Defiant

4

The Halsey's gig edged away from the destroyer, where it lay tied up to Hikila's space station, and dropped toward Nui Nui. Kris had a good view of the planet from where she sat behind the two pilots. All she saw was water, water, and more water. The main continent, called the Big Island here, was about the size of Earth's Eurasia, but was well south of the gig's nose.

It was good to be away from the Halsey. Kris had joined several officers and the Marine detachment in their daily jog around the decks and up the ladders. The Sergeant of Marines was a friend from the Typhoon, Corporal, now Sergeant, Li.

The next day, Santiago joined the exercise routine.

To please the skipper, Kris kept old-time reminiscence to a minimum and just did the workout.

Meals in the wardroom were also fully chaperoned by Commander Santiago. Again, Kris was invited to the Captain's table, but it was quite different from her time at the head table on the luxurious liner Pride of Turantic. Kris let Santiago set the topics for discussion and followed, as most everything proved out of bounds. From the way the officers started conversations and accepted being cut off, Kris suspected the table topics had never been so nonhistorical, nontactical, and non-current events. No one crossed the Captain's wishes twice.

Kris was looking forward to a meal where most of her life was not a forbidden topic.

The gig descended along a long line of islands spread out from a larger one. As Kris got lower, she could see the islands were wrapped in verdant greens, usually topped by volcanoes. Some still seemed active. Most islands were encircled by reefs and a dazzling blue ocean. No wonder this planet had been the choice of the descendants of Pacific Islanders from old Earth for the place to rebuild their lost life.

The gig splashed down in a large lagoon and was quickly greeted by flower-draped rowers in outrigger canoes … and a power tug for their tow. ''You want to ride in with us, or with the locals?'' the gig pilot called back.

''The canoes are an honor,'' Penny told Kris.

''I figured as much. Can you open the hatch safely?''

The copilot did. Kris managed the transfer from bobbing gig to bobbing canoe with success, if not grace. Her whites were draped with leis by a lovely young woman wrapped in a sea green sarong. Soft yellow and pink flower tattoos wrapped around her arms and shoulders to disappear beneath her own leis.

''I am Princess Ha'iku'aholo. My friends call me Aholo.''

''I'm Princess Kris Longknife. Kris to my friends.''

''And I'm Jack,'' Jack said, making the transition from modern shuttle to wooden boat. He, too, got flowers for his effort.

Their outrigger pulled away, and another took its place at the shuttle's door. Penny and Tom got the same treatment. Kris expected ever-prim Abby to pass, but the woman hiked up her gray A-line dress to show well-shaped legs to her approving boatmen and stepped aboard the third canoe. She also got flowers, though from the fellows. They shoved off from the gig with a shout from an oarsman on Penny's canoe, which Kris took for ''last one ashore is a rotten egg,'' because all three outriggers took off like a shot from a gun for the white, sandy beach. Half-meter waves helped them along, aided by the wind at their back. This had to be anyone's idea of paradise.

Abby's canoe won, but there was no rancor. Kris wondered how her white shoes and pants would take to the water and sand, but she was not about to be carried ashore. She stepped out to find that the sandy section where they'd landed had been grouted or hardened, the beach, too. They walked ashore with the sand giving a bit, but not much. Paradise with high tech.

''My mother's grandmother's heart longs to see you,'' Aholo said and motioned Kris to a small electric cart, much like one used on space stations. This one was open to the breeze, had seats all around, and a colorful fish-print awning to provide shade. The princess took the driver's seat and offered Kris the passenger side. The rest of the team took others, except Abby.

''I'll wait for our luggage.''

An oarsman jumped on board. ''I'm Aholo's brother, Afa,'' and they were off. The road was sand, but again it had been treated. Pedestrians left shallow tracks as did the cart. Beside them, palms swayed in the wind. A wild profusion of flowers and birds added a mad collection of colors.

KRIS, WOULD YOU LIKE ME TO IDENTIFY THE BIRDS AND PLANTS FOR YOU?

NO. LET ME JUST ENJOY THEM.

The cart took them uphill. They passed houses made of wood and woven mats, thatched roofs, men in lavalavas, women in sarongs or lavalavas. Dress was … casual.

There was a whisper behind them, followed by a stern, ''I am not going native,'' from Penny.

Aholo smiled. ''We often have that effect on foreigners.''

Kris measured the depth of feeling behind that word; it came up high. She wondered what she'd have to do to keep that word from being applied to her and Grampa Ray's United Sentients.

Aholo pulled to a stop beside a large, multileveled house with most of its sides open to the breeze. She led them inside, past carved masks and figures, painted shields and potted flowers. Long-beaked, riotously colored birds flew by. Aholo led them through a door into a room that was closed off with blinds and mats on its walls. Candles—no, electric lights made to look like candles—dimly lit the room. A woman lay on a feather bed made from a brightly colored cotton tick. Aholo knelt and took the woman's hand. ''My Mother's Grandmother, Ray Longknife has sent his son's granddaughter.''

The woman turned her face to Kris. Eyes, dark and deep as pools, took her measure. Then she blinked and nodded. ''You have Rita's eyes, not Ray's. That may save you much sorrow, girl.''

''I never met anyone who knew Great-grandmother Rita,'' Kris stammered.

The woman nodded. ''She died too soon for poor Ray. Far too soon. I think she would have saved him from being president. He should have faded away after the war, become small again. I hear he's back doing politics again. Bad boy.''

''I encouraged him,'' Kris confessed.

''And he let you,'' said the dying woman.

''You are the queen here,'' Aholo pointed out.

''A queen here is nothing. The People sail as they will.'' The crinkle beside the princess's eyes said lie to the words.

''But you have come to hold my hand while I make that final crossing over the reef, have you, young Princess,'' the woman said, taking her hand from her great-granddaughter's and offering it to Kris. Kris took it; it was dry, light. The fingers were swollen with arthritis, each joint tattooed with a different design. Sunbursts exploded at wrists and elbows, covering other designs of fish and birds. Tattoos on top of tattoos.

PRIMITIVE MEDICINE USED TATTOOS, Nelly told Kris.

''Don't worry, old age ain't contagious,'' the queen said, making Kris wonder what the look on her face must be. She stroked the woman's hand; it felt like well-worn leather.

''You arrived just in time for the spring full moon,'' the queen said, moving to her side and closer to Kris. ''Will you dance tonight with us or stand aloof with the other foreigners?''

Kris had read that some primitive tribes started teaching girls to dance at three so they could get the steps right at their wedding. ''I would love to dance with you—''

''Good,'' the queen cut her off. ''I will have Aholo send you the proper flowers. Afa, make yourself useful and hustle down to the long house. Tell them they need another princess crown for tonight. That's a good boy,'' she said as the young man, nearly Jack's age, sprinted out of sight.

The queen gave Kris a wink and a smile. ''We'll show the old doubters that Ray Longknife and his United Sentients is a good harbor for us to put in to, between the two of us, nahi?''

So I was being jobbed even before I knew it.

''Your Majesty should rest,'' a man said, coming out of the shadows where Kris had not noticed him. His stethoscope and manner said doctor. Not witch doctor but modern M.D.

''Kapa'a‘ola, I'll get nothing but rest soon enough. Can't an old gal have some fun first?''

''Grandmama, Kris and I have work to do if we are to dance for you tonight. You rest. We will work,'' Aholo said as she stood and backed Kris and company out of the room. The queen was asleep before the door closed.

''How ill is she?'' Kris whispered.

''She is not ill. She is old, and she is dying. Anywhere else, maybe she would ask for yet another rejuvenation. Here, she says no more. She has had enough.''

''And you're going to let her?'' Tom said.

Aholo stopped, turned to them. ''Her last rejuvenation did not go well. It was painful, and,'' she looked at her hands, cupped before her, ''not very effective. She chose not to risk the pain only to find it a total failure. As she said, ‘All die.' So many died in the war with her. Now she will join them.'' A tear rolled down her cheek. ''I accept her choice.''

''But you will miss her,'' Kris said, putting an arm around the future queen.

''Very much.''

''Well, can you show me enough dance steps not to make a fool of myself in front of her?''

''She would greatly enjoy the laugh.''

''That is what I'm afraid of.'' Kris sighed.

An hour later, thanks to Princess Aholo and several of her girlfriends, Kris knew enough steps to avoid the worst diplomatic disasters and maybe the personal ones as well. As she'd feared, every step here, every wave, had a meaning, told a story. With luck, Kris would stay back in the chorus line, providing the la-la-la backup.

Aholo dropped Kris off at a suite of rooms about the time Abby arrived with seven steamer trunks rolling behind her. Kris counted them and raised an eyebrow. ''I left one on the Halsey,'' Abby sniffed. Which seemed reasonable, so Kris helped Abby unpack. Jack drew a bag from one, Penny and Tom took similarly sized ones as well and went to set themselves up in their rooms.

''You bring me a couple of sarongs?'' Kris asked Abby.

''Nope.''

''Mother Hubbard? Grass skirt? I'm not wearing one of those short lavalavas.''

''Nope.''

''Well, what am I wearing?'' Kris asked as there was a knock at her door. She opened it to find Aholo holding a flat box.

''Here are your flowers. They will crown us together at the long house tonight. I will see you there in two hours.''

''Flowers?''

''Yes. The flowers you'll wear,'' Aholo said and left.

Kris elbowed the door closed and opened the box. It held two large flowers and two long leis.

''The flowers go in your hair,'' Abby said. ''I'll have to add some hairpieces to fill out that short Navy cut of yours. No problem. One lei hangs around your neck. The other off your hips. We'll probably have to shorten both.''

Kris dropped the box. It bounced on the bed. ''You're kidding. Right?''

''You going native or foreigner tonight?''

''Not… foreigner,'' Kris said, full realization dawning.

''That's what a grandmother explained to me as I was bringing things in. The well-dressed local virgin, and that's any not-married girl, wears flowers and her tattoos.''

''Did Grampa Ray know about this?''

''I doubt it, but then he didn't say he'd dance tonight with the other princess.''

''Flowers, tattoos, this is going to be worse than that getup you got me in for Tom's rescue,'' Kris said, plopping into a wicker chair that complained at the usage.

''Maybe. Maybe not, baby ducks.''

''Where am I going to get tattoos in the next two hours? Tattoos that the Navy won't use to throw me out on my ass when I get back,'' Kris added. A sedate anchor might pass muster. But tattoos like Aholo had curling around her arms, chest, and back … there was no way the Navy would stand for those.

Abby tossed Kris her armored body stocking and pulled a bottle of spray paint and some rolled-up somethings from a trunk. ''Primitive was in back on Earth a few years ago, but there's primitive and then there's primitive. So my employer needed different tattoos every night of the week. I got quite a collection of possible body art put together before it went out of style and she got killed.

''So, baby ducks, if you want something like that other nice princess was wearing, you came to the right place,'' Abby said, unrolling several lengths of stencils.

''So it's flowers and body paint tonight.''

''With me having paint-by-numbers fun.'' Abby grinned.

Kris sighed as she stripped out of her whites and shimmied into the armored body stocking. ''When in Rome.''

''You'll find it's a lot easier to fit in than you think.''

A thought crossed Kris's mind. ''What'll Jack wear?''

''Don't know. We'll have to wait and see.''

Abby applied paint liberally, covering Kris with twining flowers from her neck to her toes without a patch of skin peeking out. Between curling hairpieces and leis, Kris felt almost fully dressed above her navel. She had no trouble hiding Nelly and her automatic. ''You sure you need that?'' Abby asked.

Kris squelched that question. ''It may look like paradise, but until I spot the snake, I'm going fully prepared.''

Abby shrugged and set about arranging the second lei so that it would stay in place. Kris wondered how the other girls kept them secure and put that question off for Aholo.

Kris wasn't sure how Jack did it, but he was just leaving his room when Kris answered the princess's knock at her door. Kris about went cross-eyed trying to take them both in at once.

Aholo's sarong had covered a beautiful pastel tapestry of tattoos that merged flowers and ocean, fish and birds into a breathtaking tableau that was almost as lovely as her. Her long raven hair cascaded down her back in one straight fall. Her flowers danced to a stop as she waited at the door. Kris's question as to how she kept them in place was answered as she adjusted them back into place. Kris swallowed hard.

And looked at Jack. His tattoos were the more traditional black and skin. More skin at wrists and ankles growing darker as they approached the navel. A strategically placed gourd did for him what a similarly placed lei did for Kris. Kris had no idea where he was hiding his automatic.

''We must hurry, or we'll be late for the crowning.'' So Kris and Jack hurried. Penny and Tom joined them. As promised, Penny was in dress whites, and so was Tom. Kris reminded herself that they were the ones out of uniform here. It almost worked.

''Where'd you get the tattoos?'' Kris whispered to Jack.

''Paint job,'' Jack whispered back. ''Afa suggested the place. Said I couldn't accompany you into the Long House unless I did something about all this pale skin.''

''I like the gourd.''

''Thought you might. I like the flowers.''

Their arrival at the Long House cut off Kris's answer. It was made of whole logs elaborately carved in baffling figures and patterns. As Kris followed Aholo forward to where a fire pit burned low, sending sweet-smelling smoke upward through a hole in the palm-fronds roof, Jack was politely, but firmly, edged over to the side of the door with several other young men. The people around the walls of the long house, singing to a softly beaten drum, were equally men and women but uniformly old. Two old women in short grass skirts stepped forward.

Kris had been coached in the questions. Though they came in an almost dead language, she knew how to answer. ''Will you dance up the full moon?'' ''Will you light the way for the sailor to find his way home to his island?'' ''Will you call the fish up from the depths?'' At each pause, Kris answered ''Hã'' with Aholo. At the third yes, the women placed a flowered crown of orchids on each of their heads, kissed them, gave them a pat, and said, ''Now, go dance and have fun,'' in English.

''Yes, Auntie Kalama,'' Aholo said with an answering hug of her own, then she grabbed Kris's elbow and, business over, skipped from the Long House.

Kris skipped along, blinking at what she thought she saw up in the rafters of the house. ''Are those heads?''

''Yes, shrunken heads of the queens and their consorts. Great-grandmother's head will be there someday. And mine. They watch over the affairs of the People.''

''Tradition,'' Jack said, falling in step with Kris. And Kris decided maybe the Longknifes weren't the only strange ones in human space.

But there wasn't a lot of time to think, because Aholo led them into a wide circle of thousands of people, maybe everyone on the island. There were several fires casting light, and the smells of dinner cooking. The sun was setting behind them, painting the tropical sky crimson, silver, and gold. Before them lay the rumbling lagoon and the growing dark of the ocean.

The drums began to pound a rapid beat. The steps were fast, not all that different from ones Kris has learned for a middle school sock hop, leaving her to wonder who had stolen from whom. The arm and hand motions were much more complicated, and Kris let Aholo take a few extra steps toward the ink-jet sea and then did her best to stay only a quarter heartbeat behind her.

It must have worked. No one interrupted the dance to name her imposter… and a huge full moon began to inch its way out of the ocean, setting the waves to shimmering with its light.

With the intense look on Aholo's face as her guide, Kris danced as if the moon did look to her for instructions. She danced as if the fish and navigators this month would depend upon her for the light to find their way home. A gal who'd navigated jump points found herself so taken by the drumming and the night that when the music pounded to a halt, and she and Aholo turned to present the moon to the people, Kris felt rather proud of what she'd danced birth to.

''Wasn't that fun?'' Aholo said, out of breath, but her hands held out wide at her side, as if presenting the moon … and viewed from a certain perspective, she was.

Kris, her hands in mirror reflection, got a ''Hã'' past out-of-breath lungs. ''I hope we don't have to lead the next one.''

''Oh no. The little ones are next,'' and with that, a small tidal wave of people under four feet tall flooded the sand around them and began their own offering to a slower drum. They sang in high-pitched voices something that might have been a thank-you for the moon coming out. But then, they were often unsure of the words and the key, but never unsure of their enthusiasm. Anyway, they did dimples very well and gave Kris a chance to catch her breath, locate a drink that wasn't fermented, and follow Aholo around a circle of proud parents who were nevertheless happy to congratulate Kris on her own dance.

''It's good luck to have two princesses Dance up the Moon. It's been too long we've had just one Dancer on the island,'' one grandmother type muttered as they passed.

Aholo winced, and Kris made a mental note to look into some family trees, but not in a fashion that hurt her hostess.

The children finished their dance and galloped to be first in line for food. Now dancers Kris's age took their place. The women in one line, the men facing them in another, and Kris saw what twenty years of practice could do.

It also clarified any questions Kris had about the dress code. There wasn't one. The large size of Jack's gourd and amount of her flowers made them overdressed. Several of the women and men had tattoos over all of their bodies … well, almost all… and nothing to interrupt the view. One particularly wild dancer had crossed clubs on his chest dripping blood. ''Even his face is covered with tattoos,'' Kris said.

''Yes.'' Aholo nodded. ''Those are warrior tats.''

''Do you have warriors?'' They had shrunken heads in their Long House. What other traditions had they dredged up?

''Kailahi's the center on our football team. Tries to scare the other team something horrible with a before-game show.''

''Does it work?'' Jack asked.

''They're in last place. Couple of the fans are threatening to redo his tats with hearts and flowers.''

''That… could be painful.''

''Well, the tats are biodegradable,'' Aholo said. ''Mine are starting to fade. When I choose a consort, have a kid, take on the queenship from Grandmama, I'll need a whole new face to the world. I can't be pretty flowers and fish all my life.''

Kris nodded; not a bad way to tell the world where you were coming from when you hit the ground running.

As the dance went on, Aholo circulated. Kris found herself being asked many of the same questions she encountered on other planets. ''Does King Ray intend to tax us to support his sending folks out exploring for more islands in the stars?'' ''Won't we be better off just fishing in our own lagoon rather than getting all involved in your big ocean?'' The questions were phrased different on Hikila, but the fears were the same.

Kris tried to reformat her usual answers into something comfortable for the locals. ''Those who hunger to see new islands will have to build their own canoes, and those who will profit from new lands should be the ones to pay for their paddles,'' got a wide smile both from Aholo and the small group Kris first tried it on. A simple ''No single planet beat the Iteeche,'' spoken to a group including some old enough to remember those wars seemed the perfect answer to those who wanted to hide on their own little islands. Then again, people who built wooden canoes and fished for a living weren't going to fund all that many starships.

But the electric cart, the hardened sand? There was technology underpinning this paradise. Something didn't add up.

At the edge of the beach, in a small clump, stood several dozen men and women dressed formally for a cocktail party.

Kris very suddenly felt very naked.

''You trade your uniform for this, and I might come around more often,'' came in an all-too-familiar voice. Kris searched among the well-dressed for the source and found the all-too-well-sculptured features of Henry Smythe-Peterwald XIII… or Hank to her. With an effort, she suppressed the urge to cross her arms over her breasts and cup a hand at her crotch. Aholo kept her hands at her sides; Kris did, too. These folks were the foreigners; Kris wore a crown given her by the locals.

''What brings you here, Hank?'' she said as those around him opened up and he stepped forward.

''We're opening up several new sales and distribution centers on the mainland. I think the Islanders call it the Big Island. Our local woman thought I ought to see how the other ten percent lives, the ones that soak up all the taxes, so I flew out here for the party. Didn't expect to see you here. Certainly not so much of you,'' he said, doing a slow scan from her toes to her upper set of flowers.

''Some of us adjust to the local culture,'' Kris said, fluffing her hair.

''Some of us adjust to the dominant culture,'' Hank shot back.

''The Islands are the navel of Hikila,'' Aholo snapped.

''Four in five live on the mainland. Four in five pay taxes to support your fantasy island existence. Don't you think it's time you change that? What's the matter, Longknife? I thought you'd be all up in arms about taxation without representation, or doesn't that apply when your old war buddies get the taxes?''

''I'm sorry, Your Highness.'' A tall, thin woman with silver hair and a wraparound dress stepped forward. ''I'm afraid my associate has had a bit too much of your island drink and a tad too much talk with some of our mainland hotheads. I apologize for his behavior,'' she said and pulled Hank back into the crowd of mainland partygoers. Several men and women promptly took him in hand and headed him for a table of hors d'oeuvres and wines.

Aholo turned away. ''You know the young man?''

''Hank Peterwald. I once thought he might make a nice boyfriend. I asked him one too many questions the last time I saved his life. Bad form on my part.''

''I've never saved anyone's life. I will try to remember not to ask them any questions if I do.''

''Are there problems with the Big Islanders?'' Penny and Nelly had briefed Kris on the general situation here. They'd passed over the population imbalance without comment. Taxation had not come up. What had they missed?

Aholo headed for one of the roasted pigs and dinner. ''It should have been resolved years ago, but it didn't seem to be a problem. The People came to Hikila almost two hundred years ago, trying to rebuild a way of life that had vanished almost that many years ago on Earth when the Pacific Islands sank. We didn't have any use for the Big Island, so when refugees from blasted planets in the Iteeche Wars needed a place for a while, we gladly loaned them that land. Same for when your Grampa Ray pushed through the Treaty of Wardhaven and pulled back some of the more scattered colonies to slow humanity's spread.''

Several of those last planets had been started with Peterwald money. Losing those colonies had cost them and created more bad blood between the Longknifes and Peterwalds. Kris wondered how many of the refugees on the Big Island still thought of themselves as Peterwald men. Oops.

They each drew a wooden platter and pronged fork from stacks. A round, black-toothed cook in roast pig tattoos sliced them off a big slab of pork. Others piled Kris's plate with roasted banana, several kinds of baked taro, and other items that defied recognition. Aholo led Kris to a quiet palm tree that the wind had blown almost level to the sand before it recovered and grew up. Jack and Afa followed.

''We have lost one home. We will not have that happen again, so when we took in the refugees, all we asked was that they agree that to gain a right to vote, they'd have to take up the Island ways,'' Aholo said, taking a bite. ''Some did. Came here. Married. Look around our fire tonight, and you'll see people as blond as you. Redheads, too. If you want a vote, just stop being a foreigner.''

''Most didn't,'' Afa put in. ''Some went back to the stars or other colonies. Most just settled on the Big Island and raised their kids in their own ways and watched their grandkids and great grandkids grow up the way they wanted them to.''

''With no vote,'' Kris said after she swallowed a delicious bit of pork.

''How many people bother to vote on your planet?'' Afa asked.

''About half.'' Jack nodded as he chewed.

''But taxes?'' Kris asked, trying some of the banana.

''It's a standard income tax package, passed about the time of the Iteeche Wars. Probably the same as the one on your planet,'' Aholo said.

''That depends on income,'' Kris said slowly.

''I fish to feed my family,'' Afa said. ''We will not have net-dragging trawlers rape our ocean to feed canneries. Our Marine Fisheries Conservation Plan lets them do what they want within their one hundred and fifty-kilometer coastal zone but not in my deep ocean.''

The words sounded well-worn, frequently spoken. ''So the Big Island's cash economy pays taxes, and the Islands' subsistence economy can't really be taxed,'' Kris said.

''We bled plenty during the wars,'' Aholo said. ''No one questioned our sacrifice. After the wars, there wasn't all that much left over to tax. I guess it was about forty years ago that the Big Islanders noticed they were paying most of our off-planet contributions to the Society.''

''What about extra ships to patrol the Rim?'' Kris asked.

''We don't have any colonies, at least not any the Council of Elders officially name. I guess some of the banks on the Big Island may have bought into some. I think they may have donated a ship to Wardhaven or Pitts Hope's Navy once in a while, but that was local subscription, not something that came before the Council of Elders out here.''

''Local subscription?'' Jack said before filling his mouth.

''It's not like we're stupid. We may run around in tats, but that doesn't make us dumb,'' Afa snapped. ''Each of the towns on the Big Island has its own elected mayor and city council. Once in a while they have a council of councils, if they want to talk about something that's really big to them. And they do send petitioners to stand before our own Council of Elders and state their case on global issues. Grandmama listens to all sides and then hands down a boon that usually makes everyone happy.''

''Or has. Or usually does,'' Aholo said.

They ate in silence for a while. The moon was well up. The dancing continued. Different drummers. Different cadences. Different steps.

''You need to change, don't you?'' Kris said.

''Mama knew that. Great-grandmama, too. I think if Mama had lived, Grandmama and she would have worked this out years ago. But then Mama's and Papa's canoe was swamped ten years ago, and the stroke took Great-grandmama. We've kind of been treading water, waiting until I could get older. I don't think Grandmama can float much longer. The old woman was right. We do need two Dancers to Dance up the Moon.''

''Can't your grandmother help?''

''Grandmama never got along with Great-grandmama. Her second husband was from the Big Island, and she moved there and let her skin go pale. Her third husband was a trader among the stars, and she left Hikila, and we don't know where she is and don't care. No.'' The young girl squared her shoulders. ''This is the challenge that I will have to decide when I come to sit on the judgment stone, if Grandmama does not find a way to decide it before she goes to join all the other queens and consorts.''

So, Grampa, there are a few things you didn't mention when you asked me to make this little trip, Kris thought. Why wasn't she surprised? Aholo and Afa left for a dance that seemed to involve about half of the islanders, but she didn't ask Kris to join her, and once it got going … with everyone seeming to do something different as they went along … Kris was glad to just watch.

''So, now that you've met the snake,'' Jack said, ''You willing to let me have your gun?''

''Abby talks too much.'' Kris gave Jack a sly, sideways look. ''Where's your gun?''

''That's no question for a young lady to ask. And you know I don't like my primary to go armed.''

''I thought you were on terminal leave.''

''Terminal for me. Not you.''

''Kris, do you know that this whole area is covered by a security system?'' Nelly asked.

''No.'' Beside Kris, Jack was eyeing her leis seriously.

''Very high-tech. There's a secured vault under the Long House. I calculate the odds are 95 percent that the video camera there is showing a loop of the last hour. The security service has not taken note of it yet.''

Kris looked down at her lovely yellow, pink, and turquoise paint scheme. ''Not exactly the camouflage for going covert.''

''Good.'' Jack stood. ''I'll handle this.''

''I can darken your colors, Kris,'' Nelly said, and suddenly Kris was as dark as the night.

''How'd you do that?'' Kris and Jack both said as Kris's paint went back to flowers.

''The paint is in contact with my lead-ins and controllable. If we hadn't been so rushed, I had meant to tell Abby I could touch up some of her over-paints, but there was little time, and I was not sure she'd appreciate the offer.''

''She is learning tact,'' Jack said as the two of them headed back to the Long House, keeping available bushes between them and the dancers. Kris was busy checking their path and didn't notice when Jack's automatic appeared in his hand.

''Where was it?''

''I'm not telling. Where's yours?''

Kris pulled it out from the hair at the back of her neck.

''Figured it. You're going to have to ditch the flowers.''

''At the Long House. Nelly, make me black again.'' In a moment, Kris was in black… except her face.

''Here, put this on,'' Jack said, producing a small vial.

Kris smeared her face black. She'd worry about later, later. I CAN CHANGE THAT, and in a moment, Kris's face was flowers, then black again.

''Thanks Nelly. Now, is there a way down?'' Jack said.

''One on this side, one on the other. Go past this azalea bush.'' Jack did. There were steps leading down to a concrete basement wall with a thick steel door. Clearly, not all of the Big Island tax money had gone off world, something Aholo had skipped over.

''Can you open the door?'' Kris asked.

''Don't need to,'' Jack said. ''It's already jimmied. Now, you stay back, damnit.''

''Yeah, right.'' Kris muttered, and slipped out of her flowers, leaving them beside the steps.

The door opened on well-oiled hinges; the room beyond was dimly lit. Row upon row of tables were covered with what Kris could only describe as the makings for the weirdest rummage sale she'd ever seen at any political fundraiser. Wooden masks, statues with very prominent sexual features … male and female, stone and wicker doodads were heaped on the tables and lay beside them. And this was under lock and security camera!

To each their own idea of junk.

Jack, with her behind him, moved silently to crouch beside one table and a statue with a particularly long, ah, tongue.

SOMEONE IS WORKING AT THE RIGHT END OF THE BUILDING, TWO ROWS OVER Nelly informed Kris. Kris touched Jack's shoulder and waved him in that direction. So there. You do need me and Nelly.

Several quiet steps later, they crouched in the aisle between tables and studied one intent person in black, rigging plastic explosives to a moss-covered, volcanic rock about the size of a footstool.

Jack crossed the aisle, checked the other side of the room, then took aim and said, ''Put your hands up and step away from the rock.'' Kris drew a bead, too.

The dark figure froze, but otherwise took its time obeying Jack's orders. As it stood, Kris had the impression it might be a woman, but in the dim light, black on gray was hard to make out. Hands up, it opened its mouth …

And the room went pitch-black.

Jack fired. Kris fired. In the small flash from their guns, all they saw was vacant air where they were aiming.

NELLY?

IT IS RUNNING. TO THE LEFT.

CAN YOU TURN ON THE LIGHTS?

JUST A MOMENT.

The lights came on as a door opened and slammed to the left of them. ''I did say there were two doors,'' Nelly said.

''And whoever that was just used the second one,'' Jack's voice held acid as he eyed the rock and the wires connecting the blocks of plastic. Carefully, he stepped closer to it.

''Nelly, are you familiar with this kind of a bomb setup?'' Kris said to explain her continued presence.

Jack reached the rock and immediately pulled one dangling bare wire. ''That was very likely the antenna,'' Nelly said.

''Thank you,'' Jack answered dryly.

''Put your hands up,'' came with belated authority from the right-hand side of the room, the door they'd entered by.

''Could we at least disarm the bomb?'' Kris said, putting her automatic down carefully beside Jack's.

''Bomb?'' said one plaintive voice.

''No, you might set it off,'' ordered the more authoritative one.

''Standing right beside it,'' Kris said, raising her hands.

''Maybe we ought to let them, you know, disarm it, Kalikau.''

''No, they could be on a suicide mission, Malu.''

''Nelly,'' Jack said, ''I don't think the arming circuit is complete. What's your call?''

''That was the antenna, and the circuit was not completed. It is not a danger. Yet,'' the computer agreed.

''Who's talking?'' the authority demanded.

''My computer. Now, will you take us to Princess Aholo so we can get this straightened out? But you better leave someone guarding that rock, or whoever was trying to make a bomb might come back and finish it. And why blow up a little rock, anyway?''

''You don't know?'' The timid one said.

''Follow me. Malu, you stay and guard the Coronation Stone.''

''Coronation Stone?'' Kris said.

''Why me?'' Malu said.

''You might want to rip off that biggest block of explosives,'' Nelly said. ''That would really break the circuit. We should take that with us,'' she finished helpfully.

''Don't,'' said the officious one, but Malu already had. He handed it to Jack.

''And if you'd been wrong?'' Jack said to Kris's chest.

''The odds on that were minimal. Much lower than those of whoever that was returning.''

Kris paused as they reached the stairs. ''Can I put my flowers back on? You know, the crown your elders gave me and the leis from Princess Aholo.

''Flowers?'' came from Kalikau somewhat less officiously.

''Be careful,'' Jack said as Kris started shimmying into leis. ''She's wanted for destroying private property on Turrantic, misuse of government property on Wardhaven. She could be adding destruction of national treasures on Hikila to her long criminal dossier.''

''Only three planets,'' Kris muttered, adjusting her lower leis. ''Five hundred and ninety-seven still think I'm innocent.''

''But she's still young,'' Jack pointed out.

Kris jammed on the crown, threw on the top lei, and quick-marched for the dance while the guard followed with a much less sure of himself look on his tattooed face.

Kris spotted Aholo back at their tree, catching her breath. Afa was bringing up four drinks as Kris, Jack, and the guard marched up. Both locals gave Kris the evil eye until she remembered she was still in ninja rig. NELLY, NEW CAMOUFLAGE SCHEME.

Both grandkids of Queen Ha'iku'lani did a double take. Kris glanced down to discover that Nelly had put Kris in some kind of paint job that might fit a really threatening warrior type.

NELLY, BACK INTO ABBY'S PAINT SCHEME. COMPLETE WITH OVER PAINTS.

YES, MA'AM.

Kris turned once again into a flower-bedecked cuddly virgin.

''How did you do that?'' Afa asked.

''Maybe I'll show you tomorrow,'' Kris said. ''Somebody just wrapped your Coronation Stone in explosives. If it had gone off, there wouldn't be much left of the stone or the Long House. This flatfoot interrupted us interrupting whoever, and defusing the bomb. What say we finish the disarming job?''

''Yes,'' took all of two seconds. Jack led off at a trot, with the two locals behind him and the security man running along explaining why he did what he did and failed to catch who got away. Aholo ignored him. Afa nodded and made listening sounds, giving Kris the impression the police reported to him.

Back at the Long House, Malu was marching around the rock, trying to look every which way at once and keep as far from the rock as he could without getting far from it. All impossible, but the tall beanpole of a man was definitely trying.

A moment passed quickly as they examined the lock, the camera, and the bomb. The defenses were medium-level tech, but then the bomb was rather low level compared to galactic standards. ''Homegrown,'' Jack concluded.

Kris looked around at the treasure room, glanced up at the Long House above. ''What would be the impact of losing all this just before your grandmama's death? Your coronation?''

''It would shake our way of life to its roots. That was the stone our very first queen was sitting on when we elected her. Every queen has been crowned on it. And to lose the heads of all my ancestors…'' The young woman shook her head. ''Afa, you'll have to tell the men. We'll need better protection.''

''That won't come as a surprise to any of them.''

''Yes, but Grandmama didn't want to spend the money. Now, I guess she'll have to. Spend it, or solve the basic problem so no one wants to destroy our way of life.''

''That's a tough order,'' Kris said.

''But one we'll have to look full in the eyes with tomorrow's sunrise.''

Jack finished disarming the bomb and turned the explosives over to the guards for disposal. Kris returned to the dance with Aholo and Afa, but to circulate and talk. Or rather, to watch them talk. She kept quiet. She might be wearing their flowers, but this was a problem they, not she, would have to solve.

Santiago, this is one Longknife that remembers she didn't come here to start a war. Or even fight one if one gets started.