Intrepid

''I figured as much, sir. Down here, north of Bluebird Landing, there's a lot of activity. Radar reflections, hot spots that weren't there last orbit. More electronic background noise than ever before. Something is on the move.''

Thorpe pursed his lips. ''So the natives are finally getting restless, or … or my apprentice has scattered her forces all to hell and gone. I thought she was smarter than that.''

Thorpe tapped his commlink. ''Hernando, what do you make of this?''

''Your apprentice should have paid more attention when she sat at your feet, William.''

''Has she scattered her forces so widely? Or is this all a ruse?'' Thorpe asked, thoughtfully.

''No question she landed up north, the smoke from her burned boats tells us that for sure. Hah, she sank her boats. I told you we should have sent off that scow you lugged us out here on. Even some of my staff spend half their time looking over their shoulder, checking to make sure they can still run for it.''

''I couldn't send it away because our investors want an immediate return on their money. We're supposed to stuff it full of gold and wine and other good stuff and send it to them.''

''Wine! You haven't tasted what passes for beer down here, have you? We ought to send them a boatload of that swill.''

''We'll discuss our investors when we have something solidly in our hands,'' Thorpe said darkly. ''What is your situation?''

''Murky, as it has been since we landed. Either she has somehow managed to talk with some of the locals and got them out scrambling our picture, or she's scattered some kind of force between me and where she made her main landing. Maybe a little of both. I've got a company of reinforcements coming upriver from Friendly Landing to reinforce Bluebird Landing. I've already sent off a platoon from Bluebird to do a search-and-destroy sweep along the main road between here and up north.

''Oh, and the local rolling stock. I don't know how they keep those trucks moving, but half of them are broken-down at any one time, and the other half aren't all that lively.''

''Get the impression that our financiers' expectation of this place might have been a bit high,'' Thorpe said, eyeing Whitebred, who was drifting in the bridge's hatchway.

The moneyman didn't enter the bridge but went elsewhere.

''Hernando, you see anything worth wasting a laser on?''

''Not a thing. But that was a brilliant shot you took last time. Gave us our first hard datum that she'd landed.''

''Glad you don't need a shot. It would be only low power. In orbit, it takes hours to recharge one eighteen-incher.''

''Whoever you face was stupid, not to attack you as soon as you fired.''

''Longknife is not stupid,'' Thorpe growled. ''Do not underestimate her.''

''Yes, but who is pushing that ship up in orbit, assuming your wandering girl is down here, getting ready to play patty-cake with her uncle Hernando. I know what kind of ship captain I'm working with. How good a one did she hire? How good a one is willing to work with her after what she did to you?''

''Interesting question. And it could just mean he didn't learn about my shot until he got horizon up next orbit.''

''I didn't catch any tight-beam chatter from them.''

''So we're all reduced to tight-beam or hollering.''

''I am, but man, I have the lungs for shouting.''

''Enough joking. You know what we can see from up here. I approve of your movement to contact. Take extreme care. We can't be too sure what she actually has in front of you.''

''I will take care, Capitan. You do the same. And I will bring you the head of Princess Charmer.''

''Out,'' Thorpe said.

He leaned back in his chair and studied the screen and what his sensor team had put up. It was a hazy collection of question marks, maybes, and possibilities. Was this what the ancients called the fog of war?

If you ask me, it's no way for professionals to fight, Thorpe concluded. Still, it was the fight he had. Damn the civilians for digging around like moles. Animals! If it had been up to Thorpe, he would have turned their little hiding holes into their graves. But the investors wanted a return on their money. Whitebred was always whining about that. Thorpe didn't care. Thorpe was a warrior. He wanted a warrior to fight.

This Kris Longknife claimed a warrior's name. And she had certainly shown some talent at it if you believed half of what the media reported.

Thorpe dismissed most of what he heard on the news. The wealthy and powerful owned the airwaves and put on whatever they wanted the rest of humanity to think. If it puffed up the Longknifes to think they'd spawned another war hero from their weak bloodline, they knew whom to pay to write the stories.

No, Thorpe would enjoy testing this Longknife brat. She'd been a half-decent boot ensign once upon a time. Let's see how long you survive when I know you are coming.

19