Kris shook her head. “A bad situation,” she said, then quickly appended, “Most of you did very well,” when Kitano looked taken back.
“We did as best we could, ma’am.”
Kris nodded, then remembered an extraneous question she couldn’t ignore. “Did the king really get you underway in a week?”
“Even a Longknife couldn’t do that, ma’am. Getting the civilian ships out of the builders yard and fit to sail took a month.”
“And you continued to work up on your own?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Kris tried not to frown. Grampa Ray should have put someone in command when he knew they were headed for a potential fight. Had he been too busy, or was he so intent on dropping this hot potato of an honor in her lap? Kris had no answer for that.
“Thank you,” Kris said, and they returned to the bridge.
There were no surprises there. Nelly did suggest that they lower the fleet speed to 1.75 gees. The Connie’s reactors were getting more into the red, but no request or report came from her skipper. Kris slowed the fleet.
If Nelly hadn’t kept an eye on the Connie’s engineering state, the captain might have very well let her blow herself out of space before she admitted she had a problem. Kris could only imagine the language being used by the snipes as they went about their work, one eye on the dials as they edged more into the red.
Kris didn’t issue another order until they approached Canopus Station.
“Send from flag to squadron. We will dock in order, flag to aft-most ship. There will be an immediate meeting of captains in the commodore’s day quarters upon docking. XOs, chief engineers, chief scientists, skippers of Marine detachments and command senior chiefs report to the wardroom of the Princess Royal for a later briefing.”
The Princess Royal caught the first tie-down and was towed into its pier on the spinning Canopus Station. Each of the next two frigates smartly performed the landing.
The Connie botched her approach and had to back out, wait for its dock to come around again, and make another pass at the initial tie-down. She missed the hook again and only docked on the third try.
Nelly reported all of this as Kris got out of her egg and pulled on her undress whites with hardly a thought to what she was doing. Nelly fed Kris reports on what the Marine detachments had or had not accomplished. She heard them and stored the information away for later use. However, her mind was already lost to a series of meetings she did not want to have. She’d been preparing herself for two of them since last night.
Now she had to add a third.
Abby made sure Kris’s uniform passed inspection, then grinned, and added, “Good luck, baby duck. Ain’t being a grown-up the pits?”
Kris found she had to chuckle at that. “If we told kids what waited for them at the end of high school and college, do you think we’d ever get them out of the house?”
“My house, yes. Your house, never,” Abby said, reminding Kris that a lot of folks had it a whole lot worse than her.
“Kris,” Nelly said, “all the captains have arrived. Oh, Mr. Benson just walked in. I need to extend the table.”
“Do it, Nelly. Don’t wait up for me, Abby,” Kris said, and turned to do what Longknifes did best: what had to be done.
29
“Atten-hut,” someone called, and the officers got to their feet. Even the retired admiral who supervised the station stood.
“As you were,” Kris said. At least at this meeting she didn’t have to fight for her seat. The four captains were down the sides of the table, Sampson as far from her on her right as possible. The station-master took the foot.
Captain Drago, whether because his ship was in the yard or because he was not Navy but contractor, sat against the wall next to the door.
Kris sat.
“That didn’t go as well as I would have liked . . . or as bad as it could have.” She gave Sampson a quick glance. She was sullen and not looking at her.
“You’ll have the rest of today to mend and fix, make your ships ready for four-gee maneuvering, and we’ll do it again day after tomorrow, 0900. I expect we will get away from the pier smartly this time. Captain Drago has his Wasp in the yard, but I’m sure he can spare you some specialists for improving the maneuvering jets on your ships.”
Three captains looked Captain Drago’s way. He gave a resigned sigh and nodded that he’d help them. Again, Sampson stayed in her funk.
“I’m afraid that what you’ve just heard is the good news. I have a lot worse news for you and the fleet.”
Quickly, she filled them in on the food status for the planet below them. Three sets of eyes widened as the full extent of the situation dawned on them. Sampson’s eyes narrowed.
“So you see, we not only need to get ready to fight, but also attend to our logistics. The Marines have landed this morning to help fishermen kill predators that regularly steal their catch. I’m told that they killed two. Sadly, one led to a feeding frenzy and drove off all the fish at that beach. The other kill went smoother. The predator washed ashore and they’ve cut it up. We may be finding some interesting meat in Kiet’s Thai stir-fries. The fishermen on that beach said it was the best catch in memory.”
Kris shrugged. “You win some, and you lose some. Another team of Marines, two platoons of Imperial Marines with Colonel Montoya, are trying to tie in to a group of Alwans who have managed to survive in the deep woods. I understand from their latest report that they’ve killed two huge predators, something between a kangaroo and a saber-toothed tiger, and are planning on barbecuing it for themselves. The aroma might draw in some of the Alwans. So far, they’re hiding. However, they are surviving on small game, roots, nuts, and berries. Once we get the local predators under control, we may be adding some of that to our larder.”
Kris leaned forward. “Mr. Benson is working with his crew to create a lot of necessary gear from Smart Metal. Fishing boats, both harpoon rigged to take on the big ‘eats everythings,’ and trawlers to bring in fish for dinner and to fertilize the colonial fields. We need airplanes to help the scientists quickly finish their planetary resource survey and ships to move things like bird guano, rich in nitrates for ammunition, from where it is to the colonies.”
“He needs Smart Metal?” Kitano said.
“Yes, and the frigates are the only source of it we have. The plan is to pull fifteen to twenty thousand tons from each ship as you give up your Hellburners. That will let us get started as quickly as we can on logistic issues. I’ve got a meeting scheduled with the industrial and mining interests just as soon as I talk to your subordinates in the wardroom. As the mines and plants produce steel and other essentials that can take the place of the Smart Metal, it comes back to your ships.”
Kris drew a deep breath. “If our early-warning system reports imminent attack, the Smart Metal comes back to your ships immediately.”
“If you have enough warning,” Sampson tossed in, half hand grenade, half sarcasm.
“We will have enough warning. We have buoys to cover six or more jumps out from here. We will know what the bastards are doing in our space.”
“This is all stupid,” Sampson snapped. “We’re risking our ships to feed ourselves because the people we came here to save can’t feed us, much less defend themselves. We shouldn’t be sending Smart Metal down where we may never get it back. We should be packing up and getting out of here.”
Kris leaned back in her chair and took the measure of her three other captains. Sampson had not impressed them before. She was not impressing them now.