Grenville Read online

  Heavy versions of the rangers’ main weapon, the lances were inaccurate, designed to be used against other ships instead of infantry. They were also loud and terrifying, which was far more important than accuracy at the moment. She fired a dozen shots into the ground behind Bravo, sending the charging Triptych goons running for cover.

  The fireteam quickly disappeared out of sight beneath the nose of the dropship and charged up the ramp. Imee held her breath until Matir’s voice sounded in her headset. “We’re all accounted for. Get us out of here. And, Lewis? Hurry. We’ve got two wounded, and the wolf’s hurt bad.”

  Her heart lodged in her throat as she pulled the dropship up and closed the front ramp. She had a perfect record. She’d never lost a soldier or a wolf on one of her pickups. Damned if she was going to start now. “Everyone buckle up!”

  She counted to three—surely enough time for them to get locked down—and triggered the dropship’s launch boosters. A column of superheated plasma melted part of the valley into glass as she steered the candle toward the distant edge of the sky. The acceleration crushed the air from her lungs, kept her from inhaling. They were already out of the range of anything Triptych had brought to play, but she didn’t let up on the boosters until the sky outside the ship had faded from purple back into the welcoming black of space.

  Two

  Imee went through her shutdown checklist, marking the card with a grease pencil as she confirmed each item. It was tedious work, but it filled time. More importantly, it distracted her. Gave her something else to focus on beside the sound of hushed voices and medic crews rushing up then down the dropship’s ramp. Matir had confirmed it wasn’t Grenville who had been hurt, but he didn’t know the wolves well enough to be able to say more than that. And she refused to go out there and fuss just to assuage her concern.

  Let the medics handle it. Wait for news later.

  She closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. They’d done it. Made it back to the Cry with time to spare, and the medics had been waiting when they touched down. Everyone would be okay.

  Grenville would be okay.

  “Magnetic boot, locked.” She touched the switch that secured the dropship in its place in the hangar, confirmed it was in the proper position, then marked the card. Behind her, she heard feet on the ladder. “Everything fine out there, Matir?”

  Grenville’s voice loosened the fist squeezing the back of her neck. “I mean it looks okay to me, but I can ask him.”

  “I heard you had wounded.” She kept her tone casual, one colleague checking on another.

  “Chen took a couple rounds, but nothing too serious. Nujalik—that’s her wolf—is in a bad way.” He paused and steadied himself on the ladder-rail. “Medics say prognosis is good though. The Lewis magic comes through again.”

  “It’s not magic.” Just good flying. Skill and thousands of hours of drills and simulations and practice until it was as natural as walking. Until she was twice as good as anyone else, and no one could question why she’d been chosen.

  “It’s close enough for me. That’s two more I owe you.”

  She resisted the urge to smile. “I don’t keep score.” He’d considered himself in her debt since she’d dragged him, gutshot and half-conscious, into a dropship to get him and his wolf to safety. As friendships went, it was a dramatic way to start.

  “Well, I do.”

  “You do you.” She chuckled and shook her head, then went through the remainder of her card. Forces Air/Space Training and Operations Standardization—FASTOPS—was tedious, but her roommate was the Ops chief and wouldn’t let it rest if Imee missed a step.

  Grenville stood silent for a moment, hand on the back of his neck. “So, this zoomie goes into a bar...”

  Oh God. Grenville’s jokes were the worst. Like he went out of the way to find the oldest, most overused material. And somehow he could still make them funny. She inhaled through her nose. “Okay.”

  “She sits down next to a ranger and says, ‘Wanna hear a ranger joke?’” Grenville’s voice was easygoing, melodic with his slight rimward accent. It made him easy to listen to. “The ranger says, ‘I’m 1.9 meters tall, and I weigh an even hundred kilos. This guy next to me? He’s a ranger too, and he’s two meters tall, and a buck-ten. And her? She’s a ranger too. And she can out bench either of us. Still want to tell your little joke?”

  Imee bit her lower lip, staring intently at the control panel in front of her. It was a warhorse of a joke, but one popular enough in pilot circles that she was willing to overlook his use of the pejorative “zoomie” instead of pilot. Plus, he told it well, and his pause before delivering the punch line was suitably dramatic.

  “And the zoomie says, ‘Nah, I don’t want to have to explain it three times.”

  Her smirk was involuntary, and she was glad she faced away from him. It would only have been encouragement had he noticed. “Do you need me to explain why that joke’s about you GroPos?”

  Grenville chuckled, a rumbly sound out of sync with his gangly physique. “Can I be offended you lump me in with the rest of the ground pounders?”

  “You’re the one who dropped the Z-word.” She spun, finally, to look at him. He still had the red-gray mud of Burbidge on his face and in his hair, which was already too long for regulation. Then again, then the rangers always did bend the rules whenever they could. “I’m pretty sure every slick-sleeve learns that joke in pilot school.”

  “Be fair. I only heard it twice. And once it was about the TJF Spacers instead.”

  “Pretty sure there’s a variation for every branch of the Forces, and most of the dirtsider militaries too.”

  “Look,” he said, the humor drained from his voice like a flipped switch. “I know you don’t get it, but your flying probably saved Nujalik’s life. That means you saved Chen too.”

  She understood enough about the fabled wolfbond to know that ranger and wolf were linked until the end. The connection left half of the pair devastated if the other half died. Commander Penzak was proof of that. The man was haunted, a ghostly remnant of the soldier he’d been. “It’s just my job. You know that.”

  “You can say that, but you won’t be buying your own drinks for a while. Just as a warning. The pack takes that shit seriously.” It was as somber as she’d ever seen Grenville—even bleeding out he’d had a wiseass remark—and it made her wonder how bad things had been to push away the devil-may-care rogue she was used to.

  “Yeah, well.” She stood and walked toward the hatch, and he obliged, clearing the ladder so she could exit. “Next week it’ll be some other scrape, and you’ll forget all about me.”

  “Couldn’t forget you if I tried,” he blurted. “None of the other pilots look as good with helmet hair.”

  She snorted her dismissal and resisted the urge to put a hand up to her hair. She muttered “Asshole” under her breath, but there was no venom in the expletive.

  After dropping down to the deck, she tucked her helmet into its cubby by the ramp. She hated when their conversation got a little too flirty. It’d be too easy to succumb to that trap, but good-time Grenville was well-explored space.

  She’d had enough men like that in her life.

  Besides, he was enlisted, and she was an officer. Even if she was dumb enough to want something more, it raised the dreaded specter of Fraternization. She’d worked too hard to risk losing her wings over sex.

  No matter how hot it would probably be.

  She shook her head to clear it. “Look, Yancey, I’m sorry. My back’s a mess from the flight, and I need to file my AARs, and...” She let the sentence draw out, empty space between them filled by not-quite-comfortable silence. “I’ll catch the lounge next time.”

  He looked disappointed, but at the end of the day, she couldn’t afford to let her guard down. After a nod and a cursory salute that reinforced the gulf of rank between them, he headed off.

  If she told herself it was the right thing often enough, she’d eventually have to believe it. />
  Three

  Grenville strolled down the hall toward the Hunting Cry’s forward briefing room. Djehuti alternated between walking at his side and skipping up the hall and checking to see who else was around. Other than staff and officers, there were no other Rangers for him to find. No other wolves.

  More than a week had passed since the Charlie Foxtrot on Burbidge, which left him wondering why he was the one getting called to the commander’s briefing room. The summons was a bad sign. He tried to think of anything that might have triggered a warning in his after-action report, but he'd gone through their ambush and escape in excruciating detail. He’d even included his destruction of the rangefinder to create a makeshift communications laser.

  He was about to knock when the door slid open. Lt. Commander Livv, the ship’s XO, stood just inside the doorway, and Grenville snapped to an immediate salute. Behind her, he could see the Ghost—Commander Penzak—hunched over the table with his fingers splayed wide. Reflexively, Grenville reached down and sank his hand into the warmth of Djehuti’s coat.

  Livv returned his quick salute before she and her wolf backed out of the doorway. "Good, you’re here."

  Grenville stepped into the room. "Not like I have anywhere else to go. Unless we pulled out to orbit Kanaloa when I wasn't looking." He watched the commander’s stern face for hope of a smile, but none came.

  "Have a seat, Ranger." Commander Penzak’s voice was oddly distant, flat. Without emotion. Grenville knew the commander had lost his wolf in combat, every rookie knew the stories, but every time he met the man hammered home how fragile the wolfbond could be. The permanence of the connection terrified him. Neither ranger nor wolf survived when it broke.

  Grenville pulled out a chair and sat down at the rectangular table, his pulse irregular. The forward briefing room was for reprimands, personnel discussions, and disciplinary hearings. Operations didn’t get planned in the forward room. Djehuti felt his distress and laid his head in Grenville's lap. The wash of faith, the warm calm that flooded through Grenville, reminded him of the wolfbond’s upside. There was always someone who believed in you, who had your back even in the worst situations.

  After the uncomfortable silence stretched out, Grenville tried on a smile. “So, this wolf goes into a bar...”

  The door slid shut with a hiss. Grenville didn’t have to turn to visualize the XO’s thin frown. “Not the time, Ranger.”

  He nodded. “Can’t blame me for trying. If this is about the rangefinder, I understand if the TJF needs to bill me for destroying property."

  Behind him, Livv scoffed.

  The commander shot her a narrow-eyed gaze. "The Forces have recommended a thorough check of all our range-finding lasers. A malfunction of that sort could be dangerous to a team in the field. On the record, of course." Penzak raked fingers through his short salt-and-pepper hair. "Off the record, that was brilliant, and you saved the lives of your fireteam."

  "Just doing my job." The phrase reminded him of Lewis's casual dismissal of his appreciation for her flying skills. That brought up a whole different kind of discomfort. He literally owed her his life, which made any space between them uncomfortable with weight. In his quieter moments, he wondered how things might be if they could reach past the strangeness. Even if it were possible, it didn’t look like he’d get the chance. Since the rescue on Burbidge, she’d been avoiding him again. It made him wonder what he’d done to spook her.

  The commander shrugged slightly. "I don’t normally expect humility from you. You’re a quick thinker under pressure. And you visualize communications better than anyone else on the Cry. Conveniently, I have a use for that skill set." He pressed a button on the table, and the far door opened.

  It took Grenville a moment to recognize the woman who walked into the room. Sheri Tyler was one of three operatives who worked alongside the Rangers, but he was used to seeing her in starched utility dress and with her hair pulled tight under a brimmed officer’s cover. She had the same hard eyes, but that was all that remained familiar about her. One side of her head had been shaved, the rest hanging straight, and she wore grease-stained coveralls like a common dock rat.

  Grenville smirked. "Love the look. Does this mean we’re loosening the restrictions for the rangers?"

  “Operative Tyler has been working undercover to get information about how Triptych is coordinating their attacks." The commander pushed back his chair. "Operative? The table is yours."

  Tyler tapped on the interactive surface of the table and activated the holo-projector unit. The Kronus system with its six habitable moons suddenly floated over the middle of the table, and she cleared her throat. "As you know, Triptych is getting smarter, and they’re getting better equipped. A key to that appears to be an encrypted communication channel which they’ve been using in the Kronus system."

  "Easy enough to fix," Grenville said. "Send Bravo in there. We can blow it up, and they’ll be back to the dumb, old Triptych we know and hate."

  "Actually, that's the worst possible idea." Tyler rolled her eyes before looking at the commander. "I thought you said he was the smart one."

  "I've been accused of many things. Smart isn't typically one of them."

  "Obviously." The operative clucked her tongue before focusing the image in on the narrow set of rings surrounding Kronus. "Disrupting their communications would only make them find a new method. I’d rather have a better idea of what to expect. Knowing their communications path means we have an opportunity to intercept and decode their conversations for ourselves. Once we understand how Triptych's cells are communicating with each other, we learn what they're talking about, and where they plan to strike next..."

  "So you’re looking for someone who can hack their systems." Grenville’s mind had already started churning. “They’re going to have keys on either end to help with decryption, but if they’re clever, they’ll be scrambling the actual transmission—wavelength shifting, stuff like that.”

  Tyler nodded. “Okay, Commander, maybe he’s not as dumb as he looks. You hacked a lot of secure communications, Ranger?”

  That was a loaded question. “I could count the number of opportunities I’ve had on one hand.” He held up his three-fingered hand, thankful that the operative wasn’t familiar enough to be prepared for his favorite joke. Her eyes immediately went to the stumps of his missing fingers then looked away.

  “Sorry. Djehuti was hungry, and you know how the wolfbond gets.” He grinned.

  “Enough, Ranger.” The commander’s voice held a light note, almost as though he was amused. Or as amused as he was capable of being. “Continue, Operative.”

  Tyler pinched the bridge of her nose. “We have an encryption key. So that’s part of the equation.” She poked a finger into the hologram, and a point in the ring lit up. “We know they’re relaying through this point here—the shepherd moon, Castulus."

  The holo zoomed in, showing an oblong speck of rock tumbling through the middle of Kronus’s furthest ring. She continued. “If we can get a monitoring device in place on or very near their relay station, we should be able to intercept their most secure communications."

  Grenville leaned back in his chair, tipping the front legs off the floor. "They’re not going to leave something like that undefended.”

  “We don’t think they have much choice. Castulus is too small to hold much, and because it’s inside Kronus’s Roche limit, it’s tearing itself apart a little at a time. Anything permanent has to be anchored deep so it doesn’t get ripped off by tidal forces. There may be a handful of soldiers there, but nothing the size of even a small garrison.”

  “So you’re not sending a full fireteam. Me and Djehuti?” His battle-buddy was on leave, visiting his new girlfriend in some cabin on Tyson. The idea of going alone was almost as bad as the idea of being paired with someone new.

  Tyler shook her head, straight hair swinging. “There won’t be room for more than you and the wolf. Because the mission requires a clandestine insertion, you
’ll be on board a recommissioned belt miner. Covers have been generated to allow you to pass off as down-on-your-luck scrappers with big debts. It’s a good excuse to try ring harvesting.”

  In Grenville’s opinion, there was never a good reason to try ring harvesting, but if you were willing to risk the radiation, tidal wells, and a hundred other potentials for random, messy death, a person could make money collecting radiated organics and rare minerals out of the dust. “That's great and all, but you're talking about flying into a planetary ring. It's not an asteroid belt, sure, but the tidal forces are vicious. Any pilot willing to do that better be nuts or incredibly skilled. Or ideally, both." As soon as he said the words, discomfort prickled across the back of his neck. He tried to rub the sensation away with one hand.

  Commander Penzak nodded. "You’re right. That's why we're sending the best pilot I've got."

  IMEE DID A DOUBLE TAKE out the small viewport next to the airlock. The shit-hauler—there was no other word that fit—floating at the other end of the short, flexible airlock corridor looked like it could fall apart at any moment. She fixed her anger on the operative who’d been waiting at the ‘lock. "What the hell is this? A joke?"

  "Obviously there's no room in the Hunting Cry’s hangar with all six dropships onboard. A retractable airlock is the best way to get you aboard the ship." Tyler folded her arms across her chest and narrowed her eyes. Imee was reasonably certain it was supposed to be a menacing stare. She was unimpressed.

  "Operative, I was top of my class in the pilot’s academy. My teacher ate smug grins for breakfast and could outstare a hawk. So if you think that glare is going to intimidate me, you are misinformed.” She pursed her lips. Command had told her she’d been selected for a vital mission. This felt more like humiliation. “You know full well I'm not asking about the airlock. What the hell is that ship?"

  The corner of Tyler's mouth curled up slightly. “That’s an Ursus-class ore hauler, obviously. They have a long range, are popular with belt miners, and in this case, was reclaimed during an operation with a Triptych-aligned smuggling network. All of which make it perfectly suited to an undercover mission like this."