Kris Longknife: Resolute

by Mike Shepherd

  “Sounds like your crew don’t always do what you want them to do even when you’re the one telling them,” Kris said.

  “Yeah, that was part of what I was keeping a secret. Around here, you give an order and wait to see what the vote is.”

  “Can you bar lock the doors?”

  “I’ve already messaged a lockout to all the networked locks. Every door on this tub is deaf, dumb, and making rude noises at anyone trying to get it to open. I can make a specific exception from here, but . . .”

  “Talk about micromanaging,” Penny grumbled through a smile.

  “Talk about losing control of the situation,” Kris said. “How are our four doing on their walkabout? Any more come out?”

  “It looks like a new four are leaving the flag, probably to replace the four you just spanked. I’m watching them closely,” Penny said. “The first four just seem to be walking from pier to pier looking the place over and going on.”

  “Just the six their ships are using?” Kris asked.

  “No, all eighteen. At this point, they’ve gone past the amidships shops and are now at Pier 51.

  “Probably looking for one that doesn’t have as many auto guns,” Jack said. “Maybe park a landing craft full of Marines outside that pier and charge up an unguarded landing area.”

  “They all have their allotted four guns,” Steve said.

  “So they will report,” Kris said. “Any more nanos out?”

  “Nothing new reported,” Penny said.

  “Keep the nanos spread out wide. They could use the shuttle bay to send some in or some other odd place. Expect anything.”

  What Kris didn’t expect was a call from Hank.

  “Hi, lover girl,” he said for an opener as his perfect face came up on-screen.

  “Hi, Hank, all services coming through fine to your ships?” Kris said, staying business.

  “Could use a bit more electricity, but I understand your reactor just came on-line a few minutes before we docked. If you want, I can keep an extra trickle up on our reactors, lower our demand on you. Of course, we’d want a discount on our bill if we did,” he said with a salesman’s grin.

  Kris glanced at Steve’s board, the reactor was at 100 percent. She refused the urge to cut her visual; that would make her station look less than 4.0. She schooled her face and voice to friendly, something the Prime Minister’s Darling Daughter had learned early, and said, “Thank you, Hank, but I think I’ve got that problem solved. The Chance Service District has let me know that they won’t be allowing any discounts this month.”

  Hank’s mouth moved several times as she spoke, but she managed to keep the words flowing so syrupy smooth that he failed to break in. When she finished, he seemed to boil for a moment before snapping. “It’s Commodore, Lieutenant. Commodore,” he repeated, waving the sleeve of his blue uniform at her.

  “Fine, Hank, fine,” Kris said. “Commodore. Is there a reason you called me. I’m rather busy just this moment. We seemed to have a sudden infestation of nanos. Oh, and some of your crew were wandering around and didn’t read the signs about which parts of the station are public and which are secure. Do I need to resend the standard instructions on that, Hank.”

  “Commodore.”

  “Right, Commodore.”

  “No, no need. Everything is fine.”

  Which did not tell Kris anything about the state of his nanos. But then, that was not something she planned to ask.

  “If everything is fine, I’ll talk to you later,” Kris said, and made to hang up.

  “Don’t hang up, Kris. I called to tell you that the locals are putting on a bash of some sort for me and my crew. But then you might have heard about it.”

  “I’d heard they were planning something to entertain your crewmen,” Kris lied with a straight face.

  “They also have arranged a ball in my honor. I’m told it will be the height of the social season.” Kris made nice noises.

  “Anyway, I wondered if you’d like to ride down in my barge. Bring your whole command with you.”

  “Why Hank, I’d be glad to.”

  “Commodore,” he corrected.

  “You can’t call the Commander of Naval District 41 ‘Kris’ and expect her not to be on a first-name basis with you, Hank. But, yes, I’m glad to accept the invitation for the ride. When should I be there?”

  Hank said eight o’clock, which took him out of the game of who was what rank, and Kris rang off before he could get back to it.

  “That boy is a twit,” Penny said.

  “Over his head,” Steve agreed.

  “Neither of which makes him any less dangerous,” Jack muttered. “Why are you riding in his scow?”

  “It saves me having to steal it this time,” Kris said, her face now struggling to stay as straight for her team as she had kept it for Hank. The entire room, Jack excepted, broke up.

  “I’m glad the rest of you are enjoying this, but I repeat, why are you offering yourself for a ride in the barge of a guy who would just love to lock you up and throw away the key?”

  “Because he wants to and he can’t,” Kris said. “Face it, Jack, neither he nor I can do something that actually harms the other. A lot of people may die before this whatever-he-thinks-he’s-doing is over, but the last thing I want is to harm him. And the last thing he can do is kill me.”

  “I seem to recall several attempts to capture you and serve you up naked for a long and deadly torture session for Hank’s old man,” Jack reminded Kris.

  Kris shivered at the memory. “Yes, I can’t seem to forget them either, but those were all done below board, by other folks that would give Henry Smythe-Peterwald the Twelfth all kinds of deniability about his fun. Sending a squadron on an official port call with his own son and heir commanding is totally up front. And everything about it has to be played that way. No, Jack, the safest place for me tonight is in Hank’s barge. Trust me, any shuttle that doesn’t have him and does have me is in extreme danger of developing a bad case of the sudden blowups.”

  As Penny listened, Kris could almost see the Intelligence Officer’s brain spinning through all the options. “I think she’s right, Jack. So, Kris, are you actually going to ride down on the barge or develop a last minute case of being elsewhere?”

  “I probably will go along for the trip down. Steve, I may need a ride home, in case my official ride runs out of gas, turns into a pumpkin, you know how that can happen to a girl.”

  “I have a daughter,” he growled. “I’ll want to make those arrangements in person. No telling what the nanos planted on our comm lines before we scorched them.”

  “You do that. Oh, and Steve,” she said as he headed for the door. “In my early wanderings around the station, I noticed that I command a rather full armory. Jack and I field stripped a couple of weapons and found them in good shape. Would you mind having some of your contractors do a full maintenance workup on everything in the armory?”

  “Did it the first day I was back up here, Princess. I may not have been sure I trusted you with those guns, but I sure didn’t want to need them and find out they aren’t good to go.”

  “Thank you, Commander,” Kris said.

  “Glad to be working with you, Commander. Or should I say ‘Princess’?”

  “I answer to either one,” Kris said. “Oh, speaking of answering, Nelly, get me Abby on the line.”

  “You finally remembered me, Your Absentmindedness,” Kris’s official maid said a second later.

  “But you were never far from my thoughts,” Kris said, glancing at Penny. “It seems that I will be going to a dinner and dance tonight. A simple thing, don’t want to outshine all the other girls there. Since we’re dancing it might be just as nice if I was in that red gown that swirls so nicely.”

  “You mean the simple red one that goes well with blue accessories,” Abby said, seeming to catch on immediately that network communications might not be as secure as they once were.

  “Yes. Just the simple stuf
f.”

  “And how much time will you give me to do your hair?”

  “Not nearly enough,” Kris assured her. “But I’ll try to break away from here before too long.”

  “I’ll be waiting for you.”

  Kris rang off, waited until Nelly assured her that all comm lines were now off, and then shrugged. “Just how much time I have will depend on how Hank reacts to that.”

  Whatever Hank had in mind, it didn’t become apparent for a while. Into the quiet, Penny asked, “What is the uniform of the evening? You may have Abby to get you ready, but I need to think about what I can throw together.”

  “Dress whites for you, Penny,” Kris answered quickly and easily. “Jack, what you’re wearing, sidearms included.”

  “And you?” Penny asked.

  “Not a uniform,” Kris said defiantly. “Since Hank has promoted himself to commodore, I’ll trump him with princess. Tiara, Order of the Wounded Lion and all.”

  “That boy’s pride won’t take kindly to that,” Penny said, smiling at her board.

  “Disappointment is something he’s going to have to learn to live with,” Kris said. “And if you ask me, he hasn’t had nearly enough of it in his life.”

  “Oh-oh,” Penny said. “I think I see where his next disappointment is coming from. Either his or yours.”

  “I don’t need any more disappointment,” Kris said, eyeing Penny’s board. “I’ve had all a growing girl can use.”

  “The reactor,” Jack breathed.

  The new four had been meandering their way down station. Now they made a straight line for one of the two elevators among the aft shops. Kris mashed her commlink. “Engineering, are you prepared to repel boarders?”

  “What?” came from the chief engineer, a grandmotherly woman who frowned at Kris, then glanced off screen, apparently at her security monitors, and then said a not very grandmotherly word.

  One of Kris’s monitors showed the foyer they had created to block off the passageways around the reactor. Similar to the one in front of the Command Center, this one had a six-foot plus, linebacker type standing in front of the elevator as it opened. He opened his arms wide and blocked the door. “This is a secure area. Unauthorized people are not allowed,” he calmly bellowed.

  That should have settled the matter.

  One of the men in the elevator started a long, high-pitched spiel that Kris didn’t try to follow, while the other three ducked under the big fellow’s arms and headed for the doors.

  “Hey, you can’t do that,” the linebacker shouted, turning to chase after them, but it was like four mice being chased by a lone cat . . . and the cat had been briefed not to do anything lethal to the mice. The rodents took maximum benefit of that edge.

  The strapping fellow would jiggle one doorknob to disrupt the lock picking effort, only to have to trot over the next door and mess up another lock pick. And the fourth fellow was in his face all the time, talking, and his feet were as likely as not to be where the big guy put his down. It was better than most comedy routines, but this was not funny. Once they broke into the reactor room, there was no telling what they’d do. Or Hank.

  “I’m getting a report of Marines on the cruiser’s quarterdecks,” Penny said. A glance showed Kris that the kids were still on the landings doing their cute.

  “Order the kids out of there. Don’t let them get mixed up in this,” Kris ordered.

  “Doing it.”

  “Engineering, you’re about to be boarded,” Kris repeated.

  “Not on my watch, Commander,” came right back at her. “Tu, Sanchez, Ladonka, grab the biggest screwdrivers you got and a hammer and get your rear ends moving for the doors.”

  “Screwdrivers? What’re we doing with screwdrivers?”

  “Didn’t they teach you kids anything in school. Your heads are all full of book learning and you don’t know anything practical,” the grandmother type was muttering as Kris followed her fast walk from one screen to another. “I bet I’m the only one here that can hot-wire a car if I need to.”

  “Probably, Granny Good-Good,” said Sanchez from well off screen.

  Granny was at one of the doors into Engineering. “You take one honking-big screwdriver and wedge it in the doorsill next to the end with the hinges, not the doorknob, you doorknob, and you hammer it in good and hard. Nobody’s opening that door.

  “Here’s a doorstop if you want it.” A wooden wedge flew across the room to bounce off the door. The younger woman taking all the guff from Granny grabbed it, set it in place at the bottom of the door, and Granny gave it a whack, too.

  “Now, if a couple of you big lugs will do your usual lazy lean up against this door, it ain’t opening for no one,” she said, and headed back to her main station.

  Kris checked all of her monitors. The situation seemed stabilized, but she didn’t trust those four. Just what did they have in their bulky coats? Explosives? What would Hank decide to authorize if he got too frustrated? Kris hoped Hank had some kind of trainer with him. Daddy usually only turned Hank loose with someone who was supposed to teach him the ropes. Was this trainer an admiral? No, more likely some captain was stuck trying to explain to Commodore Hank why his latest bit of brilliance was not a good idea.

  “Steve, we’ve got a problem,” Kris said on net.

  “I know. I’ve got a set of plumbers from the Patton trotting over there to add their two cents to the conversation.”

  Kris cut the commlink. “Plumbers?”

  “Ever see the size of the wrenches those folks use,” Jack said, a grin growing on his face. “You get hit with one of those and you don’t need to be hit twice.”

  The comedy continued in the Reactor Foyer for a minute longer. One fellow actually managed to get his door unlocked, but found that the door would not budge for him. All four of them were congregated before that door, devoting their full effort to pushing on it while the linebacker did his best to push them sideways off the door. It was a sight to behold.

  And the elevator door opened on six big guys. No, four big guys and two big gals, each with a very big wrench in their hands, stepped into the foyer.

  “Hi, guys,” a healthy farm girl, her blond hair in twin pony tails, her right hand lifting and dropping one honking big steel wrench into her left. “You got a problem?”

  Two of the Greenfeld types reached for things that were inside their coats. One of them made a grab for the linebacker who broke the hold and stepped back.

  Kris mashed her commlink. “This is Commander Longknife. Do we have a problem in the Reactor Foyer that I need to bring to the attention of Commodore Peterwald?”

  “No.” “Nothing.” “No problems here” came quickly from the four. Kris’s six provided sideboy . . . or girl . . . courtesy to them on their way to the elevator, and punched button One.

  “Do we want to let them off that easily?” Nelly asked.

  “We don’t want to hurt anyone,” Kris pointed out.

  “But the elevators are all designed to go straight up and through to the other side of the station, Kris. People rarely do that because it subjects them to zero g and they have to reorient themselves because the ceiling becomes the floor. However ...”

  “What do we gain if we do that?” Jack said.

  “In weightlessness, on average, one out of three humans will become very ill,” Nelly lectured.

  “But those aren’t average humans, Nelly,” Jack said. “They are Peterwald Special Forces. Surely they are space trained.”

  “I have no data on that,” Nelly answered primly.

  “Would be interesting to run a verification test,” Penny said. “Seeing that we do have this opportunity.”

  “Nelly, redirect their car up,” Kris ordered.

  “Doing it, Your Highness. This is fun.”

  “Stall it dead center of the station.”

  “Done.”

  “Do we have a visual?”

  It was one of the spare cameras, so the picture was poor. But there wa
s no missing the dismay as they lost control of the elevator, the surprise as they lost gravity, and the disgust as first one, then a second, lost his breakfast. There were several attempts to set matters straight in the car that ended with the one Kris took for the leader growling, “Are you done with us.”

  “Tell your commander that we may not wait for you to get in our hair before we run the next bunch who get into an elevator up to see if all of you are space qualified,” Kris said. “You have a Longknife’s word on that.”

  “I figured as much.” He ended the conversation.

  “Should I run them up the rest of the way?” Nelly asked.

  “No,” Kris said. “Let’s not encourage them to see more of the station than they have.” Once out of the elevator, the four headed straight back to Hank’s flag.

  Kris ordered lunch for the Command Center. Tony Chang was running a special on pizza. Hank was kind enough to take lunch off, too, so they got all the way through clean-up before a new bunch of four crossed the brow of Hank’s flag.

  “Steve, you have anyone to walk those folks around?”

  “I’ve got eight, drawn from the Last Chance Rifle and Marksmanship Club. And, I might add, trained and led by my old Chief Master at Arms. Watch this.”

  The four came up the elevator and were met immediately by four folks wearing sidearms, and trailing them at a good twenty meters were four more each sporting M-6’s. The older fellow in the first group exchanged words with the four; they turned around and rode the down escalator right back where they’d come from.

  “How many have you got from Marksmanship Clubs?” Kris asked.

  “Enough,” Steve answered cryptically.

  Kris waited for an hour to see what Hank came up with next, but there was no next. She eyed the clock, calculated just how much time she was willing to give Abby to obsess over her hair, added in time for a fast walkaround to view the troops, and decided it was time to leave the duty watch to Jack.