The anger she'd been suppressing edged up her throat and into her

voice. "Too bad," she heard herself say. "We're here for a funeral

dinner, and that's what we're going to have. Sit someplace else."

"You stupid bitch!" The man behind her yanked her chair back with her in it, and grabbed the front of her uniform, lifting her upright.

She could smell the liquor on his breath; this wasn't the first bar he'd visited that shift. "You think because you're a damned officer you can come in and give orders to people who aren't even your own crew-" His huge fist was drawn back, ready to pulp her face.

The anger surged through her, banishing any fear. Before he finished the speech she had slammed one hand into his throat, ducked away from the possible blow, and in the same movement put a knee where it could do the most good. He gasped, lost his grip, and she hit the floor, balanced and ready to spring back into action.

She had wanted to hit someone for so long-a second man tried to grab her from behind; she rolled with the pull, cracking his shin with a heel and breaking another's nose on the way past, just on spec.

"Ky, be care-" Quincy's voice, now chopped off as the men tried to keep her crew from helping her. Ky reached over someone's shoulder for a bowl of hot bayhopper goulash and flung it in the

face of the man who had just pulled a knife, parrying his suddenly blind stab with the dish itself. She heard and felt her crew scrambling to get out of their chairs, heard the gasps and grunts and curses as the fight spread. As she'd discovered in contact games, she could be aware of the whole tangle of motion and for once she didn't have to stick to any rules... She punched, rolled, kicked, spun, each time enjoying the solid thwack as her strike hit home. Some of her crew-Beeah not surprisingly, and Lee, and Quincy-turned out to be good at this, too. The others dove beneath the table.

The man who'd first grabbed her was back in play now, swinging one of the chairs-steel and plastic, not a storycube prop. Ky grabbed one for herself, and they clashed the legs, glaring at each other. If only she had a spear or something-no that was fictional. Then he pulled out something that looked like a cleaver on steroids. Where had he hidden that from station security? It whined through the air, and a leg of her chair hung from a ragged edge. Whatever it was would cut steel... He grinned.

"You'll pay for that," he said.

"I doubt it," Ky said. She had no idea what to do to counter his attack, but she wasn't going to go down without a fight.

At that moment, six bodies in military uniform entered the fray as a

unit, just in Ky's peripheral vision on the right.

"Advance," said a dry voice that Ky almost recognized.

The man lunged at her again, his weapon slashing at another of the

chair legs. Ky squatted quickly, trying to come up inside its arc, but his weight overthrew her; she was flat on the floor, the legs of his

chair caging her head for an instant, until he lost his balance and fell

sideways, weapon arm outstretched.

Ky rolled toward him and got a hand on his wrist, but he was taller and heavier. She tried to tuck and kick him in the gut, but the chair got in the way. He leered at her, and started to roll up... when a booted foot landed hard on his hand.

"Let go," said the voice.

"Go-" the man said, an anatomically impossible suggestion.

The tip of a very sharp blade came into view, beside the boot,

resting on the skin of his hand. "You can let go, or I can cut your

hand off your blade finger by finger," the voice said. "Your choice."

His hand loosened; someone reached down and removed the weapon, but the blade menacing his fingers never quivered.

"Captain Vatta," the voice said. Ky looked up. She knew that face.

Master Sergeant Pitt.

"Need a hand up?" Pitt asked.

"No, thanks," Ky said. She scrambled up, put the damaged chair back where it had come from, and looked around for her crew. The fight was over. Six men lay or sat on the floor, some unconscious and some merely stunned; some of her crew were up, breathing hard, and two were still under the table.

"Sorry to interrupt your meal," Pitt said, "but the dinner conversation seemed to be turning general." Her eyes twinkled. Ky could not help grinning back.

"It wasn't our plan," she said. "We'd just had a funeral..."

"I heard," Pitt said. "I'd have come if I could. We missed it by fifteen minutes. He was a good man." "He was indeed," Ky said. Suddenly her bruises hurt, her head ached, and she wanted very much to sit down and go to sleep. Not much was left of their meal; the table looked as if someone had wallowed on it and maybe someone had.

Pitt looked down at the man who had attacked Ky. "You're off Marie, aren't you?" she said. He spat in the direction of her boot but didn't answer. "Not a good choice," Pitt said. "Marie crew are supposed to be aboard, waiting for interrogation... I think we'll do a little interrogation on my ship." She looked at one of the other soldiers. "Jem-call the ship and get them to send a squad."

More quickly than Ky would have imagined, a squad showed up to shackle the attackers and take them away. Pitt shook her head at the departing brawlers. "Not very good at it, that bunch. Nasty for someone with no training, but you, at least, knew what you were doing. Come on, let's finish that funeral dinner. Charge the damage to Marie -I'll back you on the damage report."

Ky wasn't sure she could eat anything but the bayhopper goulash was just as good the second time around, and the raw whiskey Pitt encouraged her to sip took the ache out of her body.

"You know, Captain, you're really wasted on a merchanter," Pitt said quietly. Ky wasn't sure how she'd ended up sitting next to Pitt, between her and another mercenary. "I know, the Colonel said you have some kind of promise thing you have to do first, but... you belong with people like us, really, not with people like them-" Her gaze settled on the ones who had dived under the table.

"Not their fault," Ky said. "They haven't had the training." Her blood warmed to the praise, though, and she felt again both the glee and the guilt as the fight replayed in her mind. Pitt, she realized, would not condemn her for what she'd felt when she killed Paison and his mate.

"True but... here's something I don't say often, and won't say again. There's some born to it, Captain, and you're one of 'em. I don't know what happened to get you out of that training, but you're someone I'd be glad to serve with. And I can't say more than that."

"Thanks," Ky said. She was aware of a floating disconnect between her brain and body, and hoped she wasn't drunk. Very drunk. "Cup of black coffee and a good big dessert will cure what ails you," Pitt said. "We'll just sit here and talk about nothing much, how's that?" And for the next hour, Pitt told stories of the Mackensee Military Assistance Corporation, every one of which made Ky homesick for a community she hadn't had yet. Ky could tell when the alcohol had mostly left her system; she blinked and the lights didn't flicker. She thanked Pitt and led her crew back to the ship.

And she stared at the battered circle that had been her class ring and felt nothing but vague anger.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE.

FTL sealed unit's in," Quincy reported. "Custom Parts had an Ames & Handon 4311b in stock, and that's better than the one we took out. I've checked all the calibration; it looks slick."

"What's the damage?" Ky asked.

"Only ten percent higher than before we left, and it's higher quality.

You want it, right?"

"Right," Ky said. She watched the figures Quincy sent come up on

her deskcomp. "And the liner?"

"Got that, too," Quincy said, with a hint of smugness. "How's the relicensing coming along?"

"Paperwork and money," Ky said. She had her deskcomp set to

display the falling balance in their accounts... amazing how fast a lot of money could disappear. She not only had to pay for the registration and the custom ship chip, but for the database search which ensured that no one else had used the name Gary Tobai for a ship. She had to appear in person to take possession of the new ship chip for the beacon, and then spend a sweaty and uncomfortable half hour getting the beacon unit out, seating the new chip, and replacing the unit in its cramped space. A whole new beacon would have cost another 100,000 credits.

Meanwhile, she fended off suggestions from Captain Furman- more like orders than suggestions-that she allow him to audit her books, inspect her ship, check out her financial arrangments with the Sabine branch of Crown & Spears, make arrangements to have the ship scrapped...

"For the last time, no," Ky said, hanging onto her temper by the merest fingernail. "I am not selling the ship for scrap here. I have a contract to deliver cargo to Belinta, and that's where I'm going." And you can't stop me didn't quite come out of her mouth.

"But your father-"

"Isn't here. Doesn't need to be here. And if he were here, he'd understand my position."

"He'd understand Vatta Transport's position. Damn it, Apprentice

Her temper snapped. "I'm not an apprentice, Captain Furman. I'm a

captain the same as you are. Get that through your fat stupid head, once and for all-"

"You little-!"

She turned off the comunit, shocked at herself-had she really said

that to Furman, senior captain of the Vatta fleet? It felt good; it shouldn't feel good. At least he couldn't ping her skullphone since she didn't have an implant. She had the last word.

"How fast can we leave?" she asked Lee, who happened to be on

the bridge just then.

"I'll check, Captain," he said. In a few moments, Quincy appeared on the bridge.