Kris Longknife: Deserter

by Mike Shepherd

  Jack glanced over Kris’s shoulder, then threw Abby a glare. “And you were acting surprised.”

  “Surprised, yes. Unprepared, never.” And she produced a purse of her own. “Shall we go, Sister?” Abby tossed Jack the controller for the steamer trunks. “Don’t misplace any of them, and please don’t pick up luggage that is not your own. So many look alike,” she beamed and led Kris into the landing tunnel.

  Ten meters around, the landing spiral made a comfortable walkway with wide windows looking out over gaily painted runabouts and small overnighters. Just the thing for in-system travel. Kris jawed a growing wad of gum for a good hundred meters, got it under control, and flashed Abby a smile.

  “I know I’m supposed to look like that loony vid Princess,” Kris said, snapping her gum and putting a twang on each word, “but who’d go for you?” Kris knew she was letting the imp get her tongue, but she was seeing a new side of her maid and had to scratch that surface.

  “There are men who go for prim, unbending women, and besides,” Abby said, snapping her purse open and producing a fold-out whip, “I have other special skills.”

  “Men are crazy.” Kris shook her head.

  “Some men are crazy. So are some women. The trick is to match them up.” The landing divided into two levels. Abby took the up ramp. Now the ships out the windows were larger, more impressive, and less flamboyantly painted. Clearly, the greater the value, the less the need for overstatement. At the end of the landing, two men in black suits and ties lounged at the entrance to a gangway elevator. Kris got her hips going, her dress swaying, and gave the sashay all she had.

  “Don’t overdo it,” Abby whispered through her smile. “These guys are not the customer.”

  “Yeah, but ain’t they hunks. I could go for them.”

  “You give nothing away for free, young woman. How can your dear mother make a living off you if you devalue what you sell?”

  The words almost knocked Kris out of her walk. Had Abby just let something slip? Yes, Mama, Kris mouthed silently.

  “Can we help you . . . ladies?” the guard with a shaved head said as the younger, cuter one, took a step back and rested his hand on what had to be his weapon.

  “Our agency had a call from Pier eleven-d-one for a rush escort service,” Abby said as Kris brought a hand up to her hair, put her hips in low and her gum on high. “They weren’t quite sure what was required, so they sent us both.”

  “This is the right pier,” the guard said, trying not to eye Kris. “What was requested?”

  “Candy, get rid of that gum,” Abby whispered from the side of her mouth, then smiled at the guards. “Someone with a certain media caché as a reward, though punishment might be required.”

  The guard paged through his hand unit. “I’ve got nothing.”

  “Yeah,” the young one said, “but the kid’s been having a lousy week. Maybe the boss is trying something new. You heard about tonight.”

  The two guards turned to exchange knowing grins. Abby sniffed—and she took down the hunk, leaving the closer guy to Kris. Three soft pops and enough sleepy drug was in their chests to keep them down for the night.

  “What was that all about?” Kris said as she stepped over the guard.

  “I have no idea, but we better be ready at the inside door.” So they entered the elevator, pushed the one button, and slow and easy rode it down.

  The elevator stopped at a landing facing what Kris thought of as the quarterdeck. Two men in dark suits, apparently the uniform of this ship’s security, eyed them cautiously. “What brings you here, ah, ladies?” one with a bull neck asked. Beside him, seated at a console with blank monitors, was a smaller but equally muscled model of himself.

  “My agency received a call for our services.”

  “We didn’t make a call,” the small one said, turning to his board and flipping through the one active screen.

  “Yeah, Marko, but there’s a lot of stuff you’re not monitoring tonight,” the other said, waving a hand at the blank screens. “Station lines were max flaky even before the boss hit the disconnect.” A thick comm line lay on the gangway. Normally, it was one of the last things disconnected before getting under way. Tonight, someone had unplugged it, leaving the ship out of any land line loop and killing the camera feed covering the upper part of the gangway. Bit of luck for Kris and her team, she thought as she and Abby took advantage of bull neck’s momentary concentration on winning his point with Marko to shoot the two of them full of sleepy darts.

  Gun out, Kris stood guard while Abby lugged the two sleepers onto the landing, then rode the elevator up. She returned a moment later with Jack, Tom, and Penny.

  “Jack, you and Abby secure the ship. The rest of you, with me. Let’s see what the bridge looks like,” Kris said, then halted. The only way to the command deck was an elevator. A good option for a ship under high acceleration, but being locked in a box was not an idea Kris liked tonight. “Penny, you stay down here. Tom, you’re my pimp.”

  “Your what!”

  “Stay close, keep your mouth closed, and gun ready.”

  “Where have I heard that order before?” he said, giving Kris a wry grin and Penny a quick kiss. Then he stepped into the elevator. Kris hit the top button, and the car started moving.

  The doors opened on a dimly lit bridge that smelled of machine oil, rosin, sweat, and ozone. The rest of the ship might smell like an office, but here it was a working ship. Two chairs swiveled around to face the elevator. A man and woman in dark flight suits, pistols in shoulder holsters, eyed Kris.

  Kris turned her entrance onto the bridge into an excited half hop and wiggle. “Wow, this really is maxi radi,” she bubbled. “This is really what makes the thing go?” she asked, getting a peek around the side of the elevator. A third man worked at a console back there. Whatever it did, the board was up and held the man’s attention.

  “Excuse me, kid,” the woman said, standing, “but haven’t you taken a wrong turn somewhere?”

  “I told her our client would be down, not up, but she pushed the button before I could stop her,” Tom said. “Come on, Rosie, we’ve got a customer waiting.”

  “But this one’s good-looking, and I bet he could tell me what all of those flashing lights mean,” Kris gushed and took two steps closer to the controls.

  “Honey child, you do look like fun,” the still-seated man said, “but I am on duty, and this is not a sim. All this is working, and we can’t have little girls playing with it.”

  “Little girls?” Kris pouted—and shot the fellow.

  Tom brought down the woman. The fellow behind the elevator was just turning as Kris put three darts into him.

  “I’m taller than you, little boy,” Kris said as she turned the command chair and rolled the sleeping fellow out of it. “Tom, get Penny. We’ve got some controls to figure out.”

  Tom pulled the woman he’d shot into a fireman’s carry and headed for the elevator. Kris studied the board, but, following the napping pilot’s advice, touched nothing.

  When the elevator returned, Abby was with Penny. “The ship’s ours. There were only two more crew on board. A fellow claiming to be the cook told us most hands were dirtside on leave. They were recalled after you kids started blowing things up, but they aren’t back yet.”

  “Let’s close up the ship,” Kris said.

  “Give us a few minutes to get everyone off,” Abby said, pulling sleepers into the elevator. “Oh, and what looks like the owner’s cabin has been locked from the outside and the inside. Jack’s working on the problem.”

  “Outside and inside,” Kris muttered. “Nelly, can you do anything about that?”

  “I am concentrating on access to the ship’s main network,” Kris’s computer said slowly, as if ashamed to admit she wasn’t already in. “This system is very well protected.”

  “Well, get in,” Kris said. “The reactor is on a low trickle, but I’ll have to add reaction mass for a good five minutes before we can get und
er way. When’s the big boom scheduled?”

  “Six point four two minutes.”

  Abby and Tom left with the last two sleepers. Penny settled down on the other side of the bridge, examining that working station. “Kris,” she called half a minute later, “I think this is an intelligence gathering post. I seem to have access to a whole lot of police and military data flow.”

  “But they disconnected the land line from the main net. I saw the decoupled data line.”

  “It’s coming in on a tight beam. If I didn’t know better, I’d say someone has hacked the central security net.”

  “Curious and curiouser,” Kris whispered, still eying the lights on the navigation board. “Nelly, it would be real nice to do a few things.”

  “I think I have broken the lock on your board, Kris. Try something.”

  Kris tapped for a slight increase in reactor power.

  Access Denied.

  “I will keep working on that, Kris.”

  “You do.” Kris wanted to scream, pound on the workstation, run in circles. Instead, she walked slowly around the bridge. All stations faced the wall screens, a conventional merchant ship layout since no one put merchies into defensive battle spins. One station backed up the main nav position; that was where the woman had sat. The next few stations around the bridge circle were blank. One should have been sensors if this was a jump ship. Kris would wait until Nelly turned on all stations to make sure. The stations along the back were all data-gathering slots; some looked business, some scientific. Strange mix. Penny was deep into something, so Kris left her undisturbed.

  The positions took on an engineering look as Kris made her way back to nav station . . . except the one next to navigation. It was totally blank, ready to be brought up and initialized. But as what?

  Kris settled into the seat at nav. “Nelly, it would be real nice if we could light a fire on this rig.”

  “Try it again, please.”

  Kris edged up the reactor level from 5 percent to 10 percent. The reactor responded. Sitting forward in her chair, Kris further increased the flow of reaction mass to the reactor. The amount of plasma into the standby race tract increased, and the electricity generated by the Magnetohydrodynamics engines rose with it. Kris fed that into capacitors . . . and found this yacht had a very large capacity for storing spare electricity.

  “Jack, you ready to seal the hatches?”

  “Getting the last extras over the side and sealing the gangway as we speak.”

  “Break all connections except the mooring hold-downs. Then stand by. Nelly, how long until things get interesting on the station?”

  “Three minutes or so,” Nelly said.

  “And why are you suddenly going general on me?” Kris asked as she checked out her maneuvering jets. The ship bucked a bit, but the mooring lines held it tight.

  “I became aware that though the command nanos have their instructions, the possibility of opposition means that instructions may not be executed on the second I planned.”

  “Good, Nelly, you are catching on to how things work in the real world.”

  “Your ‘real world’ is messy.”

  “What parts of this control system don’t we control?”

  “I am still trying to bring up the jump point sensors,” Nelly said. “They are under a different lockdown entirely.”

  “Probably the woman I shot,” Tom said, crossing from the elevator to the secondary control station. He tapped several buttons, then tapped more, shaking his head slowly. “I see an atom laser gyro, but it won’t initialize. Same for the gravimeter. Kris, we can’t jump.”

  “Nelly, keep working.”

  “Kris”—Jack’s words came through the ship’s system—“I sure could use some help cracking into this last room.”

  “Anyone shooting at you from it?”

  “Not at the moment.”

  “Then Nelly keeps hacking the jump station before she messes with anything else.”

  “Dock eleven-d-one, this is the Port Master’s office. We read you powering up. We remind you this port is closed.”

  “Roger, Port Master,” Kris drawled, “we understand this port is closed. We’re just running some tests. We’ve been parked here a while and, if you’ll excuse my comment, things are getting a bit interesting on your station. Just in case Pier Eleven were to, maybe, fall off, my owner wants to know I could maneuver to a new dock.”

  “I understand your owner is antsy. Just you understand I have orders to shoot anyone departing the station.”

  “Assuming they still have power,” Kris whispered, resting her hand on the console mike. On it, but not totally over it.

  “I heard that. We all have our problems tonight. Just you don’t go adding any more to my growing list.”

  “Roger, Port Master, over and out.” This time Kris did wait to say anything further until the mike showed a solid red light. “That ought to keep him off our back for a while.”

  “But did you have to give me a heart attack doing it?” Penny said, leaning back in her chair so she could see Kris. “I know getting out of here is like, top and highest priority, but you might want to see what I found.”

  “I can watch the board,” Tom offered.

  Kris trotted over to look at Penny’s board.

  “I have quite a comm set here,” Penny began. “You want to know what the President is saying, listen here.” She punched a button and the President’s harsh twang came through solidly. “His accent gets worse when he’s under pressure,” Penny said, “and that’s about as bad as I’ve ever heard it.”

  “What else do you have?”

  “How about Sandfire?”

  “Him!” came from both Kris and Tom.

  “He doesn’t say a lot, but when he does, he says it on this channel. Actually, it’s about fifty-nine channels, but this rig knows his schedule for jumping as well as his code.”

  “You sure?”

  “He’s ordered his ninjas back to ‘the castle.’ He also ordered somebody named ‘Bertie’ and his team to the same location. I don’t know where that is, but it doesn’t sound like he’s still hunting us.”

  “That’s not good.” Kris turned and walked slowly back to her station. While Sandfire was turning the station upside down, he was chasing the wrong fox. If he was pulling his teams back, that meant he’d given up and was trying something new. “Keep track of Sandfire. Let me know of any traffic from him. What’s the President doing?”

  “There seems to be an uprising going on dirtside. The Arab quarter was first to send people into the streets. Then the university district had a rally to hear some Senators, some of whom you’ve met. It got out of hand, and now other areas have streets jammed with people. When orders came to use force to break them up, a lot of the cops refused and joined the protestors. Our buddy Inspector Klaggath was on the net encouraging any doubters to ‘jump in, the water’s fine.’ ” Kris smiled at that, wondering if the Inspector had lake water in mind.

  “Sandfire’s insisting they can beat the revolt. Izzic’s the nervous type who wants his problems solved yesterday. He’s issuing a lot of orders. My guess is too many. Order, counterorder, disorder.” Penny said, quoting the old military warning.

  “Kris, we have a problem,” Jack announced on ship net. “Somebody’s come down the gangway and found our sleeping beauties. They’re demanding we open up.”

  “I think that’s our cue to leave,” Kris said, slipping into her seat and belting herself in while her eyes checked her board. “I see a green board.”

  “I confirm a green board,” Tom answered.

  “I have the conn. Nelly, release all moorings,” Kris said as she gave her forward reaction jet a light tap.

  Nothing happened.

  “I do not have control of the mooring points,” Nelly answered. “I am working on them.”

  “Work fast, Nelly.”

  “Mooring eleven-d-one, this is the Port Master. We showing you trying to release your mooring points. A
ll mooring points have been centrally locked. What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Sorry, Port Master,” Kris said, tapping her mike on. “We were testing things, and a subroutine got activated. Computer error. Won’t happen again.”

  “See that it doesn’t. Wait one.” The net went dead with a harsh click.

  “Oh, oh,” Tommy said. “I think someone just got through.”

  “Who am I talking to?” came in a new voice.

  “Repeat your question,” Kris said. “We’re not on land line, and our radio traffic is breaking up. You know how it is.” Kris tried to ramble on but was cut off.

  “This is the Port Duty Officer. Who am I talking to?”

  “Nelly Benteen,” Kris said, taking the name of a friend from first grade.

  “What’s your ship?”

  Kris tapped the mike. As it went red, she glanced around. “Anybody know the name of this bucket of bolts?”

  “Terrorists on yacht at pier eleven-d-one. You are in violation of—”

  “Nelly, kill that channel.” It went quiet.

  “Sandfire appears to have a couple of ships,” Penny said. “He’s ordering them to cast off and take station to keep us in port.”

  “Nelly, it would really be nice to get out of here.”

  “Try your jets.”

  Kris did.

  “Try them harder.”

  Kris tapped the ship’s speaker. “Jack, Abby, get ready for a hull breach. I’m backing out of here, and the pier isn’t exactly cooperating.”

  Kris took a deep breath, gave Jack about as much time as she could to secure himself inboard from the hull, and ordered the bow thrusters to 25 percent. The ship trembled under her but went nowhere. Using her fingers, she edged the power line up slowly to 50 percent. The ship bucked in place. Somewhere metal tore. Hope that’s the dock.

  At 63 percent something let go. The ship creaked and groaned as the tie-downs trundled down the pier at three times the authorized speed. As the bridge passed the end of the pier and the station spin swung the landing away, Kris got a short glimpse of twisted metal and whipping cables. It didn’t look like she was leaving much if any of her hull behind.