“You’ve got the hot potato. Call me at the first sign of French fries.”
“I still think you ought to make a quick detour come twenty hundred hours and take our shuttle down. I don’t trust Hank to know what’s good for him.”
“You’ve got a very good point, my security czar,” Kris said, doing her best to recognize the authority he could invoke to change her plan . . . without really giving in. “However, there is more at play than just how I get where I’m going tonight. It’s how Hank feels about it. If you don’t agree tonight we’ve won one, Jack, I’ll give you the next one, free of charge, no back talk.”
Jack eyed Kris. “You’ve got something up your sleeve.”
“And considering that my dress tonight has no sleeves and very little else north of the border, it should be very clear to you rather quickly what I’m up to.”
“This I really want to see,” Penny said.
“You just show up in dress whites with full medals. Oh, Jack, before you report to Hank’s barge, put on your medals, too.”
“I think I smell intimidation,” Penny said.
“I think I just lost my bet,” Jack grumbled, but the tips of his scowl were curling up. No question, Kris’s crew wanted to see Hank’s pride holed solidly below the waterline.
Kris did her walkaround, smiling encouragement at those working for their defense and quickly ran into Steve doing his own bit of close oversight. They turned it into a twin tour. Doors were being locked down with steel bars that had to be thrown by a human being. The reactor’s access doors got two bars. The crew was happy, joking about what they’d done to their visitors. Kris joined in their happy mood, adding only a reminder that this was just the first round. There would be more.
“Well, we surprised them, they surprised us,” Kris said when she turned from Steve to deliver herself to what was bound to be an impatient and bad-tempered Abby. “The game’s still very much afoot, but I think we can claim to be ahead on points.”
“Points that can only too quickly be trumped by the other side,” Steve said, without looking back.
11
Someone once said war was diplomacy continued by other means. Or maybe it was the other way around. Father was want to say it either way. Kris wondered what that someone would think of her use of socialiting as a continuation of the war between the Peterwalds and Longknifes by other means.
Once upon a time, Kris had looked upon Hank as a potential Romeo, and her as Juliet, destined to end the bitterness between two warring families. Such romantic mush was ancient history, as Kris stepped into the hall from her room and came face-to-face with Jack and Penny.
Penny wore the requested Navy-dress dinner evening ensemble. “The manual calls for miniature medals, but I don’t have any. I thought you’ll be just as happy with me in full-size ones.”
Kris nodded. “Easier for the blind to see.”
Jack was in fresh dress blues to go with his shower and shave. He showed medals in place of a single row of ribbons. He eyed Kris. “You’ve got the lapel pin from the Battle of the Line on the sash of the Wounded Lion. That’s not regulation.”
Kris looked down at her dress. The bright red of the satin was bound to be eye-catching; the fire red hugged her waist, the one thing about her she was proud of. Below, it flounced out to sway very nicely as she walked. Above, it opened up. Abby’s push-up bra might actually give eager male eyes something to catch when her top went one way and she went the other.
Abby had arranged the sash of the Wounded Lion, Earth’s highest honor, to start under her right arm, and brought it along nicely so that the golden starburst of the order closed the sash nicely on her left hip. But, not content with the silent testimony of an undocumented Earth award, Kris added the lapel pin worn by civilian survivors of Wardhaven’s recent defense.
Kris had no idea what medals, orders, or ribbons Hank might be sporting. Somehow she greatly doubted the long peace around Greenfeld had presented the many opportunities for bleeding and dying that Kris had faced of late. Or maybe the correct answer was that any of Greenfeld’s folks that had done that shooting and dying had done so where it was best not documented.
Satisfied, Kris offered Jack her arm, he rested it on his, and they headed for the elevator. “Mind the store,” Kris shouted at Chief Beni as they passed the Command Center.
“They throw a party for us poor, overworked sailors, and I get stuck with the duty. Where’s the fairness in that?”
“Nobody mentioned fairness in my commissioning papers,” Jack said, eyeing Kris.
“Nor mine,” Kris pointed out. “But there’s bound to be a party tomorrow night. I’ll try to bust you loose.”
“I’m going to remind you. Nelly, you remember her,” Beni shouted as they opened the locked door and entered the elevator foyer. There were two big strapping boys taking delight in Marilyn’s company.
“Enjoy one of those dances for me,” she called as she checked the elevator, found it empty, and opened the door.
On Deck 1, Kris pointed her team at Pier 1’s landing, Jack on her right, Penny on her left. “Jack, you going to try to talk me out of this one more time?”
“Nope,” the Marine said. “I’m all gussied up and looking forward to the show.” He patted Kris’s waist at the back. “No weapon. Are you actually going unarmed tonight?”
“Abby showed me a better place for it. Don’t want to be dancing with a guy and him patting my hold-out gun.”
“Especially Hank,” Penny said.
“Please let me know before you start shooting.”
“I will, Jack. I know it’s embarrassing when I get the best of the bad guys and you get left with the second string,” she said through a smile.
“It’s not fair to say things like that when we’re coming up on our target and I have to smile,” he growled through his smile.
“I’m sure you’ll get even,” Kris said.
They took the escalator down to the landing. Penny crossed the brow first, saluting the Officer of the Deck, then the flag painted on the left wall of the quarterdeck. Jack followed, doing the same. Kris, playing regal to the hilt, and not being in uniform, crossed the gangplank, and presented her hand to the OOD to kiss. Apparently, this was not covered in the young lieutenant’s brief, but, what with Kris’s hand almost smacking him in the mouth, he got the idea that maybe he should kiss it.
Shamelessly, Kris used that effort, once begun, to get him into chasing her hand lower until he was half bowing. Nice to know that Greenfeld sailors are educable, Kris thought through a most Noble smile.
“Your commodore offered us the benefit of his barge for a ride down to the party. Are you going to show us the way?”
“That is my honor and duty,” said a calm, low voice. Kris turned to find herself facing an older Naval officer in formal blues, four strips on his sleeve. His trim mustache was gray, as were enough of the hairs at his temple to give him a most distinguished appearance. Kris offered her hand, he bowed very professionally and kissed it. “I am Captain Merv Slovo, of the Incredible, Commodore Smythe-Peterwald’s flagship.”
“Is Hank styling himself that formally these days,” Kris asked, airy as any debutante.
“His father is the President of over ninety planets. Some formality does seem apropos.”
Kris did not argue the planet count and introduced Penny. The woman followed Kris’s lead; rather than saluting her senior, she offered her hand. Captain Slovo did it honor, but his bow brought his eyes level with the young lieutenant’s medals, and Kris noticed that the captain’s nostrils flared as he read the service record of the woman before him.
This was something Kris found very intriguing about the Navy Way. She’d learned early to have Nelly subscribe to Who’s Who on Wardhaven, and then expanded it to Who’s Who in All Human Space. Politicians, scientists, civilians in general, could be found quickly, and their stories revealed for the thoughtful application of a young girl politician-in-training.
The N
avy Way was different. It was all out there on the chest to observe and mark. And, if appropriate, be warned by.
Take Captain Slovo. The Good Conduct Medal with four oak-leaf clusters on it was in his long row of miniature medals. It was proof not only of his good and faithful service but told Kris that he had completed twenty years active duty but had not been retired. His other medals included a Meritorious Service Award for his performance, likely in a staff billet. There was also a Distinguished Service Award, probably for a previous command. He sported an unusual ribbon for a Greenfeld sailor. Most of their ships stayed close to port; he wore the space-dark ribbon with the four white stars that identified one who’d made a four-month cruise. Oh, and his sharpshooter medal said he was highly qualified with five individual or crew-served weapons.
Kris double-checked that row of medals against the latest update Nelly had found on net. No, he had not been involved in any of the officially recognized Defense Campaigns that Peterwald had declared following some of his more heavy-handed acquisitions. Unless Captain Slovo was holding back on Kris, he was not a veteran of the more egregious blood and thunder bits of Greenfeld gunboat diplomacy.
While Kris was evaluating the man in front of Penny, he was doing the same to Kris’s subordinate. Penny had the usual “Beer Swilling and Party Games medal” that had been awarded to all who attended the formal and final hauling down of the flag of the Society of Humanity at the Paris system. She also wore the Turantic Medical Expedition and the generic Naval Expeditionary Medal for the assistance she and others had provided Hikila during its recent terrorist outbreak. What was unusual, at least for the Turantic Medal, was that it also showed a V for valor. While others had just gone to Turantic to deliver medical supplies and reestablish communications, Penny had earned hers the hard way—in a fight.
Proudly in last place was the Wardhaven Defense Medal. There was no V authorized for that medal. No one earned it who wasn’t on the line—fighting for their life.
At the other end of Penny’s medals, in pride of place, was the Meritorious Service Award. She’d probably earned that for her inquisition of Kris’s shipmates on the Typhoon, something that still irked Kris. But Tommy had asked her not to hold it against Penny. “She was only doing her job.” And falling in love with Tommy . . . and Tommy with her.
So Kris forgave her that. Still, it burned Kris. All the scrapes she’d pulled herself and Wardhaven out of and all she got were the basic ribbons for being there. Being the Prime Minister’s daughter and the King’s great-granddaughter was not turning out to be all that the fairy tales promised.
Captain Slovo finished his assessment of Penny and turned to Jack. They exchanged salutes. Jack’s “tourist” credentials were the same as Penny’s, though his started at Turantic. The two men’s eyes got that hard look around the edges that two men often get when they’re making the determination as to who the Alpha male is in this dog run . . . and not at all sure how to call it.
They broke eye contact so close to the same time that only Nelly could have determined the winner.
“May I offer you an arm,” the captain said to Kris. “The commodore’s barge is this way.” All so civil. All so proper. Kris took the offered arm and let him lead her. Jack and Penny trailed them. Despite all the ancient trappings of warriors and killers, tonight we party. Who knows what we’ll do to each other tomorrow. But tonight, we drink, and dance, and ignore the obvious. Like hell we do, Kris reminded herself.
Captain Slovo led her through his ship with clear pride of ownership. In an elevator taking them down, he turned to Kris. “Is that the Earth Order of the Wounded Lion you are wearing?”
“It is,” Kris agreed.
“Little girls don’t often find them in a box of cracker jacks?”
“I’m not aware that any little girl ever has.”
“No,” he said, “No, they have not. So, there must be quite a story behind it. There always is, I’m told.”
“Yes,” Kris agreed, but gave no story.
The pause grew long. “You’re not going to tell me.”
“Certainly you’ve been briefed on me.”
The captain adjusted the tight collar of his shirt as the elevator came to a halt. “Actually, I have no brief on you at all. We left Greenfeld space a month ago and have been paying calls on Confederacy planets since. Four, five, one loses count,” he fibbed. And Kris found herself suppressing a frown. Why are you telling me this? Was he trying merely to pass the time, or was this his excuse for the blundering around the station? Or was he letting her know that he and his commodore were having to make this up as they went along? Hmm.
Kris reviewed the whole of his statement and chose to respond to his first remark. “Well, your commodore has surely shared his experiences of me with you,” Kris said as they walked across the shuttle bay. Around her, files of sailors and Marines in dress uniforms were loading aboard liberty launches, but the area around the barge was clear of activity.
“He has said a few words, nothing of major import.” The captain’s serious face suddenly took on a puzzled smile. “He is rather definite that you and your associates are not to be allowed near the bridge of any of our ships or the controls of any of our craft. No explanation. Leaves me wondering.”
“Well, if Hank considers that to be top secret, far be it from me to spill the beans,” Kris said lightly.
Without orders, but in accordance with protocol, Jack and Penny boarded the launch first, then stepping aft to give Kris and Captain Slovo freedom to enter. The Captain handed Kris aboard, boarded himself and came to attention facing forward.
Henry Smythe-Peterwald the Thirteenth in full military regalia stood beside the front seat. Long formal frock coat was topped by a hat that could have been stolen from the captain of a sailing ship, gold fringed and rising high in the middle as it tapered fore and aft. On his chest was a fistful of medals, Distinguished this, Meritorious that. Kris wondered if the poor fellow who approved all of them had actually written up some fiction, or just stamped them, TO KEEP THE BOSS’S BRAT HAPPY.
And why didn’t anyone on Wardhaven ever worry about what might make the Prime Minister’s brat a bit happier. Oh well.
Captain Slovo announced most formally, “Her Highness, Princess Kristine of the United Sentients.”
Hank took one look at Kris and let his perfect face slip into a perfect pout. Was the Commodore just a bit upset not to have a lowly lieutenant to lord it over? Kris thought, and suppressed the grin she felt at her first victory of the night.
Hank whirled to put his back to Kris and sat down, much like a child’s balloon losing air. And got entangled in the sword he wore on his left. He should have taken the righthand seat, but that would not have given him the direct line of sight he wanted. Oh yes, I’ve totally messed up his little show.
Beside Kris, Captain Slovo coughed softly. “I believe the last seat is reserved for you, farthest from the controls.”
And I believe you blew it when you announced me, but I’m glad you did. And you only walked into the trap I set for you. I’m sorry, Captain, you deserve a better master, Kris thought as she went where she was directed.
Penny took the seat beside her. Jack settled into the one ahead of her, his cake slicer out of his way and his service automatic in easy reach. Kris automatically arranged her skirt so her own automatic, now holstered above her right knee, was easily in reach. Then she relaxed. The battle tonight would not be fought with bullets. At least not at first.
Hank made his initial play and fell flat. Kris awaited his next move, which turned out to be part of his first. Five captains tromped aboard. Apparently, Hank wanted all his skippers to witness the humiliation of the Commander, Wardhaven’s Naval District 41. Unfortunately, all they saw was their own boss in a huff and Kris, smiling regally from aft as they came on board.
Certainly, that had not been in Hank’s Plan of the Day.
And Kris was getting a good look at the men who called the shots on his ships. Three
quickly settled around their young commodore. As a group, they were young and, Kris suspected, new to their jobs. Seated amidships with the flag captain were two others, older as well. While the forward bunch quickly found themselves something to laugh about . . . or at . . . the older captains buckled themselves in, giving quick measured glances forward, and furtive ones aft. Captain Slovo leaned forward and the other two put their heads together, but only for a moment. With solemn loyalty to their superior, they frowned at Kris and settled back into their seats, their faces Navy bland.
Kris leaned over toward Penny. “Can you get me info on these ships and officers?”
“Yes, Your Highness. They’re brand-new and not in my database. I sent off a priority query, but nothing’s back yet.”
The ride down went smoothly; Kris could not have done it better. A glance out the window showed Last Chance’s airport was not as sleepy as usual. The flight line was crowded with liberty launches; people lined the perimeter fence. Lots of people had turned out for the show. The politician in Kris wondered what they expected, and if they’d be happy with what they got.
Today, the commodore’s barge was quickly towed to a spot for all to see. Sailors and Marines lined up in ranks and a brass band in Greenfeld’s colors played their anthem. Kris stayed seated when the hatch opened. A stairway with a top landing big enough for a stage rolled up to the door. Hank led his captains onto it, not giving Kris a glance.
For her part, Kris gave him a friendly nod. It might have been lost on Hank, but not on Captain Slovo, or the other two following in his wake. The last one actually nodded and touched his hat. The campaign is joined and yielding some results.
On the stage/stairway, Hank talked into a powerful mike that carried his words across the flight line to the waiting crowd. His crew was at attention, so silence was expected from them. Through the door, Kris could see a portion of the fence line. They stood quietly as Hank announced that “Space unites us all” and went on to praise the prosperity that the recent years had brought to everyone “smart enough to know which way the wind was blowing.” He ended with the firm hope that the people of Chance would take every advantage that came to people who “got on the winning bandwagon early and helped it over the top.”
Kris Longknife: Resolute Page 20