worse.”
“I hate it when you try to fake it as a seer.”
“Who says I’m faking?”
9
Nelly was not a false prophet. Kris’s day did get worse. With the fleet making only a single gee as it accelerated toward the jump point, Nelly had laid in a course for home that involved one big and one normal jump, so at least it was comfortable.
The message traffic alone could well give Kris an ulcer.
Admiral Yi sent a full report on the battle that in no way jibed with what Kris had seen through the probe. If she was to believe it, the alien warships could now make 3.5 gees, and that was how his fleet had been shot up.
A second report, PRIVATE AND PERSONAL—FOR LONGKNIFE EYES ONLY, arrived from Admiral Bethea. It pretty much verified what Kris herself had watched through the probe. To that, she added that Admiral Yi had sent to the fleet before they jumped into the system that he would fight the battle as he saw fit and not by any plan drawn up far from the fight that was likely obsolete before they jumped in.
He had also informed the fleet that he opposed evasion plans of any kind since they only ruined a frigate’s firing solutions.
Bethea had tight-beamed to her squadrons not to dump their evasion plans. They’d need them quick when the shooting started.
Kris checked on the recording of the battle. Admiral Bethea’s task force had been jinking as they came in range of the hostile. Yi’s task force of Earth frigates had not.
Kris found herself looking forward to a “Come to Jesus” meeting with Yi, as Grampa Trouble would call it. But that, or any other meeting, would have to wait until they got back to Alwa.
Meanwhile, Kris would contemplate the question. Could she relieve an Earth admiral and ship him down to run the bird-guano mine on Alwa?
There were plenty of other matters for Kris’s attention. The crystal armor had not done as well as advertised. She was, however, no expert in warship design. She signed off on a report from the squadron of Earth-designed frigates in her own fleet and made a bet with herself that she’d see nothing of the sort from Yi.
She won.
Nelly was right about the bumps and sprains among some of her fleet. Most were on the ships getting their first taste of battle. They’d learn, and, hopefully, pass the experience on to the next batch of new arrivals.
Kris was going through her reports, signing or initialing as required, when a small delivery robot rolled in and reported it had a package for Abby Nightingale.
Kris signed for it, and Nelly immediately wiped that from its tiny memory. Someone had drawn an empty-headed-looking smile on the thing. It bobbled off, happy as a clam, leaving Kris to meditate on the small package in her hand.
Jack stayed busy during the day; they met for supper. The Princess Royal was back to Condition Able, or as some called it, Love Boat. For the fight, the ship had been small and tight, with as much of the Smart Metal TM as possible shipped out to the hull to form a honeycomb of metal and cooling reactionmass to soften the damage from laser hits. Now, the nice Smart Metal TM had been pulled back into the inside of the ship, allowing for broad passageways, spacious rooms, and a wardroom that could have passed as a fine restaurant on Earth. In place of a few long tables, where everyone sat elbow to elbow, the room was populated with tables for two or four, and couples were dining by candlelight, or at least a very good imitation.
“Did you do this?” Kris asked Jack.
“The President of the Mess made the call though I will admit to suggesting something like it. We faced death and smelled its stinking breath. After something like that, people need to celebrate life.”
That was one of the reasons Kris had chosen to loosen theregs on fraternization aboard ship. Some brilliant person back in human space had shipped a lot of young people off to the other side of the galaxy. They’d been chosen for their flexibility when ships started hard
“I hate it when you try to fake it as a seer.”
“Who says I’m faking?”
9
Nelly was not a false prophet. Kris’s day did get worse. With the fleet making only a single gee as it accelerated toward the jump point, Nelly had laid in a course for home that involved one big and one normal jump, so at least it was comfortable.
The message traffic alone could well give Kris an ulcer.
Admiral Yi sent a full report on the battle that in no way jibed with what Kris had seen through the probe. If she was to believe it, the alien warships could now make 3.5 gees, and that was how his fleet had been shot up.
A second report, PRIVATE AND PERSONAL—FOR LONGKNIFE EYES ONLY, arrived from Admiral Bethea. It pretty much verified what Kris herself had watched through the probe. To that, she added that Admiral Yi had sent to the fleet before they jumped into the system that he would fight the battle as he saw fit and not by any plan drawn up far from the fight that was likely obsolete before they jumped in.
He had also informed the fleet that he opposed evasion plans of any kind since they only ruined a frigate’s firing solutions.
Bethea had tight-beamed to her squadrons not to dump their evasion plans. They’d need them quick when the shooting started.
Kris checked on the recording of the battle. Admiral Bethea’s task force had been jinking as they came in range of the hostile. Yi’s task force of Earth frigates had not.
Kris found herself looking forward to a “Come to Jesus” meeting with Yi, as Grampa Trouble would call it. But that, or any other meeting, would have to wait until they got back to Alwa.
Meanwhile, Kris would contemplate the question. Could she relieve an Earth admiral and ship him down to run the bird-guano mine on Alwa?
There were plenty of other matters for Kris’s attention. The crystal armor had not done as well as advertised. She was, however, no expert in warship design. She signed off on a report from the squadron of Earth-designed frigates in her own fleet and made a bet with herself that she’d see nothing of the sort from Yi.
She won.
Nelly was right about the bumps and sprains among some of her fleet. Most were on the ships getting their first taste of battle. They’d learn, and, hopefully, pass the experience on to the next batch of new arrivals.
Kris was going through her reports, signing or initialing as required, when a small delivery robot rolled in and reported it had a package for Abby Nightingale.
Kris signed for it, and Nelly immediately wiped that from its tiny memory. Someone had drawn an empty-headed-looking smile on the thing. It bobbled off, happy as a clam, leaving Kris to meditate on the small package in her hand.
Jack stayed busy during the day; they met for supper. The Princess Royal was back to Condition Able, or as some called it, Love Boat. For the fight, the ship had been small and tight, with as much of the Smart Metal TM as possible shipped out to the hull to form a honeycomb of metal and cooling reactionmass to soften the damage from laser hits. Now, the nice Smart Metal TM had been pulled back into the inside of the ship, allowing for broad passageways, spacious rooms, and a wardroom that could have passed as a fine restaurant on Earth. In place of a few long tables, where everyone sat elbow to elbow, the room was populated with tables for two or four, and couples were dining by candlelight, or at least a very good imitation.
“Did you do this?” Kris asked Jack.
“The President of the Mess made the call though I will admit to suggesting something like it. We faced death and smelled its stinking breath. After something like that, people need to celebrate life.”
That was one of the reasons Kris had chosen to loosen theregs on fraternization aboard ship. Some brilliant person back in human space had shipped a lot of young people off to the other side of the galaxy. They’d been chosen for their flexibility when ships started hard
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