Intrepid (28 page)

46

Back at the
Wasp
, there was no rest for the wicked. Late as it was, Kris roused her staff and went immediately to work.

Abby showed up in a wrap and fuzzy slippers. “Cara likes them,” was all she said. Colonel Cortez was halfway through a yawn when he caught sight of Kris’s outfit. It is possible for a grown man’s eyes to bug out.

“We’ve got problems, ladies and gentlemen,” Kris said by way of preamble, “and several of them need action now.” She filled them in on the legal mess revolving around their prize money.

Captain Drago muttered a curse when Kris finished.

“Can’t sell the
Feathered Serpent
here,” Penny said.

“My opinion exactly,” Kris said. “We have to refuel her here, but we need to get her to United space ASAP.”

“I’ll start forging her new papers,” Abby said. “If they only have to stand up to a couple of port calls, that shouldn’t be too big a problem. Once they drop the reps off at Pitts Hope, the crew can take the
Serpent
to Chance, get her declared forfeit, and we’ll have an ironbound set of papers for her.”

“Now there’s the problem of Birridas,” Kris said.

“Birridas?” Professor mFumbo echoed. He’d just come in. Dressed in a red smoker’s jacket, complete with a never-lit pipe, he looked quite debonair. And suddenly very worried. “Your Highness, Birridas is the shortest way to the Ferret’s Head nebula. I do remind you that you promised that research would be the next priority. And would be for at least two full months.”

“Yes, Professor, and I will not renege,” Kris said. “But there’s a problem on Birridas.” Kris quickly filled them in.

“I see,” Professor mFumbo said. “I agree on the detour. It may add a few days to our run, but what must be must be.” Around the table, that seemed to represent a universal consensus.

“Excuse me,” Kris said, “but you misunderstand me. We
are
going to Birridas.”

The room exploded into dead silence.

“Kris, are you crazy?” Jack asked.

“No more than usual,” Kris said.

“Yes, this is more than usual,” Jack snapped. “Kris, this man has been trying to kill you since, well, forever. He probably paid the kidnappers of your brother Eddy.”

“I know,” Kris said, with a shiver.

“Kris, those were his battleships at Wardhaven,” Penny whispered softly.

“I know,” Kris repeated.

“And besides, Kris,” Jack continued, talking slowly as to a stubborn child, “if Henry Smythe-Peterwald XII does finally get himself killed, we don’t want a Longknife within fifty light-years. You do not want to go to Birridas.”

“I don’t,” Kris said, “but answer me this. Where do you think Prometheus’s kid and the Xanadu nuts are headed?”

“Most likely Birridas,” Jack agreed. “I know you’d love to pull out a miracle for that poor man, but Kris, you got to make tracks away from this one.”

“I can’t, Jack, because my fingerprints are already all over the future death of Henry Peterwald, twelfth of that name.”

That brought blank stares from the table. All but one. Penny’s eyes lit up. “Oh. . . I see.”

“You tell them, Penny.”

All eyes were on her. She spoke slowly. “Whether one of the kids actually kills Mr. Peterwald, or not, doesn’t matter. They’re bound to be swept up in the dragnet before his body is cold. That creates a line back to Xanadu, and Kris has been on Xanadu twice in the last month.”

There was a long pause when Penny finished. As the mess they were in dawned around the table, heads began to shake slowly. “We are so screwed,” Captain Drago muttered for all.

“Couldn’t you just send a warning?” Professor mFumbo asked.

Kris shook her head. “Even if we did, it could be taken as us just trying to cover our tracks. At best, they might credit us with having gotten cold feet on an op after we turned it loose, and we’re trying to help them close it down. Either way, it’s us killing Peterwald in the end.
I
have to go.”

Jack was still shaking his head. “Oh Lord, Kris. You expect to come racing in, shouting that there’s a plot to kill Henry Peterwald, and be believed?”

“I have to try.

“I can have the ship under way in thirty minutes, Your Highness,” Drago said, rising from his chair.

“Make it so, Captain.” He left to do just that.

“Let’s see what other loose ends I have,” Kris said, and turned to Colonel Cortez. “Prisoner, I had planned to turn you over to Cuzco justice.” He stuck his hands out for the cuffs.

“You’re going to be staying aboard for a while,” got a frown from the colonel. “It seems my shyster is confident he can get you off with a wrist slap. He’s already gleefully planning your career as a consultant to future filibustering expeditions. With a fifteen percent take for him.”

“I was expecting as much,” Cortez said.

“So I’m not letting you off my ship. Not here, at least.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“Thank me?” Kris said, surprised by the man.

“Yes. I made a mistake, getting involved with that mess. I’d hate to be trapped in it for the rest of my life.”

Kris didn’t know whether to believe him or not. Still, she had a prisoner on her hands, one with skills she was using.

“Penny, correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t POWs who work supposed to be paid for that work?”

“I believe that is required,” the kid of a cop answered.

“Abby, after you repaper the
Serpent
, work up a contract hiring the colonel as a consultant in military affairs.”

“What kind of pay scale?” the maid/intel weenie asked.

“Something appropriate for a colonel.”

Cortez chuckled. “Make it a short-term temporary appointment,” he said. “I’m sure the princess will find some judge to take my case. Maybe at this Chance place, where you’re sending my troop transport.”

“We’d never send you to Chance,” Penny said.

The colonel’s smile was replaced by puzzlement.

“You see, Colonel,” Jack said, “the last time Kris was there, the Peterwalds tried to take over Chance. The folks there really objected to that.”

“I see,” the colonel said.

“Not really, you don’t,” Penny added. “It came to a fight, and in that fight, Mr. Peterwald’s son was killed.”

“Oh my,” Cortez said, then a light seemed to dawn. “The son of the man your princess is hell-bent on saving?”

“The very same,” Abby said. “Now you see how big a bucket of horse pucky we are in.”

“Holy Mother of God,” the old soldier said.

“All hands, set getting-under-way details,” said the MC1.

47

The trip to Birridas was uneventful. As it turned out, the
Serpent
had none of the necessary gear to forge ship’s papers. The
Wasp
, of course, had two sets, one in Abby’s cabin, the other in Captain Drago’s stateroom. Why was Kris not surprised?

The only important decision that had to be made involved the ship’s acceleration. Kris ordered 1.5 gees. She expected complaints from the boffins, but wound up facing Gunny instead.

“Ma’am, I assume you want as many Marines ready for duty as possible when we get there.”

“You got that right, Gunny.”

“Well, we’ve got almost a score of shooters in sick bay, ma’am. They need to start physical therapy, Doc tells me, and he was hoping we could cut their weight down to .85 gees.”

Kris coordinated with Captain Drago. Twice a day, the ship reduced acceleration. Three times a day, at every meal, Sulwan Kann, the ship’s navigator, told Kris just how much trouble it was reworking her course around it.

But the Marines got their therapy. Kris wanted every available trigger-puller up and running when they hit Birridas.

As soon as they jumped into Birridas space, they were hailed and told to go away. “This space is closed to any ship not a Greenfeld warship.”

Captain Drago once more proved himself the biggest teller of tall tales in human space. They got permission to dock for emergency repairs. But no one would be permitted to disembark. No one. And there would be guards posted at their gangway.

No one got off.

Of course, Drago didn’t mention that Kris Longknife, putative killer of Peterwald scions, was on board. Kris figured once that word got out, guards assigned to keep folks on the
Wasp
would have a new assignment. Storming the
Wasp
.

Kris was strapped into a seat on the bridge as Drago oversaw his ship’s final approach to High Birridas. A view of the station showed almost finished laser emplacements, but few of them had the actual lasers installed. Kris suspected none were up and calibrated. Somewhere, a lot of people were working long hours finishing that delayed job.

The station’s piers clearly showed the effect of the recent changeover. Every dock had a Greenfeld ship tied up.

Kris spotted only two empty slots, and watched as Drago maneuvered the
Wasp
toward one of them.

KRIS, YOU HAVE A CALL COMING IN.

FROM WHOM? Kris thought her presence here was still their little secret.

HE ASKED ME NOT TO TELL YOU. TRUST ME, YOU WANTS TO TALK TO HIM.

More proof that Auntie Tru needed to spend some quality time wandering around Nelly’s bursting innards.

PUT HIM THROUGH, Kris thought with a sigh.

HI, KRIS. CAPTAIN KRÄTZ HERE. I SAW THE
WASP
HAD TALKED HER WAY IN AND FIGURED YOU MIGHT STILL BE ABOARD.

HOW ARE THE GIRLS, AND YOUR JUNIOR COMMUNICATIONS OFFICER?

THE GIRLS ARE FINE. LOOKS LIKE SOME WEDDINGS ARE IN A COUPLE OF THEIR FUTURES. GOOD MEN ALL. IT WILL BE A JOY TO MARRY THEM OFF. AND THE JUNIOR COMM WATCH STANDER PUT THIS CALL THROUGH. HER DAD WANTS HER ON SOUTH CONTINENT WITH HIM, BUT SHE’S IN NO HURRY. YOUR FILE SAYS YOU LIKE TO STAY CLEAR OF YOUR OLD MAN, TOO. GLAD MY GIRLS DON’T HAVE WHATEVER DISEASE YOU TWO GIRLS HAVE.

I LOVE TALKING FAMILY, CAPTAIN, BUT I DON’T THINK THAT’S WHY YOU CALLED.

NOPE, I FIGURED I BETTER WARN YOU. REAL SOON YOU’RE GOING TO BE ASKED TO DUMP YOUR REACTOR CORE AND OFFLOAD ALL SHIP-STORED POWER TO THE STATION. THAT INCLUDES THE CAPACITORS FOR THE LASERS YOU DON’T HAVE.

“We’re going to be asked to dump our reactor core before we dock,” Kris said out loud.

“What?” was Captain Drago’s reaction.

NELLY, GO PUBLIC WITH THIS CALL.

“Yes,” Captain Krätz said. “Every ship tied up, including my
Surprise
, is cold reactor and empty capacitors. If I didn’t know better, I’d think they didn’t trust us.”

“What could possibly make them think that?” Drago muttered.

At that moment, a harried man in a rumpled uniform appeared on-screen. Behind him stood a man in the impeccable black uniform of Greenfeld State Security. He had a machine pistol slung at his waist and looked all too eager to use it.

“As soon as you attach to the first dock tie-down, you must vent your reactor to space. Both of them. You still got an engine problem that just has to be worked on here.”

“I told you I do.” Drago tapped his commlink. “Engineering, prepare to vent all reactor contents to space. Be sure to do it away from the pier.”

“You got it, boss.”

The man disappeared from the screen.

“Thank you, Captain Krätz, for the warning,” Kris said.

“I figured you’d like a bit of advance word. Your file says paranoia runs in your family.”

“Understandable since someone does seem out to get us.”

“I would know nothing of that.”

“Speaking of that, you must be curious as to why I’m here.”

“The thought did cross my mind,” the captain said dryly.

“There is a plot afoot to kill Mr. Henry Peterwald.”

“Do tell. There’ve been only four attempts this week. Three died in the act and one during interrogation. Mind you, none of that is in the papers. My security officer told me as a stern reminder that all of the restrictions on movement for my crew are indeed necessary.”

“Four,” Kris said, and glanced around the bridge. The clanking of the first-pier tie-down echoed through the hull. Some kind of hissing quickly joined it, and the lights flickered.

They were committed to Birridas. No turning back.

“Captain Krätz, were any of the assassins connected to either Xanadu or the Abdicator movement?”

“Good heavens, are those nuts still running around? But no, all were homegrown from Birridas. At least that’s the story. Me, I suspect if they looked real hard at some of those entrails, they might lead back to the Palace. But dead men tell no tales.”

“Xanadu does exist, and I’ve been there twice in the last month or so. It appears that a small tactical team of young enthusiasts has been sent from the Guides of the Abdicators to start a war. Our best guess is that it would involve killing your Peterwald.”

“The Abdicators, ah. . .” There was a short pause as the captain consulted his own reference. “They were street-corner noisemakers. Never used terrorist tactics.”

“Things have changed. The new and improved version does.”

“Oh.” Another long pause. “But how would killing Henry involve us in a war?”

“As I said, Captain. I’ve been to Xanadu twice in the last month or so. They are now here. I suspect that the whole business is intended to have Longknife fingerprints all over it.”

The “Oh,” this time let a lot of air out of the captain.

“Princess, I need to talk to my security officer pronto. Will you be available to talk later?”

“I’ve been told not to leave the
Wasp
. None of us.”

“Right. You’re under even tighter restrictions then we are. Give me a bit. I suspect State Security will want to talk to us. Oh, and I’m going to tell Ensign Victoria what you’ve just told me. We may have a direct line to the Palace if we need it.

“I think we will,” Kris said.

The pier tie-downs echoed through the
Wasp
as each engaged. The sound was like a prison door slamming shut. Kris had been in some bad situations before. Never had she felt so vulnerable. Then came the demand to drain all ship’s power to the station. She’d spent the last four years doing her best to stay out of reach of the Peterwald family.

Now she was totally in their power. Literally.

Kris’s stomach was a sour void.

Then things got worse.

A half dozen men in State Security black showed up at the gangway and barged right across it. Four of them carried those nifty-looking machine pistols. At least they did have Captain Krätz with them.

And he had an ensign tagging along as aide.

From her conference room, where Kris watched the developments, she relaxed a little. She knew that ensign.

It got rather interesting when the Black Uniform Mafia ran into six Marines in full battle rattle on the quarterdeck. Rifles at port; bayonet’s fixed.

Did a couple of those gun boys flinch?

Gunny stepped forward to greet them. “Do you have business on this ship, sir?”

“I am Colonel vin Martin to see the Longknife girl.”

“You request an audience with Her Highness, Princess Kristine Longknife,” Gunny corrected.

“May I remind you that you are in Greenfeld space, attached to a Greenfeld space station. We have no truck with princes.”

Yet people talk freely of the Palace,
Kris thought.

“I know where I am, Colonel,” Gunny said with a gentle voice that rang solid steel. “May I point out that you are on board a Wardhaven warship bearing the great-granddaughter of King Raymond I of United Sentients.”

The two men glared at each other. The colonel’s glare was that of a dog, foaming at the mouth. Gunny’s glare was more like the sun.
I’m here. Get used to it. And don’t forget your SP 8,000 sunscreen.
The dog surrendered to the sun.

“Please advise this putative princess of yours that State Security requests and requires a meeting with her.”

Gunny paused just long enough to give the impression he had received orders, then smiled. “You are granted an audience.”

Kris glanced around her staff room. Nope, no throne in sight. And she was in the undress whites of a lieutenant. Getting the power flow going her way for this meeting would not be easy. She mashed her commlink. “Gunny, take the long way. I need time for prep.” Without waiting for an answer, she changed. “Abby, I need my ribbons. Include the star burst of the Wounded Lion.” Earth’s highest honor ought to give any soldier pause to rethink with whom he’s dealing.

“On my way,” said her maid.

Kris glanced around. No way to make the table disappear. But. . . “Captain Drago, I want the chairs out of here. Chief, can you get these walls covered with deep space and stars. Oh, and lower the lights. Jack, I want you at my right hand. Can you get in dress red and blues.”

“If Gunny includes a tour of the reactor,” he said, already running.”

“Make it faster,” she called after him.

Captain Drago disappeared. Sailors got busy making chairs disappear. Abby appeared, and Kris stood to have the ribbons pinned on. A sailor made a grab for Kris’s empty chair.

“No you don’t. I stay seated,” Kris growled.

Yep. Now if she just had enough time to get this dog and pony show set up, one obnoxious State Security colonel would find himself in a very interesting situation.

Jack returned, still buttoning his collar.

Captain Drago appeared. . . in the full-dress blues of a Wardhaven Navy captain. Kris glanced at his fruit salad. It showed the usual ribbons a good man would collect during the long peace. A couple of his tourist ribbons had V’s for valor. Likely in combat. How had he managed that?

Then Kris remembered how she’d earned V’s for her supposed tourist medals. Maybe the long peace hadn’t been as peaceful as the history books claimed.

Leaving Kris to wonder if only blind people wrote histories.

“Reserve commission,” Captain Drago said. “Inactive.”

“Consider it activated for the next hour. We need to talk.”

Striding in right behind Captain Drago came Colonel Cortez, in the dress red and black of Lorna Do.

“Reserve commission?” Kris asked.

“They didn’t cancel it,” he said evenly.

Which begged the question why the man had been beached in times like these. And why he hadn’t been recalled.

Kris coughed. “We all need to talk. Really talk.”

Penny was next in, now sporting dress whites and struggling with the choker collar. Jack lent her a helping hand. Even Abby was back. Where had she gotten Wardhaven dress blues?

They arrayed themselves on either side of Kris. Drago, Cortez, and Abby to her right. Jack and Penny to her left. At the door, Cara watched them, giggling softly.

“Child,” Kris said severely, “go back to your room. Nelly, arrange a feed to her monitor.”

“Yes, Kris,” Nelly said.

“Yes, Auntie Kris,” Cara said.

The kid exited to universal smiles from Kris’s staff, so she didn’t risk mutiny by chiding her. Kris did find herself relishing a strange addition to the mixture of feelings in her gut. She’d never been anyone’s auntie before.

The measured tread of boots drew Kris’s gaze to the far door of the room. The lights dimmed a bit more. The bulkheads and overhead now showed deep space and cold unwinking stars; it would be easy to succumb to vertigo.

Well done, Chief
.

Six Marines in dress red and blues entered, M-6s at port arms, bayonets fixed. The black-uniformed colonel trailed them, his face a mask. So did his junior officer and four gun toters. One of them took one look around and swayed. Only a hand out to the shoulder of a statue-solid Marine kept him on his feet.

Captain Krätz followed up the rear, a bemused look on his face as he took in Kris’s side of the room. Ensign Peterwald edged over to put her back against the wall and assumed a stiff parade rest. From where she stood, she could see everything, including the look on her captain’s face and his body language.

Quick learner
. Kris could only hope she stayed friendly.

From outside, Gunny’s voice came clearly as he posted his six armored Marines at the door.

The colonel eyed Kris through narrow slits. Kris gave the colonel a wide-eyed look, as innocent as any she had ever managed. . . but said nothing.

The colonel finally broke eye contact with Kris to take in those around her. Kris couldn’t tell who caused it, but his eyes widened and his nostrils flared.

Suddenly, Kris had a strong suspicion the colonel knew more about the people around her than she did. Kris caught the frown that caused before it made it to her face. Yes, she needed to talk to her crew. And she was getting tired of this colonel using her time to figure out things she wasn’t in on.

“You wanted to see me, Colonel,” Kris said, superior to junior.