Free Fall of Angels by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

work.
    Nylan missed Ryba's response, but she vaulted out of the saddle and handed the reins to Siret, one of the three marines with silver hair like Nylan, and one of the more quiet marines, though Nylan thought the deep green eyes saw more than most realized.
    "Big trouble, ser," observed Huldran. "Mran's tough, and she's a hothead."
    The four other marines in the field drew back, slightly, but watched as Ryba carefully slipped off the crossbelts that held her blades and the belt and holstered slug-thrower, then laid them across the roan's saddle.
    Mran smirked-Nylan could sense the expression as he and Huldran hurried downhill toward the field.
    Then Ryba said something.
    "You and who the frig else?" demanded Mran.
    "Just me."
    Except for his and Huldran's steps, and the faint rustling of the wind through the evergreens beyond the meadow, a hush held the meadow. Even the few remaining starflowers seemed held in stasis. Nylan wanted to shake his head, knowing what would happen. Mran didn't understand what Ryba really was.
    "You afraid or something, Captain? "
    "No ... I'm giving you one last chance to get back to work. If you don't, some part of your body won't ever work right again." The words were like ice. "I didn't think even you were stupid enough to take on someone raised as a nomad and wired as a ship's captain."
    "You don't scare me, Captain."
    "That's your problem, Mran, not mine. Get back to work."
    "Make me."
    "All right. You were warned." With the last word, Ryba blurred, as her hardwired reflexes kicked in.
    Mran tried to slash with the hoe, but dropped it as Ryba's foot snapped her wrist. The marine used her good hand and reached for the pistol, but the captain followed through with stiffened hands and an elbow. A second crack followed the first, and Mran looked stupidly at the second damaged wrist-but only for a moment before she crumpled into a heap.
    Ryba slowed to normspeed and smiled. "Anyone else think I shouldn't be in charge of things?"
    "No, ser," came the ragged chorus.
    Her face hardened. "Surviving in this place isn't going to be easy, and I don't want to have to keep doing this sort of thing." She glanced toward Nylan. "I might add that the engineer, the second, and the comm officer could have done the same thing, except that they don't have the advanced martial arts training, and they would have had to kill Mran. Disabling is harder." She smiled again and looked down at Mran.
    The marine's eyes unglazed, and hatred blazed from them.
    "Next time, I'll break your neck first. The only reason you're alive is the same reason Gerlich is alive. There are too few of us for genetic purposes, but you cause one single bit of trouble, and I'll drop you over that cliff without another thought. Do you understand?"
    "Frig you!"
    Ryba took a deep breath. Then her foot lashed out. Crack!
    Mran's head snapped back, and the lifeless body slumped onto the field.
    Ryba looked at the marines. "I never want to do this again-ever. But I will if I have to. We won't survive if everyone thinks she can second-guess me. I'll listen to ideas, and I have, and I've taken them. But there's no room for this sort of thing."
    As Ryba belted on the crossbelts, Huldran turned to Nylan. "Hard woman."
    He nodded. "I'm afraid she's right. According to our local source, old Narliat, we're regarded as the evil-doers from the skies, and force of arms and surviving up here in the cold are all that are likely to save us. More democratic systems don't work well with large egos, and marines and ship's officers all have large egos." Nylan snorted.
    "Frigging lousy situation." Huldran's green eyes glared momentarily.
    "Let's try to make it better." Nylan shrugged, and turned to walk back toward the incomplete tower. He didn't know what else Ryba could have done, not without creating even more problems in the days ahead, but he didn't want to talk to her at the moment. Even if some people, like Gerlich and Mran, or Lord Nessil, the dead local