Deserter

by Mike Shepherd

  Jack was waiting in the living room, wearing slacks and a striped shirt. Penny and Tom were both decked out in white slacks and blue shirts. As Kris headed for the door, Jack slipped a protective arm around her and patted the small of her back. “You shouldn’t be carrying,” he grumbled.

  “Abby said you’d say that,” Kris said to change the subject.

  “That woman knows too damn much,” was all Jack said.

  Klaggath headed the security detail today: a dozen men and women dressed for boating. Three cars stood by at the curb outside the elevator station, one a fully stretched limo. “We going first class today?” Kris asked.

  “It was either that or split you four up,” Klaggath answered. “I figured you wouldn’t want that.”

  “What’s the day look like?” Jack asked. Klaggath filled them in on Ambassador Middenmite’s schedule. Kris would start on the presidential yacht, then switch to several corporate yachts during the day before finishing up on The Pride of Turantic, an ocean liner-size yacht owned by Cal Sandfire.

  “You’re kidding,” came from everyone in the backseat.

  “Nope, that’s what the embassy gave us,” Klaggath said.

  “Kris, we can’t end up on his ship. I won’t,” Tommy said, a catch in his voice.

  “It’s a long day,” Kris said slowly, an impish grin slipping across her face. “Who knows how our schedule will go? Lots of things could slow us down.”

  “Right,” Penny drawled.

  “Just keep us informed,” Klaggath said, tapping something on the dashboard of the limo that made a map appear in the air between the front and backseat. “The regatta’s on Long Lake. The yachts are leaving from the new Yacht Club pier here.”

  “Where’s the racecourse?”

  “Out here in the lake,” he said, a racetrack appearing in the middle of the blue. “The party fleet will be anchored off to the right; that’s leeward today.”

  “The race boats?” Kris asked. “Where do they launch from?”

  “The old boat basin is where most of the smaller sailboats are,” Klaggath said. “The big sailors in the unlimited class are also at the Yacht Club.”

  “So, if I wanted to wish Senator Krief’s daughter good luck in her race . . .”

  “I’d be telling the driver to take us to the small boat basin. I’ll inform the presidential yacht that they may have to sail without you if they want to make the first race,” Klaggath said, smiling. “We’ve leased a boat to move you from ship to ship. I’ll have it pick us up at the small boat basin.”

  “Darn.” Kris smiled. “We’re already behind schedule.”

  The small boat basin was a forest of masts, but the driver took them right to the foot of pier H, a small wooden affair with dozens of white, single-masted boats bobbing alongside in the gentle wind. Kris spotted Senator Krief and her husband beside one boat and headed down the pier to them. Kris’s approach went unnoticed, so intent were the couple in conversation with a dark-haired girl, already at the tiller of the boat.

  “Well,” the father exclaimed, “what’ll you do, Nara?”

  “I’m going to win this race!” the girl shot back.

  “But you have to have a second person in the boat,” the Senator said, glancing around and seeing Kris for the first time. “Oh, hello, Your Highness. That is how you’re supposed to address a Princess, isn’t it? Your Highness and curtsy.”

  “I’m Kris today,” Kris said, “and I don’t think anyone on Turantic knows how to curtsy.”

  “I do,” the young voice from the boat pitched in. The girl in tan shorts and a blue tank top hopped up and promptly did a fair rendition of one in a rocking boat.

  “Be careful,” her father said. “You’ll fall overboard.”

  “I haven’t fallen overboard for years, Father,” the girl said, settling back down to her place at the tiller. “And I’ll win this race if we can just find someone to replace Ann.”

  “What happened?” Kris asked.

  “Nara’s partner in these races is Ann Earlic,” Mel said. “Her dad’s also a Senator, of the Conservative Party, but that means nothing to Nara and Ann.”

  “Yes it does. Her dad’s a stick in the mud,” came from the bobbing boat.

  “And your parents aren’t?” her father answered back.

  “At least not this week,” his daughter assured him.

  “When did that change?” The Senator sighed.

  “Anyway,” her husband went on, “the President called a barbecue at his ranch for today, so all his party is headed up there, and missing the regatta.”

  “I thought the President would be on the presidential yacht?” Kris said.

  “As late as Thursday he was. Last night, everything changed,” Senator Krief said with a shrug of her shoulders. “President Iedinka doesn’t much care for crowds, at least those that might not be voting for him. I was surprised that he was coming, to be truthful. I just didn’t expect his invite to the ranch to be for kids as well as parents.

  “So the Vice President will be on the yacht?” Jack asked.

  “Nope, she gets seasick real easy,” Mel said, breaking from his debate with his daughter. “Never goes out. Hates to even go up the beanstalk. A real solid-earth type.”

  Kris turned back to Jack. “So no one will be on the presidential yacht from the government,” she said.

  “I don’t like that,” Tom added, then bit his lip at having said something so unnecessary.

  Behind Kris, the family returned to the crisis of the morning. “Don’t you see anyone here who could sail with you?” mother asked daughter.

  “Yes, Mother, plenty, but they’re in the boat they’ll be racing. Why didn’t you tell me about your political thing yesterday?”

  “Because I only found out an hour ago when Ann called you. It’s not like the President is going to invite me to his ranch.”

  “Well, I’ve got to have somebody.”

  “I guess I could ride along with you,” the mother said tentatively.

  “Darling, you don’t swim,” Mel pointed out.

  “Mo-ther, you don’t even want to get in my boat. Whoever is second is going to be hanging over the side. You’d be no help.”

  “I could go,” the father said weakly.

  “Fa-ther, you’d be hanging over the side upchucking last week’s breakfast,” the daughter declared with the vehemence only allowed one with true sea legs.

  Kris eyed Jack, then the rest of her group. No one had come up with a dodge to get them off a yacht that suddenly looked less than seaworthy. She turned back to the Senator.

  “I thought this was the junior-class competition. I didn’t know you could sail with your daughter.”

  “It’s family values,” Mel said. “Turantic allows parents to sail with their kids, so long as the kid handles the tiller and the sails. It makes for a lot of work, but, hey, how can we have a rule that keeps parents away from their children?”

  Kris was glad Wardhaven had never taken family values that far. There were times when a kid needed some distance. “So, is it only parents that can cover for a kid?”

  “Parents or their appointed stand-in,” the Senator said. “We had to make allowances for handicapped or otherwise unavailable parents who still wanted to assure that their children weren’t—”

  “Having any fun,” the daughter put in. “And if I don’t get someone in this boat right now this minute, I’m not going to have any fun at all today. Dad, I guess you’ll have to do.”

  Kris surrendered to a broad grin. “I’d really enjoy some time on the lake in a boat that’s got the wind in its sails.”

  “You sail?” came in a shriek from the boat.

  “Nara, the Princess here is the Wardhaven junior champion for orbital skiff racing.” Her father sighed.

  “Water boats are different,” the Senator advised Kris.

  “I raced sailboats before I ever saw a skiff,” Kris said.

  “You want to come?” Nara was almost beside h
erself. “Mom, Dad, let her.” She glanced around at the other boats being pushed away from the pier, raising sail, and setting out for the racecourse. “And let’s do it nowest, like sooner the soonest.”

  “You don’t mind?” Mel asked.

  “Not at all. I love getting the wind in my hair.”

  “Your security people won’t mind?” the Senator asked.

  “Not if she wears a life vest,” Jack said, putting one around Kris. “We’ll stay close in a follow boat.”

  “That should do it,” Kris said, snapping the vest closed.

  Jack reached in his pocket and brought out a long pocket knife. “Harvey tells me you once got tangled in the lines when you flipped your boat.”

  “That was years ago!”

  “Well, hold on to this in case you need it,” he said, putting the knife in her hand. Kris gave him a nervous-ninny scowl but pocketed the blade, then hopped into the boat. Mel cast off the lines. Kris raised the jib, and Nara expertly nosed her craft out into the stream of other boats heading out. A few minutes more, and Nara was ready to raise the mainsail. Kris did the hauling, settled the sail in place, then expertly tied down the lanyards.

  “You really can handle a sailboat. I thought you were just doing that Princess thing, you know, ‘I can do anything,’ bit.”

  “One thing I learned early doing that Princess bit,” Kris said, “is to ask for help when you need it and be glad other people know a lot of things you don’t.”

  “Well, I’m glad you like to sail. Mom and Dad would try, but they go with water the way I go with dance classes.

  “Bad mix, huh?”

  “Maximost baddest,” Nara assured her, right hand pinching her nose shut.

  “It can’t be that bad.”

  “You haven’t sailed with Dad. I was a week getting the stink out. Now, here’s the rules. Once we start racing, only I touch the tiller or handle the sails. I’ve got the line for the mainsail all to myself. If the jib gets hung up, you can knock it loose, but anything more, and I’m disqualified. Okay?”

  “No problem. I won’t make you lose the race,” Kris said.

  “All I’m counting on you for is counterbalance when I get her real close to the wind. You know how to do that, don’t you?”

  “You have ropes so I can really let myself hang out?”

  “You know how to do that!”

  “I’ve done it a few times in my racing.”

  “Wow, way wild, but no, these boats are really too small. Not enough keel or rudder to really get that far over.”

  “So I’ll lean as far out as I can.”

  Klaggath had a thirty-five-foot launch following them before they left the small boat basin for the open lake, Jack standing on the bow, a glowering figurehead. The Senator and her husband were on the aft deck with Penny and Tom. The Santa Marian appeared in a race with Mel to see who tossed their guts over the side first. Nara thought it was hilarious that her dad should have competition in that area.

  A dozen Star-2 sailboats made up the junior competition. Several had adults as their second crew; Kris spotted at least three people her size. All scrupulously stayed clear of the yards now that the boats were on the open lake, jockeying for starting position. The other boats were easy to spot; their two crew members were all over the boat, swapping out at the tiller every time they switched tacks.

  “Can you handle the whole race yourself?” Kris asked Nara. “That tiller in a strong wind can wear a grown man out.”

  “I can go it,” the girl said, checking the sky with a seaman’s eye. “The wind’s good, but not too fresh. I can go this just fine.”

  Kris reminded herself she was a guest on this young woman’s boat and swore that would be the last question she raised about her ability. I’m just dead weight here. I’ll do my part. With luck, Kris being here might save her from being dead somewhere else. Had Sandfire gotten tired enough of her to kill one troublesome Navy Lieutenant? Was he willing to kill everyone aboard the presidential yacht just to get Kris?

  “You’re not that important,” Kris reminded herself.

  “What you say?” Nara called. “The wind’s picking up, and I can’t hear you unless you shout.”

  “Nothing. I was just thinking to myself.”

  “I do a lot of thinking when I’m out here. Wind blows all the dust bunnies out of my brain,” the twelve-year-old answered.

  “Me, too.” The girl beamed back at Kris, delighted to share something with a grown woman. “But if you’re going to win this race, you better concentrate on what’s in front of you.”

  “You just watch me.”

  They approached the starting buoys. Spaced a klick apart; the presidential yacht anchored to one side, the race pylon on the other. The yacht was packed. With the Conservatives at the ranch, did that mean mostly Liberal Party on the yacht? Would Sandfire dare be that obvious? NELLY, ARE YOU STILL CONNECTED TO THE NET?

  BY SATELLITE HOOKUP, BUT THIS CELL IS VERY BUSY. IT MIGHT TAKE A WHILE TO GET THROUGH. DO WE NEED ANYTHING?

  Kris considered having Nelly check who was at the ranch and who was on the yacht, then compare party alignments. NO, NELLY. Kris was in a little girl’s boat, not on the presidential yacht, and the rest was internal Turantic politics. Murder was not supposed to be a political option here, or on any planet.

  So, who killed Winford?

  The starting gun brought Kris away from that question. Nara had wangled her boat close to the lead as they hit the line. Now she put the helm closer to the wind and picked up speed. Kris leaned over the gunwale, counterbalancing the wind pressure. The mainsail blocked her view of the party fleet as well as Jack on the follow-me boat. Well, she had her job; he had his.

  Nara kept them close hauled to the wind, then tacked around and let her jib and mainsail out to catch the following wind. Around her, other sailors did the same, picking their own courses with plenty of room to maneuver. Everyone except two boats locked in a duel over one particular patch of lake. They tacked back and forth, trying to take each other’s wind away.

  “Should we do that?” Kris shouted.

  “That’s just Sandy and Sam. They just broke up. They’re always in each other’s wind, but it’s gonna be bad today. Bet they don’t finish the race.” That was not a bet Kris would take.

  Nara was second rounding the first pylon, one-sixth of the race done. She chose a fast upwind tack, letting the lead boat spread its sails for a downwind tack. The other boats followed one of their leads. Sandy and Sam were late rounding the pylon, and one of them bumped the other, knocking them onto the pylon. Kris was hanging as far over the side as she dared; still she looked for a penalty flag. None was raised. Either the judges were cutting the boat that hit the pylon some slack since it was knocked into it, or too many of the onlookers were enjoying the regatta as a contact sport for the judges to call it off.

  Well, we of the Rim worlds are rather inclined to make up our rules as we go along. Kris grinned.

  The wind stiffed, maybe up to twenty-five knots, by the time they wheeled past the second pylon. It was also cutting directly across the course. In Wardhaven, they would have moved the pylons to make the race more upwind one way, downwind the other. Maybe for the adults they would. For the junior competition, the pylons stayed where they were, and the party boats stayed at their moorings.

  Nara led as they started the third run. This time she chose to spread her sails and take the more sedate route. This tack put them close to the yachts before Nara put the helm over, close-hauled her sheets, and made a fast tack for the pylon. From the party boats came the sounds of people socializing and exchanging chitchat. Few seemed concerned with the race. Still, Jack was right there, the launch staying just on the other side of the viewing line, pacing Kris’s boat up and down the course.

  Kris waved.

  Jack did not wave back. Penny and Senator Krief did. Her husband and Tom looked too weak to raise their heads. Poor Tom. Once more, Kris had gotten him into a miserable situation. W
ell, this time he was at no risk of dying. Then again, Kris had heard sea- and spacesick people bemoan that death was not an option.

  Nara’s closest competitor, a white boat with blue-and-red sails, had chosen to make several short tacks so that it also was on a close-hauled course as it approached the pylon. Nara had her small boat heeled over, tight against the wind. Kris started looking for a way to hang farther out. Maybe if she found a rope and ran it around the mast. “Don’t bother,” Nara called, as if reading Kris’s mind. “The rudder on these boats aren’t big enough to get them any closer to the wind. Keels, either. One of us will just have to give way. And it’s not going to be me.”

  By rights, it would have to be the other boat. It was behind. Still, the young boy at its helm showed no more evidence of giving way than Nara. “Get out of my way!” his second hollered across the short bit of water separating them.

  “You get out of mine!” Nara shouted back.

  “No way I’m giving way for no Princess.”

  Kris blinked; no one was supposed to know she was here. How did that kid know?

  “Just ’cause you think you’re some kind of prince, Billy, is no cause for me letting you beat me,” Nara called back, not giving an inch. “My mom’s a Senator, too, just like yours.”

  Oh, this is a kid thing. Kris remembered what it was like, back in the junior competitions. She’d learned the rules of trash talk playing soccer.

  The wind picked that moment to swing around a bit more to the east. Suddenly, both boats were too close-hauled to the wind and had to fall off, their mainsails luffing noisily as they dumped pressure. Neither Nara nor Billy could reach the pylon on this tack now. They’d have to go past the buoy, then set a new tack downwind. The boat that turned first ran the risk of having the other boat sail right behind them, catch their wind, and rob them of their speed.

  Kris waited for Nara to call the shot.

  Nara kept one eye on the pylon, the other on the wind. First chance she got, she slammed the tiller over. Kris scrambled back in the boat. Nara kept the mainsail out to starboard, so Kris brought the jib around to port, then settled in the center of the boat, looking aft.