“The Abdicators, ah . . .” There was a short pause as the captain consulted his own reference. “They were street-corner noisemakers. Never used terrorist tactics.”
“Things have changed. The new and improved version does.”
“Oh.” Another long pause. “But how would killing Henry involve us in a war?”
“As I said, Captain. I’ve been to Xanadu twice in the last month or so. They are now here. I suspect that the whole business is intended to have Longknife fingerprints all over it.”
The “Oh,” this time let a lot of air out of the captain.
“Princess, I need to talk to my security officer pronto. Will you be available to talk later?”
“I’ve been told not to leave the Wasp. None of us.”
“Right. You’re under even tighter restrictions then we are. Give me a bit. I suspect State Security will want to talk to us. Oh, and I’m going to tell Ensign Victoria what you’ve just told me. We may have a direct line to the Palace if we need it.
“I think we will,” Kris said.
The pier tie-downs echoed through the Wasp as each engaged. The sound was like a prison door slamming shut. Kris had been in some bad situations before. Never had she felt so vulnerable. Then came the demand to drain all ship’s power to the station. She’d spent the last four years doing her best to stay out of reach of the Peterwald family.
Now she was totally in their power. Literally.
Kris’s stomach was a sour void.
Then things got worse.
A half dozen men in State Security black showed up at the gangway and barged right across it. Four of them carried those nifty-looking machine pistols. At least they did have Captain Krätz with them.
And he had an ensign tagging along as aide.
From her conference room, where Kris watched the developments, she relaxed a little. She knew that ensign.
It got rather interesting when the Black Uniform Mafia ran into six Marines in full battle rattle on the quarterdeck. Rifles at port; bayonet’s fixed.
Did a couple of those gun boys flinch?
Gunny stepped forward to greet them. “Do you have business on this ship, sir?”
“I am Colonel vin Martin to see the Longknife girl.”
“You request an audience with Her Highness, Princess Kristine Longknife,” Gunny corrected.
“May I remind you that you are in Greenfeld space, attached to a Greenfeld space station. We have no truck with princes.”
Yet people talk freely of the Palace, Kris thought.
“I know where I am, Colonel,” Gunny said with a gentle voice that rang solid steel. “May I point out that you are on board a Wardhaven warship bearing the great-granddaughter of King Raymond I of United Sentients.”
The two men glared at each other. The colonel’s glare was that of a dog, foaming at the mouth. Gunny’s glare was more like the sun. I’m here. Get used to it. And don’t forget your SP 8,000 sunscreen. The dog surrendered to the sun.
“Please advise this putative princess of yours that State Security requests and requires a meeting with her.”
Gunny paused just long enough to give the impression he had received orders, then smiled. “You are granted an audience.”
Kris glanced around her staff room. Nope, no throne in sight. And she was in the undress whites of a lieutenant. Getting the power flow going her way for this meeting would not be easy. She mashed her commlink. “Gunny, take the long way. I need time for prep.” Without waiting for an answer, she changed. “Abby, I need my ribbons. Include the star burst of the Wounded Lion.” Earth’s highest honor ought to give any soldier pause to rethink with whom he’s dealing.
“On my way,” said her maid.
Kris glanced around. No way to make the table disappear. But . . . “Captain Drago, I want the chairs out of here. Chief, can you get these walls covered with deep space and stars. Oh, and lower the lights. Jack, I want you at my right hand. Can you get in dress red and blues.”
“If Gunny includes a tour of the reactor,” he said, already running.”
“Make it faster,” she called after him.
Captain Drago disappeared. Sailors got busy making chairs disappear. Abby appeared, and Kris stood to have the ribbons pinned on. A sailor made a grab for Kris’s empty chair.
“No you don’t. I stay seated,” Kris growled.
Yep. Now if she just had enough time to get this dog and pony show set up, one obnoxious State Security colonel would find himself in a very interesting situation.
Jack returned, still buttoning his collar.
Captain Drago appeared . . . in the full-dress blues of a Wardhaven Navy captain. Kris glanced at his fruit salad. It showed the usual ribbons a good man would collect during the long peace. A couple of his tourist ribbons had V’s for valor. Likely in combat. How had he managed that?
Then Kris remembered how she’d earned V’s for her supposed tourist medals. Maybe the long peace hadn’t been as peaceful as the history books claimed.
Leaving Kris to wonder if only blind people wrote histories.
“Reserve commission,” Captain Drago said. “Inactive.”
“Consider it activated for the next hour. We need to talk.”
Striding in right behind Captain Drago came Colonel Cortez, in the dress red and black of Lorna Do.
“Reserve commission?” Kris asked.
“They didn’t cancel it,” he said evenly.
Which begged the question why the man had been beached in times like these. And why he hadn’t been recalled.
Kris coughed. “We all need to talk. Really talk.”
Penny was next in, now sporting dress whites and struggling with the choker collar. Jack lent her a helping hand. Even Abby was back. Where had she gotten Wardhaven dress blues?
They arrayed themselves on either side of Kris. Drago, Cortez, and Abby to her right. Jack and Penny to her left. At the door, Cara watched them, giggling softly.
“Child,” Kris said severely, “go back to your room. Nelly, arrange a feed to her monitor.”
“Yes, Kris,” Nelly said.
“Yes, Auntie Kris,” Cara said.
The kid exited to universal smiles from Kris’s staff, so she didn’t risk mutiny by chiding her. Kris did find herself relishing a strange addition to the mixture of feelings in her gut. She’d never been anyone’s auntie before.
The measured tread of boots drew Kris’s gaze to the far door of the room. The lights dimmed a bit more. The bulkheads and overhead now showed deep space and cold unwinking stars; it would be easy to succumb to vertigo.
Well done, Chief.
Six Marines in dress red and blues entered, M-6s at port arms, bayonets fixed. The black-uniformed colonel trailed them, his face a mask. So did his junior officer and four gun toters. One of them took one look around and swayed. Only a hand out to the shoulder of a statue-solid Marine kept him on his feet.
Captain Krätz followed up the rear, a bemused look on his face as he took in Kris’s side of the room. Ensign Peterwald edged over to put her back against the wall and assumed a stiff parade rest. From where she stood, she could see everything, including the look on her captain’s face and his body language.
Quick learner. Kris could only hope she stayed friendly.
From outside, Gunny’s voice came clearly as he posted his six armored Marines at the door.
The colonel eyed Kris through narrow slits. Kris gave the colonel a wide-eyed look, as innocent as any she had ever managed . . . but said nothing.
The colonel finally broke eye contact with Kris to take in those around her. Kris couldn’t tell who caused it, but his eyes widened and his nostrils flared.
Suddenly, Kris had a strong suspicion the colonel knew more about the people around her than she did. Kris caught the frown that caused before it made it to her face. Yes, she needed to talk to her crew. And she was getting tired of this colonel using her time to figure out things she wasn’t in on.
“You want
ed to see me, Colonel,” Kris said, superior to junior.
The State Security man pulled his gaze away from someone and focused on Kris. “I am told that you have information about a plot against the life of First Citizen Smythe-Peterwald. If so, the state demands and requires that you provide it.”
“I have already given all that I know to your Captain Krätz. If you have talked to him, you know as much as I do.”
“I am required to hear it from the source’s lips.”
Kris considered making an issue of it but found she was running out of patience with a man who couldn’t say a word without making it a demand. She quickly told him what she knew.
“That hardly constitutes quality intelligence,” the colonel snapped. “It is no more than an allegation of rumors heard.”
“You may take it as you please,” Kris said. “But I assure you, if your First Citizen ends up suddenly dead in the next few days, your superiors may not take it that way.”
The colonel swallowed. Hard. “Do you have a picture of this Lucifer fellow? The devil’s own, he sounds like.”
“The Abdicators do not believe in making representations of themselves,” Kris said.
The colonel paused for only a moment before saying, “That was not their way when last they were heard from.”
“Suicidal terrorism was not their way when last we heard from them, either,” Kris said. And got a chip of a grin from Captain Krätz for quoting him.
Now it was the colonel’s turn to frown. Kris suspected the prospect of going back to his bosses with nothing helpful to add to their pot of boiling paranoia did not excite him.
“There is one thing I can give you, Colonel.”
“What might that be?”
“We have the boy’s father aboard. I have no qualms about photographing a man. We have run it through a computer program to take the years off his face. Captain Drago?”
“Yes, Your Highness.” He spoke into his commlink, and a short while later Sulwan Kann, in a Navy lieutenant’s uniform, brought in a large envelope for the captain. He handed it to Kris. “As you requested.”
Kris opened the envelope. There was an enlarged photo of Prometheus and a similar-size reworked photo. It looked amazingly like Lucifer, his son. Kris handed off the photos to Jack, who took them to the colonel.
“Colonel, I have personally met the young man you are hunting. That reworked photo is almost a perfect image of him.”
“You have met the young madman?” A dozen indictments lurked behind those words, starting with high treason.
“He was a guide when I first visited his world. I did not see him the second time. His father says he had already left.”
“Ah, yes, there is the matter of the father. You will turn him over to us for questioning.” That wasn’t quite an order. More like the assumption of someone who’d never been told no.
“No. He is on board in our care,” Kris said, switching to the regal plural. “We are satisfied from our own questioning that he knows nothing more than what he has told us.”
“You are in Peterwald space.” Was that a slip, or was the fiction of Greenfeld so quickly overshadowed by the man?
“You are on a Wardhaven ship,” Kris said, standing up to her full six feet and looking down a good two inches on the colonel. “And you will depart from it now.”
Kris would not have believed that the Marines behind the State Security team could get stiffer, but there was a silent click in the air as they did. The young security captain broke his attention to glance around, worry breaking through his mask.
At the door, Gunny appeared, pistol now at high port.
The colonel held his ground for a moment, then seemed to shrink. “Your embassy will hear of this. I will go now, but I expect to return soon.” With a large army hung unsaid.
The colonel did a smart about-face, and started to march out. Captain Krätz rested a hand on his shoulder as he went by. “I have had dealings with this woman before. I’ll stay behind and see if I can’t wangle her out of a trifle more.”
“You can give her the spanking she deserves, but get that man,” the colonel snapped, then continued his march out.
The others in State Security black were soon herded out. When the tread of Marine boots grew distant in the passageway, Kris relaxed. “Lights, Chief. It’s too dark in here to think.”
The lights went to full. The bulkheads gleamed gray again. And without an order given, chairs were hurriedly pushed in by sailors and Marines.
Kris’s staff collapsed into the chairs and found themselves staring at each other. Kris had a very puzzled team . . . that now included a captain from her sworn enemy.
Oh, and his daughter.
Vicky settled into the chair at her captain’s right hand. He’d taken the seat at the foot of the table, opposite Kris. “Have you really come here to save my dad’s life?” Vicky asked.
“I don’t see much choice in the matter. If your father is killed anytime soon, Lucifer and his team will paint my fingerprints all over the plot. Propagandists will demand I either stand a kangaroo trial here or war. Since I don’t think King Ray would hand me over for a show trial, it looks like war.”
“You don’t sound all that sure about your king,” Captain Krätz said, a knowing smile on his face.
Kris made a face. “Let’s just say I don’t want to find out. Grampa Ray has tossed me into a lot of messes, sink or swim. I’d prefer not to see how I could manage on Greenfeld.”
“I wouldn’t want to take my chances with what passed for a justice system back home, either,” Vicky said. Then changed the subject. “How do we stop this devil boy from killing my dad?”
Captain Krätz was shaking his head. “I don’t see that he has any chance of getting close to the First Citizen.”
“I agree,” Kris said.
“Now, hold it,” Jack said, half out of his seat. “You dragged us out here to stop devil boy. I like her choice of words. But now you say he ain’t likely to kill anyone. Kris!”
Kris just shrugged. Since Captain Krätz made no effort to talk, she explained. “Lucifer and his Xanadu team are fish out of water. They’re hicks with hayseed in their hair. They can hardly open their mouths without getting arrested. No. There is no way they’ll get close enough to Peterwald to kill him.”
“And we’re here because . . .” Jack said, sounding very tired.
“Because,” Captain Krätz said, “they will be captured. Under interrogation, they will mention your Kris. If anyone kills Ensign Victoria’s dad, the trail is set to lead straight back to Kris. Heads, they win. Tails, you lose.”
Jack settled back into his chair, eyed the overhead, and muttered a long stream of curses.
Now it was Kris’s turn to lean forward. “Who came up with the stupid idea of having Vicky’s father go on safari on a half-pacified planet?” Kris asked.
It was Vicky who answered. “It could have been any number of factions. Dad prides himself on being ‘The Mighty Hunter.’ Show him something he hasn’t killed, and he’ll be off in a flash. When I heard Birridas was joining the Alliance, I would have bet Dad would be here hunting in no time.”
Captain Krätz nodded along. “It was just that none of us thought he’d come before planetary defenses were in place. And the idea of not trusting the Navy to guard the planet. It’s almost as if . . .” The captain could not finish that sentence.
“It’s almost as if you were being set up for something,” Captain Drago said. Then paused. “Wait one.” Now his eyes fixed on the overhead as he listened to something. Then he stood. “Kris, I strongly suggest that we continue this conversation on the bridge. It seems matters are developing.”
“What’s happening?” came in a half dozen voices.
“It’s quicker to see than to explain it,” hung curtly in the air as Captain Drago rushed for the door.
Kris had had enough of stately pomp and pretensions; she sprinted right after him.
48
A breathl
ess minute later, Kris’s team arranged themselves in front of the main screen. A deadly serious Sulwan Kann explained what they were looking at.
“Three minutes ago, the FolkFestiva starliner Dedicated Workers of Tourin came through Jump Point Alpha. It did so at twenty thousand klicks an hour.” That drew a low whistle from those qualified to know just how suicidal that was.
“Is that a problem?” Colonel Cortez asked.
“Only if you want to get where you’re going,” Captain Drago explained. “Jump points orbit two, three, six planets, and the influence of all of them affect the jump point, making them seem to wander aimlessly from the perspective of any one planet. A smart captain and navigator approach a jump carefully to make sure it hasn’t moved. You approach it too fast, and you may end up at some planet halfway across the galaxy. If you’ve got a spin on your boat, it only gets worse.”
Drago rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Usually liners and expensive battleships tiptoe through a jump. Strange.”
“And it’s gotten stranger,” Sulwan announced. “She’s hit the accelerator—3.26 gees.”
“No captain of a liner puts his passengers under that kind of acceleration,” Captain Krätz said.
“So we assume that the Workers of Tourin is no longer under its captain’s control,” Colonel Cortez observed softly.
“Talk to me about the Tourin,” Drago ordered.
Sulwan brought up the required specs.
“A million tons,” Jack said. “Oh God.”
“Five thousand passengers and crew.” Penny’s voice broke.
“How long before she gets here?” Kris asked, voice cold.
“Assuming the Tourin keeps accelerating, and does not flip and start decelerating,” Sulwan said as the screen changed to reflect her words, “we’ve got seven hours, thirty-three minutes before it digs a big hole off the coast of South Continent.”
“Where my dad’s hunting,” Vicky added.
“You’ll have to get him out. There’s time,” Kris said.
“No,” Krätz cut in. “There’s a storm raging there. Think big, bad hurricane. It’s got everything grounded.”
Kris frowned. “Assassin’s luck, or planned?”
Kris Longknife: Intrepid Page 32
