Kris Longknife - Emissary

by Mike Shepherd

  Lieutenant General Juan Longknife had been moving the ambassador’s staff along with a courteous wave. Lieutenant Meg Longknife took them in tow and led them to where the drinks were in the reception laid on in Kris’s quarters. Quickly, she returned and Kris had her escort the ambassador, no doubt directly to the bar.

  Now, coming up the brow was someone Kris was delighted to see. When last they parted, Tsusumu Kawaguchi-san had just saved Kris from losing her head, literally, to the headsman’s axe on Musashi. Now, he was Ambassador Kawaguchi-sama in full kimono and representing an alliance that included not only Musashi and Yamato, but other highly industrialized planets like New Krakow, Far Pusan and Surabaya as well as a dozen developing ones.

  He returned the captain’s salute with a bow and then reached for Kris’s hand with both his own. “It is so good to see you again, my young friend.”

  “It is good to see you too, my wise counselor. I hope you got a good price for that white kimono you bought for me to wear to meet the headsman.”

  “Anything that holds the memory of your visit goes for a pretty penny, Your Highness, but no, I did not buy any such thing. Though you must admit, the picture of you bravely going to meet the headsman in a pure white silk kimono would have guaranteed my party enough votes to keep us in power until my dying day.”

  “My children would have sorely missed their mother’s smiling head,” Kris pointed out.

  “Ah, yes, there are more of you now. You must visit Musashi again and bring your children by to meet the Crown Princess’s brood and share tea some time.”

  “Her father, your Emperor, is doubtlessly taking delight in his grandchildren?” Kris asked.

  “So much so that he is threatening daily to abdicate the hard work to her. I think he would retire to a hermitage as a simple monk except he knows the grandchildren would drag him home and he would allow them to do so with a broad smile on his face and many giggles from them.”

  “So, all is well with you and Musashi?”

  “Let us say that things are as exciting as always. Not as exciting as when you shared our fine days, but exciting enough. And this,” he said, waving his silken sheathed arm at Kris’s quarterdeck, “How did you bring all this to pass?”

  “I may have had more help than I realized, and definitely more than I need. Why have I not met with you until now?”

  If possible, the man’s smile got even broader as he shrugged, the full diplomatic mirror of LeJuinne’s. “There was much discussion about who should represent us on this great endeavor. Such discussion went long and I arrived only moments before your fleet sealed locks. I feared that I might have to commandeer some transport so that I might chase after you.”

  “It sounds like opinion on Musashi is just as convoluted as always.”

  “How could it be otherwise? We are merely humans, neh?”

  “Are you happy to have won this mission? It seems at times that my great-grandfather, King Raymond to you, seems to frequently drop me into hot water with no warning.”

  “And has the water gotten hot all of a sudden?”

  “Very,” Kris said.

  “Is there more to this mission than I was told?”

  “Were you told that we might have to fight our way to the Imperial presence through a rebel blockade?”

  Kawaguchi-sama’s eyes narrowed. “That was a surprise to me and all who speak with me. We assumed that you knew about it and had it under control. After all, you are a Longknife.”

  “Your friends are too trusting of my skills. Or luck.”

  “Your aide-de-camp is standing not too far behind you with a young Marine at her elbow displaying a plate of hors d’oeuvres and several cups of saké.”

  Kris turned to see Lieutenant Longknife waiting patiently, but clearly waiting. Deftly Kris turned and passed the ambassador along before turning back to see who was next.

  There were another ten ambassadors, representing greater and less powers in human space. The Helvetican Confederacy was represented by two people, a woman and a man. No doubt, finances and lack of trust had something to do with the double representation. The Greenfeld Empire had an ambassador, a man Kris recognized as from Vicky’s half, no it was three quarters of the Empire now that followed Vicky. The Esperanto League, Scanda Confederacy as well as the Hispania Quatrain were represented by full ambassadors even if they were trailed by smaller staff.

  Others of the ambassadors came from alliances on the other side of human space from Wardhaven who had yet to send aid to Alwa and, thus, not gotten Kris’s attention. Nelly, however, both knew them, had their pictures, and could show Kris a map of where they came and how powerful they were.

  All of them shared the same questions that the Earth ambassador had. Why had Kris taken so long to get them together and why were they here now?

  Kris sidestepped their questions as well as she had LeJuinne’s.

  As Kris watched her aide take the last ambassador into the reception, Kris said, “Nelly, where are our guests of honors?”

  “Ron is just passing through the security cordon at the exit from the quay. I’ve got them on visual, and, to answer your next question before you ask it, I expect they will be here in three or four minutes, assuming nothing slows their present rate of advance.”

  “Do you think anyone might try to slow them down?”

  “Kris, I may not be human, but I don’t see any way that even one of your most crazy type meatheads would get in their way. I’m making out ten large, very sharp axes leading the way and some really big, mean looking Iteeche ready to swing them.”

  “The main pier clear?”

  “Yes, Kris.”

  Kris paced off the distance to the brow, trailed by an ever-alert Jack, walking between the eight sideboys who the JOOD was swapping out with another eight. A chief took those who had stood at attention for the last half hour and marched them off the quarterdeck for a break.

  The dock section that faced Kris was empty except for four Marines and a sergeant standing formal guard at the end of the gangplank.

  Across from the brow were six huge elevators; each large enough for an oversized station truck. Now the first set of doors opened and Iteeche began to march forth, rank on rank.

  “Oh, God help us,” Kris breathed as she and Jack back peddled to their proper place at Captain Klum’s side.

  Chapter 32

  From the first open elevator marched four ranks of Iteeche. Each carried a mean-looking rifle at port arms. At the end of the long barrel was a half meter long, wicked looking blade.

  BAYONETS Nelly provided.

  I KNOW WHAT A BAYONET IS, NELLY. TELL ME ABOUT THE UNIFORMS. WHAT DO THEY MEAN?

  The row on row of marching Iteeche wore dark green pants and midnight-black jackets. On their heads were tall bronze helmets. Another two feet or more was added to their seven-foot height by the helmet and feathers or hair rising up from it.

  OTHER THAN THAT, THEY LOOK TO BE MEAN DUDES, I HAVE NOTHING TO ADD.

  They marched across the pier, and under commands barked by a fellow welding one huge scimitar, wheeled to form two lines facing the Marines at the brow.

  Kris had to give credit to the Marines on the pier. They didn’t so much as flinch.

  Now the two lines of troops faced away from each other and marched twenty paces, opening a large hole in the middle of their ranks. Halting, upon a barked order, they turned smartly to face Kris. She evaluated the situation and assumed these two lines would form the flanks for something yet to come.

  Right on that conclusion, the next elevator door opened.

  Iteeche dark as night marched forth; over their right shoulders were long poles with gleaming axe blades on one sides, hooked blades on the other. They numbered ten strong and marched forward in pairs. When they reached the point where the first ranks had split, they took two steps more, then pivoted away from each other and marched down the line of Green and Blacks before coming to a stop.

  With a low shout, they faced toward
s the battlecruiser. With a second shout, they drove the butt of their weapons down hard on the deck.

  Nelly, you want to tell me anything about these?

  Ron had two like them when he first came aboard the Wasp. In fact, I think the one at the end of each line might be the same Iteeche. At least the mass of streamers appear to be the same. The inner eight look just like them but they seem to have even more streamers. I think there are two, maybe even three rows of ribbons. Can you see that, Kris?

  Kris could.

  It’s hard to tell much about the streamers with them falling all in a mass together, but I think some of them on Ron’s may be similar to those on these new guys. I’m just guessing though. There’s not a lot to go on.

  Guesses are acceptable for now, Nelly.

  Behind Kris, Marines marched at a measured tread. Out of the corner of her eye, Kris caught three ranks of Marines march, rifles at port arms, to fill the length of the quarterdeck on both sides of her, backing her up. In place, they did a smart left or right face and presented an alert presence to the pier.

  Thank you, Jack.

  I thought this might turn into A URINARY Olympic. I had a full platoon standing by.

  Good.

  Now the third elevator door opened. This time, Kris was not surprised. Dressed all in blood red, row upon row of Iteeche marched forth to form ranks behind the initial group of black and greens. The weapons they held at port arms were even nastier looking. Half ended in the long bayonet. The other half had an under tube that likely shot grenades. The Iteeche Marines had arrived and they were armed for the kill.

  Hopefully, not today, Kris thought.

  Once the final order was shouted, the Iteeche ranks fell silent.

  A fourth elevator opened. The small mob that strolled forth could not have been more different from the earlier arrivals. Here were old men in green and white robes: some more green, others more white. Surrounding them were smaller Iteeche in tiny loincloths of bright colors. Their ivory skin showed swirling tattoos. Kris could not make sense of the artwork. Were they fish? Birds? Flowers? Or writing?

  Some kept well back and fanned the air. Others held braziers that burned some sort of incense. The smoke quickly filled the pier.

  It took a moment for Kris to get a whiff of what was burning; then she had to fight to hold back a cough. Her eyes did water.

  Whose idea is that?

  Your guess is as good as mine.

  Nelly, up the blowers. Keep that crap on their side of the pier.

  Yes, Kris, and when they bring it aboard?

  I’ll blow that bridge when I come to it. Ron never used anything like that.

  For a moment, Kris mused on the developments.

  Jack, is our quarterdeck starting to look downright shabby?

  I strongly suspect those snobs are looking down their beaks at our Spartan quarters.

  Nelly, if you will, dig through your records for some despotic opulence and lay it on with a front loader and back hoe.

  Oh, I was hoping you’d want me to, Nelly said, and the Princess Royal’s quarterdeck began to change around them.

  It started at the foot of the brow. The gangway was wide enough for Sailors to walk two abreast, both coming and going. It also matched a station truck’s breadth.

  Now it tripled in width. But Nelly didn’t just triple it in one blink. No. Starting at the pier and flowing smoothly toward the ship, the gangway not only widened, but transformed before their watching eyes. Where the black of gritty tread paths had been, now were silver cobbles, scoured with swirls that gleamed in the light. The handrail of Navy spartan was now beaten gold, with huge diamonds sparkling in more soft colors than Kris thought carbon could be tinted with.

  Then the flow of change swept up to Kris and past her. Bland, Navy gray bulkheads transformed into thick brocade curtains, a soft sea green that rippled in a breeze that Kris could not feel. She allowed herself on slow turn of her head to take this all in and was greeted by the sight of banners cascading from the overhead.

  Pride of place was a scarlet banner with two rampant lions on it in gold, a blazing sun between them and over a hundred and seventy suns in a triple circle around them. King Ray’s official seal. Next to it waved a green and black banner displaying in silver the new seal that Vicky had adopted for her part of her family’s Empire.

  Beside those two were more banners, likely representing the alliances of the ambassadors Kris had welcomed aboard. Behind them were row upon row of other banners, likely enough to represent every planet in human space. They all waved and twisted in the nonexistent breeze.

  Or tide?

  Nelly, you’ve created a forest of seaweed.

  Neat, isn’t it, Kris? Banners are old Earth, but I came up with the idea of making them look like sea vegetation. With any luck, it will make our Iteeche friends feel safe, what with someplace to hide just a few swim strokes away.

  Or somewhere to attack them from, Jack added in.

  Should I change it?

  No, Nelly, it looks gorgeous. Besides we don’t want to look indecisive before our guests.

  And more guests were arriving.

  About that time those from the fourth elevator had finished arranging themselves in the space between the two files of Soldiers and Marines. In the apparent chaos, there must have been some sort of ranking, but it evaded both Kris and Nelly.

  Their attention, however, was now drawn to the fifth elevator. Its doors opened to disgorge another mob. These were dressed all in white or all in green. Previously, Kris had only seen the two colors blended together, their wearers functioning as advisors to Ron. Exactly what the two separately meant was a puzzle Kris hoped she’d solve before it cost someone their life.

  Orbiting around these taller and much older Iteeche were another collection of smaller hangers on. These bore no clothes at all. Physically, they appeared identical, though half were tattooed in bright colors and the other half in somber blacks and grays. If the two Iteeche sexes were represented, Kris could not tell.

  She had once silently observed Ron swimming naked in the moonlight. His body had appeared sleek and smooth, no nipples, no visible genitals. Once again, Kris was presented with the evidence of a race that produced by eggs and sperms dispersed into the sea to spawn fingerlings that had to survive on their own from the moment they broke free from the egg sack.

  There’s a whole ton of psychology and sociology lurking behind that, Kris reminded herself.

  Several of these nudes bore wings on their backs that quickly proved to be water fountains. The trickle and gurgle of water now filled the air, as did mist as the fountains sent water spraying into the air.

  Nelly, take the blowers back to normal, Kris ordered, wondering what the air out on the pier must smell like and wanting to get a taste of it before this mob came aboard her ship.

  What Kris found herself breathing did still have overtones of the incense the first group was burning, but now it was overpowered by the salty tang of ocean spray. Combined, it wasn’t so bad.

  Now this group melded with the first and Kris began to see a pattern. The central space between the men-at-arms now was divided down the middle, white and green with an open aisle between them. Those wearing green and white mixed stood outboard of them, those with more green than white near the greens, those with more white beside the whites. The thin line of Iteeche at the cusp beside the military appeared to be younger and wore a pretty balanced mix of the two colors.

  Do you think one group are spiritual advisers and the other secular? Jack asked on net.

  The Emperor is worshipful, Kris agreed.

  But I have no evidence that they have any kind of deity. I’ve identified something like ancestor worship, but nothing more, Nelly put in.

  So, Nelly, no jumping to conclusions.

  I would strongly suggest that you don’t.

  Now, the sixth elevator door slowly swung open.

  Chapter 33

  Hardly more than a crack had appe
ared when there was a blare of trumpets, a clash of cymbals and a roll of many different drums. To Kris’s ear, there was only discord, but before her, the Iteeche Soldiers and Marines seemed to brace stiffer still, and the chatter among the green and whites evaporated.

  As soon as the doors opened fully, this band marched forth. Their uniforms were a wild mixture of greys and browns, yellows and blues. If there was any significance to the hues and how they were displayed, again, Kris was left realizing just how alien the Iteeche were to human kin.

  After the band had taken station along the far wall, blocking access to the other elevators, a small procession came forth. These five Iteeche wore a single-piece red robe that dragged the floor and rose to a peak a half meter above their heads. There were slits in it for them to see out, but no other opening except for their hands. To their breasts they hugged crystal clear orbs with golden lids. But it was what was inside the bowls that took Kris’s breath way.

  There were snakes in the Iteeche’s evolutionary tree. At least, the many striped things that wiggled inside the bowls had no legs. They could coil themselves up, and as Kris watched, several did. Then they rose up, flared the hood behind their heads, opened their mouths and hissed through a mouth dominated by four long fangs.

  I’d call them cobras if they were from Old Earth, Kris.

  I’ve heard Ron talk about making a solemn apology to the Emperor by drinking poison, but maybe we didn’t get the context right, Kris said. Nelly, review our understanding of those conversations and get back to me later.

  Will do, Kris.

  Those who bore the crystal globes kind of slithered down the open aisle. As they passed them, the green and whites seemed to lean ever so slightly away from them. As they passed the front line of poleax carriers, they turned, two one way, three the other, and moved to stand evenly spaced before the axe men.

  Opinion, Nelly.

  The rifles are the modern representatives of authority. The snakes and axes are the old symbols of the same. You piss me off Imperially, civilly or criminally and I’ll send one of those two to visit you.