“The Longknifes would use a packed liner as a suicide ship!”
“I’m not Chief of intel to underestimate Longknifes.”
“Do you think I should wake up the Admiral?”
“That is your call, not mine.”
“Yes, it is,” the young Lieutenant agreed. He eyed the media feed. So many women with children. Men with wives. Here and there were a clump of men his age, going about their business like sailors on their way to their ship. He spotted a woman moving purposefully through the crowd, two younger men following in her trail, pulling loaded carts behind her. The emblems on the boxes looked familiar, but he couldn’t place them.
“Some of those are not refugees,” the Lieutenant said. “Some of them move as purposefully as any sailor.”
“Maybe they are assigned to the luxury liners that will be sailing, coming back from shore leave.”
“And there was a woman on the last feed. She hardly looked like a refugee. She was leading two men bringing along loaded carts. I almost recognized the markings on the boxes.”
“Maybe those were her family heirlooms and the young men were her . . .” The Commander coughed discreetly. “You know how decadent the women behave where the Longknifes call the shots.”
Yes, the Lieutenant had seen all the vids. He’d also learned how hardheaded an intel weenie was once he latched on to a preconceived notion. “Before I decide to wake the chief of staff, I would appreciate it if you could run the faces of the clearly nonrefugees on these media feeds against the Wardhaven database. Especially that woman. She should be easy to place. She clearly was someone.”
“We are already doing it, Lieutenant. We know our job,” the intel officer said and closed the link.
The Lieutenant paced the deck behind his three enlisted technicians. One of them cleared his throat. “Yes?”
“We are getting more powerful magnetic signatures from around the High Wardhaven station, sir.”
“As if liners were increasing their fusion reactors. Bringing more magnetohydrodynamic power on-line?” Fusion reactors generated plasma for thrust. The plasma, as it raced through magnetic containment fields, also generated electricity through magnetohydrodynamic generators outside those fields. That electricity in turn created the containment fields that held the reactors together. A wonderful system that seemed to give you something for nothing, his physics professor had quipped, but it powered man between the stars. And when ships weren’t under boost, large ships ran a small trickle of plasma around a racetrack to keep electricity flowing. Several liners were now raising that trickle as their future energy needs rose.
The magnetic resonances around High Wardhaven flexed and flexed again, and any chances of seeing what was going on there as discreet units became less and less a possibility.
With luck, one of the ships would interfere with another, and they’d blow out the containment field of a reactor. It had been known to happen. In the bad old days. Not recently. It would just be Longknife luck not to happen this time, either.
The commlink beeped.
“We have your people ID’d, Lieutenant.”
That was fast, and from the sound of it, not at all what the Commander wanted. “Yes?” the Duty Lieutenant said.
“The woman is Miss Dora Evermorn, the anchor for Galactic News and Entertainment on Wardhaven. She has a show every afternoon between two and four. I’ve reviewed the last three days’ feed, and she didn’t announce a vacation.”
“So, where’s she going?”
“She owns a system runabout. Can’t jump out of system. Maybe she’s headed for the moon where she’d get a good shot of Wardhaven under bombardment. Who knows? We’ve flagged her.”
The Lieutenant nodded. That was something he knew. News followed the story. Military preparation was a story. If she was any good, she’d lead them to the story they wanted.
“The men on the video are civilians. Some work for the Navy in that capacity. A few own small runabouts. Some of them have notations in their files that they are members of the Coast Guard Reserve or auxiliary. Like the Greenfeld Youth Association but with no military training. They see that private runabouts meet safety regulations, have survival pods. Sometimes they rescue idiots who get in trouble. They have no military value.”
“As you say,” the Lieutenant said. Accepting the words but being careful not to accept the value of the report. If they had no military value, why weren’t they staying home where they belonged on a day like this? Why were they heading up to a station soon to be under attack? Hardly the actions of someone who viewed themselves as having no military value.
Damn intel’s granite mind-set!
So, do I wake the Chief of Staff or not? The Lieutenant paced back and forth, watching the lights on his technician’s boards change, but did they change enough?
Contact: -9 hours 30 minutes
Kris finished her shower and dressed carefully in the whites prepared for her. Today she might get killed, but there was no need for a bulletproof body stocking. They didn’t make one to stop an 18-inch laser.
At least she’d managed another hour catnap. She actually felt rested. Dressed, she settled the blue beret fancied by the PF sailors on her head. Since they spent most of their time with their heads in a brain bucket, they needed something easy to stuff in a pocket. To the uniform groans of the rest of the Navy, they’d settled on a Navy blue felt beret with their boat’s insignia holding pride of place.
The Commodore had tried to have them adopt a squadron emblem; they’d insisted on their own boats’. Today, Kris wore the Commodore’s squadron emblem as befitted a squadron Commander.
“Kris, we need you quick,” came as a holler from CIC.
Kris ran for the combat center and almost tripped over the airtight door. There weren’t that many on a PF. If a PF took a hit, it wasn’t really going to matter.
“Shut up. We’ll have an answer for you in just a minute,” Sandy was snapping into Beni’s commlink.
“Kris, Adorable Dora Evermorn is at the yacht basin on net hollering for her boat.”
“Gabby’s not answering?”
“We’ve got the boats on emission controls. They aren’t listening or talking except through our guarded landline.”
“Thanks.” Kris grabbed the commlink.
“Dora, do you recognize my voice?”
“Kris Long—”
“Yes, and if I wanted my name used, I’d have used it. Don’t say a word. Don’t move an inch. I’ll be there in a minute to talk to you. You’ll have all your recorders off, or so help me, I’ll throw you out the nearest space lock. You understand?”
“I have two strong guys here who say you can’t do that, but yeah, I’ll play this your way for the time being.”
Kris snapped off the commlink, turned to get Jack, and ran into him. He was dressed, ready for duty. “Gosh, I thought today was going to be a slow day. All Navy. You mean I got to protect you from a newsie?”
“Nope,” Kris said, heading for the pier, “I may need you to toss a newsie and her two brawny sidekicks over the side.”
“That’s kind of outside my job description, Your Highness, Princess, sir, ma’am.”
“Yes, but if you’re bucking for that vacant job of knight errant, it’s right up your alley.”
“Who said I wanted that job? False rumor. You’ve been getting your news from Adorable Dora too long.”
Still, Jack made a fast run to the yacht pier. Adorable Dora was waiting impatiently beside the small watch hut at the yacht basin. With a face and body the best that money could buy, she was just the thing that people wanted to watch for their news and entertainment, assuming there was a difference between the two. The two young men lounging on the large luggage carriers were just as expensive to the eye. Since they were never on camera, Kris could only suspect what they were paid for.
“Where’s my yacht?” lacked the usual two o’clock teaser.
“Why do you ask?” Kris counted.
&n
bsp; “You’re taking a fleet out to fight those ships. I want to follow you. Film it.”
“You could easily get killed doing that. There won’t be any cheap seats at this show.”
“Comes with the territory,” Adorable shot back. The looks the two men swapped said this was news to them. “Guys, start setting up for a shoot. We’re going to interview Princess Longknife. Get an exclusive before the battle. You’re wearing that small units command badge. Does that mean you’re commanding the fast patrol boats? Are they fixed up enough to leave the pier?” Behind her, the guys had seemed surprised by her order, but as she fired off questions, they broke out their gear. And you had to give Dora credit. She had done some homework.
“Put the gear away, fellows,” Kris said. Jack sidled over, friendly like, hand on holster, to give them his official smile.
The guys quit unpacking.
“I have my collar camera. Not as good, but this kind of story will go far. Princess interferes with the news!”
“Did you talk to your boss before you headed up here? Did you check with anyone? Didn’t you wonder for a moment why this wasn’t already on the news?” Kris said, trying to be as rational as she thought Adorable Dora’s brain was capable of.
“Lazy reporters are easily scared. I ain’t lazy.”
“National security mean anything to you?”
“Try scaring me with something real, honey.”
Kris gritted her teeth. The urge to have Jack chuck the woman out an airlock was overwhelming. No, the urge to chuck her out an airlock herself was too much to pass up.
“You’re stuck with me, deary. Let’s make the best of it. You don’t want me to report the story until you say so. I want to report the story up close. You say I could get killed. I’m willing to risk it. Where’s my yacht? I’ve got a right to sail out in my yacht and do what I want.”
“No you don’t, because I need your yacht for a communications relay ship,” Kris snapped back.
“You’ve stolen my yacht!”
“Borrowed.”
“Stolen, in my book.”
“Would you two ladies stop for a moment?” Jack put in. “Kris, I know she’s easy to hate, but all I hear her asking to do is trail the fleet and take pictures, record her story. Now, if I understand what you have in mind, you want her yacht to trail the fleet and pass along any messages that we need to hear when you’re behind the moon. Right?”
Kris didn’t want to, but she saw the logic of where Jack was going. “So let her ride along with Gabby and Cory. They do our job, and she does hers.”
“Right,” Jack said.
“That’s all I want,” Dora said.
“You guys going along?” Kris asked
They looked at each other and slowly shook their heads.
“I’ll double your pay,” Dora said.
Heads kept shaking.
“Jack, I don’t like the idea of her on the same yacht with Gabby and Cory. They’ll follow orders, but with her yelling, I’m not so sure they’ll be following my orders.”
“And you want me to ride shotgun on her.”
Kris nodded.
“You gonna double my pay?”
“Triple it,” Kris said.
“What’s she paying you?” Dora demanded.
“Nothing,” Jack said.
“She’s got to be paying you something. She sleeping with you? You look good enough to eat.”
“You sure you want me on the same boat as her?”
“Space her if she makes a pass. Kind of accidentally like.”
“I can do that.” Jack grinned.
“You wouldn’t,” Dora said.
“I suspect Gabby and Cory would testify in a court of law that you thought you were just opening the door to the little girls’ room. Want to bet?” Jack grinned around hard eyes.
“Sure you want to go?” Kris asked.
“I’m going.”
“Select your minimal gear. Jack, drop me off at the Halsey, then you head for her yacht. What do you call it?”
“All the News That’s Fit to Print.”
Contact: -9 hours 15 minutes
“We have an intercept,” said the Chief of intel, “that you may be interested in. That Dora Evermorn couldn’t seem to find her yacht and ended up talking to someone.”
The Duty Lieutenant listened to first one person talk to Dora. Then someone else came on-line, seemed to be recognized, but cut Dora off. “Was that who she almost said she was?”
“That was Princess Kristine Longknife. She is on the station.”
“Where?”
“We could not get a fix on the call. The commlink is not standard, and what with all the liners getting up plasma, the whole station is a mess.”
“But that is definitely a Longknife.”
“Definitely. A little one. Not King Ray, but the troublesome brat herself.”
“What kind of ship is this Dora Evermorn looking for?”
“It’s a system runabout. No weapons. No military value of any sort.” There again was that quick, disparaging assumption from the intel Chief. “Will you wake the Chief of Staff now?”
Ah, and now, not content to toss off his own conclusions so lightly, the Commander was ready to poke his nose into flag plot’s job, but not with a clear “You should wake him.” No, just an ambiguous question. The hot potato stays in your lap, Lieutenant. Nice toss, Commander.
“I will look into it,” he said, cutting the link.
The Lieutenant drew in a troubled breath. What had changed since the Admiral and Chief of Staff had layed down? Kristine Longknife has been identified on High Wardhaven. Passenger liners are being allowed to evacuate non-Wardhaven citizens from Wardhaven. Some of them may cross our path, even attempt to suicide crash us.
And how does this raise the threat against this battleship for the next hour and a half above what it was three hours ago?
Simply put, it did not. Could the Admirals do anything in the next hour and a half that they could not do in the first fifteen minutes after they awoke?
No.
His father had often talked of the pressure of battle. Of the need for men to go into it prepared for it. His father swore he’d won half his battles by getting a good night’s sleep and a good breakfast. Oh, and a good cup of coffee.
Was father just feeding him a sea tale?
The Duty Lieutenant took a deep breath and let it out slowly. What a tale he’d tell the Chief when he got back.
The Lieutenant stood again and watched the technicians watch the intel feed from the target. Things were certainly happening now. But was it all that different? Were there any warships in evidence? Anything the intel Chief would identify as having significant military value?
The Lieutenant paced, and time passed.
Contact: -9 hours
Kris found a mob scene in front of the Halsey’s pier. On a more thorough review, it clarified into a very well-organized riot. She spotted Captains van Horn and Luna in the center of it and figured them for the best explanation of the content and process of what was going on, so she headed their way.
“Howdy, dear. You’re up early,” Luna said, now decked out in a blue shipsuit with Captain’s shoulder tabs and an underway command badge, the mirror image of van Horn beside her.
The Navy Captain nodded. “Your Highness, I understand you had a media problem.”
“Solved. Jack’s going to ride herd on Adorable Dora, though she’s going to be trailing us in the communications relay ship. Turns out we stole her yacht for that job.”
“Evermorn,” Luna spat. “Why didn’t you just space her?”
“Well, I told Jack he could if she gave him any trouble. Think Gabby would lie for him in court?”
“Like an Oriental rug.”
“Not that it’s any of my business,” Kris said, looking around, “but what’s going on here?”
“Registration,” van Horn said simply.
“Press-gangs in action,” Luna grumbled.
“Not taken,” she muttered.
“My thoughts exactly, but battles have this nasty way of not going as planned. So, if those bastard Peterwald ships haul some of you out of survival pods, I want our crews to be in uniform and have ID cards to wave at them.”
“You just want everybody in blue,” Luna simpered.
“And she agreed so quickly when I pointed out that her present employer might not consider what comes next covered by his health insurance or life insurance.”
“Captain can be very persuasive.”
“What are their ranks, rates?” Kris was only a year or so in the Navy, but she knew enough about the Navy Way to know that everyone had their place and stayed in it. Her excepted.
“Old regulation from the Iteeche Wars allowed us to take in civilians when things got kind of out of the ordinary. Special rank. Naval volunteer. Pay status of third class.”
“Third class in a pig’s eye,” Luna said, patting her rear pocket. “I got my master’s papers. I’m a ship’s Captain.” Which explained her four strips and command badge.
So there was a tactful bone in van Horn’s Navy-issue body. Kris flashed him a smile. He answered with a “Hurrumph.”
“After we’ve got everyone inducted, I expect you’ll want to address them, Your Highness.”
“Already!”
“They deserve a few words, ma’am,” Luna put in. “You can’t expect them to go ballyhooing off, at the risk of life and limb, without seeing their Commander. They’ll be talking about this fight for the rest of their lives. I was at Wardhaven, with that slip of a Longknife when she was just a girl.”
Kris swallowed. That was how Gabby introduced himself. “I fought with your great-grandfather at the Battle of the Big Orange Nebula.” There was more to being one of those damn Longknifes than just being cussed at in bars.
Kris Longknife: Defiant: Defiant Page 27