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  “You planning on staying down here until they leave?” Gunny asked. He’d come up beside Kris after the talking started.

  “You some kind of sergeant?” the elder asked right back.

  “I work for my living,” Gunny admitted.

  “Back in the war, I had some good commanders. Some bad ones, too. Some men. A few women. This one any good?” the local man asked, nodding toward Kris.

  “I’ve only been with her a couple of months, but I’ve seen her shoot her way into a few fights. Shoot her way out with most of her own right behind her. She’s not half-bad.”

  Kris tried to show no reaction to the low level of praise Gunny passed her way. But then, laying it on thick would hardly have impressed this crew.

  “Not half-bad, you say. Kind of hard to believe that of a Longknife,” the old man said.

  “Ain’t they usually all bad?” the old woman beside him chipped in.

  “That depends on what you want them for, ma’am,” Gunny fired right back. “I’ve seen her come to the aid of folks that sure needed it but had no claim for it. Hostages on a pirate ship once, a whole planet another time. I asked what you were planning to do down here. Sit them out?”

  “I kind of hoped we could,” the elder admitted.

  “They brought a boatload of troops in on a ship that don’t have much range. I’m no sailor, but the scuttlebutt among them was that nobody brings a short-legged boat to someplace they plan to strip clean. I think your bug infestation is not going away anytime soon. Me and my Marines, we’re good at getting rid of unwanted bugs.

  “This here woman,” Gunny said, with a nod Kris’s way, “she knows her stuff. She’s just who you want in a mess like this.”

  The old fellow—Bobby Joe, hadn’t the other woman called him—eyed Kris. “I never thought I’d be glad to see a Longknife,” he finally said.

  “And I can’t believe you’re glad to see one now,” Hilda said. She said not a word more, but gathered up her self and stormed out. There was a quiet in the dimly lit room for a long moment after her exit. Kris listened to the clomping of her booted feet slowly grow softer as she got more distant. No one said a word until her steps were lost in the dark.

  “Her husband died on Hamdan II,” Bobby Joe said softly. “My sister never remarried. Never forgot or forgave.”

  “I’m sorry,” Kris said, wondering if some of those who died under her command would be remembered so long. So bitterly. Was it an unavoidable legacy of her career choice? If she ever had time, she’d have to think about it.

  Bobby Joe shook himself, as if to break loose of a memory that would never let go. “Tell me, young Longknife, what would you have us do? Grab our squirrel rifles and charge that bunch?”

  Kris stifled a frown . . . and swallowed a question. What did my great-grampa do to you? Instead, she switched her face to the cold, steely battle one, and said, “Let’s see what Thorpe does. His ship should be coming over the horizon just about now.”

  That got a raised eyebrow from Grampa Bobby Joe. And silence from the kibitzers sitting along the walls.

  Gunny smiled. Like a tiger catching his first glimpse of his next meal.

  18

  Captain Thorpe waited a full ten seconds after the Golden Hind rose above the horizon of Presley’s Pride’s settled area. He considered himself the epitome of patience as he gave his subordinates that sufficiency to gather data and analyze it.

  No, it wasn’t much time, but we won’t be in sight of that Longknife brat all that long.

  Still, the moment the allotted seconds expired, he turned to them. “What have you got?” he said, honing his voice to smooth, supportive, but eager for the kill.

  “Several things,” the young sensor lieutenant said.

  “Give me your best.”

  “We hit something when we lased that lake. The steam coming off of it still shows signs of composites and heat shields.”

  “Good, but I doubt Miss Longknife was planning on using them to withdraw.” Then the full implications of the data hit Thorpe. “She sank her ships! Damn, have you passed that along to Colonel Cortez?”

  “Yes, sir,” Weapons replied. “He had a good laugh.”

  Thorpe would enjoy a laugh, too, later, when Longknife was finally dead and they had time for drinks. “Tell me more.”

  “The most solid datum we have is this trail, leading south from that homestead we lased, sir.”

  “Most solid, huh.” Thorpe shook his head. “Ignore it. She put it there to distract you.”

  “I figured as much, sir. Down here, north of Bluebird Landing, there’s a lot of activity. Radar reflections, hot spots that weren’t there last orbit. More electronic background noise than ever before. Something is on the move.”

  Thorpe pursed his lips. “So the natives are finally getting restless, or . . . or my apprentice has scattered her forces all to hell and gone. I thought she was smarter than that.”

  Thorpe tapped his commlink. “Hernando, what do you make of this?”

  “Your apprentice should have paid more attention when she sat at your feet, William.”

  “Has she scattered her forces so widely. Or is this all a ruse?” Thorpe asked, thoughtfully.

  “No question she landed up north, the smoke from her burned boats tells us that for sure. Hah, she sank her boats. I told you we should have sent off that scow you lugged us out here on. Even some of my staff spend half their time looking over their shoulder, checking to make sure they can still run for it.”

  “I couldn’t send it away because our investors want an immediate return on their money. We’re supposed to stuff it full of gold and wine and other good stuff and send it to them.”

  “Wine! You haven’t tasted what passes for beer down here, have you? We ought to send them a boatload of that swill.”

  “We’ll discuss our investors when we have something solidly in our hands,” Thorpe said darkly. “What is your situation?”

  “Murky, as it has been since we landed. Either she has somehow managed to talk with some of the locals and got them out scrambling our picture, or she’s scattered some kind of force between me and where she made her main landing. Maybe a little of both. I’ve got a company of reinforcements coming upriver from Friendly Landing to reinforce Bluebird Landing. I’ve already sent off a platoon from Bluebird to do a search-and-destroy sweep along the main road between here and up north.

  “Oh, and the local rolling stock. I don’t know how they keep those trucks moving, but half of them are broken-down at any one time, and the other half aren’t all that lively.”

  “Get the impression that our financiers’ expectation of this place might have been a bit high,” Thorpe said, eyeing Whitebred, who was drifting in the bridge’s hatchway.

  The moneyman didn’t enter the bridge but went elsewhere.

  “Hernando, you see anything worth wasting a laser on?”

  “Not a thing. But that was a brilliant shot you took last time. Gave us our first hard datum that she’d landed.”

  “Glad you don’t need a shot. It would be only low power. In orbit, it takes hours to recharge one eighteen-incher.”

  “Whoever you face was stupid, not to attack you as soon as you fired.”

  “Longknife is not stupid,” Thorpe growled. “Do not underestimate her.”

  “Yes, but who is pushing that ship up in orbit, assuming your wandering girl is down here, getting ready to play patty-cake with her uncle Hernando. I know what kind of ship captain I’m working with. How good a one did she hire? How good a one is willing to work with her after what she did to you?”

  “Interesting question. And it could just mean he didn’t learn about my shot until he got horizon up next orbit.”

  “I didn’t catch any tight-beam chatter from them.”

  “So we’re all reduced to tight-beam or hollering.”

  “I am, but man, I have the lungs for shouting.”

  “Enough joking. You know what we can see from up here. I
approve of your movement to contact. Take extreme care. We can’t be too sure what she actually has in front of you.”

  “I will take care, Capitan. You do the same. And I will bring you the head of Princess Charmer.”

  “Out,” Thorpe said.

  He leaned back in his chair and studied the screen and what his sensor team had put up. It was a hazy collection of question marks, maybes, and possibilities. Was this what the ancients called the fog of war?

  If you ask me, it’s no way for professionals to fight, Thorpe concluded. Still, it was the fight he had. Damn the civilians for digging around like moles. Animals! If it had been up to Thorpe, he would have turned their little hiding holes into their graves. But the investors wanted a return on their money. Whitebred was always whining about that. Thorpe didn’t care. Thorpe was a warrior. He wanted a warrior to fight.

  This Kris Longknife claimed a warrior’s name. And she had certainly shown some talent at it if you believed half of what the media reported.

  Thorpe dismissed most of what he heard on the news. The wealthy and powerful owned the airwaves and put on whatever they wanted the rest of humanity to think. If it puffed up the Longknifes to think they’d spawned another war hero from their weak bloodline, they knew whom to pay to write the stories.

  No, Thorpe would enjoy testing this Longknife brat. She’d been a half-decent boot ensign once upon a time. Let’s see how long you survive when I know you are coming.

  19

  Kris spent the time Thorpe was overhead going over a map with Grampa Bobby Joe. It was amazing what she could get from someone who’d walked the land with his own boots. There was a lot here that didn’t show up from orbit.

  For example, which homesteaders were longtime diggers, and who only got started when the ships hove into view. Two ships coming through the same jump point had gotten everyone’s attention. It was a good year when two ships dropped by. One following the other into the system did not strike anyone as a business deal coming their way. Some places just started digging. Others only had to put the finishing touches on their work and start moving their families and gear underground.

  Kris studied the prepared ones. It would be hard, but not impossible, to get from here to where she wanted to be by going on to the next homestead at eighty-five-minute intervals.

  Kris also learned which farms had gunsmiths, or electronic whizzes, chemists, doctors, and others with important skills. These she also marked on her map. In twenty minutes her map was busy.

  And she’d probably gathered more information on Panda than Thorpe had now. One or two ships a year not only meant little arriving. It also meant not a lot of data about this place went out. Just an idea, not yet an assumption. But . . . know thine enemy might not be these guys’ strong point.

  No, Thorpe probably figured all he had to do was intimidate some unarmed farmers out of their livelihood. That starship captain did not know these people.

  Kris knew the full extent of her job: hatch a full-fledged rebellion against heavily armed invaders.

  Or were they that heavily armed?

  “Want to meet the guy you’re up against?” the elder asked.

  “I know the one in orbit,” Kris said.

  “I mean the one on the ground.”

  Over in the corner, behind Kris when she was facing the inquisition, was a small wall monitor. She’d noticed it earlier, but it showed only a blue screen with a small white logo . . . which turned out on close examination to be a grinning skull . . . so she’d ignored it. Now someone called up a picture from memory. It was hazy, and bounced around a bit. It showed a lander on approach, then cut to troops dismounting in businesslike fashion.

  “Can you pause that?” Kris asked.

  The picture froze. Hazy at first, the monitor cleaned it up crystal clear after three flickers. Kris and Gunny stooped close to get a good look at what it showed.

  “Mark V, mod 2 battle suits,” Gunny said. “No, mod 3s. They got the codpieces. Good stuff. Somebody had money,” Gunny said, turning to the elder.

  “Not enough. Look what comes off the next shuttle,” the old man said with a sour grin.

  The next lander was a standard shuttle, unarmored. The troops who tramped off it held M-6 rifles . . . or good knock-offs . . . but from the soles of their boots to the tops of their white berets, there was not one stitch of armor.

  “Looks like somebody filled out his battalion at a bargain basement,” Bobby Joe said. “I wonder how good they are.”

  They formed ranks and marched off the pier. Whoever was in charge didn’t know to stay out of step when crossing bridges or other structures that might not withstand the pounding. Sad to say, the pier held together. But if the troops were supposed to instill fear in the observer, they missed their bet with Kris.

  “Their heads are bobbing like a bunch of high school girls,” Gunny growled, then thought better of it. “If you’ll pardon the expression, Your Highness.”

  “I was thinking the same thing, Gunny,” Kris said. “Half of them can’t dress, cover, or keep an interval. Kind of makes you wonder how straight they can shoot.”

  “My thoughts exactly. Old-timer, you called it in one. Somebody unloaded a bunch of half-trained recruits. Cheap they may be, but they’re up against a princess who cared enough to send the very best,” came from Gunny, with a wolf’s grin.

  Bobby Joe came to stand beside the Marine. “That’s the way I took it. I figured when it came time for us to take back the daylight, we’d start with this bunch. Still, I have to admit, I’m only too glad to share the honors with you and yours.”

  “You said I could meet the guy in charge?” Kris said.

  “That’s coming in a second,” the elder said, and a moment later, the picture got knocked around, ended up showing ground and sky and somebody’s web gear. The Mark V was serious stuff.

  When the picture leveled out, it was focused on one man’s face. Olive skin and black eyes gave the camera a hard, measuring look. “You live?” the man demanded.

  “Yes sir,” came with a stammer and hiccup.

  “Then broadcast this to whoever is watching. I am Colonel Hernando Cortez. I and my troops have come to restore order on Presley’s Pride. All terrorists who turn in their weapons in the next twenty-four hours will be allowed to live. Anyone seen under arms twenty-four hours and one minute from now will be shot on sight. Further orders will be issued, and their nature will depend on the cooperation we receive. Did you send that?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Gimme that.” The camera changed hands. And ended up dropped on the ground. The last picture it sent was of a boot about to crush it underfoot.

  “Hernando Cortez,” Kris said softly.

  “A Hernando Cortez,” Nelly put in helpfully, “was one of the first conquistadors. He conquered the Aztecs of Mexico.”

  “Looted their gold and enslaved their people,” Bobby Joe added.

  “Interesting choice of names for their ground commander,” Gunny said.

  “Could be just coincidence,” Kris said. Then chuckled. “Didn’t Cortez burn the ships that brought him in. Wonder how this Cortez took to us sinking ours?” Kris would have to ask him . . . once he was her prisoner.

  “Thorpe’s under the horizon,” Sergeant Bruce announced as he entered the room. “They’ve got an underground garage, and we’ve rigged five of their trucks with trailers. About time to saddle up and head south.”

  “We can borrow your trucks?” Kris asked the elder.

  “I suspect Jamie gave your men that understanding,” Grampa Bobby Joe said. Jamie was right behind Sergeant Bruce.

  “My pa’s got the trucks ready to go. And a dozen of our best with the squirrel rifles. I was planning on going.”

  Andy looked torn. Wanting to go, tired of being gone. Bobby Joe reached for him. “Son, you been gone too long. Not sure the neighbors would recognize you. Let Jamie and his pa, Billy, take this herd out. We need some good shooters at home.”

  A
grin swept Andy’s face, and he gave the elder a huge hug.

  “We’ll be going,” Kris said. “You have any suggestions for a place that would give us cover eighty minutes down the road?”

  “Try the Polska place. She’s got a truck-repair barn that ought to be able to hide you.”

  And Kris and her team, augmented by thirteen locals, started their trek south, to battle.

  Kris was on the road when the Wasp came over the horizon. She immediately tight-beamed up a short report giving her present status and what she’d found out from the locals. She ended by asking if they’d heard anything from Jack.

  Captain Drago appeared on Kris’s eyeball a second later. “Jack’s been staying quiet, just as planned. And I’m not picking up a whole lot about him from up here, either.”

  “Any idea what the other guy is up to?” Kris asked.

  “Finally, I can say something about that. Since last orbit these folks, Colonel Cortez, huh,” Drago said, “have gotten rather rambunctious.”

  “Not hiding their movements, huh?”

  “Abby figures they are, but things aren’t going all their way anymore. Here’s a picture of the road north from the first town upriver from Landingburg to town two. Notice all the traffic pulled off to the side of the road. Troopers standing around kicking the tires.”

  Jamie glanced over from where he was driving . . . and doing a good job of keeping the truck out of holes and away from rocks. “These guys aren’t all that careful with our rolling stock.”

  “You’re going to have to explain that to me,” Kris said.

  His pa leaned his head through the open window between the truck’s cab and it’s flat bed where he was riding. “Ma’am, we got a lot of old stuff. Some of our rolling stock has been rolling since Grampa got it off the lander. It’s old. You might even say cranky. Now if you know how to treat it right, it’s fine. But you figure you can just twist the key, pound on the gas, and it’ll take you where you want to go, you’re in for a whole world of stall, flood, and other nasty stuff.