Nadayki had gone to his knees in front of the seal, his eyes now at the same level as the tiny screen. He shuffled around when Craig lifted his injured foot over the hatch lip, the muscles of his other leg trembling with the effort.
The slow sweep of Nadayki's hair stopped. When it started moving again, it flipped around his ears in short choppy arcs. "I'm not sorry. It was your own fault. You shouldn't have been fukking around."
Somehow Craig managed to get enough air into his lungs to snort. "Yeah. So I've heard." Sweat dribbled down his sides. His skin was cold and clammy under the overalls. "And I heard you say… you don't need my help… anymore. So I'm just going to park my ass over here… and put my foot up like the doctor ordered." Everything from his left hip down throbbed and burned. He didn't so much sit as collapse to the deck. It still stank a bit of chunder, but that was a minor inconvenience compared to being horizontal.
When he finally turned his head toward the armory, Nadayki was staring at him, eyes dark.
"What?"
Nadayki's eyes lightened. "Nothing. This coding is complete crap. Don't get comfortable because I'll be through any minute now."
"Great."
"Asshole!"
"You had your chance, kid."
"That's not what I… Fine. Whatever." Eyes narrowed to lime-green slits, he jerked back around to face the lock.
Craig made himself as comfortable as he could and, if he hadn't thought it would hurt like fuk, he'd have smiled. Were he a betting man, and he was, he'd bet the kid wasn't getting through that last layer any time soon. Having refused the chair, Torin stared across the desk at Big Bill-directly at him, not at a point just over his shoulder, he was no officer of hers-and wondered if she'd heard him correctly. "You want me, us, to train… pirates?"
He raised a hand. His palm was pink and, as far as Torin could see, completely free of calluses. "I prefer the term free merchants."
"Fine. You want us to train free merchants to fight? As a unit?"
"Yes. We'll start by training the crews who frequent this station, but once word gets out, I expect our numbers will grow." Head cocked, he studied her face. Fortunately, Torin had long since learned to keep her opinions of even more asinine plans to herself. After a moment, he sighed, and shuffled a pile of paper around without actually moving it anywhere. Torin had never seen paper piled on a desk before. How did he access his screens? "Things are going to hell in a hand-cart, Gunnery Sergeant Kerr," he said at last. "You should know, you pushed the cart off the cliff. You and your discovery of the gray plastic aliens. I've been watching you, you know, and during the short time you've been in this room, you've managed to touch most of the visible plastic."
Torin curled her fingers in toward her palms.
"You're looking for them." Big Bill picked up a plastic stylus, spun it at eye level, then put it back down. "You know they're still around. You know they're still fukking with us. And you ask why I want you to train these people? I should think it would be obvious. We're going to take what's rightfully ours. What the gray plastic aliens have taken from us when they involved us in this war."
Had she been here for any reason other than to get to Craig, she'd have asked him what the hell he thought had been taken from him. She could almost hear Presit demanding an answer from Big Bill's image on the monitor. As it was, she didn't give a flying fuk. All she wanted to do was move this conversation as quickly as possible toward Big Bill giving her an all points access pass. "Why me? You have muscle."
"Muscle. Exactly. Ignoring for the moment that their present job keeps them surprisingly busy, the Grr brothers have a reputation with the people who use this station that would ensure compliance but little actual learning. Your reputation, on the other hand…" He leaned toward her. "You brought the Silsviss into the Confederation. You fought the enemy to a standstill in the depths of the Big Yellow ship. You escaped from an inescapable prison. You're someone people listen to, aren't you? You can turn the free merchants into a force that a government who lies to us over and over and over will have to take notice of."
It was almost funny-in a bitterly painful way-that the salvage operators and the free merchants wanted the same thing. To have the free merchants noticed by the government. Sure, the salvage operators wanted them noticed by a battle cruiser, and who the fuk knew what kind of notice Big Bill had in mind, but still the similarities were hysterical. Interestingly, Torin could feel hysteria beckoning. "What will this force be armed with?" she asked, her reaction safely locked behind the gunnery sergeant. "Harsh language?"
Big Bill's chair creaked a protest as he leaned back and steepled his fingers. "I just happen to know where I can gain access to a Marine Corps armory. Still sealed. Contents intact."
Torin heard a nearly audible click as the last piece fell into place. Jan and Sirin had scooped an armory up out of their debris field, and everything else made perfect sense.
Still sealed.
"You haven't opened it?" Even to her own ear, she sounded like she couldn't quite catch her breath but figured there were valid reasons enough, given a sealed armory. Big Bill wouldn't question it.
He didn't. Asked only, "What difference does that make?"
They hadn't opened it. But it was on the station and the Heart was docked, so that could only mean they were working on getting it open. Working on getting past the seal the original CSOs had used to lock it down. Using the CSO they'd grabbed to break the code when Page had died before giving them what they needed. Using Craig. Who was alive. After a moment, Torin realized Big Bill was waiting for her to answer his question. Back in the day, it had been part of her job to remain calm regardless of the situation. Surrounded by a couple hundred juvenile sentient lizards. Trapped in the belly of an unidentified ship. Under fire by their own training equipment. In a prison that shouldn't exist. She could do this. She could sound like she didn't want to dive across the desk and grab Big Bill's ears and slam his head into the wall over and over and over until he agreed to take her to Craig.
Torin regained enough motor control to shrug. "It makes a difference because you don't know what's in the armory."
"We don't know exactly what the contents are…" Glancing down, he shuffled a few papers on his desk and looked up again. "… but I'm sure you could draw up a reasonably accurate inventory."
"I'd have to see it. There's more than one type of armory. Platoon support, armored support, hell, even air support."
Craig was at the armory.
"So you'll take the job?"
If she agreed too quickly, he'd get suspicious. If she agreed too slowly, there'd be yet another delay in getting to Craig.
"Depends. On what kind of an armory you've found," she expanded when his brows rose. "No point if it's carrying the wrong gear. And," she added before he could speak, "it depends on what's in it for me."
"You'd be at the forefront of the revolution."
"And?"
"And?" He laughed. "And do you have any idea how much fifteen percent of everything amounts to Gunnery Sergeant? You'll be very, very well compensated."
"After the revolution. I'm not taking a job that offers nothing more than the possibility of being well paid."
"You do your job right, and that possibility is a certainty."
"Chance is always a factor."
He stared at her for a long moment. Torin kept her expression absolutely neutral. And here she thought she'd never have anything to thank General Morris for.
"You and yours stay here free," Big Bill said at last. "Air, food, water-you work for me, I pick up the tab. Plus extra credit you can spend on the station."