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Authors: Tanya Huff
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he scratched in the beard under his chin with the wrench and smiled charmingly. Strangely, the two actions didn’t cancel each other out. “You’re a long way from the Marine attachment. Can I assume you’re here for the pleasure of my company?”
“No.”
“No?”
It was like looking at two different men—the one who’d been standing at the end of the ramp watching her descent under lowered brows and the one who’d just repeated her blunt response in tones of exaggerated disbelief. Given a choice, Torin would have preferred to deal with the former.
“I’m here,” she explained, “because you’re not hooked to the
Berganitan
.”
“I hook to the ship, the ship hooks to me.” Ryder shook his head. “A little too much give and take for my tastes. Since you couldn’t call, what did you walk all the way down here for?”
“I’m here to assess your hazardous environment status.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m not being funny, Mr. Ryder.” Although he clearly thought she was. The urge to wipe the smirk off his face was nearly overwhelming. She wouldn’t have taken that kind of attitude from a Marine, enlisted or commissioned, but she had no idea of how to handle it coming from a civilian. “Look, we have no idea of what we’ll face inside the alien vessel…”
He snorted. “We have no idea whether we can even get the locks open.”
“Excuse me?”
“It’s an
alien vessel
, Staff Sergeant Kerr. We might not be able to crack it.”
Torin shrugged. “That’s an engineering problem, Mr. Ryder, not mine. If I can’t stop you from boarding with the Recon team, I need to know you won’t be a danger to my people—no matter what we face.”
“Staff Sergeant, do you know how I operate?”
She managed to keep her lip from curling. “No, Mr. Ryder, I do not.”
“When we claim salvage, we deploy specifically sized cargo pods made up of those panels.” His gesture took in the stack on the
Promise
and his voice picked up a strange, mocking tone, as though he objected to the necessary explanation. “The number of panels depends on the size of the salvage. Each panel adds a specific set of factors to the Susumi equation. Do you know what happens to a ship when the Susumi equation is off by the smallest integer?”
“Oh, yeah; specifically, it pops out next to unknown alien vessels and complicates my life.” When he turned to face her, she met the indignation in his eyes with mild exasperation.
After a moment, he blinked and grinned. “Condescending question?”
“You think?” Torin stared up at the panels, noting the signs of hard use. “You’re telling me that every time you deploy, you vacuum trot?”
He followed her gaze. “Every time there’s a questionable reading, yes.”
“And that happens?”
“Oh, pretty much every time I deploy.”
She shook her head and transferred her gaze to his face. “You’re insane.”
“Me?
You
get paid to be shot at.”
“That’s not why they pay me, Mr. Ryder. They pay me to see that we achieve our mission objectives without losing personnel.”
“Military speak,” he snorted. “You get the job done without anyone getting killed.”
Seventeen tiny metal cylinders, each holding a Marine she’d brought home. “I try, Mr. Ryder.”
He sighed and tossed the wrench down into his tool kit. “Look, Staff Sergeant, I can guarantee I’ve spent more time suited than your entire team. I will not be a danger to your people. And…” A crooked finger rose to emphasize the point. “…should we run into someone who objects to our presence, I have every intention of hauling ass out of there and, if that’s not possible, hiding behind the professionals. I’m there protecting my salvage—which will be no use to me if I’m dead.”
He’d sounded sincere. But he’d previously sounded annoyed, charming, amused, mocking, and sarcastic—all within their short conversation. What made this last emotion any more realistic than the rest?
And
“No.”
“No?”
It was like looking at two different men—the one who’d been standing at the end of the ramp watching her descent under lowered brows and the one who’d just repeated her blunt response in tones of exaggerated disbelief. Given a choice, Torin would have preferred to deal with the former.
“I’m here,” she explained, “because you’re not hooked to the
Berganitan
.”
“I hook to the ship, the ship hooks to me.” Ryder shook his head. “A little too much give and take for my tastes. Since you couldn’t call, what did you walk all the way down here for?”
“I’m here to assess your hazardous environment status.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m not being funny, Mr. Ryder.” Although he clearly thought she was. The urge to wipe the smirk off his face was nearly overwhelming. She wouldn’t have taken that kind of attitude from a Marine, enlisted or commissioned, but she had no idea of how to handle it coming from a civilian. “Look, we have no idea of what we’ll face inside the alien vessel…”
He snorted. “We have no idea whether we can even get the locks open.”
“Excuse me?”
“It’s an
alien vessel
, Staff Sergeant Kerr. We might not be able to crack it.”
Torin shrugged. “That’s an engineering problem, Mr. Ryder, not mine. If I can’t stop you from boarding with the Recon team, I need to know you won’t be a danger to my people—no matter what we face.”
“Staff Sergeant, do you know how I operate?”
She managed to keep her lip from curling. “No, Mr. Ryder, I do not.”
“When we claim salvage, we deploy specifically sized cargo pods made up of those panels.” His gesture took in the stack on the
Promise
and his voice picked up a strange, mocking tone, as though he objected to the necessary explanation. “The number of panels depends on the size of the salvage. Each panel adds a specific set of factors to the Susumi equation. Do you know what happens to a ship when the Susumi equation is off by the smallest integer?”
“Oh, yeah; specifically, it pops out next to unknown alien vessels and complicates my life.” When he turned to face her, she met the indignation in his eyes with mild exasperation.
After a moment, he blinked and grinned. “Condescending question?”
“You think?” Torin stared up at the panels, noting the signs of hard use. “You’re telling me that every time you deploy, you vacuum trot?”
He followed her gaze. “Every time there’s a questionable reading, yes.”
“And that happens?”
“Oh, pretty much every time I deploy.”
She shook her head and transferred her gaze to his face. “You’re insane.”
“Me?
You
get paid to be shot at.”
“That’s not why they pay me, Mr. Ryder. They pay me to see that we achieve our mission objectives without losing personnel.”
“Military speak,” he snorted. “You get the job done without anyone getting killed.”
Seventeen tiny metal cylinders, each holding a Marine she’d brought home. “I try, Mr. Ryder.”
He sighed and tossed the wrench down into his tool kit. “Look, Staff Sergeant, I can guarantee I’ve spent more time suited than your entire team. I will not be a danger to your people. And…” A crooked finger rose to emphasize the point. “…should we run into someone who objects to our presence, I have every intention of hauling ass out of there and, if that’s not possible, hiding behind the professionals. I’m there protecting my salvage—which will be no use to me if I’m dead.”
He’d sounded sincere. But he’d previously sounded annoyed, charming, amused, mocking, and sarcastic—all within their short conversation. What made this last emotion any more realistic than the rest?
And
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