“Battle plans!” a burly crewman exclaimed loudly.
“And what battle’s that?” Killeen countered quietly.
“Why, ’gainst that mechplex,” the man said. Several grunts of agreement came from the knot.
“You sure it’s a mechplex?” Killeen asked mildly.
“What else’s it?” a deckwoman demanded.
Killeen shrugged, eyeing them closely. They seemed worked up by the prospect of an attack, faces pinched and drawn. “We’ll see.”
“Can’t be anythin’ but human or mech,” Jocelyn said, “and it’s sure as hell not human.”
“We’ll attack no mechplex without getting its measure first,” Killeen said.
“Surprise it!” the burly man said hoarsely. Killeen suspected the man had been drinking something beyond flavored water. Indeed, in several faces here there was a glow, a certain careless droop of lip and eye, that told him much. A clear violation of regs. But he reckoned that this was not the best moment to challenge them. Something more was going on and he needed to find out what.
“Coming at it from an empty sky—that’s a surprise?” He chuckled.
“We killed the mechs aboard here!” the man countered.
“We had real surprise then. They weren’t ready for an assault at liftoff. We had that one chance, sweep the ship clean, and we took it.” Killeen shook his head. “Won’t get that chance again.”
This seemed to silence most of them; there had been restless mutterings around the circle for the last few moments. Killeen still could not see where these ideas had come from. For some time now he had watched the Family acquire the usual bad habits of an outdoor folk forced to live too long in cramped quarters: drinking, stimwires, gambling, random pointless quarrels.
Beyond those infractions, which he could deal with in the usual ways, there had gradually risen a harder problem. They regaled one another with gaudy tales of past battles, grand adventures bloated beyond recognition. Killeen himself could recall all too clearly those years spent on the run across Snowglade—his frequent chilling fear, the sickening indecision, the many scrambling retreats from humbling defeats. Now, as the tales had it, everyone (but usually most notably the narrator) had been valiant, savvy, quick, and steadfast, a dreaded scourge of mechs.
But there was something more than empty bravado here. He watched the snapping flames, smoke licking at his eyes with a sting he almost welcomed. The sooty tang brought forth innumerable memories of hard nights spent peering dejectedly into guttering campfires, fearing every odd sound that came ringing out of the darkness. The corncobs gave off a sweeter taste than the bite of woodsmoke, but the gathering pall did encase this nook in a comforting blue fog, a momentary signature of their mutual dependence.
He felt a restive mood building and kept his silence, letting it grow. Finally Jocelyn edgily broke the silence with, “Near as I ’member, Fanny said that we should never leave a mechplex at our back when we’re advancin’.”
Heads nodded all around the circle. Killeen sipped thick apricot nectar to cover his surprise. So it was Jocelyn talking up these ideas, harking back to the old Cap’n, Fanny. Though Fanny had been dead years now, cut down back on Snowglade by the Mantis, she still exerted a profound influence in the Family. Killeen himself had respected and loved her beyond saying. Innumerable times, during their long voyage, he had asked himself, What would Fanny do now? and the answer had guided him.
But this was different. Jocelyn was using Fanny’s legend to sow trouble among the crew.
“She also said, don’t take on enemies you don’t need.” Killeen looked deliberately around, locking eyes with each of the crew in turn. “And ’specially when they’re bigger’n you.”
Some murmuring agreement welcomed this. Jocelyn didn’t look directly at Killeen, but said, “If we can’t take a station, how’ll we do with that whole damn planet?”
Killeen knew he had to be careful here. There was a tense expectation in the air, as if Jocelyn had summed up what they all felt. This was a Family talk, and she had kept it just beyond the strictures of ship discipline. He could cut off Jocelyn right now, show his anger, but that would leave unanswered questions, and irritations among the crew. He decided to not invoke his rank. Instead, he laughed.
Jocelyn had not expected that. His dry chuckle startled her.
Then he said with a halfsmile, “That’s your killer-Aspect talkin’ again, right?” He turned to the rest. “Jocelyn now, she’s loaded in five new Aspect chips in just the last year. One’s a Cap’n who specialized in leadin’ charges ’gainst the mechs—just ’bout the only maneuver he knew, I’d guess, ’cause he sure didn’t live long. That Aspect gives great advice, he does—only it’s always the same.”
Several around the circle smiled. Granted, the Family would never have survived this voyage without the Aspects’ vast hoard of advice on the ancient human tech which had built the Argo. But their hovering presences perpetually yearned to be tapped more fully into their host’s sensory net, to gobble hungrily of the very air and zest that life brought. Aspects could never be truly content. They came from many eras and their advice often conflicted. Occasionally one dominated its host’s thinking. Letting an Aspect get out of control was humiliating.
Muscles bunched in Jocelyn’s long jaw. “I speak for myself, not for some dusty Aspect,” she spat out.
“Then you should avoid fights when you can.” Killeen kept his voice wry and friendly.
She said sharply, “Like this one?”
So she had gotten the hint and still chose to make this public. Very well. “Now that you mention it…”
“Some of us think Family honor demands—”
“Honor’s the first thing that falls on a battlefield,” Killeen said dryly.
He immediately regretted having interrupted her, because Jocelyn’s eyes narrowed angrily. “We should take that mechplex ’fore it attacks us.”
“Our target’s a world, not a tin box in space,” Killeen said easily. He knew he would come out ahead if he let her lose her temper.
“With that in our hands, we can control what reaches the surface!” she said excitedly.
“And alert whatever’s on the surface before we can land the Argo,” he said.
“Well, Fanny would never—”
“Lieutenant Jocelyn, belay that Fanny stuff. I’m Cap’n now.”
She looked startled. He had always thought that she was best at following a planned tactic. She fumbled when time came for fast footwork and a shift of attack. “Uh, aye-aye, but—”
“And I say we’re going straight in. Got that? We’ll skip the station.”
“Damnall, that station’ll give us—”
—Cap’n!—
