Defiant

12

The afternoon went long, with Kris still poring over the battle board. Jack stood close, watching, occasionally asking a question. Few were dumb. ''If the yachts are faking it as PFs, won't it be kind of obvious when the real PFs fire this Foxer decoy stuff, and the yachts don't?'' he asked.

Sandy sighed. ''And the battleships will know exactly who are PFs and who are yachts … and the yachts would die. You want to join up, Agent?'' Jack took a big step back.

The yachts needed Foxers or something like it. Kris took a walk over to the yard to get them welding external tubes to the yachts for firing a few Foxers. They'd have to do it manually, and with no reloads, but it might work … for a while.

To avoid putting a Foxer message on a net that was supposed to be all roses and kisses, Jack went off happily with Sandy's XO to see what the Foxer status was at the Naval Supply Center. They came back way too quickly and none to happily.

''When the fleet sailed, it took a full load of Foxers for every ship. That didn't leave many in stores. Here's the bad news,'' he said, handing Kris a number that when divided by the number of yachts came out between one and two.

Jack drew the job of dropping down the beanstalk to visit the company that made Foxers. Colonel Tye went searching the Army Supply Center for anything that might fake it as a Foxer … and Kris tried not to kick herself for not thinking about this yesterday. This whole operation was a thousand-headed monster … but it grew its heads a day, an hour, a minute at a time.

It was bad the way it was slowly being popped on her. With luck, springing the whole thing on the Peterwald fleet in one big chunk would be a whopping shock to their carefully laid plans.

The 1600 meeting with the PF skippers came before Jack got back. Kris led off with her idea of mixing armed yachts in with the PFs early in the charge to confuse the battleships. Phil looked none too happy. '' ‘Steer clear of the merchie,' my pappy always warned, ‘lest she liven up your day by taking it in her head to ram you.' ''

''They won't go full bore, probably won't go more than two g's,'' Kris answered. ''They'll come in behind us to finish off what we've left crippled.''

The other skippers seemed to like the idea.

Then Kris told them they'd have to share their Foxers.

''Trade-off.'' Chandra scowled. ''All the world is a balance.''

''I hope we get something for that balance,'' Heather said. ''I don't want to get squashed like some wandering frog ‘cause someone is using up my supply of foxy.''

''We're looking into what we can do,'' Kris said.

Penny and Tom took a step forward when Kris thought the meeting was about done. ''We were talking with Beni,'' Tom said. ''We think we can improve our chances of maintaining communications between the ships, letting us talk when we want even if they try to jam, if we set up a continuous battle net with a preplanned swapping of data packets. We'll then piggyback anything we're saying onto the preplanned packet.''

''And Tommy has just the idea for something to play on the battle net in the background,'' Penny said.

''What?'' Kris asked, not sure about Tom's choice of music.

''Trust me,'' Tom said. ''It's something my old grandda says came with the landers from Earth, three hundred years ago. Twenty-first century. Maybe older, from the words.''

''But don't listen to it until we go out,'' Penny said. ''Don't spoil it.''

''Trust you,'' Kris repeated.

''Believe us, it's good. Ask Beni if you don't believe us.''

Kris made a note to do just that, but she also had a note to do something else. ''How's the 109?''

''Good to go,'' Tom said as Penny said. ''Great!''

''Good,'' Kris said.

''A bit more work on her tonight—'' Tom started.

''No,'' Kris said.

''Huh?'' came from both.

''The High Wardhaven Hilton actually is open for business. It's not getting a lot, but it's open,'' she told her two friends. ''I reserved the Honeymoon Suite for you two tonight.'' There were noes and can'ts and other negatives, but Kris talked right over them. ''It's four o'clock, civilian time. I'm sure if you show up by 7:30 tomorrow morning, the Chief can fill you in on anything and everything that's happened in the meantime.''

Penny and Tom were still shaking their heads. Behind them, Phil and Chandra, Babs and Ted were gathering, wide grins on their faces. Heather was making signals to the other skippers. Kris didn't need two guesses about where this was headed.

''Now then,'' Kris continued slowly, eminently rationally, ''You two can either walk yourselves over to the Hilton, check yourselves in, and enjoy the night. Or your friendly neighborhood JO juvenile delinquents can grab you, strip you naked, haul you squealing and screaming over to the Hilton, lock you in your Honeymoon Suite for the night, and leave you showing up for battle tomorrow morning dressed like Hikila warriors … without the tats.''

Penny and Tom glanced behind them. Then turned to face down the growing threat. ''I think surrender is the better part of modesty, here.'' Tom sighed.

''Heather and Babs look awfully eager to get their hands on you,'' Penny said.

''Ted and Phil ain't exactly backing away from you, love.''

There was a general move toward them.

''We're moving. We're moving,'' the young couple said in unison. ''Just tell Chief Stan to recheck that sensor feed,'' Penny called over her shoulder as Tom put his arm around her.

''Glad those two haven't forgotten what it's like to be just married,'' Phil said.

''Be nice to have someone to hold tonight. Be held by,'' Heather said with a shiver.

''Chandra, you going to make it home tonight?''

''Can't stay away that long.'' The old mustang sighed. But coming down the pier, like it was any other day, was Goran, two kids in hand, at least until they caught sight of Mom. Then they broke ranks and mobbed her with, ''Mommy, Mommy.''

Once she surfaced from hugs and kisses and more hugs and kisses, she turned to scold Goran, but he silenced her with a kiss of his own. ''Certainly your boat can spare you for a few hours.''

''But this station is a target tomorrow.''

''And I and our children will not be here. Trust me,'' he said. ''Certainly, there is somewhere we can be alone.''

NELLY, TELL THE HILTON I'M PAYING HALF FOR A WHOLE BLOCK OF THEIR ROOMS.

ALREADY CHECKED. THEY HAVE CUT THEIR RATE FOR ANYONE WITH AN ID CARD.

''The Hilton has a special tonight, Chandra, Goran.'' So with the first smile Kris had enjoyed in a long time, she left the PF pier behind and headed for Nuu Docks. One look at what lay ahead of her… and she wanted to go hide in the 109.

If the earlier meetings had been mobs, this one was a full-fledged riot. All the efforts to keep things low key at the beanstalk were history. Everyone and his brother and pet duck must have headed up to the space station.

There were main contractors with ideas, sub-contractors with their suggestions, sub-subcontractors with their brilliant pet concepts, and folks who'd never won a bid for even a sub-sub-subcontractor's billet who were absolutely sure they had the war-winning breakthrough … and anyone who knew someone who knew someone on one of the yachts and had gotten through the Nuu yard gates was there. Kris had to remind herself that the enemy was that-away and that using machine guns for crowd control had gotten Colonel Hancock in trouble.

Still, it was tempting.

Roy took to the role of ringmaster like a seal takes to a pool of fish. He ordered all the nonship personnel to the yard side of the pier. He then invited the ship personnel to police up their ranks. Merchant sailors relished tossing business types who drew five, ten times their pay over where they belonged. None too gently. With wide grins.

A quick rundown of progress showed that the missile launchers were going onto the larger system runabouts. Despite the early morning decision, Luna and her fellow decoy Captains had come up with an idea that would get them a few missiles ''in small, conformal packages.'' Foxers were going onto the runabouts that would be mixing in with the PFs. Like the missiles on Luna's boats, they were in tubes welded to hulls. No reloads. Four to a boat if the supply could be found.

It turned out that the Army had some white phosphorous rockets that they used in space situations. They would provide heat and some cover. Kris ordered them to be mounted on a two-for-two basis on the yachts, and some for the PFs. That way, the first four times both ships dodged, they'd be alternating Foxers with phosphorus. That ought to confuse the battlewagons. It left enough folks at this meeting scratching their heads.

Make do, make do. Just let it get us by, Kris prayed.

Once the usual business was covered, Roy tackled the masker and countermeasure problems. ''Any of you big fellows bring along enough units for say, thirty, forty ships?'' got slow shakes of the heads from the main contractors.

''So we're going to have to let some ships sail with some of your gear, some ships sail with the other guy's stuff.''

''Kind of looks that way.''

Roy signaled for the Navy OICs to step forward from the MK XII decoys. Most of them knew at least a couple of the business types. Roy brought in several of his own yard people. It began to look for all the world like a bizarre bazaar with this group haggling with that Naval officer, that shipyard fellow shaking his head violently, ''No, you can't do that,'' and a contractor insisting that his new baby could, and skippers like Luna standing back, skeptical looks clouding their faces.

Kris sidled up to Roy, who took a second from his dickering to notice her. ''You going to need me?''

''Don't think so. Best you leave this kind of stuff to us with dirty hands. Where you going if I do need you, though?''

''Halsey's CIC,'' Kris said. He nodded and dived back into his debate of antenna, bandwidth, and signal strength.

Kris backed out, found Jack waiting for her, brought him up to date on what she'd been doing, and found out that the Foxer manufacturer had been waiting for a new contract before he started turning out any more units.

As Kris groaned, he quickly added, ''However, he expected we might need some and has been running twenty-four/seven since those battleships showed up. He's shipping what he has and shipping the rest as fast as they come off the line.'' Jack sent Nelly a report that showed enough to rig maybe four or six to the laser-armed yachts. Filling up the spare lockers of Squadron 8 and the destroyers would have to be done from the last to arrive.

''It's going to be tight,'' Kris said.

''Yeah, hope it's just as tight for the other guy.''

Kris nodded. ''I have to remember that. If I have it bad, the other guy can't have it all that easy … even if we are doing this battle on their timetable.''

''Remember, according to the last news report out, your boats are cold steel, and all he has to worry about is the Halsey and maybe the Cushing. Would you want to be on his bridge when they get the first reports on the fleet that you're gonna have sortieing from High Wardhaven? And then you're gonna be hiding behind the moon as they get closer.''

''And deaf,'' Kris said. ''If the battleships do anything while we're behind the moon, we won't know about it. We need a relay to keep us in touch. Come on, I've got to talk to Sandy.''

Sandy shook her head. ''I should have thought of that before. We want them to be biting their nails about us, not the other way around. But whatever we put in a trailing slot will be out of the fight.'' She scowled.

Kris hadn't worked to get all this ready just to start paring her fleet down. ''Nelly, call that nice guard at the yacht basin.''

''Hello,'' came back at her.

''Hi, I dropped by a few days ago to look at buying a few boats. You seemed to know what just about every one of them had inside. You wouldn't happen to know of one that has a lot of entertainment capability, maybe the thing my boyfriend would want. He's kind of into broadcasting.''

''Broadcasting, you say. Something that could get you a good media feed and send it on your way where you want it?''

''Yes. That's it.''

''Well, there's this system runabout owned by a media anchorwoman who has only used it to run to the moon and back. Wanted to know what all her competitors were doing while she was on vacation. I think she mainly was worrying about replacement. You want to come over and get it? Take it out for a spin?''

''Grampa,'' came an enthusiastic voice on the phone, ''why don't we take it over to her. We can run it around. We do it when they need cleaning. We know how to run those things.''

''Son.''

''Grampa.''

There was a long pause, pregnant with expectation.

''Got room for an old fart and a smart kid?'' finally came back at Kris.

''You know where we'll want you.''

''We'll be there in an hour.''

''Two more volunteers,'' Sandy said as the commlink went silent.

''But these stay way back, right?'' Kris said. So why did she have chills running up her back? With a shiver, she changed her train of thought. ''They're going to be shipping Foxers up the beanstalk. We've got a small mob of electronic countermeasures folks, and they're bound to be shipping stuff up. The beanstalk's going to get plenty busy.''

''So that's a flock of ravens on the next pier,'' Sandy said. ''Wonder what they'll come up with?''

''I think I better warn my brother that the space elevator is going to be a busy place. Where's Beni?''

''In the sack,'' the Duty Lieutenant said, but she produced a commlink from a drawer. ''The boy may be slow and lazy, but he ain't dumb. Said if you needed his phone, better it was here than under his pillow.''

''Boy is educatable,'' Sandy agreed.

Kris dialed Honovi. ''Bro, it's me. How are things?''

''We're working on it. I'm with Pop and his good buddy just now.'' Kris heard snorts in the background.

''I thought you ought to know that the beanstalk is going to be getting a workout soon. All kinds of nice stuff.''

''Hmm. I'm putting you on speaker, turnabout being fair.'' Kris did the same. Brother continued, ''We've got a bit of a problem. Among our others. Seems there are several liners in port. Due to sail yesterday, today. Booked solid. We've held them in port. Policy issues. That kind of stuff.''

Kris could imagine. Would Peterwald dare shoot up a liner registered to an Earth company or one of the hugely powerful Seven Sisters, the first planets colonized four hundred years ago? Do you hold the liners in port and challenge Peterwald to shoot up the station with them there? Not very brave, but then Pandori was grasping for anything.

''We've got folks who want to leave town, folks with non-Wardhaven passports. Even some with ours. So, we're thinking of giving in and letting the boats sail. What are your thoughts?''

Kris eyed Sandy and wished she had a whole lot more people here at the moment. Liners would mean a mob scene at the station. People with cameras. It would be much harder to keep hidden what they were doing. Or could they hide their efforts among the flow? Would refugees be interested in looking around? Would all the people fleeing be refugees?

The Duty Lieutenant tapped a workstation. One of the screens scrolled down a list of passenger ships in port. Four big ones. Six medium. Most had sailing dates past due. Yep, there'd be a lot of pressure on Pandori to let them go.

''If they sailed at the same time we did?'' Kris said. She was no expert on electromagnetic racket, but all those reactors would have to put out a whole lot of noise. All that mass in motion would play hail Columbia with detection gear. Could her tiny fleet fall out the bottom? NELLY, SHOW ME IN PURPLE THE ORBITS THESE LINERS WOULD TAKE TO GET TO JUMP POINT ALPHA. COULD THEY BE MADE TO FOLLOW THE FIRST PART OF OUR ORBIT AROUND WARDHAVEN AND OUR HEADING TO THE MOON?

The purple path appeared on the battle board. Sandy frowned and mouthed ''Nelly,'' silently at Kris. Kris nodded. Sandy eyed the plot. ''Birds on the next pier might like this idea.''

''I missed that,'' Honovi said.

''Some local discussion. Some of us up here think it would be a good idea to let the passenger ships go.''

''You're not going to use them…'' Kris recognized Pandori's deep baritone.

''No. But if they traveled the same path for a ways, it wouldn't hurt. We'd want those ships to leave—''

Sandy cut Kris off with a sharp shake of the head.

Kris backed off two hours and said, ''All the passengers would have to be aboard by, say, seven tomorrow morning.''

''Not a lot of time,'' Father said.

''There's not a lot of time before those other ships show up,'' Kris pointed out, if it needed pointing out.

''Yes.'' ''Right.'' ''Just so,'' came from the phone. Apparently it did need pointing out.

''So there will be a lot of traffic up the stalk in the next couple of hours,'' Kris said. ''Please keep it low-key.''

''We will,'' Brother promised.

''And you are going to make us legal, right?''

''We were working on that when we were interrupted by this other matter,'' Father assured her.

''See you when this is all over,'' Kris promised.

''Please, yes,'' Honovi answered as the line went silent.

''I better get back over to the yard,'' Kris said, getting up. ''Sorry about having Nelly mess with the inside of your battle board, but…''

''It seemed like a good idea at the time,'' Sandy said. ''You know, I've never once heard a Longknife admit to doing something that seemed like a bad idea at the time. Now, in hindsight…''

Kris tried to give the destroyer Captain a lighthearted shrug. She wasn't doing lighthearted all that well today. Whatever she did, it seemed to mollify Sandy.

''Still, it was good to have that plot added to my board and nice not to have it talked about on net, so, yes, Nelly, you're forgiven for messing with my ship.''

''I just asked the board to plot the course. The board did all the work,'' Nelly said. ''It did it most rapidly.''

''Nelly, are you complimenting my standard Navy-issue gear?''

''It did the job required of it.''

''I think your computer is learning tact.''

''I hope so,'' Kris said as she headed for the hatch.

''You going into that den of thieves next door?'' Jack asked.

''Looks like it.''

''I better tag along.''

''I thought you were on terminal leave.''

''Yeah, I am, ain't I. But I don't like the looks of that mob they let in. It sure would be a shame for you to get this ragtag and bobtail collection all formed up, then miss the show because someone put a bullet in your elbow. Pinked you in your little toe. You know, that kind of thing.''

''You know, if I didn't know better, I'd think you were concerned about me.''

''Nope, just worried about my professional reputation. Me being so close when you get tagged, I'd never live it down.''

''Yeah, right,'' Kris said. But it did feel good to have Jack at her side, doing that thing he did that seemed to be looking every which way at once.

On his own pier, Roy had organized chaos into groups that were examining small chunks of the problem. He circulated between them. Kris caught him in midcirculation and brought him up to date on the major ship movement about to take place.

''Crap, I was kind of hoping those love boats would stay tied up not too far from me and my docks. So they're out of here.''

''Looks that way.''

''Good Lord but that's gonna be a lot of noise, not to mention heavy metal moving around,'' he said, slowing down. ''Albert. You might want to hear this. You too, Gus.''

Two middle-aged types. Albert a tall, thin woman, Gus a short, round man, detached themselves from different groups to join Kris and Roy. As Kris repeated her situation report, several others gravitated into their circle.

''Neat,'' a young woman said. ''Plenty of mass. Plenty of magnetic excitement. Where's the sun and moon?''

''Nelly, give the woman a schematic of the system.'' And one appeared in front of Kris.

''If the whole mob pulled away at the same time, you'd have Wardhaven between the bastards and you for fifteen, twenty minutes,'' Gus said, pudgy fingers tracing Nelly's hologram.

''You could sort yourselves out, form on their reverse side, be in their shadow by the time you got out from behind Wardhaven,'' Albert said.

''They'd head for Alpha jump,'' Kris said, ''and standard battle tactics would have us head for the moon.''

''No surprise there,'' Gus said, ''but you'd have their background noise again to use to sort yourselves out, get the larger ships in front, the smaller in their shadow. We could have a whole lot of different… and extraneous … noise from several sources covering so much of your signal that…''

''Yes.'' Albert nodded. ''Those liners would add a very nice bit of cover to the symphony. If we tweaked our signals in the J band. The L and P. We could have them so confused.''

Kris left them to their confusion and headed for Luna's boat. ''You set?'' she asked the merchant skipper.

''As set as can be. Appreciate you letting us have some of them Foxers and Army WP. I know you would like us to hang back out of range, but that ain't what I got in mind.''

''Nelly's developed some bone-jarring evasion schemes.''

''Yeah. A mite rough for these old bones, but those new brain buckets they dropped on us might save what smarts I got left, and I do like the rig your Nelly did to my high-g chair. Where was she when I was a young sprout, kicking up my boots?''

''I was a young chip, learning to count, and couldn't tell a random number from an imaginary one,'' Nelly put in.

''Damn, she's even telling jokes. Can you cook?''

''No.'' Nelly sounded truly brokenhearted.

''Well, you learn how to cook, and I'll think about marrying you. Cooking and singing.''

''Don't encourage her to sing.''

''Singing. I could learn to sing.''

''I think I've created a monster, if you ain't done it first, honey.''

''I'm afraid I did it long ago,'' Kris said and took her leave, Jack at her elbow. They walked along the piers where the other yachts, both armed and rescue boats, were fitting out.

''It's getting more and more complicated,'' Jack said.

''With more people involved. Just look at the crews of these boats.'' There were civilian and merchant marine, Navy and Coast Guard Reserve, mixed together as if they'd been press-ganged to crew boats that had started with one mission in mind, then switched to another. But whatever job they'd drawn, they'd taken to it with a will. Despite van Horn's warning about friction, or maybe because of his ham-handed words, Kris hadn't had a single problem.

Here and there she paused to talk to officers and crew; no one asked her when it would start; they knew the physics of space travel as well as she did. No one asked if they'd sail. With or without authorization from their government, these men and women were committed. Had been for two or three days.

''We're ready, ma'am.'' ''You bet, Your Highness,'' ''We're behind you,'' sounded good.

She found Gabby and Cory at the end of a line of unarmed civilian tugs, two reserve comm tech 2/c's working to get their hijacked boat ready for the next day.

''You'll be trailing the main force,'' Kris told them. Nelly provided a hologram that explained it. ''When we're behind the moon, we don't want them to do something to surprise us.''

''Right, tomorrow, all the surprises are on those bastards.'' The kid laughed.

''That's the general idea,'' Kris agreed. ''You're our link to let us know. If the sensors on the base detect changes in the hostiles, they signal you. You relay it to us. I can't think of anything more critical tomorrow.''

''Besides blowing one of those battleships out of space,'' the old man said.

''We'll do that. You just tell us what we need to know.''

''You can count on us.''

Kris gave them a jaunty thumbs-up and headed back.

''You're feeling guilty,'' Jack said beside her, his eyes still roving. Habit? No one here would harm her.

''More like burdened. They're so sure I'll come up with the right plan, get things just right so we win this thing. They must know how bad the odds are.''

''Doesn't look it from where I'm standing,'' Jack said.

''Faith is a wonderful thing. They have faith, and I'm stuck hoping I can come up with the perfect attack plan.''

''I think that's called the burden of command.''

They were back in Roy's domain. Carts, long tables, and black boxes made up an impromptu assembly line, complete with a quality control station. A woman there rejected someone's work. ''Try holding it together next time with bubble gum.''

''How's it going?'' Kris asked Roy.

''Fine, fine. Couldn't be better. Oh, one thing, if we want the armed yachts to fake it as PFs, maybe it would be good if the PFs occasionally come off looking like yachts. We'd like to put some noisemakers on them. Something that you'd switch on for just a short time that would make you sound like a yacht.''

''Wouldn't that give our location away?'' Kris backed away, folded her arms across her chest.

''Yes, it would, but not much, and not for long. Do it just before you do a radical course change. But if, for just a second or two, you were making noises like your average, garden variety yacht, someone might be less interested in shooting you. We're making the yachts look meaner. Why not make the PFs nicer?''

The idea had logic. It just kind of limped when you added that you'd be doing it by making nice noise that someone could home in on. ''Put the noisemakers aboard. I'll leave it to the Captains how much they use them.''

''Fine, fine. Just remember, you go swagger around looking all mean and nasty, and you'll be first in line to be swatted.''

''Yeah, yeah,'' Kris said. ''Nelly. Could you mix that kind of noisemaker into your evasion plan?

''Doing it, Kris. No problem. I have also accessed the section of the spectrum they are looking at simulating and agree with them. Our design was intentionally worked on to quiet noise in that area. A little noise down there would make us look much more like a regular civilian vessel.

''And you can't hide like a needle in a haystack if you're all shiny. I see your point. Maybe we need some hay seed.''

Done there, Kris and Jack headed for the PF boats … and a surprise. Most of the crews were camped around their gangways. They'd brought air mattresses, chairs of different sorts. It wasn't at all the shipshape Navy look.

''No one going back to barracks?'' Kris asked.

''Don't want to leave the boats,'' Chief Stan explained. ''Most of our trouble started because some yahoo got on board and messed with our engines while we were away. Nobody, but nobody is getting on my boat tonight.''

That brought determined nods up and down the pier. Several of the officers were there; many weren't. A check showed that Kris's mention of the Hilton's availability had sent a few off to check it out. Kris wondered who would be paired with whom, then decided she didn't need to know. She did notice that Phil was among the missing. She hoped he made a better choice than Babs.

Kris settled among the 109's crew when they offered her a chair. ''We're ready,'' Fintch assured her.

''If she don't land us on another golf course,'' Tononi said and got slugged for it.

''Just so long as we make a hole in one,'' the Chief quipped.

''Just so long as we get this over with.'' Fintch sighed. ''I mean, I'm not all that excited about taking on six battlewagons, but this waiting is a big pain in my butt.''

''We got the target when we went after it,'' Kris pointed out.

''Yes, ma'am, Your Highness,'' Fintch agreed, ''and I'm sure we'll do better tomorrow.''

''We're a better boat than we were for that run,'' the Chief pointed out. ''We got better high-g protection. We got rockets to make them keep their heads down. We got a couple a dozen ships riding out there with us, right ma'am? They ain't gonna know what hit them when Eight goes flashing by.''

''We're going to hit them hard,'' Kris agreed. ''And we're going to punch holes in them for other boats to knock bigger and wider. It's not just us out there. Everything Wardhaven can muster, Army, civilian, you name it, will be out there, trailing us. We knock ‘em down. Then they'll put ‘em out.''

It sounded so nice. Kris had been working for this every moment since she came up the elevator. It should work.

But how many of these fine, wonderful people would be here to talk about it tomorrow?

Don't go there. Not now. Not tonight. If you survive, you can worry about it. No need to let this last night be burdened by tomorrows that might never come. Someone brought out a harmonica; a gal on 110 had a guitar. They sang songs for a while. A couple of the guys complained this was too much like summer camp. They wanted a football game.

The Chiefs scotched that. ''And who's gonna fill your slot if you're in the sick bay tomorrow with a broken leg, busted head?'' That ended that. The Chief of 110 came up with a rousing song that sounded evil enough to have been drunk to for a couple thousand years. One young lad recalled he had a bagpipe in his quarters. Despite threats from half the crews, he headed off for it. Kris thought of how the Fourth Highlanders of Lorna Do approached their business of breaking heads, hearts, and other things, and happily joined in.

An hour or three later, she knew she needed some sleep and turned to go. The Chief was at her elbow, nodding to Jack.

''You're around the Lieutenant a lot, sir. Are you—''

''I'm her Secret Service agent. Or was, when she rated one,'' Jack answered. ''I was at Tom and Penny's wedding and followed them up when the Lieutenant here decided to do something. I've just been doing what I could.''

''You been keeping her safe, anyway,'' the Chief nodded.

''Something like that.''

''You going out with us tomorrow?''

''Nope. I keep her out of trouble dirtside. You got to take care of her up here.''

''We'll take good care of her, sir. Damn good care of her.''

They walked in silence for most of the distance to the Halsey. ''You know, I think the Chief mistook me for a boyfriend,'' Jack finally said.

''Or a stalker,'' Kris offered, trying out an evil grin.

''Never considered that as a career option. Might take it up if your old man doesn't win or I don't get assigned back to your detail. Stalker. Not a bad job.''

Kris suppressed the urge to reach out, take Jack's hand in hers. ''Don't stalkers have to be unwanted? Kind of hard to think of anyone who wouldn't want to have you on their trail.''

''I know a few bad types that didn't want to see my face.'' Jack tried his go at one of Tommy's lopsided grins. It didn't look right on him; his grin righted itself into just a nice friendly type. Unfortunately, they were at the Halsey's brow. Kris went through the formalities of coming aboard ship, went to the CIC, found it empty except for a duty watch.

''Anything new?'' drew a negative reply. Jack trailed her to her room but quickly opened his own door. For a second, Kris considered inviting Jack in for drinks, for talk, for… But he was quickly in his own room, and the door closed between them. She opened hers, hit the light switch, and stopped.

There, on her bunk were laid out two uniforms. One was the usual blue shipsuit. Next to it were pressed and starched dress whites. But someone had already gone to the trouble of affixing her shoulder boards, putting on her few medals. The Order of the Wounded Lion was there, only moved to the right pocket. On the left, where a command insignia would have been … there was one.

Kris blinked, studying what showed there. Ten, fifteen years back, when first the PFs had been suggested, someone had proposed a command insignia for PF squadrons. When the boats were all decommissioned, the insignia had been disestablished. The Commodore had somehow laid his hands on one and had been known to wear it on special occasions.

Present uniform regulations did not allow for it.

Now three small ships on a field of lightning bolts sailed serenely across Kris's left pocket. A gift from the Commodore? A surrender to her usurpation of his command? Clearly, someone had gone to an effort to have her wear that.

Gently, Kris moved her whites carefully to the small desk beside her bunk and quickly got ready for bed.

The clock on the desk said she'd been trying to sleep for three hours. Maybe had slept for two. Kris was wide awake, or at least awake enough to be haunted by visions of what lasers could do to small ships. Human flesh. Herself.

''Kris, will I survive today's battle?'' Nelly asked softly.

Kris was out of bed, yanking on the blue shipsuit as she answered. ''Unless we get blasted to bits, I expect you will.''

''I would like to make a long message to Tru before we sail.''

''All the things we've talked about?''

''Those, and something else.''

''What?'' Kris paused at the door.

''Kris, I have been nudging at the edges of the small rock Auntie Tru gave me from Santa Maria. Never when you were fully engaged. Certainly not for the last few days. But I have been trying to look into its insides. And I think I see things.

''Maybe it is what you would call a dream. Maybe not. I think I see stars. Star maps. Only, some of them are different from the maps your great-grandfather Ray had made when he was still attached to the stone on Santa Maria. I do not know why the maps might be different. It just looks that way to me. There are other things. Images of what I take to be the Three and the cities they built. They are lovely.

''Kris, I would not want what I have seen, or think I saw, to die if I die. Let me send them to Tru. Then, if something happens to me, at least I will have done more with my time with you than just count numbers and keep track of your stocks.''

Kris stood there at the door. Nelly clearly had not obeyed her order to not touch the stone slice imbedded in her matrix of self-organizing processing material. But she had also not failed Kris in anything important. Nelly had done what she had insisted she could: sneak a peek into the heart of the possible data source without Kris suffering any disastrous side effect. The teenager had defied Mother but gotten home safe.

''Yes, Nelly, just before we sail, send by landline all the data you want to Auntie Tru. Send her a full backup of what you are. Tell her that, if anything happens to you, to be sure to activate you again. Register a change to my will that money is to be made available to Trudy Seyd to pay for your restoration.''

''Thank you, Kris. I appreciate that. Maybe your brother Honovi will have a girl that could put me to good use.''

''Oh, Tru will find someone to keep you working hard.''

''But no one like you. Take care, Kris.''

''Take care of yourself,'' Kris said and opened the door.

***

Sandy was hunched over the battle board in the dim light of CIC. The duty watch went about its work around her. Kris pulled a stool out from the battle board across from Sandy and sat down.

''Thought you'd be asleep,'' Kris said.

''Tried. It's overrated. Thought you'd be in whites,'' the destroyer skipper said without looking up.

''Will be, after I shower later. The whites your idea?''

''Part mine. Part the Commodore's. I think the old fellow likes you.''

''He's trusting me with his squadron, and I know he loves those boats. You see anything new?''

''Nope.''

''If you stare at those dots long enough, they start to dance,'' came a new voice behind them. Captain van Horn strode into CIC. For the first time, Kris saw him not in his impeccable uniform of the day, but in a blue shipsuit, a ship command patch on the left pocket. ''You stare long enough, you can get a high good as any drug. I found that out in my younger days, standing CIC watches,'' he said, pulling out a seat and settling in, apparently ready to try his own advice. ''See anything new, Sandy?''

''Nope. Same old same old. Crazy lash-up. Impossible odds. We're all going to die. You got any new and crazier ideas?''

''All out, though I passed a bunch of PF crewman doing the craziest dance to a bagpipe, a harmonica, and a guitar. Claimed it was some highland thing done by the ancient clans before battle. Guaranteed victory.''

''Anyone getting hurt?'' Kris asked, wondering if maybe she should have stayed and provided a modicum of adult supervision.

''Seemed harmless, but they were trying to get sixty-four people all dancing in a row.''

''A conga line?''

''No, side by side. As if getting ready to charge.''

And weren't they? Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea.

''You're out of uniform,'' the Captain said.

''Shipsuit, same as you,'' Kris said back.

''Don't you have whites?''

''You in on that, too?'' Sandy said.

''Commodore Mandanti asked me about it. I thought it would be a good idea. You need to look spiffy when you give the All Hands Address on the pier tomorrow.''

''What All Hands Address?''

''The one where you tell us all this is a wonderful thing we're doing and that we're going to push through and win. The one they're going to need to hear after my personnel chief tells them they're all in the Navy Reserve, on active duty, and covered by health and life insurance for the next month.

''You don't think I'm going to send this lash-up of Johnny-come-latelies out to fight battleships without official papers. I'll be damned if I'll let those Peterwald bastards shoot these people for terrorists. Even Luna. They may be taken in armed resistance, but they will be taken in uniform with ID cards.''

''Assuming Kris's dad here and his thousand closest friends can agree that we are legal,'' Sandy added.

The Navy base CO shrugged. ''We lose, the winners want to shoot someone, they can come looking for me, or whatever pieces of me they can find. As far as these folks are concerned, they signed the papers, they got the card. We even dug up enough shipsuits to put them all in uniform.''

Details, details. More that never made it into the history books. Thank God for bureaucrats like van Horn or his personnel chief who thought of all the details.

''They could shoot your personnel chief. She's a civilian.''

The Captain laughed, full and hearty. ''Holds a commission or whatever they call a lieutenant's papers in the Coast Guard auxiliary. Was supposed to be on a search and rescue boat, but the last I heard, she wrangled herself onto one of the armed yachts. We're having to bring up more folks to cover the SAR boats. They ought to melt nicely into the refugees headed for the liners.''

''Didn't anybody tell folks this is a suicide mission?''

''Ah, yes, Your Highness,'' the Captain said, fingering his ship command badge, something she'd noticed he lacked on his uniform. ''But there are some suicide missions you just can't miss. Some missions, no matter how bad the odds … how middle-aged smart you are … you just have to get in line for.''

He paused, stared at the battle board for a long moment. ''If I could find it in my heart, I'd feel sorry for the poor son of a bitch decelerating toward us. He's got all the power on his side. By every right, he wins tomorrow. All we've got on our side is will. Raw determination. And a hunger for freedom. We've lived free for so long, we've forgotten what chains feel like. And we ain't going back.''

Kris studied the battle board. On one side, power, steel, chains, and slaver. On the other side determination to stay free. A willingness to die trying. The arrangement on the battle board stayed the same. The prospects looked a whole lot different.

Sandy shuffled in her chair. ''Battle board, how long until the arrival of the hostiles, assuming continued deceleration?''

''Arrival in twelve hours.''

''Start a countdown clock.'' One appeared on the board.

''Nelly,'' Kris said. ''Keep one of those going for me, too.''

''I already have.''