Free The Heart of Valour by Tanya Huff

Civilian.” She stressed the final word.
    “Destination?”
    “Sick bay. Dr. Weer is expecting us.”
    “Dr. Sloan, you are cleared to proceed. Advance to the end of this passage. Turn right. Continue along the new passage until you reach a vertical on your left. Take this vertical to Level 9. Turn left as you exit. The medical unit is at the end of that passage. You will be able to see it from the vertical.”
    “I can never decide if they’re being helpful or patronizing,” she muttered as they walked to the end of the passage as instructed.
    “Patronizing,” Major Svensson declared. “Gunny?”
    “It’s a Navy thing, sir.” She’d heard a Marine pilot once explain that it originated from the Navy’s vacuum jockeys not being able to find their asses without both hands and a homing beacon, but that wasn’t something she could repeat in her current company.
    From the hatch to vertical was the longest distance she’d seen the major walk; he seemed to be having no visible difficulties, but surrounded by Navy, it was unlikely he’d let any show.
    He stumbled but made a quick recovery as they left the vertical on level nine.
    Not quick enough for Dr. Sloan to miss. “You should have brought your cane.”
    “You said I didn’t need it anymore.”
    “You convinced me you didn’t need it anymore. Not quite the same thing.”
    Once in sick bay, an officious medical yeoman told Torin to take a chair while Dr. Weer—who’d clearly been restraining himself from meeting them at the air lock—escorted Major Svensson and Dr. Sloan to the exam room where he’d do the scans.
    The major glared Dr. Weer’s hand off his elbow. “Gunnery Sergeant Kerr goes where I go.”
    “Gunnery Sergeant Kerr will be in the way,” Dr. Sloan pointed out before Dr. Weer or the yeoman could respond. She wrapped her fingers around the major’s arm and gave it a little shake, as though daring him to protest her touch. “You’ll be in and out faster if Dr. Weer doesn’t have to maneuver around her.”
    “Faster, eh?” He clearly liked the sound of that. “How long should this take, Doc?”
    NirWentry
’s CMO shrugged, nose ridges flaring. “An hour. No more.”
    “Fine.” Major Svensson locked his eyes on Torin’s face. “If I’m not out in an hour, Gunny, I want you riding to the rescue.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    He meant it. So did she.
    * * *
    “Staff Sergeant Kerr?” When she looked up from her slate, the petty officer, who’d just walked into the compartment, grinned. “Sorry,
Gunnery
Sergeant Kerr.”
    It took Torin only a moment to place her; she’d been one of the
Berganitan
’s riggers on the trip out to Big Yellow. “Petty Officer Tristir. What are you doing off the
Berganitan
?”
    Tristir shrugged and, when Torin nodded, sat—in the same ugly, uncomfortable orange chairs they had back in Ventris Med-op. “Well, after our last little adventure with impact and the conservation of energy,” the rigger snorted, “the
Berg
’s in for some extensive repairs. While she’s in dock, the most recent crew in got moved out to other ships. I’m rigging for Dark Matter Squadron now—it’s a great crew, but I miss Chief Graham and all, so I’m in for going back as soon the
Berg
needs me.”
    “What happened to your foot?”
    The petty officer stretched out her leg and gingerly flexed long, opposable toes, the series of blisters across her instep sliding up and down with the motion. “Pilot error. Rookie L.T. brought his Jade in a little hot.”
    “As in burning?”
    “As in melt a piece of the docking mech and spray hot metal across the bay.”
    “Ouch.”
    “Yeah, tell me about it.” She leaned back with a sigh. “So, what are you doing here, Gunny? I thought we had a load of recruits for Crucible. You’re not DI-ing now?”
    “No.” Torin could truthfully say that becoming a drill instructor had never occurred to her. “I’m a temporary aide to Major Svensson.”
    “The brain that got