Kris Longknife: Defiant: Defiant

by Mike Shepherd

  “That’s not the way to do it,” Afa said, smiling.

  So Kris took the steering paddle to let Afa do the honors. As he settled her at the helm, his hand stroked her arm. “You’re wearing that strange thing you wore last night.”

  “A different one. Super Spider Silk body stocking. Can stop a four-millimeter dart and most other things assassins may throw my way.”

  Afa glanced at the sun overhead. “You’re going to burn.”

  “Also is good for SPF thirty sunblock. I’m protected.”

  As he moved forward to bait the hooks, he muttered something about being very well protected. Kris let it pass.

  They reached the roiled water about the time Afa had the first line ready to go over the side. He tossed it, played out some line, then held down the stick with the line on it with his foot while he brought down the sail. Then, transferring the stick to his teeth, he baited a line for Kris. She took it and tossed it over the side, let it play out about thirty, forty meters, then glanced at Afa. “So now we wait?”

  “The fish are moving a bit to windward,” he answered. “Let’s paddle up that way.” He put the line between his teeth and paddled. Kris could only imagine what Mother would say if she saw her doing that, but Kris did the same. There, they settled back to drifting again.

  After a while, Kris got the feeling her line was awful slack and started pulling it in. “Don’t do that,” Afa said.

  Kris weighed her options and chose to ignore the guy. Good thing; only a head dangled from her hook. “Any chance your fish have gone to college, too?”

  Afa snorted at her joke and rebaited her hook.

  A couple of minutes later, he hauled his in and reloaded its bait. “They are showing off for a star walker. Never did this for me,” he assured her.

  As time passed, Kris began to wonder how long this could go on. No wonder the others skipped this kind of fishing. Again they rebaited their hooks and moved the canoe upwind. Kris tried staring into the blue sea. She easily spotted the tiny silvery forms that darted here and there, disturbing the surface of the water. There were other larger shadows moving among them, deeper down. Big and thin and round. Would the darts from her automatic reach them? Then something long and dark and missile-shaped shot by, and one of the other things came apart.

  “Did you see that?”

  “It’s not good luck to stare into the sea. You might see one of the mer people and have your heart stolen away and go to live under the sea. Or maybe its an old tale to make it easier when people drown.” Kris saw pain there and remembered how Afa’s parents had died.

  “I think I saw something long and ugly eat one of your smaki. What’s a shark thing look like?”

  “Long and ugly about fits it,” Afa said, and yelped as his line went taut. “I’ve got one.”

  He held his line for a moment, then let it unwind fast. Still, the canoe took off as if both Kris and Afa were paddling with the tide. Kris knelt at the steering paddle, waiting for instructions, as Afa held onto his stick with both hands and let it play out as fast as it could unwind.

  “Ah, how many times have you done this?” Kris asked, thinking it was a bit late to raise that issue.

  “Many times,” he answered.

  “Many times as in too many to count, or many as in too many to count for this dumb girl on the fingers that I’m busy using.”

  “Many times,” he said through gritted teeth. He was reeling out the fishing line more slowly now, fighting it more.

  Kris had read about this Nantucket sleigh ride. No, that was when you caught a whale. Bigger fish. She eyed the bow. It was down, digging into the sea, but not shipping much water even when they dipped after cresting a wave. She wished he’d suggest something. Absent any comments from him, she edged the canoe off a few degrees to the right of the course the fish was pulling them in, letting it drag the canoe a bit.

  Wrong answer! The outrigger rose a good quarter meter out of the water. Afa leaned back, and the rig went down hard.

  “The line needs to be on the other side of the bow. The helmsmen always keeps the fishing line between the bow and the outrigger,” Afa said.

  “Now you tell me,” Kris snapped.

  “Sorry, I didn’t think.”

  “You’ve caught some fish. You’ve never led the fishing.”

  “Not before today.”

  “Now you tell me.” NELLY, IF WE GO INTO THE WATER, CALL JACK FAST AND GET A CHOPPER HEADED OUT HERE.

  AND IF I COME LOOSE AND SINK?

  HOLD ON TIGHT.

  YOU KNOW I CANNOT DO THAT.

  I’LL HOLD ONTO YOU, AND IF YOU DO COME LOOSE, POWER DOWN, AND WE’LL SEARCH FOR YOU.

  YOU BETTER SEARCH FOR ME, OR . . . OR I WILL NEVER TALK TO YOU AGAIN. Nelly actually put feeling into that old threat.

  Something long and dark and ugly shot through the water beside Kris. “We got trouble, I think,” she just got out when she had to make a grab for Afa. The line had gone slack so suddenly it almost shot him out of the boat. She grabbed him by his lavalava. Not a good handhold.

  He came out of it, still headed over the side.

  She made a second grab for around his waist and landed on top of him. Now, having a naked island boy all to herself might or might not have been one of Kris’s teenage fantasies. But having the outrigger rising over her head, tipping them both toward a dip in the ocean, an ocean presently occupied by a toothsome monster ripping what was supposed to have been their supper to shreds, definitely did not qualify as fantasy.

  Kris was grateful for Afa’s arm pushing her off in the right direction, which helped them rebalance the canoe. As the outrigger splashed back into the sea, they both began to laugh. In the process of separating, Afa ran his hand down Kris’s side, sending shivers through her. Getting back into his lavalava, he didn’t afford Kris too many chances to steal peeks.

  He did look nice.

  But the momentum of the fishing run had carried the canoe up to a patch of water where bits of fin and flesh were surfacing. That was a solid reminder of how deadly their situation could be. As they sat catching their breath, they rode the waves up and down. From the tops they could make out Nui Nui in the distance. It looked like a long paddle.

  “Papa always said, sometimes you win. Sometimes the fish win,” Afa said, looking at the water, not at Kris. “Today the big fish won. I guess I better set sail. The wind is changing, and the tide as well. Don’t worry. We’ll make dinner.”

  And they did, though it took a lot of paddling, and there wasn’t time to change. It didn’t matter; a swimsuit was just as proper as anything else. The elders enjoyed the story of the shark robbing them of their smaki smaki just as much, if not more, than the fish itself. So Kris got several tales of how you really fished for smaki. By the fifth variation, none of which agreed much beyond using a hook and line, Kris winked at Afa. Clearly, everyone did it their own way . . . and sometimes you won and sometimes the fish won.

  When stomachs were full, Kris asked how their day had gone. Aholo looked at where her grandmama lay on cushions and spoke for her. “It is time for me to go to the Big Island. I and most of Grandmama’s counselors. Vea Ikale called the city councils to see when they can meet with us. The elders think that if we start with the most willing, and then those less happy with the prospect, we can slowly build a wave that no one can resist.”

  “Any answers?” Kris asked.

  “No surprise, Port Stanley agreed immediately,” Vea Ikale, a tall, round chief with sailing tats said. “Others are still thinking about it. Port Brisbane says they have to call a council meeting before they’ll answer our call.”

  “No surprise there,” said a grandmother.

  “So we need to get things moving quickly,” Kris said.

  Heads nodded. “Nelly, raise Commander Santiago on the Halsey, give her my compliments, and ask her to call me.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” was followed by a brief pause. “Commander Santiago sends her compliments and is available to t
alk now.”

  “Captain, this is Princess Kristine.”

  “It’s good evening there, if I’m not mistaken.”

  “Yes. I was wondering if I might impose on you for the loan of your gig.” Kris glanced around at the entire collection of elders. “Or maybe your longboat and gig.”

  “You starting a war?” came dryly.

  “Actually, I’m starting a peace. Specifically, I want to quickly transport a negotiating team to get talks going to settle a long-running problem.”

  “Doesn’t sound at all like a Longknife gig.”

  The queen snorted. Several elders grinned; Aholo looked puzzled. Kris sighed. “We’re trying to turn over a new leaf. Seems like a good idea just now. I promise to return the gig and longboat to you in good order and with no new dents.”

  “That’ll be a first. When do you need them?”

  Kris ignored the comment and passed the question to the queen with her eyes. Queen Ha’iku’lani passed it, too. Several elders found themselves tossing the hot potato back and forth and settled, to their surprise, on, “Tomorrow?”

  “Could you have the gig and longboat on the beach at 7:30 a.m. to load out?” Kris said, pushing things to the limit. “That should put us on the dock at Port Stanley by 9:30 at the latest, with a whole day to devote to greeting, meeting, and talking.”

  “You want Marines?” Commander Santiago asked.

  “This is a local issue. We’re not involved. Not even sure I’ll be going, since I don’t have an invite at the moment,” Kris said and signed off.

  “I was kind of hoping you’d go fishing with me some more,” Afa said, his eyes more bedroom than fishing.

  “It was fun.” Kris swallowed hard.

  “I hope you will come with us to the Big Island,” Aholo said.

  “I was only waiting for an invitation,” Kris said, then gave Afa a raised eyebrow. “Why don’t you come to the Big Island?”

  His face fell as he shook his head. “I fish. Aholo speaks for us.” The elders made noises about packing for travel and took their leave; Aholo did the same. Kris realized she needed to pack up, maybe not the entire seven steamer trunks, but a big chunk of them, and bowed out as four strong men brought in a sedan chair to take the queen back to her room.

  Kris joined Abby going through her collection of clothes and wondering which she should leave behind and which she should keep with her. A couple of uniforms did not seem like they would do; Kris suspected she’d need to come the attentive princess more often than the gallant trooper. So, sundress or power suit, ball gown or flowing lama sarong?

  A soft knock got her attention a half hour into this exercise in frustration. “Come in,” brought a puzzled looking Aholo into the room.

  “Oh, you have so many different kinds of clothes,” the princess said, eyes wide in wonder.

  “Yes.” Kris sighed. “You just need to pack a dozen different colored sarongs, and you’re done. I suspect I’ll end up loading four or five steamer trunks onto the gig and still regret something I leave behind.”

  “But should I walk among those on the Big Island so clearly not of their ways?” she frowned. “Should I show more respect for their ways if I want them to respect our ways?”

  Kris moved several dresses aside to find space for herself on the bed and sat down. “Good questions. What’s your answer?”

  “It does not matter. I have nothing else to wear.”

  Kris eyed the other princess. She was, of course, more busty. And shorter. Where was that sundress that was way too short and hung on Kris? There. “Why not try this one?”

  Aholo wiggled out of her sarong, underwear not being popular on the islands, and Kris helped her get the sundress over her head. The dress’s waist was gathered in, providing natural support, and the skirt flounced out beautifully on Aholo. She glanced at herself in the full-length mirror on the bathroom door, and pirouetted. “It’s lovely.”

  “You’re the one who’s lovely. The dress is yours. It sure doesn’t look that good on me. I think your feet are about my size. Abby, do we have some shoes for her?”

  Abby rummaged a bit to produce sandals . . . and frilly panties two sizes up from Kris’s. “I keep these around. If you keep eating aboard ship like you do, you’re bound to end up needing them with no store nearby,” the maid said with a sniff.

  Kris made a face and said nothing.

  “Since you’re attending some serious talks, you might want to have some serious business clothes,” Abby went on, pulling a red power suit from a different trunk. It was shorter than the one she’d offered Kris, and more roomy. The face Kris gave her maid this time was different, but Abby proved to be just as impervious to it as the other. And she produced a dark blue and bright green suit, both with skirt, pants, and tights, depending on what the business-women on the Big Island were wearing.

  All a great fit for a 5’8” gal with great curves and totally out of place in the wardrobe of a six foot tall beanpole.

  Abby, we got to talk someday. When things slow down.

  But not tonight. She stood aside as Abby outfitted Aholo with a full set of underwear, bra size 38-C well up from Kris’s own 34-A, but Abby walked right through Kris’s frown. What did the woman have in all her trunks?

  Makeup was skipped, but not accessories for the ensembles . . . more shoes, scarves, and light jewelry. “Unless you have some of your own?”

  “Most of mine is handmade and not so fancy. Let me get my box,” and that brought out a lot of oohing and aahing as both Abby and Kris matched natural pearls, lovely brooches, necklaces, and bracelets to each of the outfits. And watched as Aholo tried them on. Then tried on some of the formal wear that was supposed to look like it had the flowing look of Island wear but was totally synthetic.

  “Why not just wear a sarong?” Aholo asked.

  “Hard to answer that question,” Abby said. “Kind of like if you ask it, there’s no way to answer it for you.”

  “Oh,” the Island princess said.

  “Now it’s late, and the gig will be here early. I’m just gonna load all of your stuff on one trunk, Princess,” Abby said with a nod toward Aholo, “and I’m gonna take all your stuff, Kris, ’cause I don’t have time to pick and choose. There’s plenty of good-looking guys around only too glad to show off their muscles for me, and I’ll let them load this stuff back out.”

  Why did Kris suspect that this was exactly what Abby had wanted . . . and that one of those trunks had always had Aholo’s size, and . . . Too many questions. Way too many.

  Morning came early; there were Marines aboard the gig, and Kris suspected the long boat, but they sat in the back and kept their rifles out of sight. Kris nodded at Sargeant Li and got a businesslike nod in return. Though they left Nui Nui at 8:30 a.m. and spent about an hour and a half making orbit and breaking back down, they landed in a large bay surrounded by Port Stanley at 8:00 a.m. local time, having gained two hours against the sun. It would be a long day.

  They motored up from the shuttle port through an industrial park that would have done a medium-size town on Wardhaven proud. The greeting speeches at the Civic Auditorium, though they were long and formal, were to a packed audience. They were full of thanks for all that the Islanders had done for them in their time of need so many years ago and reminders of all that they had done for the Islanders lately. Kris had to respect the way Aholo, in a bright red suit with conservative skirt, followed right along, thanking them for their support in building hospitals and navigational aids in the Islands and glad that they had enjoyed the hospitality of the Big Island in their time of great need.

  Aholo then went on to say what they had left unsaid, that the decision made so many years ago, based on false expectations, now needed to be revisited and set along a different course.

  That finale to her speech drew applause that even Kris’s father would have envied. Especially just now with him fighting for his political life. For a kid raised in a less-than-partisan political environment, Aholo l
ooked to be a quick study.

  After a break, they adjourned to the city hall and its council chambers, and a table expanded to provide room for Aholo and the elders with her. Kris and Jack casually did a walk-around that turned up nothing threatening and only the standard swarm of news-type bugs. They let them live. When Jack went outside with Penny to meet with the local constabulary, leaving Tom to keep watch at the door, Kris settled into a chair along the wall, fluffed out the wide skirt to her sundress—she was intentionally underdressed beside Aholo—and got ready to listen and smile through the rest of the day.

  Which was about all she did.

  Everyone had to have a chance to talk, and they did. Islander and Mainlander—they insisted on that name and soon even the Islanders were using it—got their say. Kris wondered if she was the only one who noticed that most of them were saying the same thing. Times were tough when they came to the Mainland, and they worked hard to make a wilderness into a home, and they’d succeeded and watched their kids and grandkids grow and prosper. Now they had as much interest as anyone in this planet, and it was their tax money that paid for everything on this planet. Everything.

  Of course, the Islanders had their mantra. They fought hard and bled during the Iteeche Wars, saving humanity while the refugees on the mainland were just struggling to stay alive. They just wanted to live their way and they didn’t take much. And after all, this was their planet.

  By four o’clock when they adjourned, Kris had heard a lot of chest pounding but not much give and take.

  Abby had taken over the Royal Suite at the Hotel Stanley. Aholo and Kris had separate bedrooms. Abby and Jack were across the hall. Penny and Tom had rooms on either side of them.

  The maid was clearly ready to do two princesses for the price of one. Abby set up a bathing, hair shampooing, and dressing assembly line that was a marvel of modern efficiency, and produced two fully decked-out young women in flowing gowns by the six o’clock supper hour. This even allowed for Kris and Aholo to spend time dithering over each other’s jewelry boxes. Aholo ended up wearing the best Wardhaven and six hundred human planets had to offer; Kris wore Island finery.