To each their own idea of junk.
Jack, with her behind him, moved silently to crouch beside one table and a statue with a particularly long, ah, tongue.
SOMEONE IS WORKING AT THE RIGHT END OF THE BUILDING, TWO ROWS OVER, Nelly informed Kris. Kris touched Jack’s shoulder and waved him in that direction. So there. You do need me and Nelly.
Several quiet steps later, they crouched in the aisle between tables and studied one intent person in black, rigging plastic explosives to a moss-covered, volcanic rock about the size of a footstool.
Jack crossed the aisle, checked the other side of the room, then took aim and said, “Put your hands up and step away from the rock.” Kris drew a bead, too.
The dark figure froze, but otherwise took its time obeying Jack’s orders. As it stood, Kris had the impression it might be a woman, but in the dim light, black on gray was hard to make out. Hands up, it opened its mouth . . .
And the room went pitch-black.
Jack fired. Kris fired. In the small flash from their guns, all they saw was vacant air where they were aiming.
NELLY?
IT IS RUNNING. TO THE LEFT.
CAN YOU TURN ON THE LIGHTS?
JUST A MOMENT.
The lights came on as a door opened and slammed to the left of them. “I did say there were two doors,” Nelly said.
“And whoever that was just used the second one,” Jack’s voice held acid as he eyed the rock and the wires connecting the blocks of plastic. Carefully, he stepped closer to it.
“Nelly, are you familiar with this kind of a bomb setup?” Kris said to explain her continued presence.
Jack reached the rock and immediately pulled one dangling bare wire. “That was very likely the antenna,” Nelly said.
“Thank you,” Jack answered dryly.
“Put your hands up,” came with belated authority from the right-hand side of the room, the door they’d entered by.
“Could we at least disarm the bomb?” Kris said, putting her automatic down carefully beside Jack’s.
“Bomb?” said one plaintive voice.
“No, you might set it off,” ordered the more authoritative one.
“Standing right beside it,” Kris said, raising her hands.
“Maybe we ought to let them, you know, disarm it, Kalikau.”
“No, they could be on a suicide mission, Malu.”
“Nelly,” Jack said, “I don’t think the arming circuit is complete. What’s your call?”
“That was the antenna, and the circuit was not completed. It is not a danger. Yet,” the computer agreed.
“Who’s talking?” the authority demanded.
“My computer. Now, will you take us to Princess Aholo so we can get this straightened out? But you better leave someone guarding that rock, or whoever was trying to make a bomb might come back and finish it. And why blow up a little rock, anyway?”
“You don’t know?” The timid one said.
“Follow me. Malu, you stay and guard the Coronation Stone.”
“Coronation Stone?” Kris said.
“Why me?” Malu said.
“You might want to rip off that biggest block of explosives,” Nelly said. “That would really break the circuit. We should take that with us,” she finished helpfully.
“Don’t,” said the officious one, but Malu already had. He handed it to Jack.
“And if you’d been wrong?” Jack said to Kris’s chest.
“The odds on that were minimal. Much lower than those of whoever that was returning.”
Kris paused as they reached the stairs. “Can I put my flowers back on? You know, the crown your elders gave me and the leis from Princess Aholo.
“Flowers?” came from Kalikau somewhat less officiously.
“Be careful,” Jack said as Kris started shimmying into leis. “She’s wanted for destroying private property on Turantic, misuse of government property on Wardhaven. She could be adding destruction of national treasures on Hikila to her long criminal dossier.”
“Only three planets,” Kris muttered, adjusting her lower leis. “Five hundred and ninety-seven still think I’m innocent.”
“But she’s still young,” Jack pointed out.
Kris jammed on the crown, threw on the top lei, and quick-marched for the dance while the guard followed with a much less sure of himself look on his tattooed face.
Kris spotted Aholo back at their tree, catching her breath. Afa was bringing up four drinks as Kris, Jack, and the guard marched up. Both locals gave Kris the evil eye until she remembered she was still in ninja rig. NELLY, NEW CAMOUFLAGE SCHEME.
Both grandkids of Queen Ha’iku’lani did a double take. Kris glanced down to discover that Nelly had put Kris in some kind of paint job that might fit a really threatening warrior type.
NELLY, BACK INTO ABBY’S PAINT SCHEME. COMPLETE WITH OVER PAINTS.
YES MA’AM.
Kris turned once again into a flower-bedecked cuddly virgin.
“How did you do that?” Afa asked.
“Maybe I’ll show you tomorrow,” Kris said. “Somebody just wrapped your Coronation Stone in explosives. If it had gone off, there wouldn’t be much left of the stone or the Long House. This flatfoot interrupted us interrupting whoever, and defusing the bomb. What say we finish the disarming job?”
“Yes,” took all of two seconds. Jack led off at a trot, with the two locals behind him and the security man running along explaining why he did what he did and failed to catch who got away. Aholo ignored him. Afa nodded and made listening sounds, giving Kris the impression the police reported to him.
Back at the Long House, Malu was marching around the rock, trying to look every which way at once and keep as far from the rock as he could without getting far from it. All impossible, but the tall beanpole of a man was definitely trying.
A moment passed quickly as they examined the lock, the camera, and the bomb. The defenses were medium-level tech, but then the bomb was rather low level compared to galactic standards. “Homegrown,” Jack concluded.
Kris looked around at the treasure room, glanced up at the Long House above. “What would be the impact of losing all this just before your grandmama’s death? Your coronation?”
“It would shake our way of life to its roots. That was the stone our very first queen was sitting on when we elected her. Every queen has been crowned on it. And to lose the heads of all my ancestors ...” The young woman shook her head. “Afa, you’ll have to tell the men. We’ll need better protection.”
“That won’t come as a surprise to any of them.”
“Yes, but Grandmama didn’t want to spend the money. Now, I guess she’ll have to. Spend it, or solve the basic problem so no one wants to destroy our way of life.”
“That’s a tough order,” Kris said.
“But one we’ll have to look full in the eyes with tomorrow’s sunrise.”
Jack finished disarming the bomb and turned the explosives over to the guards for disposal. Kris returned to the dance with Aholo and Afa, but to circulate and talk. Or rather, to watch them talk. She kept quiet. She might be wearing their flowers, but this was a problem they, not she, would have to solve.
Santiago, this is one Longknife that remembers she didn’t come here to start a war. Or even fight one if one gets started.
5
Kris found herself standing in court the next morning, enjoying being a material witness rather than the accused. Seven judges presided, all addressed either as Your Honor or Grandmother/Grandfather as the gender required. Lavalavas, sarongs, and flowered Mother Hubbards covered their honors as well as everyone else.
Kris cleared undress whites with Aholo beforehand. “Long pants, no shorts.” She also ran her testimony by the princess, which turned out to be a good idea. Abby was added to the witness list to establish that computer-controlled paint, which changed designs and colors several times a second, had been the rage on Earth five years back.
“It hasn’t reached here?
” Abby seemed quite surprised.
“No, it hasn’t,” the senior judge, a grandmother, informed her. That answered some questions about the bomber. He or she had probably used body paint and quickly resumed a different front to the world, explaining why no one in an all-black tattoo scheme or outfit had been caught.
Kris’s “Don’t you have nanos to sniff for paint?” drew a frown from Afa.
“If someone is accommodating enough to present a friendly face to our ways, wouldn’t you consider it bad form to sniff around them for paint fumes? We gave you and your man the value of the doubt. Besides, nanos don’t survive very well in our salt air and trade winds. We stay low-tech on the islands.”
Kris had seen that; question was, how low-tech were they on the Big Island?
The court didn’t accomplish much. It cleared her and Jack of any wrongdoing . . . maybe she wasn’t as material a witness as she thought . . . and advised the men of Nui Nui to improve their security. Court adjourned.
“Now what?” Kris asked as everyone left.
“Now I meet with Grandmama and several of the chief elders. It is time we do something,” Aholo said, biting her lower lip.
“And I go fishing. Good thing it’s Wednesday, or they’d be stuck with just last night’s leftovers. Want to come?” Afa said.
“Aren’t you in on the Council?”
“I’m about a hundred years too young.” Afa laughed. “Rather go fishing. And you’re about a zillion light-years too off island to sit in. So, want to go fishing? Everyone has to eat, and if they talk to Grandmama forever, I’ll have to feed them all. Besides, we’ll probably hear the best parts over supper. And if I’m half as smart as Papa was, I’ll straighten Sis here out if she gets anything wrong.”
Little sister slugged big brother . . . but not too hard.
Kris eyed Aholo. “I guess I go fishing.”
“That would be best. We may need your Grandpapa’s help before we’re done, but we have to do this the Island Way first.”
“Let me go get my swimsuit,” Kris said.
“You don’t have to use one,” Afa called after her.
Kris kept on walking.
Thirty minutes later, dressed in a fresh armored body-suit and a one-piece swimsuit with strategically placed ceramic plates and even a bit of flotation added, a hat that gave Nelly a good antenna, and protection against the sun and 4 mm assault slugs, Kris was ready to negotiate her freedom from Jack for the day. He frowned at a weather report.
“It looks fine,” she said. “No trouble.”
“Yeah, but what did the satellite pic show the day Aholo’s mom and dad disappeared?”
Kris had wondered about that. She shrugged.
“I’ll be in security today,” Jack said, “offering any suggestions they’ll take. They have a chopper. Nelly, keep in contact. I lose your signal, and I’ll be out looking for you.”
“We girls understand,” Kris said, answering for Nelly. She found Afa along the beach where the outriggers were pulled up. His boat was long, clean-lined, and painted fire engine red.
“Can you paddle?” he asked without looking up from where he was arranging nets and fishing lines.
“I’ve sailed and rowed boats. I’ve paddled canoes. If my style doesn’t pass your muster, I’m sure you’ll enjoy showing me how to do it right. I’m a fast learner,” Kris said.
“Ever fished?”
“Not with anything like the gear you’ve got in there.”
“This should be an interesting day. Grab a handhold; let’s get the rig in the water.” Kris grabbed where he pointed and succeeded in getting the boat in the water and herself in the boat with no negative comments from Afa or the several dozen guys looking on, and who had their outriggers in the water as soon as Afa and Kris did and were paddling for the reef right along with them. Which gave Kris several examples of how to paddle. And several shouted suggestions of who had the best form.
“Do you usually have this kind of crowd?”
“No, I suspect it’s the company I’m keeping.”
By the time they got to the reef, most of the company had departed for their own fishing grounds or gone back to the beach. Afa showed Kris how to throw a net and collect the fish it caught. “Watch out for the ones with nettles.” Kris did.
The fish around the reef were small to medium. Kris was ready to toss away the small ones. “Don’t. We’ll use them for bait. Ever tasted smaki smaki?”
“No. What are they?”
“They’re big, about the size of an Earth tuna, and tasty. Thought I’d bring one of them home for the elders.”
“Or maybe to impress the star girl?” Kris muttered.
“Maybe. They school out beyond the reef in the deep. Game for some real fishing?” he said, picking up a hooked line.
NELLY, HOW STRONG’S YOUR SIGNAL?
I AM PATCHED INTO THE SATELLITE NET. I SHOULD BE GOOD.
Kris smiled. “I’m good if you are.”
Two more throws, and Afa pronounced them with enough bait and enough yellowtail. As they paddled for the passage through the reef, he called to another canoe and passed them a net with their edible catch. “You’re not going after smaki smaki, are you?” the guy in the other canoe asked.
“Why not?” Kris asked.
“You’re like to catch a shark as a smaki.”
“Shark?”
“We won’t drop our hooks until I find a school of smaki,” Afa grumbled. “I know better than that.”
The other fellow handed Kris a knife as he took her net of fish. “Cut your line loose if it looks like you hooked something other than smaki.”
“Thanks.” Kris checked the bottom of the boat. Afa had a knife, but it was at his end, not hers. “Thank you very much.”
“You’ll probably be fine,” the other guy assured her. “Afa’s almost as good a fisherman as he thinks he is.”
Kris eyed the passage. Waves three to four meters tall were cresting as the tide went out. It was going to be a rough row even without breaking surf in the passage. Afa rigged a small sail to take advantage of the wind at their backs and they paddled quickly through the passage to the calmer water outside.
Kris couldn’t count the hours she’d spent on the sailboat on the lake as a kid. But none of those hours counted against what she faced now. This open ocean heaved, raising her a good three meters up where she could see Nui Nui and another island off ahead of them, then plunged to where all she could see was blue water all around her . . . oh, and a patch of blue sky above.
She’d never been seasick in her life. Never spacesick. But she found herself entering into negotiations with her tummy about there being a first time for everything.
“I will not be seasick,” Kris ordered.
YOU TALKING TO ME?
No.
WELL IF YOU WERE, I’D TELL YOU THAT ABBY STASHED A SMALL COLLECTION OF SEASICK PATCHES IN YOUR BELLY POUCH. Kris checked, found four, and applied one under her swimsuit. A moment later she felt better.
“You okay?” Afa asked, a bit later.
“Just fine. Where’s that school of fish?” she countered.
“And why ain’t I using some high-tech gadget to find them? I would if I was working for the Marine Census, but today, I’m fishing, and it doesn’t seem fair to use all those gadgets. All they’re doing is trying to make a living, just like me.”
“That’s one way of looking at it,” Kris said.
“But not the way they taught you in school.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“I doubt your university was any different than mine.”
“University,” Kris echoed.
“Ikamalohi University has the best marine conservation program in human space. I had classmates from Wardhaven.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. We’re only just starting to take our oceans seriously.”
“Big mistake. You let the trawlers mess them up, and you’ll be a long time getting your seas back right. There’s a r
eason why I hand-built my own dugout outrigger canoe for fishing.”
Kris looked it over. She could see the chisel marks, but not a lot of them. The walls were tall and even, the bottom smooth. The bamboo outrig was lashed down tight with some sort of rattan lacing. The whole rig was doing a good job of give and take as it bobbed around in the open sea.
“It looks shipshape,” she answered.
“Making a dugout was easy. Now our culture. That was hard. All we had to go on was some novels or sociology books written by pale skins who talked to our people, and we knew some of what they wrote had to be tall tales they’d been fed. Still, that was what we were about, and maybe some of those tall tales were worth giving a try. We sure had lived the life of you pale skins long enough, so we came here, and we’ve lived our way, and no one is going to take that away from me.” He was scowling at her by the time he finished his speech.
Kris showed her open hands. “I’m not trying to take anything away from you. My great-grampa thinks it would be good if Hikila joined his United Sentients, but that’s your call.”
Afa chuckled as he adjusted the steering paddle. “Sorry. Things like last night really get to me.”
“I was the one who stopped it, remember?”
“Yes, and I thank you. I know my sister and grandmama are grateful for what you did. We owe you, and it seems the fish also admit their debt to you. See, they come.” He pointed.
Two hundred yards out it looked like the ocean was being rained on. But the sky was blue. As Afa changed the set of his sail and aimed for there, Kris studied it. Yep, there, a small fish broke surface. Then another. “What is it?”
“Those are the tiny fish the smaki smaki feed on. Where they are, there’s smaki. Start baiting the hooks.” Kris had fished before and knew it involved putting small living things on hooks so you could catch bigger living things, but someone else usually baited the hooks. Kris held her breath, captured a small fish from the bait net alongside, and jammed a hook through its wiggling belly. It quit wiggling.
Kris Longknife: Defiant: Defiant Page 9