Kris Longknife: Mutineer

by Mike Shepherd

  Kris stared down at the recruit she had only known as the wanna-be hero. The bullet had taken him in the forehead. He’d fallen on his back, so his blue eyes were open, staring expectantly into the gray rain. His belt clips were gone; the magazine in his rifle must have been his last. He’d more than made up for this morning’s freeze. How will I explain to his mother, his father, what he won and what he lost this day?

  There were a thousand feelings, questions, demands tumbling in Kris’s brain. But not now. Now she had a battle to clean up. “Tom, get the trucks moving in here. See that the wounded are collected by the road for pickup. All hands, we’ve got a lot of firearms lying around. Form a picket line, police up this mess. I want all guns left behind rendered inoperable.”

  “Ma’am, I’ve got a real bleeder on my hands,” Courtney said.

  “I know, Petty Officer. We will police the area until the wounded are loaded. What we bust, we bust. What we don’t get to, we’ll leave to rust. Good enough.”

  “Sorry, ma’am,” Courtney whispered.

  “You three,” Kris indicated the survivors of her right wing, “you bring in…him.” She didn’t even know his name.

  “Willie, ma’am.” the woman looked up. “Willie Hunter.”

  Kris left them wrapping him in his poncho. She moved with the others through the woods, picking up rifles, stripping them of firing pins. She slammed a gun against a tree, hard. It felt good as the action gave way, the butt flew off.

  Kris got in some very good whacks before Tom called from the road. “Longknife, I have all the wounded loaded. We need to move out.”

  “Okay, crew, we’ve done good, now let’s go. Everybody, back to the bus,” she shouted. Around her, tired troops finished what they were doing and turned to the road.

  “Tom, as soon as you have five people in the next two trucks, you get them and the truck with the wounded moving.”

  “Are you staying behind?”

  “No, I’ll get everyone moving right behind you. But the wounded, they go first, and they go fast.”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  Kris was just in sight of the road as the first three trucks took off. If she knew Tom, he’d be driving the truck with the wounded. It would have been interesting to be in it, to see how much Tom went for speed and how much he swerved to make the ride more comfortable to those in back. Poor Tommy, he was spending a lot of time torn between two goods.

  Kris made a call to the last farm as she waited for her fire teams to trail out of the woods. Yes, the owner would pick up her prisoners from the first fight. Kris signed off as the scouts came out of the woods with their heavy burden; she waved them to the last truck. They settled Willie in the back, then refused to ride in the cab, preferring to share the wet, cold truck bed with their fallen friend. Kris started to join them, then realized that there was no one to keep Spens company. It had been a long day; the drive back would not be easy. Someone had to keep him awake.

  Kris climbed into the cab. She wriggled out of her poncho as Spens joined the tag end of the line moving out. “Think we turned a profit today?” her accountant asked her.

  “Think you’ll be happy keeping to your computer ledgers after today?” she asked back.

  “I don’t know. It was kind of nice, getting out here, seeing the look on the kids’, women’s faces when we arrived with the first food they’d had in a long, long time.”

  “And this?” Kris asked, nodding to the woods as they drove out of them.

  “We hurt the bad guys, didn’t we? They won’t mess with the Navy next time we come out, will they?”

  Kris thought for a long moment. They’d come out here to feed the starving… and they had. They’d had a chance offered them to make things better… and they had. The price seemed high to Kris at this moment.

  “Yes,” she agreed. “They won’t mess with the Navy.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  The truck drove slowly into the compound like the hearse it was. Kris dismounted and moved to help those in back remove the body of her one casualty. Colonel Hancock, however, was in her way. “How’d it go?” he said.

  “Not bad, I guess,” Kris answered, leaning around the Colonel to watch as three spacers from the base helped with the poncho-wrapped burden.

  “Let them take care of that,” the Colonel told her.

  “Him,” Kris corrected. Since the Colonel showed no intent of getting out of her way, she turned toward the headquarters. “I’d better look in on my wounded.”

  “They’re being taken care of. I want to talk to you in my office.”

  “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  “Like last time?” the Colonel asked with an arched eyebrow.

  Kris turned right and headed for sick bay. The Colonel’s office was left; he followed her. As she expected, Tom was applying his asteroid miner first aid training, helping one corpsman while the doc and other corpsman struggled to keep Courtney’s bleeder alive. Kris paused at each of the wounded, told them they’d done good. One picked that moment to go into shock. As Tom rushed in to start treatment; the Colonel edged Kris out of sick bay with an iron grip on her elbow.

  A moment later she was seated in his office, a large tumbler in her hand. The Colonel produced a bottle of fine, single malt whiskey and popped the cork. The aroma filled the room even before he began pouring Kris’s tumbler to the lip. He then did the same for himself, raised the amber-filled glass in a toast, and said, “You did a very good job out there.”

  Kris eyed the glass for a moment. How many times had she almost gotten killed today? Did it matter if she finished it stone cold sober or not? She took a long sip. It was fine whiskey, flowing smoothly down to warm her stomach, massage out the knots. She sighed and relaxed into her chair. “I guess so.”

  “No, Ensign, you did good.”

  Kris took another sip. If she’d done so good, why did she feel so …? That was the problem; she didn’t know how she felt. Maybe Grampa Trouble would, but she didn’t. All of it was too new, too strange, too scary. She did know what Grampa Trouble would say though. “A lot of people did good today. How do I write them up for medals, sir? Everyone on those trucks deserves something.”

  The Colonel took along pull on his drink. “And they’ll all get the Humanitarian Aid Medal.”

  Kris almost threw her glass. “Hell, sir, they give that medal for sitting on your backside counting the aid boxes on Wardhaven. My people were out in the mud, getting shot at, outnumbered eight to one, in the finest tradition of this bloody service…sir.” She finished her bit of tirade with a bigger gulp than she’d intended. White fire seared her belly. At least the pain felt good. After today, she ought to hurt somewhere.

  The Colonel took another sip. “I know, Kris, but was it combat?”

  “I don’t know what the hell else it was, sir. If that was a noncombat situation, someone forgot to tell the damn bullets.”

  He nodded. “I know. So are you, then, prepared to declare that those citizens are in armed rebellion against the lawful government of Olympia?”

  Kris blinked twice at that sentence, tried to parse its meaning, and gave it up as a lost cause. She retreated into a sip of her own drink. “I haven’t seen much ‘lawful government.’ ” She made the words bitter. “Where are they?”

  “Around here somewhere,” the Colonel waved his tumbler at everything and nothing. “All they have is a legislature. By their constitution it can only meet for one six-week session every three years. They had the last one before the volcano blew. They can’t have another for a year and a half unless they hold a new election. You want to run an election in this mess?”

  “There must be some option on the books to cover a mess like this.” Kris remembered how her father had finagled Wardhaven’s laws to get what he wanted. That brought her to a quick stop. She eyed the Colonel.

  “ ‘They govern best by governing least,’ ” he scowled. “It’s the first sentence of their Constitution. They are permitted to have exactl
y one hundred pages of laws. Size of pages, margins, and font size specified to prevent cheating. The founders of this colony were quite adamant that they were not going to have any big government here. No chief executive, no prime minister, just a legislature and its laws.”

  “Then who asked the Society for help?”

  “As I got it, one of the big farmers up north knows someone on Wardhaven who’s in the government. Wardhaven sponsored this mission in the Senate. Might be one of your relatives?”

  “On my mother’s side,” Kris growled and washed her mouth with whiskey. “Father’s side would have thought this through better. So, let me see if I’ve got this right. We are here to help a government that for all practical purposes doesn’t exist, and these people shooting at us can’t be considered rebels ‘cause there isn’t enough of a government for them to rebel against.”

  “Begin to understand why I was falling asleep at my desk, trying to figure out how to get a handle on this bag of snakes?”

  Kris had never had a senior officer come so close to a bald admission of failure. To hide her embarrassment, she took a long pull on her drink and changed the subject.

  “We’ll need to get more convoys moving, sir. They are starving out there. Adults are eating grass, but kids don’t have the tummies for it.” There, that was something she could tackle with both hands.

  “Already checked. Lien’s mechs will have fifteen trucks usable tomorrow. I figure three convoys.”

  “Which one do you want me to lead?” Kris asked, watching the whiskey swirl in her glass.

  “None. I’m restricting you to base.”

  Kris bristled. “Sir, I fired when fired upon. We were engaged by the bandits. And I did my damnedest to keep civilian casualties to a minimum.” Kris didn’t know how to count her lone dead. Even one seemed more than Olympia was worth. Yet, against those odds, how could she have done better? Why do I feel so lousy about it?

  The Colonel waved his drink to calm her. “I know. I told you, you did good today. Still, I’m ordering you and Ensign Lien to limit your activities to the base.”

  “Why, sir?”

  “You have become a very high-value target, Ensign Longknife. You beat the bad guys like a drum. There’s a lot of them that want you dead. I send out convoys now, the bandits know not to mess with them. I send you out, and some dude will try to get you to make himself a bad reputation. Whether you like it or not, you are that Longknife. The one that beat them at Wildebeest Wallow. I’ve got a battalion of highlanders due in from LornaDo in a few days. When they get here, I’m sending you and Lien back to Wardhaven, and I intend to send you back alive.”

  “You’re relieving me, sir!”

  “Ensign, I’m rotating you. You weren’t planning on making Olympia your career, were you?”

  “No sir, I just didn’t expect to be out of here so quickly.”

  “It happens on these emergency Ops, Kris, especially when there’s a budget mess tied in. Nobody stays for more than a month. Don’t you think your time’s about up?”

  Kris tried to think of how long it had been. She couldn’t. “Nelly, how long have I been here?”

  “One week, six days, eight hours…”

  “Enough,” the Colonel growled and took a drink. “It’s bad enough getting that from troopers, now I get it from their personal computers. The Corps ain’t what it used to be.”

  Kris took a slow pull on her near-empty glass. “Who will take out the convoys?”

  “Those other ensigns have had it too easy. I think I’ll take one. Done enough paperwork. I don’t know if I dare send Pearson. People might refuse the food.”

  They shared a smile. “Send Pearson,” Kris said. “She needs to see what reality is like. Might help her with her policies. With the Identacards stolen, there’s no way to validate who’s getting the food. Can’t we just declare everyone on this planet starving and call it quits?”

  “Can’t. Everyone isn’t starving,” the Colonel pointed out.

  “Outside our mess,” Kris narrowed it down.

  “There are some civilians who haven’t missed a meal, Kris. Some folks have been eating pretty high on the hog. Maybe not as well now that you’ve got the Navy rations locked down.” Again the Colonel raised his glass in salute. Both drained their tumblers. “Another,” the Colonel said, offering the bottle.

  Kris eyed the swirling liquid. The drinker takes the first drink; the second drink takes the drunk. She remembered how hard it had been to dry out. How humiliated she’d been when Harvey or one of the maids had to clean up after her. Did she want the Colonel to see that Longknife? “Thank you, sir, but I think I’ll go for a walk.”

  The Colonel refilled his glass. “Watch your back, Ensign.”

  “I will,” Kris said. Problem is, I don’t know which back is most at risk, my ass or my pride, or my…What?

  Kris found herself outside the HQ, standing in the rain. Since she’d left her poncho in the truck, her clothes quickly got soaked, but the whiskey kept her warm. She could go for a walk. She’d done a lot of walking lately. She’d seen a few men vomiting in back alleyways, staggering down streets. What with food for the belly so scarce, most of Olympia was on the wagon. But there was always a bit of the drink when someone really needed it. Kris really needed it tonight; she started walking. “Nelly, I don’t want to talk to anyone. Take me off net.”

  Kris was half a block out before the rain got harder, and her conscience got ahold of her, and she turned back to her room. Dripping wet, she threw herself on her bed, stared up at the ceiling, and tried to get hold of herself. She’d done good. She’d lost a trooper, maybe two. She’d fed some very hungry kids. She’d mowed down people whose only crime was hunger. She’d beat the bad guys. Her head spun, lubricated by the Colonel’s whiskey. She remembered chattering squirrels back in the garden at Nuu House, chasing each other’s tails. So long as all these thoughts tumbled over and over in her mind, she didn’t have to face anyone of them. There was a water mark on the ceiling of her room. She wondered where it came from. She closed her eyes, but she couldn’t sleep. She’d done good today. She’d killed and almost gotten herself killed. She’d…

  ****

  “Kris. can we talk?” came after a slight tap at her door.

  “I don’t want to talk to anyone,” Kris shouted.

  “Tom would really like to talk to you,” Nelly said softly.

  “So you told him where I was.”

  “No, ma’am, I took you off net as you requested. However, he interrogated your room’s motion detector. I assume he concluded you were in here.”

  Kris scowled down at where Nelly hung from her shoulders. Apparently, her personal computer had not exercised its full initiative to protect her privacy.

  “Kris, I’d really like to talk to you,” Tommy repeated.

  “And I’d really like for everyone to just go away.”

  “Do Longknifes always get what they want?”

  “No, but this Longknife is in a lousy mood and forgot to lock up her side arm. I’d go away if l was you.”

  “Haven’t you noticed? I’m not you.”

  Kris could almost see that lopsided grin of his. “I brought a bottle,” he added.

  That did complicate matters. Damn, she wanted another drink. “Open,” she growled at the door.

  There was Tommy, big grin and all. As he stepped through the door, he tossed a bottle at her. She caught it, then made a face as she read the label. “Sparkling water.”

  “Don’t knock it. That’s probably the only bottle of the stuff on this mud ball.”

  Kris aimed the bottle for Tommy’s head, but he caught it anyway. “You mind if I tell the Colonel where you are?”

  “Why would he care?” Kris spat.

  “Because I kind of panicked him when he gave me a big drink and told me he’d shared one with you. A second later, he discovered just how much Nelly there can do. Which did not improve his attitude about rich girls in his Corps.”

 
; “I’m in the Navy, not his precious Corps.”

  “Can I call in?”

  “Make your damn call.”

  Tom did. The Colonel sounded relieved and cut the call short so he could cancel the all-points alarm he’d sent out on her.

  “What’s he so scared about?”

  “You didn’t jingle today.”

  “What’s that got to do with it.”

  “If you didn’t have any of those Wardhaven dollars, how were you going to pay for your drinks off base?”

  “Which is why I’m not off base. You didn’t think I was dumb enough to flash my credit card, did you?”

  “I had an uncle who wasn’t too thoughtful once he got a touch of the drink taken. I didn’t know what you’d do.”

  “I came up here to get some dollars, then decided it wasn’t worth going back out in the rain. There, you happy?”

  Tommy settled onto the floor next to the door. Kris rolled over on her stomach, propped her chin on her hands, and stared back at him. “Shit of a day,” Tommy said.

  Kris was ready to mutter a nice nothing, like, “Wasn’t it,” but that wasn’t what she felt. “How would you know?” she snapped. “You just did what you were told.”

  Tommy eyed her without flinching. “I guess I wasn’t much of a backup.”

  “Didn’t feel like much of one out there.”

  “Doc says Shirri will live.” Tom changed the subject.

  “That her name?”

  “Jeb thinks we’ll have fifteen trucks ready for tomorrow’s run. Colonel says we can’t do any more runs. We’ve got to share the fun with those other ensigns.”

  “Yeah.” Kris wished she had more of the Colonel’s whiskey.

  “So when you going to share the pain?”

  Kris blinked twice. “What pain?”

  “I was trying to give Courtney all the support I could,” Tom said, eyes locked on Kris, “but they just kept running at her side. Ignored mine, but all of them seemed to hit her. I slipped folks over to help, but there was just so many of them and so few of us.”