Kris Longknife: Mutineer

by Mike Shepherd

  Tom looked like someone was stealing his teddy. “It can’t be still in business.”

  “My sources assure me it is.”

  Kris had serious doubts it still was. She had a dozen other reason to say no, from ‘My boss won’t let me go outside the gate,’ to ‘Should we be eating steaks when everyone else is starving?’ “Sounds great,” was what she said. “You want to come, Tom?”

  “Somebody better keep an eye on the fort,” he said. Kris had never seen the freckled leprechaun in such full defeat.

  Checking her side arm, Kris let Hank lead her toward the gate, where a luxurious all-terrain vehicle awaited them with two good-looking men that might be ex-marines standing by. “Dad won’t let me go anywhere without these two mugs. Where’s your bodyguard?”

  “Military doesn’t authorize ‘em to ensigns, no matter how much of a pain in the neck you are,” Kris answered. “Back home, my chauffeur was ex-military, but I thought of him more as a friend than anything else. I mean, it’s hard to think of a guy who roots for you at your soccer games as anything but a buddy.”

  “You got to play soccer! That must have been wild.”

  “Didn’t you?”

  “Nope. Dad didn’t think it was healthy, all those other kids out there in an uncontrolled mob. Too risky, he insisted. But then, I was an only child. You’re not.”

  Kris thought she had had an overprotected childhood, especially after Eddy. She’d never considered that big brother Honovi had been a windbreak against excessive parental concern; she usually just thought of him as a pain.

  “No, I was the second kid,” she said without letting the thought of the third one make her flinch.

  “It would have been nice to have a kid sister with freckles,” Hank said, giving her a sly sideways look. Before Kris had to answer that, they were at their destination.

  The restaurant was on a side street off Kris’s normal path. No sign announced its presence, though Kris spotted one set of armed men loitering across the street from it, another on the roof. If she needed riflemen around her soup kitchens, she could imagine the protection a really decent place to eat would need.

  The door opened before Hank’s bodyguard touched it. The portly man in black tie and tails stood in the shadow of the door, menus in hand. He quickly led Kris and Hank to a quiet corner and a table covered with crystal, silver, and linens. Kris had to make an effort to notice where the guards went to ground, taking over separate tables on opposite sides of the dining room, their gray suits somehow merging into the restaurant’s motif of wood, crystal lightings, and thick red carpeting. There were three other sets of customers, but tastefully placed plants made it impossible to make out faces. So the Colonel was right; not everyone was starving on Olympia. Where there was money, there was still fancy food to be had. More education for a boot ensign, a prime minister’s daughter, and the recipient of Ernie Nuu’s multi-trillions.

  The menu promised several delicious cuts of steak, even seafood. Ominously, it listed no prices.

  “I don’t know what to order,” Kris said after a quick glance down the menu.

  “Let me order for you,” Hank answered.

  Kris did not appreciate men who assumed that reading complicated menus were beyond a woman’s shallow grasp.

  “I know what the menu says, Hank. The Colonel had us turn in our credit cards,” she didn’t quite lie. “Not sure I can cover the check.”

  “I was told that local credit cards were showing up on the black market. Your Colonel is a wise man,” Hank agreed. “This is my treat.” Since their net worth had to be within a decimal place of each other, Kris decided it would be nice to be pampered by a young man of her own age for a change. After the calls she’d made yesterday, why not let this fellow puzzle over the choice of salads?

  “So,” Kris started the dinner conversation, “you let your dad take you into the family business right out of college.”

  “Hardly. Dad’s not one to waste time on useless book learning. I started in the business when I was fourteen. If you can believe it, he had me spend my summer in the mail room. I’ve advanced my career considerably, don’t you think?” he said, waving a hand up the imaginary corporate ladder.

  “No college?”

  “Well, actually, Dad brought out professors from Earth or wherever to do it on the job. My high school graduation project was a major pharmacy plant start-up, shadowing one of Dad’s best men, learning all he knew, and writing it up for Dad and Professor Maxwell. I think that was the guy’s name. Maxwell gave me an A. Dad went through the paper point by point, showing me why it deserved no better than a B. I never saw that professor again.”

  The wine waiter arrived with a sauvignon whose label would have been expensive on Wardhaven. Hank expertly went through the ritual of sampling the vintage. “Very good,” he nodded after a sip. “You’ll enjoy this,” he assured Kris.

  Kris waited while her glass was filled, then performed the mandatory sampling, praised it extravagantly, then set it next to her water glass and promised herself not to touch it again. After last night, she wasn’t going down that road twice.

  “Doesn’t sound like there’ve been a lot of permanent fixtures in your life.” Kris said to move the topic away from wine.

  Hank thought on that one. “No,” he finally grinned. “Haven’t you heard, the only permanent thing in life is change.”

  “Read it somewhere.” Kris agreed wryly. “I could usually count on a few things. Harvey was always there to take me to soccer games and cheer me on. His wife was always ready with a treat in the kitchen. And there were always aunts and uncles, some actually blood relatives. Didn’t you have family?”

  “Uncle Steven died in a racing accident when I was a kid. Aunt Eve had one of her many love affairs go sour in a rather major way. If she hadn’t insisted on traipsing off to the most out-of-the-way places, she’d still be with us. By the way, the trunk of that rig outside has a full emergency medical station in it. The driver isn’t certified for brain surgery, but I bet he’d love to give it a try.”

  Kris put her elbows on the table, rested her chin on her two hands, and batted her eyelashes dramatically. “Listening to you makes my childhood seem rather, well, delightful, on review.”

  “Oh, come now, it couldn’t have been all that great. Nobody has a good childhood. It says so in all the books.”

  And so the lunch went, each of them cheerfully trying to better the worst the other claimed for their upbringing. It was a game Kris had never had a chance to play; it is hard to get a fair hearing when even those closest to you are envious. At university, Kris had quickly learned that even those she let down her guard around could not believe a Longknife ever had reason to complain.

  The meal went surprisingly quickly, and when Kris excused herself to the little girls’ room, she was startled to find that two hours had passed. Washing her hands, she stared at herself in the mirror. Her nose hadn’t gotten any smaller, and what the weather was doing to her skin would have had her mother galloping for the nearest spa. Her close-cropped hair wasn’t quite as bad as that on some scarecrows. Still, Hank was clearly warming to her. He was one man who wouldn’t be after her money if Auntie Tru’s financial statements could be trusted. Of course, Auntie Tru was sure he, or at least his family, wanted her dead.

  Kris tossed the used paper in the basket, eyed the lotions, sprays, and other personal necessities offered for use beside the sink, gave up on a quick remake of the ensign into some kind of glamour girl, and returned to the table. Hank was talking into the commlink merged into his suit’s cuffs. “Drop the next three as quickly as you can,” he said, then stood to greet Kris. “If you take time for dessert, I think you will find some very nice presents waiting for you at the port.”

  “What would you suggest?” Their server had already brought over a cart, covered with chocolate, fruit, and baked confections to make the soul water as much as the mouth. A sniff told Kris these were not plastic stand-ins but truly savory of
ferings. The imp bit her, as Harvey’s wife would say. “Thank you, just park the cart here. Come back in an hour to pick up the crumbs,” she grinned.

  “You heard the lady,” Hank said, waving the young man away.

  “No, no, no,” Kris said. “I’m already too stuffed to be worth much on the job this afternoon. Do you have any sorbet?”

  “Raspberry, strawberry, or citrus medley,” the server said.

  “Citrus medley,” Kris said.

  “Same for me,” Hank finished, though he looked longingly at the cart as it was rolled away.

  “Just because I’m passing doesn’t mean a growing boy like you has to,” Kris pointed out.

  “Discipline, Dad says. ‘Discipline yourself, because nobody else will, or can.’ ” Hank quoted. “I suspect you have already discovered that when rebelling against successful parents, one must be selective. Not all of what they handed us was bunk.”

  “Ah, yes,” Kris answered sincerely, “but separating all that manure from the pony can be the challenge of a lifetime.”

  “Is that why you’re in the Navy?”

  “Is that why you’re on Olympia?”

  “I’m here to see for myself what needed doing.”

  “Yes, but why are you doing it in the first place? Your father can’t be too happy that you’re taking this detour on your way to that start-up,” Kris said, turning all the generalities they’d tossed about over lunch into a very specific Why are you here? that would make Auntie Tru proud.

  “Yes, but the straight route would be pleasing Dad a bit too much. I have to get a little of what I want.”

  “But why do you want this?”

  “Ah, now that would be telling a bit much for a first date, don’t you think?”

  Maybe, but then again, it would be nice to know what was really going on behind that dancing smile, those hooded eyes. But before Kris could come up with further probes, her commlink went off. “Ensign Longknife,” she snapped.

  “There’s been a rocket attack at the warehouse.”

  Kris’s stomach went into free fall, and that fine steak started demanding revisitation rights to her mouth. “Casualties?”

  “Don’t know yet,” Tom shot back.

  “I’ll be right there,” Kris said, standing and about knocking over the waiter bringing their sorbet. Hank rose just as quickly and went through the formalities of covering the check. His gunmen assured that the way to the car was clear, even as Hank signed off on a bill that made even Kris gulp. Outside, it was hardly raining, but there was no one else on the street, no one on the roofs, no one peering out any window.

  The locals had learned to hide when things went boom in broad daylight.

  Five minutes later, Kris was back at her warehouse compound. A gaping hole showed in the south side of her nightly watchtower. Smoke came from her own office area.

  “I’m going to have to leave you here,” Hank said. “There is only so much stretch in my dad’s orders before these two get me in a hammerlock.”

  “I know what you mean. You had no way of knowing the hornets’ nest your lunch date had stirred up.”

  “Watch the next three drop ships. I really wanted to be here when you opened them. They’ll have trucks and those boats I told you about.”

  “Wanted to see what I look like excited, maybe steal a kiss?”

  “The thought had occurred to me.”

  She gave him a peck. “Now you know what it’s like having a sister. Now I’ve got to run. See you next time I see you.”

  He laughed, maybe a bit startled by the kiss. “Yes, I definitely will see you again.” And then he was gone.

  Kris didn’t look back; it was time to be Navy again. Where were the casualties? Where were the attackers? How safe was this place? She tapped her commlink. “Ensign Longknife in the warehouse compound. Any report on casualties?”

  “We’ve collected all three of the wounded at Warehouse 2.”

  That was where Kris’s office was. “All present or accounted for. We got lucky. No one killed,” Tom reported.

  That was good to hear. Kris double-timed it for the wounded. Ester Saddik was wrapping a bandage around one civilian’s arm. Spens, Kris’s accountant, was lying down, his uniform torn and bloody. A medic was going over him.

  “Ouch,” Spens said as a bloody section of shirt got lifted.

  “Can’t be too bad if you can still complain,” the corpsman chided.

  “Bad enough. Damn it, why didn’t Dad ever have a day like this at the office?”

  “Probably ‘cause Dad never pissed off the bad guys like we did yesterday,” Kris suggested.

  “Nah, Dad always ran with the bad guys, respectable ones, not like the ones we took on yesterday, but just as nasty. Ensign, glad to see you back.”

  “Sorry I wasn’t here for all the fun.” Kris said, kicking herself for a two-hour lunch.

  “No, ma’am. Glad you weren’t. You think I look bad. It was your desk the rocket took apart. Now you’ll have to spend all your time walking around the yard.”

  “Guess I will at that,” Kris agreed. “He going to be okay?” Kris asked the medic.

  “He will be, if he doesn’t complain so much I slit his throat to shut him up,” the corpsman answered.

  “How about I entertain you with a few of my accountant jokes?” Spens suggested.

  “Where’s that knife when I need it?”

  Everything here as much under control as it was likely to get, Kris headed for her office. Ester joined her. “I didn’t know your folks had rockets,” Kris said.

  “The government arsenal kept a supply; they were not considered proper personal property.”

  “And the arsenal?”

  “It burned down about a month after the rain started.”

  “Let me guess. There was no big explosion.”

  The older woman nodded. “The fire was surprisingly low energy for what the building was supposed to have.”

  “Anyone used rockets since then?”

  “No.”

  “So there’s a lot more out there.”

  “I would imagine so, but have you taken note of what was done here? Only two rockets were fired. They hit your office and your guard tower. None hit where the warehouses had food. None hit the yard where people were working.”

  “Selective shooting, and very accurate,” Kris concluded.

  “I believe so.”

  At her office Tom was overseeing a hose team putting out the small fire that had finished what the rocket started. As Spens said, nothing remained of her desk; Kris now had a new window to look out. If she’d been here, nothing would have been left of her. Well, Auntie Tru, Hank Peterwald was the main reason I wasn’t here. That prove anything to you?

  It did to Kris.

  “Any problems at the main compound?” she asked Tom.

  “Not a peep. Commander Owing is still sleeping off his five-martini lunch.” Kris surveyed the fire team, more local than Navy. Jeb detached himself from a fire hose team.

  “Most of us did volunteer time with the fire department.” her foreman told her. “We know what to do.”

  “Do you know who did it?”

  “Got the same guesses you do, ma’am.”

  “Well, thank you for stepping in.” Kris turned to Ester. “Any of your folks feel the warehouse has gotten a bit too dangerous, I’ll see what I can do to find them work elsewhere.”

  Ester turned back to the fireman. “Jeb, any of your folks want to take her up on that?”

  “I’ll ask around, but if they wanted to go, they’d be gone already. Most of us like what you did yesterday.” He glanced at the fire. “Obviously, not everyone.”

  “They could have killed me,” Kris pointed out.

  “I know, ma’am. And if I find out who, I’ll mention their names to you. But, at the moment, I don’t know nothing, so there’s nothing I can do.”

  “Fair enough for now,” Kris said. “I’m expecting a lot of drop ships this afternoon. Some
of them will have trucks and other heavy equipment. You know any drivers we can trust?”

  “I’ll send a boy into town to get a couple,” Jeb answered.

  So Kris went about the rest of her day as if it was routine to have her work spaces blasted to rubble over her lunch break.

  True to his promise, Peterwald’s next two drop ships deposited thirty large all-terrain trucks in Kris’s yard. A third provided a crane truck and a half-dozen boxes whose instructions promised they’d open up into several water defeating forms. Kris gave Hank a thank-you call. He seemed delighted by her delight but made no offer to come down and share it up close and personal. His ship had a schedule change; Father was cutting short Hank’s trip. There was some kind of trouble in the start-up.

  Later that afternoon, Colonel Hancock gave a low whistle as he dismounted from his truck, moments after his supply convoy drove through the warehouse gate. “Woman, you do insist on having all the fun, don’t you.”

  “Sorry about the mess, sir.”

  “Casualties?”

  “Three injured. One Navy, my accountant, Spens. My office was wrecked. The watchtower’s sandbags seem to have cut down on the damage. A local engineering tech swears there’s no structural damage.”

  “So. You going to post guards up there tonight?”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll take the watch, with a couple of marines.”

  “The marines will take the watch. You will not.”

  “Sir.”

  “Don’t sir me, young woman. You may have forgotten, but I haven’t. You are one of those Longknifes, and I have no intention of getting called on the carpet to explain to the prime minister, your father, how I got you killed.”

  “You won’t have gotten me killed, sir.”

  “If it happens, it will be on my watch. In case you haven’t noticed it, in the Navy, if it happens on your watch, you are responsible for it. I know that, in spades, Ensign. Now, how’d your time go with that what’s his name?”

  “Mr. Peterwald has been kind enough to provide us with thirty trucks and six convertible boats or bridges. He also took me off base for a two-hour lunch, which explains why I wasn’t at my desk when it went to pieces.”