“They’re not going to come,” Peter said. “Right now, it’s more likely that ships that get rotated out of the sector will not be replaced.”
Kat gritted her teeth. The wear and tear on her ships, made worse by her throwing them all over the sector in a bid to catch the Theocrats, would eventually force her to send them back to the shipyards. And her crews would need shore leave too, preferably somewhere where the locals wouldn’t be shooting at them. And . . . she reached for her terminal and tapped a note for her assistant. Her staff would have to look at what they could expect if large numbers of crewmen reached the end of their enlistments. She couldn’t keep them if they wanted to leave.
And I might not be allowed to keep them in the first place, she thought numbly. Too many crewmen were involuntarily dismissed anyway, after the war.
“I need those ships,” she said. “More importantly, Peter, I need the logistics base that supports them.”
“There’s someone already complaining about you transferring missiles to Asher Dales,” Peter told her. “They’re going through the reports to find something they can use to attack you, and, through you, the king.”
Kat swallowed a curse. “I had every right to transfer those missiles,” she said sharply. “And I can point to precedents if you wish.”
Peter snorted. “Kat, this is politics,” he said. “What makes you think that right matters when it can be used as yet another weapon against the king?” He shook his head. “Kat, over the last week . . . things have just exploded right out of hand. I don’t think it was this bad during the Putney Debates. People are dragging up all sorts of accusations and counteraccusations and rumors and . . .”
“Now you know why I refused to pay any attention to politics,” Kat said. “Look what it did to Ashley. Or Dolly.”
“They’re both fighting for the family,” Peter said. “And . . .”
Kat held up a hand. “Peter, listen to me. The situation is dire. There is a rogue enemy fleet rampaging through this sector, attacking worlds and colonies . . . they’re even taking out cloudscoops to put further pressure on the economy. So far, they haven’t deliberately targeted any major population centers or attempted to render entire planets uninhabitable, but it’s only a matter of time. Millions of people are already dead.
“There’s no way I can guarantee catching the enemy fleet in the act. I’ve got some ideas that might lead to an ambush, but I can’t be sure. I need more warships, enough to let me cover the remaining population centers, and I need more transports to evacuate people from targeted worlds before they die. God, Pete! What I wouldn’t give for a mere tenth of the family’s freighters!”
She met his eyes. “You can’t imagine the devastation. The people here need help and protection, and we are failing on both counts. We need everything from medical supplies to prefabricated buildings, teaching modules to basic construction tools. There are shortages everywhere, to the point where we cannot fix one shortage because of another shortage. Do you realize we’re even short of carpentry tools? I have a bunch of machine shops turning out saws, hammers, and nails because the locals need to cut down trees to turn them into homes or simply burn the wood for heat. We’re short on power plants too.
“And . . .” She shook her head. “And nothing we can do, with what we have on hand, is going to be enough.”
She met her brother’s eyes. “Forget political games, Peter. Please. There are people here who are suffering now, people who will suffer worse if the Theocrats resume control. Do you have any idea how many people will be slaughtered, just because they accepted help from us? Even now, the bastards are killing children because their mothers dared take them to our clinics! This isn’t about the king and Parliament. This is about the lives at risk throughout the entire sector!”
Peter recoiled, as if she’d somehow reached through the display and slapped him.
“Kat . . . we can’t pay for it. Even the fleet deployment alone is expensive. And who is going to pick up the tab?”
Kat glared. There wasn’t a single world in the occupied sector that could pay to house even a small naval squadron. Asher Dales had done amazingly well, aided by some careful investments during the prewar years, but they had practically risked everything to purchase the four destroyers. They could make no more contributions. Even the handful of other worlds that had managed to preserve some space-based industry couldn’t afford to build a full-sized naval base. The cost would simply be too high.
And we’re not just talking destroyers here, she thought. The Commonwealth could operate a fleet of destroyers on shoestring logistics, using freighters to store supplies and perhaps a single repair ship to do any work that happened to be needed, but not superdreadnoughts. She cursed the enemy under her breath, once again. It would be a great deal easier to convince Parliament to pick up the tab if all we needed were destroyers and light cruisers.
“Either we pay for it,” she said finally, “or millions of people—millions more people—will die.”
“And what happens,” Peter asked, “if the stress of funding the naval deployment brings our economies crashing down?”
He held up a hand before she could say a word. “I understand your concerns, Kat,” he said, firmly. “But I also have concerns of my own.”
“Dad would have understood that some expenses have to be met,” Kat said. “And you’re penny-pinching while people die.”
Peter’s eyes flashed. “You have a duty to the family,” he snapped. “And that duty includes not steering everything we have built
