Bold

by Mike Shepherd

  “We thank you very much for taking our call, Your Imperial Majesty,” Kris said, laying the royal “we” on not with a trowel but more like a shovel.

  Shovels of pure horse manure.

  “We were expecting a visit from you in the near future, Your Royal Highness,” the Emperor answered, with just a bit of a bite in it. Maybe more than a bit.

  Beside him, the Empress fairly boiled with rage but managed to keep a lid on it. For the moment.

  “Yes, about that,” Kris said as diffidently as her anger would allow. “Have you been informed that our security team on their way to meet and coordinate our visit with your security team came under gunfire?”

  The Emperor frowned. “No, we have heard nothing of such a thing. Have you, Your Imperial Highness?” he said, addressing his wife oh so formally.

  “That could never happen on our peaceful Greenfeld,” she said, with ever so lovely a frown.

  “We cannot believe such a thing. You must be misinformed,” the Emperor said, offering Kris a chance to back down.

  Kris was not interested in backing. Down or anywhere else. “We are afraid it is true. Our consort, Prince John, led our team and witnessed the gunfire. We are informed that it left quite a traffic backup on your capital’s main expressway. We also had to send one of our injured Marines to your nearest hospital.”

  Kris would have to do the paperwork when they got back. For now, they’d just have to fake it.

  Now the Emperor allowed himself a serious frown. “Martin? Where is Commissioner Martin?”

  A man in severe black quickly stepped up to stand behind the Emperor.

  Talk about the power behind the throne.

  Martin and the Emperor exchanged words silently for a long moment, then the Emperor turned back to Kris. “It would seem that there was some sort of fracas on the expressway this afternoon. Truckers are always exceeding our speed limits and causing no amount of trouble. However, we are told that there was no shooting involved. Certainly not,” the Emperor said, shaking his head.

  “Hmm,” Kris allowed. “It seems that we are informed differently on the matter. However, we fear for our safety on your roads after what happened to our Prince consort. You have asked us to mediate these unfortunate affairs taking place in your Empire. We are afraid that we must respectfully ask and invite you to visit us on our flagship, the frigate Princess Royal.”

  “You want us to visit you on such a tiny vessel,” the Empress snapped.

  “Dear,” the Emperor said, resting a gentle hand on her bare shoulder.

  “Honestly, Harry, you would go hat in hand at the beck and call of a Princess?”

  “Now, dear.”

  “Next thing you know, you’ll go barefoot in the snow to Canossa.”

  BAREFOOT TO CANOSSA, NELLY?

  A REFERENCE TO A HOLY ROMAN EMPEROR, HENRY IV, BEING HUMILIATED BY POPE GREGORY VII IN 1077, KRIS.

  OKAY, GOT IT.

  “Your Imperial Majesty,” Kris put in. “We do not seek anything more than is necessary so that we can give you what you have asked of us.”

  “Must we go to you?” Harry said, frowning.

  “We fear for our safety, Your Imperial Majesty. Certainly, you will be safe on your own roads and space station.”

  “Of course.”

  “But a tiny vessel like a frigate,” the Empress put in.

  “We assure you, Your Imperial Majesty,” Kris put in quickly, “Our frigate is made of Smart Metal. It will be no problem for us to expand it to provide you accommodations appropriate to your honors.”

  “I have been wanting to see what is being done with Smart Metal in your realm,” the Emperor said, slowly.

  “We can give you a full tour of my flagship, Your Imperial Majesty.”

  The Emperor paused for only a moment as his face took on the look of a boy who had been invited into the candy shop with unlimited credit. “We shall certainly accept your generous invitation to tour your flagship, young Princess, and if we should happen to spend some time discussing these unfortunate developments in our Empire, that will just be all for the better.”

  “Very good, Your Imperial Majesty. When should we expect you?”

  “Tomorrow, say around eleven.”

  “We shall be ready, Your Imperial Majesty, to give you a full tour.”

  “Good-bye until then.”

  “You are so gracious, Your Imperial Majesty,” Kris said, pouring it on with a fire hose.

  The screen blanked, and Kris took in a deep breath.

  NELLY, IS THE LINE DISCONNECTED AND THE MICS OFF?

  “Yes, Kris. I’ve even disabled the landline to the pier. They can’t hear us anymore.”

  Kris blew out a breath and with it some of the tension. “Did the Empress look to you like she was ready to explode?” she asked Jack.

  “I’m glad she’s no longer pregnant, or we’d have witnessed the birth right there.”

  “Yeah,” Kris said, still taking deep breaths and letting them out slowly. “From the behavior of Harry, I don’t think he knows anything about the attack.”

  “Or anything about what’s going on in his city, much less his Empire.”

  Kris rolled her eyes, but only said, “I tend to agree. Now, about the Empress. I would love to get her attached to a lie detector.”

  Jack nodded. “She, I can see sending me back to you a piece at a time with orders to do exactly what she said.”

  “Ugh,” Kris said, shaking her head. “Okay. I suspect we will be saying ‘Your Imperial Majesty’ a lot tomorrow.”

  “No doubt,” Jack said. “With them deriding you as just Your Royal Highness. Now, dear Admiral, just exactly what have you committed us to?”

  Kris turned to her brain trust. “Okay, we’ve finally got a meeting set up. What do we do with it?”

  35

  Next morning, Kris found herself alone with the more mundane duties of the day. After breakfast, Jack changed to his best dress blue-and-red uniform and left to make sure that the Emperor’s visit passed peacefully and with a reasonably low body count.

  Kris ate, then dropped in to get a final briefing on what the tech people had stripped off the Greenfeld net. That continued to be painfully slim.

  “We’ve got enough to tell us something is very wrong,” the head data specialist, Runda Fairsight said. “Too much of what we’ve found just doesn’t add up. There’s something missing, and that missing stuff is what’s encrypted up to its eyeballs. So far, we’re unable to read any of it. The fact that nearly a quarter of the net is that highly encrypted tells us a lot.”

  “So tell me what that ‘lot’ is, please,” Kris said.

  Runda rolled her eyes. “Someone is willing to put up with a lot of slow traffic to make sure it’s unread. On Wardhaven, about five percent of the net is this heavily scrambled. Bank transactions and critical military messages. Your grandfather Alex Longknife is about the only one who encrypts this much of his traffic.”

  “We know he’s around the bend, paranoid,” Kris muttered.

  “Exactly. A huge chunk of this planet is as around the bend as your grandfather Alex.”

  Kris shook her head. “That does not bode well.”

  “Nope. We’ll keep working on it, but the truth is, those other three better get ready to pull a real miracle out of their hats, ma’am, because we can’t give them the normal hints from what we’ve dredged up.”

  “Thanks,” Kris said, and left to find her three miracle workers. They were in the Forward Lounge that, at the moment, had been moved from the bow to amidships, only two decks down from the quarterdeck. Those three decks had now been expanded to be a thousand feet across.

  They were eye-droppingly luxurious and spacious enough to match any palace in human space. They shared two glorious spiral staircases in shining wood, plush red carpets, and
elbow room. They were arranged so you came down one from the quarterdeck, walked across a foyer covered in luxurious wallpaper of red and gold with delicate inlaid wood, festooned with classical statues, most of them nudes, Kris noted. From there, she descended a second magnificent staircase right into the middle of the lounge.

  “Nelly, get me Ajax.”

  “Yes, Your Imperial Highness,” came quick.

  “Nope this is just Your Royal Highness.”

  “Sorry, I’ve been thinking too much about our visitors,” Captain Ajax admitted.

  “I guess you have. I’m standing at the foot of the staircase down from the quarterdeck and looking at something right out of a madman’s dream of a palace. There’s another staircase that leads down to the Forward Lounge which, I take it, today is not so forward.”

  “No, Your Highness. The general asked if I could shorten the distance from the brow to the lounge, and maybe get my bridge off the direct path. Defense came up with all the Smart Metal necessary to give you those thousand feet across decks.”

  Kris glanced around and did not see a thousand feet. Then she remembered that quite a bit of the space behind the quarterdeck was behind a wall presently covered with several huge murals of battles lost and won.

  “How’d you fill up the space?” she asked.

  “Well, Admiral, the Forward Lounge is a full thousand feet in diameter with a very high ceiling. The middeck that you are on has been assigned to the Marines. They’ve got really spacious quarters now. There’s one hell of a workout area and a track that covers the full circumference of the deck.”

  “That’s nice. What about the quarterdeck?”

  “It’s right where it was, only now much of that deck is Admiral’s Country, ma’am. While you’ve been at breakfast and busy otherwise, we moved your quarters, and those around you, including the special advisors, to that deck.”

  Kris sighed and rolled her eyes at the overhead. “Will I recognize my space?”

  “Not likely, Admiral. You can play handball in your new quarters. Your night quarters will make even an emperor jealous. Your bath has a tub that can seat ten. I really hope you’ll extend me an invitation.”

  “I hope no one on the ship is stuck in a cubbyhole.”

  “No, ma’am. Even Ruthie’s nannies will be quite comfortable although their rooms are arranged around the nursery. We kept that baby’s space small so people can reach Ruth in a hurry. That chief warrant officer of yours was quite clear on that.”

  “Never argue with a Gunny. Are the Sailors going to be upset?” Kris didn’t want any of her crew to feel left out.

  “No, ma’am. We blew out quite a few decks, not out to a thousand feet, but the Princess Royal now makes the most luxurious space liner look downright poverty-stricken.”

  Kris let that thought run, and quickly saw where it took her. “And the rest of the squadron?”

  “They are all quite comfortable now though none of them got a Forward Lounge, Admiral. I have been asked by several of my captains to point out that with you not allowing any shore liberty . . .” left a whole lot in Kris’s lap.

  “Good point, Captain,” Kris stalled. “I’m a bit busy preparing for the coming Imperial visit. Let me get back to you. If I don’t, raise it at dinner tonight.”

  “Will do, Your Highness.”

  Kris noted the use of the royal rather than the Navy. As an admiral, the only answer to alcohol aboard ship was no. Better yet, Hell No! As a royal . . . things were more up for grabs.

  “Nelly, how much booze does the Forward Lounge have in stock?”

  “A lot, Kris, but not nearly enough for the entire squadron.”

  “Okay. Nelly, examine how you might order up a supply of beer, wine . . . oh hell, a bit of everything . . . without the folks you order from knowing it’s headed here. Then could you redirect it in transit?”

  “I’ve already studied that option, Kris. No problem doing it. Can I bill it to the Palace’s account?”

  “You sure can’t bill it to a Wardhaven credit chit. When would such a bit of chicanery arrive pier-side?”

  “If I do it now, say, three o’clock.”

  “Make it happen. We’ll debit it against the Imperial visit.”

  “It is done.”

  Kris hoped she wouldn’t live to regret it.

  Down the next staircase, which Marines could march in ranks twelve wide, Kris found an establishment that beggared the mind. The Smart MetalTM walls appeared to be wood or golden wallpaper or more murals, some of battles, others of magnificent landscapes or classical paintings. The huge space was divided by banks of mirrors. They gave the vast rooms a near agoraphobic element that shrank the puny individual down to almost nothing. The furnishings mimicked styles from different ages of human existence with a strong bent toward wooden chairs and marble-inlaid tabletops. Others were already covered by snow-white linen, delicate china, and shining silverware . . . some of which was golden.

  Kris found her mouth hanging open. She swallowed her awe and snapped it shut.

  “Astonishing,” Judge Diana Frogmore said, coming up beside her. “I’m amazed at what that computer of yours can do with Smart Metal.”

  Kris shook her head. “I’m just glad I dropped down here. I’d hate to see this place for the first time with Harry.”

  “Yep. That’s why we have our teams down here. I’ve heard of a need to acclimatize troops to a new environment. This sure takes that cake.”

  “And eats it, too,” Kris added.

  “I assume you’ve come to ask if we are prepared.”

  “Yes,” Kris said.

  “Well, we’re prepared as much as we can be. No doubt, Runda told you this place is a hard nut to crack.”

  “Unfortunately.”

  “We propose that we let the Emperor, and, no doubt, the Empress talk. None of us have ever met people who think overmuch of themselves who were not most willing to fill the air with their verbosity.”

  “Will that help us?”

  Here Diana shrugged. “It has never hurt.”

  “There is always a first time.”

  “Yes,” she said ominously.

  “I’ve about run out of time,” Kris said, “so if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to get ready.”

  Diana looked puzzled.

  “Getting ready with an infant at the breast takes a whole lot more time than it took when I was carefree and single, or even newly married.”

  “Ah, yes,” Diana said, enlightened, then her eyebrows dropped. “I can’t help but wonder. Why did you choose to bring your infant on this mission?”

  “Let me give you the quick answer. I enjoy nursing Ruth. If I leave her, even for a month, I can’t get that back. Also, my mom and dad were what your profession calls emotionally unavailable for me after Eddy was kidnapped and allowed to die. I want to be as close to my kids as possible. I believe it’s called wanting to have it all. And if all that is not enough, can you assure me that if I left Ruthie home that someone wouldn’t kidnap her and hold her for ransom?”

  Diana nodded. Kris went on.

  “Here, she is safe with the same Marines and Sailors that protect me. While she can be as exhausting as any infant, I am not like other women. I cheat. I’ve got a staff of six to take care of Ruth and my dog robber to take care of the minutiae of my job. If I can’t do this, I guess it really is impossible.”

  “And, as an admiral, you can make your ship accommodate your expanded needs.”

  Kris chuckled. “Without Smart Metal, I’m not sure even I could pull this off.”

  “See you in”—Diana looked at her wrist—“an hour.”

  36

  Kris’s hour disappeared in a blinding flash despite everything she did to catch it. She fed Ruthie from one breast while pumping milk from the other. If the meeting went long, she didn’t want Rut
h getting hungry—or her mother sitting at the negotiating table leaking milk through her dress whites.

  A quick shower, and she found herself standing beside a fresh-faced Ensign Longknife, who was a study in puzzlement.

  “Ma’am, I’ve managed to put on most of your fruit salad, but I have no idea where some of this stuff goes.”

  The boot ensign had done a good job with the medals that met Wardhaven’s standard uniform regs. The Olympic Humanitarian Award was mounted above the pocket of her white dress coat farthest to the left with its V for valor. Next came the Turantic Medical Expeditionary Medal, also with a V to show Kris had won it in a fight. She often had trouble explaining how she managed to earn a Valor commendation during what were supposed to be humanitarian missions. Even Kris’s Society of Humanity Devolution Service Medal had a V. She wasn’t allowed to explain that one. The Navy and Marine Corps Medal, the one that started Kris off and which Mother wanted to encrust with diamonds and turn into a broach when Kris got out of the Navy, stood in the shadow of the Wardhaven Defense Medal. There was no V for that one. Valor was assumed for all those who volunteered for that bloody fight.

  It always took place of honor on the breast of anyone who had lived past earning it.

  It was the other gewgaws that stumped Meg. In truth, they also stumped Kris, but with a shrug . . . who could gainsay her, really . . . Kris dived in.

  “Three go around the neck. Greenfeld’s Pour la Mérite has the smaller choke chain. I think it’s supposed to be worn right at the throat. Nelly, can you find out if it goes inside or outside the choke collar?”

  “The chain goes inside the collar, with the cross hanging out.”

  “Good. The next two likely have no regs to follow. The Almar Medal of Highest Honor has the shorter ribbon.” It was bright red and gold, with a triangular gold medallion. “We’ll put it on second.”

  “What’s this one?” Meg said, holding up a large golden globe suspended from a light blue ribbon.

  “That is Granny Rita’s bad conduct medal.”

  “Bad conduct?” Meg said, raising a doubting eyebrow.