Kris Longknife: Redoubtable

by Mike Shepherd

  “And N.S. Holdings won’t object?” Jack asked.

  “There is no evidence that N.S. Holdings ever had any interest in this planet,” the admiral said with a sly grin.

  “Not after the tower got turned into a pond,” Vicky said.

  “Yes, yes. No evidence at all. That woman was claiming just this afternoon that they had filed a claim on this planet. We have finished our search of the records, and there is no such claim,” the admiral said with a grin.

  That left Kris wondering. Had there been no such record, or was there no such record now?

  NELLY?

  I HAVE NO IDEA, KRIS. THAT’S MY STORY, AND I’M STICKING TO IT.

  JUST MAKE SURE YOU DO STICK TO IT.

  Kris turned back to the conversation. The admiral was describing some of the benefits of having Navy colonies. “You turn loose enough old goats, and it’s bound to get interesting.”

  “You can’t all raise chickens,” Jack said.

  “Oh no, there are those who raise cows for meat and cows for cheese. Some actually like to plow in the dirt and grow fruit and vegetables and things. No accounting for tastes even after thirty years with the fleet,” he said, distastefully.

  “There wouldn’t happen to be any heavy industry on these planets?” Kris asked.

  “God forbid,” the admiral said, raising his hand to elevate the pledge. “Besides, if you have spent your life around heavy weapons and high energy, you need something peaceful in your old age. Yes, maybe there is some light industry. Something to make toys for good-little-girl and -boy grandchildren. Anything else, no!”

  NELLY, CALL UP THE SURVEY WE MADE OF THIS SYSTEM.

  I HAVE IT, KRIS.

  DIDN’T I NOTICE AN ASTEROID BELT? ONE RICH IN ALL KINDS OF METALS?

  YES, KRIS. IF SOMEONE WANTED TO ESTABLISH A MAJOR NAVAL PRESENCE AND HEAVY-CONSTRUCTION FACTORIES, THEY HAVE EVERYTHING THEY NEED FOR IT OUTSIDE OF ANY STRONG GRAVITY WELL.

  DO THE OTHER NAVAL COLONIES HAVE SUCH RESOURCES?

  KRIS, I DON’T HAVE ANY PLANETS IN THE GREENFELD ALLIANCE THAT ARE LABELED NAVAL COLONIES. IT MAY BE THAT THEY HAVE OTHER NAMES, LIKE THIS ONE WILL LIKELY STAY PORT ROYAL. EITHER THAT, OR THEY HAVE AVOIDED OUR DETECTION. THEY ALSO AREN’T ON THE ITEECHE MAP THAT I’M NOT SUPPOSED TO HAVE.

  THANK YOU, NELLY.

  The conversation had taken a dark turn. Jack had pointed out that there were people on the planet who must know what was going on.

  “Yes, and your Lieutenant Pasley has done a great job of building the evidentiary case against them and their crimes. Tomorrow, we will bury the merchant sailors they murdered with full honors. I expect there will be a lot of new filled graves around them. My Commander Fervenspiel is presently seating court-martials to hear the cases based on your lieutenant’s evidence.”

  Kris nodded. Jack threw her a look. Kris made sure her face stayed carved in stone.

  Inside it was different. PENNY, ARE YOU THERE?

  IT’S GOOD TO HEAR FROM BOTH OF YOU.

  HUH?

  DO YOU TWO KNOW YOU BOTH JUST CALLED ME, KRIS, JACK?

  NO, I DIDN’T, echoed in Kris’s head in both her and Jack’s voices. Getting the hang of Nelly and her kids’ net was still a work in progress.

  SO, TO WHAT DO I OWE THE HONOR OF THIS CALL? AS IF I DON’T SUSPECT.

  I UNDERSTAND THAT YOUR EVIDENCE IS BEING USED BY THE GREENFELD NAVY FOR COURT-MARTIALS.

  YOU COULD SAY THAT, KRIS. I TEND TO SPELL THEM KANGAROO COURT.

  IS IT THAT BAD?

  IT’S NOT AS BAD AS IT WAS WITH THE PIRATES ON THE STATION. THEY AREN’T JUST LINING PEOPLE UP AGAINST THE WALL AND SHOOTING THEM. NOT QUITE. THE SLAVE OVERSEERS AND DRUG-PLANTATION MANAGERS ARE GETTING THEIR DAY IN COURT. WELL, FIFTEEN MINUTES. THEY CAN FACE THEIR ACCUSERS. LOOK AT THE EVIDENCE I’VE GATHERED. I GUESS THEY ARE PRETTY OPEN-AND-SHUT CASES, KRIS.

  IT IS AGAINST GREENFELD LAW TO TRAFFIC IN SLAVES, PENNY.

  I KNOW, I KNOW, KRIS. IF WE WERE BRINGING THEM UP ON CHARGES, WE’D PROBABLY GET TO THE SAME BOTTOM LINE. IT’S JUST THAT THE TIME FROM THE READING OF THE CHARGES TO THE VERDICT TO BEING TAKEN OUT AND SHOT IS LESS THAN AN HOUR. IN SOME CASES A WHOLE LOT LESS THAN AN HOUR.

  KRIS, BACK HOME, WHEN I WAS GROWING UP, WE HAD THIS MINISTER WHO LOVED, EVERY YEAR, TO PREACH ON HOW WE SHOULD PRAY NOT FOR JUSTICE, BUT FOR MERCY. WELL, IT LOOKS LIKE WE’VE GOT JUSTICE HERE, BUT NOT AN OUNCE OF MERCY.

  PENNY, IT DIDN’T LOOK LIKE THEY WERE SHOWING THOSE SLAVES MUCH MERCY, Jack offered.

  I KNOW. I HEAR YOU. GIVE ME A BIT OF TIME TO PROCESS IT ALL, OKAY?

  WHERE ARE YOU NOW?

  I’M HEADED BACK TO THE WASP, KRIS. THEY’VE GOT MY EVIDENCE. THEY DON’T NEED ME. ONE OF MY MARINES CAN HANDLE PRESENTING IT TO THE COURT.

  WE’RE ALL CELEBRATING IN THE FORWARD LOUNGE. IF YOU WANT A CHANCE TO SLUG THE ADMIRAL IN THE JAW, THIS IS WHERE YOU WANT TO GO.

  DON’T TEMPT ME, KRIS.

  WHO’S TEMPTING? I’M OFFERING.

  Kris found herself coming back to the conversation. There was more noise at the front door. Campbell and his XO, Kitano were arriving, along with the Marine detachment commander for the Dauntless. Taussig of Hornet was also there along with the command staff of the Fearless and Intrepid. There was much shouting of someone hogging all the fun and not getting their fair share of the exercise.

  All in good humor.

  Several tables were found to be empty and were slid together to join with Kris’s. Kris would have sworn that all the tables were full when she came in, but as arrangements were made to seat the others, she spotted how and why the Forward Lounge was gradually emptying out.

  Command Master Chief Mong and Gunny Sergeant Brown had taken a commanding table in the middle of the lounge. From there, they had a good view of everything. As Kris watched, a Marine finished his second beer and raised his hand for a third.

  As he expected, the barmaid headed his way. However, Gunny also had seen the order and noted the two beer mugs, with suds still foaming in front of him. A nod from Gunny to the Chief Master-at-arms, and two petty officers were at the kid’s elbow before the barmaid.

  The trooper was long gone before the barmaid, herself a petty officer during working hours, got to his table. She removed the mugs and wiped down the table.

  Marine or sailor, they got two beers today. Tomorrow’s duties would come soon enough, and no doubt the young men and women, away from home for the first time in their lives, would be ready to do their duty.

  Kris also didn’t doubt that Gunny and Master Chief Mong were coordinating their efforts with the other pubs in Boffin Country. With nearly half the Wasp given over to civilians and their requirements, the Navy was making fine adjustments.

  Which left Kris to wonder what should change, and what should stay the same if she did what she was planning to do.

  She was lost in thought when she realized the admiral was talking to her. He’d ordered several bottles of vodka for his officers and had appropriated one of them for himself. No chief or Gunny was limiting his drinks tonight. From the looks of things, he’d need help back to his ship later.

  “Excuse me,” she said.

  “I was wondering what you are planning to do with those pirate ships you captured.”

  “You were?” Kris said. As she understood matters, the schooners and the one merchant ship at the station had been captured by the Wasp and Dauntless. She planned to dispose of them under prize rules.

  There’d been some grumbling from the Greenfeld Marines when they weren’t allowed to get in on the fun of their capture . . . or the money. Was the admiral trying to renegotiate the terms of their agreement.

  “They’re yours to do with as you please,” he said, and seemed to realize that he needed to get that reassurance out front. “It’s just that they are tying up the three best piers on the station. The piers my battleships are at can’t give them nearly enough air and water or comm circuits. Your five corvettes and the Blood plus those three mean I don’t even have enough d
ocks to tie up all my battleships much less the cruisers. Where are you planning on sending them for a prize court?”

  “Not Cuzco,” Kris said, not needing a second to think on that.

  Around the table, that got laughs. Apparently, Kris’s legal problems with the last ship she’d captured from pirates were well-known.

  “Have you seen a dime from that?” Taussig asked.

  “Not so much as a penny,” Kris said. She thought for a moment. “I guess we could send them to Pandemonium. I think their courts would take the right view of pirate ships.”

  That seemed to get agreement.

  “Course, there’s not much market for pirate schooners around the Rim,” Admiral Krätz pointed out. “At least not a market we want to feed.”

  “I don’t know,” Jack Campbell said. “Capture them. Sell them back. Capture them again and sell them again. The right guy could make a career of it.”

  That got a laugh.

  “There is the possibility of my setting up an Admiralties Court right here on Port Royal,” the admiral said, sounding downright conspiratorial. “I might arrange for the Greenfeld Navy to buy two of the ships. Do you have any idea what we might do with the others?”

  “I could be interested in one or two of the schooners,” Kris allowed. “If they are fast enough, the Royal Navy might have a need for schooners as messenger boats out beyond the Rim. Question is, do they have legs? Can they stay out for months at a time? What kind of shape are the schooners in?” she asked the admiral.

  The admiral took time to share a victory toast before he answered. “I had a couple of officers take a look at them, all four of them. If the price was right, and we could get permission from Navy Headquarters, I’d like to buy one of the sloops and the freighter. We do need to get something out here to show the flag. Anyway, they all look pretty good. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say they came from one of our premier yards.”

  “But you know better,” Kris said.

  “Why, my dear young lady, of course they couldn’t have come from one of our best yards. Our fine, upstanding businessmen would never do business with pirates, now would they?” he said, giving the table a sly wink as he downed another shot of vodka.

  Vicky shook her head in disgust. “We know very well where they came from. Just because they did a good job of filing off the serial numbers and burning their papers . . .”

  “But, Lieutenant, they did just that. Your father, our emperor, would never take action against such important financial interests with no evidence.”

  “You took action this afternoon.”

  “They fired on my delegated spokesman. I merely returned fire.”

  Around the table, the newly arrived Royal U.S. Navy officers risked blank looks. Jack whispered, “Eighteen-inch battleship lasers within a thousand meters of my Marine company.”

  “They’re on our side, right?” Campbell whispered.

  “I wasn’t so sure at the moment,” Jack answered.

  “Yes, yes, I know,” the admiral said. “There was some personal risk to you. But we have put an end to the slavers running this show and destroyed all the evidence. Now we can take over this colony and run it the way decent people do. Right?” he said, raising another toast at that thought.

  “Right,” the Royal Navy said, for once in agreement with their Imperial opposites.

  Vicky didn’t look any more sure of the toast than Kris did. Instead of lifting her mug, she reached inside her purse and pulled out a flimsy.

  “What do you think of this article, Kris? ‘My friend the Iteeche.’ ”

  Kris choked on her soft drink.

  42

  Kris struggled for air. When had she ever told anyone about Ron? Certainly, she’d never called him her friend. Then Kris spotted the byline. Even through watering eyes she could read Winston Spencer.

  She had never told him that she was friends with an Iteeche! Never. Not once!

  Through coughing fits and tear-filled eyes, Kris read the first couple of paragraphs of the news story. Oh, he didn’t mention her name. No, these were other people who were willing to say that they’d been friends with Iteeche.

  Kris allowed herself a couple of more coughs to clear her throat, then risked a small sip of her drink. It went down the right way. Then she caught her breath.

  Once she had full control of her faculties . . . and had offered a quick prayer of thanks that someone coughing to death could not say something that would forever embarrass her . . . she tackled a response.

  “What do you mean, ‘My Friend the Iteeche’?” she said to Vicky.

  “Well, it was written by a friend of yours, that newsie you have sending you reports on what’s happening in Longknife space.”

  “I told you, I hired him so I wouldn’t be caught flat-footed in polite conversation with my big brother next time we run into each other. Out here on the Rim, a girl can get totally out of touch.”

  “Yes, I know you said that. But isn’t it strange that a big chunk of the stuff he sends you has to do with the Iteeche, far more than would be statistically significant, considering how little is said about those horrible creatures. And then he writes an article like this.”

  “Who’s talking about my friend the Iteeche?” Campbell asked.

  “Just some news guy,” Kris said, making sure to avoid admitting any familiarity with him. “Nelly, can you put the article up where people can read it?”

  “Oh, I have it here,” Vicky said, and the article suddenly appeared in big, bold letters on the view screen of the Forward Lounge, emblazoned against a backdrop of pipes and ducts. Beside Kris, others started reading.

  They didn’t read in silence for long.

  “That’s unbelievable,” Taussig said. “Her father had Iteeche POWs working on his farm while she was growing up.”

  “She thought they were pets,” Lieutenant Kitano put in. “To a ten-year-old girl, I guess a rock can be a pet.”

  “A rock I can buy,” Campbell said. “An Iteeche?”

  “It says here, one of the Iteeche farmhands saved her brother when he built a raft, and it came apart.”

  “I built a raft when I was a kid, and I needed saving,” Taussig admitted.

  “We couldn’t have captured that many Iteeche,” someone said incredulously.

  “Not during the first part of the war,” Kris said, “when it was mostly their wandering men against our pirates. As you may have noticed recently, pirates don’t take very good care of their prisoners. When we recaptured territory from their wandering men, what we found wasn’t pretty. I bet it was the same for them.” Kris knew quite well from her recent talks with Ron, the Iteeche Imperial Representative, that they’d found some pretty ugly scenes, too.

  “However,” Kris went on, “once Society of Humanity forces found ourselves fighting Imperial troops, such atrocities ended. If you can believe this article.”

  Kris did, but others would have to make up their own mind. This article was certainly going against the commonly held perception of a great generation.

  “You know, this is interesting,” Campbell said, rubbing his chin. “My dad said he had a friend who was captured by the Iteeche and lived to tell the story. Now, I wish I’d looked the fellow up and asked him. Then, well, everyone knew the Iteeche didn’t take prisoners. And neither did we.”

  “I am fifty years old,” the admiral said, “and never would I have expected to read such a story. But now, come to think of it. Back when I was in the Academy, there was a whispered story that the head of the Department of Escape and Survival had survived an Iteeche POW camp. Like you, I did not believe the story. Now, I, too, wish I had asked more questions.”

  “Interesting that your friend wrote the story,” Vicky said, grinning at Kris.

  “I told you, he’s no friend of mine. I’m a Longknife. He’s a newsie. They say nasty things about us, and we think nasty thoughts about them. Even on Wardhaven, that is no basis for a relationship.”

  “But
you did talk with him,” Vicky said. You could almost hear the steel teeth of the bear trap closing on Kris’s leg.

  The bad leg.

  Kris stalled. “What makes you say that?”

  “I have a copy of the trip tick from the cab that took him and Admiral Santiago to Nuu House. And a copy of the return ticket.”

  “Maybe I wasn’t there,” Kris tried.

  “You were there. You had the insert for Nelly directly into your head reinstalled that morning. You were there.”

  “My, aren’t you the little sleuth.”

  “No, I’m not, but I’ve learned how to buy their services when I need them. One of Greenfeld’s best spent two weeks as guest of our Wardhaven embassy, checking up on what he could check up on.”

  Kris couldn’t decide whether she should congratulate herself that her student was actually learning . . . or throttle the kid before she got too smart. For the moment, Kris settled on waffling. “Okay, maybe I was there, and maybe he came along when I set up some quality time with a good family friend. What does it mean?”

  “You and your great-grandfather met with an Iteeche,” Vicky said with all the drama and accusing power of the best vid prosecutor.

  43

  Around Kris, the Forward Lounge went silent.

  Well, not totally quiet. Gunny Brown was on his feet, pointing at first one, then another group of Marines. Pointing at them, then pointing at the exit.

  Marines stood, took a last pull from their beers, and headed for the door.

  Beside Gunny, the Command Master Chief went through the same exercise. Under his stern visage, sailors moved out. Behind the bar, the guys and gals stopped fixing the next round, put their glasses down, and made for the door, too.

  In less than a minute, the Lounge was clear of everyone below the rank of Marine captain or Navy lieutenant.

  For a moment, Kris marveled at what she had just witnessed. Then she remembered. King Ray had asked Gunny Brown to protect the security and privacy of his meeting with the Iteeche.