Kris Longknife - Emissary

by Mike Shepherd

  The conversation rambled on for a bit more. After another hour, Ron excused himself, “I must be back to the secure location I am housed in before dark.”

  “Aren’t you worried about people seeing your car?”

  “I travel in a van with no windows,” Ron said with a near Irish sigh. “No one can see me, but I can see nothing about where I am going. It is a hard burden to bear. We must negotiate ways that our two people can hold the dark chaos at bay.”

  “We certainly must, particularly if I and my family will likely be some of the people walled up out of sight,” Kris said.

  They waited while Ron boarded a tall green van. “That’s as tall as the one they had me in when I had to stand up all the way to the residence of the Emperor of Musashi,” Kris noted.

  “And you aren’t nearly as tall as he is,” Jack quipped, taking a dig at how sensitive Kris had been about her height back before he proved to her that she was loveable. Oh, and she had two kids and spent half her day bending down to reach them.

  Thank God they are growing up.

  She and Jack waved at the van, though they doubted Ron could see them.

  “You interested in the job?” Jack asked as the van passed through the gate of their outer perimeter.

  “I really did have Meg buy us two tickets in the lottery,” Kris admitted.

  “For this month?”

  “Nope, next month.”

  “Then you were serious.”

  “Yep.” When Kris was really pissed, she bought it for this month even if it was the 23rd. She’d only bought a ticket for the next month once and she’d spent the entire next seven weeks thinking very seriously about leaving.

  “You want to talk about it?” Jack asked.

  “Nope, we’ve talked it through enough. No more talk. Take me to bed and make me forget all the damn bureaucratic infighting.”

  “My pleasure,” Jack said, nuzzling the back of her neck.

  “No, mine,” Kris said, reaching back to run her hands through his hair.

  Chapter 3

  Traffic was light, so Kris was at her desk fifteen minutes early the next morning. She spent the time having Nelly go through this year’s budget documentation and matching it with last year’s. Nelly also called up Kris’s markups from last year where they’d fit just as well as they had last year.

  The Battle Force and Scout Force copied and pasted a lot of their supporting data from one year to the next.

  Kris shook her head. She had written her budget support fresh from scratch each year, based on what had happened over the previous year. Then again, she had Nelly at her side every day and only had to ask her to remember this or that for the budget write-up and Nelly not only remembered, but would have her narrative ready for Kris to review and approve.

  Why don’t the other admirals use their computers like that? Heaven knows theirs weren’t nearly as good as Nelly, still, even a dumb computer could remember something when told to.

  Kris watched as the wall in front of her changed quickly as Nelly highlighted this in yellow and added in red what Kris had said about it last year.

  Right on time, Megan appeared at Kris’s elbow, two cups of frothy coffee in hand.

  “You know this stuff isn’t Navy issue.”

  “I know you pay a lot for it,” Megan answered, taking a sip.

  Kris took a sip of her own. Every day was different; today had a hint of caramel and macadamia nut.

  “What is this?”

  “You don’t ask and I don’t tell,” Megan said primly.

  “But how will I order for myself?”

  “Keep me around and you won’t have to,” came as a cute reply.

  Kris sighed and got serious. “About this job. There may be a problem,” Kris said, and filled Megan in on what Ron the Iteeche had to say last night.

  “Well, it’s not like you don’t have the diplomatic chops for a job like that,” Megan said when Kris finished. “We survived negotiating the end of the Greenfeld Civil War and even the last renegotiations of the Treaty of Cuzco.”

  “I had a lot of help both times,” Kris pointed out.

  “And you won’t have a lot of help at your elbow as the ambassador to the Iteeche Empire?”

  “Ugh,” escaped Kris and before she could say anything. Without even thinking about it, she found herself going down the list of people she knew and slipping them into slots on her ambassadorial staff. She shook her head.

  “What about you?” Kris said. “I remember you telling me that you weren’t interested in Alwa duty. Something about being from Santa Maria halfway to hell and gone and wanting to spend some time in human space.”

  “I, ah, may have been more diplomatic than accurate when I said that,” Meg said, looking a bit coyly.

  Kris eyed her aide over her cup of coffee as she took a sip.

  “I dropped in on my detailer in BuPer to see about getting a good assignment, and he kind of did a double take. Muttered something about ‘not another damn Longknife.’ I asked him what he was talking about and he told me he had one Longknife asking for an aide and another Longknife asking for an assignment. I think I kind of quit breathing, not wanting to upset anything. I was pretty sure there wasn’t another Longknife in the Navy besides me and the famous, or infamous Princess Kris Longknife. Next thing I know, he’s trying to sell me on taking your job as aide.” Megan dipped the shallowest of curtsies. “And, as they say, the rest is history.”

  “If you follow me to the Imperial court, you could be the only attractive young human woman for hundreds of light years,” Kris said, thinking that finding cute human boys might be a problem for her aide.

  “No doubt there will be plenty of humans around helping you run the embassy. Besides, the whole idea is to arrange for trade treaties and technological transfer. There are bound to be some cute guys involved. I might marry myself a wealthy businessman and have more bucks than you, Princess.”

  “So, you’re princessing me,” Kris laughed. “I better get my nose out of your business before you get really nasty.”

  They exchanged grins before Kris turned back to Nelly’s work, ready to get down to business again.

  Megan wasn’t quite there yet. “Admiral, I really meant it,” she said, dead serious, “I would like to stay as your aide.”

  “Why?” Kris said, keeping her eyes on the board, half afraid where this was headed.

  “It’s never boring around you, ma’am, and I had all the boring I wanted growing up on Santa Maria.”

  Kris let her breath out slowly. She’d been half afraid that Megan was about to swear her undying devotion and love to Kris. That would complicate matters much more than Kris cared to tackle at the moment.

  “I think I can provide plenty of not boring,” Kris said. “I just don’t know what it is I will be providing if you follow me to the Imperial Iteeche Court. It could be just a lot of trade negotiations for people like my Grampa Al or boring balls with guys who have way too many hands.”

  “My mother warned me about those types. Still, we won’t know until we get there. Now we’ve got a draft rebuttal to put together between now and next week. How do you want to reply to the Battle Fleet’s dig that battlecruisers can’t fire broadside?”

  “The same way we did last year,” Kris snarled softly.

  “You bet, Admiral.”

  The morning was off to a good start. The two of them and Nelly rapidly drew together their package. Kris found it disheartening that she was saying the same thing this year as she said last year. Trying to get change out of the Navy was like nailing orange marmalade to a tree. Its entrenched interest groups were nearly impossible to change: admirals, industrial big wigs, and politicians who liked the jobs that the old ways created and didn’t want to think of their constituents losing them.

  Kris had thought that the battlecruisers were a dream come true, what with the huge alien raiders out there. With a quarter of the crew and at a quarter of the cost . . . actually less now that the b
attleship admirals wanted crystal armor all over their oversized behemoths . . . the battlecruisers should have allowed the government to rearm at a quarter of the cost.

  Kris chuckled; she’d really put the fear of God into human space when she sent back the raving alien woman. People were terrified by her diatribes and threats. Suddenly, taxes were good and the public purse was open for defense.

  Too bad it was being spent in too many of the wrong places.

  Kris sighed; the more she tried to explain the battlecruiser concept, the more she was called a zealot or one note band. She’d learned the hard way how much fun it was to be a voice crying in the wilderness.

  What am I doing wrong?

  She and Jack had lunch together at a tiny food court on the roof of Main Navy. It was a wonderful spring day with a few fluffy clouds dotting a painfully blue sky. Nelly put the kids on a hookup with them and Kris found the laughter of her kids a soft balm that soothed her blood pressure. Jack avoided any mention of work during lunch and Kris was only too glad to follow his lead.

  She went back to the salt mine after lunch with one reluctant last glance at the budding springtime. Ten years ago, Kris would have ditched her afternoon classes and headed for a park or better yet, the hills with any friends she could talk into being as irresponsible as her.

  “This being a grown up is not what I was promised,” she whispered as she and Jack parted ways.

  “You’re sure it’s not being an admiral?” Jack said, smiling back.

  “Probably just being a damn Longknife,” Kris grumbled.

  Jack had no answer that could top that.

  Kris continued to work with Megan and Nelly. As the afternoon wore on, Kris found her frustration skyrocketing. She did not join the Navy to smash her head against a brick wall in the hope that it would crumble before her head did. Kris was pretty sure the wall would be the loser, but it was taking way too long, and if she was honest, a lot more effort than she wanted to waste.

  I hate this job, Kris thought for the very first time.

  “Kris,” Nelly said, interrupting a review of the Scout Force, “King Raymond requests and requires your present at the palace immediately. You have an appointment in fifteen minutes.”

  “I do, do I?” Kris said.

  “You and Jack,” Nelly added.

  “Is he already headed for the car park?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I guess I should too.” Kris sighed, but grabbed her undress blues coat and pulled it on as she headed for the door. “Meg, keep pounding that sand. Use last year’s hammer when you can. If you find a diamond in the rough, it’s yours.”

  “You are so generous, Admiral.”

  “Just like our monarch,” Kris said and began a fast walk.

  Chapter 4

  Kris and Jack found their limo with the invisible target painted on the roof waiting for them in the lower basement car park, motor running. They were moving before they fastened their seatbelts. Once out of the garage they picked up a motorcycle escort. It was more for the king, than Kris. No one wanted a substitute to be slipped in between Main Navy and the Palace.

  They’d been there enough times that the guards on duty recognized them and Kris could call them by name and ask about the spouse and kids. That didn’t keep Kris and Jack from providing a palm print, retina scan and a drop of blood. As soon as the security computer confirmed they were who their identity cards said they were, they were allowed to pass through the sensors to make sure they had no hidden bombs or weapons. Then they were handed off to a colonel with enough gold rope on his shoulder to hang a squad, if not a full platoon.

  They were taken up to the top floor of what had once been a five star hotel but now was occupied by a large contingent of snoops keeping their thumbs on the political pulse of one hundred seventy-three planets, nearly a quarter of all humanity, as well as foreign relations with a couple of dozen Confederations, Alliances and Associations, as well as what was left of Earth’s Society of Humanity.

  The colonel ushered them straight into the regal presence, although this time her royal great-grandfather was in an office that was a lot more cluttered than his son’s, Grampa Al’s, office ever would be. It was also about a quarter of the size. Strange that. A prince of business needed more and fancier trappings than a king who reigned over a quarter of humanity.

  Grampa Ray looked more like a harried businessman than a king. He had his coat off, his tie loose at his collar and his sleeves rolled up as he poured over two readers. He glanced from one to the other rapidly.

  “Have you seen this damn budget?” he asked without looking up.

  “I’ve seen nothing else since I got a copy yesterday,” Kris said. “Isn’t the silly season wonderful.”

  “No, kiddo. The silly season is when there’s an election in the wind. This is the crazy season.”

  He sighed, put down the readers and looked at Kris and Jack. “Can I offer you something? Coffee, tea, a gallon of scotch?”

  “Don’t waste the good stuff on us, Sir,” Jack said. “Any rot gut you got will be fine for me.”

  “Soda water,” Kris said, primly.

  “Right, you’re still on the wagon.”

  “Yes, Grampa.”

  “It’s king, today,” the monarch said as he poured two cups of coffee and a glass of water with a twist of lime from the small bar against one wall and led Kris and Jack to a comfortable set of chairs and sofas. He took the biggest chair, leaned back into it and closed his eyes as a slow hum told Kris that the chair was doing its best to relax the king.

  They waited while sipping their coffee. It was a nice blend, not the usual Navy issue.

  After a long minute, the king opened his eyes and fixed Kris with a hard look. “I should never have let you talk me into this job. They don’t want a king. They don’t want an ombudsman. They want a damn baby sitter.”

  “Want one, or need one?” Kris asked seeking clarification.

  “Want, need, what’s the difference? I’m a traffic cop trying to direct oversized trucks and keep them from crashing into each other. Only, there doesn’t seem to be any traffic laws. I point them down one road and they take off for another.”

  “I’ve heard that politics is the art of herding cats,” Jack said softly.

  “Cats would be easier,” Ray grouched.

  “So, Your Majesty, have you brought me here to scourge me for my long-ago mistake of suggesting that you really were the best man for the newly established kingship, or do you have something else on your mind?”

  “Impertinent kid,” Ray grumbled.

  “I’m four years past my thirtieth birthday, Your Majesty. I think the statute of limitations has run out on me being a kid. Not that I wouldn’t prefer it.”

  “You got two gorgeous kids for all your years,” Ray said, great-great-grandfatherhood softening his voice. “Why don’t you bring them around here more often?”

  “Have you seen your schedule, Grampa?”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Did an Iteeche show up on your doorstep yesterday?”

  “As a matter of fact, one did wander in. I got home to find Ron playing with some of the latest twigs on your family tree.”

  “Ron?”

  “You know,” Kris said, and named Ron just as fast as Nelly could dredge up his official name. “Ron’sum’Pin’sum’We qu Cap’sum’We. The fellow that brought his Emperor’s concerns about losing ships to you through me. Somehow, he survived circumnavigating the galaxy with me.”

  “Christ, you call him Ron. Back in my day, you could get your gullet slit from chap to neck for mispronouncing just one word or screwing up your syntax. What are kids learning in school these days?”

  “I wouldn’t know,” Kris pointed out officiously. “I haven’t been in school for a long time and my darlings are still unsullied by formal education.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. So, how did the little hellions get along with this Ron Iteeche?

  “They proved him to be an admirably usefu
l merry-go-round. Johnnie found his way of swallowing live fish most fascinating. I expect to get home and find the nannies working heartily to pull one of the Koi out of his little gullet.”

  “He sounds like another damn Longknife,” Ray said, grinning for the first time since they walked into his office.

  “The apple doesn’t fall far from the orchard,” Jack whispered softly.

  Ray took in a deep breath, let it out slowly and then took in another. “So, Ron whatever-his-name-is told you that his Emperor wants to establish formal and complete relations with United Society. They want someone empowered to make formal treaties, negotiate trade agreements and generally get things going. No doubt, whatever you agree upon will set the precedent for other human unions that follow in your footsteps.”

  “So close to my rear end that they’ll make me smile,” Kris said.

  Jack rolled his eyes.

  “My Foreign Ministry is already looking around for who will be the best people to go with you. Back in the Society of Humanity, we’d have a hell of a time doing any of this, what with us all being boring blood brothers. Now that the US has set up embassies in over a dozen unions and negotiated Treaties of Friendship, trade agreements with Most-Favored-Nation in them, and I don’t know what all, we should have some people to offer you help.”

  “And if I don’t like the help they’re giving me?”

  Ray harrumphed. “When have you ever liked the help I’ve given you?”

  Kris took that for a rhetorical question and passed on answering it.

  “Have I been that bad?” almost sounded like a human question.

  “I’ve survived, and what I did made me stronger,” Kris offered.

  “Yeah. We survive and try not to get too broken down.”

  “Are you having a bad day, Grampa?” Kris asked, wondering if the legend might be showing a human side.

  “I need a vacation. I need to get Trouble and his missus and find a nice cottage on a lake with no radio or phone or media around and just fish all day. Don’t matter if I catch anything, just so long as I can listen to the lap of the water on the side of the boat and Mrs. Trouble kicks my butt a few times for mouthing off.”