''Helm, put us right close up behind that old fart in the Cushing.'' she ordered.
''You bet, ma'am,'' the young man said.
She listened carefully to see if any of the Navy Reservists would get sick in zero g. Officially, all of them were space qualified. She trusted Navy papers no farther than they'd fly if she made a paper airplane out of them. Still, the ship stayed quiet. The airflow brought no smell of last night's supper.
''Any of you Navy types got money to burn? Nothing big's going on, and I figure we got plenty of time for a couple a games of poker,'' Luna said on ship net.
''Ah, Princess, Light Brigade Leader, er, what do you want us to do?''
Oops, Sandy … and Kris … had forgotten to pass along orders to the incipient riot they had organized. ''Search and rescue, salvage tugs,'' who were now more, ''should stay at the station and go into orbit in three hours. I'll give you alerts as to when you should expect to make rescue intercepts. At this point, assume six hours. Light Brigade units. Armed yachts and runabouts will form by divisions. I'm sending them now.'' She punched her board, and the force structure went out to her force. ''Division 4, 5, and 6, shadow Patrol Boat Divisions 1, 2, and 3. Division 7, you stay with 6. If any vacancies open in the other divisions, you fill in. Otherwise, I'll figure out something for you.'' The last three boats were a race club that had volunteered together at the last minute. They gave her an enthusiastic set of ''Sure, no problem.''
''Now then, you're going to be facing a solid hour plus of zero g as we do a close orbit of Wardhaven. If you think you can handle two plus hours of that, detach and form with the rest of the brigade when we form on the big boys. If you'd like to save yourself an hour of zero g or stay close to the station for a last run to the little girls' room, stay tied up to the pier while the liners detach and line up.'' ''We can do that,'' came back in a light murmur.
Kris kept her small stuff tied up and out of the way of the large units while they formed their line. That left her tied into the commlink when the next liner got its orders.
''Port Authorities, do I understand that you are refusing my request to boost for Jump Point Alpha?''
''Affirmative, Sovereign of the Pleiades. Form on Pride of Antares, trailing the station by fifty klicks.''
''You are going to convoy us out of here?''
''Something like that.''
''With what?''
''Watch your transmission. This is an open channel, and there are hostiles in system.''
''I can see why you want us to keep quiet. You Wardhaven folks really got the balls if you think—''
''You want to lose your license for a language violation?'' came back to cut him off.
''As if you'll have time to file it. Okay, I'm leaving. And I'm only too glad to see the last of you folks.''
''Could we kind of accidentally shoot that one?'' Tom asked.
''He's loaded with civilians,'' Penny pointed out.
''We can put a scare in him,'' Phil suggested on net. ''A close flyby.''
Kris could almost see the devil in his smile. ''Squadron 8 will sortie on my order. We will form by divisions. Phil, let's not take any paint off that last liner in line as we go by. I'd love to, and on any other day but today, believe me, we would, but we got bigger fish to fry.''
''Kris, you a vegan?'' Heather asked, but Phil led them out, passing between the second liner and a third one just getting under way, at a very sedate pace.
Squadron 8 took its place between Wardhaven and Task Force Horatio and Custer. The Halsey looked deadly in its blackened ice reflecting back the stars. The Cushing was a bit the worse for her years. The six decoys looked no better than scrap piles that had drifted off from some ship breaker's yard and been hastily painted black. The container ships were in their original blue, white, and crimson paint schemes, garish and clashing with the green of the containers lashed to them. But they held station in line astern as shipshape as Kris would have expected of Captain van Horn's command. The first four ships were fully loaded. The last two were only half. Kris hadn't asked the Captain what he planned for those last-minute additions, but she didn't doubt he'd put them to good use.
Every three or four minutes, another liner separated from the station and fell back to settle in line astern of the other large passenger ships to the right of Santiago and van Horn's commands. There was little to do but watch. As Kris had learned her first day at OCS, hurry up and wait was the Navy Way.
Contact: -7 hours 15 minutes
Honovi gulped as the round parking drive at Nuu House came into view. It was full. ''What are all those cars doing here?
''Today is your mother's weekly canasta party,'' said Father.
''But there are battleships coming.''
''Gabriel could be in the third movement of his final solo, and your mother and her friends would not change their schedules, but it's not canasta today. Her socialite friends have arranged to hide the contents of Wardhaven's museums. Don't want some temporary occupation force to grab our treasures, do you, son?''
''I'd never have thought Mother and her friends—''
''Lots of people are surprising us these days. But call Rose and tell her it's time to go. Have her check with that maid of your sister's. She'll help. If you are serious about us needing to ‘beat feet' for points unusual for us, this may actually be a spot of luck. I suspect your mother's club will spread the word rather quickly; some might even go along with her.''
''If we have time,'' Honovi said.
''That is up to your sister. Damn it, boy, I hate having her charging off like that. Doesn't she realize that people can get killed doing that? They don't all live long, ornery lives like my grandfathers.''
''Believe me, she knows.''
''When this is over, we have to get her somewhere where she can contemplate the error of her ways.''
Honovi glanced up as the car came to a rest. ''For the moment, Father, don't you think we should be glad that she's busy committing more errors to contemplate?'' ''Hmm,'' was all Father said.
''Sir, we'd better hurry.''
''I'm coming,'' Al Longknife muttered as he turned from his inner sanctum to the elevator. He'd done everything to make his life secure, his person impregnable, and it had come to this. Everything depended on that slip of a granddaughter and what she'd been able to concoct out of cast-off ships, borrowed yachts, and whatever.
''Bad planning,'' he muttered as he entered the elevator.
''Sir?'' the junior vice president who was offering Al the courtesy of his hunting retreat in the south mountains said.
''Nothing.'' That was the problem. He'd let his father play at king of ninety planets. His son play at ruling this one. What had it gotten him? Nothing. Nothing to protect his business, his employees, his wealth from these battleships. Nothing to protect this tower he lived in from being reduced to a smoking ruin. Nothing to protect his life.
Al settled awkwardly into the tall all-terrain vehicle that would be needed to get into the backcountry. As they drove down the lush, tree-lined boulevard, away from Longknife Towers, he glanced back. He'd always considered the tall cylinder a salute to the world.
Now he wasn't so sure who was giving who the finger.
Al settled face front for the long drive. Maybe Henry Peterwald wasn't so crazy. Maybe the only way to make human space safe for yourself was to control every damn inch of it.
Something to think about.
Contact: -7 hours
''Sir, we've got chatter from the port authorities on High Wardhaven,'' the Duty Lieutenant reported. The Admiral came to look over his shoulder as he looked over the shoulder of his three technicians.