''In three days?'' Ted Rockefeller said.
''In less, if we have to,'' Kris snapped. ''There's a whole shipyard over there. If it can't be had at Nuu Docks, it ain't been invented yet. They got it, you want it, it's yours.''
''And who's paying?'' the Commodore asked.
''You leave Grampa Al to me.''
''And don't I think I'm getting the easy job here, just a boat to put back together with tape and glue and bubble gum,'' Tom said, brogue and grin back in place.
''I don't think there are any easy jobs,'' Heather said.
''I will recall all temporary work details from the Naval base,'' the Commodore said, standing and bringing the meeting to a close. ''Captains, I want a full report on the status of your boats no later than oh eight hundred tomorrow. Princess Kristine, can you tell me by the same time what resources Nuu Docks will make available?''
''Yes,'' she answered, noting the delicate way the Commodore issued orders to his usurper. Just once, she'd like to go into battle with a chain of command that wasn't Swiss cheese. She wondered if that kind of a fight might actually be fun.
8
Kris wanted to bury herself in getting the 109 into fighting order. What she knew she had to do was find the manager of Nuu Enterprises on station and see just how far she could bluff him. ''Jack, you're with me. We're borrowing the Cushing's station runabout. Penny, you want to tag along with Tom. The 109's new intel station needs checking out.''
''You don't see a problem, me being on Tom's boat?'' Penny said, her eyes following her husband of only a few hours.
''Don't see why not. And the 109 may need someone soon to do that battle intel job you did for us off Turantic.''
''Yes,'' Penny said, worrying her full lower lip. But she set her shoulders and hurried after her new husband.
Kris turned to Jack. His eyes followed Penny with a sad smile. ''Some honeymoon those two are getting,'' he said.
''At least they're together. Now, speaking of together, I need for you to sneak me through the gate at Nuu Docks.''
''Shouldn't your stockholder's IDent do that for you?''
''Rather not leave a trail. Remember, I'm not up here, as far as the local net is concerned.''
''So I'll just talk my girl in there,'' Jack promised. But that turned out to be easier said than done. The guard there was not a newly hired rent-a-thug. The clear-eyed bantam brunet sported a sleeve with corporal strips and two service hash marks for six years plus on the job. She listened to Jack's song and dance… smiled … and called a supervisor.
The sergeant sported a scowl. And five service hash marks, three good conduct medals, and several more medals for sharpshooting that added emphasis to the automatic slung at her waist. Her right hand never got very far from its well-worn grip.
She cut off Jack's bit of fiction fast. ''You're Jack Montoya. You were Kris Longknife's Secret Service agent before the latest brouhaha,'' she said, consulting her clipboard.
She eyed Kris. ''And you don't want to show me any ID.''
''I would prefer not to.''
The sergeant's frown deepened. ''You understand this is a secure area, governed by forty eleven laws passed by several parliaments not all of which were run by Longknifes.''
''Yes.'' Kris nodded.
''Princess Kristine, I could lose my stripes for letting you in, but I'm going to assume that you've got a good reason for what you're doing and it don't include messing with my already miserable day.''
''I do, and it doesn't,'' Kris said simply.
''Okay, you may pass,'' the sergeant said, then turned to the other guard. ''Corporal, what you just saw, you forget. You don't talk about it tonight to no one. When it hits the newsies, you express surprise. And you suck it for all the free beers you can get a few years from now.''
But as Jack drove around the corner, Kris glanced back. Now the sergeant was following her with her eyes, and talking to thin air… or someone on net.
Jack drove straight to the admin center. It was a Saturday, and battleships were inbound; Kris didn't expect to see much activity. So she was surprised to find every fourth desk busy. The work on the Firebolt's drive had taken her to the dock superintendent's office, so she walked straight to it.
It was empty, but the deputy superintendent's office was next, and the door was open. She entered to find him head down over a cluttered desk. She rapped the doorjamb for attention.
''You made good time,'' he said without looking up.
''Not a lot of traffic.''
''You should see this place at shift change Monday.''
''What will it be like this Monday?''
He looked up. ''Now that is an interesting question. How should I address you, Shareholder, Princess, Lieutenant?''
Good man, rather than assume he knew her, or worse, force her into his own pigeonhole, he asked. ''Princess at the moment. Shareholder if I have to be. What do you know of the situation?''
''Nothing that I much like. Battleships headed our way, threatening to turn my place of employment into drifting space junk. Present political lash-up is running around in circles. Military seems to have been told to stand down, don't do anything that eliminates political options. Did I miss anything? By the way, would you like to sit down? You too, Agent Montoya.''
''Got it all in one,'' Kris said, moving toward the offered chair. Jack shook his head and remained at the door where he had a better view in all directions.
A small wooden sign, half buried on the desk, identified its occupant as Roy Buanifanesto. When he stood to offer Kris a hand, he came up short a foot on her and appeared comfortably middle-aged. Hand shaken, he sat back in his chair, put his feet up on the desk, his hands behind his head, and smiled. ''So, what are we going to do while Roma burns and Nero's grandkids fiddle?''
''Keep more of Rome from burning, if we can,'' Kris said. ''There's a dozen fast patrol boats docked over at the Navy base.''
''The mosquito fleet Pandori says are toys for playboys?''
''They need to be brought up to fighting trim. Fast.''
Roy pursed his lips. ''Small matter-antimatter motors. How are they running?''
''Cold steel.''
''Ouch. Properly mothballed?''
''Turned off like a light switch. After all, nobody needed those stinking playthings,'' Kris mimicked the bad press.
''Double ouch. You'll need to get them over here for work.''
''That's not going to happen. Nothing we do can look hostile to the battleships coming in or the politicians on the ground.''
''Oh, right. That general stand down order. We don't have much military work in the yard just now. Anything that could be gotten out was rushed off to Boynton, and we're kind of trying to put all the pieces back together of what we begged, stole, or borrowed to get them there. You're telling me we're back in the beg, steal, and borrow business again, but pianissimo,'' he said, bringing two fingers together softly.
''Very quietly.''
''Who pays?''
Kris knew that question had to come next. If it hadn't, the shareholder in her would have had to recommend the man be fired. Still, the princess in her wouldn't have minded him bringing it up later. ''Do you have a secure line to Grampa Al?''
''I suspect he's waiting to find out why you were sneaking into the yard with no data trail. Computer, is Mr. Longknife online?'' A holographic image of Grampa Al appeared over one of the few clear places on Roy's desk.
''Hi Grampa,'' Kris said.
''I won't say it's nice to see you. You only seem to pop up when you want to cause me trouble,'' said Alex Longknife, paternal grandfather to Kris and the wealthiest man on Wardhaven. Probably one of the ten richest men in human space.
''You really should organize some family picnics or beach parties so we can get together for some quality time.''