Free Rebel by Mike Shepherd Page B

swapping their goods for our goods,” Manniepointed out. “It’s kind of hard to put an excise tax on barter goods that will support the ships convoying the stuff.”
    “I never realized how much easier things were with real money,” was the usual answer to that, even from bankers.
    The lunch hour was almost over when the mayors for the three other major cities on St. Petersburg took over the two chairs and pulled up a third.
    “We really need to know what this St. Petersburg Reserve Fleet is going to look like and what it’s going to be up to.”
    “Can I ask why?” Vicky said.
    “We need to figure out how to pay for it. To do that, we have to know what part of it to charge off to the trade side and what will be devoted to keeping the Empress out of our hair. We’re getting gripes from those who don’t see themselves getting all that much from the trading business. ‘Why should I pay for convoys?’ So, what’s the story?”
    “You know, of course, that any answer I give you today may change tomorrow if more refugee ships show up. It could get a whole lot worse if we have a shoot-out. You know how the Kamchatka ’s repairs have gone.”
    That got winces from the three. Make that four. Mannie didn’t look any too happy to be footing the bill for another major ship repair job.
    “She warned us that we were dealing with a moving target,” Kiev’s mayor pointed out.
    “Have you ever tried to get a project through the finance committee with a price tag marked ‘to be determined later’?” the mayor of St. Pete grumbled.
    “I don’t think a revolution is something you do to a plan or a budget,” Mannie pointed out.
    “That might explain why so few of them succeed,” the mayor of Moskva grouched.
    “No doubt we must try to win all our victories with a few words that induce heart attacks in our attackers,” Mannie muttered softly, so everyone could hear.
    That drew a few dry chuckles.
    “If we could only be so lucky,” Vicky admitted.
    “So how many ships do we have, Your Grace? How many of them will be in trade and how many standing guard in our sky?” the mayor of St. Pete demanded. “And yes, I know thatthere is such a thing as security, but I also know that I cannot ask people to write checks without telling them something. This is not the palace where Harry demands and everyone says, ‘But of course, Your Imperial Ass.’”
    “No offense intended, Your Grace,” Kiev’s mayor put in.
    “None taken,” Vicky allowed. “Maybe I should have asked Kris Longknife how this democracy thing worked. It seems that I am going to experience it or something like it, no?”
    “Or something like it,” Mannie allowed.
    Vicky tapped her commlink. “Admiral, I am talking to several mayors who are trying to draw up a budget for the St. Petersburg Division of the Greenfeld Imperial Navy Reserve Fleet.”
    “The what?”
    “Please don’t ask me to repeat it,” Vicky said. “That is what we’re calling the refugees presently under your command. The people down here need to have something with their name on it if they are to foot the bill for it.”
    “Oh. I guess that sounds logical,” the admiral admitted.
    “To work up their tax accounts, they need to have a rough guestimate of which ships will be escorting trade convoys and which will be allocated to the direct defense of their system against things like the Empress just sent our way.”
    “Your Grace, I’m not even sure what ships I have now. Do you know what shape the old Kasimov and Yamal are in? When will I get the Attacker and Kamchatka back available to answer bells? You might as well ask me how many angels can dance on the head of a pin.”
    “If you can’t tell us something,” Mannie said, “your budget may very well be the number of angels that can dance on that pinhead.”
    “Your Grace, this is starting to feel dangerously like Longknife democracy.”
    “Admiral, I could not agree with you more. Shall we just call off