PRAISE FOR THE KRIS LONGKNIFE NOVELS
“A whopping good read . . . Fast-paced, exciting, nicely detailed, with some innovative touches.”
—Elizabeth Moon, Nebula Award–winning author of Crown of Renewal
“Shepherd delivers no shortage of military action, in space and on the ground. It’s cinematic, dramatic, and dynamic . . . [He also] demonstrates a knack for characterization, balancing serious moments with dry humor.”
—Tor.com
“Readers have come to depend on Mike Shepherd for fast-paced military science fiction bound to compelling story lines and adrenaline-pumping battles . . . Kris Longknife is a hero to the core.”
—Fresh Fiction
“Fans of the Honor Harrington escapades will welcome the adventures of another strong female in outer space starring in a thrill-a-page military space opera . . . The audience will root for the determined, courageous, and endearing heroine as she displays intelligence and leadership during lethal confrontations.”
—Alternative Worlds
“Mike Shepherd has written an action-packed, exciting space opera that starts at light speed and just keeps getting better. This is outer-space military science fiction at its adventurous best.”
—Midwest Book Review
“I always look forward to installments in the Kris Longknife series because I know I’m guaranteed a good time with plenty of adventure . . . Military SF fans are bound to get a kick out of the series as a whole.”
—SF Site
Ace Books by Mike Shepherd
KRIS LONGKNIFE: MUTINEER
KRIS LONGKNIFE: DESERTER
KRIS LONGKNIFE: DEFIANT
KRIS LONGKNIFE: RESOLUTE
KRIS LONGKNIFE: AUDACIOUS
KRIS LONGKNIFE: INTREPID
KRIS LONGKNIFE: UNDAUNTED
KRIS LONGKNIFE: REDOUBTABLE
KRIS LONGKNIFE: DARING
KRIS LONGKNIFE: FURIOUS
KRIS LONGKNIFE: DEFENDER
KRIS LONGKNIFE: TENACIOUS
KRIS LONGKNIFE: UNRELENTING
TO DO OR DIE: A JUMP UNIVERSE NOVEL
VICKY PETERWALD: TARGET
VICKY PETERWALD: SURVIVOR
VICKY PETERWALD: REBEL
Specials
KRIS LONGKNIFE: TRAINING DAZE
KRIS LONGKNIFE: WELCOME HOME / GO AWAY
Writing as Mike Moscoe
THE FIRST CASUALTY: A JUMP UNIVERSE NOVEL
THE PRICE OF PEACE: A JUMP UNIVERSE NOVEL
THEY ALSO SERVE: A JUMP UNIVERSE NOVEL
An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014
VICKY PETERWALD: REBEL
An Ace Book / published by arrangement with the author
Copyright © 2016 by Mike Moscoe.
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ACE® is a registered trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.
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For more information, visit penguin.com.
eBook ISBN: 978-1-101-61733-5
PUBLISHING HISTORY
Ace mass-market edition / June 2016
Cover illustration by Scott Grimando.
Cover design by Diana Kolsky.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
As we complete the third book of the Vicky Peterwald trilogy (exactly three books, count them), I’m also coming up on twenty-five years since my first short story was published. It’s been a great ride, and now seems like a good time to thank all the people who helped me along the way.
I will always be thankful to Sheila Simonson and the group at the Novel Writing class at Clark College, Washington. They helped me through those first stumbling efforts, taught me how to do dialogue (you know, Mike, that stuff in quotes), and gave me the discipline to write ten whole pages a week. Mary Rosenblum and her writers group helped polish me. Mary also gave me the benefit of her Clarion experience.
Thank you, Stan Schmidt of Analog. You were the first to see the writing potential in me and give me the approval I desperately needed. Like with all writers, that approval came in the form of a check.
Jenn Jackson has been the best agent that I could hope for. She’s given me all I needed and kept out of my way when I needed that. My longtime editor at Ace, Ginjer Buchanan, picked me up and gave me a second chance when others might not have. She was a perfect match for twenty years. I hope she enjoys a long and fun retirement; she surely deserves it. I appreciate Diana Gill’s contributions to Rebel and my other latest books. I’m grateful to the whole gang at Ace for the work they’ve put into the production that turns my manuscript into the finished product you readers enjoy. Oh, and I do love Scott’s cover art.
The folks at Lincoln City, both at the Historic Anchor Inn and the Sunday brunch bunch, have supported me through a lot and helped me keep going. I’m sure you will keep me going for a long time to come.
I really want to thank my first readers, Lisa Muller and Edee Lemonier. They do a great job of cleaning up my typos and nits. Oh, and occasionally backing up my wife that “I really need to change that section.”
At home, Nikki and Danny are not only interesting sources for inspiration, but they’ve also come to understand what it’s like to have a writer for a grandpa. They’ve learned to enjoy the ups and put up with the downs with accepting smiles.
And then there’s Ellen. She’s devoted years to learning how to be the best first reader that a writing husband could hope for. Thank you, honey, for everything.
CONTENTS
PRAISE FOR THE KRIS LONGKNIFE NOVELS
ACE BOOKS BY MIKE SHEPHERD
TITLE PAGE
COPYRIGHT
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
CHAPTER 44
CHAPTER 45
CHAPTER 46
CHAPTER 47
CHAPTER 48
CHAPTER 49
CHAPTER 50
CHAPTER 51
CHAPTER 52
CHAPTER 53
CHAPTER 54
CHAPTER 55
CHAPTER 56
CHAPTER 57
CHAPTER 58
CHAPTER 59
CHAPTER 60
CHAPTER 61
CHAPTER 62
CHAPTER 63
CHAPTER 64
CHAPTER 65
CHAPTER 66
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CHAPTER 1
HER Imperial Grace, the Grand Duchess, Lieutenant Commander Victoria of Greenfeld felt the pressure in her ears change ever so slightly. The battleship Retribution had sealed locks with High St. Petersburg Station. She should be getting herself off to pay her respects to Admiral von Mittleburg.
She stood and faced the door.
Commander Franz Boch, the latest officer to swear that assassins got to Vicky over his dead body, and the one to survive the longest, cleared his throat.
“No need to go anywhere, Your Grace,” he said.
Vicky raised an inquisitive eyebrow.
“The admiral is on his way to pay his respects to you.”
Vicky paused to examine what the commander had just told her.
It was loaded with meaning.
Admirals sent their compliments to junior officers such as lieutenant commanders. Junior officers sent their respects to their seniors. Was Admiral von Mittleburg really on his way to pay his respects to Vicky?
If that was true, Vicky had succeeded in making a Grand Duchess worth a great deal in this dance with life and death.
Princess Kris Longknife had once told Vicky that modern society had little experience in valuing creations such as her, a jumped-up Rim princess, so she was making the best of it. Vicky had been doing much the same of late, trying to determine the value of one Grand Duchess.
Apparently, some people had come to consider her worthwhile. Certainly, Admiral von Mittleburg was treating her as if she had taken on greater value in this slow minuet toward rebellion that they were dancing.
Dancing for their lives and those of so many other desperate people.
Vicky settled into a comfortable chair in her quarters on the Imperial Greenfeld Battleship Retribution. During more normal times, they were the in-port cabin of any admiral who might find himself aboard one of the most fearsome battleships of the Imperium.
No admiral being aboard, Vicky had taken them over for herself and her staff.
Captain Etterlin had not objected. Vicky had counted that for a success.
Vicky took a moment to examine what she had to offer Admiral von Mittleburg in the way of hospitality. Against the far bulkhead was a metal desk, rarely used, but painted to make it appear like wood. In front of it was a conference table, also metal, also painted to mimic wood. Vicky, her two miniature assassins, and the commander often sat around it, examining how Vicky might next stick her neck out and maybe get it chopped off.
Vicky chose to settle into the more comfortable overstuffed chair of the conversation group. Across a coffee table that doubled as a computer display was a second armchair for the admiral. Anyone else would have to settle for the two sofas around the table or one of the straight-backed chairs arrayed against the closest bulkhead.
The not-airtight door opened. Everyone jumped to their feet and snapped to attention. The commander opened his mouth to call all present to attention, a superfluous announcement if ever there was one.
“As you were,” Admiral von Mittleburg said to those standing already. “I understand congratulations are in order,” he continued as he marched for the empty seat reserved for him.
“Metzburg has signed a trade agreement with St. Petersburg, Admiral, if that’s what you mean,” Vicky said.
“Signed, sealed, and delivered,” the admiral said, beaming happily, a rare event for a Navy officer of his lofty rank. “They took all the crystal and electronic products you brought, and I’ve already gotten a request to loan out the landing craft tanks from both the Crocodile and the Anaconda to drop the newly arrived heavy fabs down to St. Petersburg.”
“The mayors of St. Petersburg aren’t going to argue over who gets which of the heavy fabricators?” Vicky asked, surprised that that group of politicians could agree on anything.
“No, it seems you have brought enough back to leave their industrialists sated, for the moment.”
“No doubt that will be temporary,” Vicky said. She’d rarely found either businesspeople or politicians satisfied for very long.
“The battlecruiser Smiter just came in from Brunswick with a long wish list and an equally long list of nice things they can offer. Prepare to be waltzed through the streets of St. Petersburg the next time you drop down to the surface.”
Vicky could not restrain a chuckle. “Whereas, a few months ago, they were threatening to shoot me out of the sky if I darkened their doorstep.”
“How times change.”
“I’m glad it’s for the better,” Vicky said.
“At least on St. Petersburg,” the admiral added dryly. The admiral turned to a civilian who had followed him into Vicky’s quarters and taken a chair against the wall with Vicky’s two diminutive assassins. “Mr. Smith, if you will join us, please?”
Mr. Smith, whose actual name was likely something quite different, rose and joined the commander on the sofa, giving Kit and Kat the honor and trust of turning his back on them. Mr. Smith had started out in the service of Kris Longknife, keeping her alive against the law of averages.
In that endeavor, he had managed to save Vicky’s life at least once. When Kris had been hustled off to points unknown, Mr. Smith had offered his services to Vicky to be billed at his usual outrageous hourly rate. He had saved her life enough times to make his pay a bargain.
And to earn himself a shopping spree to Longknife territory.
“Did you manage to buy some of those spidersilk-armored body stockings for me?” Vicky asked.
“Kris Longknife’s Grandmother Trouble was very helpful in that. I got several for you as well as Kit and Kat,” Mr. Smith said, nodding over his shoulder. “I also got a couple of them in my size and two for you, Commander,” he added, now smiling at Commander Boch.
“Thank you,” Vicky said.
The commander seemed rather relieved to have been included, even as an afterthought.
The admiral cleared his throat. “That, however, is not the reason I brought Mr. Smith with me. He has some messages for you.”
“Messages?” Vicky echoed.
“While at Bayern, arranging for your, um, message, to be delivered to your loving stepmother, two messages arrived for you from the palace.”
“Hmm,” Vicky said. “And who were they from?”
“The first was from your father, the Emperor.”
Vicky eyed the admiral. “Have you seen it?”
“Yes,” was voiced in the most neutral manner Vicky had ever heard.
Vicky glanced around her quarters. Only her most loyal assassins were present. “Will you play it for me now?”
The admiral nodded to Mr. Smith and the bulkhead screen in front of Vicky came to life with the Imperial seal. Kit, Kat, and the commander turned with Vicky to watch it. Vicky noted that neither the admiral nor Mr. Smith bothered to turn toward it.
They were watching her watch it.
Her father the Emperor appeared. He was in his courtly dress though at least he was not seated on his gilded throne.
“Daughter,” he began. “We are hearing strange reports about you here at the palace. Very troubling stories. We know they can’t be true. You will always be Daddy’s little girl. Still, what we are hearing is troubling. We request and require that you immediately convey yourself to our court, here, to answer allegations of a most deplorable nature. You will do this immediately, without delay. Do you hear me, dear?”
The screen held the visage of a most troubled man, whether that of an Emperor or father it was difficult to tell.
“Interesting,” Vicky said. “He makes no mention of my leaving because I was kidnapped and threatened with deat
h.”
“That does appear to have been overlooked,” Mr. Smith said dryly.
Vicky allowed her father’s words to percolate for a few moments, then said, “You mentioned another message?”
The admiral nodded.
The screen again showed the Imperial seal. This time, it was replaced by a very pregnant woman in full rage.
“You little bitch,” the loving stepmom nearly screamed. “So you think you can play in my game? You think you can stop me from taking what is mine?”
She paused, face red, to scowl out of the screen. “Your tits are in a real wringer now, you little bint. I’ll have your guts strung out on the palace lawn and pound your boobs flat with a croquet mallet. You get your stupid ass in here immediately, and I may just let that doting fool of a father let you live. Stay out there one minute longer than it takes to run home, and you’ll not just be dead. You’ll be begging my people to let you die.”
The screen went blank on a truly horrible glare.
“You know,” Vicky said, “if she’s not careful, she’s not going to pop like most pregger women. She’ll just explode.”
“All over the place,” Mr. Smith added. “By the way, the word is that she has delivered the promised baby boy.”
Vicky puzzled over what she’d just watched. “Did that message come in the mail like the other one?” she finally said, eyeing her spy.
Mr. Smith shook his head. “That message was embedded in your father’s message. When the one file was turned over to me, I noticed it seemed too large and had my newly upgraded computer examine it. It stripped out the one from the other.”
“While you were on Bayern?”
“Yes, Your Grace,” he answered.
“Did you view it then?”
“Yes, Your Grace. I viewed both messages and shared them with certain former Navy officers that had met with you on a previous occasion. They have a third message for you.”
“Have you seen it, Admiral?”
Admiral von Mittleburg nodded.
“Should I clear the room?” Vicky asked.
“I believe the commander should see it,” the admiral said. “He is trying to keep you alive.”
“Then Kit and Kat will stay as well. Mr. Smith, if you will?”
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