven hours he'd claimed-the kid was almost as good as he thought he was. Once the armory was open, Craig didn't trust Cho not to siphon off guns immediately regardless of what Big Bill's plans were.
If that happened, Torin had to know.
The farther the guns got from the armory, the harder they'd be to destroy or remove or whatever Torin planned on doing with them.
As much as he wanted to be anywhere else, anywhere Torin was, he had to stay here with the Heart to keep an eye on things.
Torin's eyes inside. Undercover work.
"What are you smiling about?" Nadayki demanded petulantly.
"Grown-up stuff." He hadn't realized he'd been smiling.
"Fuk you."
"Missed our chance, kid."
Problem: if Cho started moving the weapons, how did he let Torin know?
The only thing Torin had been able to tell him in that first instant of contact was that the implants were tapped. He didn't know how the fuk that was even possible, although Nadayki might, but he had to respect the importance of information given top billing over everything else she'd wanted to say. Over everything he'd seen on her face.
No matter how frustrating it might be. Torin attracted more overt attention crossing the Hub back to the Star than she had crossing the other way with Big Bill. No surprise. He was a known factor. She had yet to define her place. If she were staying, if she were planning to do the job, she'd have to prove to the locals it was in their best interests to listen to her.
The pair of di'Taykan watching her from over by the verticals, the Krai and Human on the bench by the kiosk selling cumot'd-on-a-bun, and the Human crossing diagonally from her, laden down with boxes-even a cursory sweep identified them as having spent at least one contract in the Corps. The ex-Navy were a little harder to spot, but the three Krai who'd paused to stare before going through the hatch into one of the bars, definitely.
Ex-military had specific responses to senior NCOs conditioned in, but the ex-military on this station had you're not the boss of me shoved so far up their collective asses it had impacted on their thinking. Yet another parallel between the pirates and the CSOs.
Because the ex-military thought they knew what she was, they'd see to it that the first challenger wouldn't be a loser with more balls than brains but would be handpicked to beat her.
Wouldn't happen.
The first fight would also be the last fight. Fear would give her the control she needed; respect could come later.
If she were staying. If she were she planning to do the job.
If Big Bill hadn't decided to wait until the armory was open to announce her position, she'd be fighting right now. Beating her frustrations out on a thieving murderer no better than the bastards who took Craig. Tortured Craig. Bastards she couldn't yet touch.
In a just universe, she'd be accosted by another drunk declaring she didn't look like such hot shit, but although they were staring, the scum in the Hub were giving her a wide berth.
Recent events, she decided, reaching the decompression door un-accosted and digging her thumbnail into the gray plastic trim, had proved that the universe was anything but just.
"An armory? Intact?" Mashona swung her legs out over the edge of the bunk and sat up, her gaze never leaving Torin. "Fuk."
Werst's nose ridges flared. "Good thing we dropped by."
"An intact armory in the hands of pirates would light a fuse under the Wardens," Ressk pointed out from the second chair. "They'd send in the Navy for that."
"And what would the Navy do?" Torin asked, stopping in front of him. Unable to remain still, she'd paced the cabin while she filled them in. "Send a warhead into the station to blow the armory? Kill citizens of the Confederation no matter how misguided? No. Confederation law states explicitly that the military will not be used against citizens of the Confederation."
"But the Wardens can send the Navy against pirates," Ressk protested.
"Specifically pirates," Torin reminded him. The damned cabin was too small. "Not everyone on this station is a pirate." She started pacing again. "Some live off theft and murder second or thirdhand. The Wardens can't legally send the Navy after them, and the Wardens are all about the bureaucracy. What's more, even if the Wardens get their slates out of their asses and send out the Navy, the Navy will argue for landing Marines to take the armory back."
"The Corps' armory, the Corps' problem," Mashona muttered.
"Exactly. Even if Presit allowed Merik to fold the moment they got the first image…" Presit's camera now rested on the edge of the control panel with no way for them to tell what Presit's reaction had been to the new information. "… what are the odds of the Corps getting out here in under fourteen hours when they're not going to be able to cut the orders without a Parliamentary decree?"
"Slim," Mashona offered.
"Slim," Torin agreed.
"So it's up to us." Ressk nodded at whatever plan he had unfolding inside his head. "We rescue Ryder. We get the armory far enough from the station to blow it without the explosion sending pieces back through the station."
Torin stared at Ressk for a long moment. "We figure out a way to blow the armory," she said at last. "We're not military, and I don't give a H'san's ass if the station goes with it."
The silence thickened until it dragged at her legs. Six paces across the cabin. Six back. That was weird. Seven paces across Promise's cabin and the Star was larger. One. Two. Three…
"Gunny." Werst stepped out in front of her. No room to go around him, so she stopped. "Bartenders. Waiters. Whores. Shopkeepers. Maintenance personnel. Techies. Hell, even that weird black-and-white di'Taykan with the hots for you. Okay, sure, they live off theft and murder second- and thirdhand like you said, but they don't deserve to die. And you don't get to make that decision." His nose ridges opened and closed, slowly. "You don't have to make that decision. Not this time."
Werst didn't look bad, all things considered, but his natural mottling couldn't hide the bruises, one eye was swollen almost closed, and Kyster had definitely been supporting him as they moved toward her. Torin could see abrasions on one wrist and knew there'd be a matching set on the other wrist and both ankles. He hadn't just laid there after he'd been staked out, he'd fought the bindings. A bloody scab weighed down one corner of his mouth, but his lips still rose off his teeth. "Harnett?"
"Dead."
"Edwards?"
"Also dead."
His grunt suggested he found the news of Edwards' death disappointing. Torin assumed that was only because he'd had plans to take care of it himself. "How many total?"
"Seven. Eight, including Harnett."
A sudden impact jerked Torin out of the memory. She blinked and stared at the blood smear marking the place where she'd slammed her right fist into the bulkhead.
The pain hit right after the visuals.