''What do we gain if we do that?'' Jack said.
''In weightlessness, on average, one out of three humans will become very ill,'' Nelly lectured.
''But those aren't average humans, Nelly,'' Jack said. ''They are Peterwald Special Forces. Surely they are space trained.''
''I have no data on that,'' Nelly answered primly.
''Would be interesting to run a verification test,'' Penny said. ''Seeing that we do have this opportunity.''
''Nelly, redirect their car up,'' Kris ordered.
''Doing it, Your Highness. This is fun.''
''Stall it dead center of the station.''
''Done.''
''Do we have a visual?''
It was one of the spare cameras, so the picture was poor. But there was no missing the dismay as they lost control of the elevator, the surprise as they lost gravity, and the disgust as first one, then a second, lost his breakfast. There were several attempts to set matters straight in the car that ended with the one Kris took for the leader growling, ''Are you done with us?''
''Tell your commander that we may not wait for you to get in our hair before we run the next bunch who get into an elevator up to see if all of you are space qualified,'' Kris said. ''You have a Longknife's word on that.''
''I figured as much.'' He ended the conversation.
''Should I run them up the rest of the way?'' Nelly asked.
''No,'' Kris said. ''Let's not encourage them to see more of the station than they have.'' Once out of the elevator, the four headed straight back to Hank's flag.
Kris ordered lunch for the Command Center. Tony Chang was running a special on pizza. Hank was kind enough to take lunch off, too, so they got all the way through clean-up before a new bunch of four crossed the brow of Hank's flag.
''Steve, you have anyone to walk those folks around?''
''I've got eight, drawn from the Last Chance Rifle and Marksmanship Club. And, I might add, trained and led by my old Chief Master at Arms. Watch this.''
The four came up the elevator and were met immediately by four folks wearing sidearms, and trailing them at a good twenty meters were four more each sporting M-6's. The older fellow in the first group exchanged words with the four; they turned around and rode the down escalator right back where they'd come from.
''How many have you got from Marksmanship Clubs?'' Kris asked.
''Enough,'' Steve answered cryptically.
Kris waited for an hour to see what Hank came up with next, but there was no next. She eyed the clock, calculated just how much time she was willing to give Abby to obsess over her hair, added in time for a fast walkaround to view the troops, and decided it was time to leave the duty watch to Jack.
''You've got the hot potato. Call me at the first sign of French fries.''
''I still think you ought to make a quick detour come twenty hundred hours and take our shuttle down. I don't trust Hank to know what's good for him.''
''You've got a very good point, my security czar,'' Kris said, doing her best to recognize the authority he could invoke to change her plan… without really giving in. ''However, there is more at play than just how I get where I'm going tonight. It's how Hank feels about it. If you don't agree tonight we've won one, Jack, I'll give you the next one, free of charge, no back talk.''
Jack eyed Kris. ''You've got something up your sleeve.''
''And considering that my dress tonight has no sleeves and very little else north of the border, it should be very clear to you rather quickly what I'm up to.''
''This I really want to see,'' Penny said.
''You just show up in dress whites with full medals. Oh, Jack, before you report to Hank's barge, put on your medals, too.''
''I think I smell intimidation,'' Penny said.
''I think I just lost my bet,'' Jack grumbled, but the tips of his scowl were curling up. No question, Kris's crew wanted to see Hank's pride holed solidly below the waterline.
Kris did her walkaround, smiling encouragement at those working for their defense and quickly ran into Steve doing his own bit of close oversight. They turned it into a twin tour. Doors were being locked down with steel bars that had to be thrown by a human being. The reactor's access doors got two bars. The crew was happy, joking about what they'd done to their visitors. Kris joined in their happy mood, adding only a reminder that this was just the first round. There would be more.
''Well, we surprised them, they surprised us,'' Kris said when she turned from Steve to deliver herself to what was bound to be an impatient and bad-tempered Abby. ''The game's still very much afoot, but I think we can claim to be ahead on points.''
''Points that can only too quickly be trumped by the other side,'' Steve said, without looking back.
Chapter 11
Someone once said war was diplomacy continued by other means. Or maybe it was the other way around. Father was want to say it either way. Kris wondered what that someone would think of her use of socialiting as a continuation of the war between the Peterwalds and Longknifes by other means.
Once upon a time, Kris had looked upon Hank as a potential Romeo, and her as Juliet, destined to end the bitterness between two warring families. Such romantic mush was ancient history, as Kris stepped into the hall from her room and came face-to-face with Jack and Penny.
Penny wore the requested Navy-dress dinner evening ensemble. ''The manual calls for miniature medals, but I don't have any. I thought you'll be just as happy with me in full-size ones.''
Kris nodded. ''Easier for the blind to see.''
Jack was in fresh dress blues to go with his shower and shave. He showed medals in place of a single row of ribbons. He eyed Kris. ''You've got the lapel pin from the Battle of the Line on the sash of the Wounded Lion. That's not regulation.''
Kris looked down at her dress. The bright red of the satin was bound to be eye-catching; the fire red hugged her waist, the one thing about her she was proud of. Below, it flounced out to sway very nicely as she walked. Above, it opened up. Abby's push-up bra might actually give eager male eyes something to catch when her top went one way and she went the other.
Abby had arranged the sash of the Wounded Lion, Earth's highest honor, to start under her right arm, and brought it along nicely so that the golden starburst of the order closed the sash nicely on her left hip. But, not content with the silent testimony of an undocumented Earth award, Kris added the lapel pin worn by civilian survivors of Wardhaven's recent defense.
Kris had no idea what medals, orders, or ribbons Hank might be sporting. Somehow she greatly doubted the long peace around Greenfeld had presented the many opportunities for bleeding and dying that Kris had faced of late. Or maybe the correct answer was that any of Greenfeld's folks that had done that shooting and dying had done so where it was best not documented.
Satisfied, Kris offered Jack her arm, he rested it on his, and they headed for the elevator. ''Mind the store,'' Kris shouted at Chief Beni as they passed the Command Center.
''They throw a party for us poor, overworked sailors, and I get stuck with the duty. Where's the fairness in that?''
''Nobody mentioned fairness in my commissioning papers,'' Jack said, eyeing Kris.
''Nor mine,'' Kris pointed out. ''But there's bound to be a party tomorrow night. I'll try to bust you loose.''
''I'm going to remind you. Nelly, you remember her,'' Beni shouted as they opened the locked door and entered the elevator foyer. There were two big strapping boys taking delight in Marilyn's company.
''Enjoy one of those dances for me,'' she called as she checked the elevator, found it empty, and opened the door.
On Deck 1, Kris pointed her team at Pier 1's landing, Jack on her right, Penny on her left. ''Jack, you going to try to talk me out of this one more time?''
''Nope,'' the Marine said. ''I'm all gussied up and looking forward to the show.'' He patted Kris's waist at the back. ''No weapon. Are you actually going unarmed tonight?''