To our absent friends, "Coeur said, raising her coffee cup.

  "Hear, hear, "Crowbar seconded, with the nodding assent of the rest of the crew.

  Though Hornet was not large as starships went, her crew and passenger compartments were relatively spacious, befitting a ship designed for long-haul cargo runs. The crew lounge was therefore large, an area of 30 square meters just behind the bridge. It was dominated by an autogalley (stocked with six months of concentrated rations) and a circular table just large enough to seat 10.

  Presently, the table sat eight, all the Arses and Marines assembled so far, less Gyro at anchor watch on the bridge. As before, the young woman had been tapped as the ship's XO and was glad to refamiliarize herself with the ship's systems.

  "As soon as Drop Kick gets back tomorrow, all of us will be back together again, "Physic said.

  "Except Scissor, "Deep Six pointed out, sipping from a flask of nonalcoholic ee'kwat.

  "Yes, "Physic said, "except Scissor."

  "It's always bothered me, "Coeur admitted, "that I wasn't here when he died."

  "That was unavoidable, "Deep Six observed. "You and Drop Kick were obliged to remain on Sauler."

  "Does bring up a question, though, "Mercy observed. "Has anyone heard anything about Zorn? I mean, after she rescued you and Drop Kick from Sauler?"

  "No, "Coeur said, "but I am concerned. No one knew she'd turned into a pirate until we made our report. Now that they know, the Coalition's issued a warrant for her arrest and interrogation."

  "Wow."

  "I know, "Coeur went on. "On one hand, I understand the Coalition's position—she helped distribute the Hiver plague and deserves to be punished. But she thought what she was doing was right—that she was saving us from manipulation by the Hivers."

  "And that's an excuse for mass murder? "Crowbar asked.

  "No, "Coeur said. "No, it's not."

  "So what if we run into her out there in the field? "Physic asked. "Are we just supposed to ask her to pull over and turn herself in?"

  Despite the gravity of the question, Coeur had to smile at the image of Hornet trying to detain Vega Zorn's Vi Et Armis. Regardless of her recent improvements, Hornet was still roundly outclassed by Zorn's 400-ton patrol cruiser.

  "I doubt we'll have to worry about it, "she said. "Space is a big haystack, and Zorn is a small needle."

  Deprived of any information about the coming mission, the other seven at the table digested that comment for possible meaning. Among themselves, they still had reached no consensus on the coming mission's possible nature, though opinions ran the gamut from a return to Sauler to a decap raid on the troublesome planet Solee.

  "Red Sun, "Gyro said, breaking in on the conversation from the bridge, "there's a Hiver here to see you. Says he's our adviser from the Technical Academy."

  Coeur's eyebrows rose, expressing the surprise common to everyone in the room. Though they knew a new adviser was coming, memories of Scissor and its horrific and untimely death deflected them from deep reflection on the new adviser's possible character.

  That, and the eerie fact that Hivers had no emotions as humans understood them.

  "Old it give a name?"

  "Yes, sir. That would be Newton."

  "Newton. All right, send it up."

  Moments later, an exotic xenomorph padded into the lounge through the aft hatch, a pinkish-tan creature with six flexible limbs radiating outward from its domed, low-slung central body. Lacking a head, and looking like nothing so much as a giant sixarmed starfish, it exhibited a modified radial symmetry, with one raised limb bearing six eyes which extended on stalks from between its six splayed fingers. It was this unique limb which the humans instinctively regarded as the creature's head.

  That prime limb had no nose, mouth or brain—thelranalogs being located at the top, bottom and center of the central body—so the comparison to a human head was limited. Nonetheless, Newton's eyes offered Coeur her first hint of the Hiver's young age: like a young and curious human, it seemed fascinated by everything around it— focusing its eyes first on one human, then another, as if seeking to isolate their uniquely bizarre qualities for future reference.

  "Greetings, "the naturally mute Hiver said finally, speaking artificially from a translation device slung under its chest, which it typed text into with its tall limb. "May I ask who is the individual Red Sun?"

  "I am, "Coeur said. "Lieutenant Coeur D'Esprit, commanding RCS Hornet."

  "An interesting call sign, "Newton said. "Did it arise from a traumatic encounter with a class M star?"

  "No, it came from the Scout insignia I wore when I was recovered."

  "I comprehend. You are an imperial remnant. No doubt you would have many interesting stories."

  "No doubt."

  "Red Sun, I have been dispatched to replace your dead crew member, Scissor."

  Uncomfortable expressions crossed the faces of several Arses and Marines. Emotionally aware or not. Newton perceived that its statement had aroused some sort of adverse reaction.

  "Forgive me. Did I say something inappropriate?"

  "No, "Coeur lied, to get them past the awkward moment. "We're just tired."

  "Right, "Crowbar said. "We're probably all jumpy from thinking about the mission."

  "Clarify please."

  "Oh, well, "Crowbar extemporized, "It's classified, so only the skipper knows where we're going."

  "I understand. However, logical conclusions can be drawn from the equipment and fittings of this vessel."

  "Really. Such as?"

  "Nothing specific, "Newton mused. "However, one must note the heavy arms and drop capsules installed in a ship not properly armored for a planetary assault, and the short notice before launch, from this, I conclude a high probability that our mission is of high importance to the Coalition government and includes a high statistical probability of lethal opposition."

  "As in—likely to get us all killed?"

  Newton stared at Crowbar a long moment before responding.

  "Is that not what I said?"

  "Newton, "Coeur interrupted, "perhaps I should show you to your quarters."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Whiz Bang, Bonzo, "Coeur said, steering Newton back toward the aft hatch, "you've got clean-up detail."

  "Yes, sir, "the Marines answered, as Coeur and Newton departed.

  After the others put their dishes in the autogalley and departed with comments on the late hour and the need to rise early the next day. Whiz Bang and Bonzo stayed behind, wiping down the table and vacuuming the lounge. It was grubby work, but essential, lest crumbs and splatter float free in a loss of gravity and contact ship's circuitry.

  "So, "Whiz Bang said eventually, "what do you think about that dead Hiver crack?"

  "I don't know, "Bonzo said, slowing the vacuum cleaner. "Hivers don't really have feelings. Scissor didn't, anyway."

  "Hm. So maybe Newton really is a replacement for him."

  Chapter Three

  When Drop Kick finally arrived at Hornet the next morning, he brought with him the last cargo the ship would load before launch, six young and eager Aubani Marines.

  "Hell, Crowbar, "he said to the engineer, when he brought his recruits into the well-stuffed cargo bay. "Is there anything you didn't pack in here?"

  "Actually, I could have fit a little more in, "Crowbar said, looking around at the contents of the hold, "but if I did, we couldn't roll out the vehicles in a hurry."

  Hornet's greatest legacy from her merchant days was the spacious 50-ton cargo hold occupying one-quarter of the ship's total volume. Its present appearance, however, was more akin to a tightly packed garage. Two features immediately diminished the hold's volume. The 20-ton drop capsule pod occupied most of the starboard hold, and a 10-ton collapsible fuel module extended forward from the rear bulkhead—the latter extending Hornet's two-parsec jump range to three at the price of an extra week in jump. The real space hog was the 10-ton grav tank, towering over the six-ton G-carrier, a rack of six extra drop capsules and miscellaneous gear and ammunition strapped down to padeyes set into the open floor.

  "Actually, it looks pretty orderly, "the beefy man beside Drop Kick said. This fellow, who looked to be about 30, was one of two men among the new arrivals with sergeant's chevrons on his green body sleeve.

  "First Sergeant Denikin, "Drop Kick said, Introducing the man. "Call sign. Gaffer."

  Gaffer then saluted and shook the engineer's hand.

  "Good morning, sir. Fine-looking assault ship you have here."

  "Really, "Crowbar said, looking around at the other troopers, as mystified as anyone by the ultimate purpose of the gear in the hold. "Too bad I still don't know what we're going to do with her."

  "Me neither. Drop Kick's been very secretive."

  "Just until we launch, "the sergeant major said. "Is Red Sun around?"

  "Roger, upon the bridge. Said she'd like to see you when you arrive."

  "Okay, we're on our way, Crowbar. "Jerking his thumb over his shoulder, he added, "The gunny's name is Red Eye. Can you can help him get his troopers settled?"

  Glancing again at the troopers. Crowbar recognized Red Eye immediately. The gunnery sergeant was the tall trooper with a nasty mass of swollen blood vessels in the inner corner of his right eye.

  "Sure thing."

  "Good. Gaffer, let's go meet the skipper."

  Though the crew lounge and bridge were directly forward of the cargo hold, getting there was no longer a direct walk. While Crowbar steered Red Eye, his two corporals and his two privates around the front of the tank to the port iris valve, Drop Kick led Gaffer around the rear of the G-carrier, past the forward edge of the drop capsule pod and through the hatch to the unoccupied lounge and bridge just ahead.

  On the bridge, pre-flight checks were occupying both Coeur and Deep Six, the former concentrating on drives and hull integrity, and the latter on communications and sensors. Unlike Coeur, who sat in an acceleration couch at the portside pilot's station. Deep Six had moved his entire roller-chair up to his copilot's station. The Schalli's quick mind more than made up for dry-land immobility—in flight, he routinely ran communications with the barbels on his muz2le, manipulated sensors with his four ventral tentacles, and ground out preliminary jump plots in his head.

  "Drop Kick, "Coeur said, coming around in her seat, "good, you're here."

  "And ahead of schedule, "Deep Six noted, wheeling his chair around.

  "Gaffer, "Drop Kick Said, "meet Red Sun and Deep Six, captain and navigator of the Hornet. This is Gaffer, In charge of the drop troop squad."

  "Sir, "Gaffer said, executing a snappy salute.

  "Red'll be fine, "Coeur said, taking off her radio headset and standing to walk aft. "Are all of the troops aboard. Drop Kick?"

  "Roger. Crowbar said he'd get them quarters."

  "Good. I figured this trip, we'd put all the troopers in the loft, since there's plenty of staterooms."

  "How about the gunners? "Drop Kick asked.

  "Yeah, they're up there too, but I don't want any funny business, "Coeur said, prompting a chuckle from both sergeants. Obviously, Gaffer had heard about Snapshot from Drop Kick.

  "Anyway, "Coeur went on, "Gaffer, I assume Drop Kick has briefed you on the command structure."

  "Yes, sir. You're the top dog in the air. Gyro's the XO and Drop Kick's the man on the ground."

  "Right, "Drop Kick said, "although the drop troops will probably maneuver as a unit, under Gaffer."

  "Whatever works, "Coeur said. "That's what we do."

  "If I may. Red Sun, "Gaffer interjected, "I'd just like to say what an honor it is to be on your ship. All of us are familiar with your mission to Sauler and what you did for the Hivers."

  "You been in the field yourself?"

  "Yes, sir. Took a shell for the commodore at Nicosia."

  "Really."

  "Yes, sir. An autocannon took a good-sized chunk out of my left leg."

  "You seem to have recovered pretty well."

  "Yeah, the docs grew back my femur in a few months. The trouble was convincing 'em I was fit for field duty."

  Coeur looked to Drop Kick for clarification.

  "Gaffer and Red Eye—that's Sergeant Maling—were instructors at Fort Brierly, both with minor combat injuries. Since they've recently been cleared for the field—and have a chestful of medals for valor— they seemed like good choices to lead the ground pounders."

  "There is something to be said for experience, "Coeur admitted. "How about the rest of the troopers?"

  "Oh, well, I just asked each sergeant to recommend his two best students."

  "Good. Delegation of responsibility. Keep that up, and they'll send you to OCS."

  "With respect. Red, I'd rather stay an NCO. Less hassles."

  "My man, "Gaffer seconded.

  "Well, there's always the Arses, "Coeur said. "We don't stand so much on rank."

  "Well, I don't know if I’d like that, "Crowbar said. "I worked a long time for these stripes."

  Coeur smiled and turned back to Deep Six.

  "Say, Sixer, now that the guys are aboard, how long until we can get in the air?"

  "I would say two hours, "the Schalli said, "for a final power test and corrected jump plot."

  "Very good. Carry on pre-flight and request clearance to launch within that window."

  "Aye, sir."

  "All right. Drop Kick, let's see what kind of troopers you came up with."

  As it happened, Snapshot was in the lounge when the Marines and Coeur emerged from the bridge, pausing in her work to grab a carbostick from the autogalley. Obviously pleased to see her, but aware of Coeur's policy on fraternization, Drop Kick gave her a wink that the others, out of professional courtesy, pretended not to notice.

  "You must be Snapshot, "Gaffer surmised. "Drop Kick told us about you."

  "Oh did he?"

  "Only good things, "Drop Kick said.

  "Right. "Gaffer said. "I hear you're a good missileer."

  "Well, you know what they say: You're only as good as your next miss."

  "Yeah, that's the truth, "Gaffer said. "Anyway, I hear one of Red Eye's privates is very excited to be on the same ship with you. I guess he's working to qualify as a naval gunnery spec."

  "Who's that? "Drop Kick asked. "Badger?"

  "Right, the Sea Gypsy."

  In later days, Coeur would remember the raised brow that Drop Kick exhibited at that comment On Aubaine, the progressive capital of the Coalition and leader of the Assembly's Federalist faction, there was nevertheless an old tinge of prejudice against the Tifelati, or Sea Gypsies—an itinerant culture of the southern hemisphere historically associated with banditry and mischief. To Coeur, a resident of Aubaine for only three years, and Snapshot, there for even less, the term"Sea Gypsy" was only a colorful local term. To Drop Kick, however, It was a term loaded with venom and a hint of an unexpected aspect of Gaffer's character.

  "I had no idea I was so famous, "Snapshot said.

  "He probably heard about you from one of his instructors, "Gaffer suggested.

  "Well, there's usually time for drill in jump space, "Snapshot said. "Maybe we can get in some time on the simulator program."

  "I'm sure we can set that up, "Drop Kick said.

  Gaffer didn't comment on this, however, for his attention had suddenly shifted to a new focus—scrutiny of Snapshot's pale, freckled face.

  "Gaffer? "Snapshot asked.

  "Oh, excuse me. I was just noticing how different you look. Are you from Brusman or Trantown originally?"

  Surprised, Snapshot shot a glance at Drop Kick.

  "Didn't you tell the sergeant where I was from?"

  "No, "Drop Kick said, shrugging. "Didn't figure it was important"

  "So where are you from? "Gaffer asked.

  "I'm not from Aubaine, "Snapshot said; "I was born on Oriflamme."

  "Oh, "Gaffer said, appearing disappointed.

  "What? Do you have a problem with that?"

  "Yeah, "Drop Kick said, "do you have a problem with that?"

  "No, no, "Gaffer said, sensing that Drop Kick's indignation represented Coeur as well. "I don't have anything against Flamers—or I mean Oriflammen—personally. It's just the planet I don’t care for."

  "Really, "Coeur said.

  "Any particular reason for that? "Snapshot asked.

  "Well, nothing worth fighting over. I just happen to think your planet is a threat to the stability of the Coalition."

  At this, blood drained from Snapshot's already pale face, and her hands clenched into lists, an ominous warning to Coeur that the touchy gunner was anticipating an escalation of rhetoric.

  "Like how? "Snapshot asked.

  "Well, for one thing, like trying to use your army to build your own private empire on the Back Face."

  "Yeah, well, at least my planet didn’t conveniently give citizenship to the Schalli so it could have extra seats in the Assembly."

  "Whoa—hold on, "Coeur said, stepping between Snapshot and Gaffer. "I think you two had better just table this discussion right now."

  "Why? "Gaffer asked. "Don't you believe in freedom of speech?"

  "Not if you're going to use it to argue about politics. If you've got trouble with that, you can get off my ship right now."

  Though they were both still glaring at each other, Gaffer and Snapshot nodded assent.

  "Understood, sir, "Gaffer said. "It won't happen again."

  "Yes, sir, "Snapshot seconded.

  "Good. Drop Kick, why don't we take the lift up to the loft and leave Snapshot to her business."

  "Yes, I think that would be prudent."

  Coeur, Drop Kick and Gaffer then stepped into the lift cab at the rear of the lounge, and the closing of the lift doors behind them temporarily defused the awkward situation.

  "Captain, "Gaffer said, stopping Coeur before she could palm the up button, "I'd like to offer my apology for that display. Back on Nicosia, we had some Oriflammen who weren't what you'd call 'team players.' "It seems like an attitude they're prone to."

 

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