“I’ve already done it. A formal letter to the Grand Duchess is printing out now.”
Jack was up and returned quickly with two pages in his hand and a pen.
Kris glanced over the letter one more time. She almost had it memorized; she and her advisors had been over it time and time again. Nelly added a flat writing board to Kris’s chair and she signed it.
Diana produced a stamp and notarized her signature before carrying it over to Vicky. Her computer scanned it, and sent copies to all her advisors. For several long minutes, heads pored over their screens.
“It’s good,” the rancher muttered. “Too good for that damn Empress, but I guess if we want this, we got to hand the same to them. I still think you should have blown her out of space when you had the chance.”
Vicky studiously did not hear that.
Kris smiled. The girl she’d first met would not have avoided hearing that. Hell, the girl she first met would never have accepted an order to stand down and not kill the Empress—assuming she could actually have pulled it off.
From what Kris had found out about the Second Battle of St. Petersburg, Vicky might really have had a chance to kill the Empress. A better chance, at least, than Vicky had the couple of times she tried to kill Kris.
“How do you want us to do this?” Vicky asked.
Al raised a finger, and Kris nodded to him. “Usually we have the two parties in a room. A flip of a coin determines who scratches first. Then they take turns scratching through one name at a time. The name left after they’ve scratched off two, or in this case, it would be three, is where we’d go. However, this time we would suggest you put a one beside the first planet you’d scratch out. They will do the same. When we get these back, Bill and I here, with the judge looking over our shoulders, will scratch them out. Number one from your list, then number one from theirs. Number two, then number three. If your next choice has already been scratched, we go to the one after that.”
“And we’ll probably wind up at Cuzco,” Mannie said.
“Likely, but I suspect it could be any of the middle three,” Al answered.
“Nelly, is the letter on its way to the Emperor?”
“Yes, Kris. The moment you signed the letter, I dispatched it, highest priority, to the jump point. I’ve routed it nine different ways, assuming communications might not be as smooth as they once were. I’m sure one copy will arrive. I also sent the letter in the clear. Is there any problem with that?”
“I certainly don’t have one,” Kris said.
“If you will allow us,” Mannie said, “we’ll distribute this throughout our area of control. I think everyone will be happy to hear this.”
That brought nods of agreement all around from Vicky’s advisors.
“So we relax while their letter gets to them and their answer gets back to you,” the banker said.
“Kris, a message just came in from Captain Jack Campbell,” Nelly announced. “I think we may have a problem to add a bit of excitement while we wait.”
“Shall we wait outside?” Vicky asked.
“Does it concern Vicky and this civil war?”
“It concerns the Empress and those delightful alien raiders, Kris.”
That drew expletives from Jack and Vicky both.
Kris sighed. “Vicky, do you want to ask any of your advisors to leave?”
The Grand Duchess glanced around the room. “No, if they can stomach it, they can stay.”
Several looked green or pale as a ghost, but none made for the door.
“Okay, Nelly, have at us.”
The bulkhead to Kris’s right turned into a star map. Most of the stars were unblinking white.
The Empire was in red or blue, depending on who held what. The US planets were golden. The area that Kris’s Patrol Squadron 10 had policed out beyond the Empire was sprinkled with tiny, flashing, red dots.
“The flashing red area,” Nelly explained, “is the patrol area for Captain Campbell’s cruiser squadron. They’ve been nipping off pirates and other unsavory types that try to use that no-man’s-land for nasty things. Campbell just reported, and hotwired to you, about a cruiser he boarded. The skipper of this formerly Greenfeld Navy heavy cruiser demanded to be left alone. He said he was on a diplomatic mission by order of the Empress. He might have been left to go on his way, but Jack didn’t think all that added up. What kind of diplomatic mission would an ex-Navy cruiser be doing out in the middle of nowhere? The Iteeche Empire was not even close, and the guy didn’t mention anything about them.”
Nelly paused. She’d learned to do that recently to allow humans to catch up with her.
“Campbell found the skipper of the ship as easy to get talking as a block of granite, but the navigator was all twitchy. His word, not mine. He took the navigator aside and asked to see his charts and his destination. The guy crumbled. Kris, the Empress had sent them out to find what you call the bug-eyed monsters and get them to come into the civil war on her side.”
“That has got to be the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard,” Kris exploded.
Around the room, some people said a lot worse, while others looked puzzled, and asked, “What?” When they were brought up to speed about the alien raiders, there was more profanity.
“Okay. Okay,” Kris said, trying to bring order. The room settled down but did not go quiet.
“Kris,” Nelly said in her professorial voice, “back on old Earth, there were a lot of times when a failing rebellion or even an anointed sovereign called in help from outside his borders. It often ended with bad things happening to both the original sides, but it worked enough times that it happened many, many times.”
“I seem to remember something like that from school, Nelly. Now, what does Captain Campbell have to say about this instance?”
“He’s holding the ship and crew while he passes the buck up the chain of command. He wants you to know that he suspects the buck won’t stop until it lands on the King’s desk, so he’s not expecting orders anytime soon. However, he knew about the mission you’re on and figured you’d like to know what he’d stepped in.”
“Is that all, Nelly?” Kris growled.
“Yes, Admiral.”
Kris leaned back in her chair. What the hell could she do with this? What the hell was the Empress up to? Had they stopped the only one of her “diplomatic missions”?
“Ah, Kris,” Vicky said cautiously.
“Yes, Vicky.”
“Admiral von Mittleburg just told me of something you might want to hear.”
“Admiral,” Kris said.
“We have been picking up rumors of this kind of thing, but we didn’t put much faith in them. That might have been a mistake. I didn’t bring the Grand Duchess into the loop on this because, well, she had her plate plenty full and didn’t need to be bothered with what everyone took for a minor distraction.”
Kris nodded. A human could only juggle so many buzzing chain saws.
“I asked for more information about this,” the admiral said. “It is possible I may get a reply soon.”
“Or not,” Kris said.
“Or not, if it is still viewed as unbelievable by the senior staff.”
“Nelly, get the address of the admiral’s higher-ups, compose a letter for his chop with an information copy of this attached to them from him, marked personal and most secret, addressee’s eyes only, unless he’s out of town, then his second immediately. You willing to sign that?”
“No problem, Your Highness,” Admiral von Mittleburg said.
“Kris, I also got the cipher for admiral-to-admiral communications from Admiral von Mittleburg’s computer. The message is ready to go if he’s willing to sign it.”
The admiral glanced at his wrist unit for a long moment, then nodded. “Put my chop on it.”
“The message is on its way,” Nel
ly reported.
Kris leaned back in her chair. “Now what?”
“I guess we wait,” Jack said.
“Kris, the Marine guard at the brow report that there is a runner coming aboard with message traffic that Admiral von Mittleburg needs to see soonest,” Nelly announced.
48
“Have the OOD send him here immediately,” Kris ordered before allowing herself the luxury of a deep breath. Several deep breaths.
Don’t things ever slow down?
There were advantages to having her day quarters on the same deck as the quarterdeck; the runner had less distance to cover. Apparently, he’d run all the way because he was out of breath as he entered Kris’s quarters and sprinted to his admiral.
The messenger was a lieutenant, j.g., and he was under arms. Not a good sign.
The admiral thanked the young officer for his speed, then dismissed him while he glanced at his message traffic. Only after the door closed behind the exhausted JO did Admiral von Mittleburg speak.
“Does anyone want to leave the room? If you don’t, I will have everyone sign the State Secrets Act, and I assure you, I will have you shot if you divulge any of what you hear here.”
The Greenfeld subjects paled at the serious tone the admiral took, but none headed for the door.
“Fine. Vicky, could you have that fancy computer of yours sync with Her Highness’s computer and print out”—here he looked around the room—“ten copies of the Act.”
“Ten?” Kris said. “You don’t intend to have my King’s subjects sign your act?” Kris asked, pointedly.
“Then you print out your Secrets Act and have your people sign it.”
“Jack and I already have,” Kris said, eyeing her team.
Senior Chief Agent in Charge Foile rummaged in his wallet and pulled out his Ident Card and handed it to Kris. “I’ve signed it.”
His card did indeed have the necessary endorsement, among others.
Kris eyed the three leaders of her brain trust as well. All shook their heads no.
“Three copies, Nelly, unless you want to leave the room.”
Diana again shook her head. “I’m guessing that this involves the Empress. We have to be in the know.”
A printer appeared and began spitting out paper. Jack trotted over to it and returned with six copies of the Greenfeld Imperial State Secrets Act printed in a dark, blocky, and threatening format. He brought those to Admiral von Mittleburg, who handed them out to his people.
Jack then returned to pick up the US version. It was much longer but at least was nicely calligraphied.
The banker, industrialist, and rancher quickly read the two-page Greenfeld Imperial State Secrets Act and blanched.
“But we’re rebels,” the rancher said. “Do we really have to sign this?”
“If you want this rebellion to succeed, we have to keep a few secrets,” Vicky pointed out.
The banker shook his head. “Your Grace, there is no way in hell I’m going to sign this.”
“I understand, Bert, but I must insist if you want to stay.”
“I guess I’ll be on the next shuttle down,” Bert said, handing back his copy. The industrialist and rancher quickly followed his example. Both the mayors from Kiev and St. Petersburg also stood.
“Mannie, can you look after St. Petersburg’s interests. I won’t expect you to brief us when you get back. Just tell us what you can and what we need to know,” one mayor said.
“If I can tell you anything, I will,” the mayor of Sevastopol said, and signed the Secrets Act with a flourish.
The room quickly emptied. Nelly rearranged it, bringing up a conference table and converting the easy chairs into station chairs around the table, still comfortable, but more utilitarian.
“How do you get used to having your chair change and move around while you’re still sitting in it?” Vicky asked, glancing down and making a face at her chair.
“I’ve made chairs vanish from underneath people who were sitting in my place, but I don’t think Nelly has ever done things like this until the last couple of days,” Kris said.
“But I’ve wanted to,” Nelly said.
“So, Admiral,” Kris said, getting down to business, “what hot potato do you want to dump in our laps?”
“There have been reports, none of them creditable, that the Empress was trying to put together a battle squadron for exploration.”
“That sounds silly in the middle of a civil war,” Kris said.
“Yes. That was why the reports were not creditable. But we now have information.” The Admiral glanced at his message flimsy. “One of our ‘loyal’ stay-behinds got one of their loyal officers drunk. The guy bragged that he’d be navigating eight battleships out to find the aliens and they would make contact for the Empress where even Kris Longknife couldn’t.”
Kris swallowed hard but said nothing.
“We even got a sailing plan. The ships they’ve pulled out of the Reserve Fleet are eight battleships of the Deneb class. They pack twelve 15-inch lasers.”
“The aliens blew Admiral Krätz’s four battleships out of space even though they packed the most up-to-date 18-inchers,” Vicky breathed. “The Empress is out of her mind.”
“No. The Empress is desperate. You nearly killed her the last time you met,” Admiral von Mittleburg said. “She wants to make sure she kills you the next time you two face off.”
“And she’s willing to get all of humanity killed if she has to,” Kris growled. “What’s the sailing plan? Do you have it?”
“It is attached,” Admiral von Mittleburg said. “The Navy General Staff would like us to go after them, but it would mean stripping St. Petersburg of most of our battleships.”
“Nelly, have you got the sailing plan?”
“Yes, Kris. They’re heading out deep, and they aren’t going near US territory. It will be a long, stern chase for any of the Grand Duchess’s ships from here.”
“Would any other planet’s ships have better luck?” Kris asked.
“Brunswick is closer, but they only have four battleships,” Admiral von Mittleburg said.
“Kris, we could overtake them without too much trouble,” Nelly said.
“Have you figured out a course?”
“Yes, Kris,” and the screen that had the star map suddenly had two lines: one red, the other gold. The red line showed a series of short jumps. The gold one was a lot fewer jumps, but they were long leaps going far out before returning to intersect at a system well away from the Empire.
“I think the Princess Royal can handle eight obsolescent battleships,” Kris said. “We can have the Intrepid at the next pier spin off a pinnace and have it squawk as the Princess Royal.”
“Will you be leaving Ruth behind?” Jack asked, voice level as a plain.
Oops. “No, Jack. I will be taking Ruth with me. I said I was going to nurse her for at least the first year, and I will. Besides, there have been three assassination attempts on Vicky while she was on St. Petersburg. I don’t trust Ruth out of my sight.”
“Then how about four ships spin off pinnaces, and we take four frigates with us?”
“You don’t think the P. Royal can take eight old battleships, Jack?”
“I expect she could, but this intel is as squishy as it comes. Will more ships join them? Will they have tied in with a couple of honking-big alien warships by the time we catch them? Will we have to take all of them out before they go home to Momma and bring all their brothers and sisters back?”
“You want a larger safety margin, my paranoid security chief.”
“At least four. I’d prefer all eight, but you’re probably right. We have to maintain a presence here. Someone has to stay and respond to the letter we sent the Emperor.”
Kris eyed her brain trust. “Folks, you won’t be all that helpful
if we get into a fleet engagement. Do you mind staying behind?”
“I was afraid you’d never ask,” Al said, looking relieved. “I remember signing on to help you make peace, not blow shit up.”
“I have a bad habit of doing that,” Kris admitted.
“Which ship do we transfer to?” Judge Diana asked, hurrying their exit along.
“Let me talk to my flag captain,” Kris said. “Sad to say, she knows more about this squadron than its commander does.”
“Kris, I want to go out with you,” Vicky said.
Kris eyed the Imperial side of the table. She’d almost forgot they were here.
“As much as I hate to miss the fun, I must stay and maintain the fleet,” von Mittleburg said.
“I think I will go with the Grand Duchess,” Admiral Bolesław said.
“Mannie, you should go ashore,” Vicky told the mayor.
“I was just thinking I would like to go along with you. This might be as much fun as the last time we sailed into battle together.”
“Mannie, I have to go to accept the surrender of any ships that decide to throw in the towel. You aren’t really needed.”
Mannie gave the Grand Duchess a half shrug. “Since when have I needed an excuse to go where you go?”
“Mannie, this crazy Longknife is taking four small frigates and chasing after eight or more huge battleships. No one in their right mind would go along with her.”
“If you are not in your right mind, neither am I. Who knows, I might come in as much handy as you.”
“Assuming we can get a few to surrender, I have a job.”
“Vicky, I’m not moving unless Her Highness here throws me off her boat.”
“Ship,” Vicky corrected, and turned to Kris with a shrug that was a mixture of hopelessness and delight. “Do you have room for one more crazy?”
“Always room for another in this insane asylum I run,” Kris said, “especially a guy as implacable as my Jack.”
Who leaned over and gave her a quick peck.
“Well, time’s awasting. I have a division of frigates to get away from the pier. Admiral, I may need to top off my tanks and refill the larder.”
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