The First Casualty

Chapter Eight

Mary slept all the way back to the platoon. Cassie greeted her as they pulled in. “You see the space battle?”

“Nope. They throw any rocks?”

“A few, but we hardly felt 'em. Captain wants us to head over and replace any noisemakers they broke.”

“Hope no more rocks are on the way,” Mary muttered. Once the supply truck was unloaded, they used it to run Cassie's squad over to where they'd “built” an HQ, setting up noisemakers to imitate the electromagnetic and heat you'd expect to leak from a base under twenty meters of rock. The place was cratered, but not as bad as the last time. Apparently they were using smaller rocks or tossing them at slower speeds. Mary moved the noisemakers away from the new craters, and dialed them down. Even headquarter weenies would know to dig deeper and be quieter.

Moving the decoys, Mary found an extra one, camouflaged almost good enough to pass for a rock. Still, rocks don't have thin antennas spreading out from them. Mary tossed a real rock at it. It blew up. Gingerly, she collected the pieces. Lek would want a look at it.

“Repeater,” he growled. “Given enough distance, even a tight beam gets wide.” He fingered different parts of the wreckage. “Stuff here to intercept radios and lasers. Good workmanship. You say it was out where you set up the fake HQ?”

Mary nodded.

“Better pass this along to brigade. If Collies don't intercept anything at your fake, they gonna start dropping these around until they do. Isn't the information war wonderful?”

Mattim rubbed his eyes, driving his palms into them, trying to wash away the fatigue clogging his brain. When he looked again, the stars hadn't changed. How many times had Sandy warned him to respect jump points? So he dives balls-to-the-wall into an A. Instead of being blown to bits, they'd hurled themselves . . . where? “Sandy,” he asked softly, “any idea where we are?”

“Leave me alone, Matt, I need time.”

Mattim glanced around his bridge crew. “I'm open to suggestions,” he said softly.

Guns whispered into his mike. “Tommy, put a save on all the gunnery sensors for the last five minutes.”

“Okay, boss.”

Thor at the helm coughed softly. “Skipper, I've got a magnification on the star, er, stars.”

“On screen,” Mattim whispered, not wanting to disturb Sandy .

There were four, and they were beautiful. A giant blue star was high above a brilliant yellow one. Close to the yellow was a red dwarf. Very close to the blue one was a ...

“It's a neutron star,” Guns swiveled around. “I heard about this foursome. They're halfway across the galaxy. What a jump. Quite a few vectors on the boat going in, but at least we got it on tape.” Guns spoke matter-of-factly, as if he got hopelessly lost among the stars on a regular basis.

Sandy looked up. “I've located enough pulsars to get a rough fix. You're right, Commander Howard. We've gone about thirty thousand light-years. I'd like to have a look at your data.”

At Mattim's side, Ding had caught her breath, but now she was struggling to stop shaking. The rest of the crew would be picking up rumors before too long. It would be better if they heard it from their captain. Mattim keyed his mike.

“This is the captain. We made it out of a hell of a mess and punched a hole for the other ships. With all the shooting going on, we hit the jump in a nonstandard configuration.” Sandy rolled her eyes at him; Guns chuckled noiselessly. “We know exactly where we are and exactly where we want to go, so it's only a matter of a few adjustments and we'll be heading back. In the meantime, we'll keep the ship on a low-gee acceleration and concentrate on damage repair. That is all.”

Mattim raced into a checklist. “OOD, get a list of all damage. Tell damage control to prioritize and coordinate. Ding, you head up the navigation problem. Let's go over it in my day cabin.” He turned to the bos'n. “How about some sandwiches and lots of coffee? Sandy , could you get Ivan up here?”

She was doing that already. “Hon, I've got a bit of a problem, and I'd sure like you handy when I brief Matt.”

“Nothing popping down here, love. Be right there.”

The fight hadn't left Mattim with much reserves; he doubted anyone aboard had anything to spare. He'd have to order his crew to a night's rest soon. But first, he wanted to look this problem over while it was still fresh in everybody's minds, even if those minds were far from fresh.

“Okay, march soldier.” Rita ordered, mean as any drill instructor. Ray hung between two handrails, trying to move his left leg. The mirror beside him showed the knee move up a smidge. He didn't feel anything, but he concentrated harder. The foot came up. He swung it forward.

“That's cheating, Major,” the physical therapist snapped—and moved the foot back to where it started. “You've got control of that leg. Use it. You're not some cripple with a busted back who's never going to walk again. Walk.”

That stung; Ray wanted to spin around and read the man out. Except he was right. That agony he'd mistaken for torture had saved, regenerated, and otherwise patched up enough of his spine. He'd seen it on the doctors' view boards. He could move that leg. He could walk. He shook his shoulders, gritted his teeth, and focused on his right knee again. Move, damn you!

Slowly, the knee came up. With every muscle in his body tied in sympathy knots, it moved three inches.

“That's the way, honey,” Rita crowed. “Now the next one. Show them you can walk and I'll get you checked out of here.”

“Checked out?”

She came close. “Yeah. Once you're walking, I can take you home. We've rigged rails for you. You can practice a lot at home. The tech will visit.” She leaned close to his ear. “And we better get you away from those damn mikes before you get yourself shot.”

He took four steps in the next hour, two with his right, two with his left. The therapist left to fill out the discharge paperwork. Back in his room, Ray found a large envelope on his bed. After Rita helped him from the wheelchair, he ripped it open. A red box fell out. As a soldier, he recognized it; only the contents would be a surprise. He flipped the lid open. The Presidential Cross with Diamonds stared back at him—the highest honor Unity conferred on a fighting man.

He snapped it shut and tossed it to Rita. “See if you can't find a bottom drawer to lose that in.”

Rita opened it. “Cross and Diamonds,” she whispered, oozing respect and pride—and looking straight at the corner they agreed held the mike. “Dad will be so proud. He'll have it hung in the parlor. He was an early member of the party here on Wardhaven.”

She handed it back to him, and bent to kiss his ear. “We've got to get you out of here.”

“Yes, love.”

After a sponge bath, Rita helped him into undress greens, even draping his medal around his throat under the pretext of bending to kiss him. Like a child whose fussy mother was dressing him for church, he put up with it. The therapist showed up. Yes, he was signed out. Yes, he could leave immediately. “You remember what I told you,” he said knowingly to Rita.

She reddened, but nodded a quick reply.

“What was that all about?” Ray growled as she wheeled him down the hall.

“I'll show you later.”

What began as a quiet journey broken only by the creaking of a wheel turned into a spectacle as staff and patients paused to watch. Someone clapped. Ray waved, meaning to silence the fool. Others waved back and began clapping too. The applause grew. Neither shushing them, nor rolling his eyes to the ceiling, nor waving them down with both hands did any good.

“Face it.” Rita leaned forward to his ear. She almost had to shout to be heard. “You are a hero to them. Act like one.”

With a sigh of resignation, Major Ray Longknife, Commander of Wardhaven's 2nd Guard Brigade, accepted the acclaim of the hospital. Most he ignored; others were harder. A cluster of his own men in bathrobes stood to attention and saluted.

Now the major wept.

Mattim ordered the Sheffield to a night schedule once he was sure everything that could be done was. It took Ivan physically pulling Sandy to get her out of Mattim's day cabin.

“I'll be back as soon as I put Ivan to bed,” she insisted.

“Ivan, you two get eight hours sleep. Either of you touch that terminal in your quarters and so help me, I'll rip it out of the wall.” The two went.

The exec held back until after the others. “What kind of watch do you want to set?”

“Make it a skeleton watch tonight. Everyone gets serious sack time. Then work their tails off so they don't have time to think. We took enough damage; let's fix what we can.

Heaven knows, we may jump back just in time for the next shoot.”

“Right, sir. I'll have tomorrow's Orders of the Day posted before I hit the rack.”

“Which better not be more than a half hour from now.”

She just smiled. He raised an eyebrow. “I didn't hear my order properly acknowledged.”

She grinned as she said, “Yes, sir.”

Mattim walked her as far as the bridge. The four suns were still on the screen. Space did turn up some beautiful oddities. “Thor, what's the system like?”

“Some small gas types, rocks not much bigger than asteroids. Their orbits are as crazy as the suns. No sun orbits another. The big blue and yellow stars do some kind of mutual swing with the little ones near them, then the two pairs do their own swing around a center of gravity between them.”

“Lay in a course for the nearest gas type. Hope it's got what we need.” Mattim rubbed his eyes to help him focus on the star picture. “Were they hatched like this?”

“Sir, if you'd like, I could run a full workup on the gas types so you could select the better one. I'd love to do one on the stars, too, see if they share the same origin.”

The new voice, speaking from the darkness beside the hatch, startled Mattim. “And you are?”

A girl, thick glasses falling over her nose, stepped forward. “Excuse me, sir, Security Striker Second Zappa, sir. But I just got my masters degree in System Engineering before they drafted me. My paper was on the ...” She paused as if doing a translation in her head. “Something about jump points, sir.”

Mattim appreciated the interpretation. “You've got an advanced degree, and we're making you a guard?”

She drew herself up to what couldn't have been one hundred twenty centimeters. “I've got my black belt, sir.”

“You misunderstand me.” Mattim waved a hand. “We've just launched ourselves on a grand voyage of discovery'...”

“So I noticed, sir,” she interrupted dryly. “We know where we are. We know where we want to be. So we'll make a few minor adjustments, twitch our noses, click our heels together and bingo, we'll be home. That was quite a whopper, sir.”

“That obvious, huh?”

“To those of us with any training.”

“And how many might that be?”

“There's two of us with Ph.D.'s, nearly a dozen Masters like me, and twenty B.S.'s. Didn't you check the personnel rolls?”

“We were rather busy,” Mattim flinched.

“I guess you were. We'd be glad to help.” Eager eyes, wide with youthful confidence and innocent folly, stared at him.

And who knows, they might help. And he sure as hell did not need the rest of the crew getting an alternate viewpoint from their own science team of child wonders. Co-opt them before they clobbered him. “I think you have a deal. Can you stand this watch and be ready to form up in a team in the morning?”

“No problem, sir. I've pulled all-nighters and aced the test the next day. We're kids, sir, not old folks.”

Mattim headed back to his cabin, not sure who was co-opting whom. A computer search verified what she said. As a businessman, he shuddered at the waste. As the captain of a ship halfway across the galaxy from the nearest port, he was glad. With that, he stumbled to bed. It was exactly one half hour since he'd sent his officers off. When they asked, he could answer that he'd followed his own orders. About the time his head hit the pillow, he was asleep.

Ray sat in the passenger seat as Rita drove them home. They were delayed by several troop convoys, red unity flags flying, packed with recent draftees still in civilian clothes. The new troops looked less than enthusiastic. A red flag bedecked stoplight showed the alternative. Two bodies swung from it. Around one neck was a sign reading “Earthie symp,” around the other “Draft Dodger.”

Rita scowled. “We only have enough transports to lift one division. Why raise more troops?” Ray had no answer.

Her parents had converted a second parlor on their spacious ground floor into his bedroom. The rails and mirror were there for him to practice on at all hours. A housekeeper and her husband were there to help. Recalling that Rita's father was an early Unity Party member, Ray wondered if he'd just traded a camera watcher for a human eye.

Thrown into close proximity with Rita, even in his present condition, the proprieties became difficult to maintain.

“Mother wants to know when we can announce our engagement. I told her I wanted to announce the wedding date instead.”

“And she was properly scandalized,” Ray growled.

“No, she agreed. What is a good day for a wedding?”

Ray sighed; the day was too beautiful for this. Clouds floated on a soft breeze. Rowers swayed; trees rustled in full dress greens. It was too good a day to argue. He was sprawled on the grass after another long hour on the bars; Rita had put the wheelchair out of sight. He could almost believe it was last summer. But dreams were one thing, reality another. “Rita, I'm not in any shape to be a husband. No job, no... nothing.”

Ignoring the verbal slap, she picked up a flower and settled it behind her right ear. She wore the sundress; with the sun behind her, he could almost see through it.

“You look man enough for me,” she told him. Her eyes slid from his face to his exercise shorts. He glanced down; the bulge was growing far too obvious. He tried to cross his legs. He couldn't quite manage it yet.

“Let's see.” Rita grinned and grabbed for his shorts. If he hadn't been trying to cross his legs, he'd have reacted faster. She had his shorts down before he grabbed for them. By then, she'd yanked them over his sandals. For a moment she whirled them above her head like some trophy. Then, looking down at him and grinning at what she saw, she tossed his shorts away.

“Rita, the house.”

“Is blocked by the trees. It is time we talked this through, and I think I have you where I can finally talk to you.”

“Rita, I can't.”

“You look ready enough.” She fondled him.

“Rita, the plumbing may be willing, but the back is not behind it. I can't.” He choked on the words.

“That's not what your physical therapist says.”

“You've talked about this with him!”

“And why not? He told me exactly how we can do this.” She reached for her dress. In one fluid motion, she swept it up and over her head. It fluttered away on the breeze to land beside his shorts.

“Now, let me show you.” She stepped astride him.

“I don't think there's any more of you, you could show me.”

“Yes.” She bent at the knees, slowly lowering herself. One hand balanced her, the other hand guided him in.

Lost forever, he reached for her breasts.

“Oh, yes,” she said. “Oh, yes.”

Later, she lay beside him. “So, what do I tell Mother?”

“You're going to tell your mother?”

“A date for the wedding. Could we make it soon? They're sending an entire division to Elmo Four-A, and I'd like to go as Senior Pilot Mrs. Longknife.”

He reached for her, pulled her halfway on top of him, let her breasts crush against him. “You may tell your mother anything you wish.”

“Good, because Father wants to talk to you tonight, and I'd rather he was talking to my fiancé than to some stranger.”

“Your father doesn't own a shotgun, does he?”

“Shotgun?”

“An ancient earth appliance often used as a marriage aid.”

“I've heard about those things. Maybe once I'm a married lady, I can get someone to sell me one.”

Ray measured the distance to his shorts. It was not too late to back out. This woman had been nothing but one startling surprise after another since he first saw her on the bridge of her transport. How could anyone go so quickly from efficient spacefarer to beguiling young woman? Marriage to her would be full of surprises. Hopefully less painful than those he'd found commanding the 2nd Guard. But just as he could not think, of not commanding the 2nd, he could not think of not loving Rita.

Mattim had breakfast served to his “old folks” tiger team in his day cabin. He wanted to make sure they got one decent meal, even if it was wolfed down. “By the way,” he began blandly, “you know you're not the only science team on this problem.” He relished the dismay on every face—except Guns.

He snorted. “You found out about my brain trust. How?”

“That little snippet of a guard. She offered last night to run a major workup on the suns. Also told me in very precise details of the whopper I told the crew.”

“Ah.” Guns grinned. “The Kat who got away.”

Mattim glanced down his list. Guns was right; all but two or three were in his department. “How good are they, Guns?”

“Quite good. Of course, there're a few that aren't quite as good as they think they are, but time will educate them.”

“We need them now.”

“Then I suspect we need to adjourn to a mess deck. The wardroom would be better, if you don't mind turning a bunch of strikers loose in officer's country.”

“As a merchant skipper, I've issued midshipman warrants.”

“No can do here, Captain,” Ding said without hesitation.

Guns gnawed his lower lip. “Of course, sir, you are still a licensed merchant captain. I, for one, think these kids would be a lot easier to deal with if they were not part of my usual chain of command. If you gave them temporary midshipman ranks and assignments, it might avoid a lot of confusion.”

“Exec?” Mattim raised an eyebrow at her.

“I think it will be a bloody confusing chain of command any way you cut it, but I'll go along with you. Somebody once told me if you're going to screw up, screw up big.”

“That was my grandmother,” Mattim sighed.

The computer accessed the old Red Flag portion of his files, matched the names on his overtrained and underemployed list and printed out merchant midshipman warrants. When ordered, the kids reported to the wardroom, along with a dozen or so officers and chiefs that had been added to the “science” side of the ship for the duration. Mattim handed out the warrants. Ding swore them in. Then they got down to business.

“Any with experience in the theory of jump navigation or something close, join Lieutenant Commander O'Mally's team. If you're good with computers or image enhancement, Guns keeps you. The rest help Lieutenant Jagel analyze this system.”

“Are we homesteading?” came from the back of the room.

“No. Commander O'Malley has repeatedly told me that the gravity of the known systems acting on the jump points only accounts for eighty or ninety percent of their movement. I want to know if this system accounts for the missing twenty percent, or if we should be prepared for more. I'm open for other proposals for study. Write them up and hand them into the Exec. Any questions?”

“Do we get new uniforms, sir?”

Mattim studied the questioner, who'd jumped to attention before asking. He glanced at Guns, who rolled his eyes. So this is one of them who had a bit to learn.” We’ve got a damaged ship to repair. We'll see what we can do in our spare time.” He took a bite out of the words to show there shouldn't be any.

The questioner wilted back into her seat.

“Good. Let's get organized. I want action plans to me by oh-seven hundred tomorrow.” He hunted for Zappa, found her. “Looks like an all-nighter to me. And I'd like a team to run a full set of tests on the gas planets to see if we're headed for the right one. Good day, ladies and gentlemen. Have fun.”

Two days after the supply run, the roof fell on Mary.

“Sergeant Rodrigo, report to Company HQ, pronto.”

From the look on the captain's face, all Mary's luck was sludge. He stood, glowering at a message flimsy as she reported in her best recruit manner. He left her holding her salute. “Do you have any idea why I'm to report to brigade tomorrow morning with you and a couple of your corporals in tow?”

“No sir.”

He tossed the message on his desk and returned her salute with a sour wave. “You ain't gone crying to your mommas?”

“No sir.”

“Yeah, most of you are too old to have mommas, and the young ones aren't any better than whores' trash anyway. Hear this, woman. You wrecked one officer's career and damn near killed him. You aren't wrecking mine. You bozos may have gotten a few pissant colonials to bug out. Next time they show up, they'll see how real marines do it. You hear me.”

“Yes sir.” Mary heard him loud and clear. She'd kept her platoon alive—most of them—and his ego was all bent and busted. F*ck you and the tailpipe of what you rode in on.

“Dismissed, woman. And get cleaned up. Use some lipstick. Have one of those tramps show you if you don't know how. Make sure the rest of those stinking bums get a bath.”

The man expected her gone. She didn't budge. “Request permission to use one of the other platoons' facilities vans.”

“First platoon has its own.”

“Yes, sir, a sitting target for a rock.”

“I ordered you to dig it in. I've got a hard copy right here.” So it was cover his ass time.

“Yes, sir, but there is no location in the platoon area that provides reasonable protection. Us miners know our rocks, sir.”

The red was rising past his neck to his cheeks. Mary prepared for another blow. “Permission granted. Now get the hell out of my sight.”

There was some serious celebrating that night. Nobody had the foggiest idea what was up, but that didn't matter. They had the run of second and third platoon's showers— not just Mary and the three who were going with her, but all the platoon. They used the vans' showers until the hot water ran out, and were none too careful about the mess they made.

Later, as Mary settled herself deep into her fighting hole, she remembered the captain's order about lipstick. She'd forgotten. She didn't care either.

Thor brought Mattim the analysis of the system. It was over an inch thick. He looked up at Thor with a lopsided frown.

“The top page is the summary. You wouldn't believe some of the programs these kids have on their personal computers. One plugged his into the new antennae the Navy hung on the Maggie and damned if he didn't have this in no time. I figured you'd want the full report on hard copy. I got lost in it on the computer.”

“We're headed for the right one, I take it.”

“Yes, sir.”

The watch woke Mary. She and the others gathered beside their holes and waited. At oh-four fourty five, a truck rolled up. “You folks pile in the back,” the driver said.

“Is the captain coming?” Mary asked.

“The command car'll get him at oh-six thirty. You wouldn't want an officer to miss out on his beauty rest?” Apparently the captain had done nothing to win a popularity contest among the drivers.

“Thanks for the ride,” Mary said. “Sorry about the hour, but a truck is just fine by us. We'll sleep.”

“We aim to please the good guys.”

By the time Mary climbed in, Lek and Dumont were already flaked out, snoring. Mary took them off net.

“You have any idea what's up?” Cassie asked.

“No,” Mary answered. She'd kept a few things back about the talk with the lieutenant. There was no reason to change now. Besides, how do you tell your friends that you may get a medal and a promotion for what they all did together? If it happened, it happened. If it didn't, Mary didn't want to have to eat her words.

They settled on the truck's floor and quickly fell asleep.

“Hey, folks, we're here,” the driver hollered, opening the tailgate. “You can take off your helmets. You got air.” From the looks of it, they had slept right through the base airlock. Mary glanced at the ceiling—bare rock.

“Looks safe enough,” she said, and cracked her helmet. Damn, the air smelled good. The mixture of machine oil, human sweat, and recycled air made her feel right at home.

Beside the driver stood a navy chief in khakis. “I'm Kawalski, Master Chief of the Brigade. I got some spaces reserved so you folks can change into dress uniforms.”

Mary let herself down from the truck bed and tried to think. “Uh, sir, we don't have any dress uniforms.”

“You can call me Chief, Sergeant. I work for a living just like you.” He looked them over; then a sparkle came to his dark eyes. “On the other hand, I can't think of a better uniform for an honest-to-God marine. You'll do just fine.”

“Can we see the lieutenant?” Cassie asked.

“Why not? We got half an hour. Don't want the officers to think we enlisted swine don't have anything better to do than wait around on them. Follow me.” They found the LT in his hospital room sitting in an unpowered wheelchair. He was in full dress blues and trying to figure out how to place his sword.

“I refuse to hold it in my lap,” he said, scowling.

“Let me take a crack at it, sir.” The chief measured the sword and the wheelchair with his eyes for only a second before he started loosening the leather harness that held the sword to the lieutenant's belt. At maximum extension, the sword hilt easily reached the handles on the chair. There it rested, clearly his. The chief started to wheel him up to the mirror; Mary stepped in to take over. While the lieutenant checked himself out, Mary could hear the chief doing his own check. “So that's the way it is. It's a damn good officer who can earn a medal and the respect of his sergeant.”

The lieutenant glanced up in the mirror. “They had their doubts. Right, Mary? Cassie?”

Mary blushed. “Damn right, sir,” Cassie answered.

The chief glanced at his wrist. “ 'Bout time. Can't keep the elephants waiting.”

“Elephants?” Cassie echoed.

“Big earth animal. Huge. 'Bout the size of some officers' egos. Let's get moving, crew.” He led the way.

Mary followed, pushing the LT. The rest came up the rear; they made quite a parade. And they weren't ignored. It seemed every patient, doctor, and nurse was in the hall to see them on their way.

And they were all saluting.

Mary was trying to figure out how to push the chair one-handed when the chief saved her. “We're working, Sarge. Let the lieutenant salute for all of us.”

Sandy and Guns took over a mess deck for their teams and pored over the gun data for the last seconds before the jump. When they reported to Mattim, Sandy was not happy; they had no idea what had gone wrong. “Was it the spin?” Sandy asked the overhead. “That missile near miss added lateral movement at the last moment. Nobody's taken a type A jump point at our velocity, and we were still accelerating.” She threw up her hands. “There's so many things. What did it?”

“There was also a wobble on the ship from the damage we'd taken,” Guns added. “So many factors to sort through.”

“And any one or all of them may be why we're here,” Mattim summed up. “Without the right combination, we don't get back.”

“Yes, sir.” Guns nodded.

Mattim leaned back into his chair as Guns did the same.

Sandy was up and pacing. “Which ones? Which ones? We'll have to isolate each one and test them one at a time.”

“Does anybody know how many ships have been lost in these damn holes?” Mattim asked.

“Three hundred and forty-seven,” Guns answered right back.

'Three hundred and forty-seven?” Mattim echoed.

“One of our middies researched that,” Guns said with a chuckle. “She has her paper on her own pet computer, complete with all her research notes. We've got the full benefit on the subject of every file on Pitt's Hope. She got an A on the paper,” Guns added with a raised eyebrow.

In the next month, she'd get her real grade, Mattim thought. “Is there any thread running through the losses?”

'She didn't find any then. At the moment, she's reviewing her data with a lot more personal interest.”

“Did any of the ships have sensors like ours?” Sandy Stopped dead in her pacing to shoot the question.

“There haven't been any losses in fifty years, so we're several generations of equipment up. Also, none were bugging out of a shoot with all gun sensors on. I think we've got leg up. If we can just find the right leg in all the data.”

“Are there any observations of a ship just before its loss?” Mattim asked.

'Only that first one from Earth that didn't make it back,”

Sandy mused. “Nobody saw anything wrong with the Santa Maria .Challenger and Morning Star made it through the jump, but she just wasn't there.” She shivered. “The Maria had problems with one of her directional jets. That's why they always told us to keep a ship perfectly steady into a ump.”

“If we'd held the ship steady, we'd have been blown halfway across the galaxy.” Guns left no room for doubt.

“Yes. Tough choice,” Mattim agreed.

“We'll have to make some test jumps, but we'll find our way home.” Guns sounded like a grandfather assuring a child.

“Yes, yes.” Sandy was back to pacing. “Assuming there is a reason and it's not that they've been good little jump points for fifty years and decided it was time to swallow a ship.”

“Sandy!” Mattim snorted.

She whirled on him. “Well, it's not like we know what makes the damn things tick. They're just there. We ride them like rivers. We can't make them; we use them, like electricity, but try to get some genius to explain that one.” She wound down like a robot on exhausted batteries. Mattim went to her, held her; to hell with Navy regs. He'd seen her exhausted and spun up, tasked by a problem she didn't think she could beat. She always did. She just needed a hug. Guns looked away.

“Sandy,” he whispered to her, “maybe you're right and the jump point demon was overdue for a sacrifice and we got tagged. But you and I both know that there're a hell of a lot of good, scientific reasons for this to happen. Let's look them over. See what we see. I bet you the kids are having a ball.”

She chuckled through a sniff. “Bloody children don't even know it's impossible.”

“Which is probably why they'll do it, and be shocked as hell to discover it was impossible afterwards. Come on, Sandy . You love puzzles. You've got some fun people to chew at it with you. This ship's good for ninety days or more. We've got plenty of time. Let's go have fun.”

She sniffled. Guns handed her a box of tissues. “Sorry, Matt, Commander,” she said, blowing her nose. “I didn't mean to get all blubbery on you. I didn't sleep well.”

“No problem.” Guns tossed off the apology. “And you might as well call me Howie. While I may insist Navy regs stretch halfway across the galaxy, I'm not so sure about Navy etiquette. Most of those kids are on a first-name basis, and I doubt I can keep them terrified once they've lectured me a few times about what was 'obvious' to them and I was totally blind to.”

Mattim walked them to the door. “Guns, when I came aboard, I wasn't too sure about how the Navy part of the crew would take me. You're a good man.”

“Won't say I didn't have my own doubts, but right now I can't think of anyone I'd rather follow thirty thousand light-years from home with only three months worth of food. You're good, Captain.”

“Matt, if you want.”

“Captain.”

Mattim watched them go. He'd taken care of his two most critical team players, given them the assurance they needed. But who'd take care of him? Mattim returned to his desk and the proposals Ding had passed along.

Mary squared her shoulders. A clock struck two bells as the chief pushed opened the door and led them into the vast space of the command center. Across the low-ceilinged room, computer terminals glowed; people were everywhere, khakied officers and enlisted in whites. They went about their duties, but Mary doubted any missed the little procession.

The company commander stood in the middle of the room, beside the battalion CO. Mary hadn't seen him very often, but the major's bantam rooster stance was unmistakable. The chief led them toward the two marine officers, settled the lieutenant to the major's right and the others to the captain's left.

The captain glowered. “Where's your dress blues?”

“We were never issued any,” Mary whispered.

The captain stalled to say something, but the chief's booming voice interrupted him. “Attention on deck. Captain's mast, meritorious, Captain Anderson commanding.”

Mary couldn't see anybody commanding, but she dared not move her head. Still, her eyes roved the center ... and spotted movement. A tall, balding man in Navy whites wound his way through all the work stations. There were three—no four—stripes on his shoulder boards. So this was the brigade's commander. Beside him was a much shorter but strikingly beautiful woman. There were three stripes on her shoulder boards. As they approached, the chief called, “Hand salute.”

The captain returned it. Beside Mary, Cassie breathed a sigh of relief. So far, so good. Then the woman commander looked Mary over, frowned, and turned away.

“You've done it now. Pissed off Commander Umboto,” the company commander whispered out of the side of his mouth.

What have we done? Mary wanted to ask, but knew better. The Man made the rules and The Man applied them. She'd find out sooner or later.

“Second Lieutenant David S. Donovan front and center,” the brigade commander ordered. This time the chief wheeled the lieutenant up to the Navy officer. Umboto read a commendation that started with him taking charge of raw recruits ... that must be Mary and company ... training them and instilling in them the finest traditions of the corps, and ended with him defending their pass against overwhelming odds.

Mary breathed a slow sigh. That was the way it always was. You did the work and The Man patted himself on the back and took the bonus. Did she really expect this bunch to be different?

They finished up by promoting him, taking the gold bars off his collar and replacing them with silver ones. Mary shook her head. She knew these people put silver ahead of gold, but after twenty years of mining, Mary would never understand why. They were crazy.

As the chief wheeled the LT back, she was glad they'd let them come see him get his medal. From the look on his face, there was no question it meant a lot to him. He might be part of a crazy system, but there was no reason to hold that against him.

“Staff Sergeant Mary Rodrigo front and center.”

Mary glanced around for this other Mary Rodrigo. She knew she was supposed to be at attention, but she couldn't help it.

Cassie nudged her. “They mean you, hon.”

“Move,” the company commander growled under his breath, “and act like a marine for a change.” That last slap made Mary mad.

She could dance their little dance with the best of them. Cutting every corner, she marched to the Navy captain. “Reporting as ordered, sir,” she snapped.

“Very good,” the old captain whispered through a smile.

“In the finest tradition of the corps,” the commander began, then cut to the battle. “At great personal risk, Staff Sergeant Rodrigo did establish herself in an exposed observation post.. .” Mary had a hard time believing what Commander Umboto was saying. She'd just done what she had to do to save her friends' lives. She'd do it again if she had to; it was nothing.

Umboto finished; the chief opened a blue box. The captain withdrew a beribboned medal. And smiled. There was no way he could pin it to battle armor. Beside him, Umboto cleared her throat, reached in her pocket, and pulled out a roll of tape. “When I saw we had some real marines with us today, I thought you might want to improvise, captain.” She grinned.

So they taped the medal, a gleaming Silver Star, on the chest of Mary's armor. While they improvised, Mary struggled with herself. Her eyes had gone moist, and she was blinking a lot. Her medal wasn't as fancy as the lieutenant's, but the brigade CO was handing it out, and Commander Umboto thought enough to hunt up tape so the moment wouldn't be spoiled. She wanted to spin around and give the company commander the finger, but that didn't seem quite right at the moment.

They finished; the medal was at a crazy angle. Mary was at a loss as to what to do next. She glanced at the chief for help, but he was handing the brigade CO a new set of papers. The captain cleared his throat. “Staff Sergeant Rodrigo, I am authorized to offer you a Second Lieutenant's commission in the Society of Humanity's Marine Corps. Do you accept?”

“Ye ... yes,” she stammered, all the time wondering how she could say no.

“Raise your right hand, and repeat after me. I, Mary Rodrigo ...” So Mary found herself swearing to bear true faith and allegiance to a constitution she'd never read, and to defend it against all foes, both foreign and domestic—and wondering just how much freedom she had to distinguish friend from foe.

Nobody tried pinning the gold bars on her suit, but Umboto had a single length of black electric tape to add to the one black line on the back of Mary's helmet. “Now everyone behind you will know you're leading. Makes you a better target.” She grinned.

Now the chief's eyes led Mary through a salute and a march back to place. Cassie and Dumont were next. Bronze Stars for each of them for “courage in combat above and beyond.” Lek was last. A Navy Commendation Medal, which had to be the first time a claim jumper got a commendation. Done, the chief brought them to attention and dismissed them, which wasn't really a dismissal at all. Nobody went anywhere. Mary and the corporals hugged each other, and tried to keep the happy squeals down to a decorous level. Umboto joined them and did some squealing of her own ... and hang the level.

They swamped the lieutenant as soon as the senior marine officers moved off. Between Mary, Cassie, and Dumont they lifted him out of the chair for a solid round of hugs and back-pounding. “Damn, I don't get my legs until next week,” he grumbled.

Umboto tapped Mary's back and pointed. The Navy captain was talking to the battalion CO, company CO at his elbow. “I imagine this solves the hole in your officers' slots, Garry,” Captain Anderson said.

“Yes, sir, it does,” the major answered.

“If I were in your boots, I'd be passing these folks around to the other companies. They came up with some pretty unique approaches to preparing a position.”

“Already intended to,” the major agreed. “Don't imagine the captain will mind loaning his command car to the new LT and her team for a week so they can cover the other passes. Do you, Ted?”

“No sir,” the company CO answered without a pause.

“Good.” Captain Anderson nodded. “Keep me informed how it goes. We haven't seen any colonial ground-pounders for a while. Don't expect that will last forever.”

“Never does,” the major and captain answered in unison.

Umboto turned back to the celebration around the lieutenant. “That ought to take a bit of the pressure off you for a while.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“You folks owe me a bigger thanks than that. You remember those rockets that took out the transports?”

“Yes,” five marines answered.

“They were mine. Let me tell you what the rest of us were doing while you were having all the fun.” One story led to another. Then there was lunch. Umboto knew where a chief in supply kept a still, and that led to a private celebration. They were late getting to the truck for the ride back. Sprawled out on the truck bed, Mary didn't even try to sleep.

Dumont spoke first. “I'm glad for the medal, but I didn't do nothing special. They were going to kill me if I didn't kill them. I did what I had to do to stay alive.”

“Yeah,” Cassie mumbled. “I wanted to hide in my hole. Joyce and me, we were just going to stick our heads up long enough to fire a clip. When I started to duck, Joyce was dead.” Cassie was crying. “Where's the medal for Joyce?”

“This ain't no different from the mines,” Lek drawled slowly. “Sometimes you hit it big. Other times you don't. You never know why. It just happens.”

“It just happens.” Mary repeated the words. Let them roll off her tongue slowly. She'd said that a lot in her life. It just happens. She was getting awful tired of just hanging around to see what happens next. She doubted Umboto did. That was one woman who knew how to kick butt and take names until she got what she wanted. I’m an officer now. Do I get to be like Umboto?

It was a pleasant thought to fall asleep on.

The engagement of Rita Nuu to Major Raymond Longknife was a most indecorous week long, though her mother seemed no less enthusiastic for the date. The honeymoon was a very short week. Then Senior Pilot/bride Rita Longknife reported to her ship for a lift the admiral assured everyone would end resistance on ELM-0129-4A. A week later they informed Ray he was a widower.