A Longknife and a Santiago against six battlewagons.
Even odds.
A breathless quartermaster 3/c dashed into the CIC. ''The JOOD said I might find Your Highness here. There's problems at the Nuu Docks between the yacht crews and the reservists and their decoys. Captain van Horn and the dock superintendent suggest that you might really want to have a say-so in it.''
Kris sighed. She had a battle to plan, but she needed ships, too. Did Grampa Ray ever have to juggle like this? The history books didn't mention this kind of stuff. Well, maybe they had, and she hadn't noticed it. Maybe next time she got a chance to read some history, she'd have a lot less stars in her eyes.
Better yet, she'd have a nice talk with him real soon.
Kris turned away from the battle board. Jack came off of the wall he'd been holding up. ''The runabout's at the end of the gangway,'' he said.
Their passage through Gate 5 was delayed by a slow flow of monstrous constructs, all painted Navy gray. The 4-inch lasers Kris recognized. The huge teardrop shapes scattered among them puzzled her until Jack passed one. MK XII Training Simulator was stenciled in small letters in one corner. So that was what a real, honest-to-God target decoy looked like. It was at least four times larger than the MK VI they'd trained against.
The chief was right. They'd had it easy. Too easy?
Only time would tell.
Jack squeezed the runabout into a tiny space marked No Parking, Fire Zone, parked it, and Kris headed for what looked like a full-fledged knitting and debating society at the foot of a pier. As she approached, she spotted several medium-size hulls pulled into piers one after another. She counted five, but there might have been a sixth or seventh. Too small for freighters, they were too big for most yard craft, tugs, that kind of stuff.
Yachts? That many? That fast?
NELLY, ANYTHING IN THE NEWS ABOUT NAVY PREPARATION TO FIGHT?
KRIS, I HAVE IT FLAGGED. IF ANYTHING COMES UP, I WILL TELL YOU..
HOW'S THE POLITICAL SHOW COMING?
YOUR FATHER IS STILL TRYING TO GET A MEETING WITH PANDORI. THE ACTING PRIME MINISTER SAYS HE NEEDS MORE TIME. THERE ARE RUMORS IN THE NEWS THAT YOUR FATHER MAY HOLD A SIT-IN ON GOVERNMENT HOUSE STEPS STARTING AT NOON. HE HAS NOT ACTUALLY SAID ANYTHING PUBLICLY SINCE YESTERDAY'S STATEMENT. I AM NOT PRIVY TO ANYTHING. SHOULD I CONTACT YOUR BROTHER'S COMPUTER?
NO, IF HONOVI THINKS I NEED TO KNOW SOMETHING, HE'LL TELL ME.
Still, it was interesting. Father was keeping the pressure on Pandori but doing it at a lower level. Using the rumor mill to pressure the poor fellow rather than actually jacking him up. Father, or Honovi, was working the situation smarter, not harder.
Well, damn it, they better. I sure am.
Kris joined a mob of Navy and merchant marine sailors milling around among yard workers. They parted to let her through to the center where the real knitting, marching, and chowder society seemed to be in full session.
Arrayed on one side were six merchant officers in different uniforms, each more spectacular than the other. Yep, yacht skippers. Some were old, others young, split male, female. All looked competent and hopping mad.
Across from them was Captain van Horn. Behind him were two Commanders Kris took for his XO and his wife, the CO of the reservist detachment. Behind them in ranks were a half-dozen Lieutenant Commanders, all middle-aged, competent looking, split male, female. And if Kris's year with the fleet had taught her anything, the Navy was as steaming mad but hiding it well.
Between them stood Roy and two other shipyard types. Roy went from looking back and forth between his two hostile allies to beaming at Kris. ''So glad to see you, Your Highness,'' he said with a fervor Kris had never heard attached to those words.
''How's the morning going?'' Kris responded.
''In some ways, it couldn't be better,'' Roy said, his grin wavering at the edges. His greetings got a round of obscenities from the merchies and a gruff ''Hurumph'' from van Horn.
''Your Grampa Al got five, maybe more of his friends to donate their yachts to the present effort,'' Roy said, nodding at the merchant marine contingent.
''Glad to have you aboard,'' Kris said, with all the noblesse she could oblige.
''Maybe. Maybe not,'' a merchant Captain said stepping forward. ''I'm Elizabeth Luna, Captain of one of these tubs. We've skippered them where the owners wanted them, not always where the flight plan said, not always where it was easy to go. We know just what they can do… and can't. We can push them for as much as they'll give you. We and our crew are what you want to run these ships. Not those fancy-pants Navy types.''
''They're warships now. The Navy will crew them,'' van Horn said with about as much negotiating room as a baseball bat.
''Yes, Captain. Just a moment, Captain. May I speak with you yacht skippers, in private?'' Kris said.
She joined them in a hardly private circle, but she did have her back to van Horn. ''Listen, I can't talk openly about the battle plan, because, well, I'm still working it out. I can tell you that our plans for your ships involve those decoys that I passed on the drive over here. And we'll need these ships to follow very exact orders and draw the enemy's fire when and where we need them to. And once we've hung those decoys on your boats, they may not behave like they did yesterday. Do you understand?''
''You need people to follow orders,'' one skipper said.
''There's not going to be a lot of glory,'' another said.
''And the chances of getting killed are pretty damn high,'' finished Luna.
Kris eyed each of the six. ''I think you understand me pretty well.''
Luna turned to the others. ''Didn't expect much different when I heard a Longknife was leading it. Did you?'' All in the circle nodded. She turned to face Kris. ''Someone sold you a bill of goods, kid. You think the only ones willing to risk their skin for Wardhaven are the likes in that Navy uniform. Well, honey, as I see it, we're all up to our ears in bad. Anyone who's got a chance to do something about it ought to step up to the plate and do it. I can. I'm here. You're not gonna send me away. And me and my crew can do the best job of pushing the Archimedes through space of anybody there is.
''You got Navy gear you want operated, you put Navy folks on my boat. They do their thing. I do my thing. You give me an order, Princess Longknife, I'll do it. Or die trying. You want more than that?''
Kris swallowed hard. There it was. Solid and personal. Could she ask anything more? Could anyone? How had she become the personification of Wardhaven and freedom? She hadn't asked for it, but here it was.
''And the rest of you?'' she said, in the firmest voice she could muster.
''So say we all,'' said the one of the skippers. ''So say we all,'' said the rest.
Kris turned to face Captain van Horn. Without a word, he came to attention and saluted her. Then he did a smart about-face and addressed his contingent. ''You heard Princess Longknife. You will serve aboard the armed yachts, alongside their merchant crews. There will be opportunities for confusion and friction. I expect those challenges to be resolved. You will maintain an attitude that we're all on the same side and the enemy is out there, not here. Do I make myself clear?''
''Yes, sir,'' came loud and clear.
''Any problems that can't be handled aboard ship will be referred to your squadron Commander, and, if necessary, to me. If I can't solve your problem with your yacht's Captain, we'll bring the princess in on it. I don't recommend pissing off a Longknife. President Urm did, and they didn't find all that many pieces of him.'' Van Horn chuckled at his own joke. The Navy ranks and merchies joined in. Kris managed not to roll her eyes. Sandy smiled and gave Kris a wink.