The First Casualty

Chapter Eleven

“Lieutenant Rodrigo. How long since you've had a break?”

“I take one every day, sir.” Every few days battalion would ask that question. Each time she ended up talking to a higher-ranking officer. Mary was up to the battalion CO. Lieutenant Colonel Henderson was on the horn this time.

“Lieutenant, I don't mean the last time you caught a nap. I mean the last time you really kicked back and relaxed for a couple of days. Before they drafted you, right?”

Senior managers were usually idiots. Why did this one have to be different? “Pretty much, sir.”

“Lieutenant, you get your ass in here. If you don't report to my HQ before oh-eight hundred tomorrow, I will relieve you and put the greenest LT I can find in command of A company. You hear me?”

“Yes sir.”

“Mary, I'm not just being a stickler. Troopers who survive their first week on the line get sharp, damn sharp. But stay on the line too long and you get hollow. Start making mistakes. I don't want to lose troops to dumb. If I could, I'd give you a couple of weeks off, but I can't trust the colonials for that long. Couple of days will have to do. Come on, woman, get in here. Get drank. Get anything else you want. You'll be in a lot better shape when you go back.”

Mary gave up. “I'll be there, sir.”

“Good. See you soon. Battalion out.”

“Damn busybody,” Mary growled at the phone. “Don't you got nothing else to do?”

Mary looked up as several throats were cleared. Cassie, Lek, and Dumont filled her doorway. Cassie held a packed kit bag; they were smiling like the canary that ate the Cheshire cat.

“What are you all grinning at?” she tried to snap, but their smiles were contagious.

“At how well you obey orders. Sir.” Cassie shot back. “Your kit's all packed for three days.”

“Your coach awaits.” Dumont bowed and swept a hand outward.

“And since ain't nobody around here gots a glass slipper, we figured you might as well be on your way,” Lek finished.

“Somebody's been listening in on my mail,” Mary charged.

“A time-honored practice by worker bees who survive the confused misdirection they get from management,” Lek retorted.

Which knocked the wind out of Mary. Did they really see her as management?

“Come on, Mary.” Dumont came around the desk and, taking her hand, pulled her up. “As the colonel said, we can't have you stupid. And we sure as hell don't want to break in another officer. Two in one war ought to be a limit.” Arm gently on her elbow, he urged her toward the door. “Go on, Mary, have fun.”

The vote seemed unanimous! Mary collected her helmet, accepted her kit, and two minutes later was in her command rig, the driver going hell for breakfast for the center of the crater. Mary wondered if he had a three-day pass in his pocket, too.

Then she remembered. Except for a few mending in hospital, no one else in A company had R&R just now. For better or worse, she could let her hair down and not worry about someone telling tales to the troops. She wouldn't have to save anyone's bacon. Neither would she have anyone to pull her out of any brawl she started. She could never remember a time when she'd been this free of strings. More surprising, she liked the idea. Nobody to take care of; with a sigh, she spread herself out on the back seat. What do we want, girl?

A bath. A bath and a decent meal. After that...

She was asleep before she got to whatever might come after.

“We're here, Lieutenant. You can take off your helmet.”

Her driver helped her out, made sure she had her gear, then headed back just as fast as he'd come. She really was on her own. Looking ridiculous with her helmet on, she un-dogged it and gently put it in her kit bag. A corporal gave her directions to battalion HQ. She reported to a sergeant only to find the colonel had left for C company two hours ago.

“He's taking out replacements and trying to come up with some new twists on Hambone's defense,” the sergeant told her.

“Well, if the colonel asks, tell him I got my butt in here. Know any place a woman can get a nice long bath and a good meal?”

The sergeant tapped her board, then scowled. “BOQ's full, as usual. You don't want to go near the Sommersby joints. Naomi's Place is good for a bath and a bed. Make sure she knows you're renting by the day ... and want clean sheets.”

Mary wondered how noisy the traffic would be in the hall. She'd slept through worse lately. “And a drink?”

“Officers usually drink at Joe's.”

“And honest people?”

This time the sergeant laughed. “Try the Dog Palace. Honest drinks and no more than one fight a night.”

“Thanks. Where's a safe place to stow my battle gear?”

“Armory's down the hall. Tell Sergeant Datril you've been on the line for a while and will be back for it in a couple of days. He'll see that it gets recharged and updated.”

“Thanks.” Mary hefted her kit and started down the hall.

“Tell Naomi that Beth sent you.”

Mary waved without looking back.

An hour later, clad in a. sweat-stained suit-liner that was enough for any off-duty miner, Mary went hunting for Naomi's Place. It wasn't hard to find the general direction. A dozen blazing neon storefronts along one underground avenue promised everything a man could dream of—booze, boobs, and all the rest.

It took sharp eyes to find Naomi's small sign. “Baths, Beds, Honest Rates.” Mary whistled at the rates. When had highway robbery become honest? Since she hadn't spent a dime of her pay in months, she figured she could survive three days. Mary sauntered into a room that wasted no money on lighting. “Beth told me to ask for Naomi,” she told the small oriental woman behind the counter. The woman backed, bowing, through a door, leaving Mary wondering if she'd helped herself... or just announced she was a pigeon ready for the plucking.

Moments later, a tall, olive-skinned woman appeared behind the counter. “What may I do for you?” she smiled.

“A bath and a bed for three days. Beth at battalion says to remind you I want clean sheets.”

“Of course, Sergeant... ?” The woman eyed Mary, as if measuring her for a ball gown or a coffin.

“Does it matter whether I'm NCO, officer or civilian?”

“Not if you do not want it to” came the fluid answer.

“My money's good. Just treat me like a human being.”

There was only a brief pause before the woman nodded. “They make the best guests. You may call me Naomi.”

“Mary, just Mary.” She presented her credit chit. If the woman wanted to know more about Mary, the chit would give it away. Naomi fed the card into a machine and did not glance at the screen while it was processed. When the machine beeped contentedly, she handed it across to Mary, still unread. Mary signed for three deluxe baths and three nights lodging, removed her card, wiped the screen and handed it back.

“Please follow me while I draw your bath. Do you have clothes to wash or mend?”

Mary did a quick mental inventory of her kit bag. She had no intention of wearing the uniforms. And not because they still had sergeant stripes. Everything else in the bag was underwear or toiletries. “Only the clothes on my back.”

“May I loan you something? We can't have our guests being mistaken for dirt miners or space riggers.”

Or whores, Mary suspected. No, more than likely a lot of her customers were. Then again, the woman was offering to share clothes with Mary that weren't military issue. “I'd be grateful for anything you might lend me that would keep lonely troopers from sniffing around me.” When the bath was full, Naomi squirted several bottles into the tub, leaving it smelling like a garden Mary had once visited. Stripping quickly, Mary let herself down into the tub slowly, luxuriating in every delicious moment.

Naomi took her suit-liner and closed the door behind her.

For the next forever, Mary lost herself in the sheer joy of the fragrant liquid. Its warmth soaked through her, taking tensions and unkinking muscles she couldn't remember not hurting. Its buoyance lifted her, and her spirits rode right along. Now she knew what she wanted to be if she survived this war ... a professional bath taker. To Mary's surprise, when the water cooled, there was more hot water waiting. Deluxe!

A soft knock at the door. Naomi entered before Mary could manage a response. “How is the bath?”

“I know what hell's like. Now I've been to heaven.”

“If you should ever choose to leave heaven, I believe this dress will be most comfortable.” Mary had heard of the simple black dress; this one fit the bill. It said she was a woman. If she said no, the dress wouldn't confuse men. She had no intention of saying yes.

“Thank you. I am truly grateful.”

“You are not the first woman I have met who wanted free of her present for a few days. I am glad to loan you my dress. I have included nylons and a bra. They are disposable. Wear them if you wish something more feminine than the corps gave you.”

“Is marine tattooed on my ass?” Mary laughed.

“It was when you came in. I think it has washed off by now.” The other woman smiled.

Mary couldn't remember the last time she'd worn fancy underwear. “I'll take it. Add it to my bill.” She grinned.

“If you do not wish to look wrinkled as a newborn, you might want to consider ending your bath.”

“I never want to get out,” Mary groaned.

“I can arrange a full body massage,” Naomi offered.

“I've never had one,” Mary answered, suddenly unsure what was being offered.

“It can reacquaint you with your skin and make every muscle in your body happy to share that skin with you. If you've never had one, you really should try one.” So Mary found herself wrapped in a towel, padding barefoot down the hall to a warm room with a raised bed. Moments after she had settled under the clean sheets, a knock at the door and “Are you ready” came.

What followed proved to Mary that there were two levels of heaven: one for baths, the other for massages. On the line, her battle suit touched her constantly. Now, the delicious caress of fingers worked up and down her arms, legs, and back. Every inch of her skin got a personal moment of attention. Muscles Mary thought had relaxed now turned to water as the masseuse worked them, or just rested her warm hands on them. If Mary had gone limp in the tub, she became a puddle on the table.

A few strokes went long, touching on soft, intimate areas, offering to ignite them. God knows, Mary was hungry. But the emptiness inside her was too vast, too threatening to risk a quick tumble. Mary feared if she ever dared try to fill that void, she'd implode. She edged her legs closer together. The strokes were shorter, but no less relaxing, no less pleasurable.

Her hour done, the masseuse left Mary alone to dress. Getting up enough strength to roll off the table took a small eternity. Mary loved the feel of the bra and panty hose as she drew them across her reawakened skin. Shoes were waiting just outside the door—medium heels she could just manage to balance on. A tiny purse, like a lady might carry, was also there. Mary quickly transferred her ID and credit card, discovered her room was not yet ready, placed her gear in a locker, and left Naomi's Place to look for food and a drink.

The woman leaving was a far cry from the one who went in.

Mattim stared into his beer, wondering if somewhere in the chaotic bubbles he might find his answer. After two long days of talks with Anderson, Umboto, Miller, and company he was no closer than he had been when they started.

The admiral wanted some way the Navy and the marines could work together. It sounded like a good question in her office, but out here, the answer was a bitch. Brigade lasers lacked the range. Kinetic weapons like rockets, rocks, or anything with energy and mass came with a problem. Newton was wrong; what goes up doesn't necessarily come down. That change in the law had damn near killed Mattim. Suspicion was that his capsule had been dinged by a grain of sand left over from the first desperate defense of this rock. No one offered to send a team to retrieve the capsule. Mattim had seen what the marines went through to save his life; damned if he'd order them back out there.

Mattim glanced around the Dog Palace as his brain spun; no familiar faces. Good. The brigade's officers were desperate for news from the outside or just a new joke, and Professor Miller took every chance to squeeze him about their jump data. Tonight, Mattim had ditched the others, switched to casual sweats, and was letting his mind wander. The place slowly filled as more people knocked off for the day. Most came in twos and threes, with group joining group and tables growing full. Except for a woman across the room from him, he was the only one drinking alone.

He leaned back and stared at the ceiling lights. Rock mines sounded great, if you could keep them from becoming equal opportunity enemies. Miller had tracked the orbits used by colonials and the Navy in the six battles so far; no piece of space was not shared. Lofting aimed rockets at the hostiles wasn't likely to get past the four-inch secondary battery. Show them a large enough target and they'd dust it. Even a dust cloud like Anderson had used in the first battle could be partially swept by the four-inchers if they knew what to look for. Dust hadn't worked since that battle.

A few hundred stealthy mines, crammed with passive scanners and the necessary computing power to recognize friend from foe, would change everything, but none were assigned to this sector. Ships that took years to build were under construction in every dock available, but only one plant made the relatively cheap mines. And neither Mattim nor anyone else on this rock could think of a good stand-in for them.

He took a long pull on his drink, then flipped through Miller's analysis once more on his reader. Damn good workup. Damned if he could spot anything she'd missed.

He glanced around the room. It was getting crowded. Friends were holding private conversations at the top of their lungs. Lots of four-chair tables had eight people gathered around them, and not a few gals were holding guys on their laps.

He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. It was relaxing watching people just be people. For once, he had no responsibilities. A man approached the lone woman at the table across the room. A quick shake of her head sent him on his way. Another woman noticed him and sauntered his way, hips swaying. “Want anything, sailor?”

Now it was his turn to shake his head; it had been a long time, but a quick, mindless tumble was hardly worth the effort. She shrugged and moved off. A waitress made a quick walk by. “Never seen a beer last so long,” she muttered.

Mattim spent another half hour people-watching, letting his brain idle, waiting for something to jump out and yell

“Surprise!” Nothing did. Then the bartender popped his own surprise. “Youse leaving anytime soon, like right now?”

“No,” Mattim shook his head.

“Well, I think youse should. Sees, it's Friday night, and the boss don't like for any empty seats. Youse got an empty seat.” He pointed at the other chair at Mattim's table.

“She's got an empty chair.” Mattim nodded toward the woman in the black dress across the room from him.

“Well, likes I talks to hers as soon as youse leaves.”

“Or I sit in her other chair.”

“Suits yourselves.”

Mattim watched the woman fend off another approach. Maybe he ought to just cut his losses and run. But staring at the ceiling in his BOQ room was not where his mind cared to wander. Picking up his drink and his reader, he headed across the room. Four people immediately filled his vacant table.

She spotted his approach and pointedly looked away. He stopped in front of her anyway.

“I ain't buying whatever you're selling, sailor,” she said in a voice that meant business.

Mattim heard a bit of shop foreman or sergeant in there. Maybe some officer too. Hard to tell. “I'm not selling, but I would appreciate renting your spare chair. It may be to our mutual benefit.”

“That's a line I've never heard. You got a lease on that chair for just long enough to show me your follow-through. Like five seconds.”

Mattim slipped into the chair. “Miss .. . Ma'am . .. ?” Neither one of them drew a reaction, nor did she offer another handle. He charged on. “The management here likes to fill all its chairs, preferably with two. You now have the only table with an empty chair. Since we both seem to enjoy quiet people-watching, I thought we might ignore each other together and watch the rest. If we don't, I'm afraid that you are next in line to be invited to share your table or leave.”

“By who and what army?” she growled.

Black dress or no, Mattim quickly revised his assessment of the woman, adding sergeant stripes to her bare shoulders. She was too old to be a junior officer, and there was no doubt that she was comfortable in the company of troopers—make that killers of the line variety. If this woman got into a brawl tonight, he would be wise to distance himself very rapidly. Now might be a good time to start. Instead, he found, in his best negotiator's voice, he was still trying to maintain his claim to the chair. “No army'll be needed if we simply twist their rules to our benefit. We both want a quiet corner to watch the human theater. And,” he said with a grin, “by us occupying this table, we keep them from loading it with four drink-swilling sponges.”

“You a merchant trader?”

“In a previous incarnation I might have tried my hand at it.”

“'Cause you could sell refrigeration plants on an ice planet. Prewar, of course.”

“Ancient history,” Mattim agreed.

“And getting more ancient with every endless second.”

Mattim nodded slowly. No question, this one was a fighter like the ones who'd rescued him. He'd met a lot of dangerous people in his life, but never the cold-blooded killer this one looked to be. Once again, the exit sign looked attractive.

“Tell you what I'll do,” the woman said, arm sprawled across the table. “You buy the next round, and you've got a lease on that chair until at least midnight. About that time, I’m crawling into a bed with nice clean sheets.”

The “clean sheets” clinched it. The Navy took their bunks with them. The combat Joes slept where they could. Her drink looked to be as full as his. “You've got a deal.”

A silent half hour later, about the time he ordered the promised round of drinks, she leaned forward. “What's it !like, merchant trading, free to go where you please, do what you want?”

Mattim laughed. “For about six minutes if you don't show a twenty percent profit. No excuses accepted.”

“Bet you've seen some beautiful sights.”

Mattim thought of the four stars he'd recently seen, and how beautiful this wretched system looked when they finally jumped back. “Sister, you don't know the half of it.”

“Call me Mary.”

“Mary, I'm Mattim,” he said, offering his hand.

“Mattim the trader, I'm Mary the miner,” she said, giving his hand a quick shake.

They sipped their beers in silence for several minutes. Then Mattim pointed his glass at two tables where a strange swapping of women and men was underway. “I don't know what's going on there, but I'll bet you the next round of beers that there's going to be a fight.”

Mary grinned. “I have it on good report that there's rarely more than one fight a night here. That doesn't look hot enough for me, trader.”

Mattim raised a shoulder in a shrug. “One fight is one fight. I'm betting on that one.”

Mary looked at them for a long minute. “One table's full of line animals, fresh in. The other one is headquarter weenies.” She shook her head. “Maybe there'll be a punch or three thrown, but a fight? Naw. It'll be over too fast.”

One of the women at the animal table was approached by a man from the other. Mouths moved. He put his hand on her shoulder. She coldcocked him so fast he never saw the punch coming. He fell into the waiting arms of his friends while she turned back to hers, gave someone a quick kiss, and hefted a beer high.

“You owe me a round.” Mary laughed.

“Night's young. I think your animals are spoiling for a fight. Your glass is half full. Let's see how things are when it's empty. Time will tell.”

Mary said something that was lost in the background roar as she leaned back in her chair.

“What'd you say?” Mattim asked, moving his chair a foot closer around the table.

She leaned forward; the neckline of the dress wasn't so high that he didn't get a pleasant view of well-defined breasts. “Time always tells. Well, trader, what'11 you do after the war?”

So, the woman was defining the rules. Before the war and after the war were okay topics. Now was taboo. Without thinking, Mattim nodded agreement and really looked at the woman across from him. The lines of her face and neck were drawn hard. But the hint of a smile and the gleam in the eyes behind the hard lines ... something was different there. He wouldn't call it soft. “Same thing I did before the war, push freight between the stars.” That might not be true, not with what he now knew about jump points. But surveying new jump points was hardly a topic to excite a deadly line beast. “What about you?”

She leaned back in her chair, eyes lost in the dark. “Me and some friends plan to start our own mine.” She shifted in her chair. Suddenly she was facing him, aggressive as an army in full advance. “Like you, starman, we just want to go back to where we were. Safe and grateful to be alive.”

She paused, looked away. “Stupid, aren't we?”

That was a question Mattim wasn't willing to tackle. He drained his beer. She followed suit. Since no fight had broken out, Mattim ordered the next round, and upped the order to the best Irish cream they had. Mary raised the question with an exquisite eyebrow ... and let him take the first sip.

Her first taste was more tentative than he'd yet seen Mary. Eyes wide, she smacked her lips. “Good stuff.” Two sips later, she was back in form. “Now tell me, starman, after what we've seen, what we've done, do you really think we ought to go quietly back to our corner and keep doing just what the boss man wants?”

Mattim moved his chair closer. If they were going to be philosophers tonight, he did not do philosophy at the top of his lungs. She measured him for a moment. He got ready for a punch that would put him out for the night. Then she relaxed.

“And if you love doing what the boss says?” Mattim said.

“Yes, starman, but what if you don't?”

“Then why do it?”

“How long can you breathe space or eat vacuum?”

“Man does not live by bread alone.”

“Speak for yourself. This woman doesn't live without it.”

Their shared laughter broke the ice. She moved her chair closer to him the next time he spoke. His arm brushed hers, and she did not draw back. The woman's thoughts were deep, as were her scars. He doubted her education had gone past the basics before she had been channeled into a technical specialty. But her mind had never been turned off. She studied people the way Sandy studied sensors and Ivan studied engines.

Now, sitting close, Mattim also caught the scent of her: lilac and woman. His nose didn't agree with what he saw. But what he saw was changing; her eyes deepened. Limpid, they drew him in past the locked and cocked guns that stood guard. It had been a long time since Mattim wondered what was real behind the face a woman presented to the world. The conflict and complexities that were Mary drew him in.

Mary let her fingers rove the man's arm. The massage had started her mind wondering. What would it be like to have soft, pliant flesh under her own fingers? It felt good just now.

Mattim clearly was a Navy type and an officer to boot, just like the puke she'd risked her neck to rescue. She might like Captain Anderson and Commander Umboto, but she had little use for the rest of them, supply officers who couldn't supply shit, ships captains who couldn't keep the damn colonials off her back.

She'd damn near KO'd the guy first time he moved in on her. She laughed at the memory. It would have felt good, but she'd have missed this conversation. She was talking, just talking to a guy. And he was listening. The CO's of B and C companies had listened to her, but their lives depended on what she said. This fellow was enjoying her just for what she had to say. It felt good in a way she hardly remembered.

When a fight finally broke out between her beasts and the weenies, it wasn't over nearly as quickly as she'd expected.

Of course, three other tables piled in to help. The bartender let them get their exercise, then brought out a stun rod and threatened to sticky-net the whole of them. The lights went up enough to show they were directly under said net. Even animals know when the fun's over. Mary offered to buy the next round. ,

Mattim said it was more like a tie; they both ordered a round. Mary had vented enough of her anger at the powers that be. As their drinks disappeared, she asked him to tell her about the places he'd been, the beauty he'd seen. Being stuck in the mines didn't mean she hadn't looked up, dreamed of what was out there.

The guy was quite a storyteller. He didn't just paint her a picture of this or that, but peopled the places. She found herself laughing at his misadventures among the locals as well as some of the strange things they did. When they left at midnight, she had an arm around him, and she actually enjoyed the feel of his arm around her. Rather than head anyplace, they just walked.

Wherever they walked was just a shabby base, hastily dug out of rock, but that was not what Mary saw. Mattim painted her pictures. She stood with him at the flowing lava falls of Kinsinka and glided through the perpetual clouds of Tristram. It was when he told her of the four dancing suns that she pulled away and almost slugged him.

“I may be a dumb miner, but I've heard of them. Nobody's been there. They're halfway across space. You liar. You've been shoving me a line. You probably haven't been anywhere you've said. What are you, some shit supply clerk?”

The man didn't back away from her, nor did he have the good sense to get ready to defend himself. He just stood there. “I guess I shouldn't have mentioned them.”

“No shit, Sherlock.” Mary's arms twitched; fists clenched without thought. All the anger, hate, and fear the last weeks had force-fed her wanted out. She wanted to reduce this liar to a bloody pulp the docs would have to sponge up.

He eyed her, defenseless as a newborn in a crèche. Mad as she was, it was still hard to smash someone so helpless. If only he'd run or fight, she could pound him. He took a quick breath. “Two weeks ago, my ship was lost and orbiting those stars.” He spoke so softly, so matter-of-factly, she was slow to react. His words were like a rocket coming in low, under her sensors.

She studied him; his eyes were what drew her. They held the distant echoes of terror and triumph! No weenie could fake that. “Really!” she gasped. Her fists were hands again.

“Yeah. We saw some pretty spectacular places. None as lovely as this collection of junk when we found our way back.”

“How?” she found herself whispering.

“We've been using one jump point to go one place. If you know how, you can go dozens, maybe hundreds of places.”

Mary had a hard time breathing. Planets, asteroids, millions of them. Good places for people like her. “Shiiiit, the mine we could set up. Not some crappy passed-over claim, but a real goer.” The joy took her; she twirled, arms high, dress spinning out. Again she faced the spacer. Without thinking, she found her arms around him, her lips on his. For a moment, he held back. She hadn't frightened him off with her fists. Just her luck; now he was afraid of her lips. Then he kissed back.

Oh, but this woman was wild. One second cold, then hot. One minute ready to take his head off, the next squeezing him in a bear hug just as life threatening, even if her intent was quite the opposite. For a moment, Mattim held himself on tight reins as a captain had to. Then he tossed himself to the wind. The woman wasn't asking for a twenty-year contract with right to offspring. He'd probably never see her again. And few women in the last twenty years had tugged at his heart like this Mary had.

When they came up for air, she danced around him. “You've changed the whole bloody galaxy! You've opened doors no one can close. You'll be up there with Neil Columbus, Chris Armstrong and Jon-Luc Jones of the Challenger .

You made it happen. The rest of us can hope again.” Her eyes gleamed; her lips split in a grin, not the cynical one that had watched the other drinkers, but the wondrous smile of a child with her first butterfly.

Too worried about getting back, and too busy afterwards, Mattim had never permitted himself to feel what they'd done. Now he did, and he was lost in the joy and admiration of this woman's eyes.

It hit him. He had! His people and his Maggie had damn well opened a door, a door any ship could cruise through. It took six or eight jumps to reach some pretty inhospitable places. With just four jumps he had found a paradise planet. Four jumps ... one paradise. Not a bad set of odds.

Now he did swing Mary off her feet—and kiss her.

“I got a room,” she mumbled against his shoulder when they broke the next time.

“And a bed with clean sheets.”

“Very clean.” She chortled.

“The woman I met a few hours ago seemed pretty happy to have those clean sheets to herself.”

“But the woman you're with now is too full of herself to fit in that bed alone.” Arm in arm, and ignoring the rest of the universe, they made their way to Naomi's Place.

Next morning, Mattim came awake of 0515. Mary was still sleeping. He pulled on his clothes quietly and put his shoes on in the hall. Tonight, he'd be at the Dog Palace. If Mary was there and willing, so was he. Otherwise, he had one fine night.

Mary awoke to a soft knock at the door and an empty bed. She suspected it was late enough that a sailor not on leave had better be on the job—whatever that job was. The knock repeated itself. Mary wrapped the sheet around her nakedness and opened the door a crack. Naomi was in the hall, the credit machine held out to Mary. “Battalion called. Colonials are in-system. All leaves are canceled. They want you back.”

Mary glanced at the machine; it charged her for one massage, and gave her back two nights lodging and two baths. “No time for even a bath.” Mary heard her voice take on a whining twist.

“We civilians have one hour to report to the deep shelters.” Naomi shrugged.

“Sounds a hell of a lot more sensible than reporting to the line,” Mary snorted as she took the machine and signed.

“Here's your suit-liner.”

Mary dropped her sheet and pulled it on. She still smelled of flowers and man. Wonder how long that will last? She double-timed to battalion. The armory had at least refreshed her suit. There was a truck headed for A company with supplies and six replacements. The kids looked terrified; she gathered the nuggets around her. “First, forget everything they told you at boot camp.” Eyes grew wide behind helmets. Good.

“Second, do what your corporals and sergeants tell you. They want you alive as much as you want to stay alive. Third, you're going to be scared shitless. Well, let your suit take care of that. You got fifty rounds in your rifle. Once you've emptied that first magazine, you'll be over the hump. Now enough, crew. Rule four is sleep whenever you can. The colonials are headed our way, and you don't sleep when there's Collies around. Flake out and get some sleep.”

They obeyed, as she would have expected of green kids. At least they stretched their bodies across the crates. Mary doubted many would sleep. She made herself comfortable. Her mind was a jumble, part going down the company's deployment, who would get this fresh meat. That was the lieutenant's job.

But the miner in her yelped with glee. Wait until Cassie and Lek hear! Maybe an entire solar system to themselves! All they had to do was stay alive.

Mary awoke to a start at Cassie's voice. “Mary, you made it back. Thank God. The colonials are rounding Elmo. We got thirty minutes before company arrives.”

Mary sighed. She wasn't home, but she was back.

Trevor H. Crossinshield approached his patron. The man was feeding ducks! Trevor glanced around. In the trees ringing the pond, people moved, in pairs and singles. How many are security guards? Certainly a man of his patron's wealth did not risk himself in the open. Wasn't the virtual world enough for him?

“How goes my war, Mr. Crossinshield?” “Very well, sir. The damage to New Canton is greatly exaggerated in both colonial bragging and Earth propaganda.” With a flick of his wrist, the patron dismissed the rape, pillage, and killing of fifty thousand—or five million, depending on which report you accepted. Even Trevor's sources varied from one hundred to five hundred thousand. “Not my investment. Now, my President Urm, is he well protected?”

“The best security guards and equipment money can buy, sir.”

“And among them?” His patron smiled. “A squad of people also in our pay who can turn him off like a light when you wish.”

“Very good. It may be necessary to turn this war off rather suddenly. Six, maybe nine months more. I'll tell you when.” “Yes, sir.”

“Is there anything else, Mr. Crossinshield?” The proper answer to that was “No, sir.” Today, Trevor paused before risking, “There is one other matter, sir.” Did an eyebrow twitch? “Yes.”

“A cruiser, the Sheffield , has made a rather interesting voyage of accidental discovery.” Quickly, Trevor filled in the essentials for his master. “It might be possible to visit every star in the galaxy with no more effort than it takes to go from Earth to LornaDo,” he finished.

“Fascinating, but a tad too much change for my tastes. Hardly manageable. Who knows of this?”

“One of our men has it. It has yet to enter the normal Navy info stream. It appears that one outpost and a colonial planet have also accessed the information.”

“Such insignificant places should not be hard to make disappear,” his patron murmured. “Yes, Mr. Crossinshield, pay our man well and have him keep this away from Navy eyes. See what he can do to plug the leak, make them disappear.”

Trevor nodded. “Yes, sir.”