Vicky Peterwald: Survivor (Vicky Peterwald Series Book 2) Page 3

  “You dodged a bullet when their Security Consultants showed up last time,” Vicky pointed out, almost delicately. “You sure they won’t show up again? This time they’ll be bigger and badder, having fattened on easier prey.”

  Vicky paused for only a second. “They don’t like the Navy. They’re trying to take it down, or better yet, take it and its ships over. You sure that if you stay small, you won’t become next year’s prey? That if you do nothing, this tragedy will ever end well?”

  “That’s strange talk coming from a Peterwald Grand Duchess,” the older woman snapped.

  “And one who has a rather high price on her head,” the man with the frilly shirt added.

  “True on both counts,” Vicky conceded.

  “Are you planning on going rebel on your old man?” Mannie asked. “What are you looking for? Us to be your power base?”

  “No, no, and no,” Vicky said quickly.

  “Then may I ask,” Mannie said, coming to his feet, “just what the hell are you doing here?”

  Vicky had been asking herself that question for way too long. She opened her mouth to give them the only answer she had.

  CHAPTER 6

  “HAVE any of you read the file we have on Princess Kris Longknife?” Vicky asked.

  Her answer was a collection of shaking heads.

  “It’s interesting reading. My dad’s in a lot of it.”

  “Why’d she have to save his neck?” someone asked.

  Vicky ignored that question and went on.

  “I don’t know how many of you were aware or remember those six rogue battleships that showed up in the Wardhaven system and threatened to blast them back to the Stone Age.”

  Some of the heads on the screens nodded. Others shook from side to side.

  “No one ever found out where the ships came from,” Mannie said.

  “I found out,” Vicky said, and suddenly had their full attention.

  “They were our ships. My father sent them. Navy reunions have had a lot of unexplained empty chairs at their tables of late, haven’t they, Gerrit?”

  The commander nodded solemnly.

  “How do you know?” the older woman demanded.

  “I overheard my father arguing with an admiral shortly after the affair. I didn’t know what I was hearing until I shared it with Kris Longknife. Her and a few of her friends. One of them lost her husband of three days blowing up those battleships.”

  “Oh my God,” someone said softly.

  “But what is important for us here and now is that back then and there no one had any idea what to do about the incoming battleships. Wardhaven had been maneuvered into sending its fleet off on some wild-goose chase, and there was a caretaker government. No doubt my father’s fingerprints can be found on a lot of that.”

  “Son of a bitch,” came from one screen.

  Vicky wasn’t sure if it was a reaction to the revelation or a reference to her father. Once again, she tossed it off to bore in on her point.

  “What matters to us here and now is that Princess Kris Longknife returned to her squadron. She’d been relieved of the command of one of the fast-attack boats. Tiny things, ships with no real chance against battleships. She declared herself the commander of the squadron. No one knew what to make of her actions. But while their government diddled, she and many others used her princess card as a pretense to rally a defense not one of them could have produced without her.”

  Vicky stepped forward to face the eight screens. “I’m nothing. But I’m also a Grand Duchess. I can keep being nothing, or I can be the tiny grain of sand that causes an oyster to produce a pearl.”

  “I understand the oyster considers that grain of sand an irritant,” Mannie said.

  “I don’t doubt that,” Vicky said.

  “Let me get this straight,” said the elder woman who wanted to wait until things blew over. “Are you rebelling against your father?”

  “That is not my intention at this time. I pray it will never be my intention,” Vicky said with all the sincerity she could manage. She really meant the words. However, getting enough sincerity around anything a Peterwald said was always a problem.

  The man with the frilly shirt was up from his desk and leaning into the camera so that his face filled the screen. “Are you trying to tell me that a Peterwald is doing something good for altruistic reasons?”

  “Yes,” Vicky said back as blandly as she could.

  “There’s got to be a first time for anything, folks,” Mannie said. “Remember, people, I was there when she signed the first city charter. Her neck may not have been on the line, but a good bit of her skin was in the game.”

  He came to stand beside Vicky and stared hard into her eyes. “I don’t know where she’ll be coming from next month, and surely not next year, but right now, I really do think we have a Peterwald in our lap who cares about starving people and parents who look at their children and the stew pot. And vice versa.”

  Mannie leaned back against his desk. “Where’s the Navy in all this?”

  “They loaned me a shuttle to come down here to talk to you,” Vicky said without flinching.

  “A shuttle that damn near fell out of the sky,” one mayor said.

  “I didn’t have any trouble flying it,” Gerrit lied through a smile.

  Vicky really owed him tonight.

  “We’ve got a lot of out-of-work ships drifting around behind the station,” Mannie pointed out. “We’re harvesting a bumper crop. We can afford to risk some of it to help these other planets, and we do need that crystal.”

  The consensus was building, slowly, with every nod.

  Vicky kept her mouth shut and let the mayors of St. Petersburg talk themselves into what they knew was a good thing. But a good thing that only she could offer them a chance to grab for. She felt a strange feeling, sitting in silence while all those around her struggled to meet some high bar they thought she’d set.

  Dad always bragged about what he’d done, what butt he’d kicked in this or that meeting. Vicky found herself kicking no butt and not really doing much of anything. Still, around her, because of her, things were being done that neither they nor she thought possible.

  This was a change from everything she’d ever known, ever even thought feasible.

  But there was more going on. Somewhere deep inside her, something was happening. That dirty, naked savage, willing to do anything for a morsel of food was changing, metamorphosing into something entirely different. Vicky was none too sure just what the changed her would be like, but she kind of liked it.

  For maybe the first time in my life, I feel good about something I’m involved in, and I really like it.

  CHAPTER 7

  AN hour later, Mannie ticked off their action plan on his fingers.

  “We will send a trade delegation to Presov to see about swapping food for crystal. We’ll include industrial agents not only to check out the quality of the crystal but also to see what goods and services, parts and supplies they need. Maybe we’ll carry some of what they likely need with us as well,” he said, half to himself.

  “Considering the quality of civil discourse no doubt now existent on Presov, we’ll need a cruiser to protect our merchant hulls and a Marine detachment to protect our negotiators. Possibly our food and supplies as well,” Mannie said, glancing at Vicky.

  She replied with a confident smile she didn’t feel.

  On the screens, eight people nodded. Mannie then added, “It would be nice to have a certain Grand Duchess present to provide irritation and some cover for this.”

  Grand Duchess Vicky Peterwald nodded. There were a few scowls from the screen, but they weren’t too bad. Not at all as bad as she might have feared.

  “Your Grace,” Mannie said. “In your official Navy capacity, I expect you to arrange with the appropriate admiral for the
necessary escort, both cruiser and Marines.”

  “That I will do,” Vicky said, having no idea how she would.

  “Then I think we are done here,” Mannie said. “Your Grace, no doubt several people would like to have dinner with you tonight. Shall I have my chauffeur pick you up at eight?”

  “That will be fine.” Where she would be at eight was anybody’s guess. That she had nothing to wear but a green shipsuit, now in need of a washing, went without saying.

  The screens snapped off as the mayors no doubt returned to their busy day, which had gotten much more busy.

  “I’ll arrange for your stay,” Mannie said. “The Imperial Suite at the Hilton has had few uses of late.”

  “You know, of course, that my credit chit has been canceled,” Vicky said.

  “So I was advised by our spaceport. We of St. Petersburg recognize a certain debt toward the Navy of unspecified monetary value. Your necessary expenses will be charged against that.”

  “No doubt you’ve heard this from a woman before, but I really do have nothing to wear,” Vicky said, enjoying, for a moment, sounding just like any other girl.

  “I also received a report from the spaceport that there was no luggage aboard your shuttle. Once you’re settled into your suite, I’ll have my grandmadre take you on a shopping expedition. Commander, we have tailors who can meet your needs.”

  “I will need to stay at Her Grace’s side. My orders are that no one gets to her except over my dead body. From a personal interest, may I ask how secure she is on St. Petersburg?”

  Mannie winced. “I’d like to say as safe as that pearl in a clam, but as we all know, that pearl is not safe at all. I suspect at least one of my fellow mayors will be sending a report to your stepmother. My net may even be compromised. Likely, a copy of our meeting will be on its way to Greenfeld within the hour. One of the few advantages of these troubled times is that news travels much more slowly, what with the lack of shipping using the jump points.”

  “I suspect my dear loving stepmama will pay extra for premium communications service,” Vicky pointed out.

  “And with the standing price on her head,” the commander pointed out, “any local freelancer is likely to already be moving into position for a shot.”

  “Which is why you will find my best agents waiting outside,” Mannie said. “The Imperial Suite was not a casual choice for your stay, Your Grace. Your father, our Emperor, requested and required that all Imperial suites throughout Greenfeld have bulletproof glass. Your suite will not only tuck you way up and out of sight, but also behind glass strong enough to stop a rocket grenade.”

  Mannie paused, then smiled at Vicky. “We play no more games, Your Grace. You are a pearl of great worth, and you’ll be treated as such.”

  “Thank you, Mannie,” Vicky said. It was one of the few “thank-you’s” she’d ever said that she truly meant.

  Mannie actually cracked a smile. Then his worried face was back. He turned to his desk. “I have work to do. A lot more than I expected this morning when I came in with a full to-do list. So, if you will please go make yourself imperially beautiful, I’ll get back to work.”

  “Will I see you at eight?” Vicky asked.

  “No doubt,” Mannie said without glancing back.

  CHAPTER 8

  VICKY hardly had a moment to step into the hall and take a deep breath and exhale before she was surrounded by a team of eight agents. Vicky did her best to look beautiful while Commander Schlieffen and the Special Agent in Charge did their bulls-suddenly-locked-in-the-same-pasture male thing.

  It didn’t last overly long.

  At the elevator, they were joined by two female agents. The ride down was uninterrupted and longer in length.

  They stepped out into a lower parking level. Five large black, passenger vehicles waited with motors running. Vicky was escorted to the fourth one in line as the agents with her joined those waiting in the cars.

  She was asked to fasten her seat belt. She did.

  Then the ride got exciting.

  In the screeching race up three floors of parking, her ride changed from fourth to second to third in line. This game of musical cars continued when they hit the street. She wondered about the wisdom of her being in the lead car or the trailing car, but while driving five minutes to the Hilton, her car changed its place in line at just about every block.

  “Are they taking this too seriously, or am I at this much risk?” Vicky asked the commander.

  He smiled. “I don’t see a problem.”

  The hotel was much like the City Hall. She was taken to the lowest parking level, then whisked up an elevator to the top floor.

  “I have the shower while you talk security,” she declared, and was lathering up nicely in a spectacularly luxurious shower a minute later. The needlelike hot water washed off the tension of the morning, leaving her pink both in skin and mind . . . and delighting at the thought of sharing it with the commander when the time came.

  Said commander came into the bathroom as she was getting out of the shower.

  “All measures have been arranged,” was all he got out before she threw herself on him, wet and willing. His shipsuit was already in need of washing, so getting it wet certainly was a minor thing. She wrapped her legs around him as he stumbled back into the bedroom.

  “Things are a bit different from the ship,” he managed to mutter as her tongue explored his mouth.

  Things were. No doubt she weighed more.

  And there were two female agents across the bedroom.

  One turned beet red.

  The other, maybe a bit older, ushered the younger out and closed the door firmly behind them.

  The commander fell backward into a large, fluffy bed. Vicky quickly lost herself in fulfilling all the promises she’d made him. She added some extras as a special reward for his outstanding performance in the hours since they’d docked at High St. Petersburg station.

  It was a very pleasant hour and ended with her showing him just how delightful the shower was.

  CHAPTER 9

  VICKY’S computer announced the arrival of Mannie’s grandmadre. “She has clothes for you. The Senior Agent in Charge also has clothes for the commander.”

  The bathroom offered fluffy robes. The commander helped Vicky into one, then quickly slipped into the other as she went to meet their public.

  Grandmadre had brought Vicky a simple business suit and skirt in soft earth tones. Everything, from bra to skirt, was exactly one size too small.

  “I may have erred a bit when asked your sizing,” the commander admitted.

  His set of dress greens fit him perfectly.

  “I know just the store for you,” Grandmadre assured Vicky.

  That store was their first stop. It was small and quiet but as modern as any on Greenfeld. Vicky’s measurements were quickly taken by lasers.

  The store also had an amazing quantity of merchandise. Apparently, what was in the store could be augmented by a quick run across the street or a duck down the alley.

  The staff ducked and ran a lot.

  The senior of the two female agents insisted Vicky add ballistic protection to her ordered clothes, a recommendation supported by her own Senior Agent in Charge and Commander Schlieffen.

  A beige suit that actually fit was quickly produced . . . with protection.

  Vicky sighed as she put it on. She’d always been well rounded. Now her curves had padding.

  The commander assured her she looked very cuddly.

  A similar power suit, this one in red, was just as quickly made for her, armor and all.

  Vicky balked when they tried to add ballistic protection to a simple black dress.

  “First off, there’s not all that much dress here for you to armor,” Vicky pointed out.

  “We were hoping you’d choose something
more conservative,” the female agent said.

  “I’m not,” Vicky said flatly.

  The look on the agent’s face caused Vicky to offer a compromise. “Computer, do you have a copy of that new dinner dress uniform I wore at the palace not too long ago. The one I proposed that Admiral Heller authorize for all female Navy officers?”

  “I do.”

  “Provide it to them.”

  The computer did. The entire sales staff quickly congregated around a hologram table where her diminutive self modeled the dinner dress uniform. From the sounds of their comments, they liked the design.

  From the moans of the seamstresses, there was no way they could duplicate it anytime soon.

  “We lack the cloth. We haven’t had any cloth of gold in months,” one pointed out.

  “Those colors. We’d have to dye them ourselves,” another groaned.

  “How did they get that skirt to fall that way with ballistic-resistant cloth?” a third asked.

  “They didn’t,” Vicky said. “That dress was not armored.”

  Vicky and the agent were back to a standoff.

  “I will not go to dinner tonight looking like a brick outhouse,” Vicky said. She’d learned that expression during her Navy time and found it useful.

  Vicky got her simple black dress.

  As her purchases were bagged, the commander shook his head. “We have got to order you some of that spidersilk underall armor that they have in the U.S.”

  “Why don’t we have any here?” Vicky asked.

  “Restrictions on sales of it outside the U.S.,” Gerrit said. “We’ll have to smuggle it out.”

  “Please have someone do it,” Vicky said.

  Grandmadre returned Vicky to her suite a good four hours before Mannie was due to pick her up.

  Vicky put it to good use. The commander voiced no complaints.