Resolute

Chapter 9

Kris headed for the shuttle bay. ''When did you spot Hank?''

''I was on the Patton's bridge when one of the kids noticed a ship come through the jump. We stood around gawking. Most of them had never seen a ship's sensor suite up and working. When the number hit six and held, I figured you'd want to know.''

Which explained why Sulwan hadn't told Kris. In just two minutes they'd gone from the greatest secret in human history to Oh my God, look who's coming for dinner.

Dinner or conquest? Was there a difference when the Peterwalds were involved? Kris almost missed a step. A month ago, the loss of Chance to the Peterwalds would be embarrassing for King Ray's alliance, but you win a few, you lose a few.

Lose Chance now and… Kris cut off that thought. It was her command and loss was not an option.

And exactly how do you intend to avoid that, your Princess-hood, Commandership, Longknifeness? She asked herself.

Kris sighed; she didn't even have twelve mosquito boats to defend Chance. Just the two officers walking with her. And a chief. And Abby. And the contents of twelve steamer trunks. Did that include the Resolute? Hmm. ''Nelly, tell Beni to guard all channels. If the cruisers talk, I want to know immediately.''

''He heard about the ship situation from the Comm Boss on Resolute and already has set up the watch. He assumes you will not want your name used on net.''

''Good,'' Kris said as they reached the shuttle.

''Where are you going?'' Penny asked.

''I need some face time dirtside. I'll need both of you. You are my entire command, in case you haven't noticed.''

Kris grounded at Last Chance thirty minutes later. The boys were out with the tug beside a yellow cab with Steve and Mamma Torn. Kris and crew piled into the backseat, leaving the ground crew to find a place to park the shuttle on a ramp already growing crowded. The cab laid rubber gunning off the runway.

''I take it you've noticed your system is kind of full of warships,'' Kris said.

''It did not escape our attention,'' Marta said. Steve just scowled. ''My son wants to talk to you. Steve suggested you do the talking face to face.''

''The lieutenant knows security,'' Kris said.

Steve snorted at Kris's use of his old Navy rank. He might be a long-haired chicken farmer and taxi driver but he'd spent twenty years in blues. Even as he flew the cab low toward town, it looked like his mind was back in uniform. Good.

They pulled to a halt before a sports arena with a crowded parking lot. Ron hurried from it as Kris got out.

''We don't have much time,'' Ron said. ''We're getting close to a quorum in there. I don't know everything we'll do but I have a pretty good idea what we'll deliver for you and Steve. I want you to start on it now, not later. Kris, what's your biggest problem?''

''Mayor Torn,'' Kris began formally. ''I'd prefer not to have the Marines and armed Naval detachments on six Greenfeld cruisers just a quick rush from seizing control of High Chance. But by right and custom, those six cruisers have a claim on High Chance for docking privileges. Absent a pressing need, like all our docks being full, we should offer them the opportunity to dock. We can charge them for it, but money won't defend us.''

Ron turned to Steve. ''She's talking about what you told us.'' The retired officer nodded. ''I'll move to incorporate the Chance Security, Entertainment and Tourist Society just like you said.''

''Entertainment and Tourist Society?'' Kris said.

''What does any sailor on leave want?'' Steve answered. ''A drink and some fun. Our local pubs will provide the drink. Entertainment may take some work. So, this society will provide for both our common defense… and the sailors' liberty and pursuit of happiness. Not bad, huh?''

''Maybe to protect a planet, but…'' and Kris let them in on the secret she'd discovered. ''Lots of traffic will be passing through Chance in the near future. You're going to be big.''

Ron rubbed his eyes with both hands. ''The only thing worse than a Longknife bearing bad news is one with good news.''

''I'd like to keep this discovery a secret until we can go at it logically, rationally.''

''Thank you for showing some common sense,'' Ron drawled and turned to Steve. ''Go with her. Set our defenses up as best you can. I'm still not willing to call out the militia. Can you do it with the Society?''

''So long as Peterwald doesn't know anything, nothing's changed,'' Steve said.

''Let's keep it that way.'' Ron turned to go his way. Steve and Kris turned to go theirs.

Kris flew the shuttle back up with Steve Kovar beside her. Chief Beni was waiting for them when they docked. ''Nothing from the ships. They're still quiet as a tomb.'' Then he spotted Steve and snapped him a salute.

''You don't salute us old farts,'' Steve said with a laugh.

''I do when there are six warships headed my way.''

''Good idea,'' Kris said. ''But not formal policy.''

Steve introduced the woman at his side. ''Chief Ramirez was my personnel honcho. I stretched her into just about everything that didn't involve the actual hands-on killing of something.''

She offered her fellow chief a hand to shake. ''Took all the fun out of a Navy career, dang it.''

''Don't know about you, but I'm kind of glad to have a specialty that don't involve getting killed,'' said one of the few survivors of the gallant Halsey.

Kris frowned. ''I've heard it said that you had a few volunteers working around the station. Wouldn't let them join the reserve. Are these the folks you're sending up?''

''Nope,'' Steve said. ''No militia. They did their time. Besides, if I'm not careful, those enthusiasts might start saluting you. Obeying your orders. No, these are just simple workers, used to giving the foreman back talk when he deserves it. Maybe filing a grievance or two if things get too rough.''

Kris schooled her face to neutral, but that might not have been the best approach. Steve went on. ''And if you start bossing people around like a tin-horn god, you can expect them to down tools and walk, maybe take your entire shift with them.''

''Tell me,'' Jack said. ''Assuming Kris treats these employees as contractors, who does she talk to, maybe suggest things, occasionally plead for help when things get desperate around here, as they so often do around her.''

''Thank you for that question, Jack,'' Kris growled. ''But just now I want you and Beni to hustle over to the Comm Center. I don't want anything going out of here that talks about anything we are doing. Check the buffer on the jump buoy and erase anything that looks suspicious. You understand?''

Jack did. He and Beni trotted off.

Kris turned back to Steve, ''How do we make this work?''

''I'm your main contact point, Lieutenant. I'll honcho one shift myself. The chief here will take another. I've got two other chiefs that will stand in for the last shifts. We'll be the cushion between you and the worker bees. That acceptable?''

''Will be when they get started,'' Kris said.

''Ramirez, is the first crew on their way?''

''The reactor start-up team should dock in fifteen minutes. They added a tiger team of reactor repair crafts in case the reactor gets balky coming on-line after all this cold time.''

''Good,'' Steve said. ''I'd expect initiative from that crew.''

Which turned out to be just the ticket they needed as things slowly went down hill.

The reactor failed to light on the first try. And second. When the third time failed, a reinforced crew was requested from the power companies running Chance's reactors. The crew that was due to bring up the automatic weapons and security net were given a pass. And Kris began to wonder if her station might fall by default to a team of Peterwald Girl Scouts selling cookies.

''A watched teapot never boils,'' the reactor engineer said, making shooing motions. ''This kettle ain't gonna boil any faster with you two looking over my shoulder. There's got to be something insignificant somewhere you can micromanage.''

Steve and Kris backed out of his domain. ''Old Walt is someone you have to know for a while to appreciate.''

''And after I know him for a while, will I appreciate him?''

''More or less,'' Steve said with a shrug.

Kris spent all of a second prioritizing the thousand things she needed to do, came up with a ''not yet'' on all of them, and headed for the forward end of the station.

''I'll dock the Greenfeld ships far forward,'' she told Steve. ''Care to walk around what they'll be looking at?''

They walked along Deck 1, the station curving away to their right and left, the stars visible through the window in the forward bulkhead of the station. Kris wanted to better know her informal deputy; she started with a soft pitch. ''Is there any way we can get the locals to get our ranks right? I mean, it's nice to be breveted up to commander, but I've earned these lieutenant bars on my collar.''

''What makes you think they're promoting you?''

Kris eyed Steve for a second… and stayed puzzled.

He chuckled. ''I mean, who says it reflects anything on us. It's their district. How do you think they feel with a lowly lieutenant. They rate an admiral. A captain at least. What do they get. Me.'' He grinned. ''You, at least, are one of those Longknifes, so that's something. But you're still a lieutenant. So they call us commanders. Get used to it.'' He shrugged.

''That's not something I thought much about,'' Kris said.

''Well, it took them a year or two, and quite a bit of grousing, to start calling me commander. I tried not to take it personal. Then I married one of them and it all made sense.''

Kris doubted she had the years, or the prospects of a husband, so she'd just have to adapt on her own.

''Besides,'' Steve went on, ''don't you have papers to commission that hunk of tin we got parked aft. Commission her and you brevet to captain, don't you?''

''Just commander, and I will not commission the Patton.''

''Why not? From what I hear, she can actually hold air now,'' Steve said with a wide grin. ‘''They've got a trickle feed on the reactor. She's making her own power. What with six Peterwald ships in the system, why not commission our own little cruiser?''

Kris whirled on Steve, her face warm with an anger she didn't understand. ''I will not commission that ship. Not with that bunch of optimists and dreamers that are crawling around her. They asked to make her into a museum. I'll let them have their museum, but they will not sail that collection of spit and glue and bailing wire anywhere, for any reason.''

Kris shivered, both startled… and shocked at herself. She spun on her heels and quick-marched for the bow. Steve had to hurry to catch up with her.

''Hey, young woman, I don't know what I just set off, but I want you to know that I was not fishing for what I hauled in.''

Kris slowed. She needed this fellow if she was going to get anything done here. ''I don't blame you,'' she said as he rejoined her. ''I won't blame anyone. With luck, I won't blame myself.''

He raised two questioning eyebrows.

''I don't know what you heard about the recent disagreement on who controlled the space above Wardhaven,'' she started slowly.

''I followed it in the media. Not sure it made a lot of sense from a professional's viewpoint. I figured I'd wait until the Naval Institute published something on it.''

They walked a bit in quiet. ''We needed everything we could lay our hands on. Good people volunteered. Optimists. Clubs. Gamblers. Whole families.'' Kris remembered faces. ''And I let them. We fought. And they died. Tugs with no guns charged battlewagons and died. System runabouts were out there trying to get a hit. Not one did.'' Kris closed her eyes, willed down the tears. ''Every one of them was wiped out.''

''You had to win. And you did,'' Steve said softly.

''And I spent two weeks attending funerals,'' Kris said.

Steve attempted no answer to that.

Kris let out two deep breaths. ''The Patton is forty years obsolete and I will not allow her to get anywhere near so much as a harsh word much less a fight with that collection of old farts and kids on board. Do we understand each other, Steve?''

''Perfectly,'' the retired lieutenant said.

Kris came to a halt, looked around, and worried her lower lip. ''So how do we present a firm but friendly face to our visiting flag wavers,'' she said, eyeing the escalators down to Pier 1's landing several hundred feet below them.

''You going to park the flagship there?''

''Logical assignment if she's leading in her squadron and no commodore ever hatched has been able to skip playing boats right, boats left, follow in my wake.''

The two junior officers exchanged knowing grins.

Steve turned around. ''Well, we've got those security points.'' He pointed at four small half globes with mirror finish on the ceiling some hundred feet above them. ''Cameras and auto guns in each should be able to stop anything as gross as an armed charge.'' He led Kris a third of the way around the station's concourse to where Pier 2's landing area was. ''Four there as well. Four at Pier 3, unless they got up and walked away since I did.'' He laughed.

''Humor me,'' Kris said, and they finished their walk around Deck 1 of the station. Yep, there were four more covering Pier 3. They walked back the way they'd come, to find Pier 13, then hiked around to Piers 12 and 11. All had good auto gun coverage.

''Assuming they come up when we get power,'' Kris said.

''When we have power,'' Steve went on. ''We'll have maintenance crews crawling all over Deck 1 A, making sure everything we left is in just as good an order as we left it in.''

Kris nodded. Deck 1A was an area that didn't show up on the public schematics of the station. A work area between Deck 1 and 2, it handled the lighting, ventilation, heating, and stuff the average tourist ignored. Kris had not taken the average tour of the Turantic Station, and had made good use of those invisible decks. ''What are the access controls to Deck 1A?'' Kris asked.

Steve's smile was predatory. ''Not what the official manufacturer's specs say. Nowhere near that easy. I'll show you. Didn't I hear something about you and Turantic's Station?''

Kris drew herself up as primly as Abby and sniffed. ''Insurance claims about what happened there are still before a court, and I have been advised by counsel not to comment on every bit of media supposition that floats by,'' Kris said, then smiled Steve's way. ''However, I may have some ideas for improving security and keeping the riffraff and other undesirables away from delicate equipment they could ‘accidentally' break.''

Steve eyed her. ''Yeah, right.''

Amidships, between the third and fourth lines of piers was the service area that had given Kris her way up into the Command Center. All those shops were still boarded up. On the elevator, Steve used a key that just happened to be on his chain and the elevator admitted there were several additional floors above.

''You kept those?''

Steve glanced at them. ''For fifteen years they were a part of me. I just couldn't turn them in. I told Ramirez I lost them. She already had the papers for me to sign about losing government property.'' Kris had never been around anyone long enough to have them read her mind that well. Well, Jack did, but he wasn't reading her mind so much as figuring two steps ahead of the next trouble she'd get them into. Not the same.

Painted gray, and smelling of oil and ozone, Deck 1A's air ducts and power lines stood out in loud primary colors. The auto guns were arranged in large housings above the deck/ceiling. Steve took off the cover of one. ''The security cameras are out there to cover the station. But if things ever get terminal, the gun shield slides over all of the hole except for the gun's snout. These puppies are not going to be easy to kill.''

''And target acquisition?''

''Oh, once they shoot up the globe, we switch to the other cameras.'' Steve grinned. ''Dozens of tiny little things that you can't see from down there.''

''What if they've got spy nanos buzzing around?'' Kris said.

''Real tiny ones?''

Kris nodded.

''Something tells me we're playing in a different league from what we expected.'' Steve worried his lower lip. ''On this whole planet, I think we have only one college professor teaching nano security. Tonight I'll call him and suggest he and his class drop up here and have a talk with you and your Nelly.''

''We may need more than eight hundred workers.''

Steve laughed. ''I knew that number was just a buy in. If we get by with double that I'll consider it a win.'' He looked around. ''Want to see our Naval Defense Battery?''

''What you got?''

''Thirteen souped up 6-inchers.''

''Thirteen 6-inchers. Not 4-inchers?''

''Yeah, we added two to the bow and stern to go with the nine scattered along the outer surface of the station.''

''How'd you get different guns?''

''Interesting story, that. Surplus, brought out when ships were scrapped. Can you believe it, they did scrap some ships. Kind of amazing when you consider that they kept the Patton.''

The 6-inch was a single, with no turret protection. How long it would last in a fight was anyone's guess, but there it was, with capacitors ready to be charged and a computer ready to lay it. Steve rapped his knuckles on some metal tubs with cooling lines running off them. ''We planned to fill these with water and freeze them for gun shields. Better than nothing.''

''If you're an optimist,'' Kris said.

''A desperate optimist,'' Steve agreed.

''If you say prayers at night, I hope you include us never having to use these.''

''I'll tell my wife to expand her prayer list.''

The walk back to the elevator gave Kris time to study the layout. She didn't like what she saw. ''Anyone who opens that elevator door has access to everything up here.''

''That door only opens to a key, and only when I'm sending the right code,'' Steve said.

Kris said nothing. The silence stretched, bent, bowed.

''You are paranoid, Longknife,'' Steve finally said.

''In my family, that's a survival trait.''

''No doubt,'' Steve said. ''I'm starting to understand why folks might, kind of, occasionally, want to kill you.''

''Me,'' Kris said with her most innocent, wide-eyed face.

''No, your father.'' Steve muttered. ''Let's see. If we use twenty millimeter deck steel, we could encase this place,'' he said, turning around in front of the elevator. ''Arrange a desk there, give it a view in the elevator, and add a human eyeball to the security.''

''And put at least one human with whatever kind of weapons you have handy as a lookout from behind the wall, just in case.''

Steve was shaking his head. ''I wanted to bring this thing in at sixteen hundred live bodies. That'll drive it way high. How about all elevators to go to three and be eyeballed before they go anyplace else?'' They got off at three in the lobby leading to the Command Post. Kris made a face at the door leading directly into that holy of holies.

''We'll weld that shut,'' Steve said. ''Put in a major security post here, and install a wall and locked door to all those corridors.''

''Need a gunner behind armor,'' Kris said.

''I'm glad you're having this little talk with me and not my entire crew,'' Steve muttered.

''But I'm having so much fun doing it to you,'' Kris said.

Steve walked into his former Command Post, picked up a phone, and told it he wanted to talk to Ramirez. A moment later she was on-line. ''I need to talk to you about some changes.''

Kris heard, ''No surprise, you're talking to that Longknife girl, aren't you?''

Steve eyed Kris. ''Self same.''

''Where do you want to talk?''

''I'm headed for the Patton. Meet me there.''

Five minutes later, the three of them were going over a full schematic of the station, Steve pointing out where Kris wanted improved security.

''We can do that,'' she agreed. ''We've got some kids working on the harvest. They'd be glad for a sit-down job once a week.''

''Youngsters?'' Kris asked.

''High school and college kids,'' Ramirez agreed.

''Rotating in for one day a week?'' Kris said.

The chief glanced at Steve, then nodded at Kris.

''These folks are going to be the ones who make the call to pull the triggers if things get out of hand,'' Steve said slowly.

The chief sucked on her lower lip. ''And you wonder if kids fresh off the farm could make that call if they are only looking at it one day a week?''

''Kind of like that. Killing someone ain't easy, even if you don't know what an M-6's going to do when you pull the trigger.''

''How about we have them call for help at the first sign of trouble. We could get some adult supervision into the loop.''

Kris shook her head. ''You're assuming that they can call. Strange thing happened to me awhile back. I was being frog walked off my ship by a couple of nasty-looking MPs and I asked Nelly what might be the cause of my unpleasant experience. Nelly couldn't answer. She was being jammed from the net.''

Steve looked at Kris wide-eyed.

''Your pet computer couldn't reach the net?''

''Yes,'' Nelly said from Kris's neck. ''It was most unpleasant and I still do not know what happened.''

''Which leads me to suspect that Greenfeld has a new jammer we haven't figured out,'' Kris added. ''Short ranged but just the thing for putting a couple of green kids out on their own.''

Ramirez spat a nasty word in a language Kris didn't know. ''And they'll send their fanciest to our little coming-out party. Okay, I'll see what I can do. Steve, you get some good comm honchos up here, too. Tell the owners we need their best.''

''That I will. Now, Your Highness, there's been a lot of work on the Patton since you last saw it. Why don't you wander around, get the guided tour while the chief and I talk.''

''About me, behind my back.''

Steve shrugged. Ramirez looked quite interested in what was coming next. Kris shook her head and took the escalator down to the first landing. A young man and woman were pulling sheets of plastic from a pile and walking them up the gangplank. Kris offered them a hand, was accepted, and so boarded her potential command lugging a sheet of white plastic as tall as she was and very wide. There was no ceremony on the Patton's quarterdeck. The place was a madhouse of power saws, drills, and printers.

''Put the sheet down there next to the saw,'' an old fellow said, then took a better look at Kris over his reading glasses. ''Hey, you're not Amy.''

''No, I'm Amy,'' the girl behind Kris said with a laugh, and put her sheet down next to Kris's. ''I don't know who she is, but she offered to lug plastic so I put her to work.''

''Amy, this is the commander of the station,'' the old fellow said, looking like he might have swallowed his plug.

''Well, thanks for the help,'' Amy said, and headed back out for more, not at all impressed.

''Youngsters these days. What are they teaching ‘em in school?'' he muttered, but smiled as he watched the girl go.

''The same thing I think they've always taught,'' Kris said, looking around. ''Who's kind of in charge?''

''That would be Ananda. Heaven knows where you'll find her but the bridge would be a good place to start.''

On the bridge, Kris was directed to the forward 5-inch batteries. She was about to be sent aft to the other 5-inchers when the woman in question did indeed walk in. The single braid swaying down her back showed very little gray on the dark-skinned woman who barely came up to Kris's chest. ''You looking for me?''

''I figured I should check in with you,'' Kris said. ''I'm told there's been a lot of work done since I was last aboard.''

''You bet'cha there has been, young lady,'' the woman said, dark eyes lighting up. ''Just look at this battery. These twin 5-inchers can train as fast as they did the day they were first put aboard. And look at the plaque, there,'' she said, pointing.

Kris did, and saw the use for that white plastic she'd brought aboard. Beneath a quick explanation of what secondary armament was good for on a cruiser, and another short one on how the 5-inch lasers worked, was an additional annotation.

This battery was manned by the Marines of

First Lieutenant Terrence Tordon detachment during

the suppression of pirates during the inter-war years.

He went on to be known as General Trouble

to both friends and enemies.

And big trouble to his great-granddaughter, Kris didn't add. ''Thank you,'' she said to the youngsters looking on. ''Grampa would be proud that his guns are being so well cared for.''

That got happy smiles. When Kris left after getting a demonstration of how fast the 5-inchers could move, Ananda followed. ''Thank you,'' she said, once out of sight of the kids.

''Thank me? For what?''

''For not pointing out that the Patton's secondary battery during the Unity War and the Pirate Affairs were 4-inch lasers. These 5-inchers only came aboard during the Iteeche Wars.''

''Couldn't fight off Puff Balls with 4-inchers,'' Kris said.

''So my mother told me,'' Ananda said ruefully. ''Still, there is something special for the youth, working on a laser that your Grampa may once have touched. It adds something special.''

Kris smiled. ''Your mom fought such a gun?''

The woman beamed proudly.

''That ought to be enough for anyone, but yes, keep letting them think Grampa Trouble worked that laser, and I'll keep not telling them stories about my Grampa that just might ruin everything for them.'' They shared a laugh.

Kris considered the long list of things to do before Hank and his minions showed up, found it very long and, worse, not a single thing she could do just now, and sighed.

''Kris, Penny wants to talk to you,'' Nelly said.

''What's happening?'' Kris said.

''Your old lover boy is calling.''

''He was never my lover boy,'' Kris spat.

''Well, that's how he introduced himself to Jack and Beni just now. Did he do anything you don't know about?''

''Only in his dreams,'' Kris said. ''Put him on.''

''Hi Kris,'' he said in an all-too-familiar voice. ''Too bad you don't have a visual. I wanted to show you the latest in blues.''

Kris was glad she didn't have a visual. She could see perfectly well his perfectly sculptured face, one well-manicured hand waving at a sleeve with a very wide commodore's strip.

''To my eternal regret,'' Kris said, returning the sarcasm.

''My flag navigator tells me we'll be docking at High Chance at noon tomorrow. My sensor crew reports that you don't have your fusion reactor on-line. Will you be able to provide conventional housekeeping services to my squadron?''

''I don't see a problem,'' Kris said, praying she was right.

''We'll also want to give our crews shore leave, get down, get our land legs back, meet the locals. Maybe paint an orphanage or poor house. You must know the drill.''

Kris's experience with port visits had been limited to saving a kidnapped kid and stopping six battleships from paying such a call on Wardhaven. A normal old-fashioned fleet visit was quite beyond her short experience in the Navy. ''I think the locals are planning quite a show,'' she said.

''And I think we can return the favor. Just make sure you're ready to render services, Longknife, and that there's plenty of beer dirtside. Don't want things to get out of hand, do we?''

''I'll look into that myself,'' Kris said, and found she was talking to thin air.

''Penny, where can I meet up with you?'' Kris asked, assuming that anything she said on net was being listened in on.

''I need to do some stuff at Pier 62. Can I meet you there?''

That being next to the Patton, Kris had no trouble being back up on Deck 1 when Penny sprinted down from the Command Center area to stop at Pier 62 where the Wasp was refitting.

''How's the Wasp coming along?'' Kris asked.

''Beautifully,'' Penny said. ''We've erased all its software right down to the stuff that was in firmware for permanent load. We've copied most of what we want from the Resolute's basic load. That boat has quite an interesting collection of software.''

''No doubt. Just how much did Abby help you in hiring it?''

Penny frowned in thought. ''I didn't think she did all that much. I was looking at a couple of other ships, but Abby pointed out their weaknesses. Resolute was strong in all areas. Even had a formerly military crew. I liked that. And the Doc almost was a doctor, not your usual first-aid type. Why, Kris?''

''Nothing. You know she's packing a pair of 14-inch lasers?''

''Yes. Now. I needed that software for the Wasp, so I'm glad it had it. Kris, are you concerned about something?''

''Just my usual question as to where Abby really comes from? What she's up to? You know.''

Penny shrugged and changed the topic. ''You called for me?''

''Yeah, I need to drop down to Chance. Among other things, Hank hinted if the beer runs out, his sailors might get rowdy. I need to talk to Ron where I can't be listened to.''

Penny nodded, then focused on something behind Kris. Kris turned to watch a wiry young woman race up the escalator three steps at a time. She arrived not even out of breath.

''You Miss Longknife?'' she asked. Kris admitted she was. ''We've got the Patton's sensors fully on-line and were watching the approaching ships. Kind of training, you know?'' Kris admitted that she did. ''Anyway, the chief said you might want to know that the ships have upped their acceleration to 1.5 g's. They'll be here well before noon tomorrow.''

''It's nice to have eager guests,'' Penny muttered.

''Penny, you've got the watch. I'll be dirtside,'' Kris said.

A yellow cab waited for Kris, driven by a kid that looked a lot like Steve but not nearly old enough to drive. At least on Wardhaven. But then, the kid didn't exactly drive, it was more like flying low in a racing skiff. Kris tightened her seat belt and managed to say nothing.

Ron was still at the sports arena. There were small rooms under the stadium, all now filled with tables, computers, and people doing things intensely. Ron came out to greet her.

Inside, Marta Torn and two men stood around a table with a map spread across it. Marta looked up and grinned. ''I hear you've heard from your lover boy.''

''News travels fast when some idiot uses an open net, and may I point out you only heard his side. We went to lunch once and dinner once. Not much loving. And my office was rocketed during the lunch and there was a bombing halfway through our dinner. Didn't even get to dance.''

''I hadn't heard about the lunch date,'' Ron said. ''But you left out how you ended up on his yacht late one night.''

''That doesn't count as a date,'' Kris snapped. ''I was looking to steal the fastest boat available. I didn't even know it was his.''

''Someday you must write a book about your love life,'' Ron said, grinning. Similar grins grew on the other faces in the room. Even his mother's. ''Me, I'm hoping to have a nice long chapter devoted to me. Lovingly,'' he added.

''You can hope for anything,'' Kris said, not really minding Ron's ribbing. Or was it a proposition. Certainly it didn't rise to the level of a proposal. They joined the group involved in the map exercise. ''What's happening?''

''We picked up your conversation with Hank,'' Ron said. ''The Beergartens along Hamburg Street will turn the whole five blocks into an Oktoberfest. They have plenty of practice and plenty of beer, right, Hans.''

''Bismark Park will be set up with arcade games, penny pitch, good fun stuff,'' said a round fellow with just a hint of an old German accent adding interest to his words. ''We garten owners have plenty of good beer, but only the prizes left over from last year. Our new production run isn't done yet.''

''Then we better have something lined up in case we run out,'' Ron said with a worried frown.

''The Highland Games are held here at the college,'' Marta said, pointing to a large area two blocks off of Hamburg Street. ''They do a caber toss, rock toss, and races. The prizes are just ribbons. I think we can stretch that out through a lot of match contests before we get to the prize rounds.''

''Gasçon is our Chief of the Peace. Can you handle it?''

A tall, lanky fellow a bit older than Ron shook his head. ''Mayor, I won't know until I see what I get. You going to staff me for a riot, or for a quiet night?''

''If we staff you up, we look like we're looking for a riot,'' Ron said slowly.

''And who's going to pour my beer,'' Hans said. ''We can't throw a party if you put everyone in an arm band, Gassy.''

The Chief of the Peace nodded. ''Ain't you glad you didn't lose that last Mayor race?'' Ron made a rude noise.

''You need enough folks pulling beer to keep it flowing fast,'' Kris said slowly. ''And enough safety and security people walking the streets to see that any problems are handled quickly, in the early stages before they grow into something ugly.''

''I know,'' Ron said. ''I've seen enough news to know how the Peterwald work this scam. We throw their sailors in jail, ‘on trumped-up charges,' they come down to liberate them from terrorists, and somehow, in the process, a government falls and another planet ends up in Peterwald's hip pocket,'' he growled at Kris, but the others around him nodded along.

Kris was glad to hear that from Ron. Apparently those years on Greenfeld hadn't blinded the mayor to what his benefactors did. But then Kris knew a Peterwald and wasn't in bed with him.

''You know,'' she said softly. ''Those ships are going to arrive at my station well before noon tomorrow.''

''No,'' echoed back at her.

''Yeah, the Greenfeld squadron has hiked up its g's.''

''Will they be down here earlier?'' Gasçon asked.

''No way of telling,'' Kris said.

''So they'll have more time to wander around your station,'' Ron said, rubbing his chin.

''A station that still doesn't have a working reactor,'' Marta pointed out before Kris did.

''This is not good,'' Hans said. ''Not good at all. Those auto guns need to be tested. My boy Alex is supposed to be up there checking them out before the ships get here. If he's up there, he won't be pulling beers down here.''

''We need power to test those guns,'' Ron said.

''How many back-up generators do you have?'' Marta asked.

''Two,'' Kris said. ''One for the aft set of shops that's going now, and one that we aren't using for the midship set.''

''So you could double what you have,'' Ron said, running his hands through his hair.

''The Patton's not taking any power from the station, or so my kid brother says,'' put in the Chief of the Peace. ''Could it kind of donate power?''

''I'll check on that,'' Kris said slowly. ''If we managed our power carefully, we might bring up some of the gun stations a few at a time for testing, then close them down.''

''I'll see that you get extra antimatter,'' Marta said.

Kris eyed the map with its Oktoberfest and games. ''I take it this is your answer to the last part of Hank's transmission to me, the part about his boys getting rambunctious if they don't get shown a good time.''

''Yeah,'' the Chief of the Peace said. ''Normally they say visitors are like fish, they smell after three days. This guy ain't even here yet and I'm detecting an unpleasant aroma.''

''Watch it, Gassy,'' Hans said softly. ''We don't want feelings like those showing through.''

''I know, I know,'' Gasçon said, eyeing Marta. ''We don't hold against this bunch what we may have heard through the news. But can I hold against them what I'm seeing right now?''

''The plan is to smile, smile, smile,'' Marta said. ''It's harder to invade a planet that's smiling at you. Don't give them an excuse to do something we'll all regret.''

The others around the table nodded along with Marta's words, which Kris suspected by now must be an oft-repeated mantra. She'd been taught in OCS that hope was not a plan. She weighed Chance's plan and found it loaded with a whole lot of hope. It was clear that one Longknife was going to have to provide the iron to counterbalance all that hope.

''If you've got the party well in hand, and I've got some power options to look at, I'll head back upstairs.''

''Kris,'' Ron said as she turned away. ''You did bring your dancing shoes and a couple of nice party dresses, didn't you?''

''And if I did,'' Kris answered noncommittal.

''We figure the officers won't be all that interested in seeing how much beer they can guzzle and still toss a caber. We're planning some social events that will equal the best you ever saw on Wardhaven. Thought you might want to give your maid advanced warning to get the swirly stuff ready. I've heard a lot about your maid. Abby's her name, isn't it?''

''Yep, and I'll tell Abby to get ready to do that princess thing she does so well. That is unless you think I should leave the tiara in the box.''

''Oh no.'' Marta grinned. ''That'll be half the fun. Seeing who fawns all over a bit of royalty, and who doesn't.''

''I've used the princess card for a lot of things,'' Kris sighed. ''This sounds like it will be a whole new gig.''

''I get the first dance,'' Ron said as Kris headed out.

Kris didn't look back. ''You and Hank can arm wrestle.''

''Well, at least that Marine won't be ahead of me in line,'' Ron called after her. Almost, Kris turned back to see the look on Ron's face. Was he joking? Or actually glad to be considered ahead of Jack on Kris's dance card.

A lot was going to be revealed come tomorrow night.

Steve Jr. was waiting outside to take Kris back. And he did get her back safely to the shuttle, if a bit worse for the experience. Strange how a battle-hardened vet could find riding with a teenaged driver a terrifying experience. Course then, enemy fire and a spun-out car left you just as dead.

The shuttle had extra antimatter, as promised, and a couple of passengers. Most looked like craftsmen and -women to go with the toolboxes stored in the proper bins. One was older, grayer, and carrying a nicely sized potbelly. And though he wore a plaid flannel shirt and jeans, Kris greeted him with ''Hi, Chief.''

''You're not supposed to know. What gave me away?''

''Well, you're wearing an old Navy-issue belt.''

''Lot's of folks do. They're cheap.''

''Yeah, but others don't have a razor sharp gig line.''

The old chief sucked in his gut and looked down. Shirt, edge of buckle, and fly were so straight, they could have been done by a theodolite. He hitched his belt around, disrupting the perfection of habit. ''You won't tell the commander, will you?''

''Mum's the word. What part of my station are you going to look at.'' Kris didn't emphasis the ''my'' in station, but she got it out there in clear sight.

''The auto guns. That's what all of us are here for.''

''News travels fast,'' Kris said.

''This is Chance, ma'am. Everybody knows everything.''

Kris delivered them smoothly to her station, arranged with Tony Chang to have two of his boys get the other auxiliary power station up and running just as soon as the lunch rush was over, and headed for Engineering aboard the Patton.

''Was expecting you,'' a woman said as Kris entered the other holy of holies aboard a ship.

''Everybody on Chance knows everything,'' Kris said.

''Glad you're getting the hang of the place,'' the gal said with a grin. ''The second reactor is dead, but the first is running solid, and I'm expanding the racetrack to give us more power and feeding it up the line to the station's capacitors.'' Electricity to run the ship and power the lasers came from sending plasma through a magnetic field. When the ship was doing 1 g in space, there was plenty of juice. When the ship wasn't under way, there was a, usually small, racetrack they ran a trickle of plasma around. Kris hadn't heard of anyone expanding the track, but she was glad this woman could.

''The capacitors should be full in a few hours,'' the woman went on, ''but there's enough for Chief Tando to bring up guns. If the station needs more power, we'll give it.''

Kris didn't want to ask the wrong question, but if everyone knew everything… ''Do you know how things are going with the station's reactor?''

The engineer shook her head. ''They had a major failure last time they tried to bring it up. This station was in need of major work when they shut it down. They've ordered some parts, but they'll have to be machined from scratch. I'd expect the reactor to be on-line by noon tomorrow.''

So everyone didn't know everything. ''The ships are arriving before noon.''

''I'll pass that along. We'll need to speed things up.''

Kris did her best to suppress the anger rising in her as she walked slowly from Engineering. This was her station. She should not have to play silly games like this to find out what she needed to know… and to see that people who should be her subordinates knew what she needed them to know and did what she wanted them to do.

''Nelly, find out who's in charge of the contractors on this station right now and tell him or her to see me at Pier 61.''

''Kris, Steve will be arriving on the next shuttle and he requests that he be the one to talk to you.''

''You tell Steve he better get out and push that shuttle cause I want to have this talk soonest.''

''He says he will be at the shuttle landing in thirty minutes and that he will be out pushing.''

Thirty minutes later, Kris was at the shuttle dock when it came in. Steve wasn't exactly outside pushing, but he was the first off. ''We need to talk,'' Kris snapped at him.

''Yes, ma'am, but please not here,'' he said, taking her elbow and leading her along with him, ahead of a small tide of workers moving purposefully out of the shuttle and off to assignments with hardly a word spoken.

Kris kept her mad up, but she couldn't help glance over her shoulder at the crew behind her. There were no more perfect gig lines, no one was visibly ex-Navy. Still, she would take them on board any command. A look at their determination said Grampa Trouble would take them, too. Kris found herself edged out of that driven tide and seated at a table in the back of Chang's New Chicago Pizza and Chinese Waffle House with a deftness that seemed to show planning on Steve's part.

Once seated, she repeated her opener. ''We've got to talk.''

He eyed his watch. ''One day. Damn, we all lose the pool.''

Kris's curiosity won out over her anger. ''What pool?''

''We figured we'd keep you buffaloed for at least two days, some figured three or four. No one bet on you calling our bluff in less than twenty-four hours.''

Kris leaned back in her seat and took a deep breath. Maybe anger wasn't the best way to handle this situation. If it was, she could always pull her mad back out and slap Steve around with it a couple of times. But if it wasn't, well, there was no way to take it back. ''What is going on here?'' Kris demanded.

''When you took command of that fast patrol boat of yours, PF-109 was it, how much respect did your crew give you?''

Kris frowned in thought. ''I don't know. Some. Not much. They were green as petunias. We skippers were, well, everyone knew we were problem kids. Juvenile delinquents, hooligans were some of the nicer things we were called.''

''I read about you and your helmswoman landing a racing skiff on the green of some golf course.'' Steve laughed. ''What were you trying to do?''

''Fintch scored off the charts when they used games to test her, but she'd never actually maneuvered a ship, never even been off planet in her life. I figured she deserved a go at something smaller than a PF before she started honking it around the sky.'' Kris shrugged. ''So she missed on her first try. She was never that far off again.''

''She learned she could respect herself,'' Steve said softly. ''And the whole crew found that they could count on you to help them do their best. And respected you for it.'' Kris nodded.

''How long did you have to get things shipshape before things blew up in your face?''

Kris knew almost to the second how long they'd had from the moment she first came aboard the PF-109 until she'd been relieved of her command and hauled off in cuffs. But that wasn't the question Steve was asking. ''A whole lot more time than you've got right now,'' she answered.

''All my people know is that you're one of those damn Longknifes.''

''That's all one word,'' Kris interrupted.

''However you say it, some may hold it against you. Some may look at your grampas and think, wow. Me, I look at the package, and I worry for my friends and neighbors. Just who are you? What have you got to prove? Are you going to turn a perfectly good day into a bloody massacre because you have something to show people who are thirty light-years away? I need answers to those questions before I dare take the muzzle off you.''

The former Naval person leaned back in his chair as Tony Chang settled drinks in front of them and left. ''Who are you, Longknife?'' Steve asked.

Kris took a long pull on her soda as he did the same. A soda, today, not a beer, for him, too. The place where everyone knew everything wanted this to be a very sober discussion.

''My father, Prime Minister that he is, figured me for the permanent campaign manager for my older brother, maybe his, too.''

Steve frowned at that. ''Parents often have the worst expectations for their kids.''

''Mother just wanted me to marry wealthy. Give her a couple of grandkids to mess up as bad as she messed up us kids.'' This drew a deep scowl from the retired lieutenant.

''So you ran off and joined the Navy,'' he said.

''Fool me, I thought it was one place where I would be just me. Where I could be measured on my own merit.'' Kris turned, stared at the bulkhead. ''But wherever I go, they've heard of those-damn-Longknifes, and I'm just one of them.''

Steve shrugged. ''Sorry, kid, but you are.''

''So I've discovered. But…'' she nailed him with her eyes. He did not look away. ''Let's get a couple of things straight. One, I want just as much for Chance to be left on its own as anyone born here. Fourth generation, or whatever. Do you hear me?''

''I think so.''

''Second, I do not want a bloodbath before, during, or after this little squadron visit. I don't even want Hank to cut his little pinky. I want Hank to come, to see, and toddle right back out Jump Point Alpha, or Beta, or whatever. I don't like the idea of there being a Longknife and a Peterwald in this system any more than you do. The last thing I want is for us to come to blows. You hear me?''

''I hear you, but, I'm kind of having a hard time figuring out what I'm hearing. I mean, the Battle of Wardhaven and all. I figured you'd be gunning for him.''

Kris eyed the ceiling and said a prayer to any God willing to listen to the likes of her. She let out a long sigh and chose her words carefully. ''Steve, you study much history?''

''I like to think I studied a lot of it.''

''What were the longest, nastiest wars?''

He thought for a minute. ''Aside from the irregular ones, those where you had a hard time finding one of the sides, I guess I'd say the ones where the two sides were evenly matched. Where neither side would win a solid victory over the other.''

''And so the war dragged on year after year, campaign after campaign, with both doing a lot of hurt to the other, the people paying a higher and higher price for the war, but neither able to swing a knockout blow at the other?''

''Yep.''

''What would you say about the strength of the two alliances, Peterwald verses Longknife.'' Yeah, let's get personal.

''Your Grampa Ray is ahead.''

''Enough for a knockout blow?'' Steve shook his head.

''My feelings exactly. Now do you see why I want to make sure this station doesn't just plop itself into Hank's lap? And why the games dirtside go smooth as they can?''

''If I didn't know you better, I'd call you a pacifist.''

''Hell no,'' Kris spat. ''Given enough time, I figure we're going to have Peterwald so beat that he'll give up without a fight, like, what were they? The Soviet Union back in the twentieth? But in the meantime, we have to keep our powder dry and never turn our back on them for a second.''

''So now all I have to do is persuade folks that you will not ride roughshod over them,'' Steve said, pushing his chair back.

Kris stood. ''When we were trying to get that collection of extraneous junk ready for the Battle of Wardhaven, I did walk-arounds to see how things were going for myself…''

''I was planning on doing just that. Why don't we do them together for a while?''

''Fine, the other was stand-up meetings twice a day. That way folks learned what others were doing.''

''Stand-ups,'' Steve echoed.

''Stand-ups. So no one gets comfortable.''

''I like it.''

And so security was enhanced, auto guns were checked, cameras were on-line and a small horde of nano-scouts released into the station next morning. The capacitors were full and, just fifteen minutes before Hank's flag was due to hook up, the reactor came up to cheers stationwide. Oh, and Kris even got six hours' sleep.

''I guess we're about as ready for them as we'll ever be,'' Kris said, turning to Steve. ''So, do we meet them at the pier or stay safely behind security in the Command Center?''

''Oh, didn't Ron tell you?'' Steve grinned.

''All my stand-ups, all my walk-arounds, and why do I think I'm about to be slapped with a surprise?''

''Well, the Last Chance Ballet and Modern Dance Class of Mrs. Toronado will be meeting Hank's flag and giving him flowers and a basket of baked goods from the 4-H prize winners at last year's Last Chance County Fair.''

''And the other ships?''

''We have kids from the Highland Dance school, and German Culture Classes, the Kabuki Theater, the Desert Dances and… anyway, there will be pretty little girls and boys stammering hello to all the ships and offering them baskets of goodies that won't have been totally eaten on the ride up.'' Steve was grinning from ear to ear.

''Drown them in kindness.''

''That's the whole idea. Show them that there's a lot to like about Chance, and not a whole lot we want to change.''

''Hank ain't gunna like that.''

''Why don't that bother me,'' Steve said through a huge grin.