wall.
“Haysole?”
“I should get some sleep. My team’s got the last watch.”
“And your point is?”
“Give me a minute to get dressed.”
It took very little more than a minute and then the five of them slipped into the hall and past the mess, heading for the boiler room at the end of the corridor.
“Of course I know that door leads outside the compound,” Haysole muttered when asked. “You think I was cleaning the crappers because I wanted to?”
“And where do you lot think you’re going?”
Hearts in their throats, the five turned as one, falling instinctively into a defensive position, the heavy gunner out in front.
Mysho grinned at them. “From the spreading stain in Juan’s crotch, I guess I’ve got that impersonation of Staff Sergeant Kerr down pat.”
“Fukking trilinshy,” Juan muttered, unable to stop himself from looking down.
“Trilinsha,” Haysole corrected, scowling darkly over his head at the corporal. “Female tense. But other than that...”
“Name-calling; very mature. It’s a good thing I’m going with you.”
“You don’t even know where we’re going,” Binti pointed out, shuffling impatiently from foot to foot.
“You’re going out to find a bar and get stinking with the natives. I don’t need to be a H’san to figure that out.” Mysho’s grin slipped, and she jerked her head back toward the mess. “If I have to spend another evening in there listening to Justin analyze old Earth entertainment, I’m going to deactivate my masker and give us all something more interesting to do.”
“Hey, he makes some very good points about Babylon Space Five.”
“Moron. It’s Deep Babylon Nine.”
“Whatever.”
A sudden noise from the mess moved them toward the boiler room again. Slipping single file past the storage tanks, they reached a heavy metal door.
“Wonder what the fukking sign says.” Juan flicked the painted letters with a finger.
“Keep out. Authorized personnel only.”
In the silence that followed, five heads turned toward Ressk— only Haysole kept his attention on the lock.
“You read Silsvah?” Binti asked after a moment.
Ressk snorted. “Don’t need to. That’s what it always says on these sorts of doors.”
“Okay, we’re through.” Haysole straightened, twisting a pair of connections together. “This is what gave me away the last time.”
“Security system?”
“I think Staff said it was a fire alarm.”
“You think?”
“Doesn’t matter.” He closed the door behind them, careful not to let the connections slip. “I’ve fixed it.”
They were in a long corridor, wide enough to hold three Marines walking abreast. It appeared to be made of Silsvah’s poreless concrete and it sloped gently up toward a blue light— the only source of illumination.
“The upper door leads out onto the street that runs behind the compound,” Haysole murmured as they climbed. “It’s mostly an access alley, so there’s no windows overlooking it. Unfortunately, Sergeant Glicksohn was standing there waiting for me, so I don’t know where the road goes.”
Binti reached the door first. “I’m assuming the letters on that light say exit—which reminds me, we have a small problem. No translation program.”
“Not entirely accurate. And quit looking at me like that!” Ressk snapped as all six pairs of eyes turned toward him. He pulled his slate off his belt. “Staff’s implant’s acting up, so she asked me to have a look at her translation program. The data was too scrambled for me to fix the problem, but...” He finished keying in his entry and from the small speaker came an extended string of sibilants.
“And that means?” Binti demanded.
“I’ll have whatever he’s drinking.”
She beamed down at him. “You know, for a short, hairless troll, you’re pretty damned smart.”
“I still say it wasn’t very smart not to bring our fukking weapons,” Juan muttered as Haysole worked on the door.
“We’re going
“Haysole?”
“I should get some sleep. My team’s got the last watch.”
“And your point is?”
“Give me a minute to get dressed.”
It took very little more than a minute and then the five of them slipped into the hall and past the mess, heading for the boiler room at the end of the corridor.
“Of course I know that door leads outside the compound,” Haysole muttered when asked. “You think I was cleaning the crappers because I wanted to?”
“And where do you lot think you’re going?”
Hearts in their throats, the five turned as one, falling instinctively into a defensive position, the heavy gunner out in front.
Mysho grinned at them. “From the spreading stain in Juan’s crotch, I guess I’ve got that impersonation of Staff Sergeant Kerr down pat.”
“Fukking trilinshy,” Juan muttered, unable to stop himself from looking down.
“Trilinsha,” Haysole corrected, scowling darkly over his head at the corporal. “Female tense. But other than that...”
“Name-calling; very mature. It’s a good thing I’m going with you.”
“You don’t even know where we’re going,” Binti pointed out, shuffling impatiently from foot to foot.
“You’re going out to find a bar and get stinking with the natives. I don’t need to be a H’san to figure that out.” Mysho’s grin slipped, and she jerked her head back toward the mess. “If I have to spend another evening in there listening to Justin analyze old Earth entertainment, I’m going to deactivate my masker and give us all something more interesting to do.”
“Hey, he makes some very good points about Babylon Space Five.”
“Moron. It’s Deep Babylon Nine.”
“Whatever.”
A sudden noise from the mess moved them toward the boiler room again. Slipping single file past the storage tanks, they reached a heavy metal door.
“Wonder what the fukking sign says.” Juan flicked the painted letters with a finger.
“Keep out. Authorized personnel only.”
In the silence that followed, five heads turned toward Ressk— only Haysole kept his attention on the lock.
“You read Silsvah?” Binti asked after a moment.
Ressk snorted. “Don’t need to. That’s what it always says on these sorts of doors.”
“Okay, we’re through.” Haysole straightened, twisting a pair of connections together. “This is what gave me away the last time.”
“Security system?”
“I think Staff said it was a fire alarm.”
“You think?”
“Doesn’t matter.” He closed the door behind them, careful not to let the connections slip. “I’ve fixed it.”
They were in a long corridor, wide enough to hold three Marines walking abreast. It appeared to be made of Silsvah’s poreless concrete and it sloped gently up toward a blue light— the only source of illumination.
“The upper door leads out onto the street that runs behind the compound,” Haysole murmured as they climbed. “It’s mostly an access alley, so there’s no windows overlooking it. Unfortunately, Sergeant Glicksohn was standing there waiting for me, so I don’t know where the road goes.”
Binti reached the door first. “I’m assuming the letters on that light say exit—which reminds me, we have a small problem. No translation program.”
“Not entirely accurate. And quit looking at me like that!” Ressk snapped as all six pairs of eyes turned toward him. He pulled his slate off his belt. “Staff’s implant’s acting up, so she asked me to have a look at her translation program. The data was too scrambled for me to fix the problem, but...” He finished keying in his entry and from the small speaker came an extended string of sibilants.
“And that means?” Binti demanded.
“I’ll have whatever he’s drinking.”
She beamed down at him. “You know, for a short, hairless troll, you’re pretty damned smart.”
“I still say it wasn’t very smart not to bring our fukking weapons,” Juan muttered as Haysole worked on the door.
“We’re going
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