“I’m not sure,” Vicky said slowly. “It seems that if we are ever to find a way to end this civil war short of mutual annihilation, we may need the good offices of some middle person. I’d trust Kris Longknife. She saved my dad’s life once. I doubt he’d trust anyone with his fate, but if he would, it could be Kris Longknife.”
“And your stepmother?” the spy asked.
“Not a chance,” she said.
The looks the men gave her pretty much confirmed that.
“Okay, so we shelve that idea. Now, we’ve got a planet of our own to save.”
The admirals looked at Vicky. Vicky looked at them.
When no one opened his mouth, Vicky opened hers. “I agree we can’t send a battle fleet out to guard the jump, what with the Butcher of Dresden likely to come through at any moment. However, if we sent two destroyers out there with a long beam and orders to zap anything that came through the jump to take a peek at our side, it might equalize the challenges of our situation. We don’t dare stick our necks through the jump to get a look at their forces. If they send anything through smaller than a destroyer, it won’t live long enough to report back. Any problems with that?”
The admirals eyed Vicky like she had grown a second head. Then Admiral von Mittleburg spent a long moment gnawing his lower lip. “That might just work,” he finally said.
“A pair of cruisers might be better,” Vice Admiral Lüth said.
Five minutes later, they had agreed on a pair of old light cruisers.
“Now, what else can we come up with?” Vicky asked.
CHAPTER 38
AN hour later, they were no further along than when they had started. They hadn’t been able to think of anything better for when the Empress’s forces came than to have Vice Admiral Lüth lead the battle fleet in a loop out and around St. Petersburg’s one moon. Even that assumed the Butcher didn’t wait too long, and the moon moved out of place. A high loop around the moon would give them a longer running gunfight than they’d get from just a loop out from St. Petersburg. The problem remained that it would be a long, running gunfight with a lot of blood and guts all over the place.
“Kris Longknife says the only fair fight is the one you lose,” Vicky said. “What can we do to make this an unfair fight for them?”
That drew her blank stares from the Navy officers.
“What can we do to get ourselves an advantage?” she clarified.
Still no response.
Vicky ran a worried hand through her hair. “I seem to recall both Admiral Krätz and Kris Longknife saying something about water making a better reaction mass than just free hydrogen.”
“Yes,” Captain Bolesław said. “The weight of a water molecule is nine times heavier than a pair of hydrogen atoms. If you heat both of them to the same temperature, you’ll get nine times the specific impulse, but it likely won’t get you any real value.”
“It won’t?” Vicky said. “They seemed to think it was worth the effort.”
“It might be,” Admiral von Mittleburg said, “if you could make use of the extra reaction mass, but our ships can’t take much more than two, maybe two-point-five gees without breaking something.” Admiral Lüth nodded, but seemed distinctly uninterested in crossing his Grand Duchess again.
Vicky knew where she wanted to take this, but she kept it slow for the seniors present.
“Agreed,” she said, “assuming we don’t want to bend or break anything, but what if we were moving greater weight around? Might we benefit from heavier reaction mass if it was moving a heavier ship, just at the same acceleration?”
“Why would we want heavier ships?” Admiral Lüth couldn’t avoid jumping at that one.
“What if we added a half meter or more of ice armor to our battleships?” Vicky said, as offhandedly as she could manage.
The admirals did not jump down her junior officer’s throat, so she continued.
“We’ve got a shipyard here, and the planet below gives us access to water to thicken our ice armor and stoke our tanks with heavier reaction mass. They’re likely refueling on the other side of that jump from a gas giant. An ice giant if we aren’t lucky. Either way, they’ve got the armor they came with and we just peeled that armor off two 18-inch battleships and blew them into gas clouds.”
“We do have the LCAs from the Marine transports,” Admiral von Mittleburg said slowly.
“We’re holding on to them to move cargo down from the station,” Mannie filled in. “Other than bringing up some of the spare parts you need, Your Grace, we could have them lugging water up on the return trip.”
“And there are four slips that could be used to thicken the ice coatings on the eight battleships we have,” von Mittleburg agreed.
“We have eight battleships?” Vicky asked.
“Ten, if we include the two dinged-up ones you brought back,” the station commander corrected. “I was down to just the Stalker and the Scourge before Albert here showed up with his six homeless waifs.”
“And glad you were to see me,” Admiral Lüth said, not quite elbowing von Mittleburg in the ribs. “Still, Your Grace, battleships are designed to support their armor under acceleration. You add too much weight to a hull, and you could collapse a strength member. Hell, you increase the weight of a turret, and the machinery for rotating the lasers and ice could cave in on you.”
“Yes,” Vicky said, “so we look carefully at how much we add, and maybe go a bit easy on how much we honk these ships around. Captain Bolesław, did you notice that the Empress’s ships attacking us seemed to have a harder time maintaining their acceleration than we did?”
“They most definitely were being delicate with their acceleration and deceleration, and at least one destroyer and one battleship couldn’t hold to the fleet acceleration we had our freighters doing.”
Admiral Lüth shook his head. “The Navy has spent too much time tied up at the pier. But what else could we do, what with the stingy maintenance budgets we got.”
“And the need to use Sailors to bash civilians’ heads,” Admiral von Mittleburg added.
“That, too,” Vicky said. “So, do we have anyone to do the calculations as to how much armor we can pile onto our battleships and how quickly we can get it done?”
Mannie coughed softly. “We sent out feelers for anyone who might be interested in coming to St. Petersburg to work in our shipyards.”
“You mean everyone wasn’t just totally scared to do anything that might displease my darling stepmommy?” Vicky said, batting her eyelashes at Mannie.
“Sad to say, we found quite a few,” Mannie said. “That, and a couple of retired officers from the Navy colonies who were only too willing to get back in harness. Admiral?”
Von Mittleburg nodded. “I was wondering how it happened that so many yard types were dropping by and offering me a hand. So it wasn’t just my sparkling personality?”
“No doubt it was,” Admiral Lüth said dryly.
“I’ll have my flag secretary call a meeting in my office in half an hour,” von Mittleburg said, talking into his commlink. “That should give us a better idea of how much extra armor we can pile onto our war wagons.”
“There’s another matter,” Captain Bolesław said. “My Gunnery Officer thinks he can tighten up our gun cradles so that we can fire more focused salvos. Hitting the Empress’s battleships nearly in the same place destroyed the Empress’s Vengeance. It would have been nicer if we could have gotten the Revenge just as quickly.”
“I see the agenda for my meeting growing,” said Admiral von Mittleburg.
“And if you don’t mind, while you’re doing that, Admiral,” Mannie said, “I would like to squire our Grand Duchess downside to receive the thanks of a happy and bustling economy. Oh, and she might want to visit some of the fabrication plants that will be putting together what you need to fix up her ride.”
“Already?” Vicky asked.
Mannie eyed his wrist unit. “I understand they have already made scans of the
turrets that are still working and have transmitted them down to the fabs at Sevastopol and St. Pete. They’ll be laying down the base parts tomorrow and printing the fine points as quickly as they can make it all happen. You did say there were some very bad people on the other side of the jump into our fair system, didn’t you?”
“I said it, and I saw them,” Vicky said.
“Then I know some people who very much want to wine and dine you tonight, maybe even fill up your dance card.”
Vicky nodded to her two admirals. “Then I will leave the heavy lifting to you gentlemen, where our warships are concerned, and do all I can to keep the worker bees happy making us the honey we need.”
“Isn’t that sweet of you,” Admiral von Mittleburg said, and, hand on Admiral Lüth’s elbow, led him from her quarters.
Which left Vicky and Mannie staring at each other. She wanted to fold herself into his arms for a long hug and delightful kiss. Did he look just as longingly at her? But they were not alone. A moment later, the two of them left, with her spy and two assassins leading the way. Commander Boch provided a rear guard with a chief and several seamen strikers lugging what they would need dirtside for a few days of public adulation.
The walk through the yard was educational. Last time Vicky had passed this way, it had been a sleepy place, with only a handful of civilians and Navy types going about their business with purpose, but not a lot on their hands. Now, the place was bustling with yard hands towing flatbed trucks with huge chunks of ship and machinery, none of which looked like anything Vicky had yet seen aboard a ship. No doubt because she, as an officer, was not supposed to get her hands dirty.
Now there were supervisors and officers hurrying in every direction and deep in conversations that Vicky only caught a snatch of, but “repair,” “fix,” and “damn mess they made of a fine ship” were prominent.
“Quite a growing economy,” Mannie said with pride.
“Quite a growing base force,” Commander Boch put in.
“Quite a target the Empress will no doubt want to destroy,” Mr. Smith said darkly.
Vicky found she had no trouble agreeing with all three of them.
The shuttle ride deposited Vicky not at St. Petersburg or Sevastopol as she expected, but in the bay surrounded by Kiev.
“Why here?” she asked.
“You kept your promise to them,” Mannie said. “You remember you said Kiev would get the next load of imported heavy machinery and fabs to make up for what went to St. Pete after the delivery from Metzburg proved hard for Kiev to get up and working.”
“Yes. St. Pete had the space and the workers to get them working immediately,” Vicky said.
“And they did. Some of the assemblies needed to repair Retribution will be coming from those Metzburg-provided fabs now up and running in St. Pete,” Mannie told her.
“I kept my word. I always knew I would. Didn’t they trust me to?”
“They did. Other people, maybe not so much. Now that you have, they want to make sure everyone knows that you did. There will be quite a show tonight.”
Vicky frowned at the Sevastopol mayor.
Mr. Smith cleared his throat. “While you, Your Grace, had every intention of keeping your word, there are plenty of people who find the very concept of a Peterwald whose word can be trusted as something strange. It is also equally strange, that you, Your Grace, a mere slip of a girl, can make a pledge and see that it is kept.”
Now Vicky was the one making a face. “I think I must thank you, Mr. Smith, for your unique take on matters. I doubt if there are many who would risk telling me such truth.”
“I tried,” Mannie said.
“You did try. I just found it more understandable coming from someone who is superb at telling lies.”
The mayor of Sevastopol just shook his head.
Before Vicky could devote any more time to mulling the strange ways of representative government, the shuttle’s hatch popped open, and a roaring cheer invaded their space.
“You have an adoring crowd waiting for you,” Mannie said, and, offering Vicky an elbow, led her out to a lineup that started with the mayor of Kiev and included most of the city council, all of the business owners, and finished with the two kids Vicky had helped beat a carnival game. Again, the young girl had flowers.
Vicky had heard of parades. She’d even seen a few of them from the palace windows. She’d never been the center of one before. The cheering throng at the shuttleport gave way to sidewalks full of more cheering people. Vicky waved. They waved back as she passed.
Police and boys and girls from the Guide Escadrilles marked off the sidewalks and kept the crowds from pushing forward. And up on the rooftops, Kiev militia soldiers could be seen with rifles at the ready.
While Vicky waved, Mr. Smith, Kit, and Kat eyed everyone.
There was no incident. Kiev was celebrating. People here still remembered who had used them to try to kill Vicky. They were taking good care of her.
At the fabrication plants, Vicky saw shiny new equipment being lowered into place or plumbed in. Happy faces were everywhere.
How long will this last if the Butcher gets his way?
At times, it took effort to keep her smile in place.
Much later that night, installed once again in the Imperial Suite, after an evening of dining, dancing, and meeting half of Kiev, or so it seemed to Vicky’s sore right hand, she poured Mannie a glass of wine and joined him on the couch. He at one end, she at the other.
They finally had the suite to themselves.
“Did you miss me?” she asked Mannie, taking a sip of a surprisingly good local Riesling.
Mannie took a sip before he essayed a response. “Yes. I’m surprised at just how much I did miss you. Did you really have to fight your way onto the station at Brunswick?” he asked.
Why are you changing the topic? Still, Vicky followed where he led.
“All I did was talk this jumped-up bank clerk who claimed to be a Count into getting his whole fleet out of orbit and charging right at us. Captain Bolesław did most of the work after that.”
“That’s not what I heard. While you were busy shaking hands and smiling, I checked back with your captain. He said you did all the talking and made it easy for him to dot a few i’s, cross a few t’s, and finish what you started.”
Vicky watched the swirls of liquid in her glass. “I’ve always been good at driving people crazy.”
“You don’t drive me crazy,” Mannie said, then hid himself behind his glass as he took a deep swallow. “Except when you’re off and maybe getting yourself killed. That drives me crazy.”
Now it was Vicky’s turn to take a long sip. “We could all get ourselves killed if we can’t hold off that invasion fleet.”
“Are you afraid you can’t?”
Vicky focused on her drink. “If I told you I was, does that mean we could eat, drink, and be merry tonight because tomorrow we won’t have anything left to worry about?”
Mannie didn’t take his focus from his drink as he replied. “It is very tempting.”
“But not a smart move,” both said, together, then shared a laugh.
“Maybe I should go,” Mannie said, not putting down his glass. “You’ve got a pretty good record on staying alive. It would be a shame to mess everything up tonight and live to regret it all tomorrow.”
“Hmm, let’s see if I can talk you into staying,” Vicky said.
Mannie’s eyes got wide with alarm, but he still didn’t bolt for the door.
So Vicky told him about the people who thought they owned Brunswick and their attempt to hire Inez and her Rangers to “keep the workers in their place.”
“Those are our allies?” Mannie yelped.
“Seems like it. How have you folks on St. Petersburg managed to keep things balanced between all your players?”
Once again, Mannie swirled his wine. “‘Balanced’ is the key word. Workers, capital, farmers, politicians like myself, General White, and our new Army
. Also, the Navy we’re trying to build. All have to be kept in a delicate balance. So far, all of us know we need each other if we’re going to survive this.”
“Hmm, kind of like I’ve learned. I need all of you if I’m to stay alive,” Vicky said, taking a small sip.
“Exactly. An old rebel from back on Earth, I forget his name, said we must all hang together or we will end up hanging separately.”
“That was what I tried to explain to the wealth of Brunswick,” Vicky said.
“Your dad had them in his pocket. They did what he wanted, and he did what they wanted. Of course, for the rest of us, it was a lousy deal.”
Vicky chose her next words carefully, not at all sure where she was going or would like where she ended up when she arrived. “Are you thinking of turning our Greenfeld Empire into some kind of Longknife democracy?”
There, I said it. Now she needed a big gulp of wine.
She almost emptied her glass as she watched Mannie swirl the liquid in his own. She began to wonder if he’d actually heard her. She was about to repeat the question when Mannie whispered an almost inaudible “No.”
“No?” she echoed, but hardly louder than him.
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “Longknife space, Wardhaven, the US, whatever you call it. They’ve been doing their thing for some two hundred years. Lots more if you consider where most of them came from on Earth. They do it because they’ve been doing it that way, just like we’ve been doing whatever it is that we do, for a long time.”
“Or thought we knew what we were doing,” Vicky pointed out. “At least, what I’ve been seeing out here in the real world is nothing like what my father bragged he was in control of when I was an impressionable little girl batting my eyelashes at him.”
“Yes,” Mannie agreed. “I don’t know how the Longknifes run their end of space. When I get media reports through smugglers bringing trade in from their distant colonies, it appalls me what they do there, but somehow, they keep on managing to do things that we can’t.” The mayor shook his head.
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