Valor's Trial by Tanya Huff Read Free Book Online Page A

military. Three dozen doors along this corridor—he’d counted them while wondering what the hell he was doing there, pacing past other men and women who seemed to have a lot fewer questions. Three dozen doors and the notification code brought him to this one.
    He stepped into the room.
    The Krai corporal behind the desk looked up, his nose ridges flaring. Or maybe her nose ridges—secondary sexual characteristics were subtle and Craig never had been able to tell the Krai apart. Since it had never been an issue, he didn’t worry about it much. “I’m sorry, sir, I’ll just be a moment.”
    Ignoring her—or him—Craig crossed to the man standing by the desk. He was big—not just in contrast to the meter-tall Marine behind the desk—and the patchy red-brown of his tan said he spent most of his time outside in actual atmosphere. Before the Marine could speak again, Craig held out his hand. “Craig Ryder.”
    Deep-set eyes narrowed, creases pleating at the outside corners. Recognition dawned, and he nodded, once. Craig always figured Torin had picked up the gesture in the military. Maybe not.
    â€œJohn Kerr.” Torin’s father had one hell of a grip, his hand hard and callused.
    â€œDrink?”
    â€œYou know how to find a bar in this tin can?”
    â€œMate, I can find a bar in Susumi space.”
    â€œYeah? Well, I don’t have the faintest idea what means . . .” He scratched along the edge of his jaw, nails rasping against rough skin where the depilatory had begun to wear off. “. . . but if you can find a bar, I’ll buy.”
    â€œSir. Sirs,” the corporal amended as they turned together. “The Corps will deal with your needs while on Ventris.”
    â€œThe Corps can,” John Kerr began. Stopped. Drew in a deep breath. And pointed one large, scarred finger across the desk. “I’ll be back.”
    â€œTorin liked this bar.”
    â€œYeah.” Their notification codes hadn’t got them onto Concourse Two; that had been Craig’s not entirely legal schematic of the nonsensitive parts of the station, a little bullshit to an actual live Marine at a checkpoint, and the taking of the Commandant of the Corps’ name in vain when asked for his authorization by the station sysop at the last hatch. There were plenty of bars on Concourse One, the area reserved for those just passing through. Craig knew and liked a number of them, knew and avoided a couple more, and didn’t want to see the inside of any of them. Not now.
    Torin had liked Sutton’s .
    Half a dozen second lieutenants had pushed two of the small tables together over in the corner, a couple of Krai NCOs sat at the bar watching cricket on the vid screen and occasionally commenting in their own language, but other than that the bar was empty. The Corps ran on a 28-hour clock, but 1530 seemed to be an off hour.
    John took a long swallow and set his glass back on the table. “The beer’s good.”
    Craig raised his own glass in acknowledgment and drank. They hadn’t done a lot of talking on the way and now . . . “You don’t think she’s carked it.” At John’s blank expression, he shook his head. “Sorry. Died. You don’t think she’s died.”
    â€œI don’t. They hear it all the time, you know: My kid’s not dead.” His hand tightened around the base of the glass. “There’s no body. They haven’t found anything that resembles her fukking DNA. Give me a body. Give me something.” His eyes were a darker brown than Torin’s, but the intensity was the same. “I’ll believe when I have proof but not until.”
    â€œThe force of the blast melted rock.” Presit had been right. Nothing could have survived it. “The whole area was slagged.”
    â€œI saw the vids.”
    The vids had come in a packet with the notification code. Craig had always