Officers dismounted from the forward hatch of Lander One. They also were smartly dressed, with no concession to the rain. Kris shrugged out of her poncho and opened the door. A gust promptly splattered her khakis, but she quick-marched for the rapidly forming command section. A tall, dark-skinned woman in full kilt came to meet her. Kris saluted as they met. ''I'm Ensign Longknife, your liaison with Port Athens base.''
''I'm Major Massingo, Battalion Adjutant,'' the other said, returning the salute. The major saw to Kris's introduction to Colonel Halverson, Battalion Commander. Kris had already checked; Halverson was six months junior to Hancock, so there shouldn't be any trouble on that account. Halverson seemed jovial and happy to be here. Kris suspected he'd never been anywhere he wasn't happy to be.
''Major, let's get the troops aboard the buses the good ensign has been so kind as to provide us. A few weeks ago when we got our orders, I feared we might have to march into town. Under arms, no less.''
Kris brought the Colonel's briefing up to date while the major passed the order to the regimental sergeant major, who shouted the Colonel's orders to the company sergeants. It was a thing of beauty to watch the workings of a chain of command that had probably been in place when Bonny Prince Charles was learning escape and evasion in the original Highlands of Scotland.
''I understand that you require an officers' mess,'' Kris said as the troops marched in single file to their assigned buses. Hancock had informed Kris that the informal approach to meals that the detachment had been following would not meet the Highlands' standards.
''Quite right, Ensign,'' the Colonel nodded. ''Mixing officers and other ranks simply is not done.''
''I've found a suitable facility only two blocks from the base,'' Kris assured him.
''Good. We are coming up on the anniversary of one of our proudest battle honors, Black Mountain on Savannah. Colonel Longknife sent us up that bit of real estate.''
''I have the honor of being Colonel Longknife's great-granddaughter,'' Kris told him.
''We will be honored to have you as our guest at our Dining In, Ensign.''
Kris nodded at the offer, then decided she'd better get it all off her chest. ''General Tordon is also one of my great-grandfathers,'' she added.
''Good God, ma' am! Trouble and Ray both in your family tree.''
''Quite an honor,'' she assured the Colonel.
''If it isn't a curse.'' He chuckled, leaving Kris to wonder if the two Colonels' had already put their heads together. Once Kris got the troops back to the base and took Halverson to Hancock's office, the two rapidly made it clear that they had old-time ground-pounder talk unsuitable for an ensign's delicate ears, so Kris headed back to her office at the warehouse.
Jeb met her at the gate with Sam Anderson. ''Longknife, you mind adding a couple of more foremen to the staff? Nights are getting kind of long for me.''
''Sam, you want to work for me?''
''Kind of hard to run cows on a sunk ranch. Folks here around have found space for me and my people to squat, but we got to work, even if the food is free.''
''Pay's not all that great,'' Kris pointed out. ''A Wardhaven dollar a month.''
''Beats nothing. After that miracle, we figure we owe you.''
''Wasn't my miracle,'' Kris shook her head. ''You folks were working as hard as us to climb that cliff.''
''I don't mean the climb out, ma'am. The miracle was you even knowing we were in trouble. That radio we were hollering into. It was good for talking up and down the canyon, but what with the cliffs and all, we never talked to anyone more ‘n say fifteen, twenty miles away. Had a repeater on the top of the canyon, a land line running along the bottom. Both got washed away six, seven months ago.''
''Satellites?'' Kris asked. The prime minister always said miracles were what lazy folks used to explain perfectly understandable happenings… once you applied logic to them.
''Too low on the horizon. So long as we had the repeater, it weren't a problem. Once it was gone, so were we. Can't tell you how surprised we were that you heard our call for help.''
Not as surprised as Kris was fast becoming. She hired Sam and one of his foremen to work with Jeb overseeing the warehouse. Several of Sam's men were also available. Others were joining a road-building team that would work with the Highlands' engineering platoon, putting things like the runway into better shape, knocking together bridges for the supply convoys and, in general, starting to put the planet's infrastructure back in order. Ester and Jeb saw real growth opportunities for the Ruth Edris Fund for Displaced Farmers. Kris would have to put the fund on a formal basis before leaving Olympia.
There were a lot of things to think about as Kris settled down to her new desk in her new office on the other side of the building from the burned-out wreckage of her old one. Spens was again at work, checking accounts and keeping her legal. Lots of things to worry about.
So why did her mind keep gnawing at the question of a radio signal that took a few extra bounces? No question, the atmospheric conditions on this planet had to be way beyond weird. So, no one had ever succeeded in getting a direct message out. Probably, no one had ever been so desperate, so unrelenting in their efforts. Right. A miracle put together by elbow grease and a volcanically hashed E layer or F layer or whatever radio waves bounced off. Easy explanation.
''Nelly, when did the Peterwald ship break orbit?'' Might as well eliminate the first question Aunt Tru would ask.
''The yacht Barbarossa broke orbit Thursday, 11:37 A.M. local.''
''When did you intercept the message from the Anderson Ranch?''
''Thursday, 9:42 A.M. local.'' Okay, so Auntie Tru would get to ask a second question.
''What time did I first activate the liquid metal boat?''
''Thursday, 10:12 A.M. local.''
Kris gnawed on her lower lip. There was one more question Tru would ask. ''Nelly, did the Barbarossa have a line of sight down into the canyon?''
''The yacht Barbarossa was in an unusually elliptical orbit that gave it a one hundred-percent probability of a line of sight on the bottom of the Little Willie Canyon three orbits a day, and better than fifty percent for four more orbits.''
No use beating around the bush with her own computer. ''Nelly, did the Barbarossa have a line of sight on the canyon while we were intercepting the Anderson message?''
''Yes.''
So there it was. That ''miracle'' could well have been someone on the Peterwald ship, maybe Hank, maybe not, sending her up a deadly river in a boat with a big potential hole in it. But just because Hank had the potential for killing her didn't mean that he wanted to kill her. She couldn't have been that bad of a first date. Kris tried and failed to laugh at her own joke. It made no sense. Why would Hank Peterwald or his dad or granddad want Kris Longknife dead?
One thing was clear: her mother or father wouldn't consider that question. ''Nelly, search the net for similar instances of liquid metal boats failing.''
''I have conducted that search. There are no instances of similar failures in any of the 53,412 boats manufactured to date. Likewise, there have been no reports of similar failures by spaceships, either during their manufacture or operations.''
''Thank you, Nelly, and thank you for thinking ahead of me,'' Kris told her AI. Tru must have passed along some real interesting upgrades last time.