Mutineer

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Three hours later, Kris had her duffel packed and led Tom down the central stairs of Nuu House. A hastily contracted liner was scheduled to depart High Wardhaven in three hours for a two-g run to High Cambria. If they rushed, they could be back aboard the Typhoon in two days.

As Kris crossed the foyer, she found marine guards still at the doors of the library, but the doors were thrown open wide to facilitate the constant flow of officers and messengers. She paused for a second. Yes, Grampas Trouble and Ray were in there, surrounded by stars and eagles and civilians that must have rated just as high. It looked like Tru at a workstation in the back of the library, but Kris wasn't sure. Trusting humanity was in good hands, Kris turned for the main door.

''Wait a second there, Ensign,'' came through the library doors in General Trouble's command voice. Kris kept walking; she wasn't in his chain of command. Pity the poor ensign who was, and made the old general shout.

''I mean you, Ensign Longknife. Halt.''

Kris halted, set down her duffel, and waited. ''I'll tell Harvey to wait for you,'' Tom said and left.

''Where you headed?'' Grampa Trouble asked as he pulled in range of a normal voice.

''Back to my ship,'' Kris answered; then, because she couldn't suppress the question, she said what every spacer in the fleet was asking anyone handy. ''Is there going to be war?''

''Your dad has me and Ray and a hell of a lot of good people doing our damnedest to see that there isn't,'' he said. They stood there, each measuring the hopes and fears in that statement; then Trouble started gnawing on his lower lip.

''Listen, Kris, we're putting together a staff here. They're also recommissioning anything that can hold air. I understand they're even trying to haul out my old ship, the Patton. You hang around the staff here for a week or so, we might be able to get you an XO slot on a destroyer or something. Same for Tom.''

Kris forced her breathing to stay even. Was Grampa trying to get her and Tom out of harm's way? Was it that bad?

''Is the Earth fleet really an invasion fleet?''

The old general gave her one of his patented shrugs. ''God only knows, and she ain't talking, at least to the likes of me. No, we don't know any more about which Earth faction is calling the shots than you hear from the news' talking heads.'' He scowled at the lack of real information in all the noise.

Kris took a deep breath and shook her head. ''General Grampa, the Typhoon may be small, but she's the best you have. When you send her where you need her most, you're going to need her the best she can be. I may be green, but I'm a hell of a lot better prepared than any shiny new nugget would be.'' Then she shrugged. ''Besides, it's my turn in the barrel.''

''Be careful, kid.''

''You mean don't do anything you'd do?''

Grampa Trouble swallowed hard on that. ''Don't do anything stupid. Our families have all the medals gathering dust that we need. Remember, half of what you read about us in the history books were lies.''

''Maybe poorly researched,'' Kris answered, ''but not lies. Next time I'm home, why don't you and Grampa Ray walk me through a few of the more interesting stories?''

''It's a deal, Ensign. You come home, we'll have a long talk.'' And Kris discovered that ensigns could hug generals, and if the marines standing guard or anyone passing through thought different of it, well, they could just drop and give the old general fifty push-ups.

Kris got to the elevator to High Wardhaven on time.

Only military traffic was going up or down; still, it was standing room only on the ride up. Kris was early enough to get the last seat. Then she gave it up when Commodore Sampson came through the door at the very last moment. Standing in the aisle, Kris remembered reading that it was illegal to have more people on an elevator pod than there were seats; the rule was forgotten today. That was when it hit her. The safe bets were off; someone really expected a war…and soon.

The Happy Wanderer had been hastily converted from a cruise liner to a troopship. Kris was lucky; she drew a one-person room with a single bed. The two ensigns across the hall were none too happy to be sharing one bed. Still, there was a cot in the corner of Kris's room; she waited to see who her travel mate was and couldn't suppress a grin when Chief Bo showed up at her door.

''Didn't know they were putting chiefs on the beach.''

''Weren't,'' Bo said, dropping her duffel. ''I was on leave, visiting my sister and her family.'' The chief glanced around, her nose twitching like she was smelling something foul. ''Didn't anyone tell these people that chiefs and officers don't mix?''

''I suspect they're happy if they keep boys and girls out of the same staterooms. This is a kind of rush job.''

''Yeah,'' the chief frowned at the cot. ''Which bed you want, ma'am?''

''I'll take the cot. At two g's, a younger back can handle the cot better.''

The chief gave Kris a canted scowl but didn't argue. As she stowed her gear, the chief asked over her shoulder, ''What you hearing about the war, ma'am?''

''Some good people are doing their best to see it doesn't happen. What are you hearing?''

''I didn't have to pay for my beers last night. Lots of loudmouths saying it's time we show those Earthy flakes a thing or two. Course, none of them are on this transport.''

''They flocking to the recruiters?''

''Doubt many would pass. Not tall enough for their tonnage,'' Bo chuckled, then got serious. ''Saw where Ray Longknife and General Trouble were back on Wardhaven. They some of the good people you were talking about?''

''Wouldn't deny it to a friend, but wouldn't say it to a stranger,'' Kris dodged. She also didn't mention the staff offer.

''Your old man is doing the political two-step. I listened to him for five minutes last night. Couldn't tell if he was for or against us blasting that battle fleet out of space. Politicians,'' the chief spat.

''He's just trying to build a consensus,'' Kris explained.

''He better do it quick, ‘cause I hear the Earth Battle Fleet is on its way.''

Kris collapsed on her cot. ''This is crazy. Yeah, Earth has a lot of big ships with big guns, but none of them have been up to speed since the Iteeche War, what, seventy years ago. In college, I knew this kid from Earth. His dad runs a steel mill in orbit. Once a year he and his mill workers man a squadron of old battleships, them and a thousand welfare types doing their annual active duty. As my friend described it, they go aboard, make sure there's still oxygen, then see if the boards show green lights on all the gear. God only knows what they'd do if they got a red one. Chief, this kid's dad gets to be a reserve vice admiral. Most of his plant foremen are captains. It's all a big show. If it came to a fight, the Typhoon could probably slag three or four of those battlewagons without breaking a sweat.''

''But battlewagons like those slagged whole planets in the Iteeche War. I don't want them over Wardhaven, not with my sister and her kids on the ground under them.''

''Prepare for two g's in five minutes,'' echoed down the former liner's halls from the public address system.

''I'll help you get that cot made up,'' Bo offered. ''Not a hell of a lot to do for the next two days. Think I'll sleep. No use risking my back, not when the first live shoot of my too damn long career may be coming up. Besides, if I know Captain Thorpe, he's going to have all kinds of hairs up his ass. Doubt if we'll get an hour's sleep in twenty-five between reporting aboard and…whatever.''

Kris followed the chief's lead, catching up on her sleep, following the news, and reviewing the manuals on her battle station. It had been a four-day trip, Cambria to Wardhaven. It took two days to get back. Still, it wasn't fast enough for the skipper.

''What took you so long?'' was the captain's greeting as Kris and Tommy reported to the Typhoon's bridge five minutes after coming aboard.

''Damn luxury liner didn't want to do more than two g's,'' Kris offered, while taking her place at defensive systems. ''You know how civilians are, sir.''

''How come you two didn't get out and push?'' the XO asked. Kris suppressed a shake of the head. There were hard cases, and then there were very hard cases.

Captain Thorpe eyed Kris as she brought up her station. ''I'm surprised you bothered to join us, Ensign Longknife. I figured you for a cushy staff job.''

Kris turned. ''I was offered one, sir. I turned it down.''

The skipper raised an eyebrow a fraction and glanced at the XO. ''So, you wanted to be on the best ship in the fleet when the shooting starts.''

''I told a general that he'd want the best ship to be the best it could be when he needed it, sir.''

''Okay,'' the captain said and actually seemed to be enjoying himself in Kris's presence for a change. ''I liked the fitness report I got from Olympia.''

''Colonel Hancock sends his compliments, sir.''

''Good man. Got a bad rap. He says you handled yourself very well in some tough firefights.''

''I did my best, sir.''

''Ready to smash Earth battleships headed for Wardhaven?''

Kris took a deep breath. ''Yes, sir,'' she said, giving the short, crisp answer the skipper wanted. Any prayer to avoid war was out of place on a fighting ship's bridge.

''Good. I want you and Ensign Lien to trade stations.''

''I'm not trained on weapons, sir.''

''No one on this ship is combat trained on any station as far as I'm concerned,'' the captain growled. ''But you will be. Lien, out of there. Let's see how good Longknife is at a shoot.''

So Kris moved forward to the offensive weapons station just in front of the skipper and beside the helm. Tommy didn't actually show relief as he moved to the defensive station behind and to Kris's right. Kris had never told Hancock about Tommy's problem with his weapon, but she doubted anything got past that Marine Colonel. And nothing got by the captain.

Thorpe synced weapons, helm, and defense together into a simulation; hostiles appeared just at the limit of the Typhoon's sensor range. When Kris asked how they got there, the captain snapped, ''It's my job to get you targets. It's your job to smash them.'' So Kris and Tommy and a new ensign with lightning reactions, Addison, went through the simulation, twisting and turning, dodging and charging, until the hostiles were dust in space and Kris's hands were knotted on the controls.

''Now do it again.''

So they did. Off the bridge, Kris could hear the crew going through every possible drill, from hull breach to reactor containment failure. Only once did she hear abandon ship; that one must not be very popular with the skipper. On the bridge Kris went through problem after problem, gauging targets with hostile intentions and getting lasers out there to thwart them.

It was very late by the ship's clock when Kris went looking for her bunk.

And reveille was at oh five early the next morning. Kris showered, dressed, gulped down breakfast, and was on the bridge by 0600. And the simulations began again. ''You're taking too long to blast those bogies. I want them dust in fifteen minutes from first contact. Addison, be more aggressive. Longknife, you're using too many ranging shots. Don't waste energy bracketing the target. Hit it.''

Easier said than done, Kris could have said. Was the bogie closing or opening the range? But she kept her mouth shut and spent a bit more time evaluating the targets' behavior next sim. Yep, the skipper had them just as gung ho as he was. The next two sims all had the enemy closing fast. Kris was right on with her first shot the next time.

''Good going, Ensign. Think like they do.''

''If you assume they're going for your throat, sir,'' Kris risked.

''If they aren't, Ensign, it's their funeral. There's only one rule in war. Hit them first. Hit them hard. Anything else just makes for more widows on our side.''

''Yes, sir,'' Kris answered, the only answer he'd accept.

''When are we going after that Earthy battle fleet?'' Addison asked.

''As soon as they give us orders, Ensign,'' the skipper assured him.

''Those old Earth tubs are taking long enough.''

''I hear their engineering is lousy.'' The XO grinned. ''Had to cut to half a g to keep all those clunkers together.''

''But let one or two of them shoot their way into orbit, and there won't be any High Wardhaven, any space elevator, or many people left below,'' the captain pointed out.

Of course, Kris thought, Earth could have slowed her ships to half a g to give the politicians more time to sort this whole mess out. She kept that thought to herself; she was on a warship, and its job was to defend Wardhaven. The skipper was making this tip of the spear just as sharp as he could. Kris wasn't about to do anything to dull it.

At noon, while the crew was at mess, Thorpe ordered Tom to convert the Typhoon to battle configuration.

''Longknife, look over his shoulder. I don't want to spend the next week finding the mop closet.'' The skipper eyed the XO when he said it, so Tommy didn't lose his usual grin. Still, he worked slowly and methodically as Kris joined him at his station. He went down the check sheet without a word from Kris. This was a standard reconfiguration; it had been done often enough that it should go flawlessly. Prework done, Tom reported, ''We are ready, sir.''

The skipper nodded to the yeoman of the watch. ''All hands, stand by for reconfiguration,'' she announced. ''Watch standers take your places.''

''Make it so, Ensign,'' the captain ordered, and Tommy started tapping keys on his workstation. With most personnel at chow, the mess facilities were locked in place. Next, Engineering shrank. Then the outer berthing areas pulled in as spacers' double staterooms became berthing areas of eight, and the ship's diameter began to fall by half. All through the ship, spacious hallways became much more cramped passageways. Storage rooms with wide aisles became smaller. Lastly, the radiation bulkhead between the rest of the ship and engineering thickened, and the ship lost a good twenty meters in length.

''Now the Typhoon's a real warship and a damn small target,'' the captain growled happily. ''Yeoman, have all hands check for missing spaces and report them immediately to Ensign Lien. Ensign, don't waste time trying to get it right a second time. I like Longknife's solution. Empty any wayward spaces, delete them, then re-create them in the right place.''

''Yes, sir.'' Tommy said with a wink for Kris. Maybe she'd already been headed for the captain's good graces even before Hancock's fit rep.

Thorpe stood. ''Bridge team, take thirty minutes for chow. You've handled those easy problems fairly well. Now let's see how you do on a few moderately complicated ones.''

Wondering how the sims could get worse, Kris went to check her quarters. She quickly passed down narrow passageways to find her room was where it should be. Once she and Chief Bo were sure their own gear was straight, they took a quick walk through the enlisted women's quarters. There were no problems; even the usual complaints about being shoved back eight to a room were subdued. ''They're scared it's for real this time,'' Bo muttered as they left.

So Kris arrived late for lunch. The shrunken ship had no wardroom; the officers now shared their meals with all personnel in the cafeteria. Most of the crew had already eaten, the exceptions being the bridge crew and, apparently, the engineering watch standers. The XO commanded one table far from the door and well away from the steam tables. Lieutenant Commander Paulus, the ship's engineering officer, was surrounded by his officers and crew at a table about as far from the XO as was possible. Tommy had joined the engineering staff and probably was deep into a discussion of nano or some other techno delight. Suppressing a sigh, Kris headed for an empty place next to the executive officer. This put her elbow to elbow with the communications officer and the ship's lieutenant, who, with the XO, stood eight-hour watches, seven days a week as officers of the deck or OOD.

Kris and the other two ensigns should also be standing watches, one each, at their elbows as junior officers of the deck. That was what would have happened if the Typhoon had fifteen officers aboard. But it was peacetime. Right! On the last cruise, Kris had stood watches as the OOD and been relieved by chiefs and first-class petty officers. She wondered how things would change this cruise.

''So, things got exciting on Olympia,'' the XO started as Kris sat down.

''They had a bandit problem,'' Kris said simply.

''And don't have one anymore?'' the communications officer added.

Kris measured her response carefully as she sampled the meat loaf, potatoes, and green beans. ''We took out a few of the bad elements. Fed a lot of hungry elements. Problem solved.''

''That's putting a fine twist on what I hear was a major firefight,'' the executive officer insisted.

''It got plenty hot for a while there,'' Kris agreed.

''So, looking forward to things getting plenty hot here?'' The ship's lieutenant leered.

In the miniature chain of command on the Typhoon, he was the division chief of all the junior officers not in Engineering, and thus, Kris's boss. ''I'd like to hope cooler heads prevail,'' she said to her string beans.

''God save us from cooler heads,'' the comm. officer snapped.

''This has been coming for years,'' the XO said. ''Earth bureaucrats have been leading us around on a chain. Telling us this. Telling us that. It's time we do what we want to do, not what those overpaid chair warmers back there say.''

Kris didn't need to answer that, so she concentrated on eating. The XO filled the silence with every familiar argument for war. Rationally, to Kris, they added up to nothing. But hadn't Doc Meade warned her class that it was a rare war that had a solid basis in reality? ''Emotions. Watch for the emotions that inflame,'' he'd said. Kris had dutifully taken notes, but she hadn't been one of his believers that day. Just now, it was starting to look like Doc knew what he was talking about, at least in this mess. Finished, she stood and picked up her tray.

''Ready to shoot Earthy antiques?'' the XO demanded.

''I'll shoot whatever the skipper puts in range,'' Kris said.

''Good, Ensign. Very good,'' the XO said with a broad grin.

Captain Thorpe was on the bridge when Kris returned, having taken his meal in his cabin. And he had sims waiting that made this morning's seem easy. The afternoon went long. When the captain finally released her, Kris quickly found her stateroom. Chief Bo was already snoring, giving Kris a reminder she didn't need that a warship was a cramped ship.

At 0600 the next day, Kris was back at her board. The skipper was hunched over his own, apparently oblivious to his bridge team as they arrived, checked their stations, and awaited his pleasure.

Thorpe punched his own commlink without looking up. ''This is the captain speaking. Fast Attack Squadron Six and the Typhoon have been ordered to the Paris system. There we will rendezvous with the rest of Wardhaven's fleet and ships from other planets that are ready to meet this threat from Earth. As of now, I consider this ship to be on a war footing.''

''Nelly,'' Kris whispered subvocally.

''The media reports that the Earth fleet and nearly one hundred other planetary squadrons are to meet at the Paris system to officially mark their withdrawal from the Society of Humanity. The Paris system is a nearly uninhabited system with an unusual number of jump points created when two systems collided since the jump points were created by aliens.''

''Cut the standard media pablum,'' Kris ordered, her gut knotting. ''This is supposed to be a peaceful meeting, right?''

''Commentaries and news reports run the full spectrum, from war to peace to high-stakes gamble, usually reflecting established editorial positions and past commentaries.''

''What does the prime minister say?''

''He hails this as peace in our time.'' Kris remembered that quote from somewhere, searched her own memory, found it, and didn't like the taste of it.

''I have the conn,'' the captain announced. ''I can get us away from the pier. Let's start you three on some really hard simulations.'' So Kris got down to business and stayed that way through the rest of the day. Arms and hands aching, she stumbled to her bed and was asleep before she even got her shoes off.

Next morning, Chief Bo was brushing her teeth as Kris awoke. ''You slept right through reveille,'' the chief reported through the foam in her mouth. ''Figured you could use a few extra winks. You know your hands were moving in your sleep?''

''I was dreaming battle scenarios.'' Kris admitted.

''Well, you were going through them full bore.''

Kris stripped, stumbled to the shower, and was under the spray for a full half minute before what was missing dawned on her. Grabbing a towel, she asked the chief, ''You remember us going through a jump last night?''

''Nope, they always wake me up. No matter how bushed I am, they wreck a night's sleep.''

''Nelly, did they announce a jump during the night, or did I miss one yesterday?''

''This ship has not yet jumped out of the Cambria system.''

Kris lifted her hand, estimated its weight. ''One g, maybe a bit more.''

''One point two-five g's, ma'am. Geeze, I thought you bridge types always got the word first.''

''Skipper must have ordered that while I was deep in a sim. We should have been at any of the five standard jumps out of Cambria hours ago.''

''Guess we aren't using them. I heard there's supposed to be a war on or something,'' the chief said, dryly. ''Might account for brass doing the less expected.''

''Yeah,'' Kris agreed. The skipper had put them on a war footing, and she should quit thinking peacetime drills. They'd packed them into the elevator pod, into the Happy Wanderer. Why not use the jump less traveled? ''Nelly, keep track of the ship's acceleration, and let me know which jump we do use.''

''Yes, ma'am.'' Which was a good thing, because Kris's day rapidly vanished, lost in simulations. Targets were moving faster, jinking and zigzagging. There were friendly ships now as well to keep track of. Space was more cluttered as planets and moons entered the exercises, warping maneuvers with their gravity. ''Damn it, Addison, you accelerated us into that gravity well. We shot past those bastards so fast we'll never get turned around.''

''Sorry, sir. I saw them, and I went for them.''

''That's the right stuff when we're in deep space, but fights, real fights, take place where there's something worth fighting for. Nine out of ten battles with Unity and the Iteeche were within two hundred thousand klicks of a planet. Get used to working with gravity, Ensign, or I'll get someone who can.''

''Yes, sir.''

''And Longknife, why'd you miss them as we went by?''

''Rate of closure and rate of change on the defilade shot exceeded the capacity of the system, sir.''

''I didn't ask why the computer didn't give you a shot, I asked why you didn't take a shot.''

She didn't want to waste the laser energy, but that wasn't the answer the skipper wanted. ''No excuse, sir.''

''That answer may keep me from chewing your tail, Ensign, but it won't keep the enemy from cutting this ship open and spilling your shipmates into vacuum. You see a shot, you take a shot. Let me worry about my energy budget. You understand?''

''Yes, sir.'' Kris also noticed there were no euphemisms now. Earth ships were enemy, pure and simple. It was getting harder in her fatigue-fogged brain to remember that her Grampa Trouble said he was doing his damnedest to keep that from happening. Kris's hands were trained.

They were fighting the ship's lasers all day; no wonder they were fighting the ship's lasers in her sleep. Like a well-trained automaton, she was reacting with little or no thought. That was what Thorpe wanted; that was what Kris gave him. The quick smiles he rationed her were worth it.

She didn't get that many smiles the rest of the afternoon as gravity wells swung the simulated Typhoon here and there, giving Kris damn poor shots. Kris was a zombie as she made her way to her stateroom that night. Surprisingly, Bo was still up.

''Crew's a bit edgy,'' the chief said as Kris stripped off her sweat-soaked uniform. Bo took it from her and ran it through the cleaner. ''The skipper hasn't posted the ship's route on the mess room screen.''

''That's peacetime practice,'' Kris mouthed, pulling on a nightshirt. ''We're on a war footing.''

''Yeah, but isn't that pushing it a bit?''

''You know Thorpe better than I do, but from where I'm sitting, I wouldn't put anything past him.''

''We jumped early today. Did you notice it?''

''Went right past me. Nelly, what jump did we use?''

''Ninety-nine percent probability we used jump point India.''

''India!'' Kris struggled awake. Alpha, Beta, Gamma were the most frequently used, in that order, jump points of a system. India was never used. ''What's India's safety factor?'' Jump points wandered, understandable since they orbited two, three, or more stars. The more they wandered with respect to anyone star, the more likely they were to send a starship on a sour jump in the bad old days. Still, even today, passenger liners only used levels A and B, and did it at a slow speed. The Navy was a bit more daring; they used C and D jumps.

''Cambria's jump point India is an F on the index.''

''We are on a war footing,'' Chief Bo breathed.

''Nelly, project the shortest course from Cambria jump India to the Paris system. Display.'' A holovid shot from Kris's shoulder to dance in the air between Kris and Bo. Three long jumps took them far away from human space, which in and of itself violated the Wardhaven Treaty. Still, the last one brought them right back to where they wanted to go.

''We will arrive at Paris jump Kilo. It has not been used recently. Assuming it is still within fifty thousand klicks of its last reported position, it will put us here,'' the holovid expanded on the Paris system. Five suns did a wild jig around each other and, in the case of the two smallest suns, through the orbits of several of the fifteen planets and the asteroids that marked the wreckage of two more. Two gas giants provided refueling stations to the six jump points that supported dozens of major shipping routes. If Olympia gave access to much of the Rim in four jumps, this train wreck of a system did the same in three…with Earth thrown in as well. A great transfer station for the last eighty years, was it about to become a great place to start a war?

''What's the nearest often-used jump point?'' Kris asked.

''Alpha.'' A square in the system turned red. ''It is on the main route between Earth and many of the Rim worlds.''

''Wardhaven?''

''Yes. Traffic from Wardhaven used the Delta jump point.'' A second square halfway across the system turned green.

''We're going to be right next to the jump the Earth battle fleet is most likely to use.'' Bo frowned.

''And about as far from Wardhaven's as you can get,'' Kris finished. ''Assuming, of course that we use this route. Nelly, estimate times required between these jumps. Report to me when I am not on the bridge if this ship's jumps match that course.''

''Good thinking, ma' am. But even if this is our route, what does it mean?''

''I have no idea,'' Kris admitted. Kris also had to admit she was tired, wasn't going to get much sleep, and desperately wanted a lot more than she was likely to get. She would think about this in her spare time tomorrow. Right, like she'd been getting a lot lately. Kris drifted off within seconds of hitting the sack. Her dreams were vivid. No matter how hard she fought, the Earth ships were always there first with their lasers. No matter how fast she got her shots off, the Earth lasers were already slicing into the Typhoon. Time after time she watched Tommy and Bo and her marines' faces as they gasped for air in the vacuum.

Next morning, breakfast wolfed down, she was headed for the bridge but found Corporal Li facing her. ''Ms. Longknife, the captain hasn't posted the course. These jumps don't fit any of our other trips out. Some of the marines are kind of worried.''

''Trust me,'' Kris told the corporal who'd dropped with her to rescue the girl forever and just two months ago. ''This ship is headed for the Paris system. Skipper's just taking a different route. Got to quit thinking like peacetime.''

''Is it gonna be a war, ma'am?'' The corporal's face was a mixture of emotions, leaving Kris to guess what answer he wanted.

''The prime minister and a lot of other good folks are doing everything they can to see that this all ends peacefully. But you know the old man. If it comes to a fight, he wants the Typhoon to be the best there is in the fleet.''

''Yeah, that's the skipper. Thank you, ma'am.'' And the man was gone, and Kris was late for the bridge, but she suspected what she said would be through half the ship before lunch.

''So glad you could join us,'' Captain Thorpe said as Kris slipped into her seat at 0600 exactly. ''Ensign Lien, you've been getting off too easy. Addison and Longknife haven't let the ship take enough hits. I'm putting you on your own set of sims. Addison, you're still not using gravity wells for all they're worth. The Typhoon is fast, and we operate independently. Forget about staying in formation with the rest of the squadron. Push it. Work it. Longknife, you're still waiting too long for the computer to offer you shots. Think ahead of the damn machine. I know you've got the killer instinct. Use it.''

The captain drove them hard that day. He was none too pleased when Kris missed two shots; both when the Typhoon went through real jumps. ''Ensign, you took three minutes to set the ship up for that shot, then you miss. Damn it, that should never have happened.''

''Sorry, sir. The jump disoriented me for a second. It won't happen in battle.''

''You bet it won't. Addison, Longknife, take a break. XO, Comm, meet me in my day cabin.''

''Yes, sirs'' answered him.

Kris and Addison dropped down to the mess room. Kris wrapped both her hands around the hot mug, willing the warmth to soften the knots in her fingers and the palms of her hands.

''Bet you can't wait to get some Earth ships in your sights. I'm so sick of steering the ship and not feeling her move under me. Let's get this thing on for real!'' Addison crowed.

''We're not at war yet,'' Kris pointed out.

''What's the matter, you like Earth? They've been kicking us around for eighty years. It's about time we show Earth that space belongs to the Rim.''

''So we show them the door and take off on our own. We don't need a war for that.''

''You think they'll let us just walk? I hear they want payment for every ship we take. Full, brand-new price tag. Even the ones we bought ourselves. Earthies are brain dead.''

''And a war is going to leave a lot of people real dead.''

''What's the matter, Longknife, you afraid?''

''Addison, you ever faced a loaded weapon aimed at you?''

''No.'' That let some air out of him.

''When you've done it two or three times, I'll buy you a beer and we can compare notes. Until then, stow it.'' Kris cut off the debate and put down her cold coffee. ''Let's get back.''

The skipper cut them loose early that evening. ''Take a long, hot shower. Get some rest. We jump into the Paris system at oh nine hundred tomorrow. Things may get exciting after that.''

Kris headed for her room. ''Nelly, what jump will an oh nine hundred arrival use to get us into Paris?''

''Kilo,'' the computer answered.

''Have you picked up any news?''

''No. We have been too far from human space.''

The entire squadron was following each other through jump points without buoys. Of course, this far from human space, there should be no risk of running into another ship coming through the opposite way. No human ship. Right. This was way beyond weird.

''Kris,'' Nelly said slowly, ''you asked me to conduct my own searches and let you know when I find something that does not match a pattern I am familiar with.''

''Yes.''

''Right after the comm officer met with the captain, he loaded some new systems that are not active and which I cannot discern the purpose of.''

''Something that will put us on a war footing?'' Kris said.

''I have a list of all systems to be loaded when a state of war is declared. These are not part of them. I also cannot in any way interface with this software.''

''It's not running?''

''No, it is only sitting there.''

''Let me know as soon as it starts doing something.''

''I will.''

Kris knuckled her eyes with both hands, trying to rub away exhaustion; her brain felt half dead. All this had to mean something. Why would Father or Grampa Ray order Attack Squadron Six to take this roundabout way to Paris? Why would they want their best ships jumping into that system right beside the Earth battle squadron? Beside or behind? Assuming the Earth ships arrived a while back, they should have cruised over to meet the Rim squadrons and done whatever they intended to do. How do you haul a flag down on a spaceship?

Kris got this mental image of admirals standing around at attention, saluting in space suits while some poor spacer scraped the blue and green flag emblem off a ship's bow. Girl, you're punch drunk. A shower didn't help. She fell into bed and promptly went to sleep.

''Ma'am, you asleep?'' Bo asked her a hundred years later.

''I was. Something wrong?''

''Nothing, I guess. What you told the corporal, it was nice. I think it dumped about ten tons of fear off this boat.''

''That's nice,'' Kris said, pulling up the sheet.

''Word is we're going to get there tomorrow early.''

''Yeah.'' Kris did not want to wake up anymore.

''You know which jump point we're going to use?''

''Looks like the one my computer expected. Kilo, I think.''

''So we're going to jump right in on the Earth battle fleet. How do you think they're going to take it?''

''How should I know?'' Kris barely kept her growing frustration out of her voice.

''I sure hope there aren't any jumpy gunner's mates over there. Those battlewagons have lasers good out to a hundred thousand klicks, and we're going to be well inside that.''

Kris blinked and turned over. ''We will be, won't we?''

''Fifty thousand klicks is almost in range for our twenty-four-inch pulse lasers, ma' am.''

''Don't worry. What ship hangs out around a jump point? Those Earth battlewagons will probably be way to hell and gone over to meet the Rim ships. Figure some smart dude will have brought along a couple of barges of beer. Spacers from both fleets will be guzzling brew while their admirals talk nice.''

''I sure hope so, ma'am.''

''I thought you'd like a live shoot.''

''Be nice to know that all this training was for something, but ma'am, a war between us and Earth. God help us all!''

''Get some sleep, Chief. We all have to be our best tomorrow.'' And Kris rolled back over and tried to go back to sleep. But tomorrow's tactical situation kept floating around in her head. What if some twitchy gunner in the Earth fleet took a potshot at AttackRon Six? Well, that was what the smart metal was for, to protect them. Commodore Sampson would sort that out. That was nothing for an ensign to worry about.