Rebel

by Mike Shepherd

  Mannie gave his skull a fast and hard rub with both hands. “Yes, I’d heard something, nothing as precise as what you just told me. Still, the older planets near Greenfeld have their mothballed battleships from the Iteeche War. They may only have 14- and 15-inch lasers, but there are a lot of them. If the Empress puts a crew aboard them, there will be hell to pay.”

  “I know. Dad always said those old ships couldn’t get under way to sail to the breakers, but I guess if the Empress really put her mind to it . . .”

  “Yeah. I’ve been losing sleep over those ships for a while,” Mannie said, forking a nice bit of cherry pie à la mode into his worried mouth. Vicky settled for a lemon tart and barely nibbled at it.

  “Have you given any thought to how we might end this?” Vicky asked Mannie.

  “One idea might be mediation.”

  “My father let someone else decide his fate? You must be joking. Besides, I can’t think of anyone my dad would agree to for a mediator that I’d like. Come up with a better idea.”

  “I think there might be one person you’d both accept,” Mannie said, and filled his mouth with pie so he could munch while Vicky mulled the unlikely. No. Impossible.

  “I give up. Who?” she finally said, as Mannie’s fork reached for another piece of pie.

  Mannie stopped, fork halfway to his mouth, then said, “Kris Longknife. She saved his life, and she’s your friend.”

  The words said, he stuffed his mouth with pie and left Vicky to carry on the conversation. Or say nothing.

  She chose nothing for a long minute.

  Kris Longknife. Might it work?

  Dad would never allow it. Annah would have a stroke.

  Though that might not be a downside.

  Would I trust that Wardhaven princess as an honest broker?

  Better yet, would I be willing to bet everything that Kris could come up with something that my dad and the people who are backing me would be willing to accept?

  The longer this war goes on, the higher the price in blood and treasure and the less people will want to settle for anything less than total victory.

  Isn’t that an argument to get this war over quickly?

  “Any idea how Kris might end this war in a way acceptable to both me and my dad, not to mention his wife and her family?” Vicky asked.

  Mannie had another fork of pie almost in his mouth. He held it there as he thought for a bit. “I haven’t the foggiest. It’s a lot easier to start a war than end one, or so history seems to demonstrate.”

  “Yeah,” Vicky said, and nibbled her tart.

  Mannie still held the fork short of his mouth. “But I’ve known it to happen that if you put enough people in a room, and don’t let them out for dinner, they can solve impossible puzzles.”

  “You would, no doubt, hate to miss dinner.”

  “You bet,” Mannie said, and finally took his bite.

  “So, how would this work? Should I send a flag of truce across the lines between us and suggest we get Kris Longknife here from wherever she has wandered off to?”

  “Oh, God no,” Mannie said, speaking for the first time with his mouth half-full. He swallowed the rest of his bite. Something went down the wrong way, and he started choking. He reached for a glass of water, took a long swallow, then caught his breath.

  “For God’s sake, Mannie, don’t die on me. At least not before you finish your last thought.”

  “I thought you were going to say ‘before you got me in your bed,’” he said with a mischievous gleam in his eyes

  “Well, that, too, but you’ve got my curiosity up. I know I’ve been more concerned with winning this next battle than ending this war.”

  “I hear it got you an admiral’s flag. Why aren’t you wearing all the extra gold braid?”

  “I could say I’ve been too busy to have my blues sent out to the tailor.”

  “You’re wearing whites. All you have to do is change the shoulder boards.”

  “Suddenly you’re all Navy.”

  “Maybe I want to know more about the world you live in.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.” Mannie paused. “Watching you bloody, but not bowed. Delivering that fighting speech, then consoling that poor man. You were wonderful. You were courageous. I wanted to take you in my arms and tell you I loved you, and I will to the end of my days.”

  Vicky gulped. This was what she wanted to hear, but hearing it was terrifying.

  Mannie went on. “Then, when you were stumbling out of there, leaning on my arm, then my shoulder, I did pick you up and hug you to myself.”

  “That was wonderful,” Vicky managed to get out. “I mean, I was hurting and at the end of my rope, but your picking me up and carrying me. That was so special.”

  “I know,” Mannie said.

  They paused at that, staring into each other’s eyes. Vicky found herself thinking lustful thoughts of that oh-so-very-near bed.

  Maybe Mannie was, too, because he changed the topic. “Now about this crazy idea of getting Kris Longknife as a mediator.”

  “Yes, about it,” Vicky said, following where Mannie led even if it wasn’t to her bed.

  “I do still have some contacts in the capital. Maybe still in the palace. People who might help your dad think the idea of getting Kris Longknife out here was his idea.”

  “I don’t much care for your plan,” Vicky said curtly

  “What problem do you see?”

  “I’ve about had enough of this advisor or that good lay getting the Emperor’s ear or other body part and twisting him around their little finger.”

  “How would you do it?” Mannie asked, cautiously.

  “The way it should be done in an Empire. Up front. My dad and I making the call. None of this greasy, under-the-table stuff. And none of this almost democracy stuff. We will not turn Greenfeld into some sort of Longknife votearama. It’s bad enough that we’re talking about hauling in Kris Longknife from wherever she’s hiding. We’ve got to do this our way.”

  “Ah, when would you try to do it your way?”

  “After this next battle. If we win it, that would give us the right to say ‘you’ve got to listen to us’ to the Emperor.”

  “We could lose the next battle,” Mannie pointed out.

  “Yeah, I know. If that battle is here in the St. Petersburg system, we could likely lose the war as well.”

  “I’d hate to lose you,” Mannie said.

  “I’d hate to lose you, and me,” Vicky added, with a gulp.

  “There are some times when you really scare me, Your Grace,” Mannie said.

  Vicky nodded. “There are some times when I scare myself. Do we have time for after-dinner drinks?” Vicky asked, changing the subject.

  Dolefully, Mannie shook his head. “If I stay for one drink, I’ll stay for a second, and maybe a third for the road. Then I’m likely to just stay, and we both know we can’t do that. At least not yet.”

  “Not yet?” Vicky said, arching her eyebrows.

  “What I’m doing may be the most stupid thing of my entire life, and I may live to regret it, but I will not risk our future for a few moments today. And if I lose out because I do this right thing,” he said, ruefully shaking his head, “it will just prove to my grandmadre that the rest of her grandchildren got all the smarts there were to be had in this generation.”

  Vicky took a deep breath and let it out. “I’m willing to wait if you are. You be careful.”

  “Me be careful?” Mannie said. “You’re the gal that needs to ride around in a great big battleship. A battleship headed for a great big battle. What have I got to worry about?”

  Vicky covered the few steps that separated them and wrapped him in her arms so fast that he seemed taken by surprise. “Don’t you know, you’ve gotten too close to me? My stepmother hates me. If she can’t get to me, who do you think she’ll kill?”

  “Oh,” escaped as if by surprise. “I never thought of that.”

  “Well, think
about it, you lovable lunkhead.” Vicky squeezed him tight. Now his arms were around her, gently rubbing her back.

  “I’ll make you a deal,” he finally said.

  “Yes?”

  “I’ll increase my security team and be as careful as I know how to be, and you be as careful as you can be in the coming fight.”

  Vicky found his words absurd. Not that he’d increase his security. She was glad of that. No. How was she to keep herself any safer when battleships started blowing up? She opened her mouth anyway. “Yes. You take better care of yourself, and I’ll eat my vegetables and do everything I can to make myself safer when the lasers start buzzing.” Despite herself, a soft chuckle escaped her.

  “Good,” Mannie said, and, reaching down, raised her chin up to face him. With one hand so deliciously firm on the back of her neck, and the other caressing her chin, he kissed her. Vicky had locked lips with guys before. Lots of times. This wasn’t like one of those.

  This kiss started softly, gently, just a brush of his lips on hers. She opened for him, and his kiss became more demanding, more urgent. She met him demand for demand, urge for urge. Vicky’s knees began to go weak, and the thought of falling back on the couch and wrapping her legs around Mannie was galloping to the forefront of her mind when Mannie broke away from her lips, breathing hard.

  “Thank you,” he said, breathlessly.

  “For what?” Vicky said, and found she was just as breathless.

  “For letting me give you a warrior’s send-off. For giving me a warrior’s send-off. For letting me know what I want to come back to. I don’t know what all, but I liked it.”

  “I loved it.” Vicky paused, gathered up her courage and went on. “I love you, Mannie. You take care to be here when I get back.”

  “Oh, I will, trust me. And you take care of yourself, love.”

  “Love?”

  “Yes, love of my life. I can’t see living my life without you,” Mannie said as he opened the door.

  Together, not arm in arm, Vicky walked with Mannie to catch his shuttle down.

  CHAPTER 50

  NEXT morning, after breakfast, Vicky joined Admiral von Mittleburg, make that Vice Admiral von Mittleburg, for a review of threats and progress. These meetings had become a standard part of their morning.

  As Vicky arrived, the admiral was receiving congratulations all around, which he was happily sharing with Rear Admiral Bolesław, who sported new shoulder boards.

  “Atten hut,” was announced as Vicky entered. She looked around, puzzled by the action.

  “Are you going to stand us down, Vice Admiral, Your Grace?” Vice Admiral von Mittleburg said, a tight but huge smile on his face. “And, Your Grace, you are out of uniform.”

  “As you were,” Vicky said, trying not to sound too timid. “I haven’t received any written orders to change my uniform.”

  “Rear Admiral Bolesław, if you will bring me the orders from my desk,” von Mittleburg said, and a message flimsy, along with a pair of shoulder boards appropriate for a vice admiral, were soon in his hands.

  “Your Grace, if you will step forward.”

  Vicky found herself battling an attack of vertigo, but she did manage to step forward.

  “Report yourself, Commander,” Vice Admiral von Mittleburg had to remind her.

  Saluting, she snappily announced, “Victoria Peterwald, reporting, sir.”

  “This is the last time I will return your salute,” the admiral said, returning that honor.

  He looked at her, almost like Vicky thought a proud father might look at his daughter. There was much more pride in his eyes than Vicky had ever seen in her own father’s. “When you arrived here, Your Grace, I didn’t know what to do with you. I foresaw all kinds of trouble. I never would have thought that you would pull off the things that you have. Save planets. Maybe save our beloved Greenfeld. You have earned this promotion differently from any officer I know of, but you have earned it as well, if not better than most. With your permission, Your Grace.”

  “Permission granted,” Vicky said, voice steady. Somewhere during the admiral’s words, Vicky had found something deep inside herself. Call it her center. Gone was the scared, insecure little girl who was overjoyed just to receive a new dress. She’d survived kidnapping, attempted murder, and rape. She’d somehow managed to talk bankers and businessmen and politicians into her own wild scheme that had saved the lives of hundreds of thousands, if not millions. She was preparing to fight a battle, and her victory just might turn on a crazy idea that she had come up with herself.

  Kris Longknife, thank you for all the help, but next time we meet, we meet as equals.

  The room broke into applause as Admiral von Mittleburg finished removing her second lieutenant commander’s shoulder board and affixed the one with the broad stripe of a flag officer and the two narrower ones of a vice admiral. She saluted him again, or maybe he saluted her. It was hard to tell.

  “For what it is worth, gentlemen,” Vice Admiral von Mittleburg said, “her promotion was cut a few seconds ahead of mine, so if there is any question as to who is senior officer present, it is Her Grace. Let there be no doubt about that.”

  The “Yes, sir,” from all present was solid though there might have been some puzzlement around the edges. Exactly how this would all play out, no doubt, would be a matter of some concern among the captains. Vicky had no doubt. When it was time to say ship right, ship left, it would be Vice Admiral von Mittleburg giving the orders.

  “Now, Your Grace, gentlemen, if you will all take your seats, I think there are a few things of interest this morning. Commander Blue.”

  Commander? There must be a lot of promotions going around.

  Sure enough, the lead of the sensor team was now a division head sporting the two stripes and one half stripe of a lieutenant commander.

  I’ll have to give him a set of my old shoulder boards. He and his crew did a lot to earn me my new ones.

  “The good news is that two battleships and four destroyers jumped into the system about fifteen minutes ago. They are old tubs, the Krasnoyarsk and the Karelia, but they were of the first class to sport 16-inch lasers, so they will, no doubt, be a grateful addition to the Grand Duchess’s fleet here. That is, after they get some yard time.”

  The yard superintendent glanced at his commlink. “We’re receiving a long list of equipment that needs replacing. No doubt, the mayor of Sevastopol will be making a trip up to look it over.”

  Vicky neither blushed nor ducked her head. She glanced around the room; heads nodded with concern, but none wagged in her direction.

  They better not. I’m being a good girl, and I hate it!

  Admiral von Mittleburg nodded. “It would appear that our Empress is losing the race to get reinforcements here.”

  The nods now were accompanied by happy smiles. Nobody likes being outnumbered. With fourteen battleships to the Butcher’s nineteen, the odds were a whole lot better. Even assuming the square root of each force, it was less than two to one, well below the critical three to one that a good commander might hope for to assure victory.

  “In the other direction,” Commander Blue continued, “the Butcher continues to send his ships out for a bit of shore leave. It hardly takes a genius to figure out that he won’t be attacking while a quarter of his forces and invasion fleet are off somewhere spending time learning to walk again.”

  Again, heads nodded.

  Vicky was not so sure. Sooner or later, the Empress was going to hear that her personally chosen Butcher was fiddling while Vicky and her rebellious friends were burning them all along their flanks.

  But matters held together as one week stretched into two. Work on the final refitting of the Trouncer and the Ravager continued, with the yard workers sure they’d have them ready tomorrow. And then tomorrow. And then tomorrow again.

  Vicky kept her mouth shut and let Admiral von Mittleburg take the yard superintendent for a walk. A long walk.

  The refitting of the Sachsen
and Baden started out fine, then got worse. Every time a new piece of equipment was installed, something beside it broke, or spinning up the new gear blew out something further down the line. Dirtside, the fabs worked around the clock trying to fabricate on their night shift what had shattered into a dozen pieces on the yard’s morning shift. Tension rose as frustration added to fear of what was going on somewhere else in the Empire.

  Good news came back from Bayern and Metzburg. They had broken through the Empress’s crust defense into “the chewy middle,” as some wag put it. Every week, two or three more planets were coming over to Vicky’s flag. That assumed their change of allegiance was sincere and not because rebel battleships were in their sky and rebel troopers walked their streets.

  Vicky did not like what she was hearing through back channels. Some of the families she’d met with on Metzburg were seeing that their corporate holdings were returned to their uncles and brothers, sisters and aunts. If there was truth to some of the dark rumors Vicky heard, not all of the holders of those properties were the thugs who had stolen them. Properties had often changed hands; sometimes several times. Were the holders of the deeds who got rousted out of them just as undeserving as those who stole it in the first place?

  This rebellion needed to get over, and soon, so that some semblance of normal and proper comity before law could be returned to Greenfeld.

  Assuming it ever had such a foundation, Vicky thought bitterly.

  The four battleships that had been so long in the yard began to cast off their moorings and make slow cruises around the moon and back, even as the Krasnoyarsk and Karelia slipped into their places. Unfortunately, the four returned with long lists of things that hadn’t survived even that gentle voyage.

  Once again, Mannie was called up to get the fabs working faster than any sane man had a right to expect. Still, the workers on the planet below did what they had to do.

  Then everything changed. The Empress threw them a curveball.

  CHAPTER 51

  THE day started so nicely. At the morning staff meeting, Commander Blue advised them that the Butcher of Dresden’s latest liberty party should be coming back that evening. The next batch of warships, the last to finally get time dirtside, had eagerly boosted out of orbit and were already making a good gee and a half toward the jump.