Kris Longknife: Mutineer

by Mike Shepherd

  “Somehow, I doubt even the Navy can get that out of my little sister.” Honovi smiled. “And, Sis, I do appreciate what you did for my campaign. Even Father says, in his calmer moments, that you pulled my chestnuts out of the fire.”

  Kris leaned over and gave her big brother, who was now a good two centimeters shorter than her, a peck on the cheek. “Keep up the good work, Brother. Make Father happy.”

  “I will. Now shoo. The more Longknifes circulating, the more hands get shook.” He quoted Father’s perennial demand, then glanced at each of the corners of the room not under family domination. “Say something nice to that officer clique over there or to the veterans. You and I both know Father could use all the help he can get on his right wing, and what with your medal and all, it can’t but help.”

  It was nice to know how risking her-life was valued by her Father. “On my way,” Kris said dutifully, turning away.

  “Is that the way it is?” Tommy asked once Honovi was gone.

  “You mean politics first, nothing else even a close second?”

  “I guess.”

  “Isn’t it business first in your family?”

  “Yes, but we have fun, too.”

  “Tommy,” Kris said, glancing around, keeping her smile firmly pasted on her face, “this is a very politically rich target environment. It’s times like this that my family does its business.”

  “Think Harvey could run me home?”

  “Just smile and listen, and nothing can go wrong,” Kris said, tossing Tommy the minimum survival advice her father had offered when she was six. Opposite the active military was a collection of old veterans marked by their medals proudly worn on the lapels and prim necklines of civilian clothes. Since they included no family Kris could recognize, she headed for them, but her progress was slow.

  ****

  “Kris, I hardly recognized you in that white,” one of Mother’s socialite friends called loudly. “Girl, it is so not your color.” Kris sighed and paused as a matron and her daughter sailed down on her and Tommy. The mother simply bulged the latest fashion in all the wrong places. Her daughter’s bulges were enough to make Tommy’s eyes bulge out worse…and she had either rouged her breasts or was showing a few more millimeters than even Kris’s mother displayed.

  “I was hoping you would organize our summer fashion show the way you did last year,” the mother gushed. “You do have such a way with schedules and checklists and things.”

  “Mother,” her daughter said, rolling her eyes at the ceiling, “even you can see she has other things to organize. Or are they letting you do much of anything?” she said, looking Kris up and down. “You are starting at the bottom, aren’t you, a pennant or flag or whatever your rank is.”

  “Ensign,” Kris provided. Behind her, a more interesting conversation was going on.

  “There’ll be no limit on the profit potential, son,” assured a high-pitched voice, “once we throw out that bunch of scared old ladies in petticoats back on Earth that have kept a lid on our expansion. They’re bleeding us white, making us settle every barely habitable planet in their expansion zone before they’ll let us take another baby step outward. It’s embarrassing that the damn treaty strangling growth is named after Wardhaven.”

  “Well, I know that sweetie McMorrison,” the matron went on. “Maybe if I put in a good word for you, he could loan you for this year’s fashion show.”

  Kris muttered something like “Good luck,” and turned away as they did the same. She found herself face-to-face with a rotund businessman who went as red as his tie when he realized his last remark had been made in the presence of the great-granddaughter of the man who, as president of the Society of Humanity at the close of the Iteeche War, made the treaty limiting human expansion his last achievement before retirement.

  Kris smiled, offered her hand and, as he took it reflexively, she said without missing a beat, “Don’t you think expanding the human growth boundary four times in the last sixty years showed a lot of courage on the part of those who fought the Iteeche?”

  He sputtered something, and Kris passed on.

  “How do you do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “Keep track of all the conversations and switch from one person to the next like some kind of computer,” he said.

  “Well, for one thing, I don’t forget my name every time a pair of bouncing boobs comes at me.”

  “It must be great having your own nice pair to look at every time you take a shower.” Tommy grinned shamelessly.

  “Wouldn’t know, myself.”

  “I’d be glad to offer an opinion,” Tommy said solicitously, then swallowed a laugh. “Can you imagine the look on Thorpe’s face when he gets orders to TDY you to cover a fashion show?”

  “Don’t even go there,” Kris said, trying not to cringe visibly. All she’d done to be just a regular ensign would vanish if General McMorrison gave in to that biddy.

  “Kris, what are you doing in the Navy? I thought you were headed into politics,” came from Kris’s left. She paused to give a young woman, who was actually dressed, time to catch up with her. It wasn’t enough time, however, for Kris to dredge up her name. Kris smiled and offered a hand.

  “I bet you don’t remember me,” the woman started. “I’m Yuki Fantano, from up north in Tuson. You spent a week putting our campaign headquarters in shape for your dad’s last reelection.”

  “Of course, Yuki,” Kris lied. “How are things up north?”

  “Hot as the dickens, and this early in the year, no less. I still can’t get over how quickly you took that chaos and turned it into a cracking good show.”

  “Well, I have a bit of experience in that sort of thing.”

  “I bet you do.” Yuki grinned.

  “And I didn’t know any of you, so I just started sweeping things up, and you were all kind enough to go along with me.”

  “When is Billy Longknife finally going to admit we have to have import duties to protect our industries from the cheap crap Earth spews out for its bulging slums?” Kris heard behind her. A quick glance showed two older men in concentrated talk. “And look at all these women, gussied up like Brenda Longknife. They look like Earth whores. Maybe now Billy will support travel restrictions. Christ on a crutch, in a few minutes we’re going to pin a medal on that Longknife girl for saving one of our kids from a bunch of scum from the Seven Bitches. A good passport system would have kept those crooks where they belonged.”

  “If a Longknife did it,” his friend assured the speaker, “it couldn’t have been too hard. After all, the kidnappers were just two-bit thugs. All the inner worlds ever teach their kids in school is how to steal old ladies’ purses.”

  Yuki blanched.

  Kris shrugged, smiled, and went on her way.

  “Why didn’t you say something there?” Tommy asked.

  “Ever try to teach a pig to sing?” she answered.

  “I guess that would be a waste of time. So tell me, how did you turn the Tuson office on its ear so fast you impressed Yuki?”

  “Just about anything is easy, Tom, if you don’t care how successful you are or if the people you’re switching around are ‘so honored’ to have you. I learned that the second time I got dumped in the middle of nowhere with orders to make a bunch of strangers work together and help get Father votes.” And joined the Navy so they couldn’t keep sending me off to wherever their bacon needed saving. The military stays out of politics so, now, Ensign Kristine Longknife will, too. “Of course,” she finished, “whatever you do, smile while you’re doing it.”

  “Smile, huh?”

  “Yes, and keep smiling. I know these two.”

  “Earth business is robbing me blind because of that ridiculous short patent life,” Dr. U’ting, research professor of nanobiology griped. “Just about the time we get one of my ideas into production out here, those thieves on Earth declare my patent expired and start cranking stuff out for themselves. The Rim is doing all the research, and the
y’re not paying us a wooden Earth Dickle for it. I say cut them loose and let them rot.”

  “We need a central patent law, Larry, and the Rim has been trying to lengthen patent durations,” Dr. Meade, Kris’s old Political Science professor, pointed out.

  “And the last time the Senate passed it, that Earth slave of a president vetoed the bill. Hell, Grant, when was the last time the Rim elected a president? Longknife wasn’t it. Oh, maybe one or two since, but so long as the president is a popular election, Earth and her Seven Witches will fill that slot, and we can’t get a law through. As far as I’m concerned, we’re better off on our own. Each planet for itself. We issue our own patents, we lock up our own files. Let those thieves try duplicating my work without my own patent application to rummage through.”

  “They are the largest market,” Doc Meade pointed out, taking a sip from his drink.

  “And they have the largest fleet,” Kris said, joining the conversation on cue. “Back in the Iteeche War, it was that fleet that saved us. That and Earth’s billions to crew them.”

  “Hello Kris, I see you’ve done well,” Doc Meade beamed.

  “Just did my job,” Kris answered.

  “Who cares about ancient history,” the other growled.

  “The Iteeche Empire has gone back to sleep, and nobody’s seen any sign of another alien species.”

  “Thanks to the Treaty of Wardhaven, we really haven’t done much hunting for aliens,” Doc Meade pointed out.

  “It’s a big galaxy, and we’ve only touched its surface.”

  “You’re sounding like some Earthie with his head stuck in the sand.”

  Kris nodded to Doc Meade and moved on, leaving him to the familiar argument. She was in a contest to shake as many hands as possible. A bar wasn’t far ahead. Kris paused just long enough to get a tonic water; Tom finally got a beer.

  Close on her right were the vets she had been working her way toward. They were easily recognized by the medals they wore on their lapels: veterans of the Iteeche War. These older women were probably the only ones in the room who had stayed with the coats, blouses, and flowing pants of that older era. Then again, Kris could think of no way to pin their battle ribbons to a bustier. The thought of Mother putting the golden sun blossom of the Order of Earth, or the Military Medal anywhere on her getup made Kris smile.

  Several of the veterans returned her smile and Kris easily gravitated toward them. As the prime minister’s daughter, she had spent little time with these folks. As a serving ensign, they welcomed her. They did not, however, let her arrival interrupt the inner circle’s ongoing topic.

  “What these kids need is a good war.”

  “Too soft, too soft by a straight shot, I tell you.”

  “A good war would give them some grit. Solid grit.”

  “Look at them, all got up like a bunch of hussies.”

  “Bunch of blind followers.”

  “A good war would teach them how to stand on their own two feet.”

  “And look who’s leading them. That damn Longknife and his scandals. Bastard never served a day in uniform in his life.”

  “A couple of hours with a good DI, and that man would know which direction to lead.”

  “My DI would have given him a bit of backbone.”

  “More than a bit,” got dry chuckles all around.

  A few of the insiders of the circle noted Kris’ s presence; it was kind of hard to not notice her whites against the garish colors circulating around the room. Gentle nudges were usually followed by glances her way, but there was no slowdown in grumbling about her father. Tommy seemed ready to withdraw, but Kris just let it roll. Once you’ve faced an Iteeche warrior, a minor thing like a politician’s daughter could hardly make you change your mind, let alone your favorite topic.

  It was nothing new to Kris; she’d heard it all before. Even some senior officers, Captain Thorpe included, felt kids today were only out to make their first million, and damn the cost to the community. Duty and honor were lost on this generation and the politicians leading them. In some corners there was even a darker twist. The wrong people were running things. A good war would show the world who really deserved to be top dog.

  Eye contact and a smile exchanged with everyone, Kris turned away. “You know, I can understand why these old vets are the way they are,” she told Tommy. “It’s a lot harder to understand why someone under a hundred would sound like them.”

  “Could it be that you’re kind of close to the folks that have it good?” Tommy asked and answered.

  “You saying I’m part of the problem?”

  “No, just maybe too close to one side to see the other.”

  “You in favor of charging out into the unknown?”

  “Hey, Kris, I’m from Santa Maria. We are out in that unknown. But even there, some folks see it one way, others the other.”

  “But we all have to live in the same galaxy. And somehow we have to do it all together. Any suggestions?”

  “If I had any, wouldn’t I have told your old da the first time I saw him?”

  Kris studied the room. Mother and her henhouse was to her right. The military was ahead of her. Kris started across the room to see what she could do there.

  And ran into Commodore Sampson and… “Kristine Longknife, I bet you don’t remember me.” A slightly gray, middle-aged man, impeccably dressed said, holding out a beefy hand. Behind him, three, no, four security types that made the men around Father look actually anemic took her measurements, then went back to scanning the crowd. Now there were four people who weren’t assuming no blood would be spilled here today.

  “Hello, Mr. Smythe-Peterwald,” Kris said, making sure her smile didn’t falter. “What brings you to Wardhaven?”

  “Oh, there’s so much going on. You can almost smell the future. This is where the real power is, so that’s where I go. Once I get your old man past his family’s bugaboos about limits on human expansion, there’s a whole galaxy out there we can grab with both hands.”

  “Last time we tried that, we ended up with Iteeche tentacles wrapped around our neck,” came from behind Kris. She turned to find her Grampa Trouble, gleaming in dress red and blues, giving Peterwald a rigidly neutral face.

  “The Iteeche Empire has been cowed for the last sixty years,” Commodore Sampson pointed out.

  “Some might say quiescent,” Trouble noted, taking a sip from his beer. “Their emperors never were much for expansion.”

  “But humanity must expand.” Mr. Peterwald said low. “Nothing can limit us. Why should we limit ourselves?”

  That was the essence of the expansionist party’s position. Humanity the Magnificent. Given her druthers, Kris would gladly go along with them. But the Iteeche almost made us Humanity the Extinct. Kris kept her mouth shut.

  “Yes.” Trouble nodded. “Expansion is necessary. But managed expansion can make sure that we’re ready for whatever we stumble into next time. At least as ready as we can be. The galaxy is a pretty vast place, Petie, and who knows what’s out there.”

  “What do you think, Kris?” Mr. Peterwald turned his smile on Kris. She tried to measure the sincerity behind it and came away with a plus or minus ten…on a five point scale.

  “The galaxy’s an interesting place, but I’m just starting to learn my way around it,” Kris dodged as she’d been taught. Father was not going to see any sound bites from Kris on this evening’s opposition media report.

  “You sound just like a careful young woman,” Peterwald’s smile got even blander, if that was possible.

  “Not a bad way to sound.” Trouble nodded.

  “Well, my son is with your mother’s entourage. I hope you’ll join me there later. I don’t think you’ve met my son.”

  “No, I haven’t had the pleasure.”

  “Well, maybe today.”

  “Yes.” Kris stayed put while Peterwald made his way, smiling and glad-handing all the way, toward Mother’s side of the room. Without a word said, Commodore Sam
pson turned his back on General Trouble and joined another group of officers. Kris took the time to catch her breath and check her smile.

  “I hear you done good,” Grampa Trouble said, slipping one hand into a pocket and sipping his beer with the other.

  “I got everybody out in one piece, sir.”

  “You gonna start ‘sir’-ing your old grampa?”

  “When we’re both in uniform and in public, I think so, sir.”

  “Damn straight,” he said.

  “How bad is the mess?” she asked him.

  That gave the old soldier pause. He studied the bubbles in his beer for a moment, then shook his head and glanced at Tommy. “Not quite bad enough that I wished you weren’t wearing that suit, young woman. I think us old farts who still remember what a real war is like should be able to keep the forgetful and misinformed from doing anything stupid.” He sipped from the beer. “I hope. What you drinking?”

  “Tonic water, Grampa.”

  “I still think your biggest problem was the pills your mom was pumping into you back then to make you a ‘nice girl.’ I doubt you’re an alki.”

  “There are many things in life I don’t need to know.” Kris smiled at how gently he passed over what still brought her awake at night, cringing.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, if I may have your attention,” caused only a slight lowering in the room’s ambient noise.

  “You want to join us?” Grampa Trouble offered. “You two are wearing the suit for it, and as I understand, you are our poster child today.”

  “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll stay where I am,” Kris said, with Tommy nodding rapid agreement beside her.

  “Afraid of a few old generals?”

  “You’ve got several galaxies of stars over there.”

  “It’s your galaxy, too, kids. Someday you’ll probably be wearing your own constellation.”

  “Grampa, we’re serving ensigns. We are not cleared, and we don’t need to know the little asides you’ll be passing around among yourselves.”

  “You’re chicken? Hey, you’ve faced mines and rifles. You can’t be afraid of a few old men and women. Or is it just the two of us your afraid of? God knows, with your family, you have a right to steer clear of your relatives.”