Kris Longknife - Emissary

by Mike Shepherd

  A number began flashing. “One point five billion square kilometers of land,” Kris breathed. “Wardhaven is only 550 million square kilometers, a bit bigger than Earth.”

  “And their population is over twenty billion. Ouch. That’s crowded,” Nelly added, with a comment Kris could agree with.

  “You might want to ask your friend Ron how comfortable the Imperial precinct are,” Trudy said.

  “Are they going to provide housing or will we have to buy something next door for an embassy?” Kris winced; what would she use for money?

  “Another thing to ask your four-eyed buddy,” Trudy answered, her lips drawn tight.

  Right, Trudy was of that age where the only good Iteeche was a dead Iteeche. Kris would have to make sure the kids didn’t pick up any of that language from their Auntie Tru or anyone else.

  “What do you know?” Jack asked Trudy.

  “Well, if you ask Nelly real nice she can tell you the population of every Iteeche planet. We’ve also included which planets are making battlecruisers like yours and how many they’ve commissioned in the last five years.”

  “How do you know that?” Kris asked.

  “Because we have technicians helping them spin them out. They’re making the Smart Metal themselves but we kind of kept a lock on the programming. They need a human to finish the build, just like we need an Iteeche to finish the powering up of our new ships. I bet you didn’t know that.”

  “I know we have Iteeche on any stations building battlecruisers, but no one said why,” Kris admitted.

  “You’d think somebody doesn’t trust somebody,” Jack said.

  “Yeah, if things go sideways, we might find our ships with no power and they might find their ships converting to a fine mist.”

  “You think so?” Kris asked.

  “Despite everything I do my best to know, no, I don’t know that for sure,” Trudy said. “But I do know the twisted minds that came up with this trade and I wouldn’t put it past them. What do you think Ray would do faced with this kind of a swap?”

  Kris rolled her eyes. “I know I’ve been told not to mention anything about some of our weapons technology,” Kris said vaguely.

  “You mean the beam weapons?” Trudy said with a Cheshire cat grin.

  “You know about them?” really didn’t surprise Kris.

  Trudy tossed the question off with a slight wave of her hand and a vague, “I may have overheard it in a restaurant.” Then she got serious. “The Iteeche helped us power up those beam ships that saved the adorable cute ass of that little girl I shared dinner with before she could even be born, so yes, the Iteeche know something about the beam weapon, but they were kept out of the weapons bays on those things. Reactor, yes, your quarters, yes, anything close to the weapon and a Marine would step on all four of their feet.”

  “Was there a lot of stepping on feet?” Jack asked.

  “You couldn’t blame them for trying, but after the first couple of incidents the head honchos on each ship got taken aside and politely asked to control their people or some folks might be shipped back on the next slow boat. They got the word and quit trying.”

  “Entirely?” Jack said, raising an eyebrow.

  “No,” Trudy said with a small impish grin. “One or two folks we had already identified as intelligence plants kept right on trying. We fed them enough for the Iteeche to build something like the beam weapons, but with critical things missing and a few additional little tidbits added. If they built a prototype based on what they got from us, it’s going to make a big hole in some planet. Hopefully, they’ll test it out first on some airless rock with no population except sneaky types that deserve what they get.”

  “So, we trust the Iteeche about as far as we can throw one,” Jack said.

  “Pretty much,” Trudy agreed.

  Kris studied the map. “So,” she said pensively, “we now know the geography of the Empire. We know its capability for building ships, or at least we know where our people are needed to help them build ships . . .”

  “You think they’re building ships behind our back?” Jack asked.

  “I don’t know that they aren’t,” Kris said.

  “You’re a paranoid one,” Trudy said.

  “I’m a damn Longknife,” Kris pointed out, with a tight, little smile, then went on. “And we know their political structures. Trudy, do we know anything about these satraps? Who leads them, and how did they get to be top squid?” This was another word left over from the Iteeche War that Kris would have to be careful who she said it around.

  “Not a clue,” Trudy said. “We’ve got our folks looking for any hint of the Empire’s internal mechanics, but nothing. The Iteeche know that Ray does not command all of human space and that some of the associations that work with the US to protect the other sentient species go their own way, though I’m none too sure they understand it. We had to tell them about our political divisions. As for them, all we know is that the Emperor is some kind of divine presence or representative or who knows what and that everyone obeys his will.”

  “No human has ever had that kind of power,” Kris said.

  “And most who were said to have it were the closest things to puppets,” Nelly pointed out.

  Jack shook his head. “When we had guys running around insisting they had the divine right of kings on their side, their sway was pretty limited.”

  “And usually it wasn’t long until someone came along and claimed to be more divine and more right and kicked their butt,” Kris said.

  “Yeah,” Trudy agreed.

  “But we know nothing?” Kris asked, again.

  “Nothing but what you can make out from this map.”

  Kris sighed. “So, we play blind man’s bluff.”

  “With very sharp knives pointed at little old blindfolded you,” Trudy concluded.

  “God help us,” Jack breathed.

  Chapter 7

  Over the next few weeks, Kris found herself in a juggling act, trying to balance her existing job while setting things up for her next. Her days went long and the kids got shortchanged. They knew it and became very clinging when she did finally get home.

  There was humor to be had. Once the word got out that Kris would be leaving in six to ten weeks, everyone and his or her brother or sister, dog or cat started buying tickets in the lottery. Kris settled it by giving the money in it to a half dozen charities helping the poor find better jobs or helping sailors stay out of trouble. There was some grumbling, but it was all good hearted.

  In a quiet moment, Kris had a talk with Nelly about giving Meg one of Nelly’s kids.

  “It’s going to cost a medium sized fortune,” Nelly pointed out.

  “For one kid?” Kris didn’t quite squeak.

  “Twelve,” Nelly countered.

  “Twelve?” Kris echoed, and got ready for some serious negotiations. “You want to add a dozen kids to your brood?

  “Megan,” Nelly said, and Kris could almost see her raising one finger. “You’re going to want to leave Admiral Kitano with one of my kids if she does come back here and take your job.”

  “Yeah,” Kris admitted. Too many of the senior admirals in the battlecruiser commands were former Battle Force or Scout Force retreads who had seen the battlecruiser’s squadron, task force and fleet commands as a great way to add a star or two to their flags fast.

  Unfortunately, except for one or two, they were very stuck in their ways and Kris and her skippers and division commanders, all young Turks with different ideas from their elders on how to use the ships, spent as much time fighting them as they did the other two forces.

  Who would take over for Kris weighed heavy on her mind.

  “Okay, if Kitano comes here, I’ll spring for a computer for her.”

  “Amber will likely bring her wife to serve as her chief of staff, a job you’ve never filled, and she will need a flag lieutenant. I spend a big chunk of my time helping Megan. Even if this emissary job hadn’t come up, I’d have reco
mmended you give one of my kids to her for a Christmas present.”

  “Four,” Kris said, holding up that many fingers.

  “Ruth and Johnnie, as well as the senior nanny,” Nelly said.

  “You think they’re ready?” Kris asked.

  “If they aren’t now, they will be well before your five year mission is over.”

  “Okay, seven,” Kris agreed.

  “Jack will be wearing too many hats. “Whoever gets command of your security detail needs one of my kids. If the commander of your protection battalion is not the head of your security detail, you’ll need two.”

  “You think there will be that many people involved in my protection?”

  “I intercepted a call from Special Agent Commanding Tailor Foyle to his wife asking if she would be willing to spend the next five years at the Iteeche court.”

  “You intercepted that call?”

  “I was kind of looking for it and it wasn’t on a secure line.”

  Kris shook her head. Privacy was not a concept that came easily to Nelly. “Okay, nine.”

  “Ten. How much you want to bet me that that cute agent Leslie Chu comes along with him?”

  “No bet,” Kris said, smiling. She’d been following Leslie’s social media presence. Most of it involved passing along every fact or rumor about Kris. It saved Kris from doing a search on herself, and usually was more thorough than the ones she had done.

  “Ten,” Kris agreed.

  “That leaves two. On second thought, I want self-organizing matrix for fourteen new kids, with some left over. Are you going to include a science team?”

  “Of course, and if Amanda and Jacques come back from Alwa, Amanda will want a computer, and Jacques’ will need upgrading.”

  “Make it sixteen,” Nelly said, demand not quite absolute in her voice.

  “Order the matrix,” Kris said, surrendering.

  Getting more of Nelly’s kids for her staff was a whole lot easier than getting a staff. After waiting a week for a Chief of Missions to be named by King Ray, she decided she needed to talk to her father, the prime minister.

  While the United Society was a monarchy of some sort, the United Parliament was still squabbling over how much to fund the king’s own staff and whether the prime minister, an old fellow that did very little, should have a full set of cabinet officials working for him and which, if any, should have a full ministry working for them. The parliament had established quite a few committees and seemed more interested in passing specific regulations for the planetary governments to apply themselves than laws that a central bureaucracy could define and implement themselves. The supreme court for the United Society was still not funded.

  So long as the U.S. prime minister just bumbled about, Grampa Ray had a freer hand, but a hand without a lot of reach. Filling that void at present were the separate planets and their established governments.

  For example, Wardhaven not only still had its own Navy and Army, but also a Foreign Minister and a full set of functioning embassies on places like Greenfeld, Earth, Geneva, Musashi, and several dozen others. Quite a few minor planets in the United Society as well as the colonies funded from Wardhaven had signed up with Wardhaven to meet the needs of their citizens for assistance while traveling and information in general.

  Interestingly, not all of those planets affiliated with Wardhaven were members of the United Society. Go figure.

  In effect, Wardhaven was leading its own little confederacy.

  The United Society was still working on how that “United” thingy was supposed to work.

  Kris made an appointment to see her father. It came back immediately, so the next day, decked out in full dress whites with all the sparkles, Kris presented herself at her father’s office at 0830 and was quickly ushered in.

  “Good God, Daughter, how did you come by all that stuff?”

  “They’re called medals, orders and awards, Dad, or fruit salad if you want to be sarcastic. It warns anyone in uniform that I’ve killed a whole lot of aliens, and probably a few humans as well. If you’re smart, don’t cross me.”

  Her father chuckled softly. “No doubt, and kid, I know you have,” he said softly.

  Kris was surprised to see the concern on her father’s face. Likely he had never come face to face with such concrete evidence of what his daughter did for a living.

  “Hi, Sis,” Hanovi said, as he stood off from the book case he’d been leaning against. He was inevitably in their father’s shadow, both literally and figuratively. “You do make a pretty picture.”

  “It’s what gives me nightmares at night,” Kris told him.

  “Do you think this embassy job will be a lot less stressful?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine, Brother,” Kris admitted, as her father motioned his two offspring toward overstuffed chairs around a low table. “Can I offer you something to drink? Coffee? Tea? Some might think it a bit little early for the good stuff, but it’s negotiable.”

  “I’ll take tea,” Kris said. “Chamomile, if you have it.”

  “No caffeine. No alcohol. I thought you joined the Navy, not a convent,” the prime minister growled.

  “I gave up caffeine when I was carrying Ruth, then nursing her. John may have been a uterine replicator baby, but he didn’t need caffeine in his mother’s milk. By the time I weaned him, I’d discovered I didn’t need the jolt.”

  “Even in that job you’ve at Main Navy?” Honovi asked. “I’ve seen some dog fights over budgets, but what you have over there is full scale warfare.”

  Kris rolled her eyes at the ceiling. “Yeah. I’m not sure which worries me more. Leaving my beloved battlecruisers before their doctrine is finalized or discovering what kind of monsters lurk under the rocks of the Iteeche Imperial Court.”

  The prime minister handed Kris her tea, then got coffee for himself and Honovi.

  No one had anything to say, so they all sipped their preferred morning libations in silence.

  Billy Longknife, the politician, was never one to stay quiet very long. No surprise to Kris, he broke the silence.

  “What do you think got into the Iteeche to suddenly ask for an embassy from us hated humans?” he asked.

  “Your guess is as good as mine,” Kris admitted. “I tried to get in touch with my Iteeche friend, only to find that his squadron of ships had sailed off to visit several of the other space stations with yards and Iteeche compounds. It bothers me that he’s not here to answer questions, but I guess he knows what he’s doing.”

  Kris eyed her father. “Hopefully, I’ll find out before too long. If I can’t figure out why I’m there, it’s going to make it awfully hard to achieve much of anything else.”

  “Ain’t that the truth,” Honovi muttered. “Hidden agendas are[D1] the curse of the political class and far too plentiful for my tastes.”

  Kris nodded agreement; she’d met enough hidden agendas in the last five years to last her a lifetime. No doubt she’d find plenty in the Imperial Iteeche court. “What I do know is that if I’m to accomplish anything I’ll need a seriously overqualified staff, political, as well as intelligence gathering, administrative support and, if no one else has thought about it, we ought to start issuing visas to Iteeche coming here and have a staff to look into any of our folks that get crosswise with the locals in the Empire. All that should be in addition to the trade negotiations that the business interests are chomping at the bit for me to make happen yesterday.”

  “Grampa Al is one of those with the big chompers out,” Honovi told her. “I took the kids around to see him last week and all he could talk about was ‘cutting a good deal with those damn squid.’ He hardly paid any attention to the kids. That didn’t bother them. They hardly looked up from their computers. God, I rue the day I ever let my kids have those damn toys.”

  Kris laughed. “I took mine by for Thanksgiving. I made them leave their computers behind. Between Al being a grump because he didn’t see them often enough and them saying his place s
melled funny, it was a short visit.”

  “Dad’s place smelled funny?” Kris’s dad asked.

  “Actually, it didn’t smell at all. He had the air so scrubbed that it was a complete puzzle to John and Ruth.”

  “Okay, it’s nice to know that your kids don’t like my dad any more than I do, but what really brings you here, Kris?”

  “I need an embassy staff. Grampa Ray is dodging my phone calls so I’m guessing he doesn’t have any idea who he can offer me for support. Your people are the most experienced I know of, so can you get me a full up, plug-in-and-go-for-it embassy staff?”

  “Are you sure you want to staff your team from Wardhaven? Half the planets in the U.S. can’t stop bitching that Ray’s trying to Wardhavenize the entire union,” the prime minister countered.

  “Umm. I see the problem,” Kris said, thinking. “What if your Foreign Minister got the word out to his associates on other planets? Told them that I’m looking for a topnotch staff for this mission and I’m willing to look at any of their best that they’re willing to give me and also willing to pay for.”

  “Be careful what you ask for,” Brother said. “You could wind up with four people in every slot. Think of how long the morning staff meeting will take.”

  “So I use a whip and gun. I’ve had plenty of experience controlling a zoo. So long as Pitts Hope or New Eden are paying their salaries, and I get enough of a warning to get a decent food supply in. Oops. Who’s going to see that I get regular shipments of fresh food?”

  “We had an engineer come back from a year in the Empire, bitching and moaning that he survived the year on dried meat, rice and beans,” Hanovi pointed out. “Guy refuses to take any more assignments out there.”

  “I’m not feeding my growing kids on Army field rations,” Kris said, flatly.

  Father nodded thoughtfully. “We’ll have to set up regular runs between here and the Imperial Iteeche Court. That should see to it that you and yours get decent food. We’ll want to ship other things. You’ll want news from here as much as we want news from you.” He paused. “I’ll see what I can do about making it a weekly run, though how we’ll pay for it is beyond me. I doubt Al will want any ship of his traveling one way with food and coming home empty.”