Steve took a seat at a workstation. Leaning back, he put his feet up on it and his hands behind his head. ''I spent ten years worrying about what I could do if someone wanted my bit of space. Ten years—with some of the most twisted minds on the Rim—can be quite an education.''
Kris settled into a chair, leaned back and got comfortable.
Captain Merv Slovo brought his high g station alongside that of his superior. ''Commodore, I believe it would be better for our coming combat if we dropped down to 1 g now.''
''And why delay the moment of truth for Longknife?'' asked Commodore Henry Smythe-Peterwald the Thirteenth, Hank to some.
''Our men have been confined to their high g carts for most of the last day, sir. They need a hot meal and time to make ready for battle. Equipment needs checking. That is best done at 1 g, Commodore.''
Squadron 38's commander turned to look directly at his flag captain. ''I was told this squadron is experienced in long cruises. Didn't you practice high g ops on that four-month cruise of yours?''
''We most certainly did, Commodore.'' Captain Slovo ignored the slap… with an effort. A well practiced effort. ''However, over half of that crew was reassigned to new construction or filling out the crews of recommissioning ships. Our present crew is heavily spliced with green sailors fresh off the farm. The last day will have been hard on them. If you want their full effort against Lieutenant Longknife, you will need to make some accommodations to their limits, sir.'' Always end with a ''sir.''
The young commodore gnawed his lower lip. ''That will delay our arrival, give that Longknife girl more time to do things.''
''With what, sir? As you pointed out, all she has is a broken-down cruiser, a rented buoy tender, and that other ship of strange antecedents.'' It was usually good to quote Hank back upon himself. Usually… not always.
The young commander looked away. ''You can never trust a Longknife. That is the first thing I remember my dad saying. ‘Never trust a Longknife. They'll say one thing and do whatever makes money for them.' ''
Captain Slovo had found it was usually better to leave references to the senior Peterwald untouched. The younger of the title tended to swing widely in his attitude toward the senior.
''What do you think she'll do when we get there, Merv?''
The question was both unusual and difficult to answer. The captain weighed his options, and spoke. ''That is very hard to say, Commodore. Any rational person would take advantage of our arrival to duck behind the planet and bolt for a jump point.''
''Longknifes are never rational. She's going to fight me. How will she fight me, Captain? You've studied war for twenty years. I'm supposed to listen to you. Well, talk.''
Was the boy getting that nervous, or was this another one of his traps? The flag captain chose to take the risk and do his duty. ''That very much depends on what she has to fight with. We know the station has a dozen lasers. However, a station is very vulnerable. We should be able to silence it quickly. The ancient cruiser is a question mark. It has nine 6-inch lasers. How many work? It could be fully iced and armored. Then again, its motors might fail to contain plasma, and it could blow up first time it pulls away from the pier. They has a strange history of late. Let's assume they are hiding at least one, maybe two 12-inch pulse lasers. The Wasp is truly an unknown, but why would a Longknife give it a name like Wasp if it has no sting. I'd assume another pair of pulse lasers.''
The captain shrugged. ''Our squadron mounts thirty-six 6-inchers and two dozen 21-inch pulse lasers. If she fights—no matter how—it will be a short fight.''
''And a bloody one for her.'' The commodore seemed to like the sound of that. ''A very bloody one for her and those foolish enough to follow her.'' He clenched his fist. ''Wait until my father sees what I've got him. This time it will be all ours. And I made the deal. I made the deal.''
''Yes, sir.'' There was nothing more to add to that.
''Slow the fleet, Merv. Tell the navigator to come up with a new course. And tell him to have us go into orbit and then come up on the station, like you suggested. No need to wave our vulnerable sterns even at what little Kris has.''
''Aye aye, sir.'' And Captain Slovo went to do his master's bidding; praying softly that one Longknife would be smart enough to take the time he was offering her, coming up slowly on the orbit of her station, to yank up her skirts and run as fast as she could for Jump Point Adele. The boy wonder here would be greatly disappointed when there was no battle, but even Merv couldn't calculate the disaster for humanity if the Peterwald heir killed a Longknife heir.
Much better that these two don't meet.
Kris tightened the buckle on the command chair of the Patton and surveyed her domain. It was good to be in 0g again. Sensors were on-line, crewed by a chief, an old blue, and two young greens. They tracked Hank's squadron on final approach. Good.
Hank was going to make an orbit before approaching the station. Kris had hoped he would. If it was to give her time to run, well, even Hank must know that Longknifes don't run.
The delay had given Kris time to finish armoring the Patton; the cruiser now sported a meter of ice on her bow, half that elsewhere, beneath a thin coat of aluminum spray for added reflection. The ice was courtesy of Hank. His ships had pulled out without reclaiming the sewage they'd passed to the station. Treated, it now protected Kris.
Chief Ramirez was almost giggling when she reported that they had found two packets of high explosives when they drained the sewage out of the holding tanks. Rigged to explode when they came in contact with methane, they'd been jettisoned. The Patton used them for gunnery practice. Seven of the nine lasers had worked the first time. Two were being worked on.
To Kris's great relief, the superconductors in five motors held their plasma. The Patton hadn't blown her stern to kingdom come and they were now parked at Pier 7, a tie-down Kris had only learned about when Steve introduced her to it. It put the old cruiser's engines right in the middle of the station's backside. A perfect place for what they had in mind.
Now, Kris waited.
''Bogies are five minutes from sliding behind Chance,'' Steve reported from the station. ''Resolute, you cut loose first.''
Since the Resolute was the most likely ship to run, her undocking shouldn't tell Hank any more than he wanted to hope for. A few minutes later, it was the Wasp's turn. The two ships hung just off the station.
''Station is rebalancing,'' Steve reported as liquids were pumped from one section of the station to another to perfectly balance her now that no ships hung off the edges.
''Bogies are behind Chance. The station is balanced. Let's rotate.'' Small station-keeping jets on High Chance, aided by the Patton's maneuvering units, reoriented the station until the Patton's engines were pointed opposite to its orbit.
''Navigator, have you laid in a course?'' Kris asked.
Sulwan grinned. ''Down to a gnat's eyebrow, ma'am.''
''Execute on your mark. Station, prepare to change orbit.''
''We're rigged and ready,'' Steve reported.
''Orbital burn commencing… now,'' Sulwan reported, and Kris was pressed slightly back into her seat as the Patton slowed High Chance and started the station into a dive for lower orbit.
This was not something suggested in the station's manual. But High Chance was among the smallest stations built in the last hundred years; that left her with a bit more flexibility than most. And Steve's crew had added reinforcements at certain weak locations. He swore his baby could do it, and just now, she was.