Bold

by Mike Shepherd

  “I take it that you really took the idea that you needed to create an industrial base force seriously.”

  “In spades,” Kris said. “It’s amazing how wanting to stay alive will motivate people.”

  “I’ve found it works that way,” Trouble agreed.

  “So, that’s two. Any more help?” Jack asked.

  “Wardhaven’s Family Courts has a judge that does wonderful things for the children of families who are splitting the sheets. She has a real sense for what makes people tick.”

  “Does Vicky’s stepmother tick?” Kris asked.

  “Like a time bomb,” Trouble said.

  “Then I definitely want two squadrons of battlecruisers with a company of Marines on each one of them,” Kris said with finality.

  Grampa Trouble took a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh. “That’s why they sent me here.”

  “To give them to me?” Kris said, not knowing what he was getting at but not liking it at all.

  “No, I have to give you the bad news that you can’t have but one squadron.”

  “I always thought Ray was becoming a bit of a coward now that he had that crown,” Kris said.

  “You might be right,” Trouble said, unusually diplomatic. “However, I got the job of telling you, it’s just eight ships.”

  “Why?” Kris said. “I’m getting really tired of doing things Grampa Ray’s way.”

  Instead of answering her question, Trouble turned to Special Agent Foile. “You have signed the Secrets Act?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What you’re about to hear is covered under the Secrets Act, most especially a secret from Prime Minister Longknife.”

  Foile’s eyebrows rose slowly until they might have disappeared into his hair if he still had any. “The more I deal with your family, Your Highness, the less I want to,” he said.

  “A smart man,” Kris said. “I had to go all the way across the galaxy to get them out of my hair . . . and then they called me back for this. Okay, you do agree not to tell my dad about what Trouble’s about to let us in on.”

  “What passes here, stays here,” the agent said.

  “Good, good. Kris, we don’t have enough ships,” Trouble said.

  “But you’re building them at a mad pace,” Nelly said. “I reviewed the media reports, and they have a frigate commissioning close to every other day somewhere in the Union. Am I missing something?”

  “Yes, unfortunately,” Trouble said. “The policy for their deployment.”

  The old general eyed Kris. “You really put the fear of God, or at least those crazy alien raiders, in people. Sending back that raving maniac was brilliant.”

  “Thank you very much,” Kris said with a grin and a bit of a bow.

  “But now, everybody and their cat and dog wants ships protecting their planet. With the Smart Metal frigate-size ships becoming major man-o’-wars, they can afford much cheaper ships and smaller, cheaper crews. More bang for their bucks. You know that place you got exiled to?”

  “Madigan’s Rainbow,” Kris provided.

  “Yep. They ordered four squadrons for planetary defense.”

  “How are the locals taking to hairy deck apes on their shore leave?” Kris asked.

  “Not well, but they’re holding on to the ships with a death grip. Practically everyone is. Someone stumbled on the old doctrine of a Fleet in Being, and they are using it to keep their little fleet right where their paranoia wants it.”

  “I foresee problems,” Kris said, ticking several off in her head, “including fewer ships for Alwa Station, but how does this keep me from borrowing sixteen for a while?”

  “Remember how your banged-up Wasp took out that alien scout cruiser in an Iteeche system where you refueled before straggling back to human space,” Trouble said. “We need lookouts in our nearby systems to spot scout ships.”

  Kris shook her head. “Yes, active patrolling is critical. But on Alwa Station, we picketed a lot of the jumps to give us plenty of warning.”

  Trouble nodded. “We’ve got more jump buoys out, covering a whole lot of systems. The Iteeche are doing the same, but some of those jumps are way out there. It takes forever for any word to get back to us.”

  “We had the same problem,” Kris agreed. “I started sending out patrols to pop their scouts before they could report back.”

  “That is exactly what I and half the folks in uniform on the general staff want to do.”

  “It’s one thing to want to do it,” Jack said. “It’s quite another thing to have the assets to do it.”

  “Right,” Trouble said, and let out a long sigh that was more of a growl.

  “You want to fill me in on how bad things are here?” Kris asked.

  “They could be worse. I wish they were better,” her great-grandfather said. “For most planets, immediate planetary defense is priority one. There is no priority two. For those willing to look beyond defending their own little corner of the universe, Alwa is priority two. You have to admit, a lot of them have made contributions.”

  “I most definitely admit it, and I am most definitely grateful for their gifts toward Alwa’s defense. If you give me a soapbox, I’ll declaim and bloviate on my and their gratitude until the cows come home,” Kris said. “Now, what’s priority three?”

  “Few planets, in their present state of affairs, get past two. ‘We’ve got a squadron fighting at Alwa.’ ‘We’re still growing our defenses.’ ‘A frigate may be cheap, but you’re still asking for tax money to build and maintain it.’”

  “Okay, but what is priority three?” Kris repeated.

  “Patrolling. Taking a look at our outer perimeter. Maybe doing a long cruise well outside our part of space to see if anything is roving around there. That first ship you blew away, the family ship that was mining that moon or asteroid. You remember it?”

  “I still have nightmares about the frozen faces of those little kids when I’m not having nightmares about the huge base ships I’ve blown away or the horror they’d raise if they got into Alwa orbit,” Kris admitted.

  I have a lot of nightmares.

  “So, are there any mining claims being worked anywhere close to us? Those sort of things?” Jack asked.

  “How many ships have you got on patrol duty?” Kris added.

  “Not nearly enough,” Grampa Trouble admitted. “Savannah contributed a squadron. They’ll do anything for Ray, but not twice. Here and there, we get one or two ships from this or that planet. But from Wardhaven and Pitts Hope, not so much as a longboat. ‘We’ve made those beam ships and flying factories. What more could you want?’”

  “You need to make more beam ships,” Kris said, “and better ones. The three you sent got hammered pretty bad in our last fight. The next ones really need to be warships first and mad science projects second.”

  “I had a suspicion you might say that,” Trouble said with a chuckle. “We wanted them Tuesday, not great, and you were doing good to get them by Tuesday.”

  “Oh, we’re very grateful,” Kris was quick to put in, “but the next batch needs to be better. Maybe we can survive until Friday for them.”

  Trouble chuckled at that. “You can look into that when you get back. You really demanding a desk job?”

  “I am,” Kris shot right back. “I’ve had enough of Ray’s running me around by this gold ring in my nose. I’ve got a ring on my finger, thank you very much, and I’m ready to move on to something more domestic. Okay?”

  “It’s fine by me,” Trouble said, holding up both hands in quick surrender.

  “So how do I survive this next suicide mission and make it to pleasant domesticity?”

  Trouble sighed. “We can give you eight ships. They’re commissioning as we speak.”

  “Well, hold up their commissioning and get them crystal clad.”


  “I’ll see what I can do, but Al’s got his contract and wants several pounds of flesh to make a contract change.”

  “I’ll see if Ruthie can’t persuade him with her toothless smile.”

  “Good luck at that,” Trouble said. “About Marines, we’re running short. Your dad is building up an Army here on Wardhaven. Among other things, they’re manning lasers that someone thinks can shoot things out of orbit that are busy lazing them from up there. I kind of doubt that’s a good use of manpower, but local politicians want to show their voters they’re doing something they can see. Anyhoo, it’s eating into our Marine recruitment.”

  “You might want to have Marines on your ships,” Jack said. Trouble raised an eyebrow. “The last couple of fights they were sending small suicide boats and even lone troopers at us. We used Marines to shoot down those small targets. If they actually managed to board us . . . ? Well, you get my meaning.”

  “Damn,” Trouble muttered. “You folks come back safe. I really want you going over our defense effort from top to bottom.”

  “I always do my best to stay not dead,” Kris said.

  “Well, I think I’ve done about all the upsetting you that I can do today,” Trouble said, “and vice versa. I’ll be seeing you, likely tomorrow.”

  Kris nodded but stayed seated as Trouble left. When Special Agent Foile made to stand, she guided him back to his seat with her eyes. He sat.

  “Well,” Kris said, leaning back in her chair and taking a deep breath as the door closed behind her grampa. Refreshed, she turned to Agent Foile. “Does this tell you more of what you need to do your job?”

  “It tells me why I’ve got the biggest detail on this planet.”

  “You up to the job?” Jack asked.

  “If we are not, I’ll see that my detail is expanded until we are.”

  “Very good. Oh, we may be going out soon,” Kris said.

  “May I ask where?”

  “Jack’s folks deserve some time with their latest grandchild,” Kris said.

  6

  An hour later, with both Jack and Kris changed into civvies, their car came to a stop before a small white house on a minor side street. Kris had skipped the armored limo or SUV for this trip; Jack said his family’s neighborhood was quiet. The sudden appearance of a lot of police would only make the neighbors talk.

  Harvey, a wonderfully familiar face and Kris’s chauffeur since forever, selected the green sedan. “It’s well armored but doesn’t make a big show of it,” he told Special Agent Foile. Harvey and Foile were in the front seat, with Agent Debot squeezed in between them.

  Mahomet had showed up with a black box that looked amazingly like the one Chief Beni, both the elder one and his lost son, had used to protect Kris from so much mischief.

  Kris and Jack shared the backseat with a happily gurgling Ruthie. Kris’s child was likely the best-protected kid who ever rode in a car. The Alwa expedition was not prepared for children. Nelly had used Smart MetalTM to make a high-gee station for Ruthie for the fast trip back from Alwa. When they arrived here, Nelly had modified the high-gee station into a car seat for the little one.

  Jack took in his parents’ house with a happy sigh. Kris studied it carefully. It was just a year or two past needing a new coat of paint. The porch had a swing fit for two as well as two rocking chairs. It looked like a lot of the houses she’d driven by in the neighborhood.

  So this is where Jack grew up. I hope this helps me understand him better.

  The curtains were pulled back a bit. Someone was taking their own measure of who this visitor might be. What they saw was just the green sedan. The police SUVs were parked at each corner of the street, distant but ready.

  Special Agent Foile got out first, eyeing the street cautiously. He seemed content with what he saw and tapped the roof of the car. Only then did Jack get out and make his own security assessment. When he was happy, and Mahomet was out doing his own check, Kris was motioned to unstrap Ruthie, sling her diaper bag over her shoulder, and see how much trouble it would be to get one small baby out of a car.

  It was not easy, but Kris, who’d managed a lot bigger things, succeeded in getting her infant child extracted and wrapped in a clean blanket.

  Whoever was in the house must have liked what they saw because a high-school-size girl, a woman who must have been her mother, and a man, hobbling on a cane, came out of the house just as fast as their legs could carry them.

  “Jacky,” “Juan,” and “My boy,” told Kris that she’d come to the right place.

  The charge came to a dead halt as they took in Kris and the bundle she carried in both arms.

  “Juan?” the matron of the trio questioned cautiously.

  “Mia madre, I would like you to meet your daughter-in-law, my wife, Kris Longknife, and our little one, Ruth Maria.”

  “You got married and didn’t tell us!” his mother shouted but was moving forward again as fast as her short legs would allow.

  “I was all the way on the other side of the galaxy, Mom. I asked her to marry me, and it seemed like a long time to wait until we got home again.”

  “Well, show me la niña,” she said, swatting her son with the apron she wore.

  The girl was standing back a bit. “Jacky, is that who I think that is?” she said, taking in the agents and the chauffeur.

  “Most likely, but hold your tongue a bit until I can do the honors properly.”

  “Oh. My. God,” Jack’s sister whispered.

  His dad had just joined the foursome when Kris managed to pull the blanket aside and let Ruthie Maria have a good look her father’s side of the family. She smiled happily and managed some sound that Kris assumed was “Hi,” in infant speak, which Nelly had tried but failed to translate.

  “Won’t you come in,” Jack’s father said. With his family leading the way, and Jack beside Kris with a loving hand pleasantly in the small of her back, she found herself ushered into their living room. The couch had a throw over it with a picture of Our Lady of Guadeloupe. A table had a picture of Christ with a crucifix hanging above it. Kris had been in such homes while campaigning for Father. She clicked on her “Campaign Acceptance Mode,” and took the seat she was offered on the couch.

  Juan, Jack’s dad, settled into his own recliner and raised the leg support. Maria took her place on the couch, where she easily managed to switch Ruthie from Kris’s arms to her own. Estella looked ready to have a fit, but she settled onto the arm of the overstuffed chair that Jack took.

  “So, who is your wife?” Juan asked before Estella busted a gut.

  “You remember that I had been protecting Kris Longknife,” Jack said, and they nodded. “Well, she fell in love with me, and me with her, and when we had a very brief chance to marry all the way on the other side of the galaxy, we took it.”

  “All right!” sister squeed.

  The parents looked poleaxed. “Kris Longknife,” they both muttered.

  The room fell into deep silence. Even sister found herself taken by it.

  The quiet was finally broken by a whispered question from Maria. “So, tell me about your wedding.”

  Kris did, and the talk went from there to other things. Estella had heard about the alien raiders and wanted to know what Jack and his new wife had done. Jack tried to make as little of his job as he could, and Kris followed suit until Estella did a quick net search, read the results then eyed Kris. “You were the commander of everything we sent to that other place.”

  “Yes,” Kris admitted, “I was. Your Jack commanded all the ground forces, and I did the same for the fleet.”

  Again, the parents looked speechless.

  When the conversation finally began again, it was strained. Ruthie took that moment to get fussy, and Maria returned her to Kris’s arms. Together, they checked the diaper and found it dry and clean. “She must be hungry. Do you have s
ome formula?” Maria asked.

  “We weren’t prepared for children on Alwa Station, so we’ve kind of had to do things the old-fashioned way. I’m nursing Ruth Maria.”

  “Oh,” was all Maria said. “I wouldn’t think that a woman like you would know how to.”

  “I had to learn fast,” Kris admitted, “and Ruth Maria helped.”

  “Well, you will come again, won’t you?” she said, and Kris found herself following the mother’s lead as she rose to her feet and was ushered out the door.

  Jack followed with the diaper bag, still talking to his father. Estella seemed delighted to stay as close to Ruthie as she could. At least one of them had a fan in Jack’s family.

  They were bundled up and driving away. Kris had taken advantage of the privacy the backseat afforded and was nursing Ruthie before she got a word out.

  “What happened back there?”

  “You may have noticed that my mom sticks with the old ways.” Jack said.

  “You could hardly miss it,” Kris said, bouncing Ruthie just a bit. She was eagerly nursing but still seemed a bit fussy. Maybe Kris wasn’t the only one upset by their reception.

  “Mother had expectations that I’d marry a good Catholic girl. Then there was the wedding.”

  “What about the wedding?”

  “Nothing, it was a wonderful wedding, and you told it beautifully.”

  “But?”

  “Your Granny Ruth officiated.”

  “And?”

  “Mother doesn’t consider a marriage valid unless there’s a priest involved.”

  “Oh,” Kris said. And let her logical mind try to follow all the threads she’d just been handed.

  “Would she like to have us married again before a priest?” she finally said.

  “Would you mind?”

  “I’d do anything to make you happy, honey, but you must know that if your mother wants a wedding, my mother will go crazy over it.”

  “The thought did cross my mind as I listened to Mom put in her two bits.”