Defiant

10

Those two ship visits spotlighted what her job had become. The skippers and crews would fight the ships. She would get anything and everything out of their way that might interfere with them putting up the best fight possible.

The fact that some of that interference might be coming from those very skippers was a new thought for Kris, but not a totally alien one. In school she'd studied managers that were too hands-on. Micromanagers. Now she was getting a chance to help some of her friends avoid it. Oh, and avoid it herself.

Help ships get ready for the fight.

Find more ships and draft them into the fight.

That's what a princess does.

Chapter one for a book she might write someday on the proper etiquette and education of a princess.

Kris laughed and headed for her next PF. NELLY, KEEP COUNT OF WHICH BOATS I VISIT. TICK THEM OFF FOR ME AND LET ME KNOW IF I MISS ONE.

YES, MA'AM. WHILE YOU ARE WORKING ON THESE, I AM WORKING ON MORE COMPLEX EVASION SYSTEMS, FASTER EVASION MANEUVERS. I AM ALSO WORKING ON SEVERAL FINAL ATTACK RUN-INS, DEPENDING ON HOW OUR EVASION EFFORTS SPREAD US OUT. AND HOW MANY OF US SURVIVE THE RUN-IN..

VERY GOOD, NELLY. YOU COVER THAT.

DID YOU KNOW THE CHIEF OF 109 HAD ORDERED NEW HELMETS FOR THE CREW BEFORE PANDON CLOSED THINGS DOWN?

NO. ARE THEY GOOD ONES?

YES. THE BEST, BY MY MEASURE.

PLEASE ORDER THEM FOR ALL THE BOAT CREWS. AND THE ARMED YACHTS.

WE WILL NOT WANT THE ORDER TO RAISE A FLAG TO THE MEDIA.

NO. WE DON'T WANT THAT.

HOWEVER YOUR GRAMPA AL SPONSORS SEVERAL FOOTBALL TEAMS. I COULD ORDER NEW HELMETS UNDER THEIR COST CODE AND HAVE THEM MAILED TO THEIR PROPER ADDRESS, THEN MISDIRECT THEM UP THE BEANSTALK TO THE ATHLETIC DEPARTMENT OF THE NAVAL STATION. THAT SHOULD GO UNNOTICED.

YES, NELLY, THAT SHOULD.

KRIS, IS THIS WHAT YOU WOULD CALL FUN?

YES, OUTSMARTING PEOPLE WHO REALLY SHOULDN'T BE ALL THAT INTERESTED IN WHAT YOU ARE DOING IS WHAT I CALL FUN.

YES, I FIND THIS FUN. I WILL ALSO REPROGRAM THE HIGH-G STATIONS TO ALLOW FOR THE HELMETS. THE YACHTS HAVE SMART METAL STATIONS, SO I COULD MODIFY THEM AS WELL, THOUGH MOST HAVE SECURITY SYSTEMS IN PLACE THAT WILL STOP ME. I WILL EXPLAIN TO THEM THAT WE HAVE ORDERED HELMETS THAT WILL HELP THEIR HUMANS AND THAT MY ADJUSTMENTS WILL MAKE THEM SAFER. I THINK THEY WILL ADOPT MY CHANGES.

YOU'LL NEGOTIATE WITH THE YACHT'S COMPUTER SYSTEMS?

I THINK THAT IS WHAT YOU WOULD CALL IT.

That was something worth thinking more about. NELLY, MENTION THAT TO AUNT TRU'S COMPUTER NEXT TIME YOU TALK TO IT. I THINK TRU WOULD FIND IT INTERESTING THAT YOU AND THE OTHER COMPUTERS ARE NEGOTIATING THINGS JUST NOW.

YOU THINK SO? IT SEEMED ONLY REASONABLE.

Yeah. Right.

The other boats were in various degrees of disarray. Kris expected Phil or Chandra would prove an exception to that, but they rather proudly pointed out the extent to which they were a mess. Chandra was testing the AGM-944s. Though the same diameter as the Foxer charges, they were four times as long. That required ripping out two of the four Foxer tubes to install missile-size ones.

''Nelly's working on several more radical evasion schemes.''

''Good.'' Chandra nodded. ''I think we will need to be more wily than we ever thought we needed to be. Better we cut corners faster than we have to, than cut slower than we should have.''

''We may need more Foxers.''

Chandra blinked. ''I will have to arrange for us to load new Foxer magazines while we are moving. It can be done.''

''Commander Santiago on the Halsey is looking at how many tugs we can get standing by. Just in case we use up all our consumables and need help slowing down.''

''Are we going to be diving out of the moon at them?''

''That's one option.''

''A good one. We can maneuver behind the moon, come out on a different vector from what we went in on.''

''It could have us diving straight at Wardhaven.''

''That's what the tugs are for,'' the mustang said with a fatalistic shrug. ''First we kill the battlewagons, then we worry about the rest of our lives.''

Phil's engines were torn apart, his radiators in the yard being reworked. ''If I can get an extra ten percent output from the matter-antimatter reaction, even if it's for only the last thirty seconds, it could put me that much closer, that much faster. I'll use the radiators to cool the engines down as far as I dare before we start the charge, then close them off to give off as little infrared as I can. Then, once we've blown them to hell, we can spread the radiators out and get the reactors out of the red fast. If this works, the yard can redo all the other boats before we leave. How's Tom doing on the 109?''

''The yard's helping on the 109 and 105. I see that you've got the yard working with you. Chandra has them helping her up-gun the 105. You need anything else?''

''Not now. I'm gonna let them work out the kinks in the Foxer to 944 thing on the 105 before I let them mess with my boat. You going down the squadron?''

''That seems to be my ticket. You look over the shoulders of your chiefs and techs to make sure they got everything they need to get the job done. Me, I get to look over your shoulder to see if there's anything I can get you. Sometimes I even help you before you realize it. We've ordered new helmets.'' Kris updated Phil on Nelly's new evasion plan and the helmets that might keep them from addling the crews' brains while they did the evading.

''I should have thought of that,'' Phil said.

''The more heads, the better the thinking. Tell you what, I'll ask the Commodore if he'd like to hold a stand-up conference on the pier beside the Cushing this evening so we can review work on the squadron. Say sixteen hundred. Each skipper can say how things are going, good ideas they've thought up, and plan for the next day. Nothing too long. Don't have time for that.''

''Think you can get the shipyard boss to show up, tell us how things are going? I asked my yard rep, and all I get is ‘Everything is fine. Don't worry.' Just makes me worry more.''

''I'll have Roy there.''

Kris stumbled across Jack more by accident than intent. He swore a blood oath not to let her get away like that again. At the Cushing, Kris told the Commodore about her idea of afternoon and morning meetings.

''I always had those when I was in the yard. We're in such a hurry we're forgetting to do it right. You're doing a walk-around. Good Commanders always do them. Lets ‘em see what's really happening in their commands. Anyone tell you to do that?''

''No.'' Kris admitted.

The Commodore smiled. ''Should have known it wouldn't take a Longknife long to figure it out. By right of blood, by right of name. By right of title, is that what you said? Got to remember that for my memoirs. Don't hear things like that nearly enough these days. Certainly not from the likes of your old man. Anyway, yes, Your Highness, I will send runners to your fiefs and request and require that your skippers present themselves at sixteen hundred.''

''Sounds awful fancy. Sure they'll understand what you want? What's wrong with ‘The Commodore sends his compliments and calls a conference on the pier.' It always worked before.''

''Ah, yes, but this has more poetry. And shouldn't we who are about to die salute life with poetry?'' the Commodore said. And for the first time, Kris noticed that the old fellow had a twinkle in his eye.

What have I unleashed? No. What are we unleashing from ourselves?

Kris skipped the Halsey. She had no illusions that she had anything to offer Sandy, other than what time the pier-side conference was. Gate 5B was now open between the yard and the Naval Station right at pier-side. Kris crossed over quickly, but the air docks were scattered along the spacefront. She didn't know what to expect aboard the yachts. She was not surprised when she got everything from ''Princess arriving,'' aboard Grampa Al's boat to ''There's a Longknife aboard. Watch your wallets,'' as she crossed the brow to another.

The yachts had established their own command structure, electing the skipper of the General Electric yacht Archimedes as their Commodore. Elizabeth Luna, a tall drink of water with graying raven hair and a drawl almost direct from some rawboned section of old Earth, greeted Kris with a firm handshake and a complaint. ''They want to rip out my 12-inch pulse lasers. Over my dead body they get my guns.''

Kris suspected there'd be a lot of dead bodies besides Elizabeth's. ''They give a reason?'' Kris asked, buying time and checking for exits. Jack displayed noticeable disinterest in Kris's bodily safety as he studiously examined a set of crossed sabers hanging from the bridge bulkhead. Apparently, Elizabeth was fully prepared to repel boarders.

''Weight. They're welding that damn decoy to my snout, a barge off kilter between that decoy and the Archie, and slapping together some sort of false front on all this with half-inch deck plate, and they're worried about weight.''

''How could you use the lasers with all that junk out in front of you?'' Kris asked. It sounded like a good question.

''That crap ain't gonna be there when I'm shooting, honey. I plan to rig explosive charges to the struts holding on the cover and the decoy. Once you've done your part, I'm gonna cut myself lose and go gunning for any little pieces you left behind.''

Kris blinked. She considered her part in this mission just one step shy of suicide. Any reasonable person would. But intentionally going into battle in a ship speckled with explosive charges …! Planning on blowing a hole in your ship so you could get out, and then charging out shooting…?

PARDON ME, KRIS, BUT WHAT IS THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN HER EXPLOSIVE CHARGES AND HAVING THE AGM-944'S ABOARD? Nelly asked.

THANK YOU, NELLY, YOU MAY GO BACK TO YOUR CALCULATIONS.

YES MA'AM.

''The other armed yachts plan to do the same?''

''Yep. We got it all worked out. You mind explaining it to the yard folks and your Navy friends? They seem to listen better when you do the talking.''

''Aren't the reservists normally in the decoys?'' Kris asked.

''No problems. I've moved their workstations inside. Better eats for them out of our galley, trust me. We got the staterooms all rigged as work areas for them. Even got three of them set up in the owner's hot tub. Drained it, of course. Eight redundancy lines going forward to the decoy's noisemakers and other stuff. Trust me, they're safer here than there.

''Making a real mess of the yacht.''

''Boss said to win this fight. Don't count the cost, and there's stock options in it for the crew. Not that the boss's stocks are gonna be worth all that much if we lose. But we win this one, I don't expect any of us will have to look for work the rest of our lives. Yes, Princess, we're gonna go gunning for anything you don't kill.

''And from what I hear, we aren't the only yachts that are checking out their six-shooters. Half a dozen more armed yachts are getting ready to sail with us.''

''Oh my God,'' Kris said. Maybe prayed. ''We don't need them out there ahead of us, messing up…'' Kris didn't say more.

''Messing up the fancy dance you fast boats are gonna have to do if you're gonna stay alive,'' Luna finished for her.

''Something like that,'' Kris finished. Nelly?

I TOLD YOU I WOULD TELL YOU IF SOMETHING BROKE IN THE NEWSIES. NOTHING HAS BROKEN. No HINT OF DEFENSE. THE TALKING HEADS ARE ALL POLITICAL AND ALL CONCENTRATING ON YOUR FATHER AND PANDORI. NO RETIRED GENERALS, ADMIRALS TALKING. INTERESTING, THAT. TRUST ME, KRIS, I CAN GENERATE RANDOM NUMBERS AND PAY ATTENTION TO THE NEWS. PIECE OF CAKE.

THANKS, NELLY. ''How long do you think before this leaks out?'' Kris asked the yacht skipper.

The merchant mariner shrugged. ''Most of us have orders from our owners to keep it quiet. No reason for us to blab our heads off to the newsies. We drink in a better grade of bar from them, if you ask me. Anyway, they're not snooping all that hard. Maybe someone shortened their leash. Who knows?'' There was a hint of a smile in the shrug Elisabeth gave. Had she actually just praised the bugs that everyone usually loved to hate?

Kris's next stop took her to Roy's office. A runner led her to the shop floor where the acting super huddled with a small army of engineers over a hologram of one of the armed yachts. Kris watched as it blew away its outer shell, decoy, and power barge, emerging like a butterfly from a cocoon—and was then ripped apart by the flying pieces as they bounced off of each other and into the yacht.

''That ain't gonna work,'' Roy said. ''Get another option.''

''We've already tried twelve.''

''So you shouldn't have all that much trouble coming up with another twelve. Your momma didn't raise an unimaginative engineer, did she?''

There was a general muttering about whether some managers had mothers. Roy chose to recognize Kris at that moment and by concentrating his smile on her, ignore the small mutiny among his people. ''How's it going, Your Highness?''

''Better than I might have expected. Has Captain Luna seen that little demonstration?''

''She and the other five skippers saw the first four versions. Doesn't believe a pixel of them. ‘All engineering hogwash,' I believe was their response.''

''Could they fire their lasers from inside that lash-up?''

''Not sure I'd recommend it.''

''How about a short, very low-power stutter burst to knock a hole where you want it, then a full power burst through that hole? I did a low-power burst on…'' Right, her shoots were not in the history books, yet. ''Well, I've dialed pulse lasers way down and used them that way.''

''Hardware's not designed for that.''

''I did software mods. On the fly. Certainly you could do some with two days' warning.''

''And test them, debug them, document them.'' Roy sighed. ''Oh, I hate dealing with software engineers. Especially when I have to tell them all we have is two days to do it in.''

''I could have Nelly do it before close of business today,'' Kris said.

I COULD HAVE IT DONE IN FIVE MINUTES, IF I HAD ACCESS TO THE SHIP SYSTEMS. WHAT DO YOU THINK I AM, AN ABACUS?

I KNOW, NELLY, BUT LET'S NOT EMBARRASS TOO MANY PEOPLE.

YOU HUMANS AND YOUR FEELINGS.

Now Roy was grinning from ear to ear. ''That might be fun. Challenge my software engineers to a race, them versus your computer. But no. Not a good idea. I'll have to work with those guys long after you've sailed off into the sunset. Very bad idea. But it would be fun. Oh Lord, but I'm gonna be in trouble.''

He glanced back at his engineers. Another explosion was taking place in slow motion. Yes. Yes. No. The ship got nicked, then slammed, then the power barge bounced a girder and drove it through the bridge. Ugly picture.

''What a choice. Either these folks have to come up with something, or the software engineers. Looks like I'm damned either way.''

''What if you kept the false ship pretty much in one piece.'' A small voice came from around Kris's neck. ''Blew the attachment points gently, and backed the yacht out of the cocoon?''

''What did you say, Kris?''

''You're talking to Nelly, Roy.''

''Do you have to blow up the false ship?'' Nelly asked. ''Why not leave it mostly in one piece? Small explosions might detach it. Then, if the yacht fired short retro blasts, the false front would go on at its existing vector, and the yacht would slow. Then it could set out on its own course.''

''That's what we've been trying to do. It's not as easy as it seems. The charges keep doing more than we want. The attachments have to be solid enough to take the pounding we're gonna give them during the fight. That rig's going to be knocked around quite a bit. It takes major explosives to separate it.''

''But properly placed, they don't have to create that big a mess, that many conflicting vectors,'' Nelly came back.

Kris suspected this discussion could go on for quite a while. ''Ah, Roy, I've set up a sixteen hundred meeting on the dock beside the Cushing for the PF skippers. There will probably be an oh eight hundred one as well. We might also want to set one up thirty minutes later for the armed yacht skippers and the Navy OIC aboard. I understand the Navy's actually been moved off the decoys and into the yachts. These get-togethers would let everyone know what's going on in their work.''

''Oh, right, yeah, we are moving the Navy workstations onto the yachts. Guess we haven't told everyone.''

''We can do that at the stand-up meetings.''

''Right. Nelly, you have any suggestions for size of explosions and placement?''

''I would need to see your plans for supports.''

''Right. Hmm. No easy way to break that to the engineering staff. Let me get back to you at the four o'clock thing.''

''I will be there if Kris is,'' Nelly said.

NELLY, TRANSMIT ALL THIS REAL TIME TO TRU.

HOW WOULD THAT NOT PUT SECURITY AT RISK?

RIGHT. THEN MAKE A RECORD AND TRANSMIT IT AS SOON AS IT BECOMES POSSIBLE

YES, MA'AM. DOES THIS BOTHER YOU?

NO, NELLY, IT'S JUST A NEW SIDE OF YOU THAT WE HAVEN'T SEEN BEFORE AND I EXPECT WILL TICKLE TRU'S FANCY.

I THINK IT IS FUN TO TICKLE TRU'S FANCY.

SO IT SEEMS.

The Halsey was last on Kris's list, but she made a stop by the 109 first. The yard folks had fully occupied the engine room. Tom was back on the bridge, giving what help he could to Penny's effort to connect the intel station to the sensors.

''Maybe string and two tin cans?'' Penny sighed.

''Maybe we need to bring in some expert help,'' Kris said.

''More yard workers?'' Tom asked, still no grin in sight.

''No, I think there's a tech on the Halsey that might put all of us to shame,'' Kris said. ''A nerd who loves black boxes like a good friend of mine,'' she said, giving Tom an elbow in the ribs.

''This tech nerd on the Halsey sounds like someone I'd like to meet,'' Tom said, his grin starting to come out of hiding.

''If he or she can make my station talk to this tub's sensor suite, I want in on the talks, too,'' Penny said, pushing herself away from the recalcitrant station.

''Strangely enough, the Halsey's CIC was next on my ramble,'' Kris said and led the way.

No surprise, Kris found Sandy leaning over the battle board. ''How's it going?'' Kris asked what was becoming her one-question-fits-all greeting.

The destroyer skipper shrugged but didn't take her eyes off the board. ''It's a crapshoot. Do we attack early, dive straight at them as we come out of the moon's shadow? Or do we come along beside them, let them shoot at us for a while at long range? Note that they will be shooting at us. Their battlewagons have the range for the shoot. We don't.''

''Sounds like you just answered your own question. No reason to stay in their range any longer than we have to,'' Kris said.

''But if we come charging straight at them, it kind of shows our hand, doesn't it?'' Tom said.

''That's why I don't want to do it.'' Sandy nodded.

''But our hand is kind of weak,'' Kris said.

''Weak, yes, but do we want them to know it? Battles aren't so much won by the brilliant choices of the winner as lost by the dumb mistakes of the losers. I hope that doesn't shock you, Longknife.''

''I've been kind of suspecting that,'' Kris said dryly.

''I'm shocked,'' Tom said, grin lopsided as could be.

''I'm shocked,'' Penny said, ''that a tin can skipper would be revealing such sacred Navy secrets to lowly junior officers.''

''Think security can afford to lock me in irons for the violation, Lieutenant Lien?'' Sandy asked.

Penny preened at her new name and shook her head.

''So,'' Sandy went on slowly, ''if we did a slow approach until we got into long-range laser fire, let them get in the first shots, and then turned things loose…''

''We'd have more time to study their formation,'' Penny said, giving the intel officer's take on the tactical problem.

''And they'd be doing the same to us,'' Kris pointed out.

''And wouldn't the both of us be doing our best to lie, lie, lie to each other,'' Tom concluded in full brogue.

''So who will do the better job?'' Kris asked.

''What are our decoys going to be sending?'' Sandy asked.

''I'd thought we'd pass them off as light cruisers, dragged out of mothballs. We were supposed to have sent everything we had to Boynton. It was on all the talk shows,'' Kris answered. ''But Roy says we can have any size false front put on the yacht lash-up. How big we want to fake?''

Sandy rubbed the bridge of her nose thoughtfully. Tom started talking first. ''What if we started out making the noises like something smaller, but as we got closer, started ‘leaking' something bigger. After we got caught up in those fights on Olympia, my great-grandmum told me that things weren't always so peaceful on Santa Maria. During the starving times for the first hundred years after the lost ship's crew tried to make a go of it settling on Santa Maria, well, not everyone was willing to go hungry. Some went bad. Went to the hills as bandits. That's not something we kids got told in school.

''Well, there was one fight where the menfolk were making their stand against the hill bandits, and just when it looked like they were beat, the womenfolk and kids, decked out with any stick or whatever looked sharp or pointed, they come running around the hill beside the fight. The bandits took one look at what they took for reinforcements and ran.''

''Confusion and misdirection,'' Penny said.

''Confusion to my enemy,'' Sandy toasted.

''The more, the merrier,'' Kris agreed. ''Maybe we could start out making like light cruisers, then have half of them start to leak like Triumph-class battle cruisers. Just the kind of old units that might still be swinging around the reserve fleet moorings and been overlooked.''

''Confuse them more and more.'' Sandy nodded.

''And if that's not enough,'' Kris said, ''Patrol 8 isn't the only gun in town.'' That got a raised eyebrow from Sandy and open stares from the other two. Kris filled them in on what the armed yachts wanted to do, and that there were more of them wanting in on this brawl.

''Oh, sweet Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,'' Tom prayed. ''Just what we need, a crowded battlefield.''

''No, I'm told they'll be behind us, looking to go in after us and fight what we've damaged.''

''That might not be such a bad use for them. Privateers cutting out the enemy wounded and putting them down.'' Sandy nodded. ''Somebody thought they could leave Wardhaven defenseless if they shipped the fleet away. Don't they know you can never turn your back on a free man, free woman? Not while they got their teeth. Their fingernails.''

''I suspect 12-inch pulse lasers on an armed yacht qualifies a bit higher on the threat scale than teeth,'' Kris said.

''But you get my meaning.''

''Yep. We cut a hole in the battlewagons, leave them bleeding and shocked. The armed people of Wardhaven will take them down with what they've got.''

''And my Halsey and the Cushing will cut a hole for you to go in. That we will do,'' Sandy said, hands slowly clenching into fists. The four of them thought on that for a long moment. It was a plan. The only plan they had. And no battle plan survived contact with the enemy.

What will I come up with when this one comes apart?

''I need to make a call dirtside,'' Kris finally said. ''See how things are going with my brother. Since my last call to him didn't get blasted all over the newsies, it looks like Beni's commlink is a good one. Can I borrow it again?''

''Ask him. Lieutenant, please have Beni report to the CIC.''

''Aye, aye, ma'am.''

Two minutes later, the 1/c reported, rubbing sleep from his eyes and zipping himself back into a rumpled shipsuit.

''I wake you?'' Kris asked, realizing her first question should have been about Beni's schedule, not his availability.

''You sure enough did, ma'am. This important?''

''I hope so. Can I borrow your commlink?''

He handed it over, looked around for a empty chair, sank into it, and appeared to be asleep in two blinks. Kris talked in her codes and Honovi's number.

''Rose, I told you… This you, Kris? Don't hang up.''

''It's me,'' Kris said.

''Good. I'm meeting with Kusa Pandori. You remember her. She kind of does for her old man what I do for mine.''

''I remember Kusa,'' Kris said. ''I'll call back later.''

''No. No, don't you dare. I want you to hear this, and I want her to hear what I tell you. Kris, understand. She has to know that there is nothing being held back here. I can't afford to say one thing to her, then another thing to you.''

''Open covenants, openly arrived at,'' Kris quoted Father quoting some other politician.

''In spades, Sis.''

''What's happening?'' Kris asked as she heard, ''So that's really your sister. So what? She's out of jail. Who cares?''

''My sister is up the beanstalk preparing a dozen fast patrol boats to take on the incoming battleships.''

''We don't know they're battleships. Those expensive toys are headed for the scrap heap, and my father ordered the Navy to stand down. Besides, if anyone with a name like your sister was doing anything like that, it would be all over the news. Why haven't I heard about it?''

''Beni, can you put this on some kind of speakerphone?'' Kris whispered.

''Yes, ma'am,'' the technician said, coming to his feet from his apparent sleep. In a moment, the entire CIC was listening to Brother's response, as Beni whispered, ''I've got you on mute. If you want to talk, Lieutenant, hit this button.''

Kris nodded and listened.

''Do you honestly think someone would send luxury liners to broadcast a surrender demand?''

''It could be all a bluff,'' the woman's voice said. Kris measured it for conviction and found it wanting.

''They've got battleship reactors and turbines.'' No answer there. ''And my sister is doing everything she can to get those dinky boats you want scrapped ready to attack those battleships, ‘cause they're the only ships we have that can.''

''Don't forget my Halsey,'' Sandy said with a grin. A grin that was answered around the CIC.

''That's suicide.''

''Maybe. Kris doesn't think so. And she's spending every second she can reducing the odds against her.''

''They can't do it.''

''Then what does your father intend to do? He can't surrender. Face it. Sooner or later, he's going to have to do what we all know we have to do: fight. Order everything we have to fight. You wanted to be known as strong on defense. That's why you sent the fleet to Boynton.''

''We thought if we were seen as strong, no one would try us.''

''They were bluffing,'' Tom spat.

''And if they were bluffing at Boynton, no wonder they want to assume someone's bluffing here,'' Penny said.

''Nobody bluffs with battleships.'' Sandy scowled.

''But you must be bluffing,'' the young woman went on. ''The news would be full of any preparation for battle at the Naval Station. That would not go unnoticed, Honovi.''

''No, Kusa, it hasn't gone unnoticed. Just unreported. My father talked to his contacts in the media. They are sitting on it. They will sit on it until your father and mine announce that a coalition government is moving to defend Wardhaven.''

''My father has his contacts in the news—''

''And if they can get up the beanstalk, and if they can get on the Naval Station, and if they can get their news bite, does your father really want to say that what is going on is in violation of his orders? Orders that he did not put in writing for some reason.''

There was a long pause in the phone conversation.

''Why doesn't your brother just tell her how the cow's gonna eat the cabbage?'' Beni asked.

''Because sometimes, the true measure of a politician is not what he says, but what he doesn't say, and the patience he has in not saying it. The Pandoris painted themselves into a corner. A corner they didn't see coming and never intended to be in. Now they need help out. Thank God my father is finally trying to help them out of it.'' More likely, Honovi had persuaded Father to let them out. After this crisis, Kris suspected the relationship between father and son would never be the same.

Between brother and sister might be kind of different, too.

''What do you want?'' the young woman asked.

''My sister wants to lead out her squadron obedient to our orders. She begs that she not be required to sail in Wardhaven's defense as a rebel against verbal orders. If they have the loyalty, the courage, and the willingness to risk their lives, the least we can do is give them our permission. That's all I ask. Your dad can stay Prime Minister in the Government of National Unity. My father would like Defense. We can work things out if you have problems. But whatever we do, we have to have this done before they sail.

''When's that?''

''Kris?''

''We need to be away from the station eight hours before the hostiles arrive. Say go into the boats two … three hours before that. Give us an hour before that to pass the message along the pier. If you could, Honovi, Kusa, we need twelve hours before their scheduled arrival.''

''When's that?'' Brother asked.

''Assuming they continue their one-g deceleration, and that they want to make orbit with standard energy…'' Sandy tapped the battle board. Kris read off a time not quite two days hence.

''Not a lot of time,'' the young woman said.

''I'm hearing that a lot from yard workers, ship fitters, engineers,'' Kris said. ''If we'd been ordered to go tomorrow, we'd go, but our chances of getting those battleships are a whole lot better for having had three days' preparation.''

''Three days?''

''I came right up here,'' Kris said.

''One more thing,'' Kusa said. ''I expect that my dad and your father can agree to most of what they presently differ over, Honovi. But one thing must be clear before any further talks.''

''Yes?''

''When this naval force sails to engage the, what did you call them, hostiles, there will be no Longknife aboard them.''

Kris swallowed hard. There it was again. Nobody, but nobody, wanted her in the squadron. Not Grampa Al, for his reasons. Not Honovi. Not the Pandoris for their own reasons. She half expected Brother to snap, ''Deal.''

There was silence from the other end of the line.

''Sis,'' Honovi finally said slowly, ''I'd love to agree to what she just asked.''

Kris stood, her finger hovering over the Talk button on the commsole. All she had to say was ''Yes,'' and she was out of this suicidal charge. She'd live!

To see what? Live under whose idea of a government? Before Kris could stab the comm button, Sandy got there first.

''This is Commander Santiago, skipper of the destroyer Halsey. Princess Longknife is in my Combat Information Center, and we've been listening in on this conversation. And Ms. Pandori, before you go through the roof, let me assure you that those listening will hold this conversation in utmost confidence until their dying day. Which, I suspect, isn't all that far off, since my ship and I will be doing our best to punch a hole in the battleships' defenses for the fast boats to slip through.

''You say you do not want a Longknife with us when we sortie tomorrow. Sorry. We want her. Not only do we want her with us on that sortie, but we demand that she lead us. We demand that because the odds are that a hell of a lot of us are going to die on that sortie. If she's leading us, there's a damn sight better chance that we will not die in vain. Am I clear on that point?''

''Yes, Commander,'' came a rather cowed woman's voice.

''I understand your political objective. As a Santiago, trust me, I don't like Longknifes any better than you do. However, I've seen the files of what she did in the only practice run this squadron got to make. I've watched her pull this lash-up together. When all hell's a-popping, you send for the bastards, and there ain't no bastard better than a Longknife bastard. From what I've seen, this one has the makings of a damn fine Longknife bastard.

''So, ma'am, when we sortie, we sortie behind her, or your father may find that those of us presently in rebellion by preparing for what we were told not to prepare for, will be in rebellion by refusing to sail for what we damn well' have gotten ready for. Do I make myself clear?''

''Perfectly, Commander.''

''This is Lieutenant, JG Tom Lien, commanding PF-109. I'll be in one of those toys that will be doing its best to close with the battleships and blast them out of space. Every one of us skippers wants Kris and that crazy computer around her neck to be calling the shots on when we dodge and how we do it. Eight of us tried attacking just one drone battleship, and eight of us failed. Four followed those two and we four got our fake battleship. That tell you the way it is?''

Well, maybe I don't get to stay home and knit, Kris thought.

''I will tell my father that keeping Princess Kristine out of the attack on the invaders is not an option,'' the young woman said. ''I may require further concessions from you, Honovi.''

''You're going to ask me for concessions so my kid sister can run off and get herself killed?'' her brother growled.

Kris mashed the Talk button. ''Down, Brother. Remember, you're the politician. I'm the one who gets to break things.''

''Kris! Please take care.''

''As much as the circumstances allow.''

''Yeah, right,'' he snorted. ''I think this tells you all you need to know, Kris. Kusa, shall we continue our talk privately?''

''Very privately,'' said the young woman's voice.

''Kris, you really will see that this does not leak.''

''Brother,'' Kris said, glancing around the CIC, giving every soul present a look that would sear steel, ''what they heard here they have already forgotten.''

''Thank you. Good-bye. Stay safe.''

''Good-bye. Don't forget to take care of yourself. Some of those lasers may be aimed your way, too, Brother.''

There was a bitter snort. ''You. Worrying about me!'' and the line cut off.

''You weren't really looking for an out option, were you?'' Sandy half asked.

''No, though I have to wonder a bit. Everyone keeps throwing them at me. Kind of makes me wonder if it's just me that wants to make this crazy run. Nice to know I'm wanted,'' Kris said, giving Tom a hug. Penny joined in from the other side.

''Yeah, I think we want you, or your computer.''

''It is nice to be wanted,'' Nelly said.

''When you're finished with that love fest, could you help me?'' Sandy said as gruffly as the grin on her face would allow. Tom and Penny broke from the hug, leaving Kris once more alone.

''Yesterday, Winston Spencer, a newsie who did a story on what it's like to be a destroyer sailor last year, called me. Good story. Wanted to know if I'd be doing anything interesting soon. I told him I'd heard the Navy was only doing nice things just now. He said he'd heard the same, but if things changed, he'd sure like to go out with me. Friends for old times' sake.''

Kris measured that against what her brother had said. Patriotism wasn't something limited to just a day here and there, to this group or that. She shrugged. ''Ask him if his insurance is paid up and if his wife and kids would mind if he got suddenly dead. Then offer him a berth. Assuming you don't mind.''

''He did a good story. If he lives, he'll do another one.''

''Boy, aren't we a gloomy bunch,'' Penny said.

Tommy glanced at Penny. ''Sure you want to ride the 109?''

''Will you be in it?'' his bride asked. Her groom nodded. ''Can anyone make that board do its tricks better than I can? Oh. Right. Nobody can make it do anything. Aren't we supposed to be talking to someone about that?'' Penny said, glancing around.

''Yep, that nice guy snoring over there,'' Kris said.

''Who, me?'' Beni said, sitting up, eyes open now.

''Can we borrow him?'' Kris asked. ''Tom stole this intel station, but we can't get it to tie into our sensor array. At least not consistently.''

Sandy grinned. ''Beni don't need sleep. Grab your toolbox and head up the pier, First Class.''

''I keep saying I got to make Chief. They never do a lick of work. This being first class is just too much of a bad thing.''

''You could apply for OCS,'' Kris suggested.

''Yeah. That would be the ticket. Officers never do nothing. Be an officer and just stand around drinking the coffee the Chief brings you and telling jokes. That's what I need to do. Which boat is it you need fixing?''

''The 109,'' Penny said. ''I'll take you there.''

Tom started to follow, but Kris grabbed his elbow. ''We have a four o'clock stand-up on the pier. Maybe after it, Penny and Beni will have your problem solved.'' ''Stand-up on the pier?'' Sandy said. ''Yep, that's why I dropped by. To tell you about it.'' Sandy got off her stool. ''Glad you mentioned it.'' ''Say nothing of it,'' Kris said as they headed for the hatch.