“Thank you,” he said, and was rewarded for his gallantry with another attack of dimples as she opened the door for him.
“General Trouble is here for you, sir,” she said.
“And you’re a whole lot of trouble, today, aren’t you, Jarhead.”
Trouble took the offered hand. “While I will dispute that I’ve caused anyone any unnecessary trouble, no doubt, I am in trouble.”
“No doubt,” the newly minted field marshal said, pointing Trouble toward a comfortable chair and taking another one himself, thereby managing to sit with his back to a desk piled high with the jetsam and flotsam of the problems of combining 120 or more planets into a single fighting force.
“Can I placate you with a cup of coffee or tea?”
“Coffee. Black,” Trouble said.
“Corporal Jin, two black coffees.” The dimpled soldier nodded and closed the door as she left.
“You keeping the prettiest for yourself, old man?” Trouble asked.
“I got to put up with a gang of ugly ones.”
“Like that colonel I damn near slugged out there?”
“Colonel Denton is a very good public-relations expert, or so I am assured.”
“I didn’t notice any combat ribbons on his chest.”
“Trouble, there aren’t a lot of folks with combat ribbons to show for their twenty or thirty years. It’s been kind of peaceful for a spell.”
“That may be changing,” Trouble said.
Dimples returned with two coffees that were actually coffee, not froth, and tasted quite good. Trouble told her.
“The field marshal got the office a real coffeepot last Christmas. So long as I clean it every morning, it makes good coffee. Since I also get to drink it, it’s a joy to clean.”
“Practical soldier,” Trouble said, a grin coming out to play. “Now, if you can find a dirty, oily old pot boiler, why don’t you draw a cup for my friend the colonel back there?”
“Sorry, General,” the corporal said, dimples on full parade. “Prune face only drinks the fancy stuff. All froth and foam and sugar.”
“Now, Jin,” the field marshal said.
“Yes, sir, Field Marshal, sir, I’ll clean up my act immediately, but the general met the colonel, and the general doesn’t look like the type to call a fucking spade a shovel, sir.”
And with that, she conducted a very orderly withdrawal. Certainly, not a retreat.
“That young woman,” the field marshal said, shaking his head.
“Well, if you have no use for her, I’m sure my Kris could put her to good use in a fight. It seems to me that a woman like her is wasted on a bunch of toy soldiers like you got here.”
“No doubt, but her dad and mom served under me years ago, and they personally asked me to sit on her request to transfer to Kris’s Marine detachment. I sat on the request just long enough to see the rear jets of the fleet headed out.”
“Mac, the day may be coming that we need to let gals like her get their war paint on.”
The field marshal’s eyes took on a faraway look. Then he shook himself. “You may be right.”
“You heard anything?”
“Nothing more than when you left last night. We’re all just guessing.”
“Us. The media. All looking for a good crystal ball, and none to be had,” Trouble said, and allowed himself a worried sigh as he enjoyed another sip.
The field marshal eyed Trouble. “So you just had to go out there and give them a few more crumbs.”
Trouble scowled. “Guilty as charged. It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“I’ve heard that a time or ninety from your great-granddaughter.”
“You’ve heard it a couple thousand times from me and Ray,” Trouble shot back. “They were getting their panties all in a twist about some war with Greenfeld. I could see nothing served by them blabbing on about that, so I gave them the crumb that Vicky Peterwald was back. That should take a load off her dad.”
“Yeah, but what will it do for her stepmother?”
“Ouch. I forgot there was supposed to be bad blood between them.”
“I had my computer do a search of the classified files after I escaped from Crossie last night. There were four reported bombings, including one on the Wasp, that likely were aimed at Vicky.”
“And I thought Kris was the only one who had to dodge assassins.”
“It may be that Vicky’s dad has given up on Kris, seeing how she saved his life and added a planet to his train wreck, but Vicky’s stepmom is another kettle of rotten fish.”
Mac paused for a moment, “And you’ve now told stepmommy where her beloved kid and target is.”
“Damn. You think that’s a problem?”
“It’s not likely to stay our problem for long. There are a dozen Imperial battlecruisers wandering around from star system to star system, showing the flag, and getting in position to make a pickup of any Greenfeld survivors that make it back to human space.”
“I hadn’t heard about them.”
“We kept it out of the normal intel feed. A pair of battlecruisers isn’t likely to be a problem. Not with the mess they’ve got back home. Still, I checked. A battlecruiser division was visiting New Bern last week. Five will get you ten they’re on their way to Chance as we speak.”
“To pick up their Grand Duchess?”
“Or any other survivors that follow Kris home.”
“But we don’t know that any others have,” Trouble said.
“No, we don’t. Still, I’ve got a lot of stuff flowing toward Chance. Including a lot of high-priority questions. Ray even canceled the orders for a fast courier ship and had it redirected to Chance. I ordered a heavy cruiser squadron to cancel its training exercise and boost at two gees for the same place.”
“You think there could be a fight?” Trouble said, sipping thoughtfully at his now-cooling coffee.
“You didn’t hear this from me, okay, but we’ve got an early report that someone in the new government at Bern is trying to bring Kris up on charges for crimes against humanity.”
Trouble almost dropped his coffee. “Crimes against humanity! What does that even mean?”
“Damned if I know, old horse. There was a big tempest in a teapot in the Helvitican Confederacy when the Fleet of Discovery suddenly became a battle fleet. There were other problems with the party in power. A sex scandal, maybe other stuff. Anyway, them that was in power got voted out and them that was out are now in. Nobody is quite sure what provided the margin for the victory, but the new boys are busy shoring up anything that looks like it might get them a vote or three in the next election. Which may not be too far off.”
Mac paused to sip his own coffee before adding.
“And there are still a lot of folks that think Ray Longknife was personally responsible for the Iteeche War. A war we almost lost big-time.”
“That’s absurd,” Trouble exploded.
“To you and a lot of the rest who were out there on the line, yes, General. But my grandmom was one of those manning the barricade and demanding we get the Iteeche into negotiations.”
“The damn four-eyed monsters weren’t talking to us, Mac. You know that.”
“Yes, Trouble, I know that. I learned it in school, but my grandmom had her own ideas of what was going on back then, and I heard it from her every time the family got together for a reunion. And my old grandmom wasn’t the only woman out there carrying signs by the time the war went into its fourth, fifth year.”
Trouble made a sour face.
Mac went on. “Ever hear the proverb that the sins of the father will be visited upon the children down to the, what is it, third or fourth generation?”
“A few times,” Trouble agreed, “and whether it’s third or fourth, Kris is still too close to Ray for people like your grandma.”
“Yep,” Mac said, making a face at his coffee cup.
“Chance is in the Confederacy now, isn’t it?” Trouble asked. He was pretty sure what
the answer was, but now was no time to get something as basic as that wrong.
“Yes, but the space station and Naval District 41 is our sovereign territory,” Mac pointed out. “Kris’s tour as ComNavDist 41 reminded everyone just recently that Chance doesn’t own its own space station.”
“And how much do you think they like that?”
“Your guess is as good as mine, but I’ve ordered four heavy cruisers to Chance, just in case they need a reminder. But there may not be a problem.”
“How come?” Trouble asked.
“The old admirals’ club in the Confederacy may have voted for the new government, but they didn’t much take to the noise about a fighting admiral not having the right to fight his ships the way he sees fit, him being out of touch and on the other side of the galaxy.”
“Not a point I have any trouble agreeing with,” Trouble said.
“So, I doubt the skipper of the duty cruiser that the Confederacy has hanging around Chance is going to be at all willing to butt his nose in where it’s not wanted.”
“Unless, of course,” Trouble pointed out, “the new government issues him orders to do just that.”
“And how many politicians who are just learning how the levers of power work know what they have to do to get a distant ship to do something? Even know they’ve got a distant cruiser on a foreign station?”
Trouble chuckled. “Yes. We can hope.”
Mac’s commlink came alive. “Mac, have you seen what that stupid jarhead did today?” came in Ray’s shout.
Mac just shouted back. “Said general is seated across from me enjoying a cup of joe.”
“You two shag your asses up here, pronto.”
“On our way, Your Majesty,” Mac said, putting down his cup and standing.
Trouble did the same, while pointing at Mac’s desk, and mouthing, “Is it still live?”
“No,” Mac said. “It happens often enough that I can now hear the click as he rings off.”
“You let him scream right through, no holding or anything?”
“Trouble, the poor guy is in full Iteeche War mode, as I’ve had a few old-timers warn me. Didn’t he have a live mic to your headquarters?”
“I shared the same planet with him only when I had to,” Trouble admitted. “And yes, I was warned that he had some really bad control-freak habits.”
The field marshal just shook his head. “For a crowned head who insisted he was just going to be a coordinator, a helper, an ombudsman if you will, the old guy is developing a lot of royal, pain-in-the-butt, bad habits. Either that, or he’s redeveloping them.”
“When was his last rejuv? Can his heart take this?”
“Your guess is as good as mine,” Mac said.
Together, they went up to the top floor. Trouble tried to look contrite about spilling the beans on Vicky, but he didn’t back down much anywhere else.
“Ray, we’ve got to get ahead of this thing. We can’t let all this jabbering go on in the news, or they’ll all be stampeding in the wrong direction before we know what the right direction is. Then how will we get everyone headed in the direction they need to be going?”
“It’s not as easy as it was in the old days,” Ray said, running a worried hand through his close-cropped gray hair. “It’s not so much a military problem as a political problem that we face. Hell, man, Earth let the Society of Humanity go down the drain because it didn’t want its tax money going to the tiny fleet we had five years ago. I start talking to them about manning their reserve fleet and laying new keels, and they’ll cut me off at the knees.”
“And if one of those huge mother ships shows up in orbit, you’re going to do what politically to resolve the social and domestic issues it creates?” Trouble said, trying not to sound too sarcastic to his old war buddy.
“Instead of having coffee with a green suiter, you ought to drop by to have a drink with our grandson Bill and see what alligators are chomping down on his ass, or see if your former son-in-law Al will say anything to you about new taxes.”
The last, Ray almost spat. Clearly, he and his son must have tried to talk to each other recently. Tried and failed, from the sound of it to Trouble.
“We’ve got to do something, Ray. Anything is better than this.”
“Are you sure? Have you seen what’s been done with your interview? Computer, show this idiot some of what you just showed me.”
Trouble would have sworn that he did a good job of taking the sharp edges off his words. That he’d said exactly what he intended to say and not one word more.
Silly old soldier, he.
He was treated to a half dozen vignettes of his talk to Winston, none of which included the other reporter, but all of which made him sound like he was beating the war drums and all for drafting every available man, woman, and child into the army, the fleet, or concentration camps and charging off to rid the galaxy of this menace.
None of them had him saying more than about ten words each.
Of course, the talking heads said a whole lot more.
“I didn’t say any of that,” Trouble growled.
“You didn’t have to,” Ray said. “Trouble, would you take a kid off the street and send him up Black Mountain?”
“Of course not. He’d be dead before he took his second step,” Trouble spat.
“So what makes you think you can charge off into these folks’ damn battlefield, the place they live and make their living, without so much as a briefing?”
“Well, if you put it that way . . .” Trouble said, and let his words trail off.
“You may not think much of that bird colonel you almost tore a new one for, but he knows this kind of battle. I trust him to fight this kind of a battle. Now calm down and go polish your cannons for a few hours. As soon as we get anything about Kris from Chance, I’ll have you in here to help us figure out what to do with it.”
“I’ll be waiting for your call, Your Majesty.”
“Don’t you go ‘Your Majesty’ing me, you old warhorse.”
“Sound the bugle, and I’ll be whinnying, sir.”
“Better. Now get out of my face. This may be hard for you to believe, but I got a half dozen other big-toothed monsters chewing on my leg besides our grand-girl.”
Trouble threw Ray a casual salute and headed for the door, with the field marshal right behind him. As the door closed, Mac whispered.
“Anytime I can escape from in there without needing an immediate blood transfusion is a good one.”
“Speak for yourself,” Trouble growled. “I’m headed for the nearest bar to get myself a nice infusion.”
* * *
Trouble didn’t head for a bar. Instead, he called Ruth and asked what she was doing for supper. She must have known he’d had a bad one because she met him outside the Smuggler’s Roost.
“Just like old times, before we got respectable,” she said with a winsome smile at the memories.
“Sometimes I wish we never had,” Trouble growled.
“That bad?”
“Ray’s got his head up his political ass.”
“Are you sure it’s him and not you?” Ruth asked, as he held the door open for her.
“And what do you mean by that?”
“I mean that it’s easy when you’ve got a mission order. Everyone reads it, salutes, and does their level best to execute it to the best of their ability.”
“You’ve obviously forgotten how it really goes. Oh, and then there’s the other poor SOB doing everything he can to kill you. Don’t forget them.”
“Do you think I ever can?” Ruth said, rubbing her shoulder. Even after all these years, it still hurt when the weather changed.
“Sorry. It’s been a lousy day, and tomorrow will likely be worse.”
They settled in the back. A new waiter took their order for two beers and two cheeseburgers with all the trimmings and hurried away.
Ruth’s eyes got distant and took on a glaze. “Next quarter on New Eden, I’m teaching a c
ourse on “The Post-Unity War Period and Its Impact on the Initial Phase of the Iteeche War.”
Trouble smiled. She was actually speaking in caps where the course was concerned.
“It has me thinking back to what a mess it was in those days and how it’s not all that different from what we’ve got now.”
“What I remember about then is nothing like what I’m seeing here,” Trouble said to his beer as it arrived.
“That’s because you got your lovely ass out on the line just as fast as you could make it happen. Remember, I got left behind at Savannah, what with our first on her way. The war I saw was a tad different from yours.”
“And now I’m stuck in the cheap seats this time, and I’m seeing what I didn’t see last time,” Trouble said, softening his words with a smile. He hoped.
He must have succeeded, because Ruth took a long pull on her beer and nodded.
“Folks that are not out on the tip of the spear have these other considerations that don’t involve avoiding getting suddenly dead. They’ve got bills to pay and kids to raise. They worry about whether their kids will get drafted into some war they don’t really understand and so totally don’t want to get involved in.”
“This war could end up not two hundred klicks over their heads,” Trouble said, making a thumbs-up sign.
“You know that. You think about that. But not everyone does. I was talking to a friend of mine at lunch. In a public restaurant. The guy in the next booth leaned over and asked us to change the topic. He had his ten-year-old daughter with him and he didn’t want her to have to listen to all our talk of war.”
“What did you do?”
“I told him that it was a free country, and by the time my daughter was ten years old, she’d waved good-bye to her dad three times as he deployed to fight the Iteeche.”
“How’d he take to that?”
“He gave me a look like I was talking about sexually molesting his daughter. Then he and his daughter moved to the other side of the place.”
“So you’re telling me that Ray has a real problem on his hands, and it’s not all in his head.”
“Not by a long shot.”
“Any suggestion how he handles it?”
Their burgers arrived as Ruth laughed. It was a beautiful thing that had silver bells tinkling in it.
Kris Longknife: Welcome Home / Go Away Page 4
