''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.''
20
Kris lay facedown on her bed, listening to her breathing, the beating of her heart, the crinkling of her dress whites. Listening for anything…doing nothing.
The back of her ribbons bit into her flesh, but that sharp prickle was almost a friend. Not at all like the dry hurting that ate big chunks out of her heart and would not go away.
Tom's funeral had been beautiful.
Kris had never attended a Catholic funeral. Father didn't feel they were a good family photo op, so Kris had been spared the empty political eulogies. In something both poetic and ugly, the young priest who'd come all the way from Santa Maria for Tom's wedding was there to say his funeral Mass. No. The priest had been quick to point out this was a Mass of the Resurrection, a celebration of Tom's life and all their hope for the life to come. That was when Penny lost it.
Penny had struggled so hard to be the solid Navy widow, stiff upper lip and all, but the promise of life to come and the way the woman priest included Penny's own minister in this Celebration of Hope was too much. Maybe it would have been different if Penny's sight was still gone, but it was back, and the day was spring beautiful, the sky that horribly deep blue that seems to go on so far that you can almost see heaven. And fluffy white clouds, perfect for the angels themselves to perch on. And the saints, too, said the priest in her Irish brogue.
And someone found a piper to play ''Amazing Grace'' and ''You'll No Come Home Again.'' And a bugler played taps.
And everyone cried. Everyone but Kris.
She stood, dry-eyed through it all, a good Longknife, watching yet another brave soldier who'd died for the Longknife legend go down into the grave. How many had Grampa Ray buried? Grampa Trouble? How many more would Kris bury if she followed the family trade? She dared not let herself feel for every one of them. Cry for every one of them. There'd be nothing left of herself if she did. Maybe she'd risk crying in private.
Only now she was alone, and her eyes were no more damp than a desert. It wasn't that she didn't feel. Good God, the pain in her chest was almost unbearable. But of tears—nothing.
''You in there, Kris?'' Jack called from the door.
''Go away.''
''Thought I'd find you here. You voted yet?''
''No, and I don't intend to.''
''Your dad won't be too happy about that.''
''He can win or lose without me. He better.''
There was a jiggling of the door handle. ''Door's locked.''
''I like it that way.''
''Nelly, would you please unlock the door?''
''Yes, Jack.''
''No, Nelly,'' but Jack had the door open already.
''Sorry, Kris.'' The door clicked back to locked.