''We find some Whistler & Hardcastle lasers?'' Ray asked.
''Chunks of them.''
''Father intend to do anything about that?'' Kris asked.
Mac worried his lower lip. ''Do you really want to be in the Navy of ninety planets that's fighting eighty planets?''
Kris took a drink of her soda. The thought of a long war between two evenly balanced and powerful alliances made her shiver. ''Not really, but, blast it, I don't want to do nothing. If we do, won't the Peterwalds just come back?''
''The JO has a point,'' Trouble said.
''A good one.'' Mac nodded.
''I understand the threatening fleet has withdrawn from Boynton,'' King Ray said.
''Slipped away real fast once Kris nailed our attackers,'' Mac agreed. ''Boynton is officially applying for membership in your union, Ray. Moving real fast now. I understand they and six other planets out that way are all coming in together.''
''And Kris has Hikila ready to come in,'' Ray mused, swirling his beer and studying the bubbles. ''Three other planets out that way will follow them in. Once the word gets out that Henry Peterwald tried for Wardhaven … and fell on his face … there ought to be several more planets joining, too.''
''So we grow,'' Trouble said. ''Grow faster than Greenfeld. And maybe, over time, cut out a few of their worlds.''
Sandy raised her glass in salute, left-handed. The others joined her.
Kris frowned. ''That's a lot of territory to defend.''
''Boynton's asking us for the specs on the fast patrol boats,'' Mac said. ''I intend to send them.''
Kris opened her mouth. ''But,'' Mac went on, raising a hand to silence Kris, ''we're changing the design. Make ‘em out of smart metal. With smart hulls and upgraded computers so they can repair themselves when they take hits, fill in battle damage.''
''If we had…'' Kris said softly.
Mac cut her off. ''I just read the full salvage report on the 109. You think I came over here just to jabber with these old farts? Young woman, your having that fancy computer of yours seal the 109's hull saved the lives of the three survivors forward, and at least four of the crew aft who had their survival pods damaged in the fight. If you'd waited five seconds to analyze things, you'd all have been breathing vacuum. You made a snap decision, and it was the right decision.
''As for the three on the bridge, they were dead before the lights went out, crushed when the 109 bent in the middle. There was nothing you could have done to save them. You can hear what I'm saying to you, or not, but it won't change anything.''
Mac shook his head. ''Even if I hadn't let the damn bean counters talk me into having the experimental squadron made out of that damn semi-smart metal. Even if that brassy computer of yours had been ready to start ordering the metal around as soon as you took the hit, we would have lost five good men and women on the 109.'' His voice slowed, went low. ''You were good, but nobody's that good, and those battleships were big honking mothers.''
''Big honking mothers with lots and lots of guns,'' Sandy said, resting a hand on Kris's arm.
''I couldn't save Tommy,'' Kris said, her eyes rimming with moisture.
''Didn't you see before they evacuated you?'' Mac asked.
''See what?''
''The skipper's station wasn't damaged at all.''
''Huh?''
''If Tom had stayed in his seat, he wouldn't have been scratched.''
''Oh my God,'' Kris said, the tears starting to flow. ''Penny's going to be…'' Kris said. The tears were coming heavy now. Softly. She shivered as something left her.
''He died saving her,'' Grampa Trouble whispered, putting his arm around Kris and holding her while she wept for the first time since she'd come out of the 109. She gave herself over to sobs that came from deep inside her and shook her to her foundation.
Sandy reached out to rest a hand on her shoulder. Jack added one on her back. Kris let her racking grief out to be shared among her friends, to swirl over all of them and slowly wash away.
As she came up for air, Jack loaned her his handkerchief. Kris righted herself, but she couldn't miss the way Grampa Trouble was eyeing Ray across the table.
The man of legends was looking very old, with his chin settled on his chest. His words, when they came, were hushed and wrapped around sobs. ''I told Rita I should lead the diversion. She told me I had to stay back with the main force. She could take care of that distraction. She distracted them good. Good thing, too, ‘cause there were a hell of a lot more Iteeche bastards than we ever thought there could be.''
Ray shivered, shook his head, reached for his beer and took a long swallow. ''And when we'd won, it was as if her task force had just vanished. Vanished.''
''And he would have drowned himself in ten barrels of beer if I hadn't pulled him out,'' Trouble said softly. ''Ray, am I gonna have to pull you out tonight?''
''No, not tonight, but someone's gonna have to spend some time with Penny, helping her accept that she's condemned to live.''
''I'll be there,'' Kris promised. And with that it came to her why it was that Longknifes and Santiagos stood so often together. Those who died sealed those who lived into a pact for life. She thought of Penny with understanding growing in her eyes. The destroyer skipper nodded and raised her glass in salute to the new knowledge.
Kris sighed. Grampa Ray was right. She could eat her heart in small bites every day, or she could put her heart into living every day that came her way. She could decide later… or she could make the call now and save herself a lot of wasted motion. Lose it now or suck it up. Let Tom's death, all their deaths, become a black hole that ripped her apart. Or find the strength she needed. That Penny needed. That a lot of them needed.
You weren't a Longknife just because you did what had to be done on the day it was demanded of you. No, Longknifes did what had to be done the next day and the next. They kept putting one foot in front of the other day after day, for themselves, and for those they led… until habit turned to purpose.
So … if she was going to keep going, and take others with her, she needed a job. What could a beaten-down old mutineer, deserter, once relieved of command, junior officer do these days. Kris found a smile creeping up on her.
''General, it seems to me that fast patrol boats don't take much of a crew, can be built real fast and cheap and, at least if you listen to what's being said on the talk shows, they seem to really be able to do a job on battleships.''
''If someone's dumb enough to send them in without destroyers and cruisers,'' Sandy muttered. ''Bunch of political plumbers.''
''We don't need to let that get on the talk shows,'' Mac said.
''So,'' Kris went on, ''if a lot of planets suddenly ordered a lot of fast patrol boats for their close-in defense, it sounds to me like they'll also need some training on how to use them. Now, I could be wrong on this, but if Wardhaven were to offer not only the boats, but say, the training assistance of one former acting Commodore Princess Kristine Longknife and associates of the famed Squadron 8, might they jump at the offer?''
''And might some folks we won't mention think them a bit more dangerous than they really are?'' Trouble grinned wickedly.
Ray sighed. ''Smoke and mirrors.''
''The lies that some people live by.'' Sandy sighed.
''If they're dumb enough to let you do it, why not lead them around by their noses?'' Mac said. ''Besides, I was kind of wondering what to do with you next. I'm running out of jobs I could dredge up for you, Kris. Kind of poetic the condemned woman choosing her last waltz.''
''And with any luck, it will get me away from Wardhaven and out of your hair. Father's hair. King Ray's hair. Maybe far enough away for some folks to forget I've been in their hair.''
Sandy shook her head. Jack and Trouble joined in. ''No chance of that,'' they agreed in unison.