"I knew Marines on the M'rcgunn. Most of them are still MIA."

"… three hundred and seventy-one thousand, two hundred and twenty brought home. And counting."

"You're wondering if we'll find them."

"It had crossed my mind."

Craig knew that one of Torin's hands rested on the place the tiny cylinders holding the ashes of the dead would fit into a combat vest. He suspected she still carried every Marine she hadn't been able to bring home alive. He wanted to tell her she could put them down. Knew it wasn't his place. But he'd do what he could. "Come back to bed. Celebrate life."

He could feel her stare. Heard her snort. "That may be the corniest pickup line anyone has ever used on me."

"What can I say?" He grinned. "You're a sure thing; I've stopped trying."

Torin had always thought that, given the chance, she'd prefer to be at the controls during a Susumi fold rather than have her survival depend on another's ability to get the equation right. Far as the Navy's Susumi engineers were concerned, Marines were meat in a can. Not that Torin had ever actively worried about them getting it wrong. No point. Nothing she could do, strapped down in one of the Marine packets, would affect the outcome. She preferred to save her concern for things she could affect.

Turned out, being at the controls gave her exactly as much satisfaction as she'd thought it would. It felt good to have external responsibilities again.

The last time, she'd merely been at the controls when they emerged. This time, it was her fold, start to finish.

As the Susumi wave faded, she brought the front thrusters on to slow their emergent speed, and then checked her boards. "We've arrived at the coordinates we were aiming… Shit!"

"What?"

A piece of duct tape tore as Craig's grip on the top of the chair actually tightened. Given the white-knuckled grip he'd been using as they came back into normal space, Torin hadn't thought tighter was possible. "Scanners are reading dispersed Susumi radiation."

"Our wave…" he began, but she cut him off.

"No." Enlarging the display, she frowned at the scrolling numbers. "That's the edge of our wave there. See the overlap?"

He was close enough that his sigh of relief moved her hair, breath lapping warm against her scalp. "Oh, thank fuk. Levels that low, we ignore."

"Ignore?" With the Promise now essentially motionless, she twisted around to face him, putting them nose-to-nose. "Are you serious?" Susumi radiation wasn't just nasty, it was variable at the molecular level, and results were never the same twice. The scientific community had agreed only that run away, run away was the wisest response.

Shifting to the right, Craig reached past her and enlarged a different display. "During the battle, three Confederation ships blew within five thousand kilometers of these coordinates-this is just residue. And, Nat, the cargo jockey who pointed us this way told me they'd had a hinky fold. Might be nothing more than that. We can pull salvage at twice this level."

"And you have?"

He snorted. "Sure."

Torin took another look and still didn't like the numbers. "Tell me you've banked sperm."

"I've banked sperm."

"Good." Both branches of the military required the banking of reproductive material upon enlisting, given the hundred percent probability of being exposed to hard radiation while serving. Torin had an ovary in storage back on Paradise. Civilians who went into space made their own choices. Most of the mutations weren't viable.

An incoming communication pinged the board.

"Fukking figures." Craig scaled the radiation readings down so he could bring up the code. "Looks like there's already a tag registered."

Torin surrendered the pilot's chair. "If this is a one-on-one with another CSO, you'd better take it."

He grinned and sat. "You have to learn to talk to them sometime."

"The moment they learn communication protocols."

"You know some people would consider the term hot mama a compliment."

"Some people think the H'san are cuddly, I'm not responsible for their delusions either." She took the position he'd been holding behind the chair, just as glad she had no farther to walk as her first Susumi fold had left her legs feeling embarrassingly wobbly. Ex-gunnery sergeants did not wobble.

"It's just the code for the tag coming through-no one I know. Seems they don't want to talk."

"Is that standard operating procedure?"

"We're a little skint with those." Craig pulled up a keyboard. "If they're working alone, maybe suited up outside-they won't want the distraction of talk. I'm registering second tag," he added, before she could ask. "Whoever they are, their registration says they're on the other side of that lopsided planetoid with the ring, so I'll do a long-range scan and see if there's anything worth investigating about 500 kliks from their…"

The scanner pinged.

"We found debris?" Torin frowned. "That was fast." It was a hell of a lot faster than their first trip out. Vacuum being short of friction, objects in motion, like pieces blown from battle cruisers, tended to keep moving. Made them harder to find.

Usually.

"Damn!" Craig reached back, yanked her head down by his, and kissed her enthusiastically.

Torin grinned as she pulled away. "While I enjoyed the sitrep, I'm going to need more details."

"There's tech potential in this clump. Nat was right."

"I'm sorry I distrusted her."

"No, you're not."

Her grin broadened. "No, I'm not." Maintaining a little healthy distrust would go a long way to keeping them alive. "So, do we head to the clump?"

Craig shook his head. "Not yet. We give first tag a chance to object to us working those coordinates."

The CSA with the first tag could reject second tag's first three choices. Should a third CSO arrive, the approval of both previous tags had to be acquired. Torin couldn't decide if she appreciated the fact they had a system in place-given their whole my business is none of your business attitude-or if she was appalled by the inefficiency.

She made coffee while they waited. As she filled the first mug, Craig brought Promise's engines back on-line. She hadn't thought they'd been pinged. "No news is good news?"

His teeth flashed white as he smiled broadly. "Every damned time."

First tag's registered coordinates were behind the lopsided planetoid. Out of sight. Scanners blocked. Torin stood by the control panel, stared down at the scrolling numbers still registering the Susumi radiation, and tapped a fingernail lightly against her mug until Craig reached up, wrapped a hand around her wrist, and stopped her.

"What?" he demanded.

"They might not be answering because they're in trouble."

"Then we'd be picking up a distress call from the ship or the suit." He sat back and swept his free hand over the board. "No distress call."

True as far as it went, but she'd learned to trust her instincts. "Would pirates give them time to send a distress call?"

"A distress call'd have bugger all to do with the pirates; the ship'd send it automatically. Once he got close enough, Brian was up and aces finding the Firebreather," Craig added. "What took the time was Jan and Sirin. Here…" Still holding her wrist, he used his free hand to tap the edge of the small screen showing the steady blip of the other CSO's tag. "A registered tag but no distress call means the alleged pirates destroyed the ship completely but left behind some of the tagged cargo. Not likely, love."

"I know." They'd discuss the endearment another time. "But it wouldn't hurt to go check on them."

"It'd use resources…"

"Then take it out of my share," she snapped.

"Torin…" He sighed, tightened his grip slightly, and shook her arm-not quite hard enough to spill her coffee. Smart man. "… I know this is hard for you to get your head around, but you're not responsible for every fukking thing that happens in known space. Most people, they don't need you to ride to the rescue. They can live their lives all sunshine and puppies without you giving them…"