Kris Longknife: Redoubtable

by Mike Shepherd

  “I am not the only one who is finding the Navy conducive to my good health.”

  Without announcement, Lieutenant Victoria Peterwald presented herself on the quarterdeck.

  “You’re coming along quickly,” Kris said.

  “I made lieutenant a month faster than you did,” the scion of the Peterwald empire said, preening. “Of course, I kept my nose clean and avoided embarrassments like a mutiny and missing ships movement.”

  Kris shrugged. No doubt using your father’s Navy to suppress revolutionary tendencies was more career enhancing than helping Earth and six hundred planets break up without throwing a war into the mix.

  If she had it to do over again, Kris wouldn’t change a thing.

  The captain of the Fury dismissed himself, and Admiral Krätz led the way to his quarters.

  Vicky’s eyes lit on Kris’s cane. “I see that last assassination attempt really got you good.”

  “I notice that you’re still favoring your right leg from your last bomb incident,” Kris shot right back. “You really ought to have your sensor expert meet with my Chief Beni. I’m sure some of your gear could be made almost as good as ours.”

  That Greenfeld was behind Wardhaven in some electronic technology was a sore point and put an end to conversation for a while.

  Admiral Krätz’s quarters were quite palatial. Kris couldn’t help but notice that the door across from the admiral’s had LIEUTENANT VICTORIA PETERWALD stenciled on it.

  Both doors had two Marine guards on full alert.

  While the stewards served coffee, Kris asked the familiar questions. “How are your daughters doing? Last I heard, one of them wanted battleship duty because of a certain boy. Do you have the young couple on the Fury?”

  “No,” the admiral said darkly, then took a sip of his coffee while eyeing Vicky over the cup.

  “Not all our fleet is tied up to piers enforcing public order,” Vicky said, by way of explanation. “No matter what your Admiral Crossenshield may tell you, we do have a battle fleet on full standby if anyone should make the mistake of probing what is ours at this difficult time. I can’t say how strong the battle fleet is, but you may tell your intelligence admiral personally from me that it is larger than he thinks.”

  “I will pass that warning along in my next communication with Wardhaven,” Kris said evenly, and set her coffee down before going on. “I have personally sat in on conversations with my great-grandfather the king and Admiral Crossenshield, and I can tell you that neither one of them has any but the gentlest of interests in the 103 planets in the Greenfeld Alliance.”

  “A hundred and three, huh?” Vicky said, setting down her own coffee cup to better concentrate on Kris. “By that very number, you ignore our intense interest in planets just beyond the Rim of our space. Let’s say Kaskatos, for example.”

  “I’m glad you brought that up,” Kris said. Both of the young women failed to fully suppress a smile at that lie. “My intention on going there was to check on conditions and deliver famine relief. As your intel reports have no doubt informed you, my ship was jumped by an in-system pirate ketch. When I landed to hand out food, I was attacked and left with no other option than to clean out the den of pirates and cutthroats I’d stumbled upon.” Kris didn’t flinch or blink as she laid it all on the line for Vicky.

  “Are you aware Jackie Jackson was a major in Greenfeld State Security?” Vicky snapped. “How did you know that she wasn’t there under my father’s orders?”

  So, Vicky wasn’t going to make it easy for Kris. The Wardhaven princess really hadn’t expected that she would.

  “I made inquires about the conditions on Kaskatos before I entered the system. The answers I got back from my inquiries to Greenfeld data banks were as close to nothing as made no never mind. I’m sorry, Vicky, but I went in blind and found that everything that I intended to do or planned for only led me deeper and deeper into a mess.

  “In the end, I did what I felt I had to do for people who couldn’t do anything for themselves. Jackie Jackson was a sick puppy creating her own hell. I ended that and am now only doing what I have to do to pick up the pieces.” Kris paused to see if Vicky had anything to say.

  When she didn’t, Kris went on, choosing her words carefully. “Also, Vicky, the general commanding Greenfeld State Security didn’t live very long after I saved your father’s life. All the reports I have is that State Security isn’t in very good odor these days.”

  “It isn’t,” Admiral Krätz said.

  “It’s just that you’re doing that Longknife thing of shooting first and asking questions later,” Vicky said.

  “And we don’t?” the admiral put in.

  “We don’t have a lot of choices,” Vicky snapped at her superior.

  The admiral raised an eyebrow. “I think the commander has just explained that she was in the same situation. How do we prevent just this series of events from happening again is, I believe, the reason you suggested I give this dinner.”

  Vicky took a deep breath. “You are, as usual, Admiral, both correct and wise. In the heat of the moment, I forgot what you had so ably explained to me.”

  “I believe dinner is ready,” the admiral said, standing. “I understand that we have quite a feast for you, Your Highness.”

  The admiral had his own wardroom with china, silver, and linen on a solid oak table. The head and foot of the table were left empty. Kris sat directly across from Vicky. Jack faced the admiral. It seemed to encourage Kris and Vicky to talk freely.

  Or not.

  The walls of the wardroom were decorated with Marines standing guard, Wardhaven Marines with gleaming fixed bayonets alternated with Greenfeld’s own. Chief Beni with his little potbelly and black boxes looked as out of place among the Marines as a camel at a thoroughbred show.

  The fruit and appetizers were both a medley of choices that dominated the conversation as the diners tried different creations. Not until the salad did Vicky casually ask, “So, how did that thing end up with the Iteeche Death Ball. Our detached cruisers were quite excited to make the initial report. Then nothing?”

  Kris should have realized the Iteeche situation had to be one of the reasons for the quick invitation. She chose her words carefully, not wanting to tell a lie she could be caught in . . . but not at all willing to tell the whole truth.

  “I escorted the Iteeche back to their Imperial Space,” Kris said. “They were scouting for vacant territory. I was scouting for the same. We probably will need to have a brief get-together soon with Imperial representatives to extend the No Go Zone.”

  Vicky selected a tiny tomato, speared it, and raised an eyebrow toward Kris. “I think it was two, three months before you sent the Iteeche home. What did your king have to say to him?”

  “There are no reports of my king seeing any Iteeche of late,” Kris said. No official reports.

  “No official reports,” Vicky said, plucking the words out of Kris’s mind. “Kris. We’re big girls. We both know that lots of things never make it into the official records. What were the Iteeche like? Come on, I’m dying to know.”

  Kris pushed a piece of lettuce from one side of her salad plate to the other. It was so tempting to follow Vicky’s lead, to talk girl to girl about something both of them were really into. A temptation, but not one Kris couldn’t resist.

  “When you run into one, you’ll have to tell me what an Iteeche is like,” Kris said.

  Vicky scowled at the admiral. “You told me she’d be tight-lipped on this.”

  He nodded. “Opening talks with our old enemy, even if it is just to draw lines that keep us apart, is not something to be done casually. With all we have on our plate, it’s something best left to others.”

  Kris would have loved to tell Vicky just how wise the admiral was, but even to say that would be to say too much.

  The soup arrived, a fish stew in a tomato base. Kris found herself wondering if red was the color of the meal. Kris was running out of things to talk about. Spac
e travel really didn’t allow one to talk about the weather all that much, and it was getting more and more clear that Kris and Vicky were on opposite sides of a very thorny wall.

  “Kris, why are you getting reports from a news reporter?” Vicky asked after she had finished her soup in silence. “Who is this Winston Spencer?”

  Kris gave Vicky the same answer she’d given Penny. “He’s a reporter who’s done some good news articles about the Navy. Last time I visited Wardhaven, my brother, Honovi, rubbed my nose in just how out of the loop I had gotten when I was bouncing around out beyond the Rim. It seems that a Longknife princess isn’t allowed to let the rest of the worlds go away while she’s risking her neck scouting for new planets.”

  “I haven’t noticed that scouting out beyond the Rim was all that dangerous. You know something I don’t?” Vicky wheedled.

  Kris did know something Vicky didn’t, but she wasn’t going to mix it in with the cold soup.

  “Pirates and slavers and, I hear, even some drug lords are raising hell out beyond the Rim,” Kris answered blandly. “The Rim just isn’t what it used to be.”

  That drew a dry chuckle from the admiral.

  Kris knew she ought to leave it at that. She even managed to close her mouth. It just wouldn’t stay shut.

  “I guess it does look kind of funny from where you sit, protected by this huge battleship and all,” Kris said, the words slipping out faster and faster. “You pop a general here. Over there you line up against the wall the whole crew of a planet’s State Security force and machine-gun the lot of them. I bet you laugh at it all when you’re finished.” Kris now was almost shouting; her lungs were empty. She paused to gasp for a breath.

  “Kris, this is not well said,” Jack whispered. Across from them, both Vicky and the admiral sat stark still, eyes wide in dismay.

  “Right, I shouldn’t say this. I shouldn’t say that they’ve sent millions of people fleeing from the murderers they’ve let loose. I shouldn’t ask them if there’s any spare food on St. Petersburg and if any of the empty ships in orbit here could carry some of those crumbs to feed the refugees on Kaskatos. No, I can’t ask. So we end up shipping food from Wardhaven and Pitts Hope and wherever so that out beyond the Rim a kid whose ribs you can count gets at least one meal a day.”

  Kris had to stop. There was a sob climbing up from her gut that she just couldn’t hold in any longer. She let it loose, then fought to keep back the tears that did their best to follow it.

  “Is it that bad out there?” the admiral asked.

  “It’s bad,” Jack said, buying a few seconds for Kris.

  “It’s bad,” Kris repeated, locking eyes with Vicky, willing her to see what she had seen.

  “I ordered a rocket-grenade salvo on a balcony a week before last. I was pretty sure your Major Jackie Jackson was on that balcony. Very likely several of her closest aides were there with her. What I do know for sure was that she had four hostages cuffed to that balcony rail. Four civilians guilty of nothing other than being too close to Jackie when I got tired of the slaughter and did what I could to cut it off at the root.”

  Kris’s words hung in the air for a moment.

  Across from her, Lieutenant Victoria Peterwald broke eye contact with Kris, glanced away muttering, “It was the best thing you could do.”

  Kris shook her head. “Yes, I did manage to kill as few innocent people as I could. But I’m getting sick and tired of choices that leave me trying to feel good about doing the lesser of two evils. I’ve had it with that.”

  Kris found herself out of words again. She eyed Vicky.

  Vicky said nothing. Did nothing. Answered with not even a shrug.

  “Could you at least tell me how long this is going to go on?” Kris pleaded. “This, what do you call it, ballot by bullet in the back of the neck?”

  “And you’d have us just put this all to a vote, huh?” Vicky snapped, her pale skin now flushed a hot pink that almost matched her red hair.

  “It works for me,” Kris shot back. “Please note, it’s us ballot planets that are shipping the food in to the refugees from your bullet planets.”

  “They didn’t have to run. They’re cowards. We’ve told them to stay,” Vicky said, half-out of her seat.

  “Gosh, in that case, I wonder what makes them run,” Kris said, leaning back in her chair as if to think. “Oh, could it be the bodies in the street every morning? The rivers floating with corpses every night?”

  “Kris, what’s got into you?” Jack snapped.

  Kris opened her mouth to bite out a reply but found she didn’t have one.

  Across from her, Admiral Krätz had a fatherly hand on Vicky’s elbow, pushing her back down into her chair.

  “If the two of you were just college students shooting the bull at Kris’s Student Union one afternoon,” the admiral said, “this might be fun. But you are not students. You two are grown women with the responsibility of two planetary alliances on your shoulders.”

  He focused his attention on Kris. “I can only imagine what it must have been like for you, stuck cleaning up the mess one of our rogue security officers made of that planet. We thank you in the name of Greenfeld for what you did, and we appreciate your coming here to involve us in the situation. Don’t we, Lieutenant?”

  Vicky took a deep breath and let it out. Her color, if not back to normal, was at least no longer signaling a threatening heart attack.

  “I appreciate what you’ve done,” she said formally. “I’m sorry for what it’s cost you personally, Kris. Really I am,” she ended, actually sounding like she did.

  “And I’m sorry I lost it just now,” Kris said. “I didn’t intend to say anything like that. I don’t know where it came from.”

  That was the truth, and it really bothered Kris. Where did all of that come from? Am I losing it?

  “Now, if we can all sit down,” the admiral said with a smile that looked more conspiratorial than forced, “I have a surprise for you. I have had a wild boar prepared according to an ancient Earth recipe. Prepare yourself for something special.”

  A cook, complete in high chef’s hat, came in carrying a platter with a whole roasted pig. It even had an apple in its mouth.

  For a second, Kris was none too sure how this was going to play out. Her stomach still boiled with the aftermath of her emotional onslaught. Now, facing a pig that only the garnish assured her wasn’t likely to get up and trot from the table, her stomach was even less sure of itself.

  “My dad used to have these prepared at his hunting lodge,” Vicky offered. “Those were good times.”

  Kris would not sully those memories, which from the sound of Vicky’s voice were few and far between, by one Wardhaven princess losing her supper before she finished it.

  At the head of the table, the chef produced a gleaming sharp knife and huge fork and prepared to slice into the guest of honor.

  “Excuse me,” Chief Beni said from where he stood backed into a corner, “but this room has a listening device in it.”

  16

  It was Admiral Krätz’s turn to bolt half-out of his chair. “I have my quarters swept regularly. And I had them swept again just before dinner. There can’t be a live bug in here.”

  “There wasn’t,” Chief Beni admitted, “until the chef brought that pig in.”

  “The chef,” the admiral said, turning to face the man with the sharp, gleaming knife. The man looked shocked at becoming the center of attention so quickly. Maybe his knife was just being raised to defend himself. Maybe his arm was still involved in carving the dinner.

  And maybe he was getting ready to throw the blade.

  No one snapped an order. There was no time. But suddenly, four Marines were on him, two from each fleet. The white-clad chef went down in a tide of blue, red, green, and black.

  “Where’s the bug?” Kris demanded.

  “I think it’s in the apple,” Nelly said.

  “I agree,” Chief Beni said.

  “I don’t hav
e anything,” one of the Greenfeld Marines said, coming away from the wall. He held his rifle, but now that Kris studied him, his pockets were bulging, and he did have a mike and eyepiece. “No device has squawked,” he insisted.

  “Crew?” Kris said to everyone in particular.

  “The Marine technician is correct,” the chief said, diplomatically, “the bug is silent at the moment, but it is recording. I have cataloged all the electronic devices in this room. This is a new one, and I don’t think that pig is authorized an electronic device.”

  “Neither do I,” the admiral growled through grim lips. “Cook?”

  “I don’t know what you are talking about,” he said, now in the grip of two hefty Marines of different uniformed persuasion.

  “Technician, can you recover the bug?” the admiral asked.

  The Greenfeld Marine risked a tiny shrug. “Sir, I can’t even verify the presence of the bug. My instrumentation is not able to track something as minor as power use at that level.”

  “Chief, can you recover this device?” the Greenfeld admiral asked the Wardhaven CPO.

  “I will need to have my computer spin off a large nano device to isolate and retrieve it.”

  “Or I can do it,” Nelly put in.

  “Is your chief ’s computer as good as Nelly?” Vicky asked.

  “Da Vinci is my son,” Nelly said in full maternal pride.

  “Nelly, I wish you hadn’t said that.”

  “Why not, Kris?”

  “Because I’m not sure the world is ready to know that there are eight of you.”

  “Eight!” Vicky yelped.

  “Ah, ladies,” Jack cut in, “could we get this bug before it starts broadcasting all this to the world.”

  “Admiral,” Kris began, “none of my computers have generated any nanoscouts since we were invited aboard your battleship. It did not seem an appropriate response to your hospitality.”

  “I should say not,” the admiral agreed.

  “With your permission, I will generate one to capture this bug,” Kris said.

  “Two nanoscouts,” Nelly interrupted. “We need two. One to find the bug we’ve found and a second to locate its repeater. This bug is extremely low-power. For any data burst it sends to get out, it will have to be repeated.”