Defiant

14

Contact: -8 hours 45 minutes

The Duty Lieutenant eyed the feed. Wardhaven was finally sending something to the Revenge.

''Are you getting this?'' Intel asked needlessly.

''I'm watching,'' the Duty Lieutenant said, bringing the thousandth cup of coffee he'd drunk this watch up to his lips. Cold, weak, bad. The coffee. And the response.

''If the unidentified warships in our system do not identify themselves within the hour,'' said the woman on-screen.

A woman being used for such an announcement. The Lieutenant shook his head. Longknifes.

''We will commence the defensive actions against them as is our right under self-defense. These ships are warned that if they take any hostile action against our forces, Wardhaven will respond against them, and those who sent them, with the full force available to us. The approaching ships are warned that they should prepare to be boarded by customs inspectors as well as animal and plant quarantine and drug enforcement inspectors.''

The Lieutenant almost choked on his coffee. ''Sorry,'' he said to the technician who got splattered by the spray. He wiped at the worst droplets.

''It's okay, sir,'' the technician said. ''Sir. Are they serious? About boarding us?''

''They're bluffing,'' said the tech next to him.

''They're joking,'' said the Lieutenant.

''Will you wake the Admiral now?'' the intel chief demanded.

''To answer that!''

''Well, it is the first communication we've had from Wardhaven. And it is an ultimatum.''

''Written by a stand-up comic or someone who has lost all touch with reality,'' the Lieutenant said, finishing his coffee. ''No, I think the Admiral can sleep through this. I will wake him fifteen minutes before the ultimatum expires, and he can compose a response while he's shaving.''

Intel sputtered something as he clicked off, but the Lieutenant ignored him. Nothing had changed. Wardhaven was still there, waiting to be plucked. Cracking a few bad jokes, but if that was the extent of their defense … plant inspectors … there was no need to disturb the Admiral's sleep.

A mess mate brought a new thermos of coffee. The Lieutenant sampled it. Not bad. Not good, but at least not bad. ''Tell the chief of the Admiral's mess that he better have a very good cup of coffee waiting in forty-five minutes when I wake the Admiral.''

''He'll want something good to go with that,'' a tech said.

''Drug inspectors. We'll show them some drugs to inspect,'' said another. There were rumors about how the Peterwalds made their money. Rumors spread by the Longknifes, no doubt.

''Mind your boards. Let me know the second anything changes,'' the Lieutenant warned. A woman, speaking for Wardhaven, throwing defiances like a kitten surrounded by hungry dogs. Maybe they would be taking a surrender from her before noon today. But deep in the pit of the Lieutenant's gut, there was a suspicion, a suspicion supported by nothing on the boards, that there was more behind those words.

''Mind your boards,'' he repeated.

Contact: -8 hours 30 minutes

Kris ducked into her stateroom for a second to change into a shipsuit. Whites might look good for a talk with the troops, but she didn't need the Order of the Wounded Lion's crest gouging her at three g's. At three g's lots of things went from a nuisance to a major problem.

Kris glanced in the mirror one last time. That was still her. The fancy uniform was gone, she wore just what she needed for the job she'd do today. Just her, her crews and boats, and some mighty nasty battlewagons that figured they had everything the way they wanted it. ''Well, we got some free women, free men, willing to put it on the line to tell you no,'' she told herself. ''Let's go keep Wardhaven the way we want it.''

The Halsey was busy, crew going about the business of getting under way. Sandy was still in CIC as Kris passed.

''Anything new and surprising?'' Kris asked.

''Nope. The station's sensor array is back online, but the intel feed is the same, just to three more decimal places.''

''Take care, Santiago. This time we'll make sure the history books get it right.''

''Take care yourself, Longknife, and the history books are written by historians. They'll never get it right until they stick their noses outside their safe libraries and come out here where it's really happening.''

''Must be a historian somewhere in the mix. We've got everything from pirates to kids.''

''Excuse me,'' a gentle voice said. ''Am I missing something?''

''Kris, may I introduce my pet newsie. Winston Spencer, this is Princess Kristine. She commands today.''

''Your Highness.'' He bowed from the neck. ''Lieutenant,'' he frowned, then glanced at Sandy. ''Commander? And isn't the captain of the Naval Base taking out some armed container ships? Yet you say Princess Kristine commands. Is there a story here?''

''Live through today''—Sandy smiled enigmatically—''and you may have your story. If you have the smarts to figure it out.''

''Hmm,'' he said, as Kris left Sandy and her Boswell.

Kris found Tom with his legs sticking out from under one of the 109's bridge consoles, Fintch under it with him.

Penny muttered, ''No. Still no. Yes! No. No. No. Got it! Hold it there!'' Kris said not a word while Tom and Fintch finished what they were doing to something.

Tom rolled out from under the console, spotted Kris, and grinned. ''Something didn't stay fixed from yesterday's work with Beni, or while fixing what he fixed, he elbowed something.''

''Or someone elbowed something,'' Penny added.

''Anyway, it's fixed, and we're good to go,'' Fintch said, grinning, then frowned and looked around. ''Should one of us call attention on deck or something?''

''I think we better belay all that until after we've got a couple of battleship hides to nail on the O club wall down on Wardhaven,'' Kris said.

''Yeah. If the gal is using Navy words like belay''—Tom grinned—''she's got enough salt in her veins without us doing all that time-wasting attention stuff. We've either learned all our lessons by now, or it's too late.''

''Is the old boat ready?''

''As ready as she'll ever be.'' Tom saluted.

''Or will be as soon as you find a place for me,'' a new voice said. Kris turned to face a short, middle-aged man holding a large portable computer. Behind him, three yard workers lugged, in order, a high-g station, a workstation, and a toolbox.

The man held out a hand. ''I'm Moose. I'm your raven.''

''Raven? Moose? Mine?'' Tom said.

''Yeah,'' the fellow said, stepping aside. ''Set me up next to that intel station. That ought to work best. Yeah, you got all those yachts faking it as PFs, but it might help a bit if you occasionally faked it as a yacht. You know, made some of the noises that the civilian boats make but the Navy paid lots of bucks to quiet you guys out of.''

''You're here to make noise!'' Tom said.

''Yeah. You mind? I'm a last-minute addition. We ravens decided to put one of us on each of your boats.''

''I heard about this. It's your call, Tom,'' Kris said.

A yard worker was already on his knees, drill at the ready, but only at the ready. He looked up, eyeing Kris, Tom, Penny. ''Look, I don't know which one of you dudes is the boss here. Do we start drilling or not?''

''Can you drill in Uni-plex?'' Kris asked. Unlike smart metal, the semi-smart metal used in the PFs could be reorganized twice. The third time you tried to change it, it fell apart. Navy policy was to change the cheaper Uni-plex only once.

''Sure, ma'am, we drill it all the time,'' the worker said.

''You're going to make noises,'' Tom said to the stranger.

Moose's lips got thin in exasperation. ''Look, folks. You got a nice ANG-47SW station here. Bet you got it dialed in sweet. It's gonna let you know all kinds of things about what you're facing. Right?''

Penny nodded.

''So, what you gonna do with what you find? Hope you got a canned program to work on it. Hope you can compute a modification for it real fast.''

''I should hope so,'' said Nelly from around Kris's neck.

''Yeah, right, they warned me about that thing. Listen, you can count on what you got, or you can count on me. I got my own bag of tricks. Some are standard. Some are the kind of stuff that old ravens like me and mine spent our lives dreaming about, dreaming up. It's been a long peace. This looks like the only war in town. You gonna give me a shot at it?''

Kris looked at Tom. ''It's your ship, Tom.'' She paused for a moment. ''I know it's rough having someone walk on your bridge at the last second and say, ‘I might just win the war for you,' but, well, I just did something like that to some tugboat skippers. Told them they needed to step up their game and maybe help me win this thing. I don't know.'' Kris shrugged. ''Your call.''

''Me pass up a pretty black box?'' Tom grinned. ''Drill, man.''

''I'll need to hitch into this intel station. I can probably do all my intake and output from it. No other hookups.''

''Good, ‘cause if you wanted to crawl under my navigation console, I'd space you.''

''Kind of touchy there, huh?''

''Tom, how's the rest of the boat?'' Kris asked.

''Time for a final walk-through. You want to come with me?''

''I'd be honored to do that, Skipper.''

''Just don't touch anything.'' He laughed. ''Can't have these staff officers getting their hands on things.''

''Only to run my white gloves over surfaces to check for dust,'' Kris assured him.

Penny took her station, did a check. ''Kris, you heard about the ultimatum?''

''No!'' So Penny ran it for them.

''You recognize the spokeswoman?'' Penny asked.

''I think that's Pandori's daughter.''

''Think they'll identify themselves?'' Tom asked.

Kris shook her head.

''Who's gonna do the drug inspection?'' the raven asked.

''Us. With pulse lasers,'' Kris answered.

''You got that right.'' Tom beamed and climbed forward. Kris followed.

Contact: -8 hours 15 minutes

''You happy now?'' Mojag Pandori came the closest to snarling as he had during their long discussions. ''The ultimatum is out.''

''Are you going to wait for it to expire before you put our defense forces on alert?'' William Longknife asked lightly.

''Our defense forces are already ready,'' Pandori snapped.

Honovi had been resting a hand on his father's knee. Now he squeezed it. Hard. ''That is not what we have heard,'' Honovi said softly as his father's color rose.

''There are always rumors.''

''Would you mind touching base with your Chief of Staff?''

''That is hardly necessary,'' Kusa said, ever defensive of her father. Honovi had come to respect her for that.

''We will be leaving you in a moment,'' Honovi said but made no sign of rising. ''Humor me just one more time.''

The call was made. ''Admiral Pennypacker, what is our defense alert status?''

''Defense level one, sir. The lowest possible.''

''Lowest!''

''Yes sir, the one you asked for.''

''Admiral, we have Billy Longknife with us,'' Kusa said, cutting off further discussion. ''You may have heard that we just issued an ultimatum to the intruders in system. Don't you think it would be wise for us to now come to full defensive alert?''

''Certainly, if the Prime Minister orders it.''

''It is so ordered,'' the temporary Prime Minister said, looking like he was passing a kidney stone.

''And a strike force is making ready to proceed from High Wardhaven Naval Base to engage the intruders. See that this force receives orders to proceed with full discretion upon the expiration of the ultimatum,'' Kusa added, looking straight at Honovi. He nodded at her.

''A strike force?''

''Yes, Admiral,'' Mojag cut him off. ''Just see that we come to full defense and the orders are issued. Do you understand?''

''Yes, Mr. Prime Minister. I understand. Now we fight.''

''Yes,'' the acting Prime Minister said, almost visibly in pain, as the Admiral rang off.

''May I suggest that you now leave this building?'' Honovi said, standing.

''Leave here?'' came from Kusa, her father, and his.

''Yes. The battleships threaten a planetary bombardment if we resist. Government House will certainly be high on any target list. I suggest we not be here when they start shooting.''

''They wouldn't destroy a cultural and historical icon like this,'' both fathers got out in cadence.

''They wouldn't dare,'' Kusa backed them up.

''Kusa, gentlemen, they intend to destroy Wardhaven as a separate, living entity. In a world ruled by Henry Peterwald, there will only be room for one center of government, and it will not be on Wardhaven. Thus, a wide laser slash will be where we are standing. I strongly suggest we be elsewhere.''

Kris had told Honovi, in private, and with a promise not to tell Father, about what Sandfire on Turantic had intended for her. Anyone who wanted to serve his sis up to Henry Peterwald naked for a long and terminal torture session would not give a second thought to burning down several old buildings. Certainly not buildings that were only useful for self-government.

''I have just put the defense forces of Wardhaven on highest alert. I will not leave this command post,'' Pandori said. Maybe the man did have some fight in him.

''Then, Father, I suggest we leave them to their station.''

The former Prime Minister maintained a frowning silence until they were out of the Prime Minister's office and into the vacant waiting room without. ''Has your sister put you up to this? Is there something you're not telling me?''

''Father, you didn't respond very positively to her earlier accusations against Peterwald. Let's say she has passed along to me some incidents of more recent vintage that I find credible. Taken in context with those battleships, I think it's best if, in her quaint way of putting it, we beat feet for points unconnected with the Longknife name and government functions.''

''Eighty years of peace create a certain way of thinking.''

''Yes, Father. And those who don't break it may very soon find it listed as their cause of death.''

Honovi quickened his pace. His steps echoed off the polished wooden floors and portrait-bedecked halls of Government House. Not one other person was in sight.

Billy Longknife hastened his steps to keep up with his son.

Contact: -7 hours 55 minutes

The Admiral let the hot water run over his razor as he listened to the Duty Lieutenant at his left give his briefing. His Chief of Staff, Bhutta Saris, already showered, shaved, and in dress blues, stood at his other elbow.

''So there is a Longknife at the Naval Base,'' the Admiral interrupted the young junior officer.

''Yes, sir.''

''King Ray,'' he said slowly. ''He could be a problem. Billy would just be there looking for votes.''

''The young woman, Princess Kristine,'' Saris said. ''A socialite with some naval training. She has run afoul of several unusual operations,'' a euphemism for black economic ops on Greenfeld, ''and survived by an amazing streak of luck.''

That was what the intel reports said. ''Amazing luck.'' ''Surprising bit of luck.'' ''Luck beyond normal expectation.'' At Command and Staff College they taught that luck was not a strategy. Apparently at what passed for Greenfeld's spy training school, luck was all that could be connected with the Longknifes.

''What could a squadron of battleships have to fear from a mere Lieutenant?'' the Duty Lieutenant added.

''What was the ultimatum again?'' The Admiral finished shaving the other side of his face as he listened to it a second time. ''So, they want to know who we are? And they want to inspect us, like they would any tramp freighter, huh?'' They laughed politely at his joke while he washed off the soap.

He dried himself. His batman brought his uniform blouse, complete with medals. As he shrugged into it, he reached a conclusion. ''When the ultimatum expires, quit sending any message. Go completely silent. I want us even quieter. They want an answer, let them eat cold static. They will get their answer when I choose to give it and not a moment sooner.''

''Yes sir,'' the Duty Lieutenant said, and spoke into his commlink.

The Admiral took another sip of coffee. ''Very good,'' he said to his Chief steward who'd brought it. ''You have outdone yourself. You and your men. Tell them very good for me.''

''I will, sir,'' the Chief said, nodded, and left.

''So, they are letting the liners go,'' the Admiral said. Bhutta nodded. ''Do you think even a Longknife would stoop to using a liner loaded with refugees, women, and children from other planets, to crash one of us?''

''Ray Longknife was particularly bloodthirsty during the Iteeche Wars. I wouldn't put anything past him.''

''I don't want to start this war by shooting up a boatload of civilians from a half-dozen uninvolved planets. Pass a message to the Captains. If a liner gets to within fifteen thousand kilometers of our ships, disable it. Every one of our ships sports a gunnery E. Let's show some of that expert shooting. They are to take out the engines without blowing out the reactors. Understood? I don't want any battleship crashed by a liner, but I don't want five thousand dead civilians splashed across the media either.''

''I understand, sir,'' Saris said as they entered flag plot.

''Sir,'' the lead technician said, standing from his workstation. ''The intel Chief said you will want to see this. Wardhaven is going to full defensive alert.''

''Show me,'' the Admiral ordered.

Like a puppy, the Duty Lieutenant was everywhere, trying to see and show everything at once. The Admiral saw in a second what he wanted. Normally, the space station fed power down the elevator to the planet's power grid. Now, that power line was empty. He didn't need intel to tell him the defenses of the space station were absorbing that power. Lasers whose capacitors had been bled off four days ago were now being charged. Yes, defenses were coming on-line.

The Admiral saw this as other sources fed him more data than he could possibly use. Finally, he took the poor young officer aside. ''You did well to let me sleep. Your briefing was precise and to the point, but now I am awake. I have my eyes open. So be a good boy and only answer the questions I ask.''

The youth turned pink. But he nodded and took his station behind his three technicians. Good. Good.

The Admiral turned to his battle board. As it was now, he'd be going into a battle with his fragile engines pointed at his enemy's station-based lasers. But those were his orders.

''Go straight in,'' Henry Peterwald told him. ''Straight for them. I'll have Wardhaven set to cave like a house of cards.'' Well, these cards were making noises like they might shoot back.

''Should we put some fear into them?'' Saris asked.

''No, I need to keep some surprises up my sleeve. Let's let them think they know what they face for a few hours more. Raise deceleration from 1.0 to 1.05 g's, give us a bit of a cushion in case we need to stop decelerating later for a while.''

''Like to dodge passenger liners or shoot up the station?''

''Or something like that.''

Contact: -7 hours 45 minutes

Tom began the reintroduction of Kris to her old boat forward in the fo'c‘sle. Here, a slip of a gunner's mate 3/c oversaw the firing tubes for the Foxers, and now the AGM 944 missiles.

''You still lifting weights, Kami?'' Kris asked.

''Twice a day,'' the woman replied from where she sat buried in the middle of four huge canisters of reload.

''Don't worry, ma'am, if one of these puppies misfires, I'll kick its ass.''

''And if she needs help, she only has to shout,'' came from the next compartment.

''And if you big lugs need help in a tight corner of the laser bay, you know who to call, too,'' Kami shouted right back.

Apparently, the deal Kris had worked out in her weapons division was still holding. The fo'c‘sle had been cramped even before the larger 944s had been added. Four launching tubes fed by four canisters full of reloads, and, for the Foxers, spare canisters to horse into place when the first load was empty. Now it was an even tighter fit. Kami ruled here.

Just aft of there was the laser bay, its four long pulse lasers the reason for PF-109's existence. Here, Ensign Satem, the Swede, and two more mechanics saw to it that when the boat was in a place to break something, it got broke.

''Any problems?'' Tom asked.

''None you need to worry about,'' Satem answered. Swede, their newly promoted 2/c, and his two junior mechanics were going over number-three laser. ''Normal check. No surprises, sir. Ma'am. You give us a battlewagon. We'll put the holes in it. Let's see how good they are at breathing vacuum.''

Next aft was the bridge. Penny and Fintch had it to themselves. ''Where's our raven, that Moose fellow?''

Fintch gave a thumbs-down; a glance showed half of Sandy's sensor feed was blank. Tom and Kris climbed the next deck down. Sparks's command of the radio shack looked like it had already taken a hit. Ensign Hang Tran, Sparks since she started at Wardhaven Tech for reasons she refused to explain, was hardly as tall standing as her four subordinate electronics techs were bending double over two opened black boxes.

''Not that board,'' Moose was saying to them. ''The next one.''

Kris glanced around. Radio, radar, magnetic gear, network, jammers, noisemakers, or at least the controllers for antennas located around the hull of the boat, she recognized. New boxes with hastily stenciled names like maskers, decoys, and one just marked Black Cauldron Rev 4.5 didn't tell her a lot.

''Any problem?'' Tom asked.

''Yes,'' Sparks snapped.

''No,'' Moose said.

''Any consensus?'' Tom said.

''Would you open that hatch, gal, and ask that other gal if she's got color?''

Kris guessed she was the first gal. She lifted the hatch to the bridge. ''Penny, you showing lights?''

''No.'' A pause. ''Yes. I got them again. But damn it, I don't like them blinking on and off.''

''Me neither. Here. Somebody hand me that duct tape.''

''Duct tape? You're installing gear in my boat with duct tape!'' Tom's voice was amazingly calm, all things considered.

''The board is in there solid. The tape should keep it from wiggling. Hand me that foam spacer as well. Both of them.''

''That going to hold at three g's?'' Tom asked.

''You gonna be any worse off losing it then than if you never had it?'' the old fellow answered as he went about taping it down.

''Sparks, there any way you could secure it better?''

''Sir, there is no way that I'd touch that stuff. It's bread board. Hell, sir, it's bread crumb board, some of it.''

Moose looked up from what he'd just finished. ''Some of this stuff is experimental, yes. The fleet sailed with everything that was good, kosher, bought under contract and documented forty ways to Sunday. And, if you ask my opinion, half of it won't work, and the other half is already obsolete. This stuff is what the fleet should have had. Would have had if the procurement folks had half an idea of what was really going on. Anyway, you got what we can give you.''

''We can't afford to lose sensors,'' Tom pointed out. ''No sensors, and we are deaf, dumb, and blind. No sensors, and we can't find a battleship to shoot. You understand?''

''I understand you. You won't lose your sensor feed again. And I'll keep the other guy's sensors from seeing you.''

Tom shook his head. ''You sure this is a good idea?'' he asked Kris as he turned away.

''The reservists crewing the decoys came up with the idea of pulling these folks in. They think we really need them, Tom. I don't know enough about this to argue.''

''What do you think, Sparks?'' Tom asked.

''My favorite college professor, Doc Marley, says that no matter how good it may look, the job is never done until the job is fully done, checked out, and documented. I did not think duct tape was included in that.'' She sniffed. ''But when I called Professor Marley, I found that he is on the 105 boat working with Singh. I asked him why he isn't with me on the 109. He said because the Moose is a better raven. Batty as they come. Do not make him mad, but the best there is when the documentation can't be finished and hell's a-popping,'' she said, shaking her head.

''I guess that answers that,'' Tom said.

''I'm gonna keep working down here,'' Moose said. ''I understand you intend to do three g's with radical turns.''

''Something like that,'' Tom said.

Moose pursed his lips. ''Didn't quite factor that into this gear. I'll see what me and your guys can do about that.''

''I'd much appreciate that,'' Tom said and led Kris aft.

They paused on the empty quarterdeck. ''What do you make of him?'' Kris asked.

''Batty as they come says it all, but then, taking on six battleships with a dozen mosquito boats and whatever you can press-gang out of the yacht basin don't exactly strike me as the sanest thing I've ever let you talk me into.''

''You don't want to be a bored old married man, do you?''

''Ma and Da didn't complain about it, but I'll settle for looking in on the engine room just now.''

There, Tononi and two motor mechs were going over the antimatter injectors under the Chief's watchful eye. A yard man was standing by with a toolkit… and spare injectors.

''Pass them the new one,'' the Chief said as they entered.

''Problem, Chief?'' Tom asked.

''Not now. Not now that we've replaced one hundred and twenty-five percent of the motor, sir,'' the Chief answered with what passed for a tight smile.

The yard worker blanched. ''They're certified parts, Chief.''

''Certified by my pet monkey, most likely,'' the Chief said.

''We going to need any more parts?'' Tom asked.

''We have a spares cart on the pier,'' the yard worker put in.

''I'd think it was empty by now,'' the Chief growled.

''It's the second load,'' the Nuu Docks man said. Kris wasn't sure if he was helping his case … or digging his hole deeper.

''It would be really nice if we could get under way sometime this year,'' Tom said almost wistfully.

''She'll answer orders when you give them.''

''Nelly, message Roy. Please stock spare parts aboard tugs for PFs' engines, lasers, and electronics. Empty the warehouse. It ain't gonna do us any good there if we need it out yonder.''

''He got it. His initial reply is obscene, but he's ordering the warehouse to ship it all to the tug landing.''

''Thank you, Nelly,''

''Aren't you worried about message intercept?'' Tom asked.

''By now there must be enough traffic in and around this station to flood their comm gear. I figure they'll crack my message about five minutes after I blow them out of space.''

Tom grinned along with her as they climbed back to the bridge. Penny looked up as they arrived. ''Good. I was about to send for you. We have a message to all hands.''

''Put it on the main screen.''

A stranger appeared, identified as Admiral Pennypacker, chairman of the Joint Staff. ''Wardhaven's defenses are fully alerted. We are about to launch a strike force from High Wardhaven to intercept the intruders. In response to our ultimatum, they have gone silent and increased deceleration. If that signals their good intent, fine. If not, let them know that Wardhaven will defend itself with all its power.''

''Now doesn't that really stir me blood?'' Tom brogued.

''Not,'' Penny said.

''Can you raise the Halsey on secure landline?''

''You got it,'' Penny answered.

''Sandy, what's your take on Pennypacker's announcement? Is there anything nice about what the intruders are doing?''

''In Pennypacker's dreams. By doing some extra slowing down now, they can flip ship later, protect their jets from us when they may need to, and not overshoot the station. They've also gone even quieter on the emissions controls. Just six big, deep holes in space. They're telling us as little as they can. Not the kind of behavior you like from friendly visitors.''

''Pass the word. We got our hunting license. We're legal. Battlewagons are in season, and we can bag the limit.''

''Happily. I'm sure Luna and van Horn will be delighted.''

Kris rang off, fished in her pocket, and turned to Tom. ''I have something for you, Commander 109. It didn't seem right that you should be going into this fight the only JG commanding a boat, so the Commodore got van Horn to cut your promotion papers. Congratulations, Lieutenant. Penny, you want to do the honors?''

''But it's been so pleasant having him serve under me,'' she pouted, but she was up, coming around her station, and removing his shoulder tabs and putting on the new ones Kris had brought.

Honors done, Kris settled into her chair. Her board showed reports from the 109. She revised it to show input from the whole squadron. Babs's 111 was down for engines … again. Gates was just reporting a new capacitor installed … again.

It was time to get things organized. ''Phil, you lead First Division, with 101, 02, and 03. Chandra, you have Third Division. Take 104, Babs, if she can get 111 away from the pier—''

''I'll sail if I have to push it,'' came from Babs.

''And Heather's 110 boat. Stick close to Chandra, Heather. I've got some wandering planned for Division 3.''

''This ramblin' frog's gonna be right on your old tail,'' Heather promised the mustang.

''The rest form Second Division with 109. We'll start it close and tight,'' Kris went on. ''Let them see as little of us as possible while we're getting away from the pier.''

''So, when do we get out of here?'' Heather shot back, probably speaking for all of them.

''In about two hours,'' Kris said.

''Two hours. We'll all be old and gray. And some of us could have grandkids.''

''Two hours. Sit tight. Wait,'' Kris repeated.

''Fix an engine,'' came from Babs.

''Repair a capacitor,'' echoed Andy.

Wait.