Redoubtable

27

Lieutenant Victoria Peterwald arrived in the admiral’s barge, complete with admiral. Leading it down was a Greenfeld longboat that off-loaded one Wardhaven Marine for every Greenfeld one on it. Lieutenant Stubben had brought along dress red and blues for Jack, Gunny, and the rest of the initial detachment, so Kris actually ended up with a slightly larger honor guard than Admiral Krätz did, or more correctly, his communications lieutenant.

He didn’t seem to care. What he did check on was the half dozen civilians who met with Jack and examined the security perimeter with him. Only after they nodded approval did the admiral seem to relax a tad.

Kris was glad to leave security for other people to worry about so she could concentrate on what she did best. War by social means.

While Kris changed into dress whites, complete with full medals and all other gewgaws required of her, Mannie disappeared. When Kris exited the small office at city hall that she’d claim for a dressing room, Mannie was waiting in white tie and full tucker.

“You look most dashing,” Kris told him.

“You look like a birthday cake with too much icing,” he said, taking her in. “I hope none of those bobbles you’re wearing hurt a lot to acquire.”

Kris smiled at a civilian’s reactions to her military honors. “Most didn’t hurt me,” she said. Not a lot. “But you wouldn’t want to see the other guy.”

“No doubt,” he said, and hurried on. “I have someone I want you to meet, my grandmama.” The woman he introduced Kris to really was the same woman Jack had been seriously trying to run down that morning!

“You took your gray-haired grandmother on a black ops mission!” Kris said, incredulously.

“He most certainly did,” the woman replied before her grandson could. “Once he made it clear how he intended to box you in, it was clear to me that a woman with your good repute would never let harm come to a fine woman of culture. I couldn’t very well have Mannie cruising the old folks’ home for some poor woman barely able to stand on her own two feet. It needed doing, and I could very well do it myself.”

“Kind of hard to argue with Grandmama,” Mannie said.

“And besides,” the elderly woman continued, “it was not a black ops. The sun was coming up. It was more like a dawn ops.”

Kris eyed Mannie. He shook his head.

“She knows very well what we are talking about,” he said. “She just hates it when slang disfigures an otherwise perfect language.”

“Say what you mean, boy, and do what you say.”

“That’s what I hope we are doing today, Grandmama. Now, if you’ll let me have the princess, I think we’re about ready to start.”

“Are you married?” Grandmama asked, not letting go of Kris’s elbow.

“No, ma’am,” Kris admitted.

Mannie had one of Kris’s elbows and was pointing her toward the stage. Grandmama had the other elbow and showed no willingness to either let go or move with them.

“Do you need any help?” Jack asked, the pure professionalism of his perfect uniform marred only by the smirk on his face.

“I could use a hand,” Kris admitted.

Jack clapped his two white-gloved palms together.

“Do you have any granddaughters?” Kris asked.

Grandmama’s eyes lit up. “I’ve been blessed with three of the loveliest granddaughters an old woman could ever wish for,” she said proudly.

“Jack’s not married,” Kris said, managing to get the elderly woman’s hand off her elbow and into Jack’s hands.

Jack’s smirk vanished, to be replaced with a scowl of biblical proportions.

Free at last, Kris followed Mannie toward the stage. As Grandmama pulled pictures from her purse, Jack struggled manfully to free himself from the white-haired woman . . . and failed.

Kris found herself maneuvered up three steps onto a dais. In front of her was a table with three copies of the new charter laid out in all their medieval splendor. There were three chairs and three inkwells with quill pens beside them. Vicky had already taken the center seat.

From the way Mannie’s eyebrows flicked up, Kris suspected he’d intended that seat for himself. He recovered quickly enough, the perfect picture of what Kris’s father often muttered under his breath. “Nothing is impossible . . . if it doesn’t matter who gets the credit for it.”

Clearly, Mannie was willing to do anything, so long as he got the signatures he wanted on those pieces of parchment.

Mannie pulled out Kris’s chair and seated her to Vicky’s right, then went around to stand behind the chair on his overlord’s daughter’s left.

“Friends and people of Sevastopol, we are gathered together here to formalize a new day for all of us. Today, we will establish a new future for us and our children. A future of hope and prosperity.” Kris wondered how long he would go on, but he seemed aware that often, less was more, especially when he hadn’t really had a chance to find out from Vicky if there were any unresolved issues that in their haste to get on to the next crisis, the charter was merely papering over.

He sat. The audience clapped. There were fifty to a hundred here, mostly harried civil servants who had been hauled away from their desks for this momentous occasion . . . with a few businessmen and -women hurriedly added to the mix.

Vicky rose when the room fell silent. “For my father,” she began, “I come to wish you success in all your lawful endeavors. I look forward to the future of the Greenfeld Alliance as a new generation takes its place in building a prosperous tomorrow for all of us.”

The applause this time was more subdued. The eyes of many went around the room. Marines in Greenfeld green and black stood along the wall, alternating with Wardhaven red and blue. If anyone found the blend unusual, no one risked a remark on it.

Now it was Kris’s turn. She stood and smiled pleasantly at the audience. Jack now stood close to the steps, Abby at his elbow. Keep it short and simple, stupid was in their eyes. Kris broadened her smile for them. Message received and understood.

“I would like to thank Lieutenant Victoria Smythe-Peterwald and Mayor Manuel Artamus for their mutual invitation to serve as witness to this momentous occasion. I hope that long after we have passed from this stage, our ancestors will point to the work that we do here today, and say, ‘That was well done. That was a gift for the ages.’ ”

That appeared to please everyone, both in the audience and up on the dais. The crowd’s applause for Kris’s speech was somewhere in the middle between Mannie’s reception and Vicky’s.

When the applause died down, Vicky reached for a quill, dipped it in the inkwell and applied it to the paper. She took the first available line.

Mannie signed in the same place on his copy of the charter.

Oops, Kris thought. That will make for interesting historical comments. Kris signed her copy in last place.

She tried.

She’d never actually used a quill pen. It took her two tries to get enough ink up the quill for it to make any mark on the charter. Then it took her three refills to get enough ink to finish Princess Kristine Longknife. Well, it was a long name.

Apparently Vicky had no problem. She got all three of her formal names down with only one pass at the inkwell.

Jack stepped up to the dais. He rolled a blotter over Kris’s signature, then moved her parchment gingerly over to Vicky’s place. A Greenfeld commander did the same for Vicky, moving it to Mannie. A white-tie-and-tails young man did the same for Mannie, bringing his copy to Kris. If she wasn’t mistaken, it was Danny from this morning’s raid, the one who had taken Grandmama home.

Apparently, he was a young man of many skills.

They went through the drill again. Kris had better luck with the quill; her signature looked rather decent on this copy. She noticed that Vicky was quick to sign at the top of the available space. Two of the three copies would give her that place of precedence.

Hopefully, two out of three would please her dad. On second thought, with all the copies signed, there was no reason why Mannie’s copy ever had to leave Sevastopol. With luck, what other people never knew would not upset anyone’s applecart.

By the third document, Kris could actually sign her name with a flourish. Not only did she get better, but the quill seemed to adapt itself to her penmanship.

There was applause when they finished, which probably had nothing to do with Kris’s feeling of accomplishment at having mastered an obsolete form of writing. Everyone smiled, and Danny collected all the copies to roll them up and distribute one to Vicky and another to Kris. The third copy was quickly framed in a waiting bit of ornate woodwork and mounted for display for all present to ooh and aah over.

For a day that had begun in the dark in so very many ways, Kris felt like she’d accomplished rather a lot.

Then she frowned as she remembered all she had left to do.

And quickly swallowed her frown lest it be misunderstood on this momentous occasion.

A select few were allowed up on the dais to shake hands with the mayor and his collection of visiting celebrities. Kris shook several hands, acknowledged several names she would never remember, and was about to nudge Jack to get her out of there.

At that moment, Kris caught sight of something flashing, metal and sharp out of the corner of her eye.

Vicky was at Kris’s left elbow, somehow she’d become last in the receiving line. A middle-aged gray fox of a woman who had given Kris a weak handshake suddenly was very vigorously yanking a knife from her small purse and doing her best to plant it in Vicky’s throat.

Jack was making sure she had very little luck in her endeavor. He’d stepped forward in a flash, half-past Kris, reached for the arm with the offending blade, and just as quickly yanked the woman through the receiving line and into the waiting arms of Gunny Brown.

The Gunnery Sergeant clamped one arm around the woman, locking her knife-wielding arm to her side. His other arm covered her mouth so solidly that not so much as a whimper escaped. Holding her a good six inches off the ground, Gunny quickly walked the woman out of sight to the back of the dais.

This was all done so quickly and efficiently that if you weren’t to the right or left of the woman, you very likely didn’t know something untoward had happened.

Mannie did. With quick eye movements, he directed Danny toward the action. The young man went quickly.

“What was that about?” Vicky hissed under her breath to Kris.

“Nothing at all if you can manage to not notice it.”

“Should I?” Vicky asked.

“In a few moments, you and I will slip away from here, never to return. I don’t know what caused that poor woman to do what she just did, but I doubt that she will ever be a threat to you or anyone else again. The call is up to you.”

Vicky seemed to consider that as she shook two more hands. Two Greenfeld Marines and one of the civilians who looked even bigger and meaner moved toward the clump of people at the back of the dais. Vicky made eye contact with them and firmly shook her head.

“I think Maggie will be proud of you,” Kris said.

“My dad wouldn’t.”

“Do you want to be your dad?”

“You come up with the darnedest things to think about,” Vicky whispered back.

Admiral Krätz broke into the receiving line. “I hate to be a wet blanket on these celebrations, but there are matters in the fleet that must be taken care of,” was all he had to say to get people moving away from his lieutenant. Mannie offered one more round of thanks to them and announced a reception to be held in the rotunda.

Since Danny had been last seen slipping the knife-wielding woman out the back of the room, Mannie had to take charge of moving the framed copy of the charter out to the rotunda, where more people could see it.

Even with Kris and Vicky guarded by Marines two deep, Grandmama managed to slip in to thank Kris for coming. “You really should stay for the party. I and several of the girls have made homemade ice cream. It will be very nice.”

Kris expressed her regrets, but Jack made sure she never missed a step. For once, even Grandmama was outmaneuvered.

“How are things going topside?” Kris asked, once she, Vicky, and the admiral were in a limo headed for the admiral’s barge.

“Very thoroughly,” the admiral got in before Nelly could begin her own report. “Unfortunately, it is not producing what we want.”

“Sergeant Bruce, Chesty, and the Marine techs have turned the jewelry store upside down,” Nelly began. “The admiral was able to provide us with DNA samples for most of the sailors who recently went missing from his ships. Several of them had gone through the store. The rest had clearly been in a bar next door owned by the same businessman.”

“And the businessman?” Kris asked.

“Is nowhere to be found,” the admiral growled. “Neither he nor any of his four associates.”

“When did they leave the station?” Jack asked.

“According to all our travel logs, they never left it,” Nelly said.

“That’s not good,” Vicky said.

“No, and it doesn’t get any better,” Nelly went on. “By the time we got to the network-services office on the station, there was a small fire fast growing into a large one. We quickly doused it. The best tech boffins on the Wasp are going through the wreckage now, but it looks like all the storage devices were professionally wiped before they were given over to the flames.”

“And the people running the place?” Kris asked, as she stepped from the limo and headed for the gangplank to the shuttle bobbing beside the wharf.

“Ran,” the admiral snapped, moving quickly on his own to follow Kris. “Gone from the office. From the station. From heavens knows where all.”

“I hate it when the bad guys are so good at what they do,” Kris muttered.

“Good at bad, this crew is,” Nelly agreed.

“People don’t just vanish,” Jack said as he boarded the barge. Dave the businessman was already there, ahead of them. He was cuffed to the aft-most seat in the palatial surroundings one would expect on an admiral’s barge.

“Unless there’s a stack of bodies hidden somewhere on the station, these people have fled. Is a shuttle missing? Did one pull out that the harbormaster missed or was paid to look the other way for?” Jack asked.

“I assure you, the senior port captain has developed a marvelous memory,” the admiral said with a not-at-all-pleasant grin as he belted himself into his seat. The shuttle was already pulling away from the pier. “He’s full of recollections that weren’t in his harbor log. Which is good, because every record on that station is now gone. So is the network. My people are putting in place a temporary network, but it can’t replace what is missing. And it seems that there is very little equipment available on St. Petersburg. At least, equipment for sale to the Navy.”

“And what is our dear senior port captain remembering?” Vicky said, settling down beside the admiral and keeping them on topic.

“He verified what you found out. Certain shuttles from Sevastopol have docked directly with freighters, no inspection, no verification of their claimed bills of lading. He also says the last freighter to receive such visits suddenly dropped out of dock and made for Jump Point Eva early this morning. About half an hour after you went dirtside.”

“Is this freighter still in system?” Kris and Abby demanded in the same breath.

“Sadly, no.” the admiral said, shaking his head. “From the looks of it, the freighter put on higher than normal acceleration, say one and a quarter gees. It also went through Jump Point Eva at a very brisk clip just about the time we discovered that we had a special interest in this freighter. Less than an hour ago, I’m sorry to say.”

“Where does this Jump Point Eva lead?” Kris asked.

“I really don’t know,” the admiral admitted ruefully. “It’s not one that we use. We do know that it leads to a worthless system, out beyond the Rim. There are three jump points in that system that have never been explored.” The admiral shrugged. “Planets like St. Pete out here on the border usually have one or two jump points that lead out into the unknown. As you’re aware, the Sooners are the only ones who use them.”

“We should send a destroyer after that freighter,” Vicky said.

“I have one standing by,” the admiral said. “It can be under way in fifteen minutes from my orders.”

Kris shook her head. “I appreciate your offer, but it would be better if the Wasp took up the chase. Checking out new jump points is what we do. We’re equipped for it.”

“How much trouble can it be?” Vicky said. “You duck through a jump point. Look around. Duck back through if there’s nothing interesting.”

Kris had sat in on the meeting where the Iteeche told King Raymond, Grampa to her, that something was chewing up their scouts and not spitting back enough for them to even examine. Jack was the only other person on the admiral’s barge cleared to even know that the other meeting had happened. Kris opted to do a little tap dance.

“It’s not as simple as you make it sound, is it, Admiral? Scout ships go out and never come back. The Wasp knows how it’s done. Do you have a Greenfeld scout handy?”

“The princess is right about scouting taking a special effort,” the admiral agreed. “And no, my squadron has no ships with a scout load aboard. We have plenty of problems just now. Discovering what’s out there is way down my priority list.”

“We’ll make a full report on what we find,” Kris was quick to offer. “Do you want to send along an observer?” Kris offered, trying to cover her concern by meeting any of theirs before they voiced them.

“If you don’t mind, I would like to send one of my officers,” the admiral said.

Vicky brightened.

“Not a communications lieutenant. The princess is right, scout ships do disappear. There are a lot of jumps with a simple red check beside them. A ship went there. Nothing came back. Don’t open this Pandora’s box. I’d have a hard time explaining to your father if I let you go chasing off with Kris, and you vanished into one of those red jumps.”

“Her grandfather lets her,” Vicky pointed out.

“You try telling your father that you want to do something just because a Longknife is doing it. See how far it gets you,” the admiral growled.

Kris figured now would be a good time to change the subject.

“Admiral Krätz, I need to ask a favor of you.”

“Another one? You are getting to be very demanding for someone not quite an enemy. What is it that you want from me now? Half my squadron?”

Yes, but Kris hoped to sneak up on that slowly. “I expect that the Wasp will trace that freighter to a pirate base. There is no way the Wasp can take down a full-fledged pirate planet. I figure we’ll be facing ships, shore facilities, armed strong points, farms, the whole nine yards.”

“I agree with you,” the admiral said.

“I would like to send a general order to Patrol Squadron 10 to concentrate at your High St. Pete station and wait for me to get back.”

“Your squadron at my station, huh?” the admiral said, rubbing his chin.

“We’re just half a dozen converted merchant ships,” Kris pointed out.

“A dozen of your tiny fast patrol boats wiped out six super dreadnoughts.” Now he raised an expressive eyebrow.

“I can hardly disagree with that. I commanded those mosquito boats,” Kris reminded them.

“Do you think your Wasp and your converted merchant ships can take down a full-size pirate base?”

Now it was Kris’s turn to chuckle. “I seriously doubt it.”

“So you do want half of my battle squadron,” he said, grinning from ear to ear.

“And all spare Marines that you can throw in,” Kris quipped. No need to hold back. Going with too few could cost them dearly.

“Nothing shy about you,” Vicky said dryly.

“I can’t say the admiral put the idea in my head, but when he laid those cards on the table, you can’t blame a girl for putting them to good use.”

“Who gets the planet?” the admiral demanded.

“You put up most of the troops, you get all of the real estate,” Kris said quickly.

“We are likely to do most of the bleeding,” the admiral told Vicky.

She grinned. “So, the Longknifes provide all the support for Kaskatos. We’ll balance it with Pirates Paradise.”

“Pirates ticket to hell,” Admiral Krätz rechristened it.

That seemed to settle that. The admiral’s barge’s antimatter engines went to full power, and further conversation became impossible anyway.

The noise level didn’t prohibit Kris calling ahead to Captain Drago.

“I expected you to want to get under way in a hurry,” he said. “We have retrieved all our shore parties. The reactors are heating reaction mass. If we’re not under way five minutes after you cross the brow, I’ll apply for the job of skipper on the Peterwald yacht.”