Intrepid

by Mike Shepherd

  She slammed that door, too. Which left her a lot of balled-up anger in her gut and no more doors to slam. The temptation to gallop for the freight elevator was strong, but Kris denied it. As she expected, when she got there, the thing had no visible controls. NELLY, CAN YOU CALL IT?

  KRIS, I AM SO JAMMED. ROCK SOLID AND TOTALLY JAMMED.

  I GUESS WE KNOW NOW WHERE IT’S BEEN COMING FROM.

  YOU THINK SO, MAYBE, JUST A LITTLE BIT was pure sarcasm, unusual from a computer, all too familiar from Nelly.

  ANY IDEA WHERE WE ARE?

  KRIS, I DO NOT HAVE A CLUE EVEN. WE ARE SO ON OUR OWN, LIKE TOTALLY.

  YOU’VE BEEN SPENDING TOO MUCH TIME WITH THAT GIRL.

  HOW I WISH I WAS WITH HER NOW.

  A freight elevator usually meant there’d be a passenger one not too far away. Kris started walking in the direction she hoped was forward. She found nothing. But a couple of guys were following her, using the next hallway of the station.

  On both sides. Kris kept going.

  At the next cross point, the two guys on her left were heading to cut her off. Kris started to put on extra speed . . . then came to a complete halt.

  As the two fellows passed one door, it opened and two sailors with billy clubs stepped quietly out behind them and very efficiently put them down. A chief stepped out behind the two left standing and signaled to Kris. “This way, Your Highness.”

  “And why should I go with you?” Kris said, already moving their way.

  “Because Captain Krätz sent us. He has some wedding pictures he wants to show you. It’s quite a scandal. His second girl married first.

  “None of the captain’s girls would ever do anything scandalous,” Kris sniffed.

  “Unlike you, huh?”

  “Do we know each other that well?” Kris asked as she came even with the chief. He did look familiar.

  “You gave me a tour of your defenses on Chance, remember? The ones that even our little commodore saw would be a bad idea to take on.” The chief led Kris into a gray-painted work area with pipes and conduits. He pointed at a ladder.

  “Up or down?” Kris asked.

  “Down.”

  Kris began descending; he followed. The sailors stayed behind. “I thought you were the flagship’s senior chief.”

  “I was, but after that incident, the commodore didn’t much like my puss. Captain Slovo shipped me over to the Surprise.”

  “Sorry about Captain Slovo,” Kris said.

  “A lot of good men disappeared with him. Sure would like to know who made it happen,” the chief growled.

  Kris wondered if the chief shared her own opinion about that, but kept the thought to herself and kept going down the ladder. After quite a while, there was no more down.

  Two sailors with automatic rifles guarded a platform that seemed to rest on the outer shell of the station.

  “Time to see how fast you can trot,” the chief said, joining her and pointing at a catwalk that stretched into the distance. To the right and left, it curved up.

  Kris started trotting.

  And kept on trotting for a very long time. There were cross catwalks, but the chief said nothing, and Kris just kept trotting. It would have been nice to stand up, but even a short man would have had to bend at the waist in this crawl space.

  Finally, they came to a crosswalk with two armed sailors. “Go right,” the chief called. Kris gave the sailors a smile and did the ninety-degree right turn called for.

  “Isn’t there a slidewalk we could take?” Kris asked, her back aching.

  “You want to shoot it out with security types?” the chief shot back.

  “So that’s the choice, run like rats in the walls or shoot.”

  “Seems that way at the moment.” He started to say something else, apparently thought better of it, and trotted on. “Wait until that long, tall back of yours has my kind of miles on it. Then you can complain.”

  “I thought sailors had a right to complain,” Kris quipped.

  “That don’t extend to junior officers, now does it?”

  Kris shut up and trotted.

  After a left turn at a cross marked by two Greenfeld Marines, they came to a platform with six Marines and sailors guarding it. They helped Kris climb a short ladder . . . which brought her to the main deck promenade. Kris stood, straightened her uniform, turned . . . and found herself facing the escalator down to a pier that was crawling with armed sailors and Marines. Kris couldn’t figure out what they were doing, but they seemed to know because there was nothing purposeless in their movements.

  The chief escorted Kris down to the first deck of the pier, then across the guarded gangway, saluting the flag and requesting permission to come aboard. Kris also boarded in the traditional manner, and followed the ensign that the JOOD assigned to show her to the wardroom.

  A very busy wardroom.

  Schematics of the station covered two walls. Maps of the planet below filled in the other two. A captain and his ensign studied them for a moment more after Kris entered, then, with a word, the walls went blank.

  “Keeping secrets?” Kris asked.

  “What are Greenfeld internal matters are ours,” Vicky said. “Let them stay that way for now. I’m sure your Admiral Crossenshield will give you a badly garbled and totally wrong assessment of this situation. It may take him a few days to jump to the wrong conclusions, but, no doubt, he will find his pole vault somewhere. How do we stay alive with such bunglers?”

  “I think I’ve given you a pretty up-front and honest sample of how I do it over the last few days,” Kris said evenly.

  “So you have,” Vicky said. “But you can’t tell me that my dad getting you out of old Eddie’s maw wasn’t a big help.”

  “You’ve talked to your dad?”

  “Yeah, the Navy has a landline down the beanstalk that State Security doesn’t know about. Dad says thank you. He says he’ll rethink his attitude toward you Longknifes.”

  “Can I take that to the bank?” Kris asked.

  “Probably not. We’d best get you out of here fast.”

  “Am I going to do more catwalk dancing?” Kris asked.

  Krätz allowed a very small smile at Kris’s joke. “You can return to the Wasp the way we got to the Surprise. Your longboat is in our Number 2 lander bay.”

  Vicky insisted on doing the honors. But the walk turned out to be mostly quiet. At least until they got to the longboat’s hatch. “I’m glad I didn’t kill you on Eden,” Vicky said.

  “So am I,” Kris agreed.

  “I’m really sorry I brought your great-grandmother into the thing. I’ve never known my grandmothers. Hardly knew my mother before Dad broke up with her.”

  “It hasn’t been an easy life for either one of us.”

  “Ever had a real friend?” Vicky asked. “A bosom buddy?”

  “Oh, you would have to bring those two up, wouldn’t you?”

  “These?” Vicky said, glancing down at what with the effort of a fast walk behind them could only be described as heaving bosoms. “They get in the way when I’m running. They’re two big pains in the back. You don’t know how lucky you are to have gotten off lightly.”

  “And, of course, the boys just never notice your problems,” Kris jabbed.

  “You have no idea,” Vicky began.

  “The troubles I’ve got,” Kris finished.

  Vicky laughed for a moment, then swallowed hard and glanced off into the unmeasured distance. “You don’t, do you?”

  “Mine are different,” Kris agreed.

  Vicky opened her arms, Kris went into an honest hug. “I hope someday we can get together when no one’s life is on the line. Someday when we can just talk girl talk.”

  “It would be nice,” Kris agreed. “I’m not sure I’ve ever done that.”

  “Me neither. But all the books make it sound so nice.”

  Kris hated breaking from the hug. It was the only equal hug she could remember. But worry was gnawing at the corners of Vicky
’s eyes, and Kris suspected she needed to get the Wasp out and away before all hell broke loose.

  “I will see you,” she said.

  “Looking forward to it,” Vicky said,

  And they went their separate ways: Kris into the launch, which sealed hatches the second she was aboard; and Vicky to whomever the internal affairs of Greenfeld were killing at the moment.

  “Hang on,” the pilot of the longboat hollered, not even giving Kris a moment to sit down and buckle in.

  57

  The trip to the Wasp was made at one gee with plenty of zigging and zagging to throw off any of the station’s lasers that might have been brought up and calibrated in the last few days.

  None fired.

  Kris wasn’t out of the longboat before the Wasp was backing down the pier. The clanking of tie-downs coming off warned Kris not to let go of her handhold on the boat. Only after Captain Drago announced the ship under way at one gee did she risk trotting across the hangar bay’s space.

  Once Kris was on the bridge, Penny grabbed her for a hug. “We were so worried.”

  Abby was next. “I wasn’t. Everyone knows you can’t get rid of a Longknife.” But the hug was tight.

  Jack looked like he’d love to hug her, too, but limited his greetings to “Glad to have you back aboard.”

  Even Professor mFumbo was there, only his welcome was more what Kris would have expected. “Now can we do some real science?”

  “Didn’t we come here to get out their Jump Point Gamma?” Kris asked Sulwan.

  “That’s the rumor I picked up, long ago and far away.”

  “Well, Captain Drago, how long will it take us to set a course for Jump Point Gamma?”

  “That course is locked in.”

  “Then make it so, my good captain. I could use some nice boring scientific discoveries for a change.”

  Only Kris’s inner ear told her the ship was changing its course. Blinking that discomfort away, Kris wondered how many days she could go without anyone trying to kill her.

  NELLY, START A COUNTER. LET’S SEE HOW LONG IT IS BEFORE SOMEONE TAKES A POTSHOT AT ME.

  KRIS, I AM NOT SURE I CAN COUNT THAT LOW.

  About the Author

  Mike Shepherd grew up Navy. It taught him early about change and the chain of command. He’s worked as a bar-tender and cabdriver, personnel adviser and labor negotiator. Now retired from building databases about the endangered critters of the Northwest, he’s looking forward to some fun reading and writing.

  Mike lives in Vancouver, Washington, with his wife, Ellen, and her mother. He enjoys reading, writing, dreaming, watching grandchildren for story ideas, and upgrading his computer—all are never-ending pursuits.

  His website is www.mikeshepherd.org, or you may reach him at Mike_Shepherd@comcast.net.

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