A Choice of Treasons Read Online Free

the church; among crew he was not unusual in that. “What can I do for you, Canticle?”
    The man seemed almost frightened of York. “I was wondering, Lieutenant, ah . . . if any of your people might care to be blessed before going into danger.”
    York shook his head, couldn’t believe the man would ask such a stupid question about marines. “Sorry. No time for that.”
    York turned back to Palevi and his marines, dropped his visor, felt his ears pop as his suit ran an automatic pressure check. A small square in the upper-right corner of the visor blackened and his suit computer displayed a stylized image of a suit of armor colored in green. A readout next to it told him they’d fully recharged the core of his reactor pack; he was carrying a capacity of well over fifty gigawatt-hours. “Computer,” he said. “Status, physical, execute.” The display on the inside of his visor changed to the silhouette of a naked man. The right knee and ankle were tinted a pale yellow; old wounds, old damage. The suit would keep the pressure seals around the knee and ankle slightly over-inflated to provide extra support, but beyond that, and some painkillers, there was nothing he could do.
    He shrugged inwardly, keyed his com. “Count ‘em off, Sergeant.”
    “Count ‘em off,” Palevi shouted.
    “One.” “Two.” “Three.” “Four,” came the reply, each word spoken in a different voice. The damn marines were a breed apart. The empire couldn’t even keep them supplied in uniforms, but while their armor was patched and stained and blackened here and there, it functioned perfectly, like the marines themselves. They weren’t much to look at—not much to like, either—but when needed they functioned, and they functioned well. York had to admire them for that, if nothing else.
    The count reached one hundred. York keyed his com. “Sergeant, is Private Dakkart dropping with us?”
    “Yes, sir. I worked out—”
    “I thought we agreed she wouldn’t drop again.”
    “We did, sir. But she’s one of my best. I need her, so I made a deal with her.”
    “What kind of deal?”
    “I’d rather not say, sir.”
    “I’ll bet you’d rather not say! Anyone else I should know about?”
    “Yes, sir. Private Stacy. New man, green as they come. This’ll be his first hot drop.”
    “Both of ‘em,” York said. “Front ‘n center.”
    Palevi shouted orders into his com. Two figures broke ranks and sprinted forward to stand rigidly in front of York. They flipped their visors up, held their rifles out for inspection.
    York’s ears popped again as he lifted his own visor, looked into the helmet of the shorter of the two. Female, not unattractive, with the fading remnant of a black bruise framing one eye. York kept his voice low. “You’ve got Palevi to thank for one more chance. But if you get into another brawl on this ship you’ll never drop again.”
    She rightly said nothing.
    York stepped sideways to stand in front of the new recruit. In the kid’s helmet York saw a young face with blond hair and blue eyes, and a chin that barely needed shaving.
    “How old are you?” York asked.
    “I’ll be seventeen next month, sir.”
    Palevi leaned forward. “Excuse me, sir,” he said politely. He turned to the boy, bellowed at the top of his lungs, “The cap’em did not ask you how old you will be, private. He asked you how old you are. And when you speak to the cap’em you’ll address him properly. And I can’t hear you. Is that clear?”
    “Sir,” the boy screamed. “Yes, sir.”
    Palevi stepped aside, spoke calmly to York, “Sorry about that, sir.”
    York nodded, looked at Stacy again. “How old are you?”
    “Sir. Sixteen, sir,” the boy screamed.
    “Who are you buddied with?” York asked.
    “Sir. Mackin, sir.”
    York shook his head. “Now you’re buddied with Private Dakkart here.”
    Dakkart broke discipline. “But sir! I—”
    Palevi shouted her down. “As you were, private.”
    Palevi, Dakkart,