Kris Longknife: Daring

by Mike Shepherd

“That last jump dropped the Wasp’s reaction tanks to below half-full, Kris,” the captain said. “I’d like to orbit a gas planet and have the courier ships do some cloud dancing.”

  This was no surprise; they’d done it a week ago after the fifth jump. Every ship in the fleet needed reaction mass for acceleration and deceleration. Ships like the Wasp and the battleships, even the freighters, weren’t designed for the knocking around that came while trawling for fuel in the upper atmosphere of gas giants.

  “Pick a big one and make it happen, Skipper. Once we’ve refueled the fleet, I want to dispatch one of the couriers back home to bring them up to date. All we’ve got to tell so far is a lot of nothing, but I suspect they’d like to know that.”

  “We were lucky last time and only took two days, Princess. It could take longer this time.”

  “I don’t have a problem, Captain. Whatever is out there will still be out there when we’re ready.”

  A gas giant wasn’t too far from their jump point. The fleet decelerated toward it at 1.3 gees.

  Kris was on the bridge as they approached orbit. The Mercury had already deployed a balloot and was dropping away for its first run at skimming the outer atmosphere of the planet.

  At Sensors, Chief Beni shook his head. “There’s something wrong with my instruments,” he muttered.

  “That would be unusual,” Kris said.

  “Yes, and I’ve checked them. I can’t find anything wrong with them, but this can’t be right?”

  “What can’t be right?” The chief now had Captain Drago’s attention.

  “There are eleven decent-sized moons around this puppy. According to my readouts, they have wobbled a smidge farther away from the planet than they were just after we came through the jump.”

  “They are in unstable orbits?” the captain said.

  “If what I’m reading is right, they sure are. It’s not a lot, but then, we’ve only been observing them for a few hours. Let me check with the boffins. Just a minute.”

  Kris was at her usual station, Weapons. She’d brought it up more out of habit than any expectation of a shoot. She doublechecked her board; all four of the Wasp’s 24-inch pulse lasers were locked and loaded.

  “Hey,” the chief looked up in surprise. “One of the moons has a hot spot.”

  “A volcano?” Kris asked.

  “Maybe,” the chief muttered, his eyes studying his board. “What’s this? A bit of electromagnetic activity as well?”

  “Talk to me, Chief,” the captain said.

  “It just showed up as the moon’s rotation brought it into view. I’m on it, sir.”

  “Stay on it, Chief.”

  “I’ve got Professor mFumbo calling me. Could someone else take the call?” the chief said, not breaking concentration.

  “I’ve got it,” Kris said. “Bridge here, Professor. We’re kind of busy just now.”

  “I am answering Chief Beni’s call about these damnable orbits. Yes, all the moons orbiting this gas giant are dancing a very strange polka.”

  “Any ideas why?” Kris asked.

  “No idea. I’ve never heard of this happening before. It’s as if this giant used to have a lot more mass and lost it, and now its gravitational hold on its moons is adjusting to the sudden weight loss.

  Captain Drago scowled at the forward screen. The Mercury was about to take away some more of the planet’s mass as it filled its balloot with gases that would be transferred to the ships of the fleet to use as reaction mass for their fusion reactors. The fleet would need a lot of mass to refuel.

  Still, what they removed would hardly matter to something as big as this gas giant and its moons. Kris took a deep breath as she considered what kind of force could make such a difference.

  “Chief, talk to me about that hot spot,” Captain Drago said.

  “Nelly, pass all that we’ve gotten to the fleet,” Kris told her computer.

  “Kris, I’ve been doing that. The other ships of the fleet have a lot of science aboard, too. Our data is just verifying what the other are concluding, as well. The Haruna has gone to General Quarters.”

  “Pass the word to PatRon 10. General Quarters, Guns. Unknown cause.”

  “Done, Kris.”

  On the Wasp, the General Quarters’ Klaxon began to sound.

  “We’re the closest to that moon, Captain Drago,” Kris said. “Would you close on it, please.”

  Of all the ships in PatRon 10, only the Wasp had a contractor for a captain. He was older, more experienced, more mature. He drew his check from Admiral Crossenshield’s black-ops funds. He was here, Kris didn’t doubt, at King Raymond’s specific order to see that Kris didn’t do any of the damn fool stunts that he and Grampa Trouble had done before they reached old age.

  Someday, she expected he would countermand one of her orders. She waited to see if today would be that day.

  “Sulwan, put us closer to that unknown event,” he ordered.

  “Aye, aye, sir,” the navigator replied.

  So, not today, huh.

  “Your Highness, the Intrepid is nearby,” Captain Drago observed.

  “Yes, right,” Kris said, properly instructed. “Nelly, invite the Intrepid to join us in this little side trip.

  “Done, Kris.”

  On the screen, two dots broke from the strung-out line of ships still decelerating, aiming for a lower orbit of the giant. The Wasp and Intrepid, however, stretched their vectors to match the high orbit of the moon in question.

  “Can somebody give me an idea of what we’re heading into before we actually ram that damn moon?” the captain snapped.

  “It’s a rocky planetoid with no iron core. Its surface is a cold mix of vapors, some water, some methane, lots of crud,” the chief said. “Liquid, not gas. I don’t think there are any lakes; the moon’s surface looks pretty rough.”

  “We boffins concur,” Professor mFumbo said.

  “One small spot is showing hot,” the chief went on after a hasty breath. “I’m trying to get a visual, but that heat seems to be steaming off the volatiles. Radar . . .” He paused. “Radar isn’t coming back. Something’s driving our radar nuts.”

  “Active or passive?” Kris and Captain Drago said at the same time.

  “I can’t tell. I’ve got some sort of electromagnetic crap coming from there, but it’s not organized like anything I’ve ever seen.”

  “Can you laser range it, get a picture that way?” Kris asked.

  “I’m lasing it.”

  “Nope, nothing,” he said a moment later. “Laser can’t get through the vapors.”

  “Is there a gravity well?” Kris asked.

  Every mass sets up its own gravity well. The very sensitive atom laser on the Wasp, designed to track twitchy jump points, was the most sensitive instrument for measuring variations in that weakest of the four natural forces. Weakest, but most important. Just ask any two-year-old trying to defy gravity with each step.

  “Checking,” the chief said. A long moment later, he nodded. “There’s something solid there. There’s definitely more mass under that hot spot than there is in the rest of the moon.”

  For fifteen long minutes, the rest of the fleet decelerated into lower orbit and went about beginning the process of refueling. Meanwhile, the Wasp and Intrepid cut back on their deceleration and swept toward a much higher orbit, one that would take them on a quick flyby of the mystery-shrouded moon.

  Sulwan, good navigator that she was, guessed before Kris asked her that she’d like to know if they could transform their present course into an orbit around the moon. “Even decelerating at 3.5 gee, that option is already gone. We’ll need at least one orbit to match that moon. Maybe two if I miss a window.”

  They were halfway to the moon when the chief announced, “Something is lifting off from our target moon. Whoever they are, they’re coming straight at us.”

  9

  “Raise defenses,” Kris ordered.

  “Shields up,” said Sulwan as an umbrella of
Smart MetalTM spread out in front of the Wasp. Battleships and cruisers were encased in ice, some of it meters thick, to ablate away the blazing sting of lasers and even kinetic weapons. Small ships like the Wasp, especially when it was wrapped in shipping containers full of scientists, Marines, and other gear could hardly use the ice defense.

  The rotating umbrella of Smart MetalTM, especially if it was angled to the threat axis, not only provided protection but also gave the Wasp a chance to hide behind it.

  Where, exactly, was the Wasp with respect to the spinning parasol?

  Guess.

  Meanwhile, Kris’s ship had four 24-inch pulse lasers ready to strike out with a sting of her own.

  Slipping out farther to the left of the Wasp, the Intrepid deployed her own protection.

  Ahead of them, the unknown continued to close.

  “How fast is that sucker accelerating?” Captain Drago asked.

  “Three-point-five, no three-point-eight gees, sir,” the chief reported.

  “Can you get us a picture of it?” the captain asked.

  “I got one as it launched, but the thing is spraying something into the space all around it now.” The chief tapped his board, and a small window opened on the main screen. It showed a series of spheres balanced on rocket fire.

  “Fusion rockets?” Kris asked.

  “I would guess so, from their temperature,” the chief said. “But I’m getting next to nothing from my electronic readouts.

  “Nelly, hail it. Try every language we know,” Kris said. “Say ‘We come in peace,’ for starts.”

  “Doing it, Kris.”

  While Nelly tried to open a conversation, the ship continued to close the distance, eating up the kilometers.

  “Is it going to try to ram us?” Sulwan asked.

  “Get ready to take evasive action,” Captain Drago ordered. “Don’t do anything yet. It’s on a steady course. Let’s not juggle its elbow.”

  The three ships closed. Nelly tried sending numbers to see if they would talk math back to her.

  Then the thing hit them with a laser.

  The spinning parasol did its job, rotating more Smart Metal TM into the vacancy as fast as the laser could make the hole. When the power hit ended, the parasol was still there. Nelly quickly patched it up, but the shield out there spinning was several meters smaller across.

  “Ouch,” the chief said.

  “That was not nice,” the captain agreed.

  “Locked and loaded,” Kris said. “I think Nelly and I can graze it through all the gunk it’s pumping into the space around it.”

  “Do it,” the captain said.

  “Nelly, let’s open the largest sphere to space. Just a quick cut,” Kris said, moving the crosshairs on her board to show exactly where she wanted to hit the stranger.

  Nelly put a red dot on Kris’s target. With sincere regrets for starting the next alien war, Kris closed the firing switch for Laser 1.

  On the screen, a laser reached out for the alien.

  On Kris’s board, an outside camera followed the shot. There, at least, the crud around the ship gave them something for the laser to relate to. A red beam cut right where Kris wanted.

  One sphere took the hit along the top of its curve.

  The alien didn’t slow. It just kept coming.

  “Hit it again,” Captain Drago said. “Aim for the engines.”

  “Already setting up for it,” Kris said, and moved her crosshairs aft.

  Before Nelly could cover the target with a dot, the alien shot a second time.

  Once again, the shield did its job.

  “We can’t take many more like that,” Sulwan reported.

  “Let’s see how good they are at damage control,” Kris said as she punched Laser 2.

  On the main screen, and on Kris’s view, a red beam reached out for the aft end of the alien ship—and sliced right through it.

  Behind it, the glow of the rocket motors sputtered, the ship wobbled on its tower of fire.

  “I got ’em,” Kris said.

  Then the spheres of the ship rippled as an explosion ran its full length, from bow to stern. Huge chunks of the different spheres flew in all directions.

  Kris had seen ships die violent deaths. It was not something she ever wanted to get used to. But this explosion looked very different from any of the other ones.

  “Chief, talk to me about what just happened. Professor mFumbo, what can your experts report? Was that a reactorcontainment failure?”

  “I don’t think so, Kris,” the professor reported. “My experts here say that was some kind of chemical explosion. We’re running our high-speed cameras back over it. I can tell you more in a few minutes, but the explosion doesn’t appear to have been initiated in the last sphere where you hit it. Rather, it started at the opposite end of the ship and moved aft.”

  Kris nodded. “That was what it looked like to me, as well. Let me know as much as you can as soon as you can.”

  “This is interesting,” the chief said.

  “Everything is interesting,” Kris said. “What’s making your bunny jump?”

  “The moon. That hot spot where the ship just launched from. It just got very hot. Explosive hot. Whatever they were doing there, I think someone just blew up all the evidence. And unless I’m very mistaken, they used the exact same sort of explosives on the moon as they did on the ship.”

  “Yes,” Kris said. “How very interesting.”

  10

  Lieutenant Commander, Her Royal Highness, Kris Longknife, leaned back in her chair, reviewing in her mind what had just happened. Had she just become the one of those damn Longknifes who shot up the first alien contact humanity made in the last eighty years?

  Lately, she’d spent some time wondering how her great-grandfather’s generation could have made such a hash of its encounter with the Iteeche. No “Hi. How are you?” Just shoot, shoot, shoot.

  It looks like I owe Grampas Ray and Trouble apologies.

  Kris tapped her commlink. “Professor mFumbo, have your boffins spotted anything else in this system that we need to shoot, dodge, or otherwise be aware of?”

  “I’m afraid we have found nothing of interest. Or maybe the more proper answer is that I am glad to report we have not.”

  “Captain Drago, I’m going to withdraw to my Tac Center. Please feed all ship data to that location after first making copies of that data and copying them out to several backup locations. Those of you on the bridge, you may want to make an extra copy of your board’s data and hide it in your sock drawer. It may come in handy when you write your memoirs of today, if you don’t need it earlier at my court-martial to prove that there were no changes to your data by me or anyone else.”

  “Ain’t it great to be a part of history,” Sulwan observed dryly, but the navigator was already downloading her board to a memory chip . . . and had several more on her board ready to be filled.

  Captain Drago looked around. “I’ll order a crate brought up from supply.”

  “Thank you,” Kris said. “Nelly, have my staff meet in my Tac Center.”

  “They are already headed there.”

  “Ask the galley to bring around coffee and sandwiches. I’m hungry, and I think it’s going to be a long night.”

  “Cookie is already putting together a tray for us, Kris,” Nelly reported.

  With a sigh, Kris stood and began to make her way off the bridge. Behind her, a gunnery mate second class slipped into her vacant station and began to download Kris’s data.

  Her team was waiting for Kris by the time she reached her private retreat. Captain Jack Montoya, Royal USMC and head of her security detail, had taken the seat to her left. There he had a clear view of the door and anyone trying to enter. Professor mFumbo held down the other end of the table. He’d come alone.

  Abby, officially Kris’s maid, was to Jack’s left, fiddling with the tray of goodies . . . and also where she had a good line of sight on the door. Abby was a crack shot who even the
Marine detachment’s Gunny Sergeant could only match shots with.

  Penny, the staff’s intel expert, had taken the seat to Kris’s right, which put her back to the door. If something evil got as far as that without her knowing it was coming, she’d consider her job a failure and the mess something for the Marines to clean up.

  To Penny’s right was Colonel Cortez, Kris’s defeated foe and ground-tactics advisor. Right now, he pursed his lips in reflection. “I’ve never been around when a galactic war got started, but that sucker didn’t leave you any choice but to shoot. Very aggressive behavior.”

  “I’m glad to hear that somebody else feels the way I do,” Kris said. “But I need to know what actually happened back there and who was doing what to whom. There are too many unknowns and unthinkable things that leave me scratching my head. I do not like that. Not at all. Penny, will you take the lead on forensics?”

  “I expected you’d want me to. I’ve had Mimzy capturing some of the raw feed off the boffins’ video take. The wreckage is in much bigger chunks than I would expect had a reactor failure been involved. With luck, we’ll have something bigger than atoms to examine. Professor, I hope you’ll excuse me for having my computer do what one of Nelly’s kids can do so well.”

  The professor scowled at the request for forgiveness. He had been offered one of Nelly’s “children” when Kris’s computer got the biological urge to gestate. His initial experience had been something less than sterling, and he’d returned the gift.

  He and Captain Drago, both.

  The boffin could not be happy to have Penny using the same secret weapon that he had declined in order to steal a march on his people.

  “Do what you will. But remember, what might look like something at first blush to an amateur may have a totally different meaning when examined patiently by a trained expert.”

  “A good point that we will keep in mind,” Kris said. “So, Penny, what are your first observations?”

  “Give me a minute,” Penny said, her unfocused gaze aimed in the general direction of the overhead. Penny’s ivory skin seemed to pale almost to translucent as her breath slowed.

  Usually, this kind of first glance would have been done on one of the wall screens for all to see and comment on. Instead, Penny held whatever output she was getting to just herself and her pet computer, Mimzy. The computer feed colored the contacts of Penny’s eyes but was private to her.