Penny and Tom glanced behind them. Then turned to face down the growing threat. ''I think surrender is the better part of modesty, here.'' Tom sighed.
''Heather and Babs look awfully eager to get their hands on you,'' Penny said.
''Ted and Phil ain't exactly backing away from you, love.''
There was a general move toward them.
''We're moving. We're moving,'' the young couple said in unison. ''Just tell Chief Stan to recheck that sensor feed,'' Penny called over her shoulder as Tom put his arm around her.
''Glad those two haven't forgotten what it's like to be just married,'' Phil said.
''Be nice to have someone to hold tonight. Be held by,'' Heather said with a shiver.
''Chandra, you going to make it home tonight?''
''Can't stay away that long.'' The old mustang sighed. But coming down the pier, like it was any other day, was Goran, two kids in hand, at least until they caught sight of Mom. Then they broke ranks and mobbed her with, ''Mommy, Mommy.''
Once she surfaced from hugs and kisses and more hugs and kisses, she turned to scold Goran, but he silenced her with a kiss of his own. ''Certainly your boat can spare you for a few hours.''
''But this station is a target tomorrow.''
''And I and our children will not be here. Trust me,'' he said. ''Certainly, there is somewhere we can be alone.''
NELLY, TELL THE HILTON I'M PAYING HALF FOR A WHOLE BLOCK OF THEIR ROOMS.
ALREADY CHECKED. THEY HAVE CUT THEIR RATE FOR ANYONE WITH AN ID CARD.
''The Hilton has a special tonight, Chandra, Goran.'' So with the first smile Kris had enjoyed in a long time, she left the PF pier behind and headed for Nuu Docks. One look at what lay ahead of her… and she wanted to go hide in the 109.
If the earlier meetings had been mobs, this one was a full-fledged riot. All the efforts to keep things low key at the beanstalk were history. Everyone and his brother and pet duck must have headed up to the space station.
There were main contractors with ideas, sub-contractors with their suggestions, sub-subcontractors with their brilliant pet concepts, and folks who'd never won a bid for even a sub-sub-subcontractor's billet who were absolutely sure they had the war-winning breakthrough … and anyone who knew someone who knew someone on one of the yachts and had gotten through the Nuu yard gates was there. Kris had to remind herself that the enemy was that-away and that using machine guns for crowd control had gotten Colonel Hancock in trouble.
Still, it was tempting.
Roy took to the role of ringmaster like a seal takes to a pool of fish. He ordered all the nonship personnel to the yard side of the pier. He then invited the ship personnel to police up their ranks. Merchant sailors relished tossing business types who drew five, ten times their pay over where they belonged. None too gently. With wide grins.
A quick rundown of progress showed that the missile launchers were going onto the larger system runabouts. Despite the early morning decision, Luna and her fellow decoy Captains had come up with an idea that would get them a few missiles ''in small, conformal packages.'' Foxers were going onto the runabouts that would be mixing in with the PFs. Like the missiles on Luna's boats, they were in tubes welded to hulls. No reloads. Four to a boat if the supply could be found.
It turned out that the Army had some white phosphorous rockets that they used in space situations. They would provide heat and some cover. Kris ordered them to be mounted on a two-for-two basis on the yachts, and some for the PFs. That way, the first four times both ships dodged, they'd be alternating Foxers with phosphorus. That ought to confuse the battlewagons. It left enough folks at this meeting scratching their heads.
Make do, make do. Just let it get us by, Kris prayed.
Once the usual business was covered, Roy tackled the masker and countermeasure problems. ''Any of you big fellows bring along enough units for say, thirty, forty ships?'' got slow shakes of the heads from the main contractors.
''So we're going to have to let some ships sail with some of your gear, some ships sail with the other guy's stuff.''
''Kind of looks that way.''
Roy signaled for the Navy OICs to step forward from the MK XII decoys. Most of them knew at least a couple of the business types. Roy brought in several of his own yard people. It began to look for all the world like a bizarre bazaar with this group haggling with that Naval officer, that shipyard fellow shaking his head violently, ''No, you can't do that,'' and a contractor insisting that his new baby could, and skippers like Luna standing back, skeptical looks clouding their faces.
Kris sidled up to Roy, who took a second from his dickering to notice her. ''You going to need me?''
''Don't think so. Best you leave this kind of stuff to us with dirty hands. Where you going if I do need you, though?''
''Halsey's CIC,'' Kris said. He nodded and dived back into his debate of antenna, bandwidth, and signal strength.
Kris backed out, found Jack waiting for her, brought him up to date on what she'd been doing, and found out that the Foxer manufacturer had been waiting for a new contract before he started turning out any more units.
As Kris groaned, he quickly added, ''However, he expected we might need some and has been running twenty-four/seven since those battleships showed up. He's shipping what he has and shipping the rest as fast as they come off the line.'' Jack sent Nelly a report that showed enough to rig maybe four or six to the laser-armed yachts. Filling up the spare lockers of Squadron 8 and the destroyers would have to be done from the last to arrive.
''It's going to be tight,'' Kris said.
''Yeah, hope it's just as tight for the other guy.''
Kris nodded. ''I have to remember that. If I have it bad, the other guy can't have it all that easy … even if we are doing this battle on their timetable.''
''Remember, according to the last news report out, your boats are cold steel, and all he has to worry about is the Halsey and maybe the Cushing. Would you want to be on his bridge when they get the first reports on the fleet that you're gonna have sortieing from High Wardhaven? And then you're gonna be hiding behind the moon as they get closer.''
''And deaf,'' Kris said. ''If the battleships do anything while we're behind the moon, we won't know about it. We need a relay to keep us in touch. Come on, I've got to talk to Sandy.''
Sandy shook her head. ''I should have thought of that before. We want them to be biting their nails about us, not the other way around. But whatever we put in a trailing slot will be out of the fight.'' She scowled.
Kris hadn't worked to get all this ready just to start paring her fleet down. ''Nelly, call that nice guard at the yacht basin.''
''Hello,'' came back at her.
''Hi, I dropped by a few days ago to look at buying a few boats. You seemed to know what just about every one of them had inside. You wouldn't happen to know of one that has a lot of entertainment capability, maybe the thing my boyfriend would want. He's kind of into broadcasting.''
''Broadcasting, you say. Something that could get you a good media feed and send it on your way where you want it?''
''Yes. That's it.''
''Well, there's this system runabout owned by a media anchorwoman who has only used it to run to the moon and back. Wanted to know what all her competitors were doing while she was on vacation. I think she mainly was worrying about replacement. You want to come over and get it? Take it out for a spin?''
''Grampa,'' came an enthusiastic voice on the phone, ''why don't we take it over to her. We can run it around. We do it when they need cleaning. We know how to run those things.''
''Son.''
''Grampa.''
There was a long pause, pregnant with expectation.
''Got room for an old fart and a smart kid?'' finally came back at Kris.