''Let's see what I can do with that,'' Nelly said. ''All this greenish purple sounds like your broom trees.'' A huge block of the map leading up to an inland mountain range took on a light crosshatching, and the map zoomed in closer on what was left.
Along the river leading in from the landing bay and its various tributaries, several holes in the crosshatching showed clear, with a surrounding set of short black lines.
''Those are the burned but still-standing trunks of the broom trees,'' Andy supplied. ''It must be late in the day, you can make out their shadows.''
Jack nodded, his lips getting tight. ''Not the place I'd want to set a lander down.''
''The homesteads are in the clearings,'' Andy said, fingers going over the very centers of the arrangements.
''What about towns?'' Kris asked.
''Not many. Landing hasn't grown a lot, ‘cause we're mainly moving away from it. Grampa has picked up sticks three times since we first got here, selling out to folks that had more money than patience for building a place. Most of us Fronours are out here,'' he said, pointing at one of the tributaries that wandered off to the northeast, a low ridge between it and the rest of the slowly growing population of Pandemonium. Its northernmost boundary was marked by a long line of smoke from a fire.
''You still expanding?'' Kris asked.
''I'd imagine so. We're not the only ones.'' Andy's finger roved over the western and southern boundaries, where fires still burned, as well as several large broom-tree areas that had been left behind bordering cleared land. ''It's fall, and that's when we burn.''
''How long does a fire usually take, from the time you set it until it burns out?'' Kris asked.
Beside her, Jack nodded as his fingers traced over the fire line, then searched the terrain features beyond it. They came to rest on a small lake several klicks north of Fronour holdings.
Andy blinked in thought, then spoke slowly. ''The broom trees store a lot of water in their trunks. You light the scrub under it for ten or twenty yards wide, say a mile or two long, then see how hot the fire gets. On a normal dry day, the fire catches and spreads for forty or fifty yards before it dies down. Usually, you can get two, maybe three, strips of that before the rains start and the fire goes cold.''
''How long between lights?'' Kris repeated her question in a different way.
''Three, four days,'' Andy said, then finally understand what Kris was getting at. ''Three or four days ago, things were normal on Pandemonium and people were going about setting fire lines.''
''So if we'd gotten here four or five days ago,'' Captain Drago said slowly, ''Captain Thorpe would be the one doing the approach under our guns.''
''We still wouldn't know what he was up to,'' Kris said, ''and probably be even less prepared for the first broadside.''
''There is that,'' Drago said.
''So what are you going to do?'' Andy pleaded.
''Find out more about this picture,'' Kris said, turning to the man. ''If I turn my Marines loose on your planet, it will quickly become a small vestibule to hell. Let's make sure we're visiting Hades on the people who deserve it.''
Andy looked at Jack, then back at Kris, his face draining of color as he took in the cold heat of their meaning. ''I meant for you,'' he said, stumbling, ''I mean, I thought you'd help us.''
''We will, Mr. Fronour,'' Kris said. ''But you must realize, the help we bring is never cheap.''
While the farmer gnawed on just what was coming in answer to his cry of need, Kris decided lunch was over. She folded her napkin and rose. For the questions she had now, the bridge was the place to find the answers.
12
On the bridge, Kris found a happy surprise. While they'd eaten, Sulwan had done another navigational miracle. Pandemonium had a rather large moon. With a bit of adjustment to the Wasp's course, Sulwan sideslipped her approach to Panda so that the moon stayed between them and the bothersome Captain Thorpe.
''It will cover us right up to our final approach.''
''That's going to limit my observations,'' Chief Beni said.
So a recon bird was knocked together and launched a few hours later. It flew about a hundred kilometers off the Wasp's port bow, reporting what it saw of the rapidly growing planet.
Thorpe was rude enough to try jamming, but that was only expected. The scout was a lot closer to the Wasp and continued to do its reporting, switching codes at irregular intervals.
Abby provided the codes with only a slight arm twist from Kris. ''These are from my private supply,'' the maid pointed out.
''No doubt,'' Kris said. ''And, what with all the codes up your sleeve, you can rotate these to the bottom of the deck and bring them out sometime when they'll be long forgotten. Give.''
Abby gave, grumbled a bit, and said she needed to attend to Cara's education. However, Cara was much more interested in staying underfoot, watching the goings-on of the bridge crew and the approaching moon. Neither the maid nor the twelve-year-old managed to slip out of Kris's peripheral vision.
Soon Kris would have to make some hard decisions.
The planet stayed silent. As the occupied section slipped past evening into solid night, it stayed both radio silent and dark. Not so much as a flickering campfire lit up the bleakness!
Captain Thorpe fell into silence, too, as it became clear that Kris was not about to wear ship from her closing course. He continued steady in his low orbit. Which left Kris to wonder just why he was making no reply to her change in approach. The answer to that might be trailing him by fifty kilometers.
''It appears to be an underpowered merchant ship,'' Chief Beni said, looking pained that something might actually be just what it looked to be. ''Reactor isn't good for more than .85 gees. Tanks are too small for more than a couple of jumps.''
Kris's brother Honovi had asked her opinion when he got the assignment in Parliament of writing new safety regs for Wardhaven's merchant fleet. The less ship and more cargo that a merchant hull moved, the better the profit margin. Over-powerful engines and excessive reaction mass ate into that bottom line.
Grampa Al had led the business interests that pushed for trimming the standards to allow for ships that had just enough range to make it from one port of call to another. ''Stations sell mass. Why ship water from one station to another?''
''How quickly people forgot that not all planets out on the Rim have stations.'' Kris had tried to make a joke of it.
Grampa Al had roared back, ''Don't tell a businessman how to run his business. Short-range ships for short runs. Long-range ships for longer runs! We're smart enough to send what we need to earn a good return.'' And he'd won the day.
Now Kris found herself looking at a short-range ship far off the beaten path. It should be Thorpe's problem. But his problem could become hers in a hurry. Would he load it with transportees from Panda and haul them off to Presley? Or had it brought in a boatload of thugs to Panda to rechristen it Presley and remind them who now owned the sweat of their brows?
But whatever bee was in Thorpe's bonnet, it was clear Kris would have two separate battles on her hands. One on the ground for her Marines and one in orbit for the Wasp.
Question? Which had the strongest call on a Longknife?
And where did she put several dozen scientists and one twelve-year-old girl? Kris didn't see any easy answers, so she settled on asking questions. ''Sulwan, how should we handle the final approach?''