“Gas giant?” Phil said, swallowing his dried eggs and bacon.
“I want to clean out the last of this rat’s nest,” Kris said.
“They sent twenty-two of their twenty-four ships,” Drago said. “That leaves two, plus whoever they have keeping their hands warm around the four large reactors we’ve spotted over there.”
“What do we have left to fight them with?” Phil asked.
“That’s what I’m waiting to find out today,” Kris said, “and no, Phil, if we don’t have enough firepower, we go home. I’ll even allow for a fifty-percent safety margin.”
“Do we know these dudes well enough to know what fifty percent is for our safety margin?” he asked with a grin.
“You’ve been with me too long,” Kris said with a sigh.
“And, I’d like to point out, I’ve survived all of it. So far.” Phil looked around. “Drago, is there any wood to knock on?”
“It’s all Smart Metal,” the skipper of the Wasp reported.
“I have a real wooden desk,” Kris said. “You can drop by after breakfast and knock on it. You can also try your hand at figuring out what a fifty-percent safety margin is.”
“I think I will.”
So it was that Jack and Phil ended up sitting around Kris’s conference table studying the schematics of the revised and readjusted ships when Penny and Masao dropped in.
“Is that what the new ships will look like?” Penny asked.
“I have no idea what they will actually look like from the outside,” Kris said, “but this is what they will be packing and what will be pushing them through space.”
“Each ship is different,” Penny said after a quick glance at the boards.
“It all depends on what the BEMs left us after the last fight,” Jack said.
“The Wasp-Hornet looks to be in the best shape,” Kris said. “Between the two of them, we can patch together eight forward 20-inch lasers. We have two of the Wasp’s reactors and one from the Hornet to go with the one from the Sisu. We only have three aft lasers. The bad guys were aiming for the stern, and it was hard on reactors and aft batteries.”
“Any chance we can move one of those lasers aft?” Phil asked.
“Not in the time I’m willing to take,” Kris said.
“Sorry about the stern,” Penny said dryly. “I had armor shuttling back and forth from the bow to the stern depending on which way you had us going. So, what will our armor thickness be?” Penny asked, herself likely to be responsible for the defensive station in the next fight.
“Even at Condition Zed, we’ll only have eighty-five percent of the planned defensive depth.”
“How much hell will I have to protect us against?” Penny asked no one, then went on, “What about the Royal-Connie?”
“Aside from getting the best name in this lash-up,” Phil said, taking over the story, since he was standing in front of that pair of ships’ schematics, “it looks like there are only seven lasers surviving from their forward batteries. Aft, we have two lasers and three reactors. Pretty heavy casualties for those two. The armor belt will only have sixty percent of the norm.”
“That’s kind of thin,” Penny said.
“The Intrepid-Bulwark has another good name,” Jack said. “She also has seven lasers forward. Her reactors are in the same state as the Wasp’s, with two of her own good, one of the larger reactors from the Bulwark, and the borrowed one from the Sisu. Aft, she has three lasers. Her armor has again been thinned down a bit. Sixty percent. Maybe fifty-five, depending on how small we make the ship in Condition Zed.”
“The Congress-Endeavor,” Kris said, taking back the story, “sounds somehow dirty. Or maybe Jack’s just having an evil influence on me.”
Jack allowed that he might, and Phil congratulated him on that.
Kris went sternly on. “Only two of the Endeavor’s six lasers survived—one fore and one aft. The casualties among the Alwans were high. Only one of her reactors is still workable. The Congress is in pretty good shape. Four lasers forward and two aft. Two of her reactors are also online. Almost all of the armor they have is from the Congress, and it’s only going to give fifty-five percent of the depth she had in the last fight.”
Penny fixed Kris with a jaundiced eye. “And you want to take this collection of patchwork wrecks into another fight?”
Kris winced. “But there are only two warships over there. For all we know, the reason they stayed behind was that they are not fit for space. We need to wipe this bunch out, once and for all.”
“But if they are combat ready and looking for a fight to defend what’s left of their wives and kids . . .?” Penny said.
“Then we approach them carefully. Come to a halt well out of range and use the advantage our 20-inch lasers give us.”
“Does that sound like a plan to any of the rest of you?” Penny demanded.
“Pretty much,” Phil said.
“Have any of you considered that the more time we spend with this crazy woman, the more likely we are to trot along eagerly with her next insane idea?”
“Yep,” “Pretty much,” and “That’s what I see happening.” That last came from Masao and was accompanied by a broad smile.
“You men!” Penny said, but her show of exasperation was mellowed by a growing grin as well. “Okay, count me in, too.”
Through the day, the schematics of the four compound frigates began to grow on Kris’s boards as chiefs and Sailors went about rationalizing and resolving some of the more difficult problems of pulling gear from one ship and mounting it on another. Storerooms, quarters, water mains, and air ducts had to be moved around as reactors were slipped from one hull to the next. Slowly, a single hull began to take shape that men and women could live in, fight in, and, if necessary, die in.
Kris had made the decision to merge her squadron’s eight ships into four. With that decision made, she found herself mainly an observer as chiefs and Sailors did the work under the supervision of the division heads. Occasionally, a decision got passed higher up.
Phil left most of the calls to his Executive Officer, but occasionally the XO would call him. He’d listen, then politely excuse himself from Kris’s day quarters to consult with Captain Drago on his bridge. They’d talk, resolve the problem, and pass it down.
Kris never had a question passed up to her level. She wasn’t sure just how she felt about her new, rarefied rank that left her twiddling her thumbs as all those around her stayed busy.
When she tried to involve herself in Amanda and Jacques’s work, she found them pretty much ignoring the aliens on board so they could study the society sprawled across the planet below them.
“It really is amazing,” Amanda said. “They have little or no computers, but their economy is complex and global. I know that, historically, we humans did something like this back on Old Earth, but I’ve never had a chance to closely observe a mash-up like this. It’s like I’m in a time machine.”
Kris went back to her quarters and watched as more spaces vanished or were moved around in her ships.
As supper approached, Phil ducked out to talk to Captain Drago for a moment, then both of them presented themselves.
“Admiral, you are invited to a dinner in your honor in the Forward Lounge,” Captain Drago said.
“Dinner in the Forward Lounge?” Kris said.
“The uniform is dress blues with all your medals and decorations,” Phil added.
Kris gave them both the evil eye. “What’s going on here?”
“We will see you in an hour,” Drago said.
“Don’t disappoint us,” Phil added, as the two left.
Kris found her day cabins suddenly emptying as Penny and Masao also vanished away.
“Jack, Nelly, what’s going on?” Kris demanded of the only two who were still with her.
“Nothing mutinous, my love,” Jack said, grinning his most lopsided grin ever.
“So you’re in on it. Et tu, Nelly?”
“Your Lati
n pronunciation is atrocious, Kris, but yes, I do know, and no, I won’t tell you.”
“Honey, you just have time to shower and get dressed,” Jack said, bowing and ushering Kris toward their night quarters. “Shall we?” was not a question.
“So, just time to shower and get dressed. Not a second for something else?” Kris said with a sly grin.
“Be a good girl, and we shall see.”
“But you always say I’m best when I’m naughty,” Kris said.
Jack sighed. “Naughty and nice, in one long, tall package.”
So she was.
50
Captain Drago and Commander Phil Taussig were in dress blues as they appeared to greet Kris and Jack as they came from their night quarters, exactly one hour later and not a second sooner.
“An escort?” Kris said.
“What with all the modifications, I wasn’t sure you could find your way to the Forward Lounge,” the Wasp’s skipper said.
NELLY, YOU’RE NOT PUTTING IN THAT YOU COULD GUIDE ME ANYWHERE. WHAT’S UP?
KRIS, THIS IS A THOROUGHLY HUMAN MOMENT. I’M OBSERVING AND KEEPING MY MOUTH SHUT, THANK YOU VERY MUCH.
This is going to be a very strange evening.
Despite the report to the contrary, they easily found their way to the Forward Lounge.
“Atten’hut. Admiral on deck,” greeted them as they entered.
For the first time in her life, Kris didn’t immediately shush those offering her this honor. She was too waylaid by what she saw.
The Forward Lounge had been converted into one huge wardroom. As far as she could see, officers stood at their linen-covered tables, china and silverware before them. Every surviving officer, even some who looked pretty banged up, were there. There were even a few Ostriches, doing their best to stand to attention with the humans.
Someone tapped a glass, and they began as one to sing, “For she’s a jolly good fellow.” The song went on; someone had added stanzas that would never be appropriate for children but seemed right at home among her victorious warriors.
Through it all, Kris just stood there.
Maybe her eyes did mist up a bit, but it must have been a flaw in the life-support system. Some irritant in the air, no doubt.
It must have been. Beside her, Jack was having the same problem.
The song ended with a rousing cheer, and Kris began to make her way to her usual head table. Her progress was slow. Every ship’s captain and a lot of their senior division heads were along the main aisle and they wanted to shake her hand. Even Captain O’dell was there with her collection of female officers and four Alwan gun captains who had survived the fight.
Kris got a chest bump from one of them. It was a gentle one. At least gentle enough not to crush ribs.
It took her a long time to get to the head table, but waiting for her there were not only Penny and Masao but also President Almar of Columm Almar and Prime Minister Gerrot of the Bizalt Kingdom.
They greeted Kris with a bow, and Kris returned it from the waist.
Again, Zarra ak Torina stepped forward to translate. Her harness today was red with golden buckles and spangles.
“We are glad that you live to meet us again,” President Almar said as the room fell quiet, again in response to someone’s tapped glass.
“We all are glad to meet you again,” Kris said.
“You have won a most wonderful battle,” Prime Minister Gerrot added.
“A lot of people have won that battle. And many of them are not here to celebrate this victory with us.”
“Yes. Yes,” President Almar said. “Thus it is always. Good young felines die for the homes of their mothers and the graves of their foremothers. We can only offer you our humble thanks that you, who have no homes or graves here, have done us a service we could not do for ourselves.”
“We did what our duty to all sentient life required,” Kris said.
“Yes, so you have told us,” Almar agreed. “But we must offer you tokens of our gratitude, even if they are but minor tokens. They are ours to give, and we give them to you.”
The president looked to her right and two cats, tawny gold coats marked off with the same red-and-gold harness as the translator, came forward. One carried a long black pike with silver-and-jewel inlays along the finely worked point, the other a large sword, its two-handed grip wrapped in gold filigree and studded with sparkling jewels.
Almar stepped forward and took the black-handled pike. “A feline is never without her weapons,” she said, and where a moment ago had been a softly furred hand, now five long claws sprang forth. “However, we learned quickly enough that a good pike could outreach the sharpest claw. Among our people, the Colnan Halberd with its long reach and its sharp blade has defended us from many an attack. In the last two hundred years, few have been honored with the gift of a Colnan Halberd by proclamation of the Congress of Columm. Today, we hope you will accept this from us.”
She handed the ancient weapon to Kris. Kris accepted it with a bow and a “Thank you.”
The room cheered. Kris raised the halberd high so all could see it. She twisted it so that its sharp edge flashed in the light. When the applause slowed, she handed it off to Jack. He accepted it with a bow and stood beside her, the Colnan Halberd at attention.
Kris did the handoff to Jack because Prime Minister Gerrot was coming forward and motioning to the sword bearer to approach as well.
The Prime Minister cleared her throat and spoke. “Among our people, the most ancient of honors is to join their king in the charge. We hope you will allow us to bestow on all of your officers the honor of being Members of the King’s Charge. We ask also that you allow us to bestow on the captains of your ships the honor of Commanders in the King’s Charge.”
“I gladly accept these honors in their names,” Kris said, wondering where this was going and why there was one sword bearer still standing off.
The Prime Minister’s tail twitched, and the sword bearer came to stand beside her. “My king has bidden me to offer you her highest honor. She wishes to raise you to King’s Sword Bearer and Commander of the King’s Charge.” The Prime Minister bowed. “In the thousand years of our recorded history, we have no higher honor.”
The sword bearer presented the sword to Kris, handle first. She withdrew it from its gold-and-bejeweled scabbard and flourished it above her head . . . careful not to slice the overhead or dent the blade.
Who knows which is tougher, Smart Metal or this steel?
No doubt it would be the Smart MetalTM, but it would be a shame to find out otherwise.
When the cheering died down, the two leaders of the most powerful lands on the planet below did not suggest that someone serve the meal. No, two more warrior types appeared with boxes in their hands. These were made of fine wood, beautifully polished, and just the right size for awards.
Kris recognized the sizes of the boxes. One was as big as the one that came in the mail from Earth and contained the Order of the Wounded Lion. The other was about the size of the box that Admiral Krätz had tossed to Kris and revealed the Pour la Merit, Imperial Greenfeld’s highest honor.
All had come without fanfare.
Apparently, the felines intended to start Kris on a new tradition. When she opened these boxes, they would really feel like awards.
Again, President Almar went first. She opened the smaller of the two boxes. It showed a silver shield with crossed golden swords hung from a watermarked red ribbon with golden edges. “This is the Medal of Highest Valor. For the last two hundred years, it has been the highest award for valor given by the people of Calumm. We offer it to you.”
So saying, she stepped forward and slipped around Kris to fasten it around her neck.
President Almar whispered something.
IT’S GETTING CROWDED HERE, Nelly translated.
TELL HER THAT IT IS NO LESS WELCOMED IN THE NAME OF ALL THOSE WHO FOUGHT, BLED, AND IN TOO MANY CASES DIED WITH SUCH VALOR, NELLY.
Kris’s collarbo
ne spoke softly. The president did not seem surprised.
Again the Prime Minister came second. She opened the larger box and drew out a long yellow sash with a golden medallion.
“The Order of the Rose and the Thistle is the highest order in our kingdom,” she said. “For those who are recognized for their civic contributions, the Rose is first on the medallion. For those who win it on the field of battle, the Thistle takes the place of honor. Your medallion is the first of its kind. The thistle and rose surround an image of our solar system. We suspect there is more to this symbol than we have yet plumbed the depths of.” She finished with a wry smile.
Now President Almar came to stand beside the Prime Minister. “All of you will find at your place, a simple wooden box. Please open it now. In it you will find an expression of our gratitude. It is the Defender of the Star award, and it is meant for all of you who fought for us. Unlike what we have been giving here, it is an award that the people of Columm and the King of Bizalt give together. This is the first such joint endeavor. We hope it will be the beginning of a long and fruitful cooperation.”
Penny opened hers and showed it to Kris. Like the Medal of Highest Valor, it was in the form of a three-cornered shield. In place of the crossed swords, this one showed a sunburst. Here was an award that looked forward and out, not to the past and what it had meant.
Penny gave Kris a wink.
Yep, we’ve started something. Now to help them finish it in the best way we can.
Servers began to circulate among the tables, bringing plates full of roasted something, petite red potatoes, or something like it, and a bean that the server suggested that Kris not look too closely at.
Cookie and Mother MacCreedy made it taste wonderful, wherever it came from.
The President and Prime Minister joined Kris at her table. They were served a plate of raw meat, seasoned with flakes of something green and purple.
Kris didn’t have to make an effort to not look too closely at that.
Kris Longknife: Tenacious (Kris Longknife novellas Book 12) Page 30