at Jensen's neck tightened ever so slightly. Since Mac James was never a man to act by half measures, Jensen squared his shoulders. He stepped up to the companionway, faced through toward the cockpit, and crisply called out orders.
'Ensign Kaplin, discontinue your search pattern. Harris, I want this ship on a new course for Arinat. Plot FTL coordinates for the security zone checkpoint, and from there to Van Mere's station.'
Harris shot out of his habitual slouch. He turned his head, stared at his superior officer with an insolence peculiar to pilots, and said, 'You want what?'
The pistol nosed harder against Jensen's neck. He swallowed stiffly. 'Harris. You're insubordinate.'
'When isn't he,' Kaplin commented with her usual flat-toned sarcasm. She shut down systems for travel and spun her station chair, in time to see Harris narrow his eyes.
'No,' the pilot said, quite softly. 'We've done too many assignments together for me to buy on this one. I'll set course for Arinat on one condition, sir. Step in here and show me both of your hands.'
Jensen had no chance to warn, no chance to act, just one instant of crystallized fear as Mac James shovecl him asicle. The pellet pistol went off, a compressed explosion of sound. Jensen staggered off balance, heard Kaplin's scream, and knew: Mac James had gunned down his pilot, even as he, on a past mission, had killed the Marity's mate. In his own way, but for different reasons, Jensen shared such ruthlessness. He was not shocked, but only whitely angry, when he recovered his footing and saw the fallen figure sprawled in the helm chair. The pilot's beret had tumbled off, and the fiery thatch of hair dripped blood. The long, lean fingers that had performed feats of magic at the controls were not relaxed, but twitching in an agitation of death throes. Mac James's pellet had taken Harris through the forehead. He'd probably died between thoughts.
A muffled sound across the cockpit reminded Jensen of his other, surviving crew member. Sarah del Kaplin looked sheet white; yet the makeup like garish paint over her pallor masked an unexpected depth of character. Scared to the edge of panic, she hadn't lost it enough to stand up.
Which was well, for the murdering skip-runner shoved onto 5ail's bridge and snapped his next orders to the ensign. 'Lady, your training included flight rating, and you'd better know the
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