Vicky Peterwald: Target (26 page)

T
HEY
argued and made love, and argued and screwed, and argued and just sat in their chairs in a huff.

Vicky could see in Gerrit’s eyes the Grand Duchess that he saw in her, the one woman of the Empire who could make a stand against the wicked Empress.

Vicky knew herself for what she was. A spoiled brat raised to needlepoint and the Kama Sutra, both for business and pleasure. Maybe she was good enough to stand a communications watch on a battleship where nothing much was happening and there were a half dozen eyes backing her up.

But she had no real skills. If she had to scratch in the dirt for her next meal, she might very likely starve if someone didn’t give her food.

Well, maybe she could cook a meal if pulling it from the freezer and warming it was all that was required. Gerrit took to insisting that she cook for them.

He didn’t do it nicely.

“If a bed warmer is all you’re good for, you can at least learn to cook.”

Vicky didn’t quite throw his first supper at him. He managed to catch it on the fly and refused to notice that it had been tossed high and wide.

So she cooked their meals and found that there were more options in the ship’s kitchen than just warming precooked packages. Their last meal before the jump into the St. Petersburg system, Vicky put together something special.

Not for Gerrit. He was just a pain in the neck.

No, she did it for herself, to show herself that she could do it.

The steaks were from the freezer. The mixed vegetables she did herself. There were a dozen baking potatoes preserved some way she didn’t understand, but that didn’t keep her from popping two in the oven to bake.

And there was bread. She made it herself, from a recipe glued to the kitchen wall next to a bread cooker. She found the starter dough in the freezer and took it from there.

That got Gerrit’s attention. He came down from the cockpit.

“What are you doing to make the whole ship smell wonderful?”

“I’m baking bread.”

“From scratch?”

“Yep.”

“Yeast and all?”

“Yep.”

“And steaks! Are those real potatoes?”

“The very same. Now shoo, this is my kitchen, and you will just have to wait for dinner.”

“Please don’t make it too long. My mouth is watering, and I’m a whole lot more hungry than I realized.”

“Begone, you, from my domain. Don’t you know, too many cooks spoil the stew.”

“I’m not joggling your elbow. Just your time line.”

“Go!” she said, pointing at the stairwell.

He went.

She found real butter in the bottom of the freezer and took it out to slowly thaw. Dinner might not be by candlelight, but it was good. She served it at the table and even dressed for it. Of course, all she had that looked good was the outfit she’d worn on Poznan.

He seemed to like it, and the meal.

“You can cook!”

“I can follow instructions,” she said modestly.

He gave her a sad look at her rejection of his praise.

“Okay, I can cook as good as the next girl.”

“I’d say better than most girls I’ve had the honor of sharing a home-cooked meal with.”

So they enjoyed the steak and the small talk. Afterwards, he made love to her the way Vicky dreamed that a man might make love to a woman who’d sated his alimentary needs before inviting her to his bed.

She felt very warm and approved of as she fell asleep in his arms later.

Gerrit did let her take the ship through the final jump to the St. Petersburg system.

It wasn’t as easy as it looked, either.

The jump did a bit of a wiggle just as she was about to juice the ship through. She had to apply lateral jets to chase the jump, then dampen down all movement to get the ship rock steady again.

That was the way it was with the jump points that united the galaxy. They orbited not just the two points they safely connected, but four, five, or more systems, depending on your acceleration, speed, and rotation when you hit them. Do it rock steady and at slow speed, and you jumped ten, fifteen, maybe thirty light-years.

Always.

That was what insurance companies and national command authorities liked and what most merchant and warships did.

What Kris Longknife had done, jetting around the galaxy was crazy and not to be attempted by anyone at home.

What Vicky did was slow, steady, and by the approved book.

Through it all, Gerrit stood behind her, his hands holding on to the chair to keep him steady in microgee. If he had any doubts about what Vicky did, he said not a word.

Once through the jump, Vicky studied her board and had her sensors do a check.

“There’s St. Petersburg waiting for us,” Vicky crowed.

“I told you that you could do it,” Gerrit said, a proud-as-a-papa grin on his face.

“Yes, you did. Now, tell me, kind sir, who always plans ahead, what am I going to wear to meet our new allies? Not this,” she said, glancing down at the scant covering she had for her all-too-bare skin.

He was in a skimpy thong, and looking better than he had in a while.

He’d actually shaved.

“Come below, and I’ll show you.”

He actually did show her, rather than entice her to bed.

He had a blue shipsuit, complete with lieutenant commander’s boards waiting for her. Of course, he also had a blue shipsuit for himself with the three full stripes of a commander.

They needed a shower before they put on their new uniforms, and that led from one thing to another. Then they needed a second shower before they did get dressed.

They were back on the tiny bridge when a call came in from High St. Petersburg station. Before going through the jump, Gerrit had done another reprogramming job on the squawker. They were now the
Lucky Strike Jubilee
out of Port Royal.

“LSJ, this is St. Petersburg station. We have you on approach. Be advised, your papers are not in order. Dock and stay locked down until a Marine detachment arrives to check your papers.”

Vicky turned to Gerrit. “What’s wrong with our papers?”

“Nothing,” had a lot more worry in it than Vicky wanted to hear. “At least nothing when we left Greenfeld. They were first-class forgeries, done by the folks who do the legal ones.”

“Well, something’s gone wrong. Should we bug out?”

“And go where? Besides, until we refuel, we really can’t go anywhere.”

“Good point,” Vicky said, and settled down in her chair to worry a bit.

Had dear, loving Stepmomma managed to reach all the way out here? Or was it a case of Stepmom casting a wide and very expensive net of bribes from a comfortable distance so that no matter where Vicky went, she’d have this kind of welcome waiting for her?

There was no way to tell what it was until they were docked, locked down, and pretty much left to ride out whatever was intended for them.

Vicky hated the idea of being helpless again.

She must have said that out loud, because Gerrit had something to say on that thought.

“All of us normal folks have to get used to being helpless now and again. I think even your old man must feel like this every once in a while.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to say that aloud.”

“I’m glad you shared it with me. If you don’t share with anyone, how are we going to help you?”

“I usually don’t get much help,” Vicky admitted.

“That was the spoiled brat. You’re Her Imperial Grace, the Grand Duchess Lieutenant Commander Victoria Peterwald, Vicky to her friends. That person has a right to all the help the rest of us mere humans can offer. Because, she just might come up with a way for all of us to save ourselves.”

“All of us to save ourselves,” Vicky echoed. “You mean I don’t have to do it all on my own?”

“And when it’s done, it’s not just your Empire, but an Empire for all of us.”

“Dad would never see it that way.”

“And look at what that has gotten him.”

That left Vicky with a lot to think about.

Gerrit made sure she had the time to think. He cooked lunch for them. Vicky didn’t say anything about the blackened crust on his ham and cheese sandwich. She just smiled.

She was deep in thought about what he said.

“Have you read anything about how Kris Longknife fought off six rogue battleships that attacked Wardhaven?” she said, slow and thoughtful to Gerrit as they munched their sandwiches.

“The pirates that, no doubt, came from some money interests that only the loose ways of the Longknifes could have permitted to get so strong?” he said, quoting the usual propaganda sources that passed for news in Greenfeld.

“They were from our Navy,” Vicky said. The words sounded strange coming out of her mouth.

“Some of us suspected that,” Gerrit said softly. “There were a lot of missing hands the next year at Academy reunions with no explanations given.”

“Kris Longknife had no power. No authority. She’d been relieved of her command,” Vicky went on, as if in a dream.

“Yes,” Gerrit said. “I heard that she took over without any authorization although no one made much of it after it was over. You win something like that, you get a medal.”

“Only if you lose do you get a court-martial,” Vicky added softly, losing herself in thought.

“That’s the way it is with most of history. If you win, you’re a patriot. If you lose, you’re a traitor.”

Vicky swallowed hard at the mention of that word. A traitor. “They hang traitors,” she said.

“And someone is doing her level best to kill a Grand Duchess, or so I hear.”

“Hmm,” Vicky said. “Either path I follow, I end up dead.”

“Or you can follow Kris Longknife’s path.”

“And win?” Vicky said, surprised that it had come out a question mark.

“Yes. You win,” Gerrit said, and there was no doubt in his voice.

Vicky let that thought bounce around in her head for a long moment before venturing, “What does a win look like here?” She asked no one in particular.

The commander stayed silent.

“Well, I can tell you what a win does not look like,” she said, feeling steel creeping into her words. And maybe her backbone.

“A win does not see economies vanishing away into nothing for lack of trade. A win does not see planets’ populations collapsing into anarchy, murder, and cannibalism.”

Gerrit nodded along with the cadence of her words.

“A win means a lot of people pulling together to pull all of them back from the precipice,” Vicky said, finally able to answer her own question.

“And who can lead them in that march back?” the commander asked.

“A Grand Duchess can lead that, and it doesn’t even require a banner, of rebellion or otherwise.”

“Just a bit of a risk,” he said.

“And I am nothing if not someone who takes risks.”

An hour later, the commander caught the tie-down on the first pass at the pier they were directed toward. Then they sat and waited, docked, but their air lock still sealed against what would come next.

T
HEY
had to wait quite a while before a Navy captain showed up leading a full platoon of Marines.

“Open the hatch, please,” came on net.

They sealed the ship to the pier and opened the hatch. Immediately, the ship began to draw water and matched their comm gear to the net. Gerrit tried to draw reaction mass, but their credit chit was denied.

Then the captain arrived on the bridge.

“So it is you two.”

“Yes, sir,” Gerrit replied.

“Did you have to drop this mess of crap on us?”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” Vicky said.

The commander cleared his throat. “Captain von Kluge, may I present Her Imperial Grace, the Grand Duchess Lieutenant Commander Victoria Smythe-Peterwald.”

Vicky held out her hand. “My friends and Navy superiors call me Vicky.”

The captain did not kiss her hand but made a point of shaking it. “Thanks for the warning. If you two will come with me, you’re wanted by the admiral.”

So they went.

The Marines formed a solid phalanx around them as they climbed the stairs out of the dock to the main deck of the station. It was so sparsely populated that Vicky wondered if it had been cleared beforehand. Then again, during their approach, they had not identified any ships, merchant or Navy, in system on approach or departing St. Petersburg. There were only two merchant ships in port.

Several dozen merchant hulls with cold reactors trailed the station in the thousand klicks behind it.

St. Petersburg might have it better than the rest, but it was no hotbed of commerce either.

The Imperial Battleship
Scourge
was docked at midstation, to make it easier to balance her weight, so it wasn’t much of a walk. Still, the Marines held station at Vicky’s elbow. No one could see her, much less get a good shot off at her.

That left Vicky to wonder which was most important, that she stay safe or that her presence on the station go unnoticed?

The navigator was there on the quarterdeck to receive her salute as she rendered honors to a cloth flag draped on the aft bulkhead, then saluted the navigator.

“Permission to come aboard, sir.”

“Permission granted, Commander. If you will follow me,” the navigator said, and led off even with the captain right behind her. Poor Gerrit might have shuffled off to some out-of-the-way corner, but Vicky made a point of slowing down so he could catch up with her.

“He’s saved my life so many times I’ve lost count,” she said to no particular question.

“And she’s saved mine a time or three,” he added.

Gerrit was allowed to accompany Vicky to whatever awaited her.

Apparently, the passageways from the quarterdeck to admiral’s country had also been cleared; she saw no one in the walk there.

The navigator opened the door to the admiral’s in-port cabin and stepped aside. Vicky led the way in, followed by Gerrit and the captain.

“I got them for you, sir,” the captain reported to the admiral. “I still think we should have spaced them,” he added.

“Yes, yes, Bruno, but what would I do for excitement for the rest of the day?” the admiral said, standing and shaking first Vicky’s hand, then Gerrit’s. “And yes, Bruno, you must have some paperwork you need to catch up on. Go do what a busy chief of staff does when the boss isn’t looking over his shoulder.”

The chief of staff’s “Yes, sir” did not have a lot of “yes” in it. Clearly, he didn’t think his boss should be alone with Vicky, whether it was as a temptress or wandering Grand Duchess.

Still, like a good captain, he left his admiral alone.

“So, how bad was it getting here?” the admiral asked as soon as the captain was gone.

“Not that bad,” Vicky said. “We developed a fuel leak and had to make a short stop on Poznan, but they fixed it, sold us extra fuel, and sent us on our way. There was no traffic in any of the systems we crossed. No commerce at any of the planets we passed, either. The two colonies we passed were shriveling up on the vine, and the people were on the edge of starvation. Maybe across it.”

“Yes, I’m hearing that about the planets that either the Navy or the Empress’s family are not taking a hand in. That’s too damn close to half the Empire.”

“Have you heard anything from Greenfeld since we left? How did our papers suddenly become questionable?”

“Your papers became questionable because the
Lucky Strike Jubilee
was not expected here at St. Petersburg. We were advised that you would take one of three options. We weren’t one of them.”

“The admiral offered me three options,” Vicky said, “but he also said I was free to come up with a fourth if I could think of one. I thought of one.”

“Hmm, that seems to have escaped his recollection when he sent us our update on you,” the admiral said, but he didn’t seem surprised by that.

“Sir, may I ask how things are on Greenfeld?” Vicky said again.

The admiral took a moment to rise from his desk and saunter over to a star map of the Empire. “Things are about the same, only worse. Your father, our Emperor, is well. He continues to issue proclamations. The Empress is also well. Her pregnancy seems to be advancing apace. Her family are just as grasping as ever.”

He paused, as if to measure his next words carefully.

“The Navy is pressed in on all sides. You know about General Colenberg’s death?”

“Yes. I temporarily occupied his casket with him. It was the cover I needed to get up the beanstalk.”

“Oh, so that’s the way it was. Admiral Waller mentioned that they had a close call getting you out, but he didn’t say how.”

Vicky had more questions. “I understand from some of the nasty words passed by the Imperial Guard as they goaded the Marine honor guard to swing on them that he died during interrogation.”

“Yes. He told them nothing, but the bitch’s family didn’t let that stop them. They’ve hauled in a dozen Marine generals and colonels. Under torture, some of them broke, poor souls. The Empress has her security consultants carrying out a purge of the Marines.”

“Take away the Navy’s army just as they’re building their own.” Vicky scowled.

“What is Admiral Waller’s response to this?” Gerrit asked.

“What can he do? He’s holding things together by his fingernails. I’ve been authorized to take on as many Marine recruits as I think I can handle, but I have to keep them off the record. I’ve also gotten a draft of Marines from Greenfeld, both to help me train our recruits . . . and to get them away from the inquisition.”

“I know where you can recruit a lot of likely good men,” Vicky said. “Poznan and Presov.”

“There are a lot of planets with many good men and women hungry for their next meal,” the admiral pointed out.

“Yes, but I owe a welder on one of them, and maybe even his boss.”

“Him, too?” Gerrit asked.

“Him, too,” Vicky said. “He could have been worse.”

“If you say so.”

“So, Admiral,” Vicky began, “what are the conditions on St. Petersburg?”

“Interesting,” he said, returning to his seat. “Interesting and challenging.”

“That tells me a lot, and yet a lot of nothing,” Vicky said, trying for something Imperial but gentle. Not that she’d ever seen anything Imperial that was gentle. Discovering a new Imperial style was going to be challenging.

But then again, she’d had a chance to watch Kris Longknife develop a style all her own.

“Would you mind telling me why you’re asking?” the admiral said. “Better yet, could you tell me what you’re doing here?”

Vicky smiled at the admiral. “Since you asked so nicely, I can try. I hear that St. Petersburg is in fairly good shape. That they are prospering by supporting the Navy and the new Navy colony, Port Royal. I also hear that they might owe the Navy a favor, considering how you kept them from being taken down by the Empress’s security consultants.”

The admiral shook his head. “They don’t see it that way, but go on.”

“If they don’t see it our way, maybe we can help them see it that way.”

“I hope you aren’t thinking of using force,” the admiral said, steepling his hands in front of him.

“I think force is overrated as a means of solving our problems, and way overused by my family, either natural or just married into, don’t you think?”

“I don’t think the Emperor is interested in what the Navy thinks.”

“But I am not my father. I am not sure who I am, but I know I am certainly not my father. Now then, if I stipulate that I don’t want to entice you into using your troops to enforce my will or anything else on St. Petersburg, what can you tell me about things down there?”

The admiral studied Vicky for a long moment, then made a decision.

“They are running things very much on their own,” he said. “They don’t want us down on their turf, and, indeed, none of my shuttles can land there without their prior approval. If we try, the landing system kicks out and we find ourselves with no beacon. When they have product for us, they send a shuttle up. If they hear a delivery has come in, they check it out with the arriving ship. And they always seem to know when a ship has arrived and what its cargo is.”

“I understand,” Vicky said, “from my earlier visit that they had eyes and ears everywhere.”

“And in more places today,” the admiral said with a scowl. “No doubt despite my best efforts to keep your arrival a secret, they know about you.”

“I’m hoping they do. As I see it, they owe the Navy one, and they owe me one as well.”

“You?”

“Me and Kris Longknife. Last time I was here, Mayor Manuel Artamus had an idea. He wanted his town, Sevastopol, to have its own city charter, a document that outlined a limited duty toward the crown and let them manage their own affairs. I signed it for him, and he’s been running his own show ever since.”

“And doing it very well, I might say. Most of the other towns now have their own charters. Though where they got them, I have no idea. Anyway, they’re running their own show and even have a council of mayors running the whole planet.”

“Yes,” Vicky said. “I heard that the council of mayors made it easy for the Navy to find someone to dispute the arriving vultures’ claim that they had been invited.”

“Yep,” the admiral agreed. “We got to send the security consultants packing, and that gave us a solid planetary base in this sector of the Empire.”

“As I said, they owe you one,” Vicky noted.

“And you intend to collect what from them how?” had way too many questions for Vicky to answer.

Vicky chose to pick an easy one first. “Face-to-face, if I get a chance.”

“You won’t get a chance,” the admiral said.

“How much do you want to bet?” Vicky said.

The chief of staff knocked and stuck his head in the door without waiting for a reply. “Admiral, there’s a call coming in for you from dirtside. Mannie wants to have a word with you.”

“The big man, himself,” the admiral said, with the widest grin Vicky could imagine.

The admiral punched the commlink on his desk. “Admiral von Mittleburg,” he said.

The screen beside him on the bulkhead came to life. There was Mannie, just as Vicky remembered him, though a bit older and a whole lot less eager.

“I understand that Vicky Peterwald dropped in on you today,” he said, without preamble.

“I don’t know where you heard that,” the admiral said.

“Hi, Vicky,” Mannie said, turning to face her.

“Hi, Mannie, how’s it going?”

“A lot better than I have any right to expect, though a lot less than I’d hoped for.”

“I’m glad you managed to dodge my dear stepmom’s effort to take you over.”

“Yes, I imagine you are. Now, let me make myself as clear as I can. You are not welcome here. Don’t even try to come down here. I would prefer for you to leave the station as quickly as you can, but I have no control over what happens up there. I do, however, control what happens down here. If you try to come down, you will find all landing beacons off. Approach at all five of our major cities will not recognize you or give you any clearance. Do I make myself clear, Vicky?”

“Perfectly, Mannie. How about tea at three o’clock today?”

“Don’t test me, woman.”

“Mannie, I gave you the charter you asked for. Can’t we at least get together and talk about old times?”

“There are no old times between us, Vicky.”

“Then how about new times? My father’s Empire is a mess. You’re doing great here. I’d really appreciate a chance to talk to you about what you’re doing different.”

“You know exactly what we’re doing different. If your father wanted to adopt it everywhere, he could, but he doesn’t, so there’s no reason to talk now, is there?”

“I need to talk with you, Mayor,” Vicky said.

“This mayor does not need to talk to you. This call is over.”

And the screen went blank.

“Well, that was short and sweet,” the admiral said.

“Gerrit,” Vicky asked, smiling at the man she’d come to depend on, “how good are you at piloting a shuttle if it has to land without any ground support?”

“I’ve done it three or four or fifty times,” he admitted.

“Admiral, do you have any little shuttle that you can spare a Grand Duchess? One that can handle an unassisted landing?”

The admiral looked at Vicky for a long moment. Was he measuring her for a casket or deciding if he was willing to risk the entire Navy policy toward dirtside on one young woman?

“Are you planning on raising the flag of rebellion once you get down there?”

“No. Nothing could be further from my mind,” Vicky said.

“So, what is closer to your mind?” the admiral asked the Grand Duchess.

Vicky leaned forward and rested her hands on the admiral’s desk. “The economies of entire planets are crashing because trade has dried up. St. Petersburg’s economy is surviving, but surely it could use some of the products from other planets. I’m going to talk one mayor into seeing the opportunities for growing his planet’s economy by helping other planets walk themselves back from the brink of cannibalism and catastrophe.”

The admiral continued to eye her for a long minute.