1
Lieutenant Commander Kris Longknife fought the shot-up controls of the Greenfeld Ground Assault Craft. It seemed bent on smashing itself into the rocky ground below. She would much rather stay in the air, putting more miles between her and the whoever it was who’d put so many holes so quickly in her borrowed air vehicle.
“Jack, get me some more controls.”
“I’ve already flipped on the backup stabilization and directional controls, Kris.”
“Then find the backup to the backup!”
“I don’t think Greenfeld puts more than one in any craft.”
“What kind of cheapskate, death-happy crazies only put one backup system in a fighting vehicle?” cried Nelly, Kris’s personal computer and no help at the moment.
“Our newest ally,” Jack muttered.
The air vehicle fought Kris, flipping right, then left, but it put more rock-strewn ground between Kris and the apparent mining concern that had been the target of what was supposed to be a quick snatch-and-grab raid.
“Where did all that firepower come from?” Kris asked no one in particular.
“I think who- or whatever we’re dealing with is very, very trigger-happy. And really paranoid, to boot,” Jack answered.
“You can say that again,” Nelly said.
A flash came from behind Kris. Her air rig chose to zig at that moment, giving her a fairly good view out of the left corner of her eye at the target they were now fleeing. A laser beam winked out, to be replaced by several more.
“Oh, oh,” Kris muttered. “Admiral Krätz just got tired of messing with the problem and lased it from orbit.”
“God help us,” Jack said. And very likely meant it for a prayer. The shock waves coming off the target were only seconds away from ripping their damaged ride to pieces.
“There’s a swamp up ahead,” Nelly said.
“I see it,” Kris said. “I’m aiming for it.” As much as she could aim that riddled bucket of lowest-bid bolts.
She managed to pancake the craft into what looked like the softest mud bank in sight. They bounced, settled again, slid for a bit, then slowly turned sideways.
Then the shock wave from 18-inch lasers pommeling a mine head hit them.
The Greenfeld assault boat flipped and lost its stubby wings as it rolled and started coming apart.
As the cockpit was ripped from the rest of the craft, Kris grayed out but fought not to lose consciousness. As she struggled to avoid the looming darkness, one question kept running over and over in her mind.
What am I doing here? What am I doing here?
Then she remembered.
Oh, right, I insisted on being here.