“Yes, ma’am,” he answered, leaving Kris to lead the Greenfeld commander there herself.
And get the surprise of her life.
The room snapped to attention for her. Every last one of them, even Colonel Cortez, whose status as her prisoner of war and employee made his rendering of honors something special to her, if rather ambiguous.
“As you were.” Kris remembered it was now her duty to say that and watched as the room relaxed.
The tables had been arranged in one long table down the center. The left-hand side was vacant, awaiting the Greenfeld admiral. The right-hand side had the captains and command structure of her squadron. There were chairs along the wall for staff and others. Captain Drago, for now formally decked out in his official Merchant Marine captain’s uniform, had taken over the foot of the table for the officers of his contractor crew.
Someday, Kris would have to straighten out the chain of command on her ship. Someday, but not today. So far it had worked to the satisfaction of all involved . . . and some people very far up the chain of command who weren’t involved but kept their noses in her business.
Thank you very much, Grampa Ray, she thought.
“We have a problem,” was what she said.
“So what else is new,” came from somewhere down the table.
“That you, Phil Taussig?” Kris said. “Last time we served together, you were so uptight about the proper Navy way that I’d never expect something so not shipshape from you.”
“This is my second cruise with a Longknife. Maybe I’m less worried about getting struck by lightning.”
“We’ll see. Nelly, first slide,” Kris said, and turned to face a lovely picture of the pirate planet.
“So that’s what Dry Tortugas looks like,” Lieutenant Commander Jack Campbell said.
“Dry Tortugas?” Kris said.
“Yeah, that’s what the pirates are calling the place.”
“Excuse me,” Nelly put in, “but wasn’t it the Isle of Tortuga that was the pirate haunt back on old Earth in the Caribbean Sea during the 1600s.”
“I’d trust you more than I trusted the knuckleheaded pirates we captured,” Jack Campbell said, “but the crew of the Bucket of Blood and its computer agreed their home port was Dry Tortugas.”
“Bucket of Blood?” Kris once again found herself echoing.
“Somebody’s seen too many pirate vids,” Jack observed.
“Way too many,” Campbell agreed.
“How do you know so much about all this?” Kris asked. “The only time I captured a pirate I had to shoot its bridge full of holes and kill most of the command crew.”
“While we invited them aboard, right kindly-like,” Campbell said through a poorly swallowed laugh. “We were convoying two merchant ships around the Sooner planets when we found this new ship waiting for us at a jump point, the schooner you see parked next to the Dauntless. It sidled up to us right friendly-like and casually announced it was a pirate and we were all its booty. The two merchies pulled up their skirts and started running. We kind of went putt-putt and yelled our engines were not cooperating. So the pirates concentrated on us and came on board. We had ourselves this little ‘panic party’ waiting for them. Several of the Marines and sailors dressed up like ladies and ran around the ship shrieking for help.”
Kris glanced at his XO, Lieutenant Amber Kitano. The female junior officer only shook her head. “Yes, we have plenty of real women aboard the Dauntless, but no way would we play damsel in distress like our dear captain wanted.”
“We needed someone to look and sound terrified,” said her CO.
“Not in my Navy this woman won’t,” said his XO.
“Anyway, we had a lot of people,” Commander Campbell went on, “running around shrieking and screaming. The pirates were swinging cutlasses and being oh so very bold and bad.”
“Right up to the moment when we started filling their big butts full of sleepy darts,” Amber drawled dryly.
“The pirate captain was oh so offended that we’d brought guns to his knife fight,” Commander Campbell said, grinning from ear to ear. “Those were the last words he said to me as he laid his head down and went to sleep.”
“What about the stay-behind crew on his ship?” Kris asked. “Didn’t they try to destroy the computer?”
“Oh no,” the commander said, waving his hand limply at Kris. “Boarding a helpless merchant ship looked like so much fun that nobody, just nobody, wanted to be left behind. They did leave a cabin boy and girl behind, in charge of the whole ship, they were. And very busy doing what teen boys and girls tend to do when left alone with no adult supervision. Both were very upset when we interrupted them.”
“Anyway,” Amber went on, “we got the Bucket of Blood with only a couple of sleepy darts fired and not so much as a data file erased.”
“So while the princess here was chasing one pirate to its base,” Admiral Krätz said, entering the wardroom, “you were capturing a pirate and finding out the location of its base.”
Now it was Kris’s turn to announce “Atten’hut,” and the admiral quickly waved them down with an “As you were,” before half could get out of their chairs.
The admiral had brought a sizable team of his own. Several Navy officers, Marine officers, and one additional lieutenant whom he took a moment to introduce. “May I formally present to you the heir apparent and daughter of my Imperial Majesty, the Grand Duchess Victoria.”
“So your father took the plunge into full Imperial mode,” Kris observed.
“Once your great-grampa Ray was officially recognized as King of the United Sentient Federation, Daddy could hardly wait.” Vicky sighed.
“You got quite a title,” Kris said.
“I can’t tell you how underwhelmed I am at the moment,” Vicky said. “So, getting back to business, is the Bucket of Blood home ported at the same place as this planet Kris followed our fleeing slaver to?”
“The coordinates appear to be the same,” Captain Drago put in.
“Commander Campbell, did you get any information about planetary defenses from the Bucket?” Jack asked.
Jack the corvette skipper was shaking his head before Jack the Marine captain finished asking the question. “It looks to me like they pretty well compartmentalized everything. The crew of the Bucket are singing to save their lives. We’ve hacked into all their codes. We’ve read them all. No joy as far as information about station or planetary defenses.”
“Maybe they don’t have any,” Commander Fervenspiel said from where he now sat among a sea of Greenfeld green and black.
Kris glanced around the room, taking the measure of body language. Among the Greenfelds, there was optimism that they’d found another cheap conquest. Among the Royal United Sentient sailors and Marines, there was a lot less enthusiasm.
Kris decided to take the bull by the horns.
“Admiral Krätz, I understand from Commander Fervenspiel that standard Greenfeld doctrine, in a situation like this, would be to get all four battleships boosting for Dry Tortugas at 1.5 gees and arrive with all guns blazing, dropping a strong Marine and landing force to ask a few questions, then write the after-action report pretty much the way you’d drafted it beforehand. Did I get anything wrong, there?”
“I might modify the after-action report a bit if it really didn’t reflect certain critical aspects that came up in the actual fight,” the admiral admitted.
“Like my brother getting himself killed very much not according to plan,” Vicky added with venom.
“That would cause a major revision,” the admiral agreed.
“I’m concerned with that approach,” Kris said.
“Anything specific,” Vicky asked, “or do you Longknifes just like to make a hash of Greenfeld doctrine on general principle?”
That question left Kris wondering if she was creating more than she bargained for by having this combined preaction briefing. Throwing caution to the winds, Kris opened the can of worms that disturbed h
er the most.
“Many years ago, I did a little reading up on slavery in early Earth history. I found something that really turned my stomach. It seems that several countries outlawed slavery or outlawed the importation of slaves ahead of others. What that meant was that British warships were prowling the waters off Africa looking for contraband while there was quite a bit of profit to be made by anyone who slipped a load of slaves across the Atlantic and sold them.”
“So,” said the admiral.
“The British viewed slavers as no better than pirates and were wont to hang them.”
“That would make it rather unpleasant to be caught with a cargo of slaves,” Abby said.
“I know this is going somewhere, but I can’t see it,” Vicky snapped.
“The slaves were kept chained belowdecks,” Kris went on. “After all, you couldn’t let the slaves run around, they might take over the ship.”
The admiral raised an eyebrow in agreement to that.
“So,” Kris went on, “if a British patrol ship gave chase to the slaver, it was rather easy to attach the slaves’ chains to an anchor, and toss the anchor overboard. A bit of noise, a bit of screaming, but in a few minutes, there was no evidence left aboard that the ship had ever carried slaves.”
That left the room silent, both the Imperial and Royal sides.
Vicky swallowed hard. “You want to paint a clear picture for those of us without your imagination.”
“It will take the Fury and its squadron at least twelve hours to blast in from the jump point to the station. We can assume you’ll need some time to pacify it and start jumping your Marines into the town.”
“Port Royal,” Commander Campbell provided. “They’re calling that Port Royal.”
“At least they got that right,” Nelly sniffed.
Kris went on, her voice low and deadly. “During that time, I’m figuring the slavers are dividing their holdings into two groups: those they can terrify into silence and those they can’t.”
“And those they can’t?” the admiral asked.
“They line up in rows and shoot. They do that in full view of the others. They make it clear that Greenfeld’s sailors and Marines will be here for a while. Then they will leave. The slavers, however, will be there long after you guys are called off to other duties.”
“And the slavers?” Vicky asked.
“No society is ever totally slave. There are the owners, the technicians, doctors, businesspeople. Oh, and the overseers and enforcers. Given twelve to fifteen hours, Abby here could generate papers to make even the worst of crooks look as perfectly documented as innocent newborns. Right, Abby?”
“You want the Magna Carta, I’ll give you the Magna Carta. You want record books that show that every person on your farm has been paid every month, twice a month, for the last ten years.” Abby chuckled evilly. “That’s even easier. Don’t need no lead seals for them.”
“One more thing I’d like to point out,” said Abby. “They’ll be shooting the potential troublemakers to scare the living bejesus out of the rest. Which category do you think my darling niece will fit into? Kris, can you even conceive of my flesh and blood not being a pain in the ass of any piece of pirate shit?”
That left the room very quiet.
“So,” the admiral finally said, “I take it that you have an idea of how we might take down the pirates without giving them any time to cut throats and clean house.”
“I think I do, ladies and gentlemen. Yes, I think I do,” Kris said.
32
Four days later, the Wasp docilely followed the Bucket of Blood as it made its final approach to High Dry Tortugas. The Dauntless followed along in her wake. Officially, the Bucket was leading in the captured merchant ships Mary Ellen Carter and Pink Lucky Seven. Those were the names of the ships Kris’s corvettes were squawking, and those were the captures that the skipper of the Bucket was bragging about.
With as many guns aimed at his head as could be arranged.
Kris was not surprised that the pirate captain was reading his lines with gusto. Colonel Cortez and Jack Campbell were both on the Bucket, along with Penny.
Kris had Captain Jack the Marine and Abby with her on the Wasp. All three ships now held a company of Royal Marines and near to a battalion of Imperial ones. Campbell commanded the Bucket, leaving Amber command of the Dauntless.
Admiral Krätz had agreed to let the ship’s captain be in tactical command, under Kris. This despite the fact the Imperial Marine battalions were commanded by lieutenant colonels who outranked the Royal Navy skipper. In Kris’s own case, she had Commander Fervenspiel back aboard the Wasp.
To say the chain of command looped off in all directions was to put it far too simply.
Still, one admiral and one princess easily agreed on what they wanted. A certain grand duchess didn’t get what she wanted. Presently, she waited for things to start happening while fuming beside her admiral on the Fury on the other side of the jump.
From the Bucket’s records, they’d found out the time of day on High Dry Tortugas and had delayed their entry into the system so that they docked just about 2200 hours local time. As expected, there were no port officials interested in doing the usual tax, customs, and disease control at that late hour.
Kris had hoped the pirates were as lackadaisical about those things as they were about most other work.
From the evidence, they certainly were.
There still were a pair of pirate schooners and the freighter of many names tied up at the station’s piers. People from their crews carried on a running conversation with the Bucket’s skipper during the approach. Apparently, no ship had yet taken two ships in one cruise. None of the three ships dockside had ever succeeded in capturing a single merchant ship. Curious, they wanted to know how he’d done it.
The captured pirate skipper was only too happy to boast of his prowess at scaring the crew of the Pink Lucky Seven into terrified and abject surrender.
He just never got to the part where sleepy darts started sprouting in pirate rumps.
Then he told basically the same story again for the Mary Ellen Carter. The pirates couldn’t get enough of the part where the woman crew members started screaming and running up and down in panic.
To Kris’s relief, Lieutenant Amber Kitano kept her opinion to herself as she went about her duties commanding the Dauntless. It must not have been easy.
It sure wasn’t easy for Kris to listen to, and she hadn’t had anything to do with the actual takedown.
Once docked, the Wasp and Dauntless were ordered to stay locked down, preserving everything for tomorrow’s visit by the customs people. Even pirates wanted to assure that The Man got his proper cut. Still, that didn’t keep the “captured ships” from connecting to the piers for air, water, sewage, and comm lines.
Comm lines was where the trouble started.
“Commander, I got something interesting,” Chief Beni said.
“How interesting?” Kris said.
“A lot more than I want. The landline traffic is spiking. Spiking way high. I can’t read it, but traffic between the three pirate ships is going fast and heavy.”
“Anything to the Bucket?”
“Some, but not much. What there is of it is all in the clear and has to do with docking. Who’s paying. When. The usual stuff.”
“But the other pirates seem to have developed a bad case of the yaks. Any idea what they’re saying?” Kris asked
“I don’t know what to make of it, ma’am. It’s all in cipher. But whatever it is, they don’t want anyone who didn’t get the daily cipher drop to know what they’re talking about.”
“Why do I not like that?” Kris said. She didn’t wait for an answer. “Nelly, send a commlink of our own to the other two ships. Let’s see what they think about this sudden talkativeness among the pirates.”
“I already had two spiders spinning cable between our ships, Kris.”
On the outer hull of the Wasp, a tiny portion of
Smart Metal™ organized itself into a commlink and boosted away from the Wasp. There were two of them, each leaving a tiny filament of wire behind them. A few minutes later they attached themselves to the commlink at the outer air locks of the other two ships. A fraction of a second later, the bridge crew on the Bucket and the Dauntless listened as Kris reviewed what she knew . . . and all that she didn’t.
“Commander Campbell, did High Dry Tortuga update you on the cipher for today?”
“Golly, Princess, I guess it must have slipped their minds, it being all late and that,” he answered lightly. Then he got deadly serious. “This is not the way you greet your fellow prodigal sons. I don’t like this.”
“Me neither,” his XO observed from the Dauntless.
“Me three-ther,” Kris added.
Around about midnight, it all became perfectly clear.
33
Lieutenant Commander Kris Longknife chose 0200 hours as about the right time to take down the pirate space station. It was an ungodly hour, and anyone not under military discipline would in all likelihood be sound asleep.
From the number of people swaying in and out of the local grog shops, more likely they’d just be dead drunk.
But Kris had to work to get even that little bit of information.
She had Chief Beni and Nelly launch several nanoscouts from the Wasp to take a good look around the station.
None survived more than seven minutes.
That told Kris a lot more than she wanted to know. Whoever was running this place was even more paranoid than the average Longknife. They also had more high tech than anyone of their low morals and criminal inclinations should have. Certainly more than Admiral Krätz. Did these folks have the ability to jam the local net?
Interesting question that. Which for now remained unanswered.
“Shall we launch some more nanos?” Nelly asked, even as Chief Beni was opening his mouth to likely say the same thing.
“No,” Kris said with a shake of the head. “We don’t want to start a fight just yet, and I’m not sure that we’d win one with these nanos. Only a fool starts a fight they aren’t sure they can win.”
Kris Longknife: Redoubtable Page 26
