Mutineer

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Kris paused at the top of the stairs. It was early morning; the sun shone through the crystal chandelier in the foyer of Nuu House sending tiny rainbows dancing on the spiral of black and white tiles below. On early mornings like this, a much younger Kris and Eddy had tried to catch the rainbows, hoping for the promised pot of gold. Was she any closer now to finding the end of her rainbow? A deep sigh drew in the smell of memories and morning, breakfast and wood…and the inevitable hint of electronics. Such was a grown woman's world.

The Magnificent had docked late last night; Kris and Tom were two of the few who left her. As expected, Harvey was waiting for Kris at the elevator exit. Surprisingly, two messages had quickly come in to Nelly.

''So you made it back alive.—Al,'' was Grandfather's cryptic response, which also included Kris among the few people allowed to call him Al. The note from Mother had simply said, ''We are expecting you for supper tomorrow.'' So, at least the family was not distancing itself from their mutineer.

As on a long ago morning, Grampa Trouble was downstairs. Today, Kris stood stiff in starched undress whites; Grampa Trouble wore civilian clothes. He stood with his back to Kris, talking with Grampa Ray. His voice low, his hands flew wildly as he remonstrated with the former president. Ray shook his head. He'd been shaking it since Kris first spotted him; he kept right on shaking it. Then he noticed her.

His eyes took on a sparkle, and his mouth morphed from frown to smile in the second he took to look up. Trouble paused his argument in mid-hand wave, turned to see what Ray was beaming at, and did his own version of proud great-grandfather. ''Have we told you lately what a fine young woman you've turned out to be, Ensign?'' Trouble smiled proudly.

Kris started down the stairs, feeling the scratch of the starched uniform on the back of her legs. ''What got you two up so early?'' she asked in a soft voice that filled the vast space.

''Meetings!'' Ray spat. ''You?''

''Another session with my inquisitor. He asks me the same questions. I give him the same answers. He likes oh eight hundred meetings.''

''I survived that inquisition a few times,'' Ray assured her. ''You will, too.''

Kris nodded; she'd faced rifle fire and heavy lasers. Why worry about a little talk with an intelligence weenie? Or supper with Mother and Father, for that matter. Somehow tonight didn't hold nearly the terror it once had.

''What are you two doing for lunch?''

They exchanged a look. ''I am not going to lunch with that bunch,'' Ray snorted.

''Before Kris shipped off last time,'' Trouble said, ''she wanted to ask us a few questions.''

''Questions?'' Ray raised an eyebrow.

''One of my skippers, not Thorpe, said that if I intended to be another one of those damn Longknifes that I better get a solid handle on just what damn Longknifes really did and how they survived doing it. How come an autopsy showed a bomb went off in someone's face, but the bomber walked away?''

''Oh,'' Ray said, glancing at Trouble, who only raised an eyebrow in reply. Ray shook his head ruefully. ''Should have known you'd be asking that one. Okay, Kris, tell you what, if you survive your little morning talk, and if I don't get lynched by the mob old Trouble here has matched me up with, we'll meet around ten-thirty for an early lunch.''

''Ten-thirty!'' Trouble protested. ''That bunch of longwinded yappers and yammerers will just be getting started.''

Ray gave Trouble a wide-mouthed, full-toothed grin. ''Who do you want to spend time with, them or her?''

Trouble snorted. ''Her.''

The three of them turned for the door. Outside, Harvey had brought Kris's car around, but a huge black limo was ahead of him. A marine in Savannah greens held the door open for the two senior officers. Grampa Ray boarded the land dreadnought as if it were carrying him to a funeral…his own.

Kris headed for her car. Harvey was behind the wheel; Jack rode shotgun. Neither made a move to open her door. With one of Grampa Trouble's trademark shrugs, Kris opened her own door and slid into the backseat. She waved a hand at the monster ahead of them. ''What's a gal got to do to get service like that?''

''Save the world a couple of dozen times,'' Jack grinned. ''Until then, exercise is good for you.''

Kris licked her finger, then drew three lines in the air. ''Three down. How many to go?''

''Too many,'' Harvey grumbled and put the car in gear. ''You know, an old grandfather like me could get used to a world that was nice and quiet. Maybe even boring. It's kind of pleasant for an old fart to have the kids come home every night.''

Kris frowned a question at Jack. ''His youngest grandson has a date with a recruiter for a swearing in this afternoon,'' Kris's Secret Service agent explained. ''After whatever it was at Paris system, Wardhaven is expanding the Army and Navy.''

Kris opened her mouth to say something to her old friend, then closed it. He'd cheered her when she joined up, but your adopted kid was one thing; the baby of your own flesh was another. She searched for words…and discarded I'm sorry, I'm glad for you, and I hope he'll be a great soldier. I hope he'll come home after two very boring years almost made it of out her mouth. ''I'm sure you raised him right,'' Kris finally said.

''Yeah. Maybe too damn right.'' The driver checked his board, then turned to face Kris straight on. ''Is all this messing around going to be worth it to us who just want to do our jobs and come home at night to enjoy our kids and grandkids?''

''I don't know what you heard about the Paris situation,'' Kris started slowly.

''Not much,'' Jack interrupted. ''The media feed was cut off rather suddenly,'' he said, leaving Kris to suspect her agent knew a bit more than her driver. Once upon a time, she thought Harvey knew everything. The times were changing, leaving Kris sadder for it.

''Yeah,'' Harvey said. ''We went a whole day without news. Longest news blackout ever. Then the cameras come back on, and the generals and admirals are smiling and spacers are guzzling beer. So why is your pa asking parliament to double the defense appropriation and my baby to give up a good job to be a spacer?''

Kris leaned back in her seat. She'd been so busy on the trip in, what with prisoners and debriefings that she'd had no time for news. She waved off the temptation to have Nelly give her a quick briefing. If the truth, the real truth, and what was actually happening were as confused as Harvey seemed to be, even Nelly would be hard put to separate the signal from the noise.

''I don't know,'' Kris finally said.

Harvey turned back to watching where the car was taking them. Jack gave Kris what might have been a nod of approval, but then again might have just been a bump in the road, and turned back to being a lookout.

When Kris got out in front of Main Navy, Jack joined her. ''You coming to my meeting?'' she asked.

''I understand your last cruise got a bit exciting.''

Kris smiled. ''People were pointing guns at me. You volunteering for ship duty?''

''Maybe you ought to avoid duty where I can't provide my services.''

That sounded like a line. ''And what kind of service are you providing?''

''I take your bullet,'' he said simply, eyeing the hallway ahead of them. ''Other grief you earn is your problem.''

''I'm sorry,'' Kris said and found she meant it. She'd been so concentrated on her own job, she'd forgotten the jobs others had. And after the reaming out Colonel Hancock had given her!

Jack opened the door signed OP-5.1. ''Ensign, you have your job. I understand you're getting rather good at it. I have my job. You concentrate on yours, and I'll take care of mine.''

Kris identified herself to a civilian receptionist who pointed her at a conference room. Its door was closed; a sign flashed In Use—Top Secret beside it. Jack raised an eyebrow as he settled into a chair and picked up a magazine.

Inside, Kris found the lieutenant who had been questioning her twice a day since she came aboard the Magnificent, as well as a new commander, forty-something, black hair just starting to gray. He wore neither name tag nor ribbons on his khakis. The lieutenant began with his usual questions. What was Kris's job on the Typhoon? What did she know of its voyage? What happened on the bridge that morning?

Kris gave her usual answers. That took the usual hour.

Then the commander leaned forward. ''Who helped you plan your mutiny, Ensign Longknife?''

''Huh,'' Kris bridled at this new line of questioning. ''No one.''

''How long had you been planning your mutiny?'' he shot back.

''I did not plan it.''

But the rapid-fire questions kept coming. After five minutes of who, what, when, where, and how questions all ending in that nasty word mutiny, Kris's temper snapped. ''Commander, Captain Thorpe's and Commodore Sampson's actions didn't leave me a lot of options. What was I supposed to do? Follow orders and shoot up the Earth fleet?''

''No, no, Kris,'' the lieutenant jumped in. ''Still, you must admit that the smooth way you took over the ship leaves people wondering if you hadn't planned something on your own and just got lucky when their illegal actions gave a fiction of legality to your previously planned course of action.''

''Horse shit,'' Kris spat. Then she spent the next hour explaining to the commander why armed marines chose to follow her lead rather than obey the orders of the ship's captain. That she'd been right didn't matter one bit.

Kris was drained by the time they let her go. Leaving Jack to follow in her steaming wake, Kris stomped for the nearest exit. Outside, she found a day too damn beautiful for how she felt. She spotted a small attempt at a garden. Someone had arranged three trees and a half-dozen bushes around a stone bench. She collapsed onto it.

''How'd it go?'' Jack asked, taking station behind her.

''Haven't hung me yet,'' Kris growled. She was mad; she wanted to hang a few folks herself, starting with a nameless commander. What did he expect her to do? Follow orders, slag the Earth fleet, and when the war was over, tell the newsies from the winning side, ''Well, I was just following orders''? No way!

Kris took a deep breath; it carried a faint hint of evergreens and turpentine, but the smell of rubber and concrete was not held at bay by the wilted greenery. ''Hell of an end to the rainbow,'' she muttered.

Jack kept up his quiet surveillance as Kris tried to organize herself for what was left of a miserable day. Several deep breaths brought in only the stink of warming concrete. She ought to do something. What was on the schedule? Right, a meeting with Grampas. Wouldn't that look great, they accuse me of mutiny, and I run off to tell my Grampas. Have to cancel that.

Why? They were wrong about her mutiny, and they'd be wrong about her and her Grampas. Damn it. Here I am just getting to know them, and I'll be damned if I'll let that commander stop me. Kris stood; she'd never find the end of any rainbow if she let people like the commander call her shots.

After two steps, she paused. She'd planned to include Tommy in her meeting with her Grampas, let him get a look at what ''those Longknifes'' were really like. No way was she going to change that. ''Nelly, call Tom.''

''How'd the meeting go?'' came a second later in Tom's voice.

''Not too bad,'' Kris said. ''Want to get together?''

''I'm not due for another beating by my inquisitor until 1400 hours.'' Tom laughed. ''Where you want to meet?''

''I'll have Nelly call you back in a second,'' Kris said and rang off. ''Nelly, get ahold of either Grampa Trouble or Ray.''

''How'd your meeting go?'' came back a second later in Trouble's voice.

''Nothing I couldn't survive. How's yours going?''

''I think we've done all the damage here we can,'' was followed by a laugh that from anyone else would sound evil. Grampa Trouble didn't have an evil bone in his body. Or did he?

''Where are you?'' Kris asked.

Grampa rattled off an address; Nelly brought up a map for Kris. ''You're in my old stamping ground around the university.''

''Yep, some folks thought it would be easier to dodge the newsies. Seems to have worked. Know any good place to eat?''

''There's the Scriptorum. Shouldn't be anything but students there. Nelly, flash a map to Grampa.''

''See you there as soon as we close this down, say in about fifteen minutes,'' was Trouble's closing remark.

That didn't go too badly. Kris smiled to herself. ''Nelly, tell Tom to meet me at the Scriptorum.'' Jack coughed. ''You're not warning him who he's meeting?''

''Why ruin his morning?'' Kris laughed, feeling a big chunk of the morning's misery sloughing off her.

Harvey didn't have any trouble finding a place to park.

Jack preceded Kris into the student dive. Even this early in the morning there were students here, dodging class, cramming for tests, just hanging. Jack stepped aside, giving Kris her first view of the quiet corner where she met Auntie Tru last. The woman sat there, smiling sunnily and holding down two tables.

''What are you doing here?'' Kris demanded.

''You keep asking Nelly to take updates from my Sammie, you got to expect that your old auntie can at least get a calendar out of your computer.''

''Nelly, we've got to talk,'' Kris growled through a smile.

''I don't know how she did it.'' Nelly sounded startled, with more than a tinge of hurt, if an AI was capable of such.

''What will you have?'' the student server asked, taking in Kris's undress whites without so much as a blink. Apparently the Navy wasn't unwelcome today. How things change.

''Coffee,'' Kris ordered.

''Coffee,'' the others repeated.

As the server turned for the drinks, Tommy passed him.

He slid into the chair next to Kris. ''How'd the morning go?''

Kris considered warning him of what lay ahead but decided she wanted to be able to say under oath that she had not coordinated any of her testimony with Tom.

''Worse than some, not as bad as facing Captain Thorpe.''

The waiter returned with a pot of coffee and cups. Grampas Ray and Trouble came through the door as the coffee was poured. As they stopped across from Kris, the waiter took them in with a glance. ''What do you want?'' he said, then frowned, worried his lower lip for a second, then his eyes got very big. ''Sir.''

Trouble seemed used to the reaction. He glanced around the table and ordered. ''Beer, dark, fresh brewed, one,'' he said, pointing at himself. ''Two,'' he pointed at Ray. ''Three,'' as his moving finger took in Harvey and he got a return nod. ''Four'' was Tru; ''five'' was a very bug-eyed Tom. Poor guy seemed torn between falling through the floor or taking the beer. Jack and Kris shook off the offer. ''Five then.''

As the waiter headed for the bar, Trouble took the last chair. In a second, Jack was up and offering his chair to Ray.

''Mr. President,'' he said.

''Not president today,'' Trouble said in supreme gloat as Ray clouded up. Ignoring him, Trouble turned to Kris.

''Who are these good-looking guys?''

''I think you met Tom at the reception, if he wasn't too busy hiding.'' Tom tried to nod at her grampas and glower at Kris, all at the same time. ''He also was my right arm when the Typhoon took on the rest of the squadron.''

''Well done, son,'' came from both older men. And the rest of Tom's face turned as red as his freckles.

Kris figured Tom had about as much concentrated Longknife attention as he could survive. ''This other fellow is my new Secret Service agent. Jack, meet Trouble. He's supposed to be my great-grandpa, but to Mother, he's just trouble.''

''Still?''

''She hasn't forgiven you for introducing me to orbital skiffs.''

''Woman has too long a memory.''

''Excuse me, I'll be over by the door,'' Jack said, backing away while still trying to keep his attention fully on the people talking to him as well as do the required search sweeps. Almost Kris laughed, but she remembered too well whose job it was to take her bullet.

Trouble grabbed the agent's elbow. ''No way. You hang around us, you might as well know the seamy side. Besides, this old codger sitting next to me needs special protection.''

Jack eyed Ray. ''From whom?''

''Himself,'' Trouble chortled.

''I may slit my throat,'' Ray grumbled.

''Don't let him fool you,'' Trouble cut in, grabbing a chair from the next table and pulling it over for Jack to settle into. ''Ray's tickled pink.''

''It's a lousy idea,'' Ray spat. ''It's half-baked. They don't know what they really want, and this whole lash-up is a poor way to fix whatever problem they want solved.''

Still unenlightened, they paused while the drinks arrived. Trouble raised his mug. Automatically, the others followed suit with beer or coffee. ''To His Majesty, King Raymond the First of that name,'' Trouble intoned.

Kris clanked her mug with the rest, mainly because Trouble was busy making sure there was a loud enough clink to drown out Ray's raspberry response to the toast.

''King who of what?'' she said after a sip of her coffee.

Glowering at Trouble, Ray explained. ''Some jokers who are old enough to know better think they'd have an easier time keeping sixty or eighty planets together in some kind of federation if they had a king sitting in the middle of all their politicking. By tomorrow they'll have thought it through and realized what a crappy idea it is.'' Ray raised his glass. ''To peace and quiet in a well-earned old age.''

''Hear! Hear!'' Harvey said, joining the toast.

Kris raised her mug with a heartfelt ''Hear! Hear!'' of her own.

Ignoring them, Trouble leaned back and took a long pull from his beer. ''In your dreams,'' he muttered.

''They want an ombudsman,'' Ray snapped. ''Well, I can be a fine ombudsman. I don't need a crown on my head to listen to a lot of whining losers.''

''Without a crown, you won't last a week. You'll tell them to stuff their bitching and take off for Santa Maria.''

''Well, at least there, I'm doing something worth doing.''

Trouble just shook his head. ''Not like you'd be doing here? Ray, old boy, everything we built eighty years ago is coming apart. They want you to help keep a chunk of it together.'' Kris nodded; glancing around the Scriptorum, she saw students whose lives were being decided for them by a lot of old men and women. Her own life among them. She and all these kids would be a lot better off with the likes of Grampa Ray in the mix.

''Damn it, Trouble, we served our time. In any decent world we'd be dead and pushing up flowers, and kids like Kris here would be having all the fun. It's not fair.''

Involuntarily, Kris leaned back in her chair, counting the different emotions racing through her gut. She was glad her grampas were still around for her to get to know when she needed them. Yes, it was her world out there, but she didn't mind sharing it.

Trouble reached across the table to rest a hand on his friend's elbow. ''You still miss Rita.''

''Every day, but that's not what I mean. They really should be Kris's worlds.''

Now Kris leaned forward to touch a man who was more an icon than a person to her. ''Grampa, they are my worlds. But that doesn't mean there's not room in them for you, too. They belong to me and the kids at the other tables…and they're yours, too. It looks like we're all in trouble. And if we need someone that we all remember as a good guy to have around to hold it together, well, did they say, ‘Buck up and soldier,' back in your day?''

''Probably more often than in yours,'' Ray grumbled.

''And next he'll be telling you about walking twenty miles to school, uphill and in the snow, summer, winter, spring, and fall.'' Trouble grinned. ''Weren't you the one saying a minute ago how we ought to respect them and let them have their world?''

''Let them have it, yes. Respect them, never.''

That got a laugh. Still, it was Ray who sobered first. ''I still say this king idea hasn't been thought through. Like not letting anyone in the king's family sit in their parliament, what did they call it, ‘House of Commons.' ''

Kris, the political science student, sat up straight. She and her friends had come up with some really far-out ideas during their bull sessions at the Scriptorum. This was a new one on her. ''What are they trying to do?''

''They want to cut down on the money in politics,'' Trouble explained. ''For the twenty years Ray's king, none of his kin can run for the House or donate money to any political party or campaign. They think that will keep big money out of politics. We noticed that your dad, Prime Minister Billy, wasn't there.''

Kris knew that money was the fuel and bane of politics. This approach had the advantage, if nothing else, of never being tried before. However, the mention of Father meant this scheme was going to stretch out to a certain Kris as well.

''Hold it, Grampa. I think you'd make a great king. But that doesn't mean you're going to make me a princess, does it? ‘Cause I've got to tell you, I've had all the problems a growing girl can handle just being the prime minister's brat.''

Trouble barked a laugh, but Grampa Ray just stared across the table at Kris. Then he smiled. Kris had the feeling that fleets of Iteeche had died after such a smile. ''Trouble, what if I make someone a duke or count?''

''Didn't know they were going to let you.'' Trouble stroked his jaw. ''They didn't say anything about more royalty.''

''There's a lot of things they didn't say anything about.''

Kris shook her head. ''Why do I think I should have kept my mouth shut?''

''No, Princess,'' Trouble said with an evil grin as Kris winced, ''that's just the kind of talk your grampas like. Gives us old coots great ideas.''

''No, bad ideas. Very bad ideas,'' Kris insisted to a grinning table.

Grampa Ray sat there eyeing them with a tight smile for a moment, looking very much like Kris thought a king should. Maybe the human race could use a king just now.

Before she finished the thought, Ray got to his feet. All followed him. He raised his mug, and five rose with his. ''To us, and those like us. May there always be enough of the few to keep the worlds turning for the many.''

Kris shivered and answered, ''Hear! Hear!'' with the rest. So this was what it felt like to be ''us'' to the likes of Trouble and Ray. This was what it meant to be ''the few.'' She took a deep pull from her coffee.

And Nelly gave her polite equivalent of a cough. ''Kris, you are wanted in General McMorrison's office at one o' clock.''

''Oh, oh,'' Tru said. ''One of those Friday afternoon talks with the boss.''

''Want us to put in a good word for you?'' Trouble offered.

Kris straightened her shoulders. ''No sir. This is my problem. I'll handle it.'' It's my career. I better be able to handle it.

''Wouldn't have expected any other answer,'' Ray said. ''What a Longknife gets into, we get ourselves out of.''

''Probably ‘cause no one else could get themselves in so much, so fast, so deep,'' Trouble grumbled through a smile.

Kris laughed with them, realizing that they were giving her all they had to give. A joke and a laugh and a lighthearted confidence that she could handle her own problem. With that she took her leave of them.

As he had this morning, Jack walked her into Main Navy. This trip covered several halls and an elevator before Jack announced unnecessarily, ''Here's Mac's office.'' He opened the door, and Kris presented herself to the general's secretary. ''Ensign Longknife reporting for a thirteen hundred meeting.'' The clock behind the woman showed Kris to be thirty seconds early.

''The general is waiting for you.''

Kris squared her shoulders and marched forward. How hard could this be? She'd rescued a little girl…and got shipped off to a mud hole. She'd fed a lot of people…and damn near drowned for the honor. She'd gone hell for leather into her first live firefight…only to discover she needed to refine her targeting for her second. Now she'd led a mutiny and fought a small naval battle to prevent a bigger one. Explaining to the Chief of Staff of her father's military just why and how she'd mutinied shouldn't be too painful.

The door slid open. General McMorrison was behind his desk, deep in reports, but he glanced up as she entered.

She marched for the proper place in front of his desk, but as she did so, he was already out of his chair. A thin, graying man, he looked more like an accountant than a general, but he moved with quick, smooth steps around his desk.

She ended up saluting a moving target. He answered with a wave in the general direction of his forehead that moved easily into an offered hand. As she shook it, he said, ''Well done, Ensign. Very well done.''

That was a good start. ''Thank you, sir.''

''Might as well get comfortable,'' he motioned her in the direction of a couch.

She settled onto one end as he took the chair next to it. Just as Grandfather Alex's office was gray, this one was beige: tan walls, tan carpet, tan furniture. Even the general was wearing khakis. Kris crossed her ankles, folded her hands in her lap, and prepared for whatever was to come.

The general cleared his throat. ''I guess I should start by thanking you for saving my neck. All I could think of as AttackRon Six spread out was that after they'd made their run, they'd lead the survivors of a very mad Earth's battle line right into Wardhaven's fleet.''

''Is that what Commodore Sampson intended?''

''Yes, but that's not for publication. The politicians are still trying to find a way to smooth this over.''

''They're going to have a hard time of it,'' Kris said.

''Where was Sampson planning on running? Who paid him?''

''We've checked his banking records. I don't think anyone paid him,'' the general said wearily. ''I think he was doing something he believed in.''

Kris considered all the talk she'd heard from those in uniform and decided that was quite likely true. ''Still, he'd have to take our ships somewhere. This wasn't the start of an internal revolt on Wardhaven, was it?''

''No, he apparently acted alone. He refused to tell us where he planned to take the squadron.''

''Refused.'' Kris didn't like the finality of that word.

''Commodore Sampson died of a heart attack last night.''

That knocked Kris back. ''A real one or…''

''One of the other type.'' The general scowled. ''We were able to follow the money on that one. The fellow who brought him his supper last night had a strangely excessive bank account.''

''You wouldn't be willing to tell me where that money led?''

''I suspect if I don't, Tru will worm it out of our database soon enough for you.'' He almost smiled. ''A small businessman on Greenfeld. Runs a software firm.''

''Makes Ironclad Software,'' Kris finished.

''Yes. We already noticed that unauthorized software on your ships, so this provides us no new leads,'' the general said, settling deeper into his seat. ''There is one bit of information that you might have a personal interest in. Commodore Sampson did select the Typhoon for that little girl's rescue mission. He was quite angry that you disrupted his entire plan after surviving what he'd set you up for during the kidnapping.'' McMorrison looked puzzled. ''What did he do?''

''I and my squad of marines were ordered to do a night drop…onto a minefield,'' Kris said, both glad to have one mystery answered and frustrated that Sampson wasn't around to answer more about it. There was no use following that one any further. ''Are you getting anything out of the other people, like Thorpe?''

''Painfully little. They claim that Commodore Sampson hadn't told them what his battle plan was. They were just following orders.'' The general made a sour face at that.

''And what will you do with them?'' The answer to that would pretty much tell her what was in store for a certain mutineer.

''Hang them from the highest yardarm, even if I have to build it myself, is what I want to do. Nothing is what I'll probably settle for.''

''Nothing?'' was out of Kris's mouth before she knew it. Damn it, girl, you have to do something about yapping first, thinking second.

''Nothing,'' Mac repeated. ''Oh, we'll cashier them, though most are eligible for retirement. But a court-martial would only provide them the public forum they want. And I'll be damned if I want either my officers wondering if they can trust their orders or the citizens of Wardhaven wondering if they can trust my officers.''

It was hard to disagree with that. It also told Kris what awaited her.

Mac reached over to the table beside his chair to pick up two small boxes. Opening one, he handed it across to Kris. She eyed its contents: the Legion of Merit. Nice medal. The second one contained the Navy Cross. Very nice medal.

She held them in her lap for a moment, then closed the boxes and handed them back. She'd learned at Father's knee to let silence grow until the other fellow fills it. General McMorrison took back the medals but set them on the table in front of her.

''I've read Colonel Hancock's full report. You did well on Olympia. Very good for a junior officer.'' The emphasis was on junior. Kris ignored that and said, ''Thank you,'' softly so as not to interrupt or let the general off the hook for filling the silence.

''You earned the Legion of Merit on Olympia,'' Mac said. Kris nodded but refused to ask why the Navy Cross was on the table. Mac eyed her as the silence stretched, thinned out, and started to twang like an out-of-tune violin.

''You are a problem, Ensign,'' he finally growled. This time from the table he pulled a plastic flimsy and handed it to her. It was her resignation all filled out with today's date.

Kris locked her face down even as her stomach went into free fall. This was just another fight. Unlike the last one, the incoming was plastic and could not kill her. She finished reading and looked up. ''You want me to sign this?''

''Resign from the Navy today, and I'll give you the Navy Cross for your part in whatever didn't happen at Paris.''

The general is politicking. ''This my father's idea?''

He snorted. ''If your father so much as peeps publicly he wants this, I'd be fighting him tooth and nail, just as publicly. Half my officer corps would have my head if I gave in to him.''

Kris considered herself politically savvy; this clearly was a political hot potato in her hand. She glanced again at the resignation. ''So why are you asking me to quit?''

''You relieved your last CO, and his superior tried to kill you. Ensign Longknife, who should I assign you to next?''

Kris tried to see herself from Mac's perspective. Well, Hancock would have her back. Or would he? It had been a learning experience…for both of them. But it was not an experience either needed to repeat. Ship duty was her first choice. But what skipper would want to see her on his bridge? ''Hi, sir, I'm the prime minister's brat, maybe even a princess. I hope we get along fine. I relieved my last CO.'' Right. No way they could give her her own command. Ensigns do not command. Besides, every command position was subordinated to someone. Mac here reported to her father, and Kris knew well that Father considered every voter on Wardhaven as his boss.

''I don't know who would take me, sir. But certainly there has to be some place in the Navy for me,'' she said, setting the resignation on the table between them. ''I won't resign.''

''Why?'' Now it was the general who seemed content to wait until space boiled for her answer.

''Because I want to stay in the Navy, sir.''

''Why?'' he shot right back.

Kris paused for a moment; Chief Bo's late-night counseling session came to mind. ''Sir, an old chief once asked me why I joined the Navy. She wasn't much impressed with my answer.'' The general smiled, leaving Kris to wonder if he'd once had the same counseling session.

''A Highland captain shared her family story of how her grampa and mine survived Black Mountain, and what it means, now, to be an officer in their shadow.'' That seemed to surprise the general. Kris leaned forward; her answer must be short. She poured all the passion she could into its few words. ''Sir. I am Navy. This is my home.'' She handed him back her unsigned resignation. ''I will not walk away.''

Mac glanced at the form, sighed, then slowly tore it in two. Its static charge broken, the words vanished from the plastic as if they'd never been written. ''That settles that. A word of advice to you, woman. Half of the officer corps is cheering you. Half think you're a mutineer who should be cashiered with the others. Good luck telling the two apart.''

He reached for the medals on the coffee table. First he picked up the Legion of Merit. ''You earned this one on Olympia.'' He tossed it to her. ''There will be no formal ceremony. Wear it in good health.''

Kris looked at the box; this wasn't the way it was supposed to be. Her crew on Olympia, people like Willie, deserved better. But because of her, there would be no official recognition. Would all her joys be so mixed?

The general picked up the Navy Cross, opened the box, studied it thoughtfully, then closed it again. Standing, he muttered. ''We'll think about this one for a while. Might wait to see what Earth does about your role in that Paris thing.''

Kris started to stand, but he waved her back down. From his desk he retrieved another flimsy. ''Present emergency is botching up all kinds of things. We'll be commissioning a flock of new ensigns. BuPer is promoting all ensigns with four months in grade to lieutenant, JG. It seems you are exactly one day into that window. So, instead of keelhauling you, I'm promoting you.'' He glanced back at her. ''Purely by the numbers, you know.''

''Luck of the commissioning date.'' She assured him of her understanding but couldn't suppress her grin. He went around his desk and retrieved something from a drawer. It took her a moment to identify what he held. What was an army general doing with a set of JG shoulder boards? She stood as he walked toward her.

''My father was Navy,'' he said. ''I don't think he ever forgave me for going Army. These were his shoulder boards. I'd appreciate it if you'd wear them.''

Kris blinked. This was not at all what she expected when she was summoned here. ''I'd be honored, sir.''

General McMorrison removed the ones on her shoulders and replaced them with his gift. ''I'm actually returning these,'' he told her as he worked the fasteners. ''They were given to my dad by your late Great-grandmother Rita Nuu Longknife. He got news of his promotion when on the Oasis taking her and Ray to their rendezvous with President Urm.''

Kris shivered; Grandma Rita had died in the Iteeche War. Not all Longknifes survived to listen to the media folks get it wrong. Standing tall, Kris waited while General McMorrison finished. It wasn't the extra half stripe that made them heavy. ''I will try to wear them as honorably as your father and my great grandmother did,'' she said when he was done.

''I am sure that you will,'' he said simply in dismissal.

She saluted; he returned it. She marched slowly from his office. Jack fell in step beside her as she headed once more for the exit. Coming in, she expected to leave a civilian. Instead, she was leaving promoted. Promoted! For the first time, maybe in her whole life, she knew what she wanted. She'd demanded it. She'd refused to give it up…and it was hers. She smiled as she came into the bright daylight. The deep blue of the sky held no rainbow, but Kris now knew what lay at the end of one.

''I see they didn't hang you,'' Jack said.

Kris bounced lightly on her heels, looked around at the buildings of Navy, Army, government, and smiled. ''Nope, they missed their chance. The Navy still has a Longknife.''

''Why do I feel like saying, ‘God help us all'?'' Jack said.

'' ‘Cause it just may be true,'' Kris said and waved for Harvey.