Kris Longknife: Mutineer

by Mike Shepherd

  The elevator opened on the two hundred forty-second floor. Kris marched out, followed by her tiny flying wedge.

  Sweatshirt and gym shorts had helped them blend in on campus. Among the three-piece suits, the effect was quite the opposite. Talk stopped, people eyed them, but the upside was that people in their way got out of it fast. Kris went through double glass doors into a moderately huge waiting room with chairs, couches, and small conference rooms off to a side. The receptionist was heads up as Kris entered. Eyes locked on each other, Kris marched for her desk. “May I help you?” the woman said, a professional nonsmile on her face.

  “I’m Kris Longknife, here to see my grandfather,” Kris said without slowing.

  “Do you have an appointment?” came right back.

  “No,” Kris said, and changed course from the desk to the wooden double doors beside it.

  “You can’t go in there,” the woman shouted, getting to her feet, but she’d been outfaked on this one. Kris was at the door before the receptionist could get away from her desk.

  “Yes I can,” Kris said and pushed through the doors into another foyer. The receptionist here was male, big, and already on his feet.

  “I require verification of who you say you are.”

  That was reasonable. Kris marched to his desk, planted her hand on a glass, and glared at a camera behind the desk. Done with that formality, she sidestepped to allow each of the men following her to do the same. With all three of the intruders stopped on the waiting side of his desk, and work needed to verify the IDents provided, the man settled into his chair.

  Kris took the moment to lead her small invasion team around his desk and through the door it guarded. “You can’t go in there until I finish your IDs,” the man shouted.

  “And probably not for a month after that.” Kris said as the door closed behind her.

  The next room was even more spacious than the two before it. The carpet was almost as deep as the mud on Olympia. The walls were wood paneled. Off to one side were a few chairs grouped around a holovid of a Japanese garden and waterfall—correction—around a real Japanese garden and waterfall. The room stank of wealth and power.

  Directly ahead of Kris was an older woman seated behind a desk made from a thick slab of stone. At either side of the desk stood two men in matching dark blue suits. Each held a gun out in the standard two hand stance, aimed at Kris.

  “Don’t take a step closer,” the gunman on the right said.

  Kris decided that, for once, she would do what people holding guns aimed at her said. She halted.

  “I am going to raise my left hand,” Jack said slowly. His words were soft and hard in the deadly way hired killers have of saying the nastiest things in the nicest way. “It has my badge and ID in it.”

  “Do it slow,” said left gunman. Kris tried to act unconcerned as her stomach did flip-flops. It was a whole lot easier to face armed men when she had her own M-6. But she wasn’t here to shoot her way in. She waited, hoping she’d find the right words when this macho ritual was done.

  “I am Agent John Montoya of Wardhaven Secret Service, assigned to the prime minister’s family. This is Kris Longknife, his daughter. You are in violation of 2CFR, section 204.333 in that you are armed and in the presence of a primary Secret Service subject. I will ask you only once to put down your weapons.”

  “I am Senior Private Agent Richard Dresden, of the Pinkerton Agency, Wardhaven Division. You are in violation of Public Law 92-1324, dated 2318, revised 2422, to whit, trespassing on personal property. It has been legally posted that this property is protected with deadly force under subsection 2.6.12 of that statute. You have been warned; now remove yourselves.”

  “I guess this is why you don’t have many family reunions,” Tommy said.

  “Yeah,” Kris agreed, “by the time all our gumshoes have finish citing their legal authority, the potato salad’s rancid and there’s no daylight left for a friendly game of baseball.”

  “Why don’t you drop in on the Liens next Santa Maria Landing Day. I’ll show you how one of these is supposed to go.”

  “I may take you up on that.” Kris noted that she and Tommy’s effort at humor hadn’t gotten even a flicker of a smile from the gunmen or the secretary. There is such a thing as being too professional. Enough already.

  “Grandpa Al,” Kris shouted, “this is your granddaughter. You know it’s me, and if you weren’t sure, that fellow at the last desk has had enough time to run a full genome on me. How long you going to make me wait out here?”

  “And why do you suddenly have a need to talk to your grandfather, young woman?” the secretary asked.

  “Grandpa, I don’t think you want me shouting for all to hear just why a twenty-two-year-old woman suddenly feels the need to know a few things about what’s going on in her family. Aren’t there a few skeletons that you want kept in our closet?”

  A door to the left of the secretary opened. A gray-haired man in a gray suit stepped out. The man was near two meters tall, explaining where Kris got her height. “Gentlemen, I think you can put away your guns.” The guards quickly did. The man turned back to the room. “We can finish this later,” he told a man and woman who quickly stepped around him and left by a door to Kris’s left. “All right, young woman, you’ve interrupted my day. Come in and say your piece.”

  “Sir,” Jack said politely, “I should examine any room she’s going to be in alone with another individual.”

  “Who isn’t vouched for by your system, young man. You honestly think my office isn’t the safest place on this planet?”

  “For you, yes sir, for her…?” Jack left the question hanging.

  “Government!” Grandpa Al spat. “Do what you have to.”

  Jack trotted to the door, gadgets appearing in his hands that Kris had never suspected could be hidden by shorts and a bulletproof sweatshirt. The senior Pinkerton did a good imitation of joining at the hip as Jack went by. A minute later, both reappeared. “You have your personal workstation in your desk, as well as a recording device in all four corners of the room,” he told Grandpa Al, but the report was for Kris.

  “Shall I have my personal computer make a full transcript of our meeting?” Kris asked.

  Grandpa scowled. “All security and recordings off, alpha, alpha, zed, forty-eleven. Happy, young woman?”

  “You know Longknifes take more to make them happy than that, Grandpa.” Kris smiled as she entered the room alone. It was vast. Glass on two sides offered a magnificent view of Wardhaven, better than Tru’s penthouse. The room, however was gray: gray rug, gray walls, gray marble desk. Even the sofa and chairs around a gray slate coffee table were different shades of gray. The room smelled as gray as it looked. If air could be completely empty of odor, this room was it. Grandpa Al headed for his desk and only seemed happy when he had it between him and Kris. Nice way to treat family.

  “So, what is it you want?”

  “Grandpa, it’s been what, ten, twelve years since we’ve seen each other. Don’t you at least want to ask me how I am?”

  “Computer, how is Kris Longknife?” he growled.

  “Kristine Longknife is no longer in therapy. Her last doctor’s visit involved a full physical checkup while applying to the Navy for a commission, which she passed. Her last medical issue involved an infected blister while in OCS.”

  “I know how you are, so that should cut the minor stuff. What do you want? And don’t waste my time, young woman.”

  You don’t know the half of me, Kris wanted to say.

  Instead, she opened with, “Who’s trying to kill me?”

  Grandpa AI actually blinked twice on that one. “Computer, have there been any attempts on Kris Longknife’s life?”

  “None, sir.”

  “Three, sir,” Kris corrected the computer. “I have a pretty good handle on one of them. The other two puzzle me. Why would someone want to kill me?”

  Grandpa swiveled in his chair to look out over Wardhaven. “You seem t
o have the matter under better control than I. What do the police tell you?”

  Kris walked up to the desk and rested both hands on the cold marble. It could have been cut from Grandpa AI’s heart for all the reaction she was getting from him. “The police are not involved.”

  That got Grandpa’s attention. He swung around to face her. “Why?”

  “Because there’s no evidence that any of them took place. Father says if there’s no evidence, they didn’t happen.”

  “Your father is a horse’s ass.”

  “He feels the same about you, sir.”

  Grandfather snorted at that, but he looked up at Kris with gray eyes intense and demanding. “What makes you think someone is trying to kill you, despite the lack of legal evidence?”

  Kris settled into a chair and quickly described the rescue mission. As she talked, Grandpa’s frowned deepened. “So a bum bit of equipment let you fly yourself right out of a trap.”

  “Yes. I keep meaning to talk to Father about the shoddy material in Navy issue, but since the only item I’m personally familiar with saved my life, I’m kind of on weak ground.”

  Grandfather barked a laugh at that but was all business the next second. “So what makes you so sure you were the target of that minefield?”

  “I captured the ringleader’s computer. Tru Seyd took it apart. She found a message saying the ship they wanted had drawn the mission and to prepare the ‘welcome.’ ”

  “How could they know where to put the welcome?”

  “I did a check on the last seven rescue missions the Navy’s done. All involved a night jump right into the bad guy’s front yard. My captain was out to set some kind of record for shortest time from drop to last shot. I think the Navy’s gotten a bit predictable during the long peace, and someone set me up.”

  “Reasonable conclusion. What’s the second murder attempt?”

  Kris described her trip up to the Anderson Ranch and the boat going poof. “Tru has the samples I got from the boat. She’s sending it to a lab she trusts.”

  “It could have been an accident. This liquid metal thing is pretty new. My yards have only been making spaceships out of it for five years. Boats, what a waste of high tech.”

  “Of fifty thousand made, the six assigned to my project are the only ones with this little defect.”

  That got Grandpa sitting on the edge of his seat. “Who provided you with these boats?”

  “Smythe-Peterwald.”

  “Smythe-Peterwald,” Grandpa echoed.

  “Smythe-Peterwald,” Kris repeated. “The Anderson Ranch was out of radio contact with everyone. The Peterwald yacht was overhead when I mysteriously got the Anderson distress call. It didn’t leave orbit until after I was on the river, had already modified the boat’s configuration once.”

  “The next time you touched the controller of the boat…?”

  “It would go poof.” Kris snapped her fingers.

  “Peterwalds,” Grandpa roared as he shot from his chair.

  “Who did you go to, to get money when Eddy was kidnaped?”

  Kris’s question stopped Grandpa in his tracks. He retreated back to his chair. With a wave of his hand that took in everything out the window, he said. “Why would I have to go to anyone for money?” “Wealth is one thing, liquid assets another. I’ve gone over our historical accounts. Father’s and your money was in blind trusts. Your brother Ernie had the corporation pretty heavily invested in new planet developments, expansion, growth. I don’t think he could have provided the money my father needed.”

  “Didn’t matter. Edward was dead before we received the ransom note.”

  “But you and father didn’t know that. I don’t think the people who set up Eddy’s kidnaping had any idea they’d gotten ahold of dumber and dumbest.”

  “Set up, not hired?”

  “Grandpa, they wouldn’t have gone to the gallows if they knew anything. Those kidnappers didn’t need any upfront money. The guys on Sequim don’t know anything, except for the honcho. He had a heart attack before he could start singing.”

  “Heart attack,” Grandpa said slowly.

  “Like the truck driver that killed Grandma Sarah,” Kris threw across the desk.

  Grandfather looked like he’d been hit by a truck. Or more correct, was seeing again the truck that hit him. “It was an accident,” he whispered. “I saw the truck coming, but I couldn’t get out of its way. I tried. Fifty years, I’ve been seeing that truck in my dreams. I always think I can get out of the way. I never do.” He shook his head. “But they did an autopsy. There was nothing, no drugs, no beer, nothing in his blood.”

  “Grandpa, they didn’t take the blood sample until two hours after the wreck. Even back then, they had illegal drugs that could vanish in that time.”

  “And Peterwalds always have known their way around the drug underworld.” Grandpa sighed. “Smythe-Peterwald the Eleventh was visiting Wardhaven when your brother was kidnapped. You know his son went to school with your dad. Even dated your mother.”

  “She never lets us forget. Insists I get to know the son.”

  Grandfather winced at that. “Peterwald offered me the money. Said we could work the details out later. Then the police found the farm and the manure pile with a busted air pipe protruding from it. I didn’t need the money after all.

  “That’s when I quit government. You’re too big a target out there. I quit government and made sure I’d always have enough money to do what I need to do fast. Enough money to build a wall around me no one could get through. I told that son of mine to quit, too. So that idiot turns around and runs for my job.”

  “So you think the Peterwalds are behind it all?”

  “There’s enough bad blood between them and my dad. Ray may be a great general and a great president, but every time he turned around he was stepping on the Peterwalds. Closed down a couple of planets they’d invested in when they fell outside the sphere of development he set up with the Treaty of Wardhaven. Closed down their drug running if you believe the rumor mill.”

  “Do you believe it?”

  “Ray believed he was closing down the Peterwalds. As your dad would point out, you couldn’t prove it in a court of law, so some would say it didn’t happen.”

  “I’m getting a bit tired of almost getting killed by what you can’t prove in a court of law, Grandpa.”

  “Steer clear of the Peterwalds.”

  “Kind of hard to do. I go where the Navy sends me.”

  “Resign. Come work for me in this tower. Nothing moves within twenty kilometers that I don’t know of and approve. I’ve made myself a fortress of people who believe in what I’m doing, are well paid, and would die for me. What have you got?”

  “Jack out there, until I go back on duty.”

  “You’d be safe here. We don’t even send our schoolchildren out except on nonscheduled tours and with an armed escort. No better place to raise a child.”

  “Sounds good, but I don’t have any children just now. When I do, I’ll think about it.”

  “You should live so long.”

  “Grandpa, I intend to do just that.”

  The computer on Grandpa AI’s desk began to buzz.

  “Kris,” Nelly announced softly, “I hope you will excuse my interruption, but Earth just announced that it is sending a large battle fleet to Wardhaven.”

  “What?” came from both sides of the desk. “Looks like it’s a bit late for me to resign my commission.” Kris swallowed.

  “Good God, has Earth taken leave of its senses? An Earth fleet here on the Rim is just a causi bellum looking to happen.”

  “I thought business wanted a war, or at least a breakup,” Kris goaded her grandfather, wondering what he’d say.

  “Humph,” Grampa Al glared at Kris like she’d just flunked first grade. “Earth is our biggest trading partner. Why would I want a customs house between us and that market? And a war just messes up all my business plans. No businessman in his right mind wants a war.�
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  Nelly interrupted with, “The official report from Earth is that the fleet is coming to Wardhaven to participate with the Rim worlds in officially dissolving the Society of Humanity.”

  “You don’t need a battle fleet to haul down the flag.” He shook his head. “I know there are Earth types terrified of what our rim expansionists might wander into out in the galaxy. Have they got the upper hand back there? Is Earth willing to use force to keep us in the Society?” Grandpa wondered.

  “But they’re just a faction, like our unlimited expansionists. They couldn’t be calling the shots. This fleet has to be what they say it is?”

  Grandpa shook his head. “Whatever it is Earth wants to say, they’re saying it all wrong.”

  “Excuse me for interrupting again,” Nelly cut in. “All fleet personnel have been recalled to duty.”

  “Thank you, Nelly,” Kris said, then looked at her Grandfather, “but to whose fleet?”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Three hours later, Kris had her duffel packed and led Tom down the central stairs of Nuu House. A hastily contracted liner was scheduled to depart High Wardhaven in three hours for a two-g run to High Cambria. If they rushed, they could be back aboard the Typhoon in two days.

  As Kris crossed the foyer, she found marine guards still at the doors of the library, but the doors were thrown open wide to facilitate the constant flow of officers and messengers. She paused for a second. Yes, Grampas Trouble and Ray were in there, surrounded by stars and eagles and civilians that must have rated just as high. It looked like Tru at a workstation in the back of the library, but Kris wasn’t sure. Trusting humanity was in good hands, Kris turned for the main door.

  “Wait a second there, Ensign,” came through the library doors in General Trouble’s command voice. Kris kept walking; she wasn’t in his chain of command. Pity the poor ensign who was, and made the old general shout.

  “I mean you, Ensign Longknife. Halt.”

  Kris halted, set down her duffel, and waited. “I’ll tell Harvey to wait for you,” Tom said and left.

  “Where you headed?” Grampa Trouble asked as he pulled in range of a normal voice.