The Truth of Valor Read Online Free

Presit a Tur durValintrisy had shot of her conversation with the polynumerous, shape-shifting, organic plastic alien hive mind who’d been responsible for a war that had taken millions, if not hundreds of millions of lives had been played 28/10 on some stations.
    Pedro grinned at her. “All that publicity and you couldn’t do any better than this asshole?”
    Craig dodged the punch aimed at his arm. “Torin Kerr, meet Pedro Buckner. Best mate I ever made.”
    He wanted them to like each other; she could hear it in his voice. That meant he wasn’t bothering to hide it since he had one of the most unreadable poker faces/voices she’d ever played against. Which meant it was important to him. Torin locked eyes with Pedro and held out her hand. “Pleased to meet you.”
    To her surprise—because he in no way telegraphed the move—he grabbed it and pulled her into a hug. “I, too, have spent time locked into a small ship with that man. You have my sympathy, chica .”
    Torin had no real problem with physical greetings from vetted sources, so she hugged him back and only barely stopped herself from turning it into a pissing contest like the one he’d had with Craig.
    Who was smiling when they parted like he’d known how close it had come.
    And, of course, he had.
    She was weighing a couple of responses when the communications implant in her jaw pinged and she tongued it without thinking.
    *Salvage Station 24 requests access codes.*
    “You can tell it to piss up a rope,” Pedro told her, as she frowned. He’d probably recognized the common expression of someone listening to a voice in their head. “But if we lose hull integrity, responses are faster if the OS can coordinate the implanted beyond the emergency frequency.” He tapped his jaw.
    According to Craig, many CSOs got basic implants the moment they could afford it. Torin had assumed it was to remain in contact with their ships while loading cargo but, as all Hazardous Environment suits had comm units, it now seemed more likely it was for the times they were unsuited. When she glanced over at him, Craig nodded. Since Craig had refused to allow the Berganitan access to either his implant or his ship while on the Navy battleship, that said something.
    Mostly about Craig.
    Torin tongued in her codes. It bothered her more to be unconnected. Being able to instantly reach the station sysop could mean the difference between trying to breathe vacuum and not. The construction of this particular station only reinforced that belief.
    The inside of the station was as much of a rabbit warren as it looked to be from the outside. No point in actually making that observation aloud, though; the odds were good neither man knew what a rabbit was. Falling into step behind Pedro, Torin could see wear—everything from scuff marks to hard use—but no oxidizations. She was encouraged by the lack of actual decay but would have liked to have the scuff marks dealt with. Polishing made an excellent punishment for minor disciplinary . . .
    Shaking her head, she dragged her finger in and out of a dent. Not her problem anymore. Sometimes, she forgot.
    Creating a mental map of the path back to the Promise missed being the most difficult bit of orienteering she’d ever done only because no one was shooting at her.
    The familiar smell of a few too many people for the air scrubbers ghosted along beside them, seasoned by something enough like curry to make her stomach growl. Their path seemed to be leading them toward the center of the station and although she could hear people—Krai and Human definitely, di’Taykan and Katrien probably—they didn’t actually run into anyone.
    Given the number of ships attached to the station, that seemed strange.
    “What’s up with the ghost ship effect?” Apparently Craig thought so too.
    “Jan and Sirin were supposed to be in four days ago,” Pedro explained, ducking as he stepped through an interior hatch. “Got cut off in the middle of a