They backed up, found a left turn, and took it, drove two blocks, and took a hard right. Somewhere along the line, they picked up a squad of motorcycle cops who raced ahead and halted traffic just long enough for them to zoom through intersections without slowing.
Up front, it looked like the Ranger captain was flipping a coin every time they came to an intersection. Sometimes they raced through it. Other times, they took a hard right or left. Vicky doubted anyone knew their route, not even their driver.
CHAPTER 41
THEY charged through a gate at an industrial plant just as it was opening. Apparently, even the guards weren’t informed ahead of time about the arrival of their honored guest. The rig came to a stop at the large doors in the front of the fab building.
Vicky tried to get out but found the world going gray again. Mannie came around, and between him, Kit, and Mr. Smith, she managed to get on her own two feet. A glance down told her that she had been through a bombing. Her undress whites were speckled and streaked with blood. Most of it was someone else’s. Some was hers.
Leaning heavily on Mannie, she stumbled up the two steps to the fab’s many double doors. Several managers in suits were there to meet her but seemed suddenly turned to stone.
Mr. Smith took the lead. “The Grand Duchess is here to talk to your workers. I doubt she can do much walking. Do you have a place where she can talk to a bunch of them?”
Several of the managers recovered enough to form a sort of huddle that ended quickly with, “Follow me,” and they did.
Two others joined them, each with an armful of white, clean-room bunny suits.
“Forget that,” the lead suit snapped. “We’ll use the Atrium.”
“I thought we kept that clean,” came from one of those buried under the bunny suits.
“We like to, we don’t have to. We’ll let Rabati show us just how good her air scrubbers are. She’s always saying they could clean up after a herd of water buffalo.”
The young woman with the other pile of bunny suits took in the Grand Duchess and her entourage, and her eyes grew wide.
The Atrium turned out to be a large room with a raised stage on one side. It was slowly filling with people, most in white clean-room suits. Many only glanced up from screens they were keeping an alert eye on when Vicky entered the room.
One look at her and those with her caused a low murmur to sweep the room. As Vicky was helped up the three steps to the stage and the few paces to a small podium and microphone, the room took on a deathly hush. Many of those holding screens held them up to record Vicky. Off to her left, what looked like a pair of newsies used top-of-the-line gear to do the same.
Make this good, Vicky breathed to herself.
“Go ahead,” Vicky said. “Take a good look. It’s real blood. My blood, and that of my friends. It could be blood from your friends, too. A car parked along the side of the road with a bomb in the trunk doesn’t give a damn whose blood it splatters all over the place. Just like my stepmother, the blackhearted Empress, doesn’t give a damn how many she blasts to bits, so long as what she’s clutching at the end is all hers.”
Vicky paused for a breath. In front of her, people were reaching in their clean suits for their phones. She waited as the room filled with a babble as calls were made, answered. Most sighed in relief.
There were two shrieks of grief.
Beside Vicky, the senior manager nodded at two of those around him, and they quickly left the stage to go to the side of those who had received bad news.
One woman was led out of the room.
“Get a car ready for a fast run to the hospital,” the boss manager whispered into his commlink.
The situation around the other, a man, was different. He tossed off the consoling hands that reached for him. “No, damn it. I want to hear what she has to say. What my daughter’s blood paid for her to say. It better be good.”
Through all the pain of cuts and bone that Vicky had felt, a new agony flushed through her. Here she was, face-to-face with someone who would be paying for her visit here every day of his life with an aching void in his world.
What do I say? What can I say, as a survivor to the bereaved?
Vicky took a deep breath . . . and plunged in. “Sir, there is nothing I can say to you that will make this day anything but horrible for you and your family.”
He nodded angry agreement.
“Neither you, nor I, nor anyone in this room, had anything to do with what happened. The Empress ordered it done and, despite the best effort of the police and military, someone got the bomb where the Empress wanted it.”
There were soft murmurs of agreement around the room, but none from the man who stood, arms folded on his chest, glaring at Vicky.
“All of you here are doing your best to stop the Empress from doing to every one of you and your families what she managed to do to two of your coworkers. You are fabricating the weapons and gear needed to repair the ships that fought through the Empress’s invasion fleet and brought through the industrial equipment this planet needs to defend itself and put an end to her murderous greed.”
Vicky paused again to catch her breath and to let her eyes rove the room. As much as that one man’s grief dominated her, there were others here. Others who were making the contributions to the coming victory that they all desperately needed.
“We can cower before the blackhearted Empress, or we can stand up to her. We can let the evil that is her wrap its cold tendrils around our hearts until we are frozen in place, good for nothing except trembling obedience to her every whim. We can do that, or we can fight.
“Waiting at the station above you are Sailors. You are extruding the steel to strengthen their ships and give them an edge fighting the ships the Empress has sent here to destroy us. They will fight, with or without what you can add to their strength. It will cost them in blood and sacrifice, but those Sailors stand ready to make it.
“You can give them an edge. You can give them protection that will let them keep on hitting the Empress’s battleships long after they might have fallen silent. The Navy stands ready to defend you. Do you stand with the Navy?”
“Yes,” came at Vicky like a wave.
“Are you with me?”
“Yes,” was even louder.
“Thank you,” Vicky said. “Thank you from all the Sailors and Marines who will be following me into battle to beat the Empress again and again until we have beaten her for good.”
The room disintegrated into wave after wave of cheering, but it slowly fell silent as first one person’s eyes, then another’s were drawn to the grieving man, still standing like a rock, arms held tightly across his chest.
Vicky could hardly stand; she’d given it all she had, but she held on to Mannie with her good arm and watched the man watch her.
When the room was again silent, he said, “I heard tell this morning, at least, someone said, the Empress had sent the Butcher of some-place-or-another to blow us all away from orbit.”
“The Butcher of Dresden made such a brag to me,” Vicky admitted.
“Can you take him?”
“We blew away two of his battleships, but he slipped away from us,” Vicky admitted. “We’re counting on what you’re making here to give us a better chance of nailing his hide the next time we see him.”
The man nodded.
“Okay, Your Grace, I’ll make what you and your Sailors need,” he said.
“You want us to take you to the hospital now?” the manager asked.
“Don’t you need me? Don’t the gracious Grand Duchess here need me to make my machine dance? That’s what my daughter called you, this morning when she told me she was going to slip away with some of her best friends to see you. See the gracious Grand Duchess.”
He was crying now. Vicky wondered if he could even work his fabricator.
“I’ll take your fab if I have to,” the boss said. People on the floor made a show of cringing at the idea of the manager doing real work. Maybe
they were joking. Maybe they weren’t.
“Oh hell,” the manager said, “I’ll haul the union rep’s ass out of his office and see what he can do to handle a dance or three with your jig.”
“Haul me out, hell,” a big fellow in a plaid shirt and jeans said as he headed for the man. “I’ll cover your jig, Fryderyk. You go look after your daughter.”
One of the guys with the bunny suits joined them, then hollered for the other one. They needed a bigger suit to cover the union rep.
Vicky prayed that Fryderyk would find his daughter among the living. There had been an awful lot of bodies down and not moving when they left.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” Mannie said, “I need to get our gracious Grand Duchess to the hospital herself before she keels over on me.”
Vicky found she could not argue with Mannie. If she didn’t walk out now, she might have to be carried out. Slowly, she turned and let the mayor and the spy help her from the stage.
At the bottom of the steps, the two newsies were waiting for her. A middle-aged reporter with a huge paunch and a young woman.
“You did very well, Your Grace,” the guy said.
“Every market on this planet was carrying you live,” the woman added.
“You’re really much more newsworthy when you don’t shrug out of your dress,” the guy added, and got a swift jab in his big gut from his female associate.
“I told you not to say that to anyone but me,” she growled at him.
“I live and learn,” Vicky said. “Thank you for being here and getting the word out.”
“Just part of our job,” the woman answered, and they fell behind as Mannie and Mr. Smith moved Vicky along as quickly as she could pick her feet up and put them down.
“I deserved that,” Vicky whispered to Mannie.
“As you said, you have lived and you have learned. Learned a lot, I might point out.”
Vicky ignored the praise as she concentrated on not falling on her face. She went from leaning on Mannie’s arm to leaning her head on his shoulder. Somewhere in her stumbling walk to the rig, Mannie reached down, picked her up, and carried her.
Do I have to just about get myself killed to have this man hold me, Vicky thought, but she enjoyed just lying in his strong arms and resting her head on his shoulder.
Tenderly, he set her down in the rig, and buckled her in almost lovingly. Sadly, she felt so bad she couldn’t enjoy the feel of his hands as he pulled the straps around her.
Halfway through the drive to the hospital, she passed out.
CHAPTER 42
MANNIE’S “You going to rejoin the living?” were the first words Vicky heard as she regained consciousness.
She opened her eyes to see a very worried mayor beside her bed. A cautious look around, careful not to move her head, told her the rest. “I’m in the hospital, right?”
“Got it in one,” Mannie agreed as he leaned over and kissed her cheek.
Only after he sat back did Vicky’s gaze take in the window behind him. There was blue sky out there. Daylight. “How long was I out?”
“Only a couple of hours. They managed to get a scan of your shoulder with you only moaning a bit. There’s no permanent damage though they have started a lottery to see who gets to hang Mr. Smith from whatever delicate part of his anatomy is available for what he did to you.”
“He got me in good enough shape to do what I had to do,” Vicky managed to get out through parched lips. “Is there water anywhere around here?”
Mannie retrieved a small cup and straw from a table beside her bed and held it to her lips as he said, “That’s what he said, and I couldn’t disagree with him, or you.”
Vicky allowed herself three sips before she tackled her next question. “About that guy, Fryderyk. Is his daughter here?”
Mannie shook his head, his eyes sad. “She was not one of the lucky ones who survived the bomb.”
“Damn,” was all Vicky could think to say.
“Twenty-two people died on that street. Eight of them were cops or Rangers. “
Vicky closed her eyes. “They got too close to me. What is it Kris Longknife says? ‘Don’t get too close to one of those damn Longknifes.’ They got too close to a damn Peterwald.”
“No one blames you, Vicky. Now there are a whole lot of people who want a piece of your stepmom’s ass. While you were sleeping so peacefully . . .” Mannie smiled and seemed to lose his train of thought. “Do you know you look angelic when you’re asleep?”
“I never had anyone who slept with me tell me that,” Vicky admitted.
No reason not to let this delusional fool in on the evils of my past.
“Later we’ll discuss this more. Anyway, while you were out cold, my deputy mayor called from home. We’ve passed a resolution to fund four Navy ships from Sevastopol’s city budget. We’ll support one of the battleships and heavy cruisers in orbit. We’ll also foot the bill for converting two hulls into merchant cruisers. We’ll make the lasers and gear at our own fabs.”
“Keep the money close to home,” Vicky noted.
“Why not? Charity—or defense—is always easier when it stays in your own backyard.”
Vicky closed her eyes again and tried to think. Between the pounding in her head and the throbbing in her shoulder, it was kind of hard to keep any train of thought from going off the rails and taking a roll through the woods. “Any chance you could get some of the other cities to adopt part of the fleet?”
Mannie’s grin got wide and so like a little boy’s. “Kiev has already bought into another four.” He glanced at his wrist unit. “Moskva should be voting on the same proposal anytime now. St. Pete is the only council dragging its feet. We may have to prop you up and run you by their talkfest on the way to the spaceport.”
“What’s their complaint?” Vicky asked, trying to get comfortable. That only ended up making her hurt worse. A nurse rushed in, gave the two of them a dirty look, then helped Vicky get pretty much back to the way she’d been lying before.
“Don’t wreck all our good work,” she scolded Vicky as she left.
“But my ass hurts,” Vicky whispered, but only after the door swung shut.
“I would dearly love to make your ass feel better,” Mannie said.
“You had your chance, lover boy, and you walked away from my ass,” Vicky growled at him. “Did they give me pain meds?” she added, wondering how her tongue had gotten so loose around Mannie.
“Yes, they gave you a shot for the pain,” Mannie said, “so today you can blame your loose ways on the drugs. And yes, I did blow a great chance to show you how nice I could make your ass feel, but those two midgets of yours scared the bejesus out of me. I was half-afraid they intended to jump in bed with us.”
“No doubt they would have if you gave them half a wink.”
“Oh.”
“Scandalized?”
Mannie made a face, more terror than leer. Vicky had never seen quite that look on a man before. “You hear stories about the wicked ways of the capital. I know you’re no reluctant virgin, but . . .” seemed to be the end of Mannie’s thoughts.
“Dear mayor, I was never reluctant, even when I was a virgin, and yes, things can get very, very wicked around the palace though I hear that most people on Greenfeld lead very staid, normal lives.”
“So, will I have to live your way,” Mannie said, “or are you interested in living my way?”
“That is something we will have to talk about at length, once this rebellion is over and we have a chance to do something with the rest of our lives,” Vicky said, then frowned.
“What were we talking about before I got confused?”
“Supporting the fleet?” Mannie said.
“Right. Now why is it taking St. Pete so long to decide to do what you nice people of Sevastopol are doing? What’s the holdup?”
“Words,” Mannie said. “Words, words, words, signifying something.”
Vicky closed one eye and looked at Mannie hard
. “I don’t think my ears are working. You want to say that again.”
“You heard me right. St. Pete doesn’t mind adopting a battleship, they just don’t want to pay for a battleship with a name like Retribution, Merciless, Hunter, or Relentless. They want to spend their money on something nice.”
“Nice!” Vicky squeaked, and was immediately rewarded with a shooting pain behind her eyes.
“Yes, something like Success, Prosperity, Defender, or maybe Enterprise.”
Vicky closed her eyes and did her best to slow her breathing. Maybe even the pounding of her heart. “Let me see if I get you. You want us to rename Imperial ships. You want to give the Empress all the opportunity she could want to go before my dad and tell him we’re in full rebellion out here and renaming his warships.”
“The Empress is renaming ships. Do you think renaming the Merciless to Defender is going to bend your dad all out of shape?”
Vicky took three seconds to show that she was seriously considering his question, then answered. “Why, ah, yes!” she could have said without thought. “And don’t tell me that the Empress’s renaming her ships is a precedent. I’ll put my whole fortune up against a single pfennig that Dad knows nothing about his wife’s renaming his ships.”
“You’re probably right,” Mannie said. “Your dad doesn’t just live in a bubble. She’s got him in a concrete dungeon where he never sees the light of day.”
Again Vicky found herself closing her eyes and thinking. Maybe thinking more about Dad than she ever had. “He was always in a bubble,” she said slowly. “Nothing I’ve seen since I left the palace, first with the Navy, and now, running for my life, has been anything like what he bragged about to me of his world of business and power. The Empress and her family have only turned his bubble into a marble-and-gold prison that shows him exactly what he wants to hear. My dad is a blind fool,” she said finally.
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