“Can you make sure they match the station without denting anything?” Kris asked.
“I did it fine,” Admiral Hiroshi said. “They can, too. Besides, we’ll put the pilots that docked me aboard them. First, I’ll hitch Tomiyama’s Sasebo yards to me, then Benson can hitch the Portsmouth yards to him. Two days after they arrive, we will be in fine shape.”
Kris liked to hear that.
Which left her with the business side.
Pipra had enough on her plate to keep Kris busy until the cows came home, as the young woman put it, or, at least, until the fleet arrived. There were supplies to distribute among the mining concerns, plans to convert the new arrivals into system freighters, and production schedules at the fabricators and mills to balance.
Putting agriculture, fisheries, and the basic industries that supported them as first priority was nice, but it left raw materials and production facilities underutilized. A bit of juggling and you got a bit less food produced, but reactors moved along the production line with more Smart MetalTM and electronic goodies that tied the colonials and the Alwans tighter into a seamless net for survival.
Pipra showed up with a list of what manufacturing plants they had and what had just arrived. She took Kris through several iterations of resource allocation before they settled on the best use of everything.
“You know,” Kris admitted when they were done. “If we keep this up, I’m going to develop a serious respect for what you do.”
Pipra only smiled softly at Kris’s half compliment. “Well, I’ve already developed a serious respect for what you Navy types do. It would be nice if I got as much respect back from you and yours.”
That put Kris back in her chair. She kept saying that they were all in this together. She said it, but she didn’t really mean it. The Navy was always first in her mind’s eye. But the Navy would be fighting bare ass in space if it wasn’t for what these industrial workers and managers were producing to arm them and feed them. From her father’s knee, she’d learned to mouth the platitudes of all for one and one for all, but she’d never really believed it.
There always seemed to be someone who was more equal than others.
Now, with enough hats on her own head to give anyone a migraine, Kris was having her nose rubbed in the truth of what she’d said.
“Thank you, Pipra. I think I needed that bucket of cold water in my face.”
“I didn’t mean to give offense,” Pipra said, then changed her direction. “You’re one of the best bosses I’ve ever worked for. I don’t want you taking me wrong.”
“I’m not,” Kris said, trying to take the pressure off the woman across the table from her. “I really mean what I said. Working with you is making me see things I thought I saw but was blind to. I know this is tough on you. Tough on all the folks you’ve got working for you. I can’t promise anyone a bed of roses, but I can say that I see how all of us—Navy, miners, production workers, and management—are making this happen. And that we’d all be dead without each and every one of us.”
With that, Pipra packed up her briefcase. She left just as Jack was coming back from his long day’s work. Kris and he went out for a quick bite, then shared a shower and a very warm bed.
Tomorrow would come all too quickly. Jack made it easy to fall asleep.
6
As Kris was preparing to head up to the Forward Lounge and meet her new ship drivers, there was a knock at her door.
“Enter,” she said, hoping Pipra hadn’t stumbled onto an even better way of merging their limited, if now expanded, resources, but the two commodores who entered her day quarters were strangers to her.
“I am Commodore L’Estock of Pitt’s Hope,” one said.
“And I am Commodore Shoalter of New Eden,” the other said.
“And we have a present for you,” the first finished for them.
That told Kris that the two senior U.S. commanders most recently arrived from home were paying her a call, formal or otherwise, but not much else. L’Estock handed a small package to Kris. Not at all happy at the game they were playing, but curious still, Kris opened the box. Inside was a blue flag.
She shook it out. It had three white stars. Wrapped in it were the shoulder boards of a vice admiral. There was also a pair of papers. One was rather lovely calligraphy and signed by Grampa Ray. No, this was definitely the signature of a very kingly King Raymond I. It proclaimed to all present her right to wear the rank of a vice admiral. The other were the formal orders fleeting her up to the three-star rank, while keeping her pay grade at a lowly captain’s.
Buried in the small print was her delegation of authority to fleet up people to the rank of rear admiral and below. Fleet them up but not give them any extra pay.
The bigger surprise was that she could do this for anyone serving in her theater of operations, be they U.S. or otherwise. Apparently, at least some people were taking the need to defend against the raiders seriously enough to forget who was in whose alliance.
At least on far Alwa Station.
Kris read it all, then glanced up at the two grinning officers. “They crammed a lot into one small page. I assume you knew about this.”
“Since the king called us in for a conference before we left, most definitely yes. Copies of that are in the mail bag for all of your subordinate commanders: Musashi, Helvetican, whatever.”
“It’s nice to know we were appreciated, even if you didn’t know if we were alive or dead when the orders were written,” Jack said, reading over Kris’s shoulder.
“Yeah,” she said. “Now, thank you very much. If you’ll leave us alone for a moment, we’ll join you as quickly as we can in the Forward Lounge once we attend to some minor details.”
If anything, the two officers’ grins got bigger. They must have heard about the new fraternization policy; neither had batted an eyelash when Jack joined them from Kris’s night quarters.
Alone, Kris held the new flag and shoulder boards. Three stars, and she hadn’t even completed her sixth year in the Navy. Yes, they were only good in theater. Once she returned home, like Cinderella, she’d turn back into a captain at best, maybe even a commander. Still, even for one of those damn Longknifes, it had been quite a ride.
“You want to do the honors for me?” Kris asked.
“I think it’s often the duty and joy of the spouse to do this,” Jack admitted. It took him only a moment to remove her old boards and put on the new ones. He’d had experience getting her uniform ready for her when she was in the shower just as she had done the same for him. At least those times when they hadn’t been showering together.
“I think I got that right,” he said, and gave her a kiss. It wasn’t exactly a peck, but it wouldn’t have any flower girl suggesting they “get a room.” It seemed just right from a brevet colonel to a newly frocked vice admiral.
“Shall we go?” he asked when they broke chastely.
“No, there are a few things that need to be done. Nelly, promote Commodore Kitano immediately to rear admiral. Jack, I want you to organize all the ships’ Marine detachments and the colonials into a brigade. Which makes you a brigadier general.”
He grinned at that.
Kris hurried on. “Tomorrow, promote the other three commodores to rear admiral and restore Benson and Hiroshi to their previous ranks with seniority in theater dating from tomorrow. Is there anything else I need to think of?”
Jack said nothing. Nelly paused, then added, “I assume you’re creating four task forces with rear admirals commanding?”
“Something like that, Nelly.”
“Who gets to choose who fills in as squadron commanders behind the promoted commodores?”
“Cut a set of orders authorizing the task-force commanders to propose to Admiral Kitano the fleeting ups to commodore in my absence. We’ll let them fly while I’m gone, then I can finalize them, assuming they haven’t screwed up.”
“If you’ll have Jack pull the promotion papers out of the document generator
, you’ll have something to give Admiral Kitano tonight. I didn’t quite go in for the full calligraphy like the king, but I did it up right.”
“Thank you, Nelly.”
That done, Kris adjourned for the Forward Lounge.
7
Kris had never seen the Forward Lounge so large and so full. No doubt, Penny had given up several centimeters of hull armor to stretch it out this far and provide tables and chairs.
To Kris’s right, Commodore Miyoshi, soon to be admiral, was deep in conversation with the newly arrived commodore from Yamato. Around them, ship captains, XOs, skippers of Marine detachments, and chiefs of science teams were lost in conversations that, no doubt, were mirrored in the station dives as senior chiefs and Gunnys from the old team met their counterparts from the new teams and compared notes on the lay of the local land and the recent attempt to blight it.
The Helvetican contingent had settled toward the back and was talking in hushed tones with the new arrivals from the Esperanto League and Hispania. The center of the room, stretching over to the bar, was held down by a mash-up of U.S. personnel from Wardhaven, Lorna Do, Savannah, and Pitt’s Hope. The area directly closest to the bar had been taken over by New Eden and the arrivals from the Scanda Confederacy as they all got The Word.
For a place with so many people in it, the Forward Lounge was neither hushed nor loud.
Circulating among the officers were a decent-size detail of barmaids, enlisted women earning extra money seeing that dry whistles got wet. Mother MacCreedy must have allowed a new uniform; it seemed to Kris that the skirts were at least six centimeters shorter than before.
Wonder how that’s helping with the tips, considering the swill they’re delivering?
The Word must have been passed that the Forward Lounge was an off-duty area; no one called the room to attention as Kris entered. She made her way to the foremost table. Penny and Kitano were holding it down for her.
As she settled into her seat, both young women grinned. “So it’s true,” Penny said. “You got another star.”
“It’s true,” Kris admitted as she surveyed the room. “How long has this been going on?” she asked.
“Just about everyone was here half an hour ago when I arrived,” Kitano said.
“I got here an hour ago, and the place was just starting to fill up,” Penny supplied. “I figured I better be here to see how much it needed expanding and do it myself since we’re stretching the hull. I’ve had to grow the place twice. If any more come in, I’ll have to do it again.”
A couple of dozen civilian merchant types showed up at the door and looked around, disappointed to find no room left for them. They were suitably amazed as Penny did her thing, and the room stretched farther away from the wall and another row of tables and chairs appeared as if out of nowhere.
They took the newly available places and signaled for drinks. Kris watched as three barmaids took trays with already filled glasses to them and set them down before them. She kept watching as the men and women cautiously tried their drinks.
One fellow spat his out and threw the full glass at the serving maid. She was a Marine and dodged expertly.
“What’s this shit?” he shouted, as the house got very quiet.
Kris stood up . . . the house silence got total.
“That’s what we drink out here,” she said softly. Deadly soft to those who knew her.
“I got better back on the Mary Allen,” he shouted back.
“Not by this time tomorrow,” Kris said. “All spirits and food stuff brought into the system will be confiscated and added to the general issue. No one will starve, but we’ve got a critical food situation here. The best go to those who work the best. Those that don’t work don’t eat. If you want a good beer or whiskey, you’ll need to show that your ship is one of the best. If not, you’ll get by on what we’ve got plenty of, and what you’re drinking tonight is what the Alwans like. We’ve got plenty of it.”
“No wonder,” the guy said, and spat again.
“I didn’t plan to start this meeting this way,” Kris said, “but this is as good a place as any. If you don’t know, I am, as of a few minutes ago, Vice Admiral, Her Royal Highness, Kris Longknife, Viceroy to the Colonials on Alwa, Ambassador to the Alwa natives, CEO of Nuu Enterprises in System, and Commander, Alwa Defense Sector. No matter what your job is, you pretty much work for me.”
She paused to let that sink in.
“For those of you in uniform, this will be no surprise. Our orders are to hold here until relieved. So far, we’ve gotten reinforcements but no reliefs. For civilians, the same rules apply. We have no warships to escort you back to human space. We cannot allow you to sail unescorted. In addition to that, we need you here, working to improve the defenses of this system. As soon as you’re unloaded, we’ll respin your ships from multireactor starships into single-reactor system freighters.”
“And what if we don’t want to be your willing slaves?” came from somewhere in the back of the room from the newly created tables.
“As I said, we’ve got a food problem here. No work, no food. If you don’t want to work or don’t work out up here in space, you can go dirtside and see if you like it better working for a colonial farmer or fisherman. The work’s hard and hot. Many of us have taken a turn at it on our leaves. It’s hard and hot work, but it’s putting in a crop that should see us eating better and brewing our own beer in a month or two.”
“And if we decide to skip your job offer and just leave?” It was also unclear who spoke.
“Do not misunderstand me. I said no ship leaves here. We can’t afford to have any ship taken by the aliens. If they find out where human space is, it’s all over for humanity. Maybe not in a few years, but for now, those are the orders I’ve been given.”
“Is that why the freighters that stopped off at the mines have an escort?” came from Commodore L’Estock.
“Yes. If one of those merchant ships had tried to run back the way it came, I’d have ordered the escort to shoot out its engines. Maybe it’s time we complete the briefing. Nelly, put the feed from my battle board of three weeks ago up on the main screen.”
The screen lit up as the aliens tried and failed, then succeeded at forcing the jump. Everyone watched as the alien horde drove the Navy ships back, dying for every bit of space they gained but taking Navy ships with them. The climactic battle near the gas giant came quickly, then the bloody rout—ending with the aliens blowing their moon-size base ship to atoms.
“That’s our enemy. This is why we fight.”
The forward screen filled with the raped planet that Kris had found on the Voyage of Discovery. It showed the wreckage of a planet plundered of its resources, right down to its air and water.
“If we fail, this is what happens to the planet beneath us. If we make the mistake of letting these aliens get any leads to human space, this is what happens to your home planets—to your brothers, sisters, moms, and dads. Does anyone have any questions?”
It took a moment before, “Not since you put it that way,” came from some wag in the back, but it seemed to be a good enough answer for all.
“Now, the good news is that we won that fight. The bad news is that three other alien clans were watching us do it. No doubt, given time, they’ll be back to take a try at us. I was about to take a scout squadron out when you arrived. We think we’ve found the alien home world, and we want to look over the planet they appear to have abandoned a hundred thousand years ago. Maybe it will tell us something. Maybe it won’t.”
Kris turned to Commodore Kitano. “While I’m gone, Commodore Kitano will have the job of teaching you how we fight on Alwa Station. It’s hard driving and hard evasion. You’ll likely need to modify your ships to pull it off. She and the veterans of the recent fight will be showing you the ropes over the next several weeks. Since she’s been acting as my deputy, it’s appropriate that she have the rank to go with it. Commodore Kitano.”
The woman stood, then marched
front and center to Kris. “Commodore Kitano, it is my honor to promote you to rear admiral. These shoulder boards have served me well in the last battle. May they serve you just as well.”
Kris removed the young woman’s commodore boards and replaced them with those of a rear admiral. “Congratulations,” Kris said, offering her hand to shake.
Kitano shook it right back. “Thank you, Admiral.”
When Kitano had returned to her seat, Kris turned again to the officers before her. “There will be other fleeting ups announced tomorrow that will leave squadron positions open. We will fill in behind. Battle-experienced hands will have the leg up. No doubt, there will be more opportunities for you newcomers to demonstrate your fighting caliber. That’s just the way it is on Alwa Station.
“Now, are there any more questions?”
As Kris expected, there were none. “Then enjoy yourselves. Take a break, for, oh, the next hour. Work on upgrading the ships to Alwa Station standards will begin at 0800 tomorrow morning. Your first training sortie will be in three days.”
“You’re going easy on them,” came from somewhere among the U.S. contingent.
Kris ignored the comment and walked over to where Commodore Miyoshi was talking with Commodore Zingi from Yamato. They bowed to her, and she returned it.
“Is the situation as, ah, challenging as you say?” the newcomer asked.
“Which do you mean?” Kris asked, letting a smile play on her face. “The alien fleet, the prospects of the planet below being plundered down to bedrock, or our own food situation?”
“Ah, so it is all of it, ne?”
“All of it, but do not doubt us, we have made great strides. Commodore Miyoshi can tell you all about it. By the way, Commodore, you will need to see where you can scrounge up a pair of rear-admiral shoulder boards. Your promotion will be announced tomorrow.”
Kris Longknife: Tenacious (Kris Longknife novellas Book 12) Page 5
