Defiant

13

Contact: -12 hours

Vice Admiral Ralf Baja studied the battle board in flag plot of his flagship, the Revenge. Henry Peterwald had chosen the names of the five ships that trailed the Admiral's flag: Ravager, Retribution, Retaliation, Vengeance, and Avenger. If there was any doubt in the Admiral's mind about his mission, the names given his commands settled it. He'd always known there was bad blood between the Peterwalds and the Longknifes. Nothing open, just something whispered. Now it was as public as six battleships and their course for Wardhaven.

''Any changes?'' he asked.

''None,'' his Chief of Staff Rear Admiral Bhutta Saris said immediately. Nice to have a second who knew what was on your mind. Then again, it didn't take a crystal ball to guess today.

The Admiral glanced up in the direction of the separate intel section he had added to his flag plot. Saris followed his gaze. ''Lieutenant, report the status of the target,'' he ordered.

The Duty Lieutenant came to attention, but his eyes stayed on the boards of the three enlisted technicians he oversaw. ''Communications on their battle net is at twenty percent and purely administrative. No threats identified. Their media net continues to report on their political paralysis. No evidence of military preparations, though some of the minor outlets are now carrying commentaries urging military action. These are usually attacked immediately by phone-in callers. Their civilian net usage is about normal. Some minor public demonstrations reported. Anything larger is being suppressed. Our searches identify no threats developing.''

''Not that we'd know before time.'' The Admiral sighed. ''No one talking about us would call us enemy battleships. They'd have selected code words. Love Boats. Twinkies.''

''And we would have nothing more to fear from such talk,'' came a new voice. The Admiral organized his face to bland as he came to attention and turned to the only one who would enter his flag plot uninvited. Harrison Maskalyne was the perfect governor for Wardhaven, or would be as soon as the Admiral put him there. Tall, with finely sculptured features offset by wavy black hair, he could have stepped off a pedestal of some Greek god. And was about as dumb and bloodthirsty as one as well.

The governor waved a hand. ''Your political masters have delivered Wardhaven to you with nothing to defend it but a ship or two that dare not show their faces. Perfect planning. First we smash the Longknifes here. Over the next year or two we collect up the wreckage of their king's united nothing,'' he said, closing a fist on thin air. ''Then, in three or four years, Admiral, you will be leading a full fleet on an intercept vector for Earth, and humanity will be done with this fracturing and bickering. United once more.'' He smiled.

Of course, he was quoting a speech the Admiral had heard Henry Peterwald give a few months ago. Peterwald didn't count on Maskalyne for anything but an echo. He rarely surprised.

The Admiral nodded. ''All goes according to plan. You will excuse an old fighter. We are trained from our first day at the Academy that no battle plan survives contact with the enemy.''

''Ah, but this plan has nothing to fear. Your enemy has nothing to bring at you. No contact. No problem. Right?'' The governor said with a happy chuckle.

''As you say,'' the Admiral said, giving the governor a slight bow so as to avoid joining in the mirth.

Maskalyne shook his head. ''You are far too dour, Admiral. Just don't let your concern for bogeymen interfere with your application of the proper jolts to Wardhaven. I want the full spectrum of political and communication targets flattened on our first pass. We of the political arm have taken care of your military problems. Now you will apply the proper degree of violence to all the necessary social and cultural targets to cower the troublemakers on Wardhaven. Wardhaven must not just be defeated. They must know they have lost everything. Even hope.''

''We have a full list of your targets,'' the Admiral said, tapping a section of his battle board. On the bulkhead, a screen changed from the space ahead, Wardhaven growing larger, to a long list of targets ranging from Government House and Nuu House, as well as communication hubs, media centers, any places large groups might gather, talk, and form a consensus when the net was down.

''Good. They must be defeated, and more importantly, know they are defeated. The occupation forces won't be arriving for several weeks. We don't want them to have to fight. Only occupy. Your job is to take the fight out of Wardhaven. That's what these ships were built for. Right?''

''Yes, Mr. Governor,'' the Admiral said. The Revenge was not your average battleship. Tomorrow, Wardhaven would either surrender or find out. The governor left, on whatever errand he felt called to on this, the last day before his investiture. Admiral Baja continued to study his battle board. It continued to tell him the same nothing it had for the last three and a half days.

''I want to get four, maybe six undisturbed hours of rest,'' he told Saris. ''Don't awaken me unless something very important comes up. Something that fills in some major blanks.''

''I will get some sleep, too, sir. No need to baby-sit a board that says nothing. Let the Duty Lieutenant do it.''

''He will wake you if necessary?''

''Yes, I trust him. I knew his father.''

''Good, then let us get some rest.'' The Admiral turned but carefully let Saris fall in step beside him. As he came close, he turned on his jammer and whispered to Saris good-naturedly, ''Do you have orders to replace me if Maskalyne says to?''

Saris's dark complexion turned almost ghostly for a moment, but he did not miss a step. ''Yes, sir. That was the condition of my being offered the position. If I did not agree to that, it was made known to me that they would offer it to someone else.''

The Admiral nodded. ''You were my first choice. In return for you, they required that I accept certain things as well. I expected they would require something like this of you. I am glad that we now have it out in the open.''

''Might I ask what things they required of you?''

''Let us hope that you never have to find out what they are,'' the Admiral said and switched off the jammer.

''Sir, we had a slight magnetic disturbance in the vicinity of flag plot,'' the Duty Lieutenant said, turning to them.

''What kind of disturbance?'' Saris demanded. They both knew that their recent conversation would not have occurred without someone jamming the observing cameras, listening posts.

''We could not locate it, sir. It was only there a second. It might have been a minor power fluctuation,'' the young man added, as if trying to give himself an out. Maybe his superiors. Senior officers were known to occasionally use jammers. If caught, it could be a career-ending mistake. Maybe life-ending.

''Well, what are you going to do about it?'' Saris demanded.

''Log it, sir,'' the young man said, giving the proper answer.

''Then do so. I will be in my underway cabin. Wake me only if something develops. Understood?''

''Yes, sir.''

Vice Admiral Ralf Baja left for his stateroom without looking back. He could only hope his fleet could spare enough time from looking over everyone's shoulder to keep an eye on its rapidly approaching target.

Contact: -11 hours

Honovi watched the large screen in the main parlor of Government House. It was hard to remember that this was not his home for the first time since he was thirteen.

''Can't you get the picture any clearer?'' Prime Minister Pro Tem Mojag Pandori snapped. ''Somebody walked off with the remote.'' A slur against the Longknifes' sudden packing job, no doubt. Honovi didn't mention all the stuff he couldn't find.

The screen was old, and someone had been messing with the brightness. Kusa looked at Honovi wordlessly. Yep, she was the kind of hands-on type who would have tried to make things better… and gotten them worse. An out-of-kilter vid screen perfectly illustrated the entire mess Wardhaven was in.

Honovi walked over to the wall, opened the control box, and pushed a couple of buttons. The screen snapped into proper clarity. Father and the acting Prime Minister focused on the picture and didn't notice Kusa mouthing Sorry, behind their backs. Honovi gave her a quick wink.

The scene was of the main space elevator station. People waited in long lines for cars. The voiceover explained that just hours ago, the stations had been deserted, with the evacuation of the space station complete and no one going up or down … a lie Honovi had made sure there were no pictures to disprove. Or at least none ready yet for the news.

Now it was different. The government had lifted its ban on near-Wardhaven space travel so long as the ships were only going from the High Wardhaven station to Jump Point Alpha. Now citizens of other worlds, stuck on Wardhaven, were fleeing.

The pictures were the kind that Honovi had hoped to never see in his lifetime. Fearful women clutching children that had that blank look of the young who didn't know enough to be frightened, except their mothers and their fathers were scared, so they took in that terror. Men hurried about, accomplishing nothing in their haste, and women hastened them on, wanting to know why the impossible wasn't done already.

Honovi had tried to keep this fear at bay for three days. Now it reached out, from children's wide eyes, from mothers' cracking voices, from men's frustration. Yes, that was fear. And now that it was on the screen, it would be out in the open for all to see everywhere.

''So, now are you satisfied?'' Pandori spat. ''I still say we should have kept the ships, the others, here. No one would dare bombard us with them here.''

''The message is very clear,'' Honovi said with the slow, dogged repetition that he hoped might finally get through Pandori's denial. ''They are using the old formal declarations from pre-Unity times. Ninety, a hundred years ago, a planet was supposed to surrender when it lost control of the space above it and pay ‘reparations.' That usually meant taking over the winning planet's debt to Earth. It was not a pretty time.''

''But they aren't demanding reparations. They want our total surrender,'' Kusa pointed out.

''Those are Peterwald battleships, and they're playing for bigger stakes,'' Father snapped. He was trying to stay quiet like he'd promised. It was not easy for him.

''So you say,'' Pandori snapped. ''With you Longknifes it's always a Peterwald under the bed. I say we ignore them, go about our business. They wouldn't dare fire on us. And, when the fleet is back, we settle anything that needs settling.''

There it was, out in the open. Bluff. Pandori was a great one for bluffing. Father brought his fist down on the visitor's easy chair. ''And just what do you think those six battleships will do while our fleet is boosting in from the jump point? Our battleships will arrive over a smoking ruin of a planet, with those ships running for the other jump point.''

''Father. Mr. Prime Minister. We've had this conversation,'' Honovi put in. They had. And might well have it many more times if there was time for it. Eighty years of peace had built ''civilized expectations,'' as Pandori put it. ''Faith in the system,'' as Father put it. ''A near impossibility to face the reality of change'' was the way Honovi put it privately to Kusa. She disagreed politely but not forcefully and tried to get her father to accept the need for change as much as Honovi worked on his.

''We need to work on the wording of our response to the surrender demand, and orders for the fleet,'' Honovi said, going straight at the next item on his to-do list. ''We need to issue it in two hours, maybe less.''

''Why so soon?'' Pandori grumbled. ''It only takes a bit more than an hour to boost past the moon. I've done it many times.''

''Yes, sir,'' Honovi said. ''But they aren't boosting past the moon. They'll boost at one g for an hour, then reverse and decelerate for an hour so they swing around the moon and come back at the hostile battleship's track as they're coming in. That's where they'll fight them.''

''We did a school trip in the first grade,'' Kusa said. ''It took the afternoon to swing around the moon and come back.''

''We did that trip, too,'' Honovi said.

''Do you remember much of first grade?'' Father quipped to Pandori. ''I sure don't.''

The acting Prime Minister shook his head. Finally, something the two old political warhorses could agree upon.

''Course, we didn't fight any battleships,'' Kusa said.

''I pretended we saw pirates,'' Honovi said.

''They were good days when children had to pretend they saw anything horrible,'' the Prime Minister said, eyes tearing.

''They will come again, Papa.''

''If we make them,'' Honovi said.

''Okay, let's see what we want to say.''

Contact: -10 hours

The Duty Lieutenant in flag plot of the Greenfeld Alliance Battleship Revenge studied the news feed. Then studied it some more. Then reviewed it again. This was a definite change in the target's condition, but was it enough to wake the Chief of Staff, the Admiral? He called down to the intel center.

''Commander, have you an analysis for flag plot yet?''

''We are working on a full report. At the moment what you see is basically what we see. They are letting those holding non-Wardhaven passports leave. We should expect that several large liners will be crossing our track as we make final approach, heading out for Jump Point Adele. I doubt any of them will make for Jump Point Barbie, but we should keep our lasers ready. Any that do might try for a suicide dive on us.''

''The Longknifes would use a packed liner as a suicide ship!''

''I'm not Chief of intel to underestimate Longknifes.''

''Do you think I should wake up the Admiral?''

''That is your call, not mine.''

''Yes, it is,'' the young Lieutenant agreed. He eyed the media feed. So many women with children. Men with wives. Here and there were a clump of men his age, going about their business like sailors on their way to their ship.

He spotted a woman moving purposefully through the crowd, two younger men following in her trail, pulling loaded carts behind her. The emblems on the boxes looked familiar, but he couldn't place them.

''Some of those are not refugees,'' the Lieutenant said. ''Some of them move as purposefully as any sailor.''

''Maybe they are assigned to the luxury liners that will be sailing, coming back from shore leave.''

''And there was a woman on the last feed. She hardly looked like a refugee. She was leading two men bringing along loaded carts. I almost recognized the markings on the boxes.''

''Maybe those were her family heirlooms and the young men were her…'' The Commander coughed discreetly. ''You know how decadent the women behave where the Longknifes call the shots.''

Yes, the Lieutenant had seen all the vids. He'd also learned how hardheaded an intel weenie was once he latched on to a preconceived notion. ''Before I decide to wake the chief of staff, I would appreciate it if you could run the faces of the clearly nonrefugees on these media feeds against the Wardhaven database. Especially that woman. She should be easy to place. She clearly was someone.''

''We are already doing it, Lieutenant. We know our job,'' the intel officer said and closed the link.

The Lieutenant paced the deck behind his three enlisted technicians. One of them cleared his throat. ''Yes?''

''We are getting more powerful magnetic signatures from around the High Wardhaven station, sir.''

''As if liners were increasing their fusion reactors. Bringing more magnetohydrodynamic power on-line?'' Fusion reactors generated plasma for thrust. The plasma, as it raced through magnetic containment fields, also generated electricity through magnetohydrodynamic generators outside those fields. That electricity in turn created the containment fields that held the reactors together. A wonderful system that seemed to give you something for nothing, his physics professor had quipped, but it powered man between the stars. And when ships weren't under boost, large ships ran a small trickle of plasma around a racetrack to keep electricity flowing. Several liners were now raising that trickle as their future energy needs rose.

The magnetic resonances around High Wardhaven flexed and flexed again, and any chances of seeing what was going on there as discreet units became less and less a possibility.

With luck, one of the ships would interfere with another, and they'd blow out the containment field of a reactor. It had been known to happen. In the bad old days. Not recently. It would just be Longknife luck not to happen this time, either.

The commlink beeped.

''We have your people ID'd, Lieutenant.''

That was fast, and from the sound of it, not at all what the Commander wanted. ''Yes?'' the Duty Lieutenant said.

''The woman is Miss Dora Evermorn, the anchor for Galactic News and Entertainment on Wardhaven. She has a show every afternoon between two and four. I've reviewed the last three days' feed, and she didn't announce a vacation.''

''So, where's she going?''

''She owns a system runabout. Can't jump out of system. Maybe she's headed for the moon where she'd get a good shot of Wardhaven under bombardment. Who knows? We've flagged her.''

The Lieutenant nodded. That was something he knew. News followed the story. Military preparation was a story. If she was any good, she'd lead them to the story they wanted.

''The men on the video are civilians. Some work for the Navy in that capacity. A few own small runabouts. Some of them have notations in their files that they are members of the Coast Guard Reserve or auxiliary. Like the Greenfeld Youth Association but with no military training. They see that private runabouts meet safety regulations, have survival pods. Sometimes they rescue idiots who get in trouble. They have no military value.''

''As you say,'' the Lieutenant said. Accepting the words but being careful not to accept the value of the report. If they had no military value, why weren't they staying home where they belonged on a day like this? Why were they heading up to a station soon to be under attack? Hardly the actions of someone who viewed themselves as having no military value.

Damn intel's granite mind-set!

So, do I wake the Chief of Staff or not? The Lieutenant paced back and forth, watching the lights on his technician's boards change, but did they change enough?

Contact: -9 hours 30 minutes

Kris finished her shower and dressed carefully in the whites prepared for her. Today she might get killed, but there was no need for a bulletproof body stocking. They didn't make one to stop an 18-inch laser.

At least she'd managed another hour catnap. She actually felt rested. Dressed, she settled the blue beret fancied by the PF sailors on her head. Since they spent most of their time with their heads in a brain bucket, they needed something easy to stuff in a pocket. To the uniform groans of the rest of the Navy, they'd settled on a Navy blue felt beret with their boat's insignia holding pride of place.

The Commodore had tried to have them adopt a squadron emblem; they'd insisted on their own boats'. Today, Kris wore the Commodore's squadron emblem as befitted a squadron Commander.

''Kris, we need you quick,'' came as a holler from CIC.

Kris ran for the combat center and almost tripped over the airtight door. There weren't that many on a PF. If a PF took a hit, it wasn't really going to matter.

''Shut up. We'll have an answer for you in just a minute,'' Sandy was snapping into Beni's commlink.

''Kris, Adorable Dora Evermorn is at the yacht basin on net hollering for her boat.''

''Gabby's not answering?''

''We've got the boats on emission controls. They aren't listening or talking except through our guarded landline.''

''Thanks.'' Kris grabbed the commlink.

''Dora, do you recognize my voice?''

''Kris Long—''

''Yes, and if I wanted my name used, I'd have used it. Don't say a word. Don't move an inch. I'll be there in a minute to talk to you. You'll have all your recorders off, or so help me, I'll throw you out the nearest space lock. You understand?''

''I have two strong guys here who say you can't do that, but yeah, I'll play this your way for the time being.''

Kris snapped off the commlink, turned to get Jack, and ran into him. He was dressed, ready for duty. ''Gosh, I thought today was going to be a slow day. All Navy. You mean I got to protect you from a newsie?''

''Nope,'' Kris said, heading for the pier, ''I may need you to toss a newsie and her two brawny sidekicks over the side.''

''That's kind of outside my job description, Your Highness, Princess, sir, ma'am.''

''Yes, but if you're bucking for that vacant job of knight errant, it's right up your alley.''

''Who said I wanted that job? False rumor. You've been getting your news from Adorable Dora too long.''

Still, Jack made a fast run to the yacht pier. Adorable Dora was waiting impatiently beside the small watch hut at the yacht basin. With a face and body the best that money could buy, she was just the thing that people wanted to watch for their news and entertainment, assuming there was a difference between the two. The two young men lounging on the large luggage carriers were just as expensive to the eye. Since they were never on camera, Kris could only suspect what they were paid for.

''Where's my yacht?'' lacked the usual two o'clock teaser.

''Why do you ask?'' Kris counted.

''You're taking a fleet out to fight those ships. I want to follow you. Film it.''

''You could easily get killed doing that. There won't be any cheap seats at this show.''

''Comes with the territory,'' Adorable shot back. The looks the two men swapped said this was news to them. ''Guys, start setting up for a shoot. We're going to interview Princess Longknife. Get an exclusive before the battle. You're wearing that small units command badge. Does that mean you're commanding the fast patrol boats? Are they fixed up enough to leave the pier?'' Behind her, the guys had seemed surprised by her order, but as she fired off questions, they broke out their gear. And you had to give Dora credit. She had done some homework.

''Put the gear away, fellows,'' Kris said. Jack sidled over, friendly like, hand on holster, to give them his official smile.

The guys quit unpacking.

''I have my collar camera. Not as good, but this kind of story will go far. Princess interferes with the news!''

''Did you talk to your boss before you headed up here? Did you check with anyone? Didn't you wonder for a moment why this wasn't already on the news?'' Kris said, trying to be as rational as she thought Adorable Dora's brain was capable of.

''Lazy reporters are easily scared. I ain't lazy.''

''National security mean anything to you?''

''Try scaring me with something real, honey.''

Kris gritted her teeth. The urge to have Jack chuck the woman out an airlock was overwhelming. No, the urge to chuck her out an airlock herself was too much to pass up.

''You're stuck with me, deary. Let's make the best of it. You don't want me to report the story until you say so. I want to report the story up close. You say I could get killed. I'm willing to risk it. Where's my yacht? I've got a right to sail out in my yacht and do what I want.''

''No you don't, because I need your yacht for a communications relay ship,'' Kris snapped back.

''You've stolen my yacht!''

''Borrowed.''

''Stolen, in my book.''

''Would you two ladies stop for a moment?'' Jack put in. ''Kris, I know she's easy to hate, but all I hear her asking to do is trail the fleet and take pictures, record her story. Now, if I understand what you have in mind, you want her yacht to trail the fleet and pass along any messages that we need to hear when you're behind the moon. Right?''

Kris didn't want to, but she saw the logic of where Jack was going. ''So let her ride along with Gabby and Cory. They do our job, and she does hers.''

''Right,'' Jack said.

''That's all I want,'' Dora said.

''You guys going along?'' Kris asked

They looked at each other and slowly shook their heads.

''I'll double your pay,'' Dora said.

Heads kept shaking.

''Jack, I don't like the idea of her on the same yacht with Gabby and Cory. They'll follow orders, but with her yelling, I'm not so sure they'll be following my orders.''

''And you want me to ride shotgun on her.''

Kris nodded.

''You gonna double my pay?''

''Triple it,'' Kris said.

''What's she paying you?'' Dora demanded.

''Nothing,'' Jack said.

''She's got to be paying you something. She sleeping with you? You look good enough to eat.''

''You sure you want me on the same boat as her?''

''Space her if she makes a pass. Kind of accidentally like.''

''I can do that.'' Jack grinned.

''You wouldn't,'' Dora said.

''I suspect Gabby and Cory would testify in a court of law that you thought you were just opening the door to the little girls' room. Want to bet?'' Jack grinned around hard eyes.

''Sure you want to go?'' Kris asked. ''I'm going.''

''Select your minimal gear. Jack, drop me off at the Halsey, then you head for her yacht. What do you call it?'' ''All the News That's Fit to Print.''

Contact: -9 hours 15 minutes

''WE have an intercept,'' said the Chief of intel, ''that you may be interested in. That Dora Evermorn couldn't seem to find her yacht and ended up talking to someone.''

The Duty Lieutenant listened to first one person talk to Dora. Then someone else came on-line, seemed to be recognized, but cut Dora off. ''Was that who she almost said she was?''

''That was Princess Kristine Longknife. She is on the station.''

''Where?''

''We could not get a fix on the call. The commlink is not standard, and what with all the liners getting up plasma, the whole station is a mess.''

''But that is definitely a Longknife.''

''Definitely. A little one. Not King Ray, but the troublesome brat herself.''

''What kind of ship is this Dora Evermorn looking for?''

''It's a system runabout. No weapons. No military value of any sort.'' There again was that quick, disparaging assumption from the intel Chief. ''Will you wake the Chief of Staff now?''

Ah, and now, not content to toss off his own conclusions so lightly, the Commander was ready to poke his nose into flag plot's job, but not with a clear ''You should wake him.'' No, just an ambiguous question. The hot potato stays in your lap, Lieutenant. Nice toss, Commander.

''I will look into it,'' he said, cutting the link.

The Lieutenant drew in a troubled breath. What had changed since the Admiral and Chief of Staff had layed down? Kristine Longknife has been identified on HighWardhaven. Passenger liners are being allowed to evacuate non-Wardhaven citizens from Wardhaven. Some of them may cross our path, even attempt to suicide crash us.

And how does this raise the threat against this battleship for the next hour and a half above what it was three hours ago?

Simply put, it did not. Could the Admirals do anything in the next hour and a half that they could not do in the first fifteen minutes after they awoke?

No.

His father had often talked of the pressure of battle. Of the need for men to go into it prepared for it. His father swore he'd won half his battles by getting a good night's sleep and a good breakfast. Oh, and a good cup of coffee.

Was father just feeding him a sea tale?

The Duty Lieutenant took a deep breath and let it out slowly. What a tale he'd tell the Chief when he got back.

The Lieutenant stood again and watched the technicians watch the intel feed from the target. Things were certainly happening now. But was it all that different? Were there any warships in evidence? Anything the intel Chief would identify as having significant military value?

The Lieutenant paced, and time passed.

Contact: -9 hours

Kris found a mob scene in front of the Halsey's pier. On a more thorough review, it clarified into a very well-organized riot. She spotted Captains van Horn and Luna in the center of it and figured them for the best explanation of the content and process of what was going on, so she headed their way.

''Howdy, dear. You're up early,'' Luna said, now decked out in a blue shipsuit with Captain's shoulder tabs and an underway command badge, the mirror image of van Horn beside her.

The Navy Captain nodded. ''Your Highness, I understand you had a media problem.''

''Solved. Jack's going to ride herd on Adorable Dora, though she's going to be trailing us in the communications relay ship. Turns out we stole her yacht for that job.''

''Evermorn,'' Luna spat. ''Why didn't you just space her?''

''Well, I told Jack he could if she gave him any trouble. Think Gabby would lie for him in court?''

''Like an Oriental rug.''

''Not that it's any of my business,'' Kris said, looking around, ''but what's going on here?''

''Registration,'' van Horn said simply.

''Press-gangs in action,'' Luna grumbled.

''Since I somehow doubt that six battleships will surrender upon setting sights on our gallant sails, I suspect we are headed for a fight,'' van Horn said. ''Civilians, taken in arms, can be shot as terrorists. Combatants, taken in arms, are prisoners of war. Which do you want to be?'' he said with a nod toward Luna.

''Not taken,'' she muttered.

''My thoughts exactly, but battles have this nasty way of not going as planned. So, if those bastard Peterwald ships haul some of you out of survival pods, I want our crews to be in uniform and have ID cards to wave at them.''

''You just want everybody in blue,'' Luna simpered.

''And she agreed so quickly when I pointed out that her present employer might not consider what comes next covered by his health insurance or life insurance.''

''Captain can be very persuasive.''

''What are their ranks, rates?'' Kris was only a year or so in the Navy, but she knew enough about the Navy Way to know that everyone had their place and stayed in it. Her excepted.

''Old regulation from the Iteeche Wars allowed us to take in civilians when things got kind of out of the ordinary. Special rank. Naval volunteer. Pay status of third class.''

''Third class in a pig's eye,'' Luna said, patting her rear pocket. ''I got my master's papers. I'm a ship's Captain.'' Which explained her four strips and command badge.

So there was a tactful bone in van Horn's Navy-issue body. Kris flashed him a smile. He answered with a ''Hurrumph.''

''After we've got everyone inducted, I expect you'll want to address them, Your Highness.''

''Already!''

''They deserve a few words, ma'am,'' Luna put in. ''You can't expect them to go ballyhooing off, at the risk of life and limb, without seeing their Commander. They'll be talking about this fight for the rest of their lives. I was at Wardhaven, with that slip of a Longknife when she was just a girl.''

Kris swallowed. That was how Gabby introduced himself. ''I fought with your great-grandfather at the Battle of the Big Orange Nebula.'' There was more to being one of those damn Longknifes than just being cussed at in bars.

Kris started to say, ''What do I say?'' but she swallowed that. Luna and van Horn were looking at her with the expectation that she knew what she'd say. That somewhere in her Longknife genes was the script for days like today.

Good Lord, did they have that wrong.

''Okay, let me know when you want me,'' Kris said and turned away. She wanted to find a quiet corner to scribble some notes.

A woman, standing stiff for her ID photo, spotted Kris and broke into a wide smile. Kris smiled back.

A tall, gangly kid, hardly more than a boy, looked up from where he was pinning his Coast Guard Auxiliary badge onto his Navy shipsuit. ''We gonna beat those jokers?'' he asked, though his words were more a prayer.

''You bet,'' Kris said. A half-dozen boys and old men around him laughed with him, at his brashness, at his hope. Who knew? They were just happy to hear they'd win, and from the horse's mouth, no less.

Kris found no quiet comer; instead she ended up circulating among the crews: grizzled merchants, middle-aged yacht owners with their young daughters and sons, electronic specialists dragged over, screwdrivers still in hand, to beregistered, volunteers all. There were Navy reservists looking for the odd person to fill up a hole in their crew, a slot they'd just thought of last night and might be useful. There were shipyard hands, too, not sure what they'd be asked to do, but ready to sail with the fleet if they were needed.

It was an odd lot, for an odder mission. If courage and enthusiasm, willingness and guts decided battles, the hostiles were licked. Unfortunately, 18-inch lasers decided battles.

Kris had none of them.

Kris found herself among some old chiefs, filling out their tugboat crews from experienced civilian salvage teams and eager Coast Guard volunteers. ''Last night, they was showing us the balls to the wall—if you'll pardon me, ma'am—kind of attack that you fast patrol boats plan to make.'' ''I suspect you'll be coming at them from the moon, if you're smart,'' another Chief said, smoking her pipe. ''Wardhaven's gunna be kind of big underneath ya'.'' ''But we'll catch ya.'' ''We'll be waiting for ya, with power, whatever ya need, Your Highness.''

''You'd be surprised what some of us salvage tugs carry.'' The last one grinned. ''You do what needs doing, and we'll catch you and set you down soft as down on a duck.''

''Now I think they're looking for you, and I think old fuss and feathers is expecting us to form ranks for parade.''

He was right; the processing seemed to be done, though two or three last stragglers were being rushed down the line. And a few of the civilian clerks were signing themselves in, if Kris wasn't mistaken.

The PFs were forming ranks in front by boats. Kris noticed that the officers that had been missing last night were at their stations up front. Yes, there was Tom. And Penny, too.

Sandy's XO paraded most of the Halsey's crew, those not at duty stations. The Commodore's gray-headed XO was doing her best to get her mix of too old or too green crew out of the Cushing and into their designated ranks beside the line destroyer.

The merchant skippers did a surprisingly good job of forming right along with the reservists they carried. Kris suppressed a smile at the eagerness of old farts who'd prided themselves on sloppy now trying to compete for Shipshape and Bristol Fashion.

The ragtag and bobtail contingent of armed and unarmed yachts formed to the rear of the PFs. As they would in battle, each picked a PF, grouped behind it, and tried to look like they knew what a rank and file was. The old chiefs of the tugboat flotilla marched dourly up to fill in the back row. They asked no pride of place; they were used to picking up the leavings.

Kris loved them all.

A couple of tables had been pushed together up front. Sandy was standing on them, waving at Kris to get forward. Van Horn had helped the Commodore to climb from a chair to the tables.

Kris started to double-time for her place. ''Kris, you have a call coming in from your brother,'' Nelly announced. ''It's in the standard family code.''

''I'll take it,'' Kris said, giving Sandy an acknowledging wave but slowing down. ''Hi, Bro. What's happening?''

''Sis, I'm delivering what you want, but it's just the minimum. The new guy is giving out a press release. No public statement for him or our man.''

''He's not going for a photo op!'' For a politician to give up face time, airtime. That was unheard of!

''The press release will call on the incoming things to cease their messages and declare where they are from in the next hour or we will consider ourselves in a state of war with them and those who sent them. The message will be out there. It's just that Pandori can't make himself say the words. The fellow is so much a product of the long peace that he just can't…''

Kris knew that any search system that could break their code now knew what everyone would know in a matter of minutes. It was time for plain talk.

''Grampa Al figured there was Peterwald money behind the votes that got Pandori the PM's job.''

''Pandori's not a Peterwald man,'' Honovi shot back. ''And you know, Sis, if the Society for Humanity was still up, if there was still peace in human space, Pandori could have been a great man.''

''Yes, Brother, but that Society is dead, and ugly things are roving human space, and I'm gonna be facing six of them in a couple of hours, so you'll excuse me if I don't feel all that sorry for Pandori and his daughter.''

''Yeah, I can see your point. Anyway, Sis, you're legal. You can go break things, and it ain't against the law. Happy?''

''Jubilant. Now Bro, if you're anywhere around your old haunts, I strongly suggest you get long gone. If this guy is anything like the last Peterwald nut I dealt with, he wants you and Father dead in the worst way. Head for the hills. Keep your head down until you have a good idea of what I've broken.''

''Understand you, Sis. I'll pick up Rose and Mother and, how do you say it, beat feet out of town.''

''Good-bye, Brother, I got to talk to a couple of thousand of my closest friends,'' Kris said and cut the line. She was at the podium. She waved off help getting up. Among the older, wiser heads, she asked softly, ''You want to say a word?''

''You played the princess card, Kris,'' Sandy said. The other two senior naval officers nodded. Painfully aware of the Lieutenant strips on her shoulder boards, the Commanders, Captain tabs on their shipsuits, Kris faced her command.

They looked back at her. Expectant. Ready.

Kris stood, legs apart, hands on hips, and looked back at them. ''Now it's our turn,'' she began.

''Eighty years ago, your great-grandmothers, greatgrandfathers, fought with my Great-grandfathers Ray and Trouble to beat back the Iteeches and save humanity from extinction.''

Beside her, the Commodore cleared his throat.

''Okay.'' Kris smiled. ''Some of you old farts were there, with my grampas, doing the fighting.'' That brought a soft chuckle among the ranks.

''Those of you who faced the Iteeche know what it's like to fight outnumbered, outgunned … and win.''

''Yeah,'' ''You bet,'' ''We did,'' came back in smatterings.

''The Iteeche would have made the human race an extinct race. You didn't let that happen.''

''No,'' came back solid, sure.

''You fought, and you won, and we've built the world we've enjoyed for the last eighty years. A world of peace. A world of prosperity. A world those battleships coming at us plan to end. Are we going to let them?''

''No,'' rolled back at Kris.

''So now it's our turn. The bastards out there have got us outmaneuvered. They've got us outgunned. But they haven't got us outsmarted. They haven't got half as many surprises up their sleeves as we've got up ours.''

Again there was a murmur of approval in the ranks.

''Dirtside, my brother thinks I'm crazy. He thinks I'm out of my mind to be charging into a fight when I could be down there where he is. Who's the crazy one in the family, me or him?''

''Him,'' roared back at her.

''You've probably got smart brothers like mine. Stay home. Stay safe. As I see it, when those battleships start shooting, he has to sit there and take it. Me, I get to shoot back.''

''Yes.''

''I get to blow them out of space.'' Just one chance. Hold it; what did the tugboat skipper say?

''Yes,'' didn't last nearly long enough for Kris to finish the thought nibbling at her. She concentrated on the speech; the battle would have to wait for a second.

''Now it's my turn to put a stop to them shooting at my mom, my dad, my brother, my loved ones.'' Kris wished she could name a few specific names, but ''Yes'' was roaring back at her.

''The boats ready?''

''Yes,'' was the loudest yet.

''Let's go bust some battleship butt.''

When the cheering died down, Captain van Horn stepped forward. ''Chiefs, dismiss your crews to their ships.''

Maybe the Chiefs did. In the roar that followed, Kris sure didn't hear any orders bellowed. But crews ran or trotted or rushed for their boats, a stream of free humanity rushing to meet the enemy, their fate, victory. Whatever came.

Kris turned to van Horn. ''I got another crazy idea.''

''This better be an easy one as well as good.''

''My PFs are a one-shot weapon. They can't reload their pulse lasers. Right?''

''Yes.''

''We're going to rendezvous with tugs to help us slow down, miss Wardhaven, avoid burning up in the atmosphere. Right?''

''Yes.''

''Could those tugs recharge our pulse lasers, pass a refill of antimatter and reaction mass, recock us for another go at any battlewagon still fighting?''

''We'd have to send you in early,'' Sandy said.

''But we'd get two bites out of the battlewagons.''

''At least any that survived the first run,'' van Horn said, looking around. ''XO?''

''Sir.''

''Get over to the salvage tugs with reactors. See what kind of power cables they have. Make sure they got fittings to match with the PFs. Tell them they're not only going to help them make orbit, they're going to refuel and rearm them.''

''I'll do that, sir. And with your permission, I'll assign myself with that division. Make sure everything goes smoothly.'' Somehow Kris doubted matching up at two, three g's would be anywhere close to smooth.

Roy from the yard passed Kris. ''Nice speech. Almost makes me want to sign on.''

''You got a tugboat with a full reactor?''

''Three deep space salvage tugs in the yard. You don't need them for the stuff you're doing in orbit here.''

Kris explained that she did. ''Oh,'' was his reply. ''You know that thing I said about almost wanting to sign on?''

''Ready to forget the almost?''

He took a deep breath. ''Guess so. I knew that some of my yard folks were sailing on some of these tubs, work not quite finished. Oh hell, why not take out my own fleet of tugs? You want me to catch up with you, slow you down, pass lines?''

''Antimatter containment pods, reaction mass fuel lines, that kind of stuff.''

''Where do I sign up?''

Van Horn looked at his check-in tables; there were still a few folks sitting at them. ''Better hurry if you want one of these nifty uniforms, plus health benefits and life insurance.''