“So, if the Navy’s supply system is a mass of lies twisted together to support things that never happened or to feed the vanity of one little boy, what else about my Greenfeld is nothing but smoke and mirrors?”
Vicky pursed her lips. “Before today, I didn’t see how it could be done. Now, I think someone is laughing at us as they make us dance to the tune their superior electronics are blasting out for us. Kris, I think I’m ready to let you and your Nelly audit Greenfeld’s economy. Would you like the chance?”
To Kris’s surprise, the admiral didn’t even bat an eye.
“It’s that bad, huh?”
“Do you think a Peterwald would turn to a Longknife if it wasn’t?” Vicky let that hang in the air for a long moment before she went on. “There is one other matter. One I would talk with you in private, please.”
So saying, Vicky made her way to the bar. Kris excused herself from the admiral, gave a worried Jack a nod to keep him in his chair, and followed Vicky.
“You have a nice collection of whiskeys,” Vicky said, eyeing the bottles behind the bar.
“This, and several of the restaurants on board are private concerns. The managers order their own stocks.”
“Private enterprise and free markets on even your warships. Wardhaven amazes me.”
“The Wasp is a rather unique blending of private and Navy,” Kris said.
“With a captain and part of the crew in black ops pay, I hear.”
“Something I’ve tried to change but can’t seem to. I suspect the problem goes all the way to my great-grandfather, the king.”
“Even a Longknife must find her power limited when she tries to apply it to another Longknife, huh?”
“If we’re going to talk about family, I may need a drink,” Kris quipped.
“In a way, it is family that I want to talk about. I need your help finding someone on St. Pete and bringing her safely to the Fury.”
Kris frowned. “Can’t you just make a phone call and send a shuttle for her?”
“If it were that easy, don’t you think I would have done it already?” Kris had never heard Vicky so frustrated.
“Sorry. What’s the problem?”
“St. Pete’s the problem. It’s a mess. People who live here and fled there. People there have had to move here or yonder. The net is down, or up, or not to be trusted. I’ve had to be careful in my search for her. So careful that I can’t find her.”
Kris found herself with too many questions to choose from. She waited to see which ones Vicky would answer on her own.
“Doc Maggie was my pediatrician when I was small. She was the one who showed up whenever I was hurting. She was the one person I found who listened to me when I talked. So I talked, really talked, to her. When I grew older, she was the only woman I really trusted with my problems.”
Here, Vicky tapped her right breast. “Would you believe these puppies were late coming out. Hank kidded me unmercifully, and the other kids followed his lead. It was Maggie’s shoulder I cried on, and it was Maggie who gave me the only decent advice I ever heard before landing in the admiral’s command.”
Vicky paused, as if still unsure how much to let Kris into that secret place. “Kris, you’ve made your own family. Jack’s more a brother to you than a security chief.”
When Kris made to reject that observation, Vicky shook her head insistently. “You can say whatever you want to, but what I see with my eyes is a brother. And Penny’s the sister you never had. I’m not sure where Abby and that colonel fit in. Aunt and uncle, distant cousins. I don’t know. But they’re as much family as staff.
“And I need something like them if I’m going to keep my sanity. What little of it we Peterwalds get by with. I really need someone like Doc Maggie on my staff to give me some big-sister advice. I was never so good for myself and others as when I had Maggie to bounce ideas around with.”
Kris found herself nodding. She might or might not agree with Vicky’s observations about her own staff. Definitely, Kris hoped Jack didn’t look upon her like a kid sister. No, that wasn’t what she felt when she caught him in his unguarded moments looking her way.
Kris waved that thought away. She didn’t have time for all the questions that brought up. And right now, it was Vicky who was asking for help.
“I still don’t understand why you don’t just send out a call. Offer a reward for help finding this Doc Maggie,” Kris said, getting back to the problem at hand.
“Kris, people disappear or die around me,” Vicky said, letting exasperation fill her voice.
“Well, it would help if you didn’t kill them,” Nelly interjected.
“Nelly, shut up,” Kris snapped. For the moment, she’d forgotten that what she was hearing, Nelly was in on, too.
“Well, it’s true.”
“Nelly, I know where that OFF button is, and if you don’t butt out of this girl talk, I’m going to use it.”
“Yes, ma’am,” wasn’t nearly as contrite as Kris wanted to hear.
“Nelly has a point,” Vicky said, “but what she doesn’t understand is that it’s always been that way. I was ten. My best . . . My only friend was eleven. Heather didn’t join in with Hank and the others teasing me. She was my first, my best friend. We were walking by a ballgame one afternoon. Not paying any attention. We weren’t there for the game.
“Some guy hit the ball. It hit Heather before we even knew it was coming. It killed her!” Vicky seemed to run out of words. Maybe there were tears in her eyes. Quickly, Vicky blinked them back. Even now, she wouldn’t let Kris see her shed a tear.
Kris knew that a poor little rich girl could have it tough. She’d lived that life. Somehow, she’d never felt that rule applied to the vengeful Vicky. The lovely Vicky.
Kris promised herself not to keep making that mistake.
“I had other friends growing up,” Vicky went on. “Somehow, their dads always got transferred away from the Palace. You’d think they’d write, but they never did. Those were all childhood tragedies. It’s in the last couple of years that it’s gotten bloody.
“One girlfriend was hit by a car. A boy I liked was shot in a ‘hunting accident.’ Another committed ‘suicide.’ It’s dangerous to get close to me, Kris.”
“And if you let on you wanted this Doc Maggie brought in?” Kris asked.
“I figure there are a half dozen factions that would race out to kidnap her for ransom or kill her. That’s why I’ve had to work so hard not to have any of my searches traceable back to me. I’ve used borrowed commlinks that my Marines swiped from sailors. Stuff like that.”
Vicky finished with a sigh that the dead Tommy would have called pure Irish. Which reminded Kris that Vicky wasn’t the only one dangerous to get close to.
Of course, Tommy had died at the helm of his fast patrol boat, fighting one of those unidentified Peterwald battleships. That was different. Right?
Fear showed in Vicky’s eyes as the silence grew between them. “You will help me?” she pleaded. “It’s not like you haven’t done this before. You rescued your friend Tommy when my dad’s friend Sandfire kidnapped him.”
“Yes, I did,” Kris said. “And yes I will help you find your friend Maggie. I expect that Jack will have kittens at the thought of us leading a rescue team down to St. Pete, but if I don’t give him kittens every so often, he’d get constipated.”
“I wish I had a Jack,” Vicky said, glancing over her shoulder at the subject of their conversation.
“Jack is mine, girlfriend. You have to find your own Jack.”
“I know,” Vicky said . . . and quit batting those long eyelashes Jack’s way.
Fortunately, Jack was deep in talk with the admiral, and they were both concentrating on something Chief Beni and the Greenfeld lieutenant had brought to their attention.
“So, what do we do?” Vicky asked.
“First we crack open the rotten egg that St. Pete has become and see what kind of a mess it leaves us. For that I’ll need Abby. Never und
erestimate that woman.”
“So our file on you warns,” Vicky said.
“I’m glad your intel people got at least that right about me and mine. Nelly, listen up. Get me Abby.”
“You squawking?” came right back at Kris a second later.
“Tell me, old lady of mystery, was there any accounting and finance in that college education you picked up in your wicked youth.”
“You keep calling me names like those, and I’m gonna suddenly forget I even have a name.”
“Is everyone around you like that?” Vicky asked.
“Only the best of them,” Kris admitted, then went on. “Abby, I need you in the Forward Lounge. We need to reverse engineer someone’s economic warfare. You think there’s anyone on board that might help in such a project?”
“Hmm. That’s a good question. I always thought Drago’s supply honcho was a whole lot smarter than he let on. I’ll check with mFumbo. He’s got a few anthro and socio types on staff. Never know what you get when you scratch one of those weird birds.”
“I’ll do that. Meanwhile, you and the supply guy get up here. What’s Cara up to?” Kris asked.
The twelve-year-old was still on the Wasp and still wrapping most of its crew around her little finger. Not everyone. Command Master Chief Mong was still dismayed at finding a little girl somehow sharing his domain. Kris did her best to keep those two separated.
“Cara’s computer has her deep in a study of the twenty-first-century politics of old Earth. She asked me too many questions about the mess the Greenfeld Alliance was in, and I couldn’t think of anything closer to it than that lash-up.”
“Abby,” Kris cut in, “we’ve got Vicky Peterwald on board, and I’ve taken on this project because she asked me to.”
“So I’m going to be working for two spoiled brats?”
“The spoiledest,” Vicky announced, leaning close to Kris’s chest to make sure her words carried.
“What did I do in a previous life to deserve this?” Abby sighed. “I’ll get Donovan and be with you as fast as these old legs can carry me. Out.”
“Abby’s not that old,” Vicky said.
“It’s not the years,” Kris said, “but the guff she hands out that age that woman. Shall we go tell the boys how we’ve decided to spend their in-port liberty?”
“You tell the admiral. I think he likes you.”
“If he does, he sure keeps it well hidden from me,” Kris said, “but I’ll take the lead if you want me to.”
18
“YOU want us to do what?” was Admiral Georg Krätz’s response to Kris’s suggestion that they deconstruct the entire economy of the Greenfeld Alliance, starting with St. Pete.
“We’ve got clear evidence that the official reports are too good to believe,” Kris said, ticking her points off on her fingers. “Your Navy supply system shows there’s something not right about what your own computer reports,” brought down a second finger. “You’ve just had a run-in with someone using tech that only my Wardhaven gear could spot and some of it is even better than our stuff,” was good for two fingers, leaving Kris only a thumb out.
“Your Highness,” Chief Beni put in, “you may not have noticed when Da Vinci and I jammed the local network in the lounge. This thing really is the jammer that’s been hassling you.”
“Da Vinci,” Vicky said.
“Yeah,” the chief said, “my new computer.”
“He’s got one of the fancy computers?”
“Vicky, not another word out of you,” Kris snapped. NELLY, YOU KEEP QUIET, TOO.
I WON’T SAY ANYTHING IF SHE DOESN’T.
Kris wondered if all female bonding required going back to the sandbox. Then, come to think about it, male bonding sure seemed to be at that level. Oh bother.
“Staying on topic,” Kris continued, “something is clearly wrong. If anyone has any better ideas of how to tackle the problem that doesn’t involve taking a deep dive into Greenfeld’s economic databases, I’m all ears.”
The admiral was shaking his head before she finished. “I don’t know anything about finance and economics. What I do know is that here in Greenfeld territory, it is a capital crime to reveal economic secrets. If I sell you the plans for our newest battleship, I’d at least get a court-martial. If I gave out the true balance-of-payments figures for our planets, I’d be shot on apprehension. No doubt while trying to escape.”
“Is it that bad?” Kris asked.
“He has pretty much got it right,” Vicky said. “Of course, you would be doing what you did under my orders and with me at your elbow. That would make it legal, wouldn’t it?” she said, flashing the admiral a not-quite-confident smile.
“Maybe it would. But are you sure someone wouldn’t pass it along to your father with the tale twisted and torn in such a way that he wasn’t howling for your blood . . . and mine . . . before the guy finished telling his tale?”
Kris should have turned away. No one deserved to be under public scrutiny when they went through the awakening being forced on the young Peterwald woman. But Kris was held captive by the flight of emotions across Vicky’s face.
She began so innocent, so confident. She was Daddy’s little darling and had nothing to fear from her father. Slowly, reality seeped from her head to her heart. Slowly, realization dawned that she was indeed just a player in a hard and deadly game . . . and those who played it could indeed turn her father against her. Even to the death of her.
Intellectually, Vicky must have known all this beforehand. As Kris watched, knowledge roared out like a flash flood from a small corner of her brain until it soaked every fiber of her being.
The new, wiser, but infinitely older Vicky finished her coming of age by slowly nodding agreement. “You are right, sir.”
Then her face hardened. “But this is still something that needs to be done. If our beloved Greenfeld is not to be reduced to a mess of primal blood and gore, the truth must be sorted out and become the basis for our actions. We can’t just keep flailing away in the dark. Can we, Kris?”
The question posed so plaintively by Vicky was both amorphous and ambiguous. Even a hot potato in the lap had more form and structure. Still, Kris found the openness of the question more to her liking than she might have.
“Yes, in answer to the basic question,” Kris began, “I do think truth is a better policy than lies. It’s also a whale of a lot better basis for policy. And no, Admiral, it’s not my policy that a weak Greenfeld is the best friend a strong Wardhaven can have. As best I know from personal observation, it’s not my king’s preference either.
“Which leaves us gnawing at a bit of a problem. If getting to the truth is the way to go, how do we do it without being stabbed in the back? Right, Admiral?”
“I certainly find it easier to wash my back in the shower when there are no knives sticking out.”
“Who’d have thought he could tell a joke,” Vicky quipped.
“My senior officers often surprise me,” Kris said. “Sometimes even pleasantly. I may have a solution to your communication problem.”
There was a knock at the door to the lounge, and Abby poked her head in. “There’s a whole passel of Marines of various faiths and persuasion out here telling me that you do not wish to be disturbed. I told them that such plebeian rules never apply to the likes of me. Would one of you please say something before one of these fine young men rams a bayonet up some delicate part of my anatomy?”
“Let her in,” Kris said.
“What about these others?” came from the passageway.
“They’re with me,” Abby said, and ushered beauty and the beast into the Forward Lounge.
Beauty was a strikingly tall young woman with all the lovely assets that an aspirant movie star would kill for. Kris might not kill for that package, but she’d certainly commit several Class A misdemeanors to make those looks her own.
The man beside her could easily have been retrieved from under a bridge where he spent his time frightening
horses and trying to eat children’s toes. Short, lumpy, and with a bent nose, he wore dungarees cut off below the knees and a sleeveless sweatshirt celebrating a jazz quartet.
“I’m Amanda Kutter,” the young woman said in what would have to be a magnificent contralto voice. “I just joined the scientists. My doctoral dissertation was on the economic tension between Earth and the Rim that brought about devolution. I was hoping to do research on the economies of the Sooner planets. If we could determine how they got started and maintained themselves in isolation, it might really tell us something.”
That sounded plausible to Kris. So why did she still have a hunch that Grampa Ray and Crossenshield had their fingers involved in moving Miss Amanda up to the top of the list of new boffins joining the Wasp. If I wasn’t so glad to see you, I’d likely space you. Good Lord but I hate it when my elders play me. Kris kept her thoughts to herself and a smile on her face as she shook Amanda’s offered hand.
Next she shook the gnarled paw of the beast. “Call me Scrounger. I make sure Captain Drago has what he suddenly discovers he needs. Usually a week before he needs it.”
Kris found the handshake firm and the eyes clear.
DON’T LET HIS APPEARANCE FOOL YOU, KRIS. HE’S GOT A PH.D. IN ECONOMICS. HE AND A COUPLE OF HIS PROFESSOR FRIENDS DEVELOPED THE ECONOMIC MODEL FOR RIM TRADE AND GROWTH THAT’S BEEN WORKING JUST GREAT SINCE EARTH TOOK ITS BALL AND WENT HOME. HE’D BE IN LINE TO SHARE THE NOBEL PRIZE IN ECONOMICS IF HE WAS STILL TEACHING AT PITTS HOPE U.
WHY ISN’T HE?
HIS FOUR EX-WIVES MIGHT HAVE SOMETHING TO DO WITH IT. KRIS, I REALLY HAVE TO WONDER WHAT THE PAY LEVEL IS FOR THE CONTRACT CREW. IF THIS GUY’S WORKING FOR US, IT HAS GOT TO BE THROUGH THE ROOF.
For the moment, Kris was just glad Crossenshield had provided her what she needed.
Kris invited the three new members of the meeting to take a seat. “Abby, in a moment, Vicky and I are going to need your help on a communication problem we have. However, first I’d better brief you on our other problem. Vicky, why don’t you tell them what you found?”
Kris Longknife: Redoubtable Page 14
