Rebel

by Mike Shepherd

  Mannie sat silently, listening as she spoke more to herself than to him. She took a deep breath and let the moment of introspection vanish away as she exhaled. “I think Kris Longknife would be . . . intrigued . . . that this fish has discovered water.”

  They would have a lot to talk about, her and that Wardhaven princess, if they lived long enough to cross paths again.

  “However, Mannie,” she said, coming back to the problem that might eat them alive just now, “we’re walking on eggshells here. Anything we can avoid doing is something we shouldn’t do.”

  “Even if we did something as innocent as rename the Retribution something like Victory?”

  Vicky might have laughed if the very thought of it didn’t bring pain to her skull. Instead, she took three deep breaths before going on. “I’ll make you a deal. The minute our little rebellion is over and victorious, I’ll rename that tub Victory, but not a minute before.”

  “Same for the others?”

  “You tell them to pick the ship names they find offensive and make up a list of what they’d like to have them changed to. You run them by me, and I’ll see what I can do. No Sailor worth his salt will want to serve on the Posey, but I’m willing to look at them. And the merchant cruiser conversions, they get to name them. They may have to crew them as well if they get too over the top on the names, but the conversions are theirs.”

  “I’ll tell them they have to run those by you to get the Navy’s approval,” Mannie said. “Do you mind if I talk to St. Pete’s mayor for a moment? This might save you a trip.”

  “Anything that keeps me out of the shooting gallery,” Vicky said, and closed her eyes.

  Her rear end really was tired of lying the way they had her. It seemed that all they were doing to keep weight off her shoulder was putting weight on her butt. She tried fidgeting a bit, then switching her weight from one side to the other. Her temper was rising with her pain. She was thinking of ordering up her guards and storming out of the place when a young doctor ducked into her room.

  “How are we doing?” was the wrong opening.

  She answered his question with a full broadside.

  He didn’t even flinch. “I could increase your pain meds,” he offered.

  “Mannie thinks I may have to arm wrestle your city government for a quartet of warships.”

  “Then I would suggest using your left arm,” the doctor said with a disarmingly boyish grin.

  “And the pain in my butt?”

  The doctor strode up to the bed, and began his examination, checking her vitals with a glance at the readouts, then lifting an eyelid and staring deep into her eyes. Vicky returned the advance only to discover that the doctor had the most amazing blue eyes.

  “It may be,” he said distractedly as he continued his check of her head and shoulder, “that the pain in your rear is a distraction for the pain in your shoulder.”

  Vicky flinched as his gentle probing of her shoulder brought agony. “I’d say it’s more competing with all the other pain for first place.”

  “I’ve been told that before,” the doctor agreed, stepping back. He glanced at Mannie, who had just finished his phone call, then turned back to Vicky. “I’d like to keep you at least one night for observation, so I can medicate you enough to stop all those pains from getting together and singing a delightful four-part harmony. We really do need to stop the cycle of pain causing muscle spasms causing more pain. You can get well quickly and be done with the pain, or you can draw this out. Do you like pain?”

  Vicky said a most unnoble word.

  “I thought so. Well, you talk to the mayor here and see if I can have all the dances on your card tonight,” the doctor said. Stepping back from the bed, he cast Mannie a dirty look.

  “Don’t scowl at me, Doc. I come bearing good news.”

  “I could use some,” said Vicky.

  “St. Pete has just voted to support two Navy ships and convert four merchant hulls to cruisers, assuming we can find four appropriate hulls. They also upped the ante and said they’d pay for one-quarter of Retribution’s upkeep, assuming you promise to rename it Victory as soon as you think it is politically doable.”

  “Tell them they have a deal if it lets the good doctor fill me full of joy juice for the night.”

  “I hope you won’t mind, but I accepted their proposal on your part.”

  Vicky studied Mannie through narrowing eyes. “You starting to think you can speak for me?” came out sounding dangerous. Vicky liked the sound of it.

  “This one time, with you flirting with the good doctor here, I thought I might overstep my boundaries and do what I thought you’d do yourself.”

  Vicky took a deep breath and let it out with a sigh. “I guess I can give you a pass this one time, but don’t make a habit of it. I make a habit of never ever being predicable. Now, Doc, give me one more call to clear my dance card, and I’ll take those shots. Computer, get me Admiral von Mittleburg.”

  “Von Mittleburg,” came in a second.

  “Have you heard about my latest misadventure?”

  “From your arrival to the boom to your giving quite a speech, you all bandaged up and covered with blood. How much of that was yours?”

  “More than usual,” Vicky said sourly, “but still way too much from other people.”

  “It always is.”

  “So, I’ve got a doctor down here who wants to keep me for observation tonight and float me with joy juice to stop the pain. I’m not averse to either. Do you need me topside?”

  Vicky was surprised by the long pause that followed.

  “Are you safe?” the admiral finally said.

  “The hospital hasn’t blown up while I’ve been here.”

  “We’ve made this place secure,” Mannie put in.

  “Would you mind if I added a company of Marines?” the admiral countered.

  Mannie sighed. “The last time I went out of Her Grace’s room, I was tripping over police and Rangers every step I took.”

  “I’d prefer you were walking on cops, Rangers, and Marines for every step you took.”

  “Send down the Marines,” Vicky said, putting an end to this testosterone-driven “mine’s bigger than yours” contest.

  “They’re already on their way,” the admiral said. “I’m also fielding a lot of requests for merchant hulls to convert to cruisers from folks dirtside. You know anything about this?”

  Vicky quickly filled him in on what Mannie seemed to have pulled off.

  “So, the more blood you show on camera, the more fleet I get.”

  “It seems that way.”

  “Don’t get me wrong, I like the ships, but we need you. Be careful about that blood thing.”

  “You say the nicest things, Admiral. I will do my best to keep my blood off my clothes and inside me, where it belongs.”

  “You do that, Your Grace. Now let that doctor give you a shot and call me when you wake up, assuming you’re in a better mood.”

  “Will do.”

  The doc already had a syringe waiting. He glanced at her, Vicky nodded, and he added it to her drip with a “Sweet dreams.” He stood there for a long moment.

  “Don’t you have someplace to be? Some things to do?” she asked Mannie.

  “Nope. I’m going to be right here by you.”

  “There’s a couch over there,” the doctor said, pointing, “that’s good to sleep on.”

  “You get some rest,” Vicky said through a yawn. “It sure looks like I will.”

  “I’ll be right here with you.”

  “And here I figured the first night we spent together would be so much more fun than this.”

  “I’ll make up for it next time.”

  “Promises, promises,” Vicky said, but her eyelids were drooping. Mannie took her left hand and began making nice circles with his thumb on it. “Nice,” she said, but that was all she got out.

  CHAPTER 43

  VICKY came awake feeling almost decent. She wondered how long th
at would last and did her best not to move anything.

  She opened her eyes to daylight and Mannie. He was asleep in the chair beside her bed, his hand still on hers. For a moment, Vicky allowed herself to consider what it would be like to wake up next to this fellow every day for the rest of her life.

  It would be a change.

  A change like the Empire needs?

  Maybe one of many, she concluded.

  A nurse came in silently. Vicky risked cracking a smile.

  “We thought you were awake,” he whispered. “The breakfast cart just arrived. You hungry?”

  “Starving. You got steak and eggs on that cart?”

  “Scrambled eggs and some nice Jell-O.”

  “Torture,” Vicky spat through a grin.

  “So I’ve been told. Are you up for company?”

  “It depends on who.”

  “Cute gal. Pint size but, ah . . .”

  “Deadly,” Vicky provided.

  “Might be.”

  “She is, trust me. Kit, you out there?” Vicky called, raising the volume of her whisper but hopefully not enough to wake Mannie.

  Kit appeared at the door. “Are you okay, Your Grace?”

  “Thanks to a lot of you, my stepmother has once again failed to remove me from the line of succession.”

  “Someone should remove her,” the assassin growled.

  “She’s not in the line of succession. Only her newborn son.”

  “Him, too,” Kit growled.

  “Now, now,” Vicky said, “we’ve got to be better than her.”

  “I assure you, I am better at killing than her hired flunkies.”

  “Are we discussing strategy, policy, or just gossiping?” Mannie asked.

  “So, you are going to join the living,” Vicky said, echoing Mannie’s own words.

  “It seems like I must.”

  “Good nurse, do you have two of those abominable breakfasts?” Vicky asked.

  “I think it can be arranged,” the nurse said, and disappeared.

  “How is Kat?” Vicky asked.

  “Good,” Kit answered. “Well, more like embarrassed. We want our scars in the front. She’ll have a hard time explaining that one to any good guard type she lets pet her rear.”

  “Maybe we can find a good plastic surgeon,” Vicky suggested.

  “And hide that nice scar? How can she brag about taking a hit for you, Your Grace, if you make it disappear? Now she’ll be dropping her pants every chance she gets.”

  “No doubt,” Vicky admitted.

  “You want to see my scars?” Kit said, leering at Mannie.

  “Maybe when we’re at the beach, and you gals are in skimpy bikinis,” the mayor allowed.

  Kit shook her head. “Where did you find this man?” she asked Vicky.

  “He found me,” Vicky allowed.

  “Toss him back. He’s no fun.”

  Vicky looked at Mannie and found herself smiling fondly. “No way. It took me forever to find a man like him.”

  Mannie actually looked surprised by her answer. He settled back in his chair and proceeded to mull her words for a bit. She got a squeeze to her hand a moment later.

  Vicky squeezed back.

  “Admiral von Mittleburg asks if you are awake,” her computer said.

  “Admiral, I am among the living,” Vicky allowed. The nurse entered with two breakfast plates. Vicky made a face. Her plate had a lot less food on it than Mannie’s. “Though I may starve to death on the chow they’re giving me.”

  “Doctor’s orders,” the nurse said cheerfully, and bustled about, setting the tray on a table and rolling it over in front of Vicky. Mannie winked at Vicky, seeming to promise her some of the steak, eggs, and potatoes on his plate.

  “Your, or Admiral Krätz’s idea, of swing ships along a beam works. We hardly had the old light cruisers Halum and Ferwert anchored fifty thousand klicks back from the jump when some longboat poked its nose through. They blew it away. Only a few moments ago, I learned that a destroyer had tried the same and been hit so hard it’s now rolling dead in space.”

  “So the Butcher is getting no reports on what we’re doing?” Vicky asked.

  “None.”

  Vicky thought about that for a long moment, then asked her own question. “What’s taking him so long? Why hasn’t he come charging through the jump? I know I would have.”

  “You would not have lost two battleships, then run away from the fight on the cruiser you were hiding your, ah, excuse me. Hiding in.”

  “No, I would not have run away from a fight,” Vicky said with determination.

  “But he did, and that’s no way to impress Navy officers, even those with machine guns at their heads. I imagine there’s a lot of talk going around that fleet about how and when to fight the next battle, and your poor Butcher is finding it hard to persuade everyone to do his bidding.”

  Mannie looked perplexed. “He’s got machine guns aimed at their heads?”

  “Yes. That worked for him the first time,” the admiral answered. “Now, imagine you’re holding that machine gun at some admiral’s head. Also imagine you lost a lot of friends who held machine guns at the heads of the officers Vicky and company blew away. Are you sure you want to do no different than they did? Even thugs with machine guns want to live long enough to spend their paychecks.”

  “Right,” Mannie said.

  “I listen to my Navy officers,” Vicky said. “He shouted at his, then ran away when he got them in a mess. That doesn’t encourage anyone to follow him the next time.”

  “Yes, Your Grace,” the admiral said. “Now, how are you coming along? I admit that I’m torn. If you’re down there when the Butcher sticks his nose through the jump, I get to fight my battle with you safe on the ground. No doubt, Admiral Lütz would like that.”

  “No doubt,” Vicky said sourly.

  “Yes,” the admiral said quite firmly.

  “Any idea when our frightened bunny rabbit will bring his twitching nose through our jump?” Mannie asked.

  “None whatsoever. You want to have Our Grace wave her bloody shirt some more?”

  Mannie made a face, half worry, half regret, all pain. “I think I can persuade our mayors to skip parading Her Grace around the planet. This last hit was a bitter surprise to us.”

  “I wanted to open trade,” Vicky said. “But now you never can tell what my stepmom will have hidden among the next cargo.”

  “Sadly, true,” Mannie agreed.

  “Are you suggesting that I take her up here and get her out of your hair?” Admiral von Mittleburg asked.

  “As much as I love her smiling company, I’m afraid I am,” Mannie said.

  Vicky allowed herself a plaintive sigh. “Visit me often?”

  “You know I will, but you know it won’t be as often as either of us want.”

  Vicky’s sigh this time was resigned.

  “Get me some clothes,” she said. “I can recuperate on the station as well as I can here, and maybe on the station, I can use my pull to get some decent food.”

  “No doubt our doctors will consider your rank when they fill out your meal card,” the admiral said.

  “In a pig’s eye,” Vicky allowed, to much laughter. None of it was hers.

  CHAPTER 44

  VICKY found her mind wandering as the shuttle took her up to the station. She had a problem. How do I stop a whole lot of warships, way more than I have in my fleet?

  Was the Butcher really prepared to slag a planet as well developed as St. Petersburg? Especially with all the empty planets out farther in the sector that could use its production?

  The Empress’s family was crazy, but where money was concerned, they weren’t stupid. Or wasteful.

  Vicky continued thinking and was ready to stand as an equal with her admirals by the time she landed on High St. Petersburg. Bandages and all, she marched into Admiral von Mittleburg’s day quarters.

  No surprise, both admirals were there.

  After
a few moments spent inquiring on how she was feeling, the admirals seemed to expect her to sit in a corner and tend to her knitting.

  “You mentioned yesterday that you were getting a whole lot of merchant ships being offered for arming as merchant cruisers.”

  Von Mittleburg seemed surprised she remembered. Vice Admiral Lüth certainly was.

  “Yes, we’re up to twenty-three ships, Your Grace. I don’t know where we’ll get enough lasers to arm them. Not in the time the Empress will grant us.”

  “No doubt,” Lüth agreed.

  “So we don’t put lasers on them,” Vicky said.

  “What do we arm them with?” both admirals asked in two-part harmony.

  “Rockets,” Vicky said. “I remember reading something about rockets in Kris Longknife’s file. Have either of you looked at her file?”

  Von Mittleburg shook his head. Admiral Lüth looked like he’d swallowed something poisonous. “I know nothing about that Wardhaven princess except what I occasionally hear in the media. None of it is good.”

  “Well, I did pay good money to get a copy of her file. It seems she managed to blow away six of our largest battleships,” Vicky pointed out, “with only twelve mosquito boats, a pair of destroyers, and whatever armed civilian ships she could lay her hands on or load up with what weapons she could beg, steal, or borrow. It was quite an accomplishment.”

  “It was never proven that those were our battleships,” Admiral Lüth said sternly.

  “Kris Longknife knows, and I know, who those ships came from, and you likely know in your heart of hearts why there are so many empty seats at Academy reunions the last few years.”

  Vicky waved off any further discussion. “What is important to our situation is what Kris Longknife managed to lay her hands on. She loaded several freighters full of obsolete Army rockets and used them to, ah, what is the word?”

  “Swarm,” her computer supplied.

  “Right, swarm those battleships’ defenses. Admirals, do your battleships, cruisers, and destroyers have antimatter torpedoes?”

  “Yes, but you can’t use them for much of anything,” Admiral Lüth pointed out. “Any warship worth its salt has secondary batteries to swat such torpedoes before they can do any damage. However, if a ship is seriously damaged, you can use them to finish it off if its captain won’t surrender.”