Kris Longknife Audacious

by Mike Shepherd

  Kris glanced down. The water was amazingly clear.

  “Gramma, would you please turn the jets back on.”

  “I don’t know. If I want those grandkids, maybe I should hightail it for the door.”

  Kris reached out. It was a stretch, and it hurt, but she could reach the jets. She hammered hard on the plunger, and the jets once again filled the water with bubbles that cut visibility to nothing.

  “Oh, darn,” Jack said. “Haven’t seen that much of you since, what, Turantic?”

  “Oh, you must tell me about Turantic,” Gramma Ruth cooed.

  “You must not,” Kris said dryly.

  So they lounged in the hot tub for several long minutes. Kris tried working her muscles. At least in the warmth of the water, they didn’t hurt the way they did normally. Jack moved in the same slow way, stretching, pushing, trying to make muscles that didn’t want to move obey his bidding.

  It went on that way for what seemed like forever.

  Then Nelly spoke up again.

  “Kris, Abby is calling. She’s very agitated.”

  “Gramma, kill the jets,” Kris said. “Abby talk to us.”

  “I just got a call from Cara,” Abby said, and her voice was replaced by the young woman’s. “Bronc’s gone. A guy we both know on the street said he left with Mick and Trang and a couple of gang heaters. I tried to call him, but found he’d left a message on my phone.”

  Now the girl’s voice was replaced by static. Then Bronc’s voice came through in a whisper. “They’re going to kill them all. Tell…”

  39

  Jack was out of the tub without a backward glance.

  Gramma Ruth helped Kris out, dried her off, and got her dressed again in whites. Nelly passed along the call to Captain DeVar; he immediately began assembling the Tac team.

  “I’ll have the two Marines who took Bronc’s mom to hiding bring Cara in. We need to know what she knows,” he said.

  Fifteen minutes later the Tac Center was full when Kris marched in, Jack to one side, Gramma Ruth on the other. She was about to take her seat at the head of a full table when Nelly said, “Kris, you have a call from the ambassador’s secretary.”

  Kris rolled her eyes at the overhead. “I’ll take it.” She paused, and then added, “Can we make this quick?”

  “Why? You don’t ever seem to be doing much of anything,” the young man answered. Now the whole room rolled their eyes.

  “It has come to my attention that you have not acknowledged your invitation to the presidential reception tomorrow evening. I assume you are going.”

  “Tomorrow evening,” Kris answered slowly.

  “It was sent out over a week ago. You did not reply.”

  “I don’t think I got it.”

  “Or that computer of yours lost it.”

  I DID NOT LOSE IT!

  DOWN, NELLY.

  “I’m sure the invitation will turn up somewhere. Tell me about this reception,” Kris said.

  “Just everybody who is anybody will be there. You’ll meet the president, the vice presidents, and most of the senate. Don’t expect to say much to them. It’s a cattle call. You go down the reception line, smile, say a word or two, and get passed on to the next. Lots of fast pressing of the flesh. You know how it goes.”

  “And it’s tomorrow night,” Kris said, eyeing Captain DeVar. He nodded. Faces around the table got grim.

  “I said it was.”

  “Where?”

  “The National Gallery of the Arts. Lovely place. Modeled after some Earth place, the Versailles Palace I think.”

  Captain DeVar messed with his battle board. A map appeared on the wall. A huge building surrounded by gardens and lush trees appeared. He zoomed out, and Kris saw it was several miles from the embassy, along a riverfront.

  “Yes,” Kris said, “you may tell the ambassador that I will be glad to represent Wardhaven at the reception.”

  “Good. He expects to be your escort. I’ll tell him you’ll be ready early. Say seven o’clock.”

  “I’ll talk to my maid about that,” Kris said.

  Kris waited until the commlink clicked off. “Is the line broken, Nelly?”

  “As broken as I can make it.”

  “Everyone will be there,” Kris said slowly.

  Abby nodded. “Bronc says they’re going to kill them all.”

  “And I wondered what I was going to be doing with that huge limo tomorrow night,” Kris said, letting a tight smile free to play on her lips. “Captain DeVar, shall we look at the security problems that huge, drafty place must have.”

  Instead, the wall screens’ map was replaced by…a sailing schedule from High Eden.

  Captain DeVar stood, and cleared his throat. “Before we do our best to do something well, may we first consider if we should do it at all.”

  “Thank you,” Jack said.

  “What do you mean, Captain?” Kris said, not sure whether to scowl or just sigh at this turn of events.

  “Your Highness,” DeVar started off respectfully. “My responsibilities are to assure the safety of the embassy and its personnel. The lieutenant, here, is supposed to specifically see that you keep on breathing, right?”

  “I’m supposed to try,” Jack said, grinning from ear to ear.

  “Therefore, I must ask,” the Marine captain went on, “if it wouldn’t be best if we got you out of Dodge? Fast! The Great Panda Maru seals locks in four hours, twenty, ah, two minutes. I may just be a dumb Marine, but it seems to me that the best way for us to assure you stay not dead would be to have you on that ship. Quarters ain’t luxurious, but it is headed for Yamato and you could catch a liner for Wardhaven.”

  He paused. “I am merely offering this for discussion.” And he sat down.

  Sometime during that spiel, Penny had come in. She took her spot at the table. Police Lieutenant Martinez took a chair along the wall.

  Kris found herself standing alone in a terrible silence. A quick glance around the table showed a clear majority. No, a vast majority for the captain’s proposal.

  Kris would have to avoid putting it to a vote.

  She chose to break the tension with a laugh. All she managed was a tiny one, but it was a laugh, and it drew quizzical looks from her audience.

  “Sorry, but you see every time I get into one of these deadly messes, everybody wants me to go away. Get out of the line of fire. Captain, you planning on coming along with me?”

  “No ma’am.”

  “You going to load the whole Marine company on the Panda with me?”

  “Definitely not.”

  “So, dangerous as it may be, you’re going to do your job?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  No surprise to Kris, none of the Marine techs or support staff in the Tac Center seemed at all bothered by that. A couple of them sported wolfish grins at the prospects.

  “So, what is my job?” Kris asked.

  “Buy paper clips and other odds and ends,” Abby drawled.

  “Yeah, right,” Kris drawled right back.

  Kris paused for a moment to let that work its way through thick skulls, like Jack’s and DeVar’s. “King Ray sent me here for a reason. That reason had nothing to do with paper clips. But as is Ray Longknife’s bad habit, he didn’t tell me what the real reason was, did he, Penny?”

  “He never does,” the intel officer said.

  “He never does,” Kris reinforced for the slow thinkers at the table. “He has a Longknife-size problem so he sends a Longknife out to solve it, but old Ray never does bother to let me know anything.”

  “One revolution, one Longknife,” Gramma Ruth said dryly. “Even odds.”

  “That, my friends, is one of the bad things I’m discovering about being a Longknife. Doesn’t make it into the history books, but it’s a fact, big as any in the books. Any of you doubt it?”

  No one said a word.

  “Okay, so let’s see. Anyone here really think King Ray sent me here to grab the first ship out at th
e first peep of trouble?”

  The people around the table glanced at one another. Kris locked eyes with Captain DeVar. The Marine blinked first.

  “I felt obliged to offer that out, Your Highness.”

  “Understandable,” Kris said. “Gramma Ruth, you want to be on that boat?”

  “Oh, my, no. I’m not quite as spry as I used to be, but I think the old girl has a few more good days in her.”

  “Have you kept your reserve commission on the shelf?”

  “No way, honey. It’s active,” the old gal said with a proud grin. “At my age, they don’t seem to think it matters whether it’s active or inactive. You’d think that my dear Terrence would have shown them the error of their ways.”

  “Commander?” Kris asked.

  “At your service,” the Iteeche vet said with a slight bow.

  “So that’s settled,” Kris said, eyeing DeVar.

  He replied with a grin and a nod.

  “Okay, it’s agreed who will be doing something to someone. Before we go on to how we will be doing it, let’s follow the captain’s well-ordered process and examine if we should be doing anything at all,” Kris said.

  That got puzzled looks around the table.

  “Clearly that wasn’t the most logical thing I’ve ever said, so let’s take a second try. I can develop a cold. We could slash the tires on the ambassador’s limo. Simply put, there is no reason to involve Wardhaven in what is about to go down on Eden.

  “Yes, I believe a Peterwald is at the bottom of this, but my proof hangs on Vicky showing up at the right time. This Grant von Schrader has managed to do whatever it is he’s doing without any visible ties back to Henry Peterwald.

  “So, Police Lieutenant Martinez,” Kris said, turning to the local man. “Are you briefed on what we think is going down?”

  “Penny told me. And call me Juan.”

  “Thank you, Juan. Do you have any objections to someone massacring these politicians you aren’t permitted to vote for?”

  The man stayed in his seat, quiet for a long minute, then he stood. “They tell us we are second-class citizens. We cannot vote. We cannot run for elected office,” he said, raising his right hand and looking searchingly at the palm.

  “Yet”—now his left hand came up—“I am a police officer, sworn to protect this government I cannot elect. I, and my father before me, found this kind of funny.

  “But we didn’t laugh. The ones we did laugh at were those who had the vote and sat out elections. Now there be fools.”

  He let his hands fall to his sides. “My grandfather used to say that you are only powerless if you say you are. If you accept that you are.”

  Juan pursed his lips, then went on. “They say that people like me cannot run for office or vote for anyone. Yet we often decide who will be on the ballot.”

  Kris raised an eyebrow at that. Juan grinned.

  “I know a big man. Big, empty man. He sees himself in the senate someday. But there are five of us cops who have busted him for driving drunk. Five times the fool got behind the wheel and endangered those on the road. If he tries to run, I will talk quietly to one of the small media outlets that cater to me and my people. They will publish a story. A story that will be too hot not to be picked up by the mainstreams. And that man’s expectations of high political office will vanish like the wind.

  “They are right. I cannot run or elect my government. But I can keep someone out of the government. There is power in that.

  “Are the men someone has condemned to death mine? Maybe not, but at least they are not theirs. So, Princess Kristine, in the name of all of us who have no voice, may I ask you to shout for us, even at the risk of your life.”

  Juan paused, then an evil smile swept his face. “And who knows? Maybe this time there will be enough reports. Enough reporters with balls, to tell what actually happens. Maybe some reporter standing around will get the story straight.” He paused. “But nothing must risk the security of what you do.”

  “Security must be kept,” Kris growled. “Surprise is all we have going for us.”

  “So, Princess, what will you have me do? Stay here where I can only listen to you, or let me go to find enough honest cops to back you up when you need it?”

  “Juan, what do you have in mind?”

  The man laughed at the joy of the question. “First, there is that warehouse full of arms. The cops guarding it could hardly hold it against a determined assault.”

  “That is something Gramma Ruth worries about,” Kris said.

  “Then let me get a few of my friends there. Maybe arm themselves from what they are protecting. That should turn an easily plucked pomegranate into a prickly cactus.

  “And if I can get enough men rotated through that warehouse, I may have something like a SWAT team. I’ve read about them in the literature. It would be nice to have one. We cops do not like that the security hacks have all the automatic weapons and we walk beats with just a revolver or nightstick. I can show this government many eager young men ready to fight for it. And who deserve something better from it.”

  “Captain,” Kris said, “you mind releasing the lieutenant?”

  “Unity of command is something we’re supposed to strive for, but it looks to me like if we keep Juan here, he might not be able to round up a command. Good luck, Lieutenant. Hopefully, we’ll see you when we need you.”

  “Penny told me that we may not be able to count on our communications when time comes.”

  “Somebody does seem to have a very good jammer,” Kris said.

  “Then my caballeros may have to ride for the sound of the guns.” The lieutenant tossed the captain a salute and left.

  “Gramma, were things this bad fighting the Iteeche. I know the history books make it—”

  “You know where you can stuff the history books,” Ruth interrupted. “Kris, I’m afraid it never gets better. Only worse.”

  Kris walked over to the map of the National Gallery of the Arts. “So, how do we defend this thing?”

  “More likely, how do we attack this thing while someone else is attacking it?” Captain DeVar offered as a slight correction.

  “This could get awfully confusing,” Penny said.

  “Confusing even for a place like Eden,” Abby added.

  40

  Most of Kris’s team had missed lunch, so they broke for supper early. Kris found herself collecting a tray when Lieutenant Commander Malhoney appeared at her elbow.

  “I understand there’s a command performance at the Art Gallery tomorrow night,” he said.

  “So I’m told,” Kris admitted.

  “You’ll need an escort. Your Marine here may be, ah, busy elsewhere,” he said with a slight cough. “I’d like to offer my arm for your official use.”

  Kris frowned at the commander; no one would ever mistake him for a line beast. Still, he had been out every morning of late jogging along behind the Marines. His claim to have the biggest belly in the Wardhaven Navy was no longer true. Still.

  “Tomorrow night might not be the best time,” Kris said.

  “Yes, I’ve heard that scuttlebutt. I’ve been practicing with my service automatic at the Marine indoor range. The sergeant rates my shooting as ‘not half bad.’”

  Kris raised an eyebrow. “Not half bad” might not be nearly good enough for tomorrow night. “The ambassador says he wants to squire me around.” Kris offered him an out, but waved him into line with her. The double doors to the mess hall were wide open; anyone could pass by and overhear this.

  He took the place she offered, and reached past her for a tray. “But if we make it an all Navy affair,” the commander said, “he can’t really complain. I may not be all that much better than Sammy, but I’ll know when to duck and how to stay out of your line of fire. If you have to take care of him, it might just cost you the second you don’t have.”

  Kris went down the steam table, serving herself or taking what was handed to her. What was it about a Longknife? Let o
ne of them charge into harms way and everyone seemed to stand in line to be a target with them. Or step in front of them.

  No, that wasn’t quite right. Her brother or father didn’t get folks into a battle line. Kris did.

  And she did it by being there, first in line.

  “Jack, you have an opinion?”

  “It would be better if I could freelance myself tomorrow rather than being tied to your arm.” Captain DeVar would lead the external contingent, the Marines in full-battle armor standing ready to charge to the rescue.

  “You really want to do this?” Kris asked.

  The commander paused, then sucked up his gut and launched himself into his future…or lack of one. “Your Highness, I haven’t exactly had a brilliant career in this man’s Navy.” He snorted. “If things hadn’t gotten as tough as they are just now, I would have been shown the door four, five years ago. I’ve done my job. Good, never great. But then, none of the jobs really needed much doing. Who would send me to do something really important?” he spat out.

  “I know who I am. And I can’t say that I like it much. Tomorrow, maybe I’ll get myself killed doing the job I’m asking for. And I’ll just be doing what little bit I can so that better men than me can do what they do best. But you’ll be better off with a shooter at your elbow than with a nothing.

  “And who knows, maybe someone will take an extra second deciding whether to shoot me rather than you…and give you the second you need to survive.”

  “Abby, do we have spider-silk underwear we can spare the commander?”

  Abby shook her head from where she stood behind Jack. “I’m sorry, sir. Your Highness. I don’t have anything in the commander’s size.”

  The man half chuckled. “Why don’t I find that surprising? And no, my fancy dress mess uniform isn’t armored, like the Marine here,” he said, nodding at Jack.

  “It’s not safe being around a Longknife without body armor,” Jack said.

  “I didn’t ask for safe. I asked for a chance to get a few shots off.”

  Kris looked at her tray, full and ready to be taken to a table. She picked it up, turned, and found a table just emptying, as if waiting for her and hers.