KRIS LONGKNIFE: INTREPID
An Ace Book / published by arrangement with the author
Ace mass-market edition / November 2008
Copyright 2008 by Mike Moscoe.
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14
The swing that put them in orbit around Panda's one moon was done at 2.55 gees deceleration. Sulwan put pedal to the metal only after Captain Thorpe was hull down behind Panda.
Thorpe might have gotten a brief glimpse of the Wasp's sudden change of course. If he did, it was through the haze of the planet's atmosphere. It told him Kris was up to something, but only enough to leave him scratching his head wondering.
Kris learned a new thing or two. High-gee stations were never intended to cope with full ground battle rattle.
The Wasp would be under high-gee maneuvering until a few minutes before Kris took her Marine company into the boats. Thus, Kris found herself pinned by armor and gear weighing two and a half times its normal burden. Kris really wanted to meet the guy who decided it was ''normal.'' Had he ever lugged it?
At 2.5 gees, it was just past bearable. And Sulwan was just getting started. Kris gritted her teeth and tried not to moan at least into an open mike.
The forward screen ticked off the critical movements of the Wasp and Thorpe's ship. Just now, Thorpe was on the far side of Panda, expecting to come around for a perfect shot up the Wasp's engines as Kris's ship finished its final break into orbit.
Instead, he'd get a look at the front end of the Wasp as it vanished into a lunar orbit swinging far out behind the moon. Kris wished she could see Thorpe's face when he found himself with a whole different set of ballistic problems on his hands.
* * *
Captain Thorpe held his face a rigid mask as every plan he'd made in the last three days shattered into question marks.
''What the hell does that Longknife girl think she's doing?'' Mr. Whitebred shouted. As one of the financial backers of this expedition, he considered it his right to shout at everyone. The man would benefit much from trading in his three-piece suit for an ensign's commission. Fifteen minutes under Thorpe's command, and he would learn a lot about leadership.
Unfortunately, the man already considered himself a leader. He had the money, didn't that make him a leader? Not for the first time, Thorpe wondered if this was such a good idea.
But it put that Longknife brat in the crosshairs of his eighteen-inch pulse lasers. That made up for a lot.
''We shall see what the Longknife girl is actually doing in a moment,'' Thorpe said, voice even, controlled. Around the bridge, his crew responded to his voice. His orders. Not the other man's screeching.
''She's been maneuvering at 2.5 gees,'' his sensor boss reported.
''I am projecting her deceleration and course,'' his offensive weapons officer announced. On the main screen, the moon took the center view. The pulsing red pip that portrayed that brat's ship slowed its hurtling flight toward Pandemonium, then cut back to skim a mere hundred kilometers above the moon and head out for a long, looping orbit that would take them a major part of the way to the jump point.
''Do you think she has finally done something logical?'' Whitebred asked. ''Is she headed back out?''
Thorpe shook his head even before the fool civilian got his question out. ''Longknifes don't run,'' he snapped. ''Weapons, project a revised course. Assume continued use of as much as three gees of deceleration. Can she cut off that time-wasting soar over the far side of the moon?''
''Working the problem, sir. Wait one,'' Weapons answered.
''Sensors, have you found what I asked you to look for?'' Thorpe demanded, switching concerns. The young woman on weapons was good. Not as well trained as a naval officer, but certainly more trustworthy than a Longknife. She would attend to her course projection and reply when she had something.
''Yes, sir,'' Sensors replied. ''I have the low-level chatter that is the signature of Smart Metal, sir.''
''Very good,'' Thorpe said, and allowed himself a smile. ''Very, very good.''
''What do you mean?'' Whitebred asked.
''Just a moment, kind benefactor,'' Thorpe said. Whitebred preened on the title. Most of the crew knew it for what it was, a true warriors' curse for the money that was foolish enough to think gold could motivate a warrior.
''Weapons?'' Thorpe said.
''I have a solution coming up, sir. Just a moment I have a solution. Putting it on the screen.''
The old high-soaring ballistic curve dissolved, to be replaced by a new one that swung a bit out over the moon before heading back to skim even lower over its surface.
''How close this time?''
''Less than fifty kilometers, sir. If they aren't lucky in their course, they may plow one big hole in an inconvenient mountain.'' Weapons' grin showed tiger's teeth at her own joke.
Thorpe allowed a grin in return. ''That Longknife brat's luck is bound to go sour sooner or later. She uses so much of it. But let's assume her deal with the devil holds for one more orbit. Where does that put her final approach to our guns?''
''That would depend on how hard she's willing to accelerate away from the moon and decelerate into orbit, sir.''
''Assume no more than three gees.'' Thorpe advised.
