''They all want them.''
''So I'm told.''
''The salvage ships aren't even on a secure net. I've sent them tables of random numbers in code, and told them to jump from place to place in a random pattern, using one set of numbers to set up that pattern. Their pick. You know this has to meet every book in my database's definition of crazy.''
''Yes, but it's also magnificent.''
''I don't have a definition of magnificent.''
''It's a human thing, Nelly.''
''If I get out of this in one piece, I think I will begin to understand magnificent.''
''So will we all.''
Kris settled into her seat, pulled on her helmet, and tapped her commlink. ''Sandy, how's it going? I've been busy doing housekeeping chores.''
''Until a while ago, there was nothing to do but wind the clock, take out the cat, here, too. Unfortunately, I think our boy's getting smart. Five minutes ago. the battle squadron recovered their radiators, and they just put on a defensive spin.''
''Oh damn,'' Kris muttered and turned to Penny.
***
''The Avenger reports she can not maintain a five-revolutions-per-minute rotation, sir,'' the Duty Lieutenant reported.
''Then tell him to fix what is wrong, and do what I ordered,'' the Admiral snapped. He had taken the seat at the battle board that put his back to the spin now on the Revenge; the defensive maneuver did not bother him. It also did not bother the techs at the intel stations, since they also had their backs to it. Saris was side on to the spin. The future governor of Wardhaven had the biggest problem. He was in the chair across from the Admiral. Now he leaned forward as the spin tried to force him out of his chair.
''Is this damn whipping around really necessary?'' the political appointee demanded.
''I would suspect so, Mr. Governor,'' the Chief of Staff said.
''I would not like to guess wrong,'' the Admiral added.
''But you said you had beat them. You had won.''
''I may have been premature,'' the Admiral muttered.
''They have nothing left to fight with.''
''So it seemed an hour ago, but they do not act like that now, and I do not intend to assume anything where a Longknife is concerned, Mr. Governor. No, look at the board. The jackals are still nipping at our heels.'' He waved his hand at the forces hanging on his spaceward flank. The so-called battleships had, like snakes, shed their skin and now were smaller…and deadlier, if not in ability, certainly in intent.
''And now we have this.'' He pointed at the twenty plus targets coming up from a swing around Wardhaven.
''What are they?''
''They appear to be the survivors of the patrol boats that attacked us two hours ago.''
''But patrol boats can only attack once. They have to go back to port. Refuel. Recharge. Even I know that.'' the governor said with a dismissive wave of his well-manicured hand.
''That is what they say on all the talk shows. Chief, talk to me about the ships coming up from Wardhaven.''
''Ten are fast patrol boats, sir. They are not even bothering to mask themselves. The others are salvage tugs. All have oversize reactors for tow and salvage work. Right now, they're boosting right along with the patrol boats.''
''Could the salvage tugs have passed a power line to the patrol boats, recharged their capacitors, Chief?''
The Chief coughed as if he'd swallowed a fish bone. ''That's a bit above my pay grade, Admiral, but our fleet tugs do have the capacity to transfer major amounts of power to a ship in need.''
''Your conclusion?'' the Admiral said, eyeing Saris.
''That damn Ray Longknife figured out a way to get two attacks out of one squadron of fast patrol boats.''
''I wouldn't put it past him,'' the Admiral growled. ''And I do not intend to lose more of my battleships. We have five meters of armor. We will rotate our ships at five rpms, and we will make sure their pulse lasers only melt ice.''
''What about those other ships?'' The future governor suddenly sounded worried.
''Two of them are destroyers we actually have to worry about. But only two. Maybe a half dozen of those yachts have pulse lasers hiding under their brightwork. 12-inchers at best. This may be more of a fight than you were promised Governor, but rest assured, we will begin the bombardment of Wardhaven on time in''—he glanced over at a corner of his board—''thirty minutes.''
19
Kris knew from her history books that attacks in the ancient world…twentieth century and earlier…were sometimes delayed for hours. She'd seen vids where actors had done a good job of showing the conflicted nature of officers and men…wanting to go forward and fight…afraid to go forward and die.
Kris and her crews may or may not have felt conflicted about their future, but delay was not an option. Orbital mechanics swung the battleships at High Wardhaven. Similar mechanics swung Kris's task force up from Wardhaven at them. Only a slight braking maneuver would send Horatio slicing down at them.
It was time.
''Sailors, my clock says we got five minutes,'' Kris said. ''Chief, you got another one of those drinks for us?''
''I just might,'' he said, heading aft.
''Strange,'' Penny said, ''I downed two of those and don't feel any urge to run for the head.''
''We sweated it out,'' Kris said. Her own shipsuit was dark with dried perspiration, but either the life support system was working overtime or they all stank so much it was past notice. Strange what mattered at a time like this.
The Chief glided through, tossing liter bottles. ''Last communion,'' he said with a smile.
Tom caught the first one and raised it in salute. ''As he died to make us holy. Now we fight to keep us free.''
Kris sipped her fortified water slowly, savoring the taste. Maybe she was just enjoying the comfort of sharing it with the others on the bridge. Last communion. Maybe the Chief had hit something solid there. He passed through again, collecting the empties. Tom turned to face his board, eyed the battle forming up in front of him … and crossed himself. ''Into thy hands, Father, I commend my spirit,'' he said softly.
Behind Kris, Penny was whispering the Twenty-third Psalm, ''…though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil…'' came a bit louder than the rest. Beside Kris, Fintch was saying her Hail Mary over and over, as fast as she could get the words out.
Kris swallowed hard. All her life, Father had taken his family to church every Sunday. It was a photo op that was not to be missed. But that photo op wasn't the comfort to Kris just now that faith was to those around her. When this was over, Kris intended to spend some time with Tom and Penny, seeing what it was that made them want a priest and a minister at their wedding, a prayer on their lips just now.
But just now, orbital dynamics ruled their lives. Kris mashed her commlink. ''This is Light Brigade. Squadron 8 will be approaching the one hundred K boundary in sixty seconds. Custer, you ready for your last stand?''
''Actually,'' van Horn said, ''I was thinking of setting up a lemonade stand and seeing if I could make a long-term go of it.''
''You sure couldn't make a joke of it,'' Sandy replied.
''Y'all both better be awful glad the Navy's keeping you in ah day job,'' Luna drawled. ''Thousands ah out ah work comics and ya have ta try ya hand at it.''
''Thirty seconds until we start the attack. Rockets on their way,'' van Horn reported.
''All right crews,'' Kris began, ''every one of you is a volunteer. You knew coming into this that we were a pretty puny David and that those battlewagons were Goliath on steroids. Two of our fast patrol boats have shown that we can burn a battleship. But burning one doesn't come cheap.
''This time, we close with them. This time, we aim for the whites of their eyes. Hold your fire until they open up a gun turret to fire, then laser the turret while it's open. Their engines are vulnerable. They'll try to turn them away from you, so pair up with another, form threes and fours, and go for a battlewagon from every direction. They can't keep their stern turned away from all of you.''