Kris Longknife: Redoubtable

by Mike Shepherd

  “You can say that again,” Jack said.

  24

  Kris took a deep breath, let it out . . . and changed the subject. “Among all the things I have to do, there are a few things I enjoy doing. At the top of that list is being an officer in the Wardhaven Navy. Ever met a serious Navy officer?” Kris asked.

  “No,” Mannie said cautiously. “You probably know, the dockyards for the Greenfeld Navy on St. Pete are in the city that shares the name.”

  “So, all the heavy industry is over there,” Kris said.

  “Ah, that’s where all of it, ah, was,” Mannie said carefully. “We weren’t allowed to have any heavy manufacturing. That is one of the things we wanted to address in the city charter.”

  “You wouldn’t by any chance,” Jack put in, “be taking advantage of the present disruptions to correct that serious bit of unfairness, would you?”

  Mannie took a serious gulp of his coffee. “It’s gotten cold,” he told no one in particular. One of his crew left to corral a warm pot and refilled everyone who didn’t put a hand over their mug.

  Kris passed. Today was no day to get the caffeine jitters.

  “We did come into the possession of two of the large cargo landers that had been doing the heavy lifting for the Navy yard,” he admitted between blows on his now-too-hot coffee. “If they’d stayed at St. Pete, they would have just been trashed when people walked off with this or that part of them.”

  “I’m not here to sit in judgment,” Kris quietly pointed out.

  “I understand the crew and their families love their new homes,” Mannie said.

  “No doubt,” Kris said. “So, what are you loading into those heavy-cargo shuttles?”

  “Various things,” must have sounded lame to even Mannie. He winced.

  “Any of that cargo long and thin and wired for high voltage?” Jack asked.

  Mannie nodded.

  Well, at least the man wasn’t beating around the bush when you dropped it right on top of him, Kris thought.

  “I was told,” Mannie went on quickly, “that quite a few merchant ship owners want to arm their property to protect them from pirates. We are only manufacturing 4- or 5-inch lasers. Nothing that could possibly be a problem to Peterwald battleships or even destroyers.” The mayor began to slow down. “At least, that was what I was told.”

  “And if that’s what is going on,” Kris said, “we’ll be cheering you right along.”

  “And if it isn’t?” Mannie asked. “Dave is one of our largest employers. I’d hate to see you lead him away in cuffs.”

  “Last time I checked,” Kris said, trying to put on a friendly smile, “I’m Navy. I didn’t have the authority to lead anyone off in cuffs.” Kill them, yes. Arrest them, no. “And certainly I can’t arrest anyone on a Greenfeld planet.”

  “I guess I’m happy to hear that,” Mannie said, and reached for his commlink. He only had to tap two numbers before it began to ring.

  SO HE’S GOT THE GUY ON SPEED DIAL, Jack observed, through his computer.

  WE GOING TO LET THIS GO DOWN THE WAY THIS DAVE GUY WANTS IT? Abby asked.

  HEY, Nelly interrupted. YOU LEFT YOUR NEW COMPUTER ON THE SHIP. HOW’D YOU GET ON MY PARTY LINE?

  SO I TAUGHT MY OLD COMPUTER SOME NEW TRICKS.

  AH, CREW, Kris put in, LET’S STAY FOCUSED ON THE PROBLEM WE CAME DOWN HERE FOR. NELLY, ARE YOU AND THE CHIEF READY TO SPIN OFF SOME SERIOUS NANOSCOUTS, DATA-DOWNLOAD NODES, AND OTHER SEARCHERS? I EXPECT TO BE IN THIS DAVE GUY’S LAP BEFORE THE HOUR IS OUT.

  DON’T YOU WORRY, KRIS. WE ARE READY, Nelly said.

  THAT WE ARE, the chief agreed.

  Thus saving Kris from one of her worst nightmares, having those two doing their sibling-rivalry gig from the inside of her skull.

  “Dave said he’d be glad to show you around his plant this afternoon,” Mannie said cheerfully.

  “How far are we from the factory?” Kris asked, just as cheerfully.

  “Ah, ten minutes?”

  “I’ve got nothing better to do this morning,” Kris said. “Tell him we’ll be there real soon.”

  “We haven’t had our pie,” Mannie pointed out.

  “You’re right,” Kris agreed, standing up. “We can have it for lunch,” she said, the rest of her team standing with her.

  “The princess will be there in ten,” Mannie said, standing as well.

  “Are you going to drive that old clunker?” Mannie asked as he rang off. “I’ve got a fifteen-passenger van waiting for us.” So Kris and her team shared the seats with Mannie’s crew. Mannie drove; Kris rode shotgun. Only the chief grumbled.

  Out loud.

  Galactic Enterprises, Limited, GEL for short, occupied a long series of tall buildings stretching for a quarter of a mile along the bay. Two shuttles stood eager standby outside them. There were stoplights on the street, ready to halt traffic when the shuttles taxied from the factory to the bay.

  Some joker had put up a yellow warning sign, SHUTTLE CROSSING. It showed a shuttle being followed by several baby ducks.

  “That sign isn’t authorized,” Mannie said. “But every time I order it taken down, some wag puts another one up. At least this one looks professionally done.”

  “I take it that your city folk enjoy their sense of humor,” Kris said.

  “Makes it a whole lot more fun working for them,” Mannie admitted.

  A sense of humor the people might have, but there was nothing funny about the two-meter-tall fence running around the plant. Even the stretch of taxiway that crossed the road had a rolling fence that could be opened when necessary and kept closed all other times.

  Mannie pulled up to the gate and stopped.

  “Mr. Mayor, we weren’t told to expect you,” a puzzled guard sergeant said.

  “This is kind of sudden. Call Dave; I just talked with him.”

  The sergeant went back into his small guardhouse. The heavy-duty gate stayed down, solidly blocking their path.

  NELLY, YOU AND DA VINCI LAUNCH YOUR SCOUTS, Kris ordered.

  THEY’RE ON THEIR WAY, Nelly answered.

  IS THERE ANY NANO OPPOSITION? Jack asked.

  WE ARE ENCOUNTERING INTERCEPTORS, Chief Beni said. BUT THEY’RE NOT ALL THAT GOOD. I’M TAKING CONTROL OF THEM AND STEERING THEM AWAY FROM OUR SCOUTS. STILL, THEY’VE GOT BETTER ELECTRONIC GEAR THAN THE ADMIRAL HAD.

  BUT NOT AS GOOD AS WE’VE SEEN, Kris said.

  NOT EVEN CLOSE TO THE BEST, Nelly agreed.

  SO, Kris thought to her staff, IF THE LEVEL OF OPPOSITION WE ARE FACING IS ANY INDICATION OF THE LEVEL OF BADNESS THIS FELLOW IS, HE’S KIND OF LOW IN THE BAD-GUY HIERARCHY.

  HE’S BAD BUT NOT REAL BAD, Nelly agreed.

  LET’S NOT GET TOO CARRIED AWAY ON FIRST IMPRESSIONS, Jack put in.

  “The boss says you can come in. He’s at his office in Building 4,” the sergeant called from inside his box. The gate rose, and Mannie drove in.

  Building 4 was a one-story affair with large windows giving a good view of the bay and the parked shuttles. Mannie parked in a visitor’s slot. After an embarrassing wait when no one came out to greet them, he led the way into the main door of the office building.

  Clearly, the owner did not go in for fancy office surroundings. The floors were linoleum, the beige walls in need of new paint, and the furniture looked like it might have come from a secondhand store . . . or been the scrounging from a looter’s leftovers.

  A secretary stood. “The boss is tied up at the moment,” he said. “Would you please be seated.”

  Kris headed for the door that had the best view of the bay and shuttles. When the secretary moved to block her path, Jack and Gunny Brown blocked him.

  Kris opened the door to hear “I know I’m not giving you much time, but do what you can. I’ll see what I can do . . .” cut off as the speaker discovered he was not alone anymore.

  “I’ll see you in a few minutes. I’ve got visitors,” he said, and turned to face Kris.

  The man who offered a hand
to Kris had his collar open and his tie loose. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, giving him a no-nonsense, ready-for-business look. Kris found herself wondering if she’d buy a used shuttle off this man.

  Most likely not.

  His handshake didn’t change her opinion. It was too firm, as if he had something to hide.

  “I’m Dave Grafton,” he said confidently.

  “I’m Lieutenant Commander Kris Longknife, Commander of Wardhaven Navy’s Patrol Squadron 10, presently on anti-pirate duty,” Kris said evenly, holding on to the hand.

  “Oh, I’d heard you were Princess Kristine, a BFF of Victoria Peterwald,” Dave said, keeping his handshake just as firm but maybe starting to sweat a wee bit.

  “Like a lot of people, I can be a lot of things. Right now, I’m a Navy officer looking for the source of the pirate guns that are showing up on ships out beyond the Rim.”

  “I wouldn’t know anything about things on pirate ships. I only sell to honest shipping lines, and I have the bills of sale to prove it. May I show you?”

  “Please do,” Kris said with enough of a smile to make the fellow relax just a bit.

  He started tapping his workstation, and various screens began to cover his desk.

  KRIS, WE HAVE ALL HIS BOOKS, ALL THREE SETS OF THEM, Nelly reported.

  THREE SETS!

  YES, came in the voice of Professor Scrounger. HIS OFFICIAL BOOKS, THE BOOKS HE SHOWS HIS BUSINESS PARTNERS, AND THE SET HE DOESN’T EVEN LET HIS MISTRESS SEE. BOTH OF THEM. EVEN I FEEL LIKE I NEED TO WASH MY HANDS AFTER GETTING THEM ON THIS GUY’S BOOKS.

  ANY WORD ON THE SEARCH FOR CARA? Abby asked.

  I’M TRACKING THEM IN MY SPARE TIME, Amanda Kutter put in. ADMIRAL KRÄTZ BALKED AT A LOT OF WARDHAVEN MARINES AND SAILORS RANSACKING HIS STATION, BUT PROFESSOR MFUMBO TURNED OUT THE BOFFINS. ALMOST EVERY ONE OF THEM VOLUNTEERED TO HUNT FOR CARA. ANYWAY, THERE IS A SMALL ARMY OF GREENFELD SAILORS AND WARDHAVEN PH.D.S TURNING THE STATION UPSIDE DOWN.

  AND, PRINCESS, YOU MIGHT BE INTERESTED IN SOMETHING I OVERHEARD. SOME SAILORS HAVE GONE MISSING FROM THE GREENFELD SQUADRON. THEY AREN’T JUST HUNTING FOR CARA.

  THE GREENFELD NAVY IS OPERATING DRAFTED CREWS, Kris said. IT’S NOT UNUSUAL FOR THEM TO LOSE A FEW PEOPLE OVER THE HILL.

  BUT THERE AREN’T THAT MANY HILLS ON THIS STATION, Professor Scrounger observed.

  WHERE WOULD THEY GO? Kris thought on net, eyeing the heavy lifters parked on the apron in front of the office’s picture window.

  Dave took the moment to point out something on his desk, a bill of lading signed off and stamped by the space station’s port master. Kris gave him an encouraging smile even as her thoughts went quite to the contrary.

  PROFESSOR, GET SOMEONE WHO KNOWS SHUTTLE OPERATIONS TO GO OVER THOSE BILLS OF LADING, BOTH FOR THE TRIP UP AND THE TRIP DOWN. IF SAILORS ARE GOING OVER THE HILL, SEVASTOPOL HAS A LOT OF LOVELY MOUNTAINS THAT YOU CAN SEE FROM THE BAY.

  YOU THINK THEY’RE MAKING THE JUMP FROM DRAFTED SAILOR TO DIRTSIDE FARMER? Jack said.

  YOU CAN LIE ABOUT A LOT OF THINGS, Kris said, BUT YOU DON’T DARE LIE TO YOUR LOADMASTER. IF A SHUTTLE IS HEAVY, IT BETTER HAVE THE REACTION MASS AND ANTIMATTER TO GET IT UP OR BRING IT DOWN.

  I KNOW JUST THE GAL TO CHECK THOSE OUT. AND, HEY, WHAT DO YOU KNOW, THERE ARE TWO SETS OF WEIGHTS FOR EVERY FLIGHT THOSE SHUTTLES HAVE MADE IN THE LAST TWO MONTHS. BESSY IS GOING TO LOVE THIS.

  PLEASE GET BACK TO ME AS SOON AS YOU CAN, PROFESSOR, Kris thought in one direction. “Would you mind giving me a copy of those files, Dave?” Kris asked, never letting her smile falter.

  “Well, these are proprietary business records,” Dave said, seemed to consider the matter, then relented. “We can’t do enough for the defenders of the working merchant shippers. The lifeblood of the Alliance is what they are.”

  Kris agreed, and he shot a load of data to Kris’s computer.

  I’LL CHECK IT THOROUGHLY FOR MALWARE, Nelly said, sounding like she was being forced to hold a skunk by its tail.

  IF YOU HAVE THE TIME, PLEASE CHECK IT AGAINST THE OTHER THREE SETS OF DATA THIS GUY HAS GIVEN US, Kris said. IT WILL BE INTERESTING TO SEE IF THE “DEFENDERS OF THE WORKING MERCHANT SHIPPERS” ARE BEING FED YET ANOTHER SET OF DATA.

  I’LL DO THAT, KRIS.

  Having dazzled Kris with his lies, Dave now set out to bury her with the technical specs of the plant’s production.

  “This plant was just supposed to be making refrigerators, cooking stoves of all descriptions, air conditioners, and light electronic equipment,” Dave said, as they walked toward one of the production bays. “Mannie’s heard the story, many times.”

  “It still amazes me you pulled this off right under the watchful eyes of State Security,” the mayor said.

  “I told you, Mannie, the black shirts were never so watchful as when they were counting their cash. Give them enough cash to count, and they don’t see nothing.”

  The folks from Sevastopol shared a laugh. Kris admitted to a chuckle. The tighter you make the supposed controls, the greater distance from the mean to the outliers. While some poor loudmouth was rotting in jail for telling the wrong person the truth, someone else was gaming the system and walking off with a fortune.

  Was this a lesson Vicky would be interested in learning? Or would she balk at the very idea that the system that raised her so comfortably could serve others so poorly?

  “Some of the fabricators I’ll be showing you we bought for scrap from the right dude across the lake in St. Pete. Other stuff we put together from scratch. We have some pretty savvy folks in Sevastopol. Especially since that woman crusader, what’s her name, managed to get more channels added to the education net. There are lots of people with net degrees working for me thanks to her.”

  “Miss Adel Nottingham,” Mannie said with pride. “She’s my great-aunt.”

  Campaigning for her father, Kris had toured plenty of light-industrial production facilities. The pride of workmanship was clear in the smooth flow of the line and the clean workstations.

  But this was not what she’d come to see.

  “So, where do you put together the ship-quality lasers?” she said.

  “That would be Building 12,” Dave said. “It’s restricted. But you’d expect that. I don’t think even Mannie’s been in there. You aren’t going to make me show my pride and joy, Mannie?”

  “I think the commander expects to see them,” the mayor said.

  “Well, okay, but you’re going to have to leave your heat behind, Mannie. Just you and the princess.”

  Jack and Gunny Brown just kept right on walking along behind Kris.

  It took Dave a couple of paces before he noticed that his tail hadn’t decreased nearly as much as he’d expected it would.

  He turned back to Kris. She gave him a sunny smile.

  He shrugged and continued leading the way to Building 12. They had to pass through two sets of guards before they were admitted to a high-roofed work bay with a heavy-duty overhead crane.

  The production line here was very different from the others. They had been neat, laid out in an orderly fashion, and clean enough to eat off the floor.

  Building 12 was a mishmash of equipment that went together in the most tenuous of fashions. Nothing actually seemed to fit together, and the overall effort left piles of wiring and odd tables scattered across the shop floor.

  “You’ll have to excuse the look,” Dave said. “We are still adding in new tools and rearranging others.”

  “So I can see,” Kris said.

  Close to them, where a huge door opened out onto the apron, a laser cannon was being carefully lowered by the overhead crane into a swivel-gun mount.

  “They’ll mount that on the ship’s hull close to the reactor. That will save them having to make long power runs to it,” Dave said.

  “That would be an interesting arrangement,” Kris agreed. Since she had never seen a small defensive laser mounted that far aft, she suspected that someone was stringing Dave along. Perhaps the assessment of
the nano defenses was right. This fellow had wandered onto the bad side and just didn’t know it.

  NELLY, RUN THAT IDEA BY CAPTAIN DRAGO.

  I’LL DO THAT, KRIS.

  “Do you have someplace where we can talk . . . alone?” Kris asked Dave.

  “Yes,” he said, and led Kris up two flights of steps to a room that overhung the shop floor. Several men in ties, shirts, and slacks were leaning over a large table, attempting to make some kind of sense of the sprawling mess it displayed, reflecting the machinery below.

  “Please, fellows, we need this room for a few minutes. Why not take ten?” Dave said.

  The workers moved out quickly, suppressing looks of mild surprise as they passed the Marines.

  Kris settled in a chair at the digital worktable as Dave did the same. His fingers moved quickly over the display to close down that view and bring up a plain wooden tabletop.

  NELLY, START SHOWING HIM HIS FILES. ALL OF THEM THAT WE HAVE.

  OH, THIS IS GOING TO BE SO MUCH FUN, Nelly said, and the table came back to life. Three different sets of files opened in different portions of the table and began to cascade.

  Dave frowned at the table for a second, his eyes growing wide. Quickly, he started tapping the controls again. The view did not change.

  At his elbow, Mannie’s look became more and more puzzled.

  Kris put her elbows on the table and leaned forward. “We know about your three sets of books.”

  Defiantly, Dave folded his arms across his chest. “Listen, Longknife, this is Greenfeld. I don’t know how your old man makes all his money on Wardhaven, but on a world like St. Pete, everybody has a different bottom line depending on who is asking.”

  The look Mannie gave Dave told Kris that everybody didn’t necessarily play by those rules. She went on.

  “Let’s talk about these 5-inch lasers.”

  “All properly documented,” Dave cut in. “Shipped up to High St. Pete station and turned over to the harbormaster for transshipment to the receiving merchant-ship captain. All proper and documented,” he repeated.

  “Yes, we noticed that,” came from Nelly, though in the gravelly voice of Professor Scrounger. “The signatures on the bills of lading are always the same man . . . even though he retired six months ago.”