Valor's Trial by Tanya Huff Read Free Book Online

it precisely in its locker, tank snapped up against the remix valve. Next time he needed it, Promise would see that it was ready.
    A quick visit to the head; he never hooked up the plumbing in the suit if he didn’t absolutely have to. A visit to the coffeepot to start the whole cycle up again.
    And then there was no way of avoiding the message light blinking on the control panel.
    Turned out he was on Torin’s notification list after all.
    The Confederation Marine Corps had two levels of notification. Level one included a trip into the Core and Ventris Station where the details would be explained and counselors both military and civilian would be on hand to deal with the emotional maelstrom that came with the loss of a loved one. Figuring that any maelstrom was his own damned business, Craig hadn’t planned on taking them up on it until he found himself working out the Susumi equations.
    Hands above the controls, he paused. He didn’t need some counselor telling him how he felt.
    He did, however, need to sell his salvage, and Ventris was as good a place as any. Particularly since the notification had come with a code that granted him a free berth and hook-in. No reason not to do what he could to broaden his limited profit margin.
    And while he was there, as long as the Corps was paying for the privilege of his company, it wouldn’t hurt to find out what the fuk they thought had happened because the whole thing sounded damned shonky to him.
    â€œCivilian salvage vessel Promise, this is Ventris perimeter. State your reason for approach.”
    â€œSalvage license tango, sierra, tango, five, seven, seven, nine, tango. I have cargo.” Craig sent the details of his load and then stared out at the bulk of Ventris Station, covering a quarter of his screen even at perimeter distance, and ignored the way his hand was resting beside the pressure pad that would transmit the notification code.
    â€œRoger, Promise . Delta yard has docking available. Stand by for . . .”
    â€œWait.” One finger moved to the pressure pad. “And I have this.”
    â€œRoger, Promise.” The dispassionate tone hadn’t changed although he knew there was a person of some species on the other end of the link. “Salvage must be unloaded and cleared before you can proceed to the station. Stand by for coordinate download. Docking master will take control in three, two, one . . . mark. Docking master now in control.”
    He sat back as the program ran and his ship surged forward. He’d been expecting . . . more.
    A reaction.
    Condolences?
    Someone he could tell to fuk off, that Torin wasn’t dead.
    Apparently, enough Marines died it was business as usual.
    â€œWell, fuk you, too,” he muttered at no one in particular.
    â€œNo, you don’t understand . . .”
    One foot raised to step over the hatch, Craig put it down again and eased back into the corridor. The voice filling the room he’d been about to enter was male, the tone frustration heading toward anger. He was, himself, just here for information, he didn’t want to intrude on another man’s grief.
    â€œ. . . I have all the information you lot are willing to give me and I’m not here to talk to a counselor; I’m here to talk to talk to someone who doesn’t have their head up their ass about this . . .”
    Obviously, the man hadn’t spent much time dealing with the military. In Craig’s experience, head up the ass was the default posture.
    â€œ. . . my daughter isn’t dead!”
    A thousand daughters in uniform.
    More. So many more.
    And more than a thousand fathers who’d refuse to believe.
    There was no reason, absolutely no reason that this overheard conversation had anything to do with Torin. Except that Craig’s code had directed him here, to this anteroom off the docking bay, an area barely inside the station, awkward civilian interactions kept at the edge of things