Defiant

19

Kris knew from her history books that attacks in the ancient world…twentieth century and earlier…were sometimes delayed for hours. She'd seen vids where actors had done a good job of showing the conflicted nature of officers and men…wanting to go forward and fight…afraid to go forward and die.

Kris and her crews may or may not have felt conflicted about their future, but delay was not an option. Orbital mechanics swung the battleships at High Wardhaven. Similar mechanics swung Kris's task force up from Wardhaven at them. Only a slight braking maneuver would send Horatio slicing down at them.

It was time.

''Sailors, my clock says we got five minutes,'' Kris said. ''Chief, you got another one of those drinks for us?''

''I just might,'' he said, heading aft.

''Strange,'' Penny said, ''I downed two of those and don't feel any urge to run for the head.''

''We sweated it out,'' Kris said. Her own shipsuit was dark with dried perspiration, but either the life support system was working overtime or they all stank so much it was past notice. Strange what mattered at a time like this.

The Chief glided through, tossing liter bottles. ''Last communion,'' he said with a smile.

Tom caught the first one and raised it in salute. ''As he died to make us holy. Now we fight to keep us free.''

Kris sipped her fortified water slowly, savoring the taste. Maybe she was just enjoying the comfort of sharing it with the others on the bridge. Last communion. Maybe the Chief had hit something solid there. He passed through again, collecting the empties. Tom turned to face his board, eyed the battle forming up in front of him … and crossed himself. ''Into thy hands, Father, I commend my spirit,'' he said softly.

Behind Kris, Penny was whispering the Twenty-third Psalm, ''…though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil…'' came a bit louder than the rest. Beside Kris, Fintch was saying her Hail Mary over and over, as fast as she could get the words out.

Kris swallowed hard. All her life, Father had taken his family to church every Sunday. It was a photo op that was not to be missed. But that photo op wasn't the comfort to Kris just now that faith was to those around her. When this was over, Kris intended to spend some time with Tom and Penny, seeing what it was that made them want a priest and a minister at their wedding, a prayer on their lips just now.

But just now, orbital dynamics ruled their lives. Kris mashed her commlink. ''This is Light Brigade. Squadron 8 will be approaching the one hundred K boundary in sixty seconds. Custer, you ready for your last stand?''

''Actually,'' van Horn said, ''I was thinking of setting up a lemonade stand and seeing if I could make a long-term go of it.''

''You sure couldn't make a joke of it,'' Sandy replied.

''Y'all both better be awful glad the Navy's keeping you in ah day job,'' Luna drawled. ''Thousands ah out ah work comics and ya have ta try ya hand at it.''

''Thirty seconds until we start the attack. Rockets on their way,'' van Horn reported.

''All right crews,'' Kris began, ''every one of you is a volunteer. You knew coming into this that we were a pretty puny David and that those battlewagons were Goliath on steroids. Two of our fast patrol boats have shown that we can burn a battleship. But burning one doesn't come cheap.

''This time, we close with them. This time, we aim for the whites of their eyes. Hold your fire until they open up a gun turret to fire, then laser the turret while it's open. Their engines are vulnerable. They'll try to turn them away from you, so pair up with another, form threes and fours, and go for a battlewagon from every direction. They can't keep their stern turned away from all of you.''

''You got that right.'' Luna said.

''And jink. Never go in a straight line for more than a second or two. You got to keep dodging constantly. Custer's gonna burn a lot more of their 5-inchers. We're going to take out more of them, but there's still going to be a hell of a lot of lasers coming at us.''

''Dance, baby, dance, like you never done danced before,'' was Luna's answer to that.

''For our freedom. For your families. For Wardhaven. For Princess Kris. Let's go,'' Luna shouted back. A second later, that was what echoed on net.

The 109 and twenty-one other boats crossed into 18-inch laser range. Above Kris, nineteen other boats followed the Halsey down into the danger zone. As they had before, they jinked up and down, right and left. For their very lives, they sped up and slowed down to no discernable pattern.

And the 18-inch lasers reached out for them.

''Admiral, Defense Central wants to know if you wish to change their priorities, sir,'' the Duty Lieutenant reported.

''I bet they do,'' the Admiral growled, but low. The standard doctrine called for the 18-inchers to take on anything within range for as long as they were in range. But the standard doctrine was developed by some dunderhead blissfully ignorant of the heat put out by the Whistler & Hardcastle, Limited, lasers provided to the fleet.

The Admiral was all too familiar with their heat problem.

He leaned into the spin of the Revenge. The 18-inchers would fill up the heat sinks quickly. Then, when the 5-inchers started their rapid fire, they'd lose efficiency very quickly.

What were the chances of winging one of those dancing hummingbirds with an 18-inch laser at 80, 90 K? What were the chances of taking them out at 30, 40 K with rapid 5-inch fire?

Certainly the main battery had contributed nothing the last time they'd tackled the fast patrol boats.

''Hold main battery fire.''

''Hold main battery fire, aye, sir,'' the Duty Lieutenant repeated. ''Defense Central has checked main battery fire.''

''What!'' the future governor of Wardhaven squawked. ''You have them in your sights. Smash them.''

''I will not waste my heat budget at this range. Governor, I promise not to tell you how to rape, pillage, and ravage unarmed civilians. Please don't jiggle my elbow while I'm handling the armed ones.''

''1 could have you relieved of your command.''

''But right now might not be the best time to do it.''

''Admiral, intel has cracked one of the transmissions from the Wardhaven fleet attacking us, sir. Some of the tugs do not have the strongest ciphers, and they are talking.''

''And what are they saying?''

''They appear to be cheering Princess Kristine Longknife, sir. Intel thinks she may be the one leading the attack on us.''

''That's impossible,'' the future governor huffed. ''She was relieved of her command. She's disgraced.''

''Maybe not as disgraced as someone had thought,'' the Chief of Staff muttered into his hand.

''So I face the little girl Longknife,'' the Admiral said thoughtfully. ''Not bad. Not bad at all. Should I say, for a girl, Governor? For a girl who was relieved of her command? Sent home in disgrace to what, knit baby things? What did she have to draw on? A destroyer and a relic … and a dozen mosquitoes that were supposed to be demilitarized and put up for sale,'' the Admiral said, slamming his fist down on his board.

''And what, little girl, have you baked up for your Uncle Ralf? Freighters loaded with rockets. Yachts loaded with what I can only guess. So, little girl Longknife stands up and says she will fight me, and suddenly my battleships are facing not the fourteen we were told we might, but forty plus hulls charging hell for leather at us. Plus wave after wave of missiles intel never expected to see supporting a Navy attack.'' The Admiral shook his head and eyed his political master. Maskalyne's mouth hung open. Maybe it was the spin. Most likely it was the shock of seeing a Longknife held in respect.

''Mr. Governor, I wish I had half of what that little girl has. Here,'' he stabbed a finger at his head. ''And here,'' now he stabbed at his heart. ''Yes, I will defeat her because of what I have here.'' He stabbed at the dots on the battle board showing his ships. ''But it would be nice to go into battle just once with people like she has racing to answer her call.''

''Admiral, I should relieve you where you sit,'' the future governor snapped.

''But you won't, because I have a battle to win. Now, if you will please remain quiet, I must see about winning it.''

Flag plot fell quiet. The first wave of incoming missiles began to strike.

''They have quit firing their big guns,'' Penny said. ''They're still charged, but they aren't firing them.''

''They've even retracted their ranging gear,'' Moose added.

''Hold your Foxers for closer range,'' Kris ordered on net. ''If they aren't firing now, don't waste the decoys.''

The ships still dodged and turned as they closed toward 5-inch range, but it was as if they were charging in slow motion. The 109 pitched and whirled, but the motion this time was almost gentle compared with the brutality of the first charge.

''We want to get within five thousand kilometers of the battleships and stay there,'' Kris reminded folks when a couple of runabouts dashed ahead of the rest. ''Whatever energy you put on now, you'll have to be able to dump then.''

So the boats charged in … slowly.

Squadron 8 still needed to close on the battleships first. Stan had the lead once again. ''Division 1 is going for the second and third ships in line,'' he announced.

''Division 2 will take the last two,'' Kris ordered.

''I guess I get the flagship,'' Babs said.

''You're not alone,'' Sandy said. ''The Halsey wants a big piece of that bastard.'' Now the chatter on net was ships sorting themselves out, pairing up, picking targets. Each battleship got two armed yachts and some runabouts. The Cushing begged off. ''We can't get the old girl above one g, and she's not dodging so well. We'll come in late. Help where we can.''

''We'll save some of the fun for you,'' Kris promised, but suddenly they were in 5-inch range, and the battleships opened up, and there was no time to talk. No time to do much more than hold her guts in and wait for the 109 to do its next erratic tiling.

But there were answers to the battleships. Forward, Kami squeezed off 944s, adding them to the tag end of the cloud of missiles headed for the battle line. The Halsey added her own 5-inchers, taking shots at the flagship's antennas or 5-inch batteries when they popped up to fire at a missile or a boat. The battle was joined. Kris sat tight and watched the range drop from 40,000 to 30,000 to …

''I'm hit,'' came from Andy Gates on the 103

''How bad?'' Stan, his division leader, called back.

''Engine room. Losing power. I'm veering off, but I'll salvo all my missiles first.''

''You do that, Andy. Take care.''

''Hate to leave you folks.''

''Go,'' Stan ordered his division mate.

Andy was lucky; he could limp out of the fight. Kris watched in horror as first one, then another runabout took direct hits and vanished. Kris mashed her commlink. ''Runabouts, your maneuvering jets aren't good enough. Fall back. Slow down. Come in behind the yachts, or you won't come in at all.''

''We can do it,'' one argued. But another one lit up in a pinprick of light, and the others slowed to fall behind the yachts.

Behind Kris, an old tug skipper announced a laser had opened his boat to space. Rather than abandon ship, they'd fight it in their salvage suits. A moment later, a second hit silenced him. Apparently, suited hands were not deft enough to fight a ship. Another tug trailed off to stand by Andy.

Ted Rockefeller's 102 boat took a hit ''they just winged me. We're still good. Besides, if I go, there won't be anyone left to go after that third battlewagon but a couple of Luna's nutty yachtsmen.''

''I heard that,'' Luna said.

''So sue me.'' Ted shot back.

''Maybe I will if you don't get a big enough chunk of that battlewagon.''

''I'll get a hunk of it. You just get yours.''

''Hold your fire.'' Kris reminded them. Her range was down to 20,000 klicks. Over 20 percent of her boats were gone, and she had yet to ding a battleship. What was it going to take?

''Hostiles twenty thousand kilometers and closing.'' the Duty Lieutenant intoned. The Admiral eyed his charts. They'd gotten a bare 20 percent of the attackers. His secondary batteries were tied up with the damn missiles. Dare he let the missiles have a free ride to concentrate on those damn patrol boats and the yachts?

Avenger staggered out of line, plasma blasting from an engine knocked askew by a rocket hit. Damn. They'd designed the battleships to handle big gun fights. Doctrine called for battle lines to turn their vulnerable engines away from laser fire and kinetic weapons. But doctrine was one thing; his orders were what ruled his life. Orders written on the assumption he would not have to fight his way into orbit.

Was it time to tear up his orders and fight this battle the way it needed to be fought? Was there any way he could fight it?

Sending in a battle line unescorted was a gross violation of doctrine. He should have had a squadron of cruisers and two of destroyers. But those were off demonstrating at Boynton because there just wasn't going to be any defenses left around Wardhaven.

Maybe there wouldn't have been, if it wasn't for you, little girl. Damn you Longknifes.

Eighteen thousand kilometers. If he ignored the missiles, they'd rape his sensors, leave him too blind to use his lasers. No, he had to defend against them. So, we fight the missiles, then we fight the patrol boats.

He glanced at his board. His secondary batteries were showing yellow. He was already pumping their coolant into his main belt coils to try to spread the heat, but they were firing so fast that they were heating up far beyond their specs. Well, he was pumping power from four reactors into those secondary batteries. They should be hot; hold out for just a bit more.

He had a major advantage. Pulse lasers were just that. They fired their energy off in one big pulse. Each of those fast patrol boats had four pulses. The yachts had two, maybe one pulse, then they were empty. And he had the armor to take a few pulses. No question about that.

''Lieutenant, advise Central Defense that the tugs are not to be ignored. They recharged the fast patrol boats once. I don't want that happening again.''

''Understood, sir.''

''Do we keep shooting the missiles?'' Saris asked.

''Can't ignore them. If we do, they'll strip us blind and knock our engines to scrap metal. No, we have to keep knocking them down, then take on the ships behind the missiles. First one, then the others. You see something better, say so, and I'm sure our political master will relieve me with a smile,'' the admiral said with a toothy grin for the future governor.

''I see no better way to fight this, sir. We need support. Destroyers, cruisers of our own. We don't have them.''

''My thoughts exactly,'' the Admiral said, eyeing his board. The 5-inchers were yellow and edging into the orange. Not good.

''Penny, Moose, what's happening on those battleships?'' Kris asked as they crossed the 15 K line.

''They're hot and getting hotter,'' Penny said.

''Hot as a two-dollar pistol,'' Moose added. ''They're gonna be slow reloading by the time we get down there among ''em.''

''I like the sound of that,'' Tom said.

''I'm hit. I'm hit,'' the skipper of the 104 boat shouted. ''I'm pulling out.''

''To where?'' Tom asked under his breath. A moment later, his question was answered as a second hit blew the patrol boat into a cloud of expanding gas.

''This close, there's no place to pull out to,'' Penny said.

''The 109 is going in, no matter what,'' Tom growled. ''Dance, baby, dance.'' And the 109 whipped them around as it whirled into another turn. Now they fired Foxers, shooting out iron, aluminum, and white phosphorus a few hundred yards farther along their path, to convince tracking fire control systems that the boat was still on its course for a hair too long … to snap off a 5-inch laser blast at the decoy rather than the boat twisting away.

''Ten K,'' Kris muttered. Only five thousand more kilometers of taking this before they would start hitting back.

''Kris, you were always a better shot than me,'' Tom said, his voice urgent and low. ''You want to take over shooting the 109, or do you think you need to observe and command?''

''It looks like it's every man for himself and the devil's offering no breaks. I don't want to sit here on my thumbs.''

''Kris has weapons. I have the conn,'' Tom announced.

''Sink ‘em all,'' Fintch said.

Kris took in the final situation as they closed, part commander's eye, part gunner. Her Division 2 had so far been lucky; they would hit the last two battleships in line with four fast patrol boats. The other divisions were all short; each battleship would get only one PF. Ungood. The yachts were coming in full strength, two per battleship, but there was hardly a runabout per hostile; they'd paid a high price. The Halsey was bearing down on the flagship with a bone in her teeth. She was also drawing more than her fair share of attention from the flag and the next two battleships in line.

So far, Sandy had been good. Or lucky. Kris prayed that luck would hold.

''Nelly, target the second to the last battleship. Pick two 5-inchers that should be opening up soon and the closest engine. Give each a 10 percent pulse as we cross the five K line.''

''Target laid in.''

Kris passed along what she'd done to the other ships and got ''Aye aye,'' and ''I like that,'' in response.

Everything done, Kris sat at her station. Around her, the 109 dodged and dipped. Kris ignored the now-familiar pounding as her body was slammed against the restraints. In the background the music played softly.

Close your mind to stress and pain

Fight till your no longer sane.

Let not one damn cur pas by

They were coming up on the line as the refrain came on. Around Kris, the bridge crew, the entire crew sang the word: ''How Many of Them Can We Make Die!''

''Fire,'' Kris said softly.

From two dozen ships the pulse lasers reached out toward their tormentors, finally in range. They took on the 5-in lasers, aimed for the vulnerable engines.

For a moment, the five battleships continued along their stately course. Then first one, then another, then all five began to dance off in different directions as the huge rocket bells that powered them, directed them, took hits and twisted in directions not ordered by Captains or navigators.

''Yes!'' Tom shouted beside Kris.

''Don't go celebrating,'' Kris growled. ''I just made the target harder to hit. Damn it all.''

''But we hit it.''

''Yes, we hit it.'' Kris pushed hard on her commlink. ''get in close now. Get in close and get them while they're trying to figure out which end is up.''

''What the hell is going on?'' the future governor of Wardhaven demanded as he was thrown against the restraints on his seat, then thrown half out of his chair.

''We seem to have taken a hit,'' the Admiral muttered.

''They fired off all their pulse lasers at once,'' his Chief of Staff said, ''but they only winged us. We can handle this.''

''But why would they waste a pulse on a 5-inch turret?'' the Admiral mused, flexing his body with the bucking of the Revenge.

''They were desperate?''

''And they are still closing.''

''They can't change course that fast this close?'' the Chief of Staff suggested, but there was little force behind his words.

The Admiral frowned; there was something missing. Something he needed to know but had not been told. Had that Longknife girl pulled another trick out of her bag? The destroyer was commanded by a Santiago. Story was the Longknifes and Santiagos went way back. Let's see what happens if we take a shot at killing that Santiago woman. ''The destroyer withheld its fire. Order Revenge, Retribution, and Retaliation to take it on with 18-inch fire as soon as they can steady on course.''

''Aye, sir,'' said the Duty Lieutenant.

''Close with the battleships,'' Kris ordered. ''You can't do anything against their armor, so don't waste a full pulse unless you can fire right up their stern.''

''Don't fire until you're looking up their kilt at their hairy balls,'' Luna chortled. ''Come on, you damn chunk of ice. Quit jigging around and give me a peek.''

Luna and two of her friends now hounded the third battleship in line; Kris kept an eye on the fourth one as Tom danced around it. His efforts to find a way in were hampered by the evasive program that seemed to only let them take one step closer before they dodged and dipped two steps back. But the evasion overrides kept the 5-inchers missing. That was the choice: stay in position for a good shot, or stay alive. No good options.

''Kris, the main battery on the battleships are activating.'' ''What could they be aiming for?'' she asked no one. ''One just fired,'' Penny said. ''It went for the Halsey!'' ''Nelly, look for 18-inch turrets opening on the battleship. Give it a 20 percent pulse.''

''Our battleship's not firing. It's the one up the line.'' ''Change target,'' Kris ordered even as Nelly was saying, ''Changing target,'' and ''Firing Laser One. 20 percent.'' ''Tell me how we did, Penny, Moose.''

''Looks like you got that turret,'' Moose said. ''Bad things are going on inside that ship. Really bad things.''

Captain Luna was getting tired of this June-bugging around. She danced, her battleship did a jig right with her. Nobody stepped on anybody's toes. This was getting boring.

But the next battleship down, the one that belonged to Princess Kris, was not paying all that much attention to what went on around the next boat up. Paying real close attention to what Kris and those with her were doing, but not that much to what the boats hounding its buddy did.

''Seeing how the princess just poached on our boat.'' Luna muttered; she hit the override, squelching evasion, and swung her boat around just as that battleship presented her stern quarter.

Luna mashed the Fire button, sending twin 12-inch lasers up the rear of her target. For a second nothing happened. She frowned.

Beneath her, her boat bucked as a 5-inch laser cut into it. ''Damn,'' Luna growled has she twisted the stick for evasion… nothing happened.

''Looks like we bought it, folks,'' Luna ordered. ''Time to go,'' she said, reaching for the handle on her high-g station that would turn it into a life pod for a few hours.

But her boat still had power, and before it failed, she saw the most lovely sight as her target started to bubble, first at its stern, then amidships, holes opening in its ice as plasma shot out from reactors no longer contained.

''We done did it.'' Luna smiled. Then a 5-inch laser cut through her bridge.

''There she goes,'' Tom said. ''Luna got her.''

''And they got Luna,'' Penny reported.

''Let's get that one,'' Kris said, switching targets to the next battleship up the line.

''We just got dinged,'' Tom reported. ''Nothing we can't handle, but those damn 5-inchers are a pain.''

''Nelly, take out a few secondaries on this one. 10 percent shots if you see a chance.''

''Will do.''

''Let me know if any more of those main turrets are powering up. How's the Halsey doing?''

''Not so good,'' Penny reported.

''Engineering, what can you give me?'' Sandy asked.

''Not much, Skipper. They got our main feed line. I'm sucking reaction mass from the secondary line, and not much of it. 15 percent at max, ma'am.''

''XO, you have the conn. Use what we've got to evade.''

''Aye, ma'am.''

''In a moment, I'm gonna ask you to hold her steady. You ready to do that?''

''If you're finally gonna off-load our pulse lasers at that bastard, you bet, ma'am,'' came back cheerfully.

''Sensors, talk to me. How's the flag doing at recharging his main battery?''

''They ought to be coming up real soon now.''

''Pulse, you got a bead on them?''

''Dialed in, ma'am. At least, as dialed in as I can with us doing all this bouncing.''

''Hold your horses. I'm about to give you a steady shot. You better make it worth our while.'' It would be a him and us situation. The Halsey would get one good shot at him. He would also get one good shot.

''We'll make him regret he ever came here, ma'am. Ever thought the Halsey would be a pushover.''

''Make us proud.''

''They're charged, ma'am.''

''XO, one more dodge, then launch Foxers and hold steady.''

''Bouncing now, ma'am. Steady now.''

''Fire.''

''All pulse lasers firing, ma'am.''

The lights went dark in the Halsey's CIC. ''We're hit aft, ma'am. Engine room's offline. Hit forward, ma'am. Bridge is offline. So are lasers.''

Then a laser cut through the CIC, and Sandy had just enough time to reach for the activation handle on her survival pod.

''The Halsey's off net, Kris,'' Penny said softly.

''But they got the flag. It's really cooking,'' Tom reported.

Two more 18-inch turrets had taken hits while they were open, aiming for the Halsey. The battleship beside them was sparking into space. One of the yachts, freed from chasing the ship Luna had nailed, cut in to slice off two engines. Raw plasma shot into space… and for that moment, as the ship slowed in its evasions, Phil ducked the 106 boat in for a solid shot up its stern. He got it, but the next warship in line got a shot at Phil, and his boat shot away, out of control and spewing life pods as its plasma slowly ate it from the rear.

It was a mêlée of the worst order, with small boats going at the large ships like dogs against bears. The bears were hurting, three of the battleships were now vapor, but there were oh so many dogs down, too. ''Tom, we've got to get the flag.''

''I hear you. Fintch, move us up the line.''

They danced into the fight around the middle surviving ship, dodged several shots from its 5-inchers, took out a turret that offered them a shot, and wound themselves into the battle royal around the flag just as the survivors of Kris's old Division 2 blew out the last battleship in line.

It cost them. Only one, the 108 boat, was still in good shape … and it was about drained dry. ''Rendezvous with a tug that's close at hand if you can,'' Kris ordered. ''Recharge.''

''Kind of makes them a target,'' Tom said

''It's up to the rest of you to keep that other battlewagon too busy to bother the 108,'' Kris said.

They piled in, but one yacht was immediately shot out, and the last runabout died as well. Still, the other hung at it's neck, dogs gnawing at a bleeding bear. The bears were dying, but so many of the dogs were dying with them.

Kris dialed her commlink to a guard channel. ''This is Princess Kristine Longknife, commanding forces defending Wardhaven, calling to those forces that have invaded our orbit and demanded our surrender. You are defeated. Only two of you survive. Are you prepared to surrender?''

''Never,'' the possibly not future governor of Wardhaven said.

''You are still shooting at us,'' the Admiral said, waving the governor to silence. ''Are you offering me a cease-fire?''

''Not unless you dump your reactors to space,'' came right back at him.

''Then how can I leave orbit?'' he said, closed his commlink, and turned to the Duty Lieutenant. ''Track this signal.''

''Your ships are never leaving this orbit. You and your crews can arrange transportation on any number of liners out of here. Certainly the guy who sent you will pay your fare.''

''We have her, sir!''

''Fire.''

''Kris, you've talked long enough to triangulate on.''

''Evade, Nelly,'' Kris ordered. ''Fire at what shoots at us.''

The 109 dropped out from under Kris, all lasers firing, but something was wrong. Even as a cheer went up on net, the hull of the 109 rang like a bell, then groaned as lights flickered.

Tom shouted, ''No!'' as the overhead bent above Kris and bowed. The skipper of the 109 launched himself from his seat. In the failing light, Kris was just able to see him hit the quick release on Penny's seat restraint, knock her from her station as the overhead reached down to meet the deck.

Then power failed, even auxiliary, and Kris was plunged into darkness. Beside her, Fintch gasped in pain. Somewhere others were screaming. And on her face Kris felt the wind of air racing out into the vacuum of space. NELLY, SEAL THE HULL.

KRIS, I CAN ONLY MOVE THIS DUMB METAL ONCE, WHAT IF—

SEAL THE HULL NOW, OR WE'LL ALL BE DEAD.

HULL SEALED.

CAN YOU TURN ON SOME LIGHTS?

THE NET IS DOWN. I COULD ORDER THE RAW MOLECULES OF THE HULL, BUT I CAN NOT TALK TO ANYTHING SMARTER ON THIS TUB. Nelly sounded in a real huff.

Kris felt around. Nothing on her station responded. She reached for Fintch's station; it was knocked sideways. Kris found Fintch's hand; it was slippery. Blood? ''Nelly, I could really use some light. A little hologram, please.''

A tiny ball danced in front of Kris. It gave almost no light, just enough to see a bloodied hand protruding from the wreckage. Kris spotted an emergency light where the bulkhead should have been. It floated free now on wires. Kris had to fight free of her own seat; the release handle was bent double. Out, she worked her way, hand over hand, through the wreckage of the bridge to the unit. Its switch said it was on. She grabbed it by one handle and switched it off, then back on. Nothing. Holding it solidly in one hand, she hit it hard with the other.

She was blinded as the light came on.

Blinking, Kris looked around. The 109 must have been hit and folded double somewhere between the bridge and her weapons bay. Kris ignored the hanging gear and wires and looked for people. Penny was pushed up against the hull by the caved-in overhead. Where Penny's station had been, Kris saw … No!

She kicked off from the bulkhead and reached Tom in a second. His lopsided grin was there, but his chest disappeared under piping and power lines that belonged on the overhead, not down, crushing breath from him.

Kris checked for a pulse, for breath. For any sign of life.

Nothing.

''I can't see,'' Penny whimpered softly between chattering teeth. ''Is Tom okay?''

A glance over the wreckage showed Kris where it held Moose. Blood had quit spurting from his throat but hung in strange art about him and the wires of the station he had brought aboard such a short time before. Kris turned to the one person on the bridge who could benefit from first aid.

''Your leg looks broken. Does it hurt?'' she asked Penny.

''I guess it does. I can't move it. I can't move much of anything. Could you move me where I could hold Tom's hand? I can't see him. I can't hear him. Is he hurt bad?''

Kris searched through all her years of glib political chat. ''Tom's not in any pain,'' was what she finally said.

''I'm glad,'' Penny said softly, apparently not surprised at the answer. Then added, ''I wonder why they haven't blown us out of space. Finished us off. They always gave the coup de grâce to the other ships they damaged.''

''I hadn't noticed.''

''I'm intel. I'm supposed to notice things like that.''

''Then maybe we won.'' Kris said.

''I wish winning didn't hurt so much.''

''Is there anyone out there? Anyone who can help us?'' Kris called. No one answered.

A forever time later, with the air tasting stale, there was noise along the outside of the hull. First a scraping, then a drilling. Finally there was fresher air.

And sound. ''PF-109, this is Tug 1040 again. We're gonna put you in a salvage bubble before we try to open any of you up. Hold on tight. Can't be fore than five minutes more. Trust me, the Johanson Brothers Salvagers are top-notch. They'll be with you in no time.''

Kris couldn't get any answer through her dry throat. Past the ache that bound her chest in iron straps. It was as much as she could to lie carefully along Penny's mangled body as close as she dared, sharing what body warmth she could.

Kris tried to avoid the cheerful stare frozen on Tom's face. She had no answer for him any more than she'd been able to find one for poor Eddy. Why are you there… dead? Why am I here … alive?

It had been a while since Penny did anything but shiver.

''Hold on, gal, just a bit more,'' Kris whispered. ''Tom wouldn't want you to give up this close to help. Hold on.''