But when Kris took the Wasp out to find and map vacant planets in unexplored space, she got a big surprise. The Sooners. These folks hadn’t waited for any politician’s permission but struck out on their own. They picked up family, bag and baggage, and headed out to wherever they found a good place to “set” a while.
Just human nature doing what comes naturally. Simple solution . . . or so it seemed.
Unfortunately, the same human nature that cuts the Gordian knot also cuts throats. Where farmers and small business went, lawless people like pirates and slavers weren’t far behind. Those who go beyond the reach of law better either be a law unto themselves or prepared to fight for what they hold dear. If they didn’t or couldn’t, there was usually someone only too ready to show them the error of their ways.
That was where Kris and the Wasp and the two hundred Marines aboard her came in. And why she was covered with shipping containers and squawking the false transponder of the good ship Mary Ellen Carter, a week out from Brighton.
At exactly midnight, ship time, Kris announced “I relieve you,” and Sulwan replied, “I stand relieved,” and the formal transfer of godlike power took place. The Wasp was Kris’s to command through the quiet hours from midnight to 0400.
At least the Wasp was hers to command unless the one true god of the Wasp showed up. Captain Drago was lord of all he surveyed on the Wasp. Of that there could be no question.
He had the signed contract to prove it.
Exactly how the Wasp went from Kris’s bought-and-paid-for ship to a sovereign scout ship in the Wardhaven Navy was something Kris could track. How it happened that the crew continued to be private contractors paid out of black funds by Wardhaven’s Intelligence Chief was a bit harder to follow.
Probably, Kris’s great-grandfather, King Raymond I to most, had his little pinky finger somewhere in the mix.
So, Lieutenant Commander Kris Longknife commanded Patrol Squadron 10 and its half dozen corvettes. She could order Jack Campbell of the Dauntless and Phil Taussig of the Hornet to convoy duty, escorting honest merchant ships around the routes between the Sooner planets. She tasked the Fearless and the Intrepid to faking it as independent—and stupid—solo merchants like the Wasp, hunting for unregistered start-up planets like Kaskatos.
Still, aboard the Wasp herself, Kris was only a watch stander.
Or maybe the problem was that she was still a watch stander.
Like so much of Kris’s life as a Navy officer and a princess, there was no precedent. She could worry about it, do it, or not do it.
For the moment, Kris stood her watch.
“Chief, aren’t you due for relief?”
“I asked to put in my eight during the quiet of the night.”
“And the chief of the boat just let you do that?” If Kris knew anything of the Wasp’s new command master chief, Chief Beni was telling a boldface lie.
“He did, now that you mention it, have a problem with the idea. At first,” the chief admitted with a cough.
“At first,” Kris said.
“Then I explained to him that the unknown ought to be getting in range for us to find out some interesting things during your watch, and he decided to let me do things my way.”
Chief Beni had been following Kris around the hooligan Navy long enough to pick up some bad habits along with a now-disappearing beer gut.
Command Master Chief L. J. Mong had spent a day aboard the Wasp before taking Kris and Captain Drago aside.
“This is an interesting setup you have here. Civilian scientists, Marines, contractors, and some newly arrived sailors. I understand I am chief of the boat. I think many people assume that extends only to the uniform sailors on the Wasp.”
Neither Kris nor Captain Drago had affirmed or denied that observation.
The chief of the boat’s grin grew tight as the silence stretched. “My grandfather told me that a wise man, given a rock, may use water to form it to his will . . . or a diamond drill. I have both in my footlocker, sir.”
Captain Drago had studied the short, thin whip of a man for a moment longer. “I will enjoy watching a true artist.”
And they had broken for supper. Kris and Drago to the officers’ mess, L. J. to dinner with Gunnery Sergeant Brown.
SHALL I SEND A NANO TO RECORD THEIR CONVERSATION? Nelly had asked on the direct link into Kris’s skull. Nelly, Kris’s pet computer, was worth more than all the ships in Patrol Squadron 10, and smarter than all the computers aboard them, with the exception of the eight personal computers she called her kids. More often than not, Nelly was well ahead of Kris.
After a moment’s pause, Kris had shaken her head. NO, NELLY, LET’S PASS ON THAT. I’M LOOKING FORWARD TO THOSE TWO SURPRISING ME.
NORMALLY, YOU DON’T LIKE SURPRISES, KRIS.
Nelly’s recent spate of surprises had caused some hard words and harder feelings between user and computer. Kris recognized where Nelly was coming from and chose her words carefully.
NELLY, AT OFFICER CANDIDATE SCHOOL, I FIRST HEARD THAT MASTER CHIEFS AND GUNNY SERGEANTS ARE THE PEOPLE WHO REALLY RUN THE NAVY AND THE CORPS. I DIDN’T UNDERSTAND WHAT THEY MEANT AT OCS. I’VE COME TO UNDERSTAND IT BETTER NOW. I SUSPECT, IF WE LET THOSE TWO OLD GOATS HAVE THEIR HEAD, THEY WILL SHOW US EXACTLY WHY THE NAVY NEEDS MASTER CHIEFS TO RUN IT.
IF HE IS HALF AS GOOD AS GUNNY SERGEANT BROWN, HE IS VERY MUCH WORTH STUDYING, Nelly agreed.
For the moment, on the Wasp’s bridge, Kris had other things to study. And, to be honest, she was glad to have her electronic expert sharing the watch with her.
“Can you tell me anything more about our unknown, Chief?” Kris said, coming to study his board over his shoulder.
“It’s a system runabout, Commander. Its power source looks like a GE matter/antimatter annihilation reactor. Power plant is an Evinrude Z-20 or a good rip-off. A bit small for the job, but we are way out back.”
“Anything waving at you ‘Hi, I’m a bad guy’?”
“Nothing so easy,” the chief answered. “Unless . . .” he added slowly, tapping his board and frowning at it. “I’m starting to maybe see something strange with the balloot.”
“What kind of strange?” Kris said, holding tight to the blend of excitement at his words and frustration at their slowness.
“Balloots come in lots of different brands and sizes. We’ve got one loaded forward on the Wasp in case that crazy captain of yours decides he wants to go cloud dancing with this merchant ship. By the way, Princess, skimming gas giants for reaction mass is not recommended for ships loaded with containers and glued together with string and chewing gum like the Wasp is just now. You need a ship small, and tightly wound.”
“Chief, I need an answer to the question you raised about that balloot.”
“I know, I know, but I just thought you ought to know that the Wasp is rigged to do a gas-giant dive, but it’s not really meant to. Us having a nice quiet midwatch, I figured now would be a good time to mention it.”
“It’s mentioned! Now what’s strange about that balloot?”
“It’s veined, I think.”
“Veined?”
“Yeah, it’s got these lines running across it. I noticed them about an hour ago. They’re getting more and more pronounced.”
Kris stared at the visual image of the unidentified craft. Basically, it was a big bag with the bare hint of the runabout’s tail end sticking out from behind it. “I don’t see anything?”
The chief tapped his board. The image grew to take in the entire forward screen. Kris still didn’t see anything.