Kris Longknife: Defender

by Mike Shepherd

  Now she had to add a third.

  Abby made sure Kris’s uniform passed inspection, then grinned, and added, “Good luck, baby duck. Ain’t being a grown-up the pits?”

  Kris found she had to chuckle at that. “If we told kids what waited for them at the end of high school and college, do you think we’d ever get them out of the house?”

  “My house, yes. Your house, never,” Abby said, reminding Kris that a lot of folks had it a whole lot worse than her.

  “Kris,” Nelly said, “all the captains have arrived. Oh, Mr. Benson just walked in. I need to extend the table.”

  “Do it, Nelly. Don’t wait up for me, Abby,” Kris said, and turned to do what Longknifes did best: what had to be done.

  29

  “Atten-hut,” someone called, and the officers got to their feet. Even the retired admiral who supervised the station stood.

  “As you were,” Kris said. At least at this meeting she didn’t have to fight for her seat. The four captains were down the sides of the table, Sampson as far from her on her right as possible. The station-master took the foot.

  Captain Drago, whether because his ship was in the yard or because he was not Navy but contractor, sat against the wall next to the door.

  Kris sat.

  “That didn’t go as well as I would have liked . . . or as bad as it could have.” She gave Sampson a quick glance. She was sullen and not looking at her.

  “You’ll have the rest of today to mend and fix, make your ships ready for four-gee maneuvering, and we’ll do it again day after tomorrow, 0900. I expect we will get away from the pier smartly this time. Captain Drago has his Wasp in the yard, but I’m sure he can spare you some specialists for improving the maneuvering jets on your ships.”

  Three captains looked Captain Drago’s way. He gave a resigned sigh and nodded that he’d help them. Again, Sampson stayed in her funk.

  “I’m afraid that what you’ve just heard is the good news. I have a lot worse news for you and the fleet.”

  Quickly, she filled them in on the food status for the planet below them. Three sets of eyes widened as the full extent of the situation dawned on them. Sampson’s eyes narrowed.

  “So you see, we not only need to get ready to fight, but also attend to our logistics. The Marines have landed this morning to help fishermen kill predators that regularly steal their catch. I’m told that they killed two. Sadly, one led to a feeding frenzy and drove off all the fish at that beach. The other kill went smoother. The predator washed ashore and they’ve cut it up. We may be finding some interesting meat in Kiet’s Thai stir-fries. The fishermen on that beach said it was the best catch in memory.”

  Kris shrugged. “You win some, and you lose some. Another team of Marines, two platoons of Imperial Marines with Colonel Montoya, are trying to tie in to a group of Alwans who have managed to survive in the deep woods. I understand from their latest report that they’ve killed two huge predators, something between a kangaroo and a saber-toothed tiger, and are planning on barbecuing it for themselves. The aroma might draw in some of the Alwans. So far, they’re hiding. However, they are surviving on small game, roots, nuts, and berries. Once we get the local predators under control, we may be adding some of that to our larder.”

  Kris leaned forward. “Mr. Benson is working with his crew to create a lot of necessary gear from Smart Metal. Fishing boats, both harpoon rigged to take on the big ‘eats everythings,’ and trawlers to bring in fish for dinner and to fertilize the colonial fields. We need airplanes to help the scientists quickly finish their planetary resource survey and ships to move things like bird guano, rich in nitrates for ammunition, from where it is to the colonies.”

  “He needs Smart Metal?” Kitano said.

  “Yes, and the frigates are the only source of it we have. The plan is to pull fifteen to twenty thousand tons from each ship as you give up your Hellburners. That will let us get started as quickly as we can on logistic issues. I’ve got a meeting scheduled with the industrial and mining interests just as soon as I talk to your subordinates in the wardroom. As the mines and plants produce steel and other essentials that can take the place of the Smart Metal, it comes back to your ships.”

  Kris drew a deep breath. “If our early-warning system reports imminent attack, the Smart Metal comes back to your ships immediately.”

  “If you have enough warning,” Sampson tossed in, half hand grenade, half sarcasm.

  “We will have enough warning. We have buoys to cover six or more jumps out from here. We will know what the bastards are doing in our space.”

  “This is all stupid,” Sampson snapped. “We’re risking our ships to feed ourselves because the people we came here to save can’t feed us, much less defend themselves. We shouldn’t be sending Smart Metal down where we may never get it back. We should be packing up and getting out of here.”

  Kris leaned back in her chair and took the measure of her three other captains. Sampson had not impressed them before. She was not impressing them now.

  “Thank you for your opinion, Lieutenant Commander Sampson.” Kris knew that was a double slap. She had not recognized her as the captain of a ship. She had not even given her the honor normally afforded a lieutenant commander of being addressed as commander.

  Sampson’s face reddened, but she said nothing.

  “I knew the situation was bad when I took this command. That it’s worse than even the king realized when he appointed me does not persuade me that it is hopeless. Other ships are coming out to reinforce us. They will need to eat. Logistics, as I have often been told, is what separates the professional warrior from the dilettante and amateur. The time may come when running is our only choice. From where I sit right now, that time is not now. We will stay and we will prepare to fight.”

  Now Kris did fix her eyes on Sampson. “Last night, I ordered you to transfer a chief to Mr. Benson. He was, until recently, the skipper of a fishing boat. We need him to command a fishing boat again, harpooning the big ones. You asked for an explanation for me ordering his transfer last night. You have it now.”

  “Will I get a replacement for him?” Sampson shot back.

  “No,” Kris said bluntly. “Other Sailors will be drafted off the frigates to help with the food issue. There are no replacements. I know this will be a leadership challenge. I expect all of you to meet it.

  “Any questions?” Kris said, with finality.

  There were none.

  “Then all of you except Lieutenant Commander Sampson are dismissed to join your staffs in the wardroom. I’ll be with you as soon as possible. Feel free to discuss our food problem with them. If anyone has any ideas, I’m hungry for them.”

  That drew a chuckle as the officers filed out of the room.

  Former Admiral Benson eyed Sampson, then glanced at Kris. His eyes held a “good luck” in them, but he said nothing.

  SHOULD I SHORTEN THE TABLE, KRIS?

  NO, NELLY. I LIKE HER JUST WHERE SHE IS.

  The scion of wealth and power faced the scion of a family whose Navy blood went back to when ships sailed the seas, not space. They locked eyes. Kris began yet another battle for her command.

  30

  As soon as the door closed, Sampson filled the silence. “Yes, my ship has problems. All new ships do, and this is a new class and a new design that not even headquarters can figure out what to do with. Besides, my crew is sloven and needed additional training before we sailed. What happened today was not my fault.”

  “Wrong answer,” Kris said. “General Trouble taught me from the start that when the question is raised about a command’s failures, the only answer for the CO is ‘Mine, sir.’”

  Sampson’s eyes fell to the table. “We can’t all be legends.”

  Kris pulled the flimsies that Nelly had printed out and tossed them across the table to Sampson.

  “Are
these the availability reports from the USS Constellation for the last week?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe,” came in full evasion.

  “Is that your signature at the bottom of each of them?”

  “It might be. I’ve got a cute ship’s lieutenant who can sign my name better than I can.”

  Kris liked this woman less and less.

  “In the exercise today, your ship was able to operate just forty percent of your main battery, and your reloads were few to nonexistent.”

  “I told you. My crew needs more training. They’re the dregs of the brigs. You think the best would come out here, face a helpless fight with one of them damn Longknifes who never knows when to call it off but can run away herself just fine?”

  Kris knew the tactic. Sampson couldn’t face her on the facts, so she was changing the subject. Throwing all kinds of dirt and mud Kris’s way.

  Kris stayed on subject and bored in. “Your reactors spent most of the exercise redlined. One went off-line entirely. You were at risk of a major engineering casualty, one that threatened your entire ship, yet you did not inform me of your problems or ask to drop out of formation.”

  “There’s no way you can know that,” Sampson snapped, then switched gears in mid defense. “And whoever told you that is lying through their teeth. I have the reports that show my engineering was performing at 4.0.”

  “Lieutenant Commander, I was personally monitoring the Connie’s engineering performance. It was because of my own assessment of the risks you were taking to cover up your failed performance that I gave the Connie specific and separate acceleration orders from the rest of the squadron.”

  Kris had had enough of this.

  “Lieutenant Commander, your squadron commander has lost confidence in you and your ability to perform your duties as captain of the USS Constellation. You are relieved of your command and will be reassigned to the shipyard. Clearly, Mr. Benson has more than enough work to keep all his personnel busy.”

  Sampson shot to her feet. She glowered down at Kris. “You can’t relieve me of my command. The Navy gave me that ship, and only the Navy can take it away from me.”

  “The Navy also gave me command of this squadron,” Kris snapped. “You stand relieved.”

  “You’re no squadron commander. Just because your grandfather lets you hold down a desk doesn’t make you anything.”

  “That great-grandfather is your king,” Kris pointed out through clenched teeth.

  “Who as soon as he got wind of the rumor that his old lady was alive yelled for us to drop everything and parade across the galaxy so he could sniff at her skirts.”

  Kris was appalled. “That woman you’re talking about is the former commander of BatCruRon 16 and the retired leader of this colony. Since when does the Navy leave anyone behind? You know they’re alive, you get them. Even if you have to cross a galaxy,” Kris said, thinking of her own debt to Phil Taussig and the Hornet.

  The woman towering over Kris paused for a moment. Was she finally hearing her own words? If she did, it didn’t seem to matter. She shook her head.

  “You’re not relieving me of command for any of that. You’re relieving me because a lot of my crew came whining to you that I won’t let them sleep around like the rest of the skippers do. I know. Officers, enlisted, they’re all merging their single rooms and fornicating. I won’t let that happen on my ship. I keep my crew in proper bunkrooms so we can keep our armor up. The rest of them may think they’ll have time to armor up when the enemy shows up. I keep my ship combat ready at Condition Baker all the time. No love boat mine.”

  Kris refused to be led down that rabbit hole. Doggedly she went back to the facts. “I am relieving you strictly for your lack of performance today, Lieutenant Commander.”

  For a moment Sampson continued to scowl down at Kris. Then she spat. “You arrogant, self-serving bastard. You don’t know what a Navy tradition is. How dare you lecture me on respect for them, you upstart! You’re the one who’s going to turn my Navy’s ships into whorehouses and your officers into whores and pimps.”

  Here was a blatant challenge to Kris. To Kris, her entire command, and, very likely, the king whose orders she obeyed.

  With slow, cold deliberation, Kris rose to her feet. For the first time in her life, she found her full six feet coming to good use. Now she stared down at Sampson.

  Sampson looked up at Kris and seemed to shrink even before Kris said, “You will brace yourself, miss, and you will keep your mouth shut except to answer ‘yes, ma’am’ or ‘no, ma’am.’ Do you understand?”

  Rage flamed in Sampson’s eyes. She wanted to do anything but follow Kris’s orders. Still, Sampson had worn the uniform so long that she could not but come slowly to attention.

  “If you say anything again like what you just did, I will forget my intentions of relieving you for loss of confidence. I will have you up on charges for actions unbecoming an officer and actions prejudicial to the service, if not worse. We will let a court-martial get to the bottom of exactly how reports with your signatures claiming full battle readiness left your ship, it being in a battle zone and on standby for battle at any time. I will see you cashiered from this Navy.”

  That was too much for Sampson. “You may think you can prance around in this little fiefdom of yours, Longknife, doing anything a spoiled rich brat may want. But no real Navy court of officers will find me guilty of anything but doing the best anyone could at an impossible job. I told everyone we needed three more months to get the Connie ready for space, but that king of yours gets word his old lady is here, and we’re ordered to space in a week. I’ll get my command back the second we get back in human space,” she said, glaring at Kris.

  “That was not a ‘yes, ma’am’ or a ‘no, ma’am.’ But I’ll answer it. There are no ships headed back for human space. All of us had better start planning on being here for the next five, ten years. Assuming we don’t lose the next battle with these bastards and just die.

  “Maybe you weren’t listening or failed to get the message. We are all here for the duration. And here, if you don’t work, you don’t eat. As of right this second, you are out of a job. You can apply your competency with ships and their gear—your fitness reports say you have some—or you can resign your commission and drop down to the planet and look for a job. Have you cut and gutted fish? Spread manure over fields? Those jobs have openings.”

  Kris let that sink in. It looked like Sampson might have actually heard some of it. “Now, get out of my sight.”

  The Navy officer did a perfect about-face, but halfway to the door, she stumbled and had to make a grab for a chair. With each step she took toward the door, she seemed to deflate like a balloon.

  Once the door closed behind her, Kris settled down into her chair. Her heart was pounding, and her mouth was dry. She felt like she’d spent an hour with puggle sticks in OCS.

  Abby knocked on the door from Kris’s night cabin, entered before Kris replied, and offered her a glass of water.

  “I’d make it stronger, but we aren’t on the Wasp.”

  “Water’s just fine,” Kris said. She drank it down and handed the glass back to her maid. She found herself rubbing at the tension in her scalp.

  “Why was that meeting just about the hardest I’ve ever had?”

  “’Cause you can’t kill the SOB,” Abby said. “Seeing them that deserves it dead at your feet kind of feels good. This civilization thing is overrated.”

  “And you are way too bloodthirsty for a maid.”

  “And you’re alive because of it two or three times.”

  “All too true. You hear anything about someplace we might wrestle up some chow?”

  “Sorry, baby ducks, but all my back channels are with the colonials, and they’re at the end of their rope. I hear whispers that Ada was kind of worried that next year they might have to start doing that
egg-examination thing.”

  “Ouch,” said Kris. “I guess we got here just in time.”

  “Sounds like it.”

  Kris stood. “Two meetings down, two more to go. Check with Amanda and Penny. Tell them I’d like to have them at the meeting with the business folks. Penny can bring Masao if she wants.”

  “You’re meeting with them is in forty-five minutes.”

  “So I better get this next one over fast,” Kris said, and headed for the wardroom.

  31

  “Atten-hut,” greeted Kris once more, and she did her best to say, “As you were,” before too many people were out of their chairs. The wardroom had three long tables, pretty empty this time of day. Most present had congregated at the far end, near the coffee urn.

  Kris went to stand beside the urn. Either she or the coffee should hold their attention.

  “The first exercise always looks worst. We’ve had ours. Now we’ll do better. You have the rest of today and tomorrow to mend and make ready for a repeat of this exercise Thursday.”

  She paused before adding, “We will do better,” in a voice that left no room for doubt.

  She searched around the room. Most were seated in groups of six around their captain. There was a group of five. “Lieutenant Sims, I believe you are the XO of the Constellation.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the young JO said, jumping to his feet.

  “You are, effective immediately, acting captain.”

  Getting a ship is supposed to be an officer’s dream. Lieutenant Sims’s face showed no joy. He looked more like Kris had invited him to his own hanging.

  She’d have to do something about that, and quick.

  “Mr. Benson,” Kris said.

  “Yes, Your Highness,” the old admiral replied.

  “The Constellation will not be involved in any more squadron exercises for now. It is to go into the yard as soon as you finish up-gunning the Wasp and Intrepid. I expect that to be in ten days or so. Mr. Sims, you and the crew of the Constellation have ten days to mend and make ready so the yard has little to do when they get you but remove the Hellburners and remove more of your Smart Metal.”