Furious

60

“Really,” Kris said, “what are you doing here? I only found out about this ship, what, three hours ago.”

The skipper shrugged. “A whisper in certain dives frequented by Sailors. A wink here, a nod there, and word gets around. Cookie’s below, working on dinner. Have you eaten?”

“Not since lunch,” Kris said, and her stomach reinforced the comment with a rumble. “But who’s paying for all this? I’m not exactly broke, but I don’t have access to the funds I used to.”

“I have my retirement pay to tide me over, and I’m negotiating with someone we all know and hate, so your funding problem may not be as tight as you think.”

“Not Crossenshield,” Kris said, whispering the name of the chief of Wardhaven Security, maybe all U.S. security, as more of a curse than a name.

“The same,” Captain Drago said.

“What part of our soul does he want this time?” Jack asked.

“He hasn’t given back the part of my soul he lied about last time,” Kris growled.

“But he does have money, and we need funds to outfit this ship and hire a crew,” Drago said with a businessman’s honesty.

They stepped aside as a large something-or-other was guided past them on a large electric platform. Two men walked to either side to make sure nothing got hammered. A third man, with a large wrist unit, walked first. The ship parted before him like the Red Sea did for Moses, and a ramp down to the next deck opened as he tapped a few keys.

“One thing you have to remember about this Wasp—yesterday’s passageway may be today’s bulkhead,” Captain Drago said dryly.

“So sorry about that,” Katsu said, hurriedly. “All the work was planned out carefully so we could avoid things like that. It’s just that the Wasp is the prototype, and we are discovering that our planning could have been better. We will do better next time. The Kagero is taking less time than the Wasp. We expect to turn out the next four frigates in four months, from starting the seed to commissioning.”

“Four months to hatch a fully operational warship with half a battleship’s broadside!” Kris said.

“Four months, but the frigates do not have a broadside,” Katsu said. “All four of the guns are in the bows. The specs say you can deflect their beams by fifteen degrees up, down, or sideways. We are thinking of adding a fifth 18-incher pointed aft, but getting that much straight space through engineering and the rocket engines is a problem we haven’t solved.”

Kris shook her head. “Battleship lasers on a ship this size! The ability to change it from a comfortable cruise ship to a man-of-war with the flip of a switch, and another flip of a switch and you have two ships, one to take your civilians out of harm’s way and the other ready to fight tooth and nail. Please, Katsu-san, you have nothing to apologize for.”

“There are no switches on the Wasp,” Katsu corrected Kris. “You select what you want from a menu and tap the screen.”

“Never debate fine points of technology with an engineer,” Penny said with a laugh.

They followed Captain Drago up two flights of stairs. Stairs: nice, wide, and comfortable. No doubt in a more combative mode, they would be steeper and more naval ladders. The bridge Captain Drago proudly presented to them was more spacious than the old Wasp’s. There were several extra stations; Kris wondered if they’d be there in combat or were just for helping with the fitting out. Just now, they were being operated by shipyard personnel and seemed devoted to system tests.

“Guns is your station, Your Highness,” Drago said, pointing at a station where Kris’s old weapons position had been. “Defense is in the same place, Lieutenant Pasley. It’s a bit more complicated than the last one, but Katsu-san tells me it’s very intuitive. Don’t let him get away without giving you a full demonstration.”

“I would not think of doing so,” Katsu insisted.

“My cabin is just off the bridge,” Drago said, pointing at one door in the rear of the bridge. “Your Tactical Center is right next door. You should be able to hear me bellow for you. By the way, there is a back door into your center. Please don’t go traipsing around my bridge every time one of your team goes out for coffee.”

“We will respect the sanctity of your Holy of Holies,” Kris assured the skipper.

“Good, then let’s head down for chow.”

Captain Drago led them off the bridge through Kris’s Tactical Center. At present, except where doors intervened, huge screens covered the walls, showing Japanese landscapes or maybe scenes from Musashi. Kris couldn’t tell. What she did notice was that they stretched from deck to overhead. No one had skimped on the ship’s fittings.

The wardroom seemed identical to the old Wasp, only more spacious. Katsu admitted that they had modified the original facade of many of the ship’s areas to match pictures brought by the old crew from their last ship.

Smart MetalTM truly was a miracle material.

Until it turned on you, as Kris had found out many times in the past.

While they went through the steam tables and filled their plates, Kris recited a litany of times Smart MetalTM had failed to perform as advertised, or even tried to kill her.

Katsu listened silently through the list.

Only when they were seated at their table did he venture a reply. “I read of your experiences on the Typhoon and the Firebolt. I did not know about the time a boat of the metal turned to liquid, but I should have realized that the dumb metal came from somewhere.”

He took out his chopsticks and stared at them for a moment before picking up a rice ball wrapped in raw fish. “I have tested all the changes I have made to your Grandfather Alex’s Smart Metal on a ship of our own construction, the Kashi, Strong Oak, in your language. It has bent, but it has not broken. We ran it at five gees for six hours, three out and three back. I believe in what I have done. If you wish, I will ride in your Wasp until you are totally satisfied with my work.”

He put the rice ball in his mouth, chewed it for a second, then grinned. “And maybe while I am showing you the ropes of my ship, you can show me the ropes of your computer. I feel like Fumio-san and I are crawling while everyone around me is racing off at the speed of light.”

Kris took a slice out of her broiled chicken and nodded. “We may both take each other up on that.”

Since the ship wasn’t yet in commission, Gunny had followed along, even into the wardroom. As he settled down, Nelly interrupted the supper discussion.

“Kris, there is a man at the quarterdeck with two footlockers and a request to see you.”

“Do you know him, Nelly?”

“He is not identifying himself, but he says he very much wants to meet you.”

“Is he carrying a weapon?” Jack demanded.

“No, but when we scanned his footlockers, they seemed filled with electronic gadgetry. None of which I recognized.”

“Maybe I better check on this,” Gunny said, and left his supper to grow cold as he jogged out.

Kris had time for just five more bites of her supper before Gunny escorted two men into the wardroom. One was a short older fellow, sporting a beer belly that on a woman would mean a birth in a couple of months. Maybe weeks.

The other fellow was tall, with jet-black hair and olive skin. His bearing was quite aristocratic.

The short fellow stepped forward first. “Your Highness, I’m Chief Beni.”

Kris dropped her fork.

“Pardon me, I’m Senior Master Chief Beni, retired. My boy sailed with you until recently. I’d like to sail with you now. Once upon a time, I could claim to have taught my son everything he knew. Well, that was no longer true I hear, but, ma’am, this old seadog ain’t too long in the tooth to learn some new tricks.”

Kris stared at the man. There, underneath the wrinkles and sags, was the spitting image of the young chief. “I’m sorry for your loss,” Kris said.

“Me and the missus really miss him, but, ma’am, I ain’t here to talk about what can’t be. He died doing a Sailor’s job. I want a chance to take a bite out of them that did it to him.”

“He lived through the fight,” Kris said, feeling guilt anew at losing Longboat 3 with all hands.

“Yes, ma’am. I know he died getting fuel so the rest of you could make it home. Still, you wouldn’t have been in that fix if them bastards hadn’t chased you until you were damn near dry. Please, Your Highness, give me a chance. I served in a long peace. There’s a fight coming. Let me have a chance to show what I can do.”

He added, “I brung along a lot of my gadgets. They’re good for a lot more than that store-bought crap.”

“As your son so often proved,” Kris said. “Chief Beni, you’re welcome to our company. I have no idea what the pay is, but what we have, we’ll give you a share.”

“Don’t need no pay, ma’am. I got my retirement. But that chow does smell good. Mind if I take a plate?”

“Help yourself, Chief.”

The old chief made a beeline for the steam tables. Clearly, the son had come by his predilections honestly.

The second man stepped forward. With a nod that might have served as a slight bow, he said, “I am Joao Labao, on leave from the University of Brazília, at your service. You have a reputation of providing scientists with many opportunities to see the galaxy, discover what they never dreamed of, and, no small matter this, also write papers that bring wide acclaim, renown, and no small amount of awards. Like the old chief, I am no longer at my prime in creating great scientific insights, but I have some skill at getting, what do you call them, boffins, to work together rather than descend into bickering.”

“You willing to work for food?” Kris asked.

“As I said, I am on a fully paid sabbatical.”

“Captain Drago, you seem to know a whole lot more about the state of our personnel. Are we going to have a science team this trip out?”

“Several of your boffins who returned with the Wasp have already reported. God help us, that includes Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum.”

“They will be a challenge I look forward to,” Professor Labao said with a most aquiline smile.

“Amanda Kutter is also here,” the skipper added. “She wants to have first crack at studying the bird people’s economy.”

“If she helped save my neck, she’s earned it,” Kris said, then eyed the scientific administrator. “Well, it seems we have needs of your services, Professor. Why don’t you get a plate, and we will break bread together and share salt. It may be all the pay I have for you at the moment.”

Kris leaned back in her chair. “I can offer no pay. I have nothing at hand but a chance to risk your neck on the other side of the galaxy. Haven’t any of these people heard about how dangerous it is to get too close to a damn Longknife?”

“Ah,” the skipper said, “there are damn Longknifes, and then there is Kris Longknife.”

“I’ve never noticed a difference,” Kris grumbled.

“We have,” Jack said, and gave Kris’s hand a discreet squeeze.

Kris shook her head, she’d think about that later. Now she turned to Captain Drago. “Since it’s clear I now have a ship, or at least a hole in space I need to throw money into, I guess you better talk to Admiral Crossenshield. Mind you, he can have no more than a quarter of my soul. An ounce more, and we walk, you hear?”

“One of his minions is lurking around a dive on High Kyoto. I think I can seal the deal in my blood tonight. No need for you to prick your little finger.”

“Last time I danced to his tune, I came near to getting my head chopped off.”

“Almost doesn’t count, insisted my sainted grandfather, veteran of the Iteeche War under your great-grandfather.”

“Now I know you’re just making things up,” Jack said through a chuckle. “There can’t be a saintly anything in your family tree.”

“I am cut to the quick,” the skipper said, and dismissed himself.

“Are things always like this around the princess?” Katsu asked.

“Nope,” Abby said. “You’re catching her on one of her better days.”

Katsu studied a piece of fish tempura and seemed to be rethinking his bargain of the afternoon. But by the time he put it in his mouth, he looked less inclined to run for the dock.

At breakfast the next morning, Captain Drago reported that the deal had been done. The ship now had a sufficient line of credit to draw on.

“My contact asked me to remind you that the line of credit is the Wasp’s, not yours. It will be audited, and it will be my neck on the block if the bean counters don’t agree with the charges.”

“Since I am of late only too familiar with having my neck too close to the chopping block, I will try to take it easy on yours,” Kris assured him.

Kris had hardly gotten a bite of her bran muffin when Nelly interrupted her. “Kris, I have a message from your brother. It’s highest priority, and he sent it in the clear.”

Kris sat up straight. “What does Brother have to say?”

A holo of him appeared on the table before Kris. “You were right about Grampa Al. He and several other kings of industry and trade are collecting a fleet of fast merchant ships at star system M-688. Inspector Foile is brilliant; I couldn’t have done it without him. Father has ordered a squadron of heavy cruisers out to chase them down and is sending me for political clout. However, they’re scheduled to leave their collection point soon.”

The date he gave was way too soon.

“Kris, we think these ships can do up to two gees acceleration, and who knows how many revolutions, right or left. If we don’t catch them before they head out, we may never. I know I can’t get there before they take off. I hear a rumor that you have a new ship. A new model. Can you get to system M-688 before they jump out of it?”

Kris turned to Captain Drago. “Can we?”

The skipper tapped his commlink. “All hands to battle stations.”

Then he turned to Kris and smiled. “Let’s get to my bridge, where these things can be done properly.”