Tiger Honor, page 18
Never mind that none of its personnel were present. Hwan’s forces must have taken them out earlier. I tried not to think of what might have happened to them. I had to focus on the task at hand.
“I wish I’d brought a sketchbook for this,” Euna remarked in a hushed voice. “Too bad my pencil’s useless in a blaster fight.”
I let out my breath in a quiet sigh and hoped the others hadn’t heard me. As much as I wished I could stand here and meditate, I couldn’t pretend forever that we had reached safety. We had work to do.
It took me a moment to realize what had gone wrong. Mainly because it was an absence of sound rather than an actual noise. “Jee,” I said, “why isn’t the hatch closing?”
Jee’s face was pinched. “I don’t know!” he said as he jabbed frantically at his slate. “It’s not responding to my commands anymore.”
Uh-oh. Time for a backup plan. “Rokuro and I will guard the opening,” I said, “and be ready to ambush anyone who tries to get in.” Rokuro took the left, so I took the right. “Euna, be prepared to shoot anything that makes it past us. Jee, you’ve got the hard part.”
“On it, sir,” Jee said. I glanced back at him in surprise at the address and saw his shaky smile. “I think I see how to do it, now that I have physical access.” He set the slate to one side and took up a position at the largest console. “It’s not that the procedure is difficult—it’s hacking my way past the security watchdogs, and for that I’m going to have to…” His voice trailed off into intent muttering.
“We have a bigger problem,” Euna observed. “If the hatch here, specifically, won’t close, it’s because Hwan knows where we are and what we’re trying to do.”
“Why do you think we’re preparing for—” I began, then dropped silent when stunner fire arced through the doorway. I flattened myself against the bulkhead so the halo of paralytic light didn’t catch me.
Hwan’s voice resumed haranguing me over the intercom. “When I do catch up with you, Cadet,” he growled, “rest assured that you will be thoroughly punished for defying me. I will regret having to report your failure to your parents, but it’s not as if they would mourn losing such a clearly unworthy specimen. Better that you go to your rest than sully the clan rosters.”
I couldn’t read Rokuro’s expression at all, but I heard a small gasp from Euna. “That’s cold,” she said from behind me. “He’s your uncle.”
I didn’t need the distraction. All the same…“Yes,” I said, trying to cover the desolate hole that Hwan’s words had opened inside me.
Was he right? Would my parents take his side, instead of agreeing with me that Hwan was a dangerous renegade who had to be stopped? I had imagined that duty would always provide a compass to guide my actions. Now, it only left an aching hollow where my heart should have been.
“If Hwan’s coming for us,” I said, “he has Min with him. We need some way to protect ourselves from Charm.”
Rokuro colored. “I have a headset with me. I’m not supposed to bring it on a mission, but it cancels noise.”
“It’s worth a try,” I said.
Rokuro fished in their jumpsuit, then handed the set to me. “You take it. Hwan is likely to target you first.”
I only hesitated a little. “All right.” I put it on.
I had expected our attackers to rush the doorway after that first salvo. Though I couldn’t hear anything, I saw Jee crouch down behind the console where he’d been at work.
There was a flash as Jee triggered something that shouldn’t have been there. None of us had thought to check the engine room for traps, because we’d been so stressed and desperate that we’d seized upon the place as a safehold. I had just enough time to form the thought that we’d fallen right into Hwan’s trap, and not enough to holler a warning.
A concussive blast boomed through the engine room. The headset didn’t prevent me from hearing that. The noise was deafening. I shifted instinctively, without conscious control over the impulse. My body knew that my tiger shape could endure more punishment than the human one. In the split second before everything went white, I wondered whether the others had reached cover in time.
Red afterimages floated in front of my entire field of vision. I staggered sideways, then realized that I was curled up behind one of the consoles. Unfortunately, even a juvenile tiger didn’t comfortably fit in that little space, and my rear limbs were left exposed.
All thoughts of self-preservation fled as I remembered my comrades. I had to find out if they were okay. I blinked rapidly in an effort to clear the afterimages. It didn’t help.
I resumed human form, wishing that as a tiger I could speak in a way that non-tigers could understand. Report! I signed. It was one of the words I knew in the military tactical sign language.
Euna waved. I could see the steady sizzling of her blaster as she fired. Rokuro copied her.
Even in my half-stunned state, I could do math. If Euna, Rokuro, and I were all right, that left…“Jee?” I bellowed, hoping he hadn’t been deafened and could still hear me.
But my nose, which I should have relied on when I realized the afterimages were a problem, told me the answer. I smelled blood—Jee’s blood. My heart almost stopped. “Jee?” I asked again.
No answer.
This couldn’t be happening.
I couldn’t believe Hwan was desperate enough to plant an explosive trap inside the engine room. Who even knew if anything was functional anymore? The smell of smoke clogged my nostrils.
It came to me that I’d misjudged the effects of the grenade. I assumed it had been a flash grenade—good for distracting or blinding people, but unlikely to do lasting harm. Unless you landed right on top of it.
Jee had been right on top of it. I didn’t know what to do about the sick, roiling sensation in my gut. He had to be okay. I hadn’t known him long, but he’d proven himself again and again. Besides, I was the one who’d gotten him into this situation. I was responsible for making sure that he emerged intact.
The afterimages dimmed enough for me to note where everyone had ended up. Everyone but Jee had assumed positions on either side of the engine room so we weren’t in immediate danger of taking fire. Euna, with her eye for angles, had sheltered in a nook and only occasionally poked part of her head and her hand out to take potshots at the enemy.
Hwan’s voice kept booming over the intercom, audible only as a faint buzzing through my headset. By now, I’d grown numb to his insinuations, which I could figure out even without being able to distinguish his words. Yes, I knew that I was a disgrace to the Juhwang Tiger Clan. Yes, I knew that the Space Forces didn’t want me, either.
If I stopped long enough to think about either of those things, I’d never start moving again. So I balled up the messy feelings about my family, the home I’d never see again, and even my uniform and shoved the wad into the back of my mind so I could refocus on the task at hand.
“Rokuro,” I said loudly, fighting to keep my voice steady, “check on Jee. I’ll hold the entrance in case they rush us.” I didn’t know how to say something that complicated in sign language—something I wanted to remedy if we got out of this alive—and besides, I didn’t know if Rokuro understood Thousand Worlds military signs.
The merc gestured their acceptance. A moment later, they mouthed, Injured. Not dead, then.
I wished I dared a peek to see who was out there. I reminded myself that I could rely on my sense of smell instead. What little I could hear through the headset suggested that our attackers were keeping their distance, although I didn’t like relying on my ears, not when Min was still a threat. So far, stalemate.
Then Euna’s fire stopped.
I met her eyes. She grimaced. “I hate to break it to you, Sebin,” she yelled, “but I’m out of power!”
Battery? I signed.
Euna’s mouth twisted, and she shook her head no.
I groaned. “We need time to rig the Gate drive to go offline,” I told her, hoping I was enunciating clearly enough. “I’m going out there. Do whatever it takes to close the hatch after me. Shut down the intercom. Don’t trust me if I ask to be let back in.” I knew Min was still working for my uncle, after all. I couldn’t expect her to sacrifice her brother’s ghost to defy him.
Euna nodded.
Suddenly Hwan’s harangue over the intercom shut off mid-word. I heard his voice anew—this time from right outside the engine room. He bellowed so loudly I could hear him even through the headset.
“Very good,” Hwan said. “It was a valiant effort. Worthy of a tiger.” His coldness receded a fraction, replaced by grudging acknowledgment. “It’s too bad you picked the wrong side.”
Cautiously, I peered out to scan the area. Uncle Hwan was there, flanked by an honor guard of those mercs. The shaman and her dog, Shield, stood to his left. She held a blank slip of paper in her hand, already incandescent with magic, while Shield’s mouth lolled open in a fierce doggy grin. I wasn’t sure which of them I was more afraid of.
My attention narrowed to the one who mattered, the one who could change the balance of power: Min. Despite her humanoid shape, she had sharp, foxlike features and amber eyes, perhaps a result of the dog’s influence.
Hwan had scarcely finished speaking when I shifted and gathered myself to leap toward Min. I had to buy time for Jee to recover, or failing that, for Rokuro or Euna to finish what he’d started.
I knew going in that I’d only have one chance. Hwan would order Min to Charm me, and after that I’d be his pawn. But even Charm couldn’t outweigh the laws of physics. Once I launched myself in tiger form, it wouldn’t matter if I became Min’s puppet.
I cursed myself in mid-leap. I’d been an idiot. I should have taken out the shaman. But it was too late.
Hwan nodded sharply at Min.
She straightened. “Sebin!” she sang out, like I was an old friend she’d spotted in a crowd. “Sebin, come to me. There’s been a misunderstanding.”
I knew better than to listen to her, except I’d miscalculated. When I shifted into tiger form, I didn’t retain any clothes—including the headset. Nothing protected me from her Charm.
I desperately tried to avoid crashing into her, newly worried that I’d hurt her. Min was nimble, though, and she stepped aside when I landed heavily. She rested her hand on my back and stroked my fur. I chuffed contentedly.
Up close, she smelled out of place on this starship—her scent was of windy, star-strewn nights, and labyrinthine pine forests, and the distinct animal odor of fox. I craned my head back and saw that her eyes gleamed bright fox-yellow. While she herself didn’t sport a fox’s tail, let alone the nine tails of the most powerful gumiho, her shadow was the silhouette of a fox sitting upright, its ears pricked forward and its bushy tail thumping against the deck.
She’s very definitely a fox, the rational part of my mind noted. I couldn’t shake the conviction that this was a key fact, but I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why it mattered. Besides, she was patting me as though I were an overgrown house cat. Normally this would have offended me—a tiger is not a pet—except I didn’t want to do anything that would keep me from basking in her presence.
Min leaned down so her mouth was next to my ear. “Sorry, Sebin,” she whispered, so quietly I was sure no one else had heard her.
I moaned in confusion, but she wasn’t done.
“Do me a favor,” she said. I could hear my uncle rapping out orders, but I wasn’t interested in them. Min’s wishes were the only ones that mattered. “Things are about to get messy, and I don’t want the dog to get hurt. Get him far away from here and keep him away—got it?”
Then she straightened, pale but determined, and I knew it was my turn to act. I didn’t like leaving her side. Still, she was my friend, and she’d asked a favor of me. She wouldn’t have requested this if it weren’t important.
I sprang forward and grabbed Shield’s ruff in my mouth, careful not to break his skin with my sharp teeth. The dog howled, but by then I was off and running. I heard Hwan roaring behind me—whether human or tiger it didn’t matter—and then the clash of combat.
Shield clawed at my face. I resisted the urge to spit him out, considering how gross his fur tasted—like cloying strawberry shampoo. I closed my eyes and navigated by memory as I ran. While I normally had an excellent sense of my surroundings, it was hard to concentrate while the dog was attacking me. And I didn’t dare shake him or do anything to protect myself. Min had emphasized how important it was to keep Shield safe.
Still, it occurred to me as I scraped against a bulkhead and then corrected course, Min hadn’t said that I couldn’t come back. Surely she’d expect me to secure Shield, then return to assist her. Yes. That was what she’d meant, even if she hadn’t gotten a chance to tell me her plans in detail.
I skidded to a halt and looked around. Shield was still struggling and howling. Stop that, I wanted to tell him, except my mouth was full of his awful-tasting fur, and I wasn’t sure dogs, even Sapsalis, understood tiger-speak, anyway. We’d wound up far forward of the engine room, near a series of bunkrooms.
I backtracked, wishing I could still hear what was going on in the engine-room fight. One of Shield’s flailing paws caught and tangled in the thick fur of my own ruff, and his howling changed into a pitiful whine as he realized his claws were stuck.
Thank goodness no one is watching us, I thought, longing to spit out the dog and take a drink of something, anything, to wash away the taste. I had to find a place to deposit Shield, and soon.
Aha! I came across a bunkroom that had been left open. A hastily scrawled sticker said that the door was jammed and needed repairs. I sequestered myself in the room, then shoved my head and shoulders under a desk and let go of the dog. He was still stuck in my fur. He dangled there, barking in aggravation.
I shifted back into human form and lunged for Shield’s ruff again, barely managing to pick him up. He sank his teeth into my arm. “I’m doing this for your own good,” I informed the dog through a clenched jaw.
My maneuvering dislodged the headset, which had reappeared on me along with my uniform, and it fell to the deck. I ignored it. It wasn’t important, anyway.
“Come on, Shield.”
The dog’s expression was distinctly jaundiced.
How on earth was I supposed to keep him here? “Listen,” I said to Shield, who was still attached to my arm, “this doesn’t have to be unpleasant.” How had I ended up bargaining with a dog, far away from the action?
Shield growled. His jaw slackened enough that I could pry him off me. He sprang at me with a snarl, but I dodged him, thinking furiously. It would be embarrassing if I couldn’t outwit a dog!
As I circled the room, dodging the dog’s attacks, I caught a whiff of…Was that a field ration? My family had served them once a week, more often if there was a training exercise. To prepare you for the rigors ahead, Mom liked to say. At the time I’d considered it a minor badge of honor that I could choke down the barley hardtack and dried meat without complaint. Even the chocolate-and-marshmallow-cream pies that served as dessert became tedious when I ate them over and over again.
I remembered the dog’s greed for its stinky treats. “Hey, Shield,” I said after dodging another lunge. “I’ll make you a deal.” The dog stopped attacking and whine-growled suspiciously.
“There’s food in here,” I said. I could tell I had his interest. “It may be out of reach for you, but I could retrieve it and give you some.”
Shield’s tail twitched, then began to wag. His eyes crossed as he tried to maintain his fierce attitude, even as his desire for tasty snacks betrayed him.
I edged along the side of the room, following the smell of the meal. Now that I wasn’t fending off an angry canine, I could tell that it was japchae, a dish of stir-fried beef, vegetables, and glass noodles that was normally served on holidays. The version that appeared in field rations, with its stringy meat and grayed-out greens, could ruin a holiday, but I wasn’t about to mention that to the dog.
Aha! Someone had stashed the ration under their pillow, whether to save it for later or because they couldn’t figure out a better way to get rid of it, who knew? Gingerly, I flipped over the pillow, then retrieved the ration in its sealed metal tray. In theory the seal should have kept any of the odor from seeping out, but either it was faulty or my nose was too sensitive. I’d never encountered a field ration this smelly before.
The battle’s going to be over by the time you get back there if you don’t hurry up, I thought.
I opened up the tray. The pungent odor of the preserved japchae within almost made me gag. Shield lunged again, but I held the food high out of reach.
“Not so fast,” I said. “I don’t know where your loyalties lie—”
I interpreted Shield’s eager bark and tail-wagging as To my belly, what did you think?
“—but I promise not to hurt your shaman. My quarrel is with Hwan.” My uncle. But the dog wouldn’t care about that detail. “All you have to do is stay here and enjoy this, er, tasty meal. Can we agree to that?’
The dog hesitated. Another whine escaped him, though, and I sensed his resolve was wavering. He crouched low on his belly, mouth opening as he drooled over the prospect of more food.
I clamped my own jaw shut when I realized that I, too, was starting to drool. When was the last time I’d eaten? Or even had a snack?
Shield glowered at me. Just as I could smell his hunger, he could smell mine.
“If you do as I ask,” I added, inspired, “you can have the whole meal.” I glanced hastily at the tray. Sure enough, one corner included the coveted chocolate-and-marshmallow pie. “Except for this,” I added, retrieving the dessert.
Shield curled his lip at me.
“Chocolate’s poisonous to dogs,” I chided. Min would be upset if I allowed the creature to die of food poisoning! “After all”—I did my best to lower my voice into a coaxing purr, horrified that I sounded not unlike my uncle—“you’ll have the rest to feast on. Surely an ample meal for a loyal dog such as yourself.”
