“I guess that answers that,” Tom said.
“I’m gonna keep working down here,” Moose said. “I understand you intend to do three g’s with radical turns.”
“Something like that,” Tom said.
Moose pursed his lips. “Didn’t quite factor that into this gear. I’ll see what me and your guys can do about that.”
“I’d much appreciate that,” Tom said and led Kris aft.
They paused on the empty quarterdeck. “What do you make of him?” Kris asked.
“Batty as they come says it all, but then, taking on six battleships with a dozen mosquito boats and whatever you can press-gang out of the yacht basin don’t exactly strike me as the sanest thing I’ve ever let you talk me into.”
“You don’t want to be a bored old married man, do you?”
“Ma and Da didn’t complain about it, but I’ll settle for looking in on the engine room just now.”
There, Tononi and two motor mechs were going over the antimatter injectors under the Chief’s watchful eye. A yard man was standing by with a toolkit . . . and spare injectors.
“Pass them the new one,” the Chief said as they entered.
“Problem, Chief?” Tom asked.
“Not now. Not now that we’ve replaced one hundred and twenty-five percent of the motor, sir,” the Chief answered with what passed for a tight smile.
The yard worker blanched. “They’re certified parts, Chief.”
“Certified by my pet monkey, most likely,” the Chief said.
“We going to need any more parts?” Tom asked.
“We have a spares cart on the pier,” the yard worker put in.
“I’d think it was empty by now,” the Chief growled.
“It’s the second load,” the Nuu Docks man said. Kris wasn’t sure if he was helping his case . . . or digging his hole deeper.
“It would be really nice if we could get under way sometime this year,” Tom said almost wistfully.
“She’ll answer orders when you give them.”
“Nelly, message Roy. Please stock spare parts aboard tugs for PFs’ engines, lasers, and electronics. Empty the warehouse. It ain’t gonna do us any good there if we need it out yonder.”
“He got it. His initial reply is obscene, but he’s ordering the warehouse to ship it all to the tug landing.”
“Thank you, Nelly,”
“Aren’t you worried about message intercept?” Tom asked.
“By now there must be enough traffic in and around this station to flood their comm gear. I figure they’ll crack my message about five minutes after I blow them out of space.”
Tom grinned along with her as they climbed back to the bridge. Penny looked up as they arrived. “Good. I was about to send for you. We have a message to all hands.”
“Put it on the main screen.”
A stranger appeared, identified as Admiral Pennypacker, chairman of the Joint Staff. “Wardhaven’s defenses are fully alerted. We are about to launch a strike force from High Wardhaven to intercept the intruders. In response to our ultimatum, they have gone silent and increased deceleration. If that signals their good intent, fine. If not, let them know that Wardhaven will defend itself with all its power.”
“Now doesn’t that really stir me blood?” Tom brogued.
“Not,” Penny said.
“Can you raise the Halsey on secure landline?”
“You got it,” Penny answered.
“Sandy, what’s your take on Pennypacker’s announcement? Is there anything nice about what the intruders are doing?”
“In Pennypacker’s dreams. By doing some extra slowing down now, they can flip ship later, protect their jets from us when they may need to, and not overshoot the station. They’ve also gone even quieter on the emissions controls. Just six big, deep holes in space. They’re telling us as little as they can. Not the kind of behavior you like from friendly visitors.”
“Pass the word. We got our hunting license. We’re legal. Battlewagons are in season, and we can bag the limit.”
“Happily. I’m sure Luna and van Horn will be delighted.”
Kris rang off, fished in her pocket, and turned to Tom. “I have something for you, Commander 109. It didn’t seem right that you should be going into this fight the only JG commanding a boat, so the Commodore got van Horn to cut your promotion papers. Congratulations, Lieutenant. Penny, you want to do the honors?”
“But it’s been so pleasant having him serve under me,” she pouted, but she was up, coming around her station, and removing his shoulder tabs and putting on the new ones Kris had brought.
Honors done, Kris settled into her chair. Her board showed reports from the 109. She revised it to show input from the whole squadron. Babs’s 111 was down for engines . . . again. Gates was just reporting a new capacitor installed . . . again.
It was time to get things organized. “Phil, you lead First Division, with 101, 02, and 03. Chandra, you have Third Division. Take 104, Babs, if she can get 111 away from the pier—”
“I’ll sail if I have to push it,” came from Babs.
“And Heather’s 110 boat. Stick close to Chandra, Heather. I’ve got some wandering planned for Division 3.”
“This ramblin’ frog’s gonna be right on your old tail,” Heather promised the mustang.
“The rest form Second Division with 109. We’ll start it close and tight,” Kris went on. “Let them see as little of us as possible while we’re getting away from the pier.”
“So, when do we get out of here?” Heather shot back, probably speaking for all of them.
“In about two hours,” Kris said.
“Two hours. We’ll all be old and gray. And some of us could have grandkids.”
“Two hours. Sit tight. Wait,” Kris repeated.
“Fix an engine,” came from Babs.
“Repair a capacitor,” echoed Andy.
Wait.
15
Contact: -7 hours 30 minutes
“Nothing ever goes according to plan,” Kris muttered to herself. She’d heard Father say it about political campaigns. Grampa Ray and Trouble had laughed about it in battles . . . in retrospect. Now Kris saw it in spades. It was one thing to plan on hiding behind passenger liners. Another thing to do it.
“Say again, port control. You want us to do what!”
“Pride of Antares, you are cleared to withdraw from the pier, but you will hold at fifty klicks, trailing the station.”
“We’ll be in zero g.”
“Yes.”
“I got a boat full of kids, women that aren’t used to zero g. Hell, I got junior officers and stewards that ain’t been in zero g more than ten seconds. How long you want us to hold?”
“About an hour. Maybe a bit more.”
“How about I either boost at one g straight for Jump Point Alpha or stay tied up here for an hour, a bit more?”
“Pride of Antares, I have twelve liners to get away from this station over the next hour. My board shows you hull tight. I’m activating your tie-downs.”
“And if I just kind of put on one g and head out of here?”
“May I remind you that you are in a Wardhaven Defense Primary Control Zone and all our lasers are charged.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“Pride of Antares, I’m having a very bad day. You really want to see how much I’ll do that I’ll regret to tell my wife about tonight?”
“Would you mind telling me what’s going on here?”
“Not on an open channel.”
“Kris,” came from Sandy over the landline, “I think its time we show the passenger liners why we want them where we want them. And maybe some encouragement to do it.”
“Sounds like a good idea to me. I was bored hanging around here anyway.”
“Okay, folks. Final briefing. I am Task Force Horatio, ships one through six. Kris you’ve got Task Force Light Brigade.”
“As in ‘Charge of.’ ”
“Glad you read you
r Tennyson. One through twenty-seven at last count. Depends on who gets away from the pier.”
Numbers appeared on Kris’s command board. Her PFs were matched through twelve, then different yachts.
“Captain, you’re Task Force Custer. One through eight.”
“Understood.” There was a pause. “My Army associate tells me that Custer bought the big one. As in massacred with all hands. This your idea of a joke?”
“Only for those who crack our codes. And speaking of, Beni tells me, Kris, that your Tom has a synchronous transmission he wants to make to help us keep communications confusing to our enemy. Want to send it, Tom?”
“Sending.” There was a pause. “Done.”
“When are you going to play it on battle net? Beni’s got my curiosity up.”
“Wait for a while. We’re not desperate enough.”
“And I thought you PF jockeys passed desperate weeks ago,” van Horn said dryly.
“We just plumb that depth deeper and deeper, sir,” Tom answered back.
“And if the children will let us get a word in, I propose we begin backing out. Horatio, Custer, then Light Brigade. We big boys will take station inboard of the liners. You little folks take station inboard of us.”
“You mean closer to Wardhaven?” Kris said.
“You got it.”
“Begin sortie now,” Sandy said.
“Kris, may I send my data dump to Tru now?” Nelly asked.
“Yes, Nelly, it’s that time. But tell Aunt Tru not to look at it until we get back.”
“And if we do not?”
“That is something we humans do not look at until we have to,” Kris said.
Captain Luna glanced around her bridge. A week ago it had been spick-and-span. Now it had wire runs taped down and running every which way. Still, it was the Archie and responded to her orders. She tapped her ship’s comm. “Let’s put the spurs to her, boys. Navy, grab a seat or get ashore, ’cause this boat is going places.” Her board showed green. The hull was tight. Power was good . . . on both reactors. The pier tie-downs began to move the ship backwards. The last tie-down clicked, and the ship floated free in space.
“Helm, put us right close up behind that old fart in the Cushing,” she ordered.
“You bet, ma’am,” the young man said.
She listened carefully to see if any of the Navy Reservists would get sick in zero g. Officially, all of them were space qualified. She trusted Navy papers no farther than they’d fly if she made a paper airplane out of them. Still, the ship stayed quiet. The airflow brought no smell of last night’s supper.
“Any of you Navy types got money to burn? Nothing big’s going on, and I figure we got plenty of time for a couple a games of poker,” Luna said on ship net.
“Ah, Princess, Light Brigade Leader, er, what do you want us to do?”
Oops, Sandy . . . and Kris . . . had forgotten to pass along orders to the incipient riot they had organized. “Search and rescue, salvage tugs,” who were now more, “should stay at the station and go into orbit in three hours. I’ll give you alerts as to when you should expect to make rescue intercepts. At this point, assume six hours. Light Brigade units. Armed yachts and runabouts will form by divisions. I’m sending them now.” She punched her board, and the force structure went out to her force. “Division 4, 5, and 6, shadow Patrol Boat Divisions 1, 2, and 3. Division 7, you stay with 6. If any vacancies open in the other divisions, you fill in. Otherwise, I’ll figure out something for you.” The last three boats were a race club that had volunteered together at the last minute. They gave her an enthusiastic set of “Sure, no problem.”
“Now then, you’re going to be facing a solid hour plus of zero g as we do a close orbit of Wardhaven. If you think you can handle two plus hours of that, detach and form with the rest of the brigade when we form on the big boys. If you’d like to save yourself an hour of zero g or stay close to the station for a last run to the little girls’ room, stay tied up to the pier while the liners detach and line up.”
“We can do that,” came back in a light murmur.
Kris kept her small stuff tied up and out of the way of the large units while they formed their line. That left her tied into the commlink when the next liner got its orders.
“Port Authorities, do I understand that you are refusing my request to boost for Jump Point Alpha?”
“Affirmative, Sovereign of the Pleiades. Form on Pride of Antares, trailing the station by fifty klicks.”
“You are going to convoy us out of here?”
“Something like that.”
“With what?”
“Watch your transmission. This is an open channel, and there are hostiles in system.”
“I can see why you want us to keep quiet. You Wardhaven folks really got the balls if you think—”
“You want to lose your license for a language violation?” came back to cut him off.
“As if you’ll have time to file it. Okay, I’m leaving. And I’m only too glad to see the last of you folks.”
“Could we kind of accidentally shoot that one?” Tom asked.
“He’s loaded with civilians,” Penny pointed out.
“We can put a scare in him,” Phil suggested on net. “A close flyby.”
Kris could almost see the devil in his smile. “Squadron 8 will sortie on my order. We will form by divisions. Phil, let’s not take any paint off that last liner in line as we go by. I’d love to, and on any other day but today, believe me, we would, but we got bigger fish to fry.”
“Kris, you a vegan?” Heather asked, but Phil led them out, passing between the second liner and a third one just getting under way, at a very sedate pace.
Squadron 8 took its place between Wardhaven and Task Force Horatio and Custer. The Halsey looked deadly in its blackened ice reflecting back the stars. The Cushing was a bit the worse for her years. The six decoys looked no better than scrap piles that had drifted off from some ship breaker’s yard and been hastily painted black. The container ships were in their original blue, white, and crimson paint schemes, garish and clashing with the green of the containers lashed to them. But they held station in line astern as shipshape as Kris would have expected of Captain van Horn’s command. The first four ships were fully loaded. The last two were only half. Kris hadn’t asked the Captain what he planned for those last-minute additions, but she didn’t doubt he’d put them to good use.
Every three or four minutes, another liner separated from the station and fell back to settle in line astern of the other large passenger ships to the right of Santiago and van Horn’s commands. There was little to do but watch. As Kris had learned her first day at OCS, hurry up and wait was the Navy Way.
Contact: -7 hours 15 minutes
Honovi gulped as the round parking drive at Nuu House came into view. It was full. “What are all those cars doing here?
“Today is your mother’s weekly canasta party,” said Father.
“But there are battleships coming.”
“Gabriel could be in the third movement of his final solo, and your mother and her friends would not change their schedules, but it’s not canasta today. Her socialite friends have arranged to hide the contents of Wardhaven’s museums. Don’t want some temporary occupation force to grab our treasures, do you, son?”
“I’d never have thought Mother and her friends—”
“Lots of people are surprising us these days. But call Rose and tell her it’s time to go. Have her check with that maid of your sister’s. She’ll help. If you are serious about us needing to ‘beat feet’ for points unusual for us, this may actually be a spot of luck. I suspect your mother’s club will spread the word rather quickly; some might even go along with her.”
“If we have time,” Honovi said.
“That is up to your sister. Damn it, boy, I hate having her charging off like that. Doesn’t she realize that people can get killed doing that? They don’t all live long, ornery lives like my grandfathers.”
/> “Believe me, she knows.”
“When this is over, we have to get her somewhere where she can contemplate the error of her ways.”
Honovi glanced up as the car came to a rest. “For the moment, Father, don’t you think we should be glad that she’s busy committing more errors to contemplate?”
“Hmm,” was all Father said.
“Sir, we’d better hurry.”
“I’m coming,” Al Longknife muttered as he turned from his inner sanctum to the elevator. He’d done everything to make his life secure, his person impregnable, and it had come to this. Everything depended on that slip of a granddaughter and what she’d been able to concoct out of cast-off ships, borrowed yachts, and whatever.
“Bad planning,” he muttered as he entered the elevator.
“Sir?” the junior vice president who was offering Al the courtesy of his hunting retreat in the south mountains said.
“Nothing.” That was the problem. He’d let his father play at king of ninety planets. His son play at ruling this one. What had it gotten him? Nothing. Nothing to protect his business, his employees, his wealth from these battleships. Nothing to protect this tower he lived in from being reduced to a smoking ruin. Nothing to protect his life.
Al settled awkwardly into the tall all-terrain vehicle that would be needed to get into the backcountry. As they drove down the lush, tree-lined boulevard, away from Longknife Towers, he glanced back. He’d always considered the tall cylinder a salute to the world.
Now he wasn’t so sure who was giving who the finger.
Al settled face front for the long drive. Maybe Henry Peterwald wasn’t so crazy. Maybe the only way to make human space safe for yourself was to control every damn inch of it.
Kris Longknife: Defiant: Defiant Page 30