Kris glanced at his XO, Lieutenant Amber Kitano. The female junior officer only shook her head. “Yes, we have plenty of real women aboard the Dauntless, but no way would we play damsel in distress like our dear captain wanted.”
“We needed someone to look and sound terrified,” said her CO.
“Not in my Navy this woman won’t,” said his XO.
“Anyway, we had a lot of people,” Commander Campbell went on, “running around shrieking and screaming. The pirates were swinging cutlasses and being oh so very bold and bad.”
“Right up to the moment when we started filling their big butts full of sleepy darts,” Amber drawled dryly.
“The pirate captain was oh so offended that we’d brought guns to his knife fight,” Commander Campbell said, grinning from ear to ear. “Those were the last words he said to me as he laid his head down and went to sleep.”
“What about the stay-behind crew on his ship?” Kris asked. “Didn’t they try to destroy the computer?”
“Oh no,” the commander said, waving his hand limply at Kris. “Boarding a helpless merchant ship looked like so much fun that nobody, just nobody, wanted to be left behind. They did leave a cabin boy and girl behind, in charge of the whole ship, they were. And very busy doing what teen boys and girls tend to do when left alone with no adult supervision. Both were very upset when we interrupted them.”
“Anyway,” Amber went on, “we got the Bucket of Blood with only a couple of sleepy darts fired and not so much as a data file erased.”
“So while the princess here was chasing one pirate to its base,” Admiral Krätz said, entering the wardroom, “you were capturing a pirate and finding out the location of its base.”
Now it was Kris’s turn to announce “Atten’hut,” and the admiral quickly waved them down with an “As you were,” before half could get out of their chairs.
The admiral had brought a sizable team of his own. Several Navy officers, Marine officers, and one additional lieutenant whom he took a moment to introduce. “May I formally present to you the heir apparent and daughter of my Imperial Majesty, the Grand Duchess Victoria.”
“So your father took the plunge into full Imperial mode,” Kris observed.
“Once your great-grampa Ray was officially recognized as King of the United Sentient Federation, Daddy could hardly wait.” Vicky sighed.
“You got quite a title,” Kris said.
“I can’t tell you how underwhelmed I am at the moment,” Vicky said. “So, getting back to business, is the Bucket of Blood home ported at the same place as this planet Kris followed our fleeing slaver to?”
“The coordinates appear to be the same,” Captain Drago put in.
“Commander Campbell, did you get any information about planetary defenses from the Bucket?” Jack asked.
Jack the corvette skipper was shaking his head before Jack the Marine captain finished asking the question. “It looks to me like they pretty well compartmentalized everything. The crew of the Bucket are singing to save their lives. We’ve hacked into all their codes. We’ve read them all. No joy as far as information about station or planetary defenses.”
“Maybe they don’t have any,” Commander Fervenspiel said from where he now sat among a sea of Greenfeld green and black.
Kris glanced around the room, taking the measure of body language. Among the Greenfelds, there was optimism that they’d found another cheap conquest. Among the Royal United Sentient sailors and Marines, there was a lot less enthusiasm.
Kris decided to take the bull by the horns.
“Admiral Krätz, I understand from Commander Fervenspiel that standard Greenfeld doctrine, in a situation like this, would be to get all four battleships boosting for Dry Tortugas at 1.5 gees and arrive with all guns blazing, dropping a strong Marine and landing force to ask a few questions, then write the after-action report pretty much the way you’d drafted it beforehand. Did I get anything wrong, there?”
“I might modify the after-action report a bit if it really didn’t reflect certain critical aspects that came up in the actual fight,” the admiral admitted.
“Like my brother getting himself killed very much not according to plan,” Vicky added with venom.
“That would cause a major revision,” the admiral agreed.
“I’m concerned with that approach,” Kris said.
“Anything specific,” Vicky asked, “or do you Longknifes just like to make a hash of Greenfeld doctrine on general principle?”
That question left Kris wondering if she was creating more than she bargained for by having this combined preaction briefing. Throwing caution to the winds, Kris opened the can of worms that disturbed her the most.
“Many years ago, I did a little reading up on slavery in early Earth history. I found something that really turned my stomach. It seems that several countries outlawed slavery or outlawed the importation of slaves ahead of others. What that meant was that British warships were prowling the waters off Africa looking for contraband while there was quite a bit of profit to be made by anyone who slipped a load of slaves across the Atlantic and sold them.”
“So,” said the admiral.
“The British viewed slavers as no better than pirates and were wont to hang them.”
“That would make it rather unpleasant to be caught with a cargo of slaves,” Abby said.
“I know this is going somewhere, but I can’t see it,” Vicky snapped.
“The slaves were kept chained belowdecks,” Kris went on. “After all, you couldn’t let the slaves run around, they might take over the ship.”
The admiral raised an eyebrow in agreement to that.
“So,” Kris went on, “if a British patrol ship gave chase to the slaver, it was rather easy to attach the slaves’ chains to an anchor, and toss the anchor overboard. A bit of noise, a bit of screaming, but in a few minutes, there was no evidence left aboard that the ship had ever carried slaves.”
That left the room silent, both the Imperial and Royal sides.
Vicky swallowed hard. “You want to paint a clear picture for those of us without your imagination.”
“It will take the Fury and its squadron at least twelve hours to blast in from the jump point to the station. We can assume you’ll need some time to pacify it and start jumping your Marines into the town.”
“Port Royal,” Commander Campbell provided. “They’re calling that Port Royal.”
“At least they got that right,” Nelly sniffed.
Kris went on, her voice low and deadly. “During that time, I’m figuring the slavers are dividing their holdings into two groups: those they can terrify into silence and those they can’t.”
“And those they can’t?” the admiral asked.
“They line up in rows and shoot. They do that in full view of the others. They make it clear that Greenfeld’s sailors and Marines will be here for a while. Then they will leave. The slavers, however, will be there long after you guys are called off to other duties.”
“And the slavers?” Vicky asked.
“No society is ever totally slave. There are the owners, the technicians, doctors, businesspeople. Oh, and the overseers and enforcers. Given twelve to fifteen hours, Abby here could generate papers to make even the worst of crooks look as perfectly documented as innocent newborns. Right, Abby?”
“You want the Magna Carta, I’ll give you the Magna Carta. You want record books that show that every person on your farm has been paid every month, twice a month, for the last ten years.” Abby chuckled evilly. “That’s even easier. Don’t need no lead seals for them.”
“One more thing I’d like to point out,” said Abby. “They’ll be shooting the potential troublemakers to scare the living bejesus out of the rest. Which category do you think my darling niece will fit into? Kris, can you even conceive of my flesh and blood not being a pain in the ass of any piece of pirate shit?”