Kris Longknife: Defiant: Defiant

by Mike Shepherd

  “Captain Santiago asks that you wait for her here while we get under way. She’ll visit you then,” he said and left.

  “They ain’t exactly killing the fatted calf,” Abby observed. She pulled out a reader. Jack did a security check, satisfied himself a Navy destroyer was safe, and produced a reader of his own. Penny and Tom found a quiet corner where they proceeded to put their heads together and not violate Navy regs on excessive displays of public affection. That left Kris prowling the wardroom. It was larger than the Cushing’s. Newer. Just as clean with the usual public readers and the usual subscriptions.

  She and Nelly ended up playing acey-deucey. They’d been under way for over an hour when a woman of medium height and brown, graying hair ducked into the wardroom. The three strips on her blue shipsuit’s shoulder tabs told all she ruled here. After collecting a cup of coffee, she joined the table where Kris and Jack sat with Abby. Penny and Tom surfaced from each other’s eyes to gather with them.

  “I’m Commander Santiago, and the Halsey is my ship. King Raymond asked me to take you to Hikila, and I’m setting a 1.25-g course for there. I hope that won’t bother you. Being a destroyer, we’re short on space. I’m bunking all three of you ladies in my in-port cabin. You two men will be in a cabin across the passageway from them. Any problems with that?”

  Kris shook her head. Jack said, “No.”

  The woman eyed Kris for a moment. The JO who’d first led them to the wardroom ducked his head in. “You called, ma’am?”

  “Yes, Roberts, show these people to their staterooms.”

  “This way, folks,” the cheerful JG Roberts said.

  As the others made to leave, Santiago said, “A moment alone, Princess.”

  Kris waited.

  “I don’t know what you were expecting this trip, but let me tell you what you’ll get. A trip. Fast. Efficient. Nothing more. I won’t have any of my crew getting messed up in whatever it is you Longknifes are doing. Enough good sailors have died for your legends. This Santiago and my Halsey will not contribute any more bodies to the list. Understand?”

  “Perfectly,” Kris said, suppressing shock and rising anger.

  “Stay away from my crew.”

  “I’m not going to stir up a mutiny.”

  The commander snorted. “They wouldn’t follow you. My crew’s too good for that. No, Princess, I don’t want you making it any harder for them to do what I tell them to do. To follow my orders when I leave you high and dry if you mess up. Understand, Princess, I will not pull your chestnuts out of the fire, and I won’t have my crew doing it either.”

  “I’m going to Hikila to hold the hand of an old friend of my grampa while she dies. I’m not going to start a war.”

  “Yeah, right. Just so long as you understand, if, no, when you do, you will be on your own.”

  “Am I dismissed, Commander?”

  “Yes, Lieutenant.”

  Kris marched for the door. “One more thing, Longknife.” Kris turned. “My daughter will be applying to the Academy this year. For three generations every Santiago that applied to the academy had a letter of recommendation in their file from Ray Longknife.”

  “Yes,” Kris said. She knew Grampa Ray did that, part of what bound the Longknifes and Santiagos together.

  “My daughter will not have anything from a Longknife in her folder. You Longknifes have battened off our blood long enough. It stops with my generation. She takes her turn on her own.”

  “I’m sure she’ll earn her billet,” Kris said. “On her own.”

  It was going to be a long trip even at high-g cruise.

  4

  The Halsey’s gig edged away from the destroyer, where it lay tied up to Hikila’s space station, and dropped toward Nui Nui. Kris had a good view of the planet from where she sat behind the two pilots. All she saw was water, water, and more water. The main continent, called the Big Island here, was about the size of Earth’s Eurasia, but was well south of the gig’s nose.

  It was good to be away from the Halsey. Kris had joined several officers and the Marine detachment in their daily jog around the decks and up the ladders. The Sergeant of Marines was a friend from the Typhoon, Corporal, now Sergeant, Li.

  The next day, Santiago joined the exercise routine.

  To please the skipper, Kris kept old-time reminiscence to a minimum and just did the workout.

  Meals in the wardroom were also fully chaperoned by Commander Santiago. Again, Kris was invited to the Captain’s table, but it was quite different from her time at the head table on the luxurious liner Pride of Turantic. Kris let Santiago set the topics for discussion and followed, as most everything proved out of bounds. From the way the officers started conversations and accepted being cut off, Kris suspected the table topics had never been so nonhistorical, nontactical, and non-current events. No one crossed their Captain’s wishes twice.

  Kris was looking forward to a meal where most of her life was not a forbidden topic.

  The gig descended along a long line of islands spread out from a larger one. As Kris got lower, she could see the islands were wrapped in verdant greens, usually topped by volcanoes. Some still seemed active. Most islands were encircled by reefs and a dazzling blue ocean. No wonder this planet had been the choice of the descendants of Pacific Islanders from old Earth for the place to rebuild their lost life.

  The gig splashed down in a large lagoon and was quickly greeted by flower-draped rowers in outrigger canoes . . . and a power tug for their tow. “You want to ride in with us, or with the locals?” the gig pilot called back.

  “The canoes are an honor,” Penny told Kris.

  “I figured as much. Can you open the hatch safely?”

  The copilot did. Kris managed the transfer from bobbing gig to bobbing canoe with success, if not grace. Her whites were draped with leis by a lovely young woman wrapped in a sea green sarong. Soft yellow and pink flower tattoos wrapped around her arms and shoulders to disappear beneath her own leis.

  “I am Princess Ha’iku’aholo. My friends call me Aholo.”

  “I’m Princess Kris Longknife. Kris to my friends.”

  “And I’m Jack,” Jack said, making the transition from modern shuttle to wooden boat. He, too, got flowers for his effort.

  Their outrigger pulled away, and another took its place at the shuttle’s door. Penny and Tom got the same treatment. Kris expected ever-prim Abby to pass, but the woman hiked up her gray A-line dress to show well-shaped legs to her approving boatmen and stepped aboard the third canoe. She also got flowers, though from the fellows. They shoved off from the gig with a shout from an oarsman on Penny’s canoe, which Kris took for “last one ashore is a rotten egg,” because all three outriggers took off like a shot from a gun for the white, sandy beach. Half-meter waves helped them along, aided by the wind at their back. This had to be anyone’s idea of paradise.

  Abby’s canoe won, but there was no rancor. Kris wondered how her white shoes and pants would take to the water and sand, but she was not about to be carried ashore. She stepped out to find that the sandy section where they’d landed had been grouted or hardened, the beach, too. They walked ashore with the sand giving a bit, but not much. Paradise with high tech.

  “My mother’s grandmother’s heart longs to see you,” Aholo said and motioned Kris to a small electric cart, much like one used on space stations. This one was open to the breeze, had seats all around, and a colorful fish-print awning to provide shade. The princess took the driver’s seat and offered Kris the passenger side. The rest of the team took others, except Abby.

  “I’ll wait for our luggage.”

  An oarsman jumped on board. “I’m Aholo’s brother, Afa,” and they were off. The road was sand, but again it had been treated. Pedestrians left shallow tracks as did the cart. Beside them, palms swayed in the wind. A wild profusion of flowers and birds added a mad collection of colors.

  KRIS, WOULD YOU LIKE ME TO IDENTIFY THE BIRDS AND PLANTS FOR YOU?

  NO. LET ME JU
ST ENJOY THEM.

  The cart took them uphill. They passed houses made of wood and woven mats, thatched roofs, men in lavalavas, women in sarongs or lavalavas. Dress was . . . casual.

  There was a whisper behind them, followed by a stern, “I am not going native,” from Penny.

  Aholo smiled. “We often have that effect on foreigners.”

  Kris measured the depth of feeling behind that word; it came up high. She wondered what she’d have to do to keep that word from being applied to her and Grampa Ray’s United Sentients.

  Aholo pulled to a stop beside a large, multileveled house with most of its sides open to the breeze. She led them inside, past carved masks and figures, painted shields and potted flowers. Long-beaked, riotously colored birds flew by. Aholo led them through a door into a room that was closed off with blinds and mats on its walls. Candles—no, electric lights made to look like candles—dimly lit the room. A woman lay on a feather bed made from a brightly colored cotton tick. Aholo knelt and took the woman’s hand. “My Mother’s Grandmother, Ray Longknife has sent his son’s granddaughter.”

  The woman turned her face to Kris. Eyes, dark and deep as pools, took her measure. Then she blinked and nodded. “You have Rita’s eyes, not Ray’s. That may save you much sorrow, girl.”

  “I never met anyone who knew Great-grandmother Rita,” Kris stammered.

  The woman nodded. “She died too soon for poor Ray. Far too soon. I think she would have saved him from being president. He should have faded away after the war, become small again. I hear he’s back doing politics again. Bad boy.”

  “I encouraged him,” Kris confessed.

  “And he let you,” said the dying woman.

  “You are the queen here,” Aholo pointed out.

  “A queen here is nothing. The People sail as they will.” The crinkle beside the princess’s eyes said lie to the words.

  “But you have come to hold my hand while I make that final crossing over the reef, have you, young Princess,” the woman said, taking her hand from her great-granddaughter’s and offering it to Kris. Kris took it; it was dry, light. The fingers were swollen with arthritis, each joint tattooed with a different design. Sunbursts exploded at wrists and elbows, covering other designs of fish and birds. Tattoos on top of tattoos.

  PRIMITIVE MEDICINE USED TATTOOS, Nelly told Kris.

  “Don’t worry, old age ain’t contagious,” the queen said, making Kris wonder what the look on her face must be. She stroked the woman’s hand; it felt like well-worn leather.

  “You arrived just in time for the spring full moon,” the queen said, moving to her side and closer to Kris. “Will you dance tonight with us or stand aloof with the other foreigners?”

  Kris had read that some primitive tribes started teaching girls to dance at three so they could get the steps right at their wedding. “I would love to dance with you—”

  “Good,” the queen cut her off. “I will have Aholo send you the proper flowers. Afa, make yourself useful and hustle down to the long house. Tell them they need another princess crown for tonight. That’s a good boy,” she said as the young man, nearly Jack’s age, sprinted out of sight.

  The queen gave Kris a wink and a smile. “We’ll show the old doubters that Ray Longknife and his United Sentients is a good harbor for us to put in to, between the two of us, nahī?”

  So I was being jobbed even before I knew it.

  “Your Majesty should rest,” a man said, coming out of the shadows where Kris had not noticed him. His stethoscope and manner said doctor. Not witch doctor but modern M.D.

  “Kapa’a’ola, I’ll get nothing but rest soon enough. Can’t an old gal have some fun first?”

  “Grandmama, Kris and I have work to do if we are to dance for you tonight. You rest. We will work,” Aholo said as she stood and backed Kris and company out of the room. The queen was asleep before the door closed.

  “How ill is she?” Kris whispered.

  “She is not ill. She is old, and she is dying. Anywhere else, maybe she would ask for yet another rejuvenation. Here, she says no more. She has had enough.”

  “And you’re going to let her?” Tom said.

  Aholo stopped, turned to them. “Her last rejuvenation did not go well. It was painful, and,” she looked at her hands, cupped before her, “not very effective. She chose not to risk the pain only to find it a total failure. As she said, ‘All die.’ So many died in the war with her. Now she will join them.” A tear rolled down her cheek. “I accept her choice.”

  “But you will miss her,” Kris said, putting an arm around the future queen.

  “Very much.”

  “Well, can you show me enough dance steps not to make a fool of myself in front of her?”

  “She would greatly enjoy the laugh.”

  “That is what I’m afraid of.” Kris sighed.

  An hour later, thanks to Princess Aholo and several of her girlfriends, Kris knew enough steps to avoid the worst diplomatic disasters and maybe the personal ones as well. As she’d feared, every step here, every wave, had a meaning, told a story. With luck, Kris would stay back in the chorus line, providing the la-la-la backup.

  Aholo dropped Kris off at a suite of rooms about the time Abby arrived with seven steamer trunks rolling behind her. Kris counted them and raised an eyebrow. “I left one on the Halsey,” Abby sniffed. Which seemed reasonable, so Kris helped Abby unpack. Jack drew a bag from one, Penny and Tom took similarly sized ones as well and went to set themselves up in their rooms.

  “You bring me a couple of sarongs?” Kris asked Abby.

  “Nope.”

  “Mother Hubbard? Grass skirt? I’m not wearing one of those short lavalavas.”

  “Nope.”

  “Well, what am I wearing?” Kris asked as there was a knock at her door. She opened it to find Aholo holding a flat box.

  “Here are your flowers. They will crown us together at the long house tonight. I will see you there in two hours.”

  “Flowers?”

  “Yes. The flowers you’ll wear,” Aholo said and left.

  Kris elbowed the door closed and opened the box. It held two large flowers and two long leis.

  “The flowers go in your hair,” Abby said. “I’ll have to add some hairpieces to fill out that short Navy cut of yours. No problem. One lei hangs around your neck. The other off your hips. We’ll probably have to shorten both.”

  Kris dropped the box. It bounced on the bed. “You’re kidding. Right?”

  “You going native or foreigner tonight?”

  “Not . . . foreigner,” Kris said, full realization dawning.

  “That’s what a grandmother explained to me as I was bringing things in. The well-dressed local virgin, and that’s any not-married girl, wears flowers and her tattoos.”

  “Did Grampa Ray know about this?”

  “I doubt it, but then he didn’t say he’d dance tonight with the other princess.”

  “Flowers, tattoos, this is going to be worse than that getup you got me in for Tom’s rescue,” Kris said, plopping into a wicker chair that complained at the usage.

  “Maybe. Maybe not, baby ducks.”

  “Where am I going to get tattoos in the next two hours? Tattoos that the Navy won’t use to throw me out on my ass when I get back,” Kris added. A sedate anchor might pass muster. But tattoos like Aholo had curling around her arms, chest, and back . . . there was no way the Navy would stand for those.

  Abby tossed Kris her armored body stocking and pulled a bottle of spray paint and some rolled-up somethings from a trunk. “Primitive was in back on Earth a few years ago, but there’s primitive and then there’s primitive. So my employer needed different tattoos every night of the week. I got quite a collection of possible body art put together before it went out of style and she got killed.

  “So, baby ducks, if you want something like that other nice princess was wearing, you came to the right place,” Abby said, unrolling several lengths of stencils.

  “
So it’s flowers and body paint tonight.”

  “With me having paint-by-numbers fun.” Abby grinned.

  Kris sighed as she stripped out of her whites and shimmied into the armored body stocking. “When in Rome.”

  “You’ll find it’s a lot easier to fit in than you think.”

  A thought crossed Kris’s mind. “What’ll Jack wear?”

  “Don’t know. We’ll have to wait and see.”

  Abby applied paint liberally, covering Kris with twining flowers from her neck to her toes without a patch of skin peeking out. Between curling hairpieces and leis, Kris felt almost fully dressed above her navel. She had no trouble hiding Nelly and her automatic. “You sure you need that?” Abby asked.

  Kris squelched that question. “It may look like paradise, but until I spot the snake, I’m going fully prepared.”

  Abby shrugged and set about arranging the second lei so that it would stay in place. Kris wondered how the other girls kept them secure and put that question off for Aholo.

  Kris wasn’t sure how Jack did it, but he was just leaving his room when Kris answered the princess’s knock at her door. Kris about went cross-eyed trying to take them both in at once.

  Aholo’s sarong had covered a beautiful pastel tapestry of tattoos that merged flowers and ocean, fish and birds into a breathtaking tableau that was almost as lovely as her. Her long raven hair cascaded down her back in one straight fall. Her flowers danced to a stop as she waited at the door. Kris’s question as to how she kept them in place was answered as she adjusted them back into place. Kris swallowed hard.

  And looked at Jack. His tattoos were the more traditional black and skin. More skin at wrists and ankles growing darker as they approached the navel. A strategically placed gourd did for him what a similarly placed lei did for Kris. Kris had no idea where he was hiding his automatic.

  “We must hurry, or we’ll be late for the crowning.” So Kris and Jack hurried. Penny and Tom joined them. As promised, Penny was in dress whites, and so was Tom. Kris reminded herself that they were the ones out of uniform here. It almost worked.