The Price of Peace (18 page)

"You're going, Pa?"

"Not on your life. I've filed affidavits for both me and several of the survivors. If the court wants more
touchie-feelie
stuff, they can bring themselves here to talk to us. No, the
Patton
will get these
SOBs
out of our life, and Hurtford Corner will be saved from letting them go free after what they did or having to come up with some legal excuse for hanging them. I think this is the best way to handle our problem."

"I do too," Mikhail
Shezgo
said from the door. "Can I join you for breakfast?"

So Ruth listened over pancakes to her pa and Trouble's account of last night. "Lord, when you folks decide to do something, it does happen fast," she sighed when it was over.

"We like it that way," Trouble said. "Now, I think I can take a day off." His communicator buzzed.

"Trouble here."

"
Umboto
here. How fast can you get your prisoners up here and collect all those affidavits?" "Affidavits were done last night. Prisoners are ready to move as soon as the locals provide us with paperwork."

"What kind of paperwork?"

Shezgo
leaned over. "A list of their names with my signature on one side of the bottom and one of your people's signature on the other. We try to keep the paperwork light." That got a laugh. "Why?"

"We got orders for a yard overhaul. Looks like somebody hollered uncle even before my last long list of deficiencies hit their in-box."

"Full refit! We may actually spend some time at High Columbia."

"No such luck. Just a two-month reduced availability, and it looks like it went to the lowest bidder. A Wardhaven yard." "But they were Unity?"

"Yeah, and I understood we shot up their space docks pretty good in the last battle of the war. Maybe we didn't do as good a job as we thought. Hope so. Anyway, orders say to get under way for Wardhaven soonest. The sooner I can get this collection of accidents waiting to happen into a yard, the happier I'm
gonna
be. If I send all the launches down before noon, think you could have everyone ready to lift before dark?"

"Probably sooner, from our end,"
Shezgo
offered helpfully.

This was all happening too fast. Ruth wanted more time. Time to figure out who this tall collection of "Trouble" was. Time to decide if being a farmer was all she wanted to be, or was just all she thought she knew how to be. Time she didn't have.

Trouble put his fork down. "Damn" came softly, but there was nothing hesitant when he spoke. "I'll have the prisoners up on the first launch. Gunny should have the troops saddled up and ready for the next one." He turned to the city manager. "I'm
gonna
need that chopper of yours to collect three of my guys who missed their drop zone last night."

"It's yours."

"Skipper, how much fresh fruits and vegetables has Supply got waiting?"

There was a pause before Izzy answered that one. "Couple thousand pounds. Say, two shuttles worth. Headed for Wardhaven; I'm not so hungry for fresh greens, but they're bought and paid for. Mount '
em
up, Lieutenant. Move '
em
out."

"Yes, ma'am." Trouble tapped his
comm
link off, then gave Ruth a shrug. "So much for a day off."

"There are days like this on the farm, too," she sighed.

Two weeks later, Izzy was having one of those days. On her viewer was a long and convoluted report from the network team explaining why they still had not broken the encryption lock on the slavers' files. The lieutenant had taken yet another opportunity to explain to her why the Navy needed -to update its own encryption system. Since a ship's captain could hardly replace a
Navywide
system with an off-the-shelf commercial product, she just scanned that part of the report. The bottom line was that Trouble could have saved himself a lot of agony and let the slaver erase the files. She wasn't about to tell the marine that. She endorsed the report with a terse "Keep working" and went on to the next report. She didn't like that one either.

The initial contact with the yard had not gone well. To her preliminary list of priorities had come back a very delayed report requesting clarifications, delays or flat-out remarks that the requested work was not part of the contract. Izzy was seriously considering having Chips in his next report just list the few major subassemblies on the
Patton
that might be applied toward the spare parts shortage and have Stan start planning that beer bust he wanted to throw on the
Patton’s
scrapping. "
Naw
, not yet."

"Skipper, we've got the dock manager on the
comm
," the XO reported. There was a certain something missing in his tone. Enthusiasm, surprise. Izzy headed for the bridge.

"What have we got, Stan?" "
Spacedock's
not ready to receive us."

"When will it be?" she asked the man on screen.

"The war damage was greater than we expected. Number five dock will need several more weeks before it's ready to take you. Even then, the shops will be under repair." The dock manager didn't seem the slightest bit bothered by handing Izzy this bad news. She wondered how low his Unity party number was. Hey, guy, we won the war. You lost it. Remember?

"So, what about docks one through four?"

"They're,
er
, already under contract."

That was not what Izzy wanted to hear. She took in a deep breath, readying herself for a major blast. Beside her, the XO was making calming signs with his right hand. Izzy let out her breath. Half of it. "You have a contract for us, don't you?"

"Yes, but work isn't supposed to start for another month."

"A Month! Our orders were to report here immediately." Now Stan was flipping rapidly through their message traffic. In a moment, their orders appeared on
Izzy's
own screen. Yep, they were supposed to report immediately. Then again, they didn't say anything about when the work would start. So far, she hadn't gotten a copy of the contract between the Navy and the yard. The man on screen was waving something.

"It says right here. Work will begin no sooner than the fifth of next month. You're early." "You" 11 pardon me. Could I have a copy of that?"

"Of course, ma'am." That was the first helpful word she'd heard so far. The contract started appearing on her and Stan's boards simultaneously.

"Date's right," Stan agreed.

"Now that you're here, we might be able to get some work started early," the yard manager offered. Maybe the fellow could be helpful.

"You got a pier we can tie up alongside? Get housekeeping support from?"

The man glanced off screen. "Pier eight is between docks three and four and close to the shops. That would be a good one for you."

"We'll take it. Light off its beacon. I have the
conn
. Helm, lock on to pier eight's beacon." The docking went smoothly after that. That was about all that did.

Housekeeping support along
pierside
was supposed to include electricity, water, sewer, and air. Gravity came for free as the station spun around its axis. At least the
Patton
got one gee gravity. The electricity was the wrong voltage, the water was brown, the sewer hookup didn't, and the only air came from the open locks. With all the other mismatches, Izzy wasn't so sure she wanted those locks open.

The rest of the day, and a big part of the next, was taken up correcting those problems. The yard personnel were always so apologetic. "Sorry, we thought that was what you wanted." "Oh, we didn't realize our unit didn't have a universal adapter." "Guess the war damage wasn't as repaired as we thought." "Are you sure you need that? Our specs on your class showed you needing class C support." And, since the
Patton
never had fully conformed to the Navy's standard configuration for its class, not all were the yard's mistakes.

Izzy was starting to feel sorry for the yard folks when the quarterdeck hailed her. "Ma'am, we've got some security folks here from Wardhaven. They say they're here for our prisoners."

"Like hell they get my prisoners. Tell them to get lost."

"I've tried, ma'am, but they won't leave until they talk to you."

"Send them to my day cabin. OOD, you've got the bridge. Stan, you and that legal clerk of yours had better report to my day cabin, too. Since when does Wardhaven have a marshal or anyone else authorized to take my prisoners?"

"I don't know." "Well, find out."

Izzy still didn't have an answer to her question fifteen minutes later as she sat at the head of her conference table, Stan to her right, a yeoman to her left still frantically going through his law reader. For her own sense of security, Trouble sat next to Stan, and two of his marines stood at parade rest beside the hatch to the bridge. At the foot of the table, Special Agent for the Wardhaven Bureau of Investigations
Howdon
sat flanked by two more agents and a prosecutor.

"Captain,"
Howdon
had begun, "we are prepared to give you receipts for your prisoners and for copies of all evidentiary data files that you have in your possession." "Can you give one good reason I should provide them to you?"

"Ma'am, when you came alongside, you asked for housekeeping support. Among the modifications proposed for > our ship is doubling its frozen food storage capacity. That will require running more chilling ducts through the spaces next to your brig. The brig's being moved forward two frames and down a deck. So we're here to take care of your prisoners while your brig is out of commission." "You know a hell of a lot about my overhaul." "Ma'am, the yard just advised us of the nature of your overhaul and requested that we take custody of your prisoners for the time being."
Howdon's
smile was pure innocence. Izzy doubted he'd been that innocent on his first day at kindergarten.

"That might account for the prisoners. Not the evidence." "But, of course, ma'am," the prosecutor cut in. "They go hand in hand."

"Copies," Trouble drawled, "not the originals." Caught, the special agent and the prosecutor exchanged worried glances. Izzy and Trouble enjoyed a smile. Now that the air was clear, this shouldn't take long.

Howdon
studied his watch, seemed to be counting the seconds. Before Izzy could wonder what for, her
comm
buzzed. "Captain, we got a call for you."

"I'm busy," she snapped. "Take a message and I'll call back." That was standard procedure when she was occupied. Some trainee must be standing watch in the radio shack. "Skipper"—now she recognized Sparks' voice—"you told us to pass a call from Anderson right through to you."

Now
Howdon's
and his sidekick's mouths were edging toward a grin. Captain Anderson had been her commanding officer during the recent unpleasantness. He was about the only thing that made the 97th Defense Brigade sufferable. His retirement to Wardhaven and the chance to catch up on old times with him was the only pleasant possibility this yard period offered. She'd called him as soon as phone lines had been brought aboard last night. A secretary assured her he was unavailable and might be for some time. She'd asked for a call back as soon as possible. Now was a hell of a time to get it.

"Put Andy through," she said.

"Hi, Izzy. How's navy life?" The words were pure Andy, but the voice might as well have been chalk scratching down a slate.

"
Elie
, what the hell are you doing here?" If Andy was the best of the 97th,
Elie
Miller was the worst. A college professor drafted and put in charge of their sensors, she could not open her mouth without lecturing or talk without a flip chart to draw on. Only Andy's sense of humor, and
Izzy's
lack of hundred-percent certainty she could dispose of the body, had kept
Elie
alive for the three-month campaign on Elmo Four.

"Andy's secretary told me you wanted to talk to him. He's off-planet for a while. I don't know when he'll be back. We really need to talk."

"About?" If the list of things she wanted to talk over with Andy was as endless as the beer they'd drink, the list she'd share with
Elie
was as dry as a freshly washed stein.

There was a long pause; then, with a deep sigh, words cascaded from the
comm
link. "Listen, Izzy, I know we didn't get along very well. But you have to know you're not the only one chasing what you're after right now. You've got a lot of allies, if you just know where to look. The uniforms may be the wrong color per recent memory, but yesterday's enemy could be today's friend, and vice versa. Could we meet for supper?"

Izzy glanced at her to-do list for today. She hadn't gotten a damn thing done that was scheduled; wrestling alligators had eaten up every second. She didn't have time for supper, certainly not to drop down to the planet. "
Elie
, I'd love to. but I'm kind of busy. Don't have time for a
dirtside
visit today."

"That's fine. I'm on the station. Meet you at the Wharf Rat in half an hour."

Izzy never said the woman wasn't smart. And, if she went out to supper, that just might help her get these gumshoes off her ship. She stood. "Gentlemen, we seem to be at an impasse for the moment. Why don't you take it up with your superiors in the morning? I doubt we'll tear the brig down tonight."