Kris Lpnglnife's Maid goes on Strike_Like on Alwa Station

by Mike Shepherd

  Kris Longknife’s Maid goes on Strike

  A Novelette

  By

  Mike Shepherd

  Published by KL & MM Books

  June, 2017

  Copyright © 2017 by Mike Moscoe

  All right reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or any other information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher.

  This book is a work of fiction set 400 years in humanity’s future. Any similarity between present people, places or events would be spectacularly unlikely and is purely coincidental.

  This book is written and published by the author. Please don’t pirate it. I’m self-employed. The money I earn from the sales of these books allows me to produce more stories to entertain you. I’d hate to have to get a day job again. If this book comes into your hands free, please consider going to your favorite e-book provider and investing in a copy so I can continue to earn a living at this wonderful art.

  I would like to thank my wonderful cover artist, Scott Grimando, who did all my Ace covers and will continue doing my own book covers.

  Rev 1.0

  Abby Nightingale leaned back in her desk chair and sighed. She was finally done.

  Her desk was clean – as much as it ever was. Her in-baskets, both real and virtual were either empty or tapped down enough that they wouldn’t catch fire for at least two weeks. She could finally walk away from her job and enjoy the two week’s vacation she had already gotten signed, sealed and printed out in her purse.

  “I’m a free woman,” she shouted joyfully, but very softly.

  Abby’s office was right next door to Pipra Strongarm’s executive suite. Being this close to the CEO of most of the industrial production in the Alwa system, all the way on the hell and gone on the other side of the galaxy from human space, often facilitated free and open communications.

  Just now, that was the last thing Abby wanted.

  If she hurried, she could just catch the final shuttle of the day down to Memphis on the Columbia River in Rooster territory. In three hours, she could be at her shared plantation, in General Steve’s arms, and loving it.

  Make it two hours, if he met her at the shuttle landing dock at Memphis.

  Considering Steve’s lusty nature and the six weeks since their last vacation, she was betting on him meeting her at Memphis.

  Abby grabbed her small, overnight bag from beside her door, turned out the lights and was half the way across the empty outer office in a flash. Everyone else had gone home long ago.

  She’d almost made it to the door when she got caught.

  “Abby, get your butt back here and in my office,” came in a voice that was better at sulty and sexy but at the moment was shouting a command.

  “Boss lady, I got two weeks vacation that I damn near had you sign in blood. I’m out of here,” Abby answered back. But she was standing in place, no longer running for the shuttle.

  “Abby Nightingale, get your damn ass back here, now!” showed some serious intent. Pipra was usually very soft spoken when she gave Kris Longknife’s former maid directions. This was starting to sound like a Level Red 3 crisis. The only thing higher than a Red 3 crisis was a Granny Rita crisis.

  Abby dropped her bag and turned to meet her fate. Quickly she was at the door to Pipra’s office. “Boss, you do recall that in my last job, I killed a whole lot of people keeping Kris Longknife alive.”

  “And here I thought you washed her hair,” was Pipra’s oft repeated comeback to Abby’s oft repeated threat.

  “Wash her hair. Shot an assassin. Make the body disappear. All in a good five minutes’ work around her royal pain in the ass.”

  Pipra motioned Abby to the visitor’s chair beside her’s desk and the former maid slipped into the seat she warmed way too much these days.

  “It’s your hands-on experience with Longknifes that I need,” Pipra said, handing a message flimsy across to Abby, “Granny Rita is at it again,”.

  Abby groaned, even before she set eyes on the message. “Granny Rita!”

  “Yeah. Rita Nuu Longknife to some of us.”

  “What’s she gone and done now,” Abby said, scanning an unusual message. It was all in fancy calligraphy!

  Pipra said nothing, so Abby did her best to adjust her eyes to an ancient format of letters with flowing language to match.

  One word drew her eyes. A word that hardly belonged imbedded among such archaic language and fonts. “Nationalize!”

  Abby’s eyes shot up to stare in horror at her boss.

  Pipra was grinning back at her. “Is that a good enough reason for you to miss your shuttle?

  “But she can’t do that,” Abby insisted. “Even Kris Longknife never tried to do anything like that. Nobody is that stupid!”

  Pipra handed Abby another flimsy. This seemed to be the same message in a readable font. “That says she thinks she can. Note what I highlighted.”

  In yellow was a section where Granny Rita proclaimed that BY THE POWERS INVESTED IN ME AS VICEROY OF KING RAYMOND OF THE UNITED SOCIETY TO THE VARIOUS PEOPLES OF THE PLANET ALWA, I DO PRONOUNCE AND PROCLAIM THE CONFISCATION AND NATIONALIZATION OF ALL MEANS OF PRODUCTION USED BY HUMANS IN THE ALWA SYSTEM EXEMPTING ONLY THOSE ON THE PLANET ITSELF.

  Pipra leaned forward in her chair. “I’ve got my computer researching the history of nationalizations, but she hasn’t come up with much. You think yours can do better?”

  “Mata Hari?” Abby asked. Abby. as a result of her work close and uncomfortable work with Kris Longknife had been one of the first recipients of one of the Magnificent Nelly’s kids. Mata Hari, a name left over from when Abby was as much a spy as an assassin or a hair washer, was sentient. Unlike her mother, she had never shown a desire to argue with Abby or tell horrible jokes. Her occasional humor was usually quite tasteful as well as funny.

  “Nationalization was a practice among smaller nations,” Abby’s computer began to immediately report, “that developed during the latter half of the twentieth century as colonial powers retreated, although a major power might, indeed, have a radical change in government that brought on nationalization, but usually only for a short time. It has been rarely used since the diaspora into space. Its last significant usage was on the planet Savannah. They nationalized all off-planet ownership in order to delegitimatize some of the more egress actions of the Unity Government before its collapse after the Unity War. This sort of nationalization was then declared unconstitutional on Savannah in order to gain off-planet investment. Rita Nuu Longknife was heavily involved in that investment and may have been the source of the constitutional amendment.”

  “Damn,” Pipra breathed. “The old biddy’s dug deep into her bag of tricks to come up with this stinking pile of shit.”

  Abby raised both eyebrows. Her boss was definitely stressed out by this one. And why wouldn’t she be. When Kris Longknife was called back to human space, Pipra had been dumped with running an industrial empire that stretched from the mining operations in the asteroid belt all the way to the production fabrication plants on Alwa’s one large moon. Oh hell, had Rita also nationalized the space stations and the starship building yards on them as well?

  The king had sent out the first yards and made sure they were civilian activities even if all of the managers were retired senior Navy officers. At the time of their arrival, Kris Longknife had been, at best a commander. She would have quickly been outranked by a Navy base force.

  Had that previously good idea just born poisoned fruit?
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  “Abby, get down to Refuge. You’ve spent more time with Longknifes and the cork screws that pass for their brains than anyone on staff. See what you can make of this and get this withdrawn. We sweat blood to come up with the latest rebalancing of production to get the most for defense, consumer goods and industrial investment. I don’t want to have to go through all that again because one old lady pulled the rug out from under our feet.”

  Pipra leaned back in her chair and scowled at the ceiling. “Our production effort is held together with spit, glue and bailing wire. We’ve got over half a dozen different corporations now making up our consortium. If they don’t think I’m doing a good enough job for them, they’ll have my head for a hood ornament even if I do have the largest interest and I represent Nuu Enterprises. Understand?”

  “This she bull in the China shot can wreck everything,” Abby concluded.

  “You got it, gal. Now, go get’em tiger.”

  “Go get a Longknife?” Abby snorted. “Nobody, even the Peterwalds, have ever succeeded in mounting a Longknife head over their mantelpiece.”

  “No head required,” Pipra said. “Just walk her back from this. Find out what she wants. Figure out a way to get it for her without all this mess. Whatever.”

  Abby stood. “On my way, Boss. But you owe me. You own me an extra week’s vacation.”

  “What’s the big rush,” Pipra said. “You and that soldier boy of yours aren’t going to start a baby or anything like that, are you?”

  Abby dodged the question. “That man is a Marine.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Run. I’ve got them holding the last shuttle to Refuge for you.”

  Abby ran. Yes, a dumb manager could hold a shuttle, but if it missed its drop window, it would just have to ride the station around for another orbit and be ninety minutes later.

  * * *

  Abby hailed a cab at the shuttle port. A few years back, the shuttle landing had been a floating dock serviced by a few electric jitney cabs.

  Now, the shuttle dock had a pair of hangers serviced by a solid concrete ramp up from the lake as well as a major T pier that could handle two or three longboats at a time tied up alongside. The cabs were now fully electric cars good for sixty miles an hour on roads that weren’t so rutted that they’d shake the passengers’ eye teeth out.

  A lot had changed in the four years since Granny Rita had brought Abby down, at Kris Longknife’s elbow, to see her town.

  Abby saw all around her that the city of Refuge had changed as well. The surviving human colonials had been scratching out a bare subsistence on the land given to them by the local, bird-like Alwans. Now they had two harvests in the granaries and were living as comfortably as any human in a startup colony. Adobe mud buildings were being replaced by perma-plastic and steel buildings. A six-story building was going up at Alwa University.

  Yes, the times were a changing.

  The woman known as Rita Nuu Longknife, or Commodore Longknife or Granny Rita may have aged over the years; however, she certainly didn’t seem to have changed. This so-called Proclamation of Confiscation and Nationalization alone said the old gal hadn’t lost a bit of her bite.

  The drive to Government House was much longer than Kris Longknife’s ride, even though Abby took it at a much faster pace. The old Government House was now relegated to a City Hall for Refuge. Ada’s new Government House was on the outskirts of town. Though, if the city kept growing, it would likely be the center of town soon enough.

  The cab pulled up to the back of Government House. There was a Rooster waiting at the curb. He paid the cab driver in Colonial script and then motioned the human to follow him into the working entrance to the Colonial capital building. He led her up a flight of stairs, down a dimly lit hallway before stopping to open a door for Abby.

  Abby stepped into a cluttered office that would have fit any number of worried people in human space. Except for the specifics of the large map on the wall, it could have been a government official, business manager or truck dispatcher.

  Ada didn’t look up from the reader she was looking at. “This better be good. I was actually going to have dinner with my husband and kids today. My mom was even coming over. They reserved today a week ago. Said something about it being my birthday.”

  Now the First Minister of the Colonial Government looked up at Abby and scowled. “You didn’t say why you were in such an all fired hurry to see me or give me a reason I should. There aren’t many people who would get me to jump just on their say so. Please tell me that I’ll soon be scratching your name off the list of people who would never waste my time.”

  Abby settled into the chair next to Ada’s desk, the one she had not been offered. “Have you seen Granny Rita’s latest?”

  “Good God, not her. I thought she’d been too quiet lately. What’s the old gal gone and done this time.”

  Abby handed over the lovely calligraphed declaration.

  Ada’s scowl got even deeper as she eyed the document. “I’ve never seen such scribble in my life. What’s it say?”

  Abby handed across the proclamation in plain font.

  Ada scanned it quickly, eyed Abby, then read it a bit more slowly. Then she looked up and frowned at the woman from the other side of the galaxy. “Please tell me this doesn’t mean what it seems to be saying. Oh, God, please.”

  “Are you asking if that rambling collection of fancy words mean that Granny Rita has just taken control of all the means of production in the Alwa system except for those located on the lovely mud ball under your feet? The answer, according to my computer and my ancient degree in Business Administration is yes.” Before Abby could go on, Ada interrupted her.

  “She can’t do that.” was a lot more definite than the, “Can she?” that followed.

  Abby shrugged. “She says she can. She says as King Ray Longknife’s viceroy on Alwa she can do just that.”

  Ada launched into a long stream of expletives that would make even a Marine’s ears burn. Abby knew. She’d been on a drop mission or two that hadn’t gone according to plan. They ended with, “Get me a drink. Some of that single malt whiskey. The three-year-old bottle.”

  Abby found a bottle and two dirty glasses. She wiped them out with a stray paper napkin and poured them half full.

  Ada shook her head as she took the glass. “I knew when Granny Rita asked us to vote her half viceroy, just for Alwa, she said, that we were making a mistake. That damn dame hated Ray Longknife. Why would she ever want to be his viceroy?”

  Eighty years ago, at the end of the Iteeche War, Rita Nuu Longknife had been married to Ray Longknife. She’d also commanded a battlecruiser squadron that beat back an Iteeche invasion fleet. She’d killed a lot of good Iteeche Marines and really pissed off the Iteeche Navy. They had chased her until her velocity was so high that when she and her two remaining ship hit an unmarked jump, she’d been shot well across the galaxy. A few more highly improbable jumps and she was hacking the ice armor off of one battlecruiser to give the other ship enough reaction mass to slow down.

  Alwa was the system they finally came to rest in.

  Rita had been a harsh taskmistress as she drove her crew to do what they needed to survive. She hadn’t been averse to using a hangman when she had to. She was remembered by the survivors from those days not fondly, but respectfully.

  As a kind of wedding present, Kris Longknife had managed to get a vote out of the local Colonial assembly to make her Viceroy. Only Rita could have gotten the same vote without tying a knot with someone again.

  The argument she presented was simple. She’d share the duties with the newly assigned Grand Admiral Sandy Santiago, new commander of the Navy on Alwa Station. Sandy would be the viceroy from King Ray for everything above the atmosphere and Rita would be the viceroy from King Ray for everything dirtside. It would all work out just fine.

  The problem was that Grand Admiral Santiago had taken off to try to regularize relations with the other aliens they’d stumbled upon, the cats
who had their claws on the button for nuclear weapons. At the time, it seemed like a good idea

  Now? Not so much.

  Ada tapped her commlink. “Kuno, get in here. If you can find Lago, get him, too.”

  “On my way, chief,” came back immediately.

  Ada took a long swig off her drink, then leaned back in her chair and stared at the ceiling. “Can a government actually walk off with the whole kit and caboodle, lock, stock and barrel?”

  “They ain’t done it recently, but yeah, it’s been done in the past. Hell, didn’t Kris do something like that? Didn’t she have you claim that you’d given the Alwans the right to all the natural resources in the system so Ray and the lawyer types that came out with him for that one visit couldn’t latch onto them for themselves?”

  “I seem to have the original of that proclamation around here somewhere,” Ada admitted. “Still, that was to keep us and the birds from being robbed blind by you interlopers. This?”

  “Is Granny Rita robbing the interlopers of everything, including their underwear,” Abby answered.

  Ada’s Pretorian guard began to arrive. Lago was a young Rooster; he still had his first mating plumage along what passed for arms and legs. The other two were humans, one tall and dark, the other short and fair. Abby knew them for Kuno who coordinated Mining and Baozhai who was the colonial’s treasure, which was one tough job since taxes were still paid in kind.

  The government’s paper “work” script was still not all that respected.

  Ada quickly filled them in on Granny Rita’s latest hijinks. All three of them just shook their head. Ada finished with a question. “Can that old biddy do this? I don’t remember any place in her warrant as downside Viceroy where we gave her that kind of power. Do any of you?”

  All three shook their heads, but Kuno was going through his reader even as he did.

  “I’ve got the official commission the Senate voted on,” he said. “Let’s see. I thought we tied it down pretty specific. Everyone knows that woman would drive an elephant through a mouse hole.”