Redoubtable

2

Kris was in the wardroom later that morning at 0730. She spotted Penny, her intel lieutenant, at an empty table and joined her.

“How was your watch?” Penny asked.

“Uneventful,” Kris said.

“Unusual,” Penny answered.

“I’m trying to turn over a new leaf. No one tries to kill me. I try to kill no one. Did you have a chance to look at those news accounts I sent you yesterday?”

Penny gave Kris a wary eye. “Who is this Winston Spencer and why is he sending you news feed?”

“He’s written some good stories from the Navy perspective. Digs deep, so he usually gets more about us right than he gets wrong. You remember that news dump my brother, Honovi, gave us last time we were at Wardhaven that pretty much showed me that being out here on the Rim left me totally in the dark about what was happening back home? I’d prefer not to give my brother that kind of a club to beat me with. So I asked Spencer to send me stuff he found interesting. Admiral Santiago recommended him.”

Penny continued to eye Kris, as if weighing the words . . . and not finding enough truth in them. She had a lot of experience in the last three years listening to Kris tell the truth, or a small part of the truth, or a whole lot of bunk with a little bit of truth added in for spice.

Today, she made a face. “I guess I’ll have to settle for that until you let me in on the whole story.”

“What’s the matter? Doesn’t it at least sound plausible?”

“Oh, it sounds plausible. It might even be right. I just have this strange itch between my shoulder blades. Maybe my bra’s too tight. Then again, I’m working for a Longknife. It could mean blood and gore. I’ll just have to wait and see.”

Since treason wasn’t the kind of thing you discussed over breakfast in the wardroom of a commissioned warship, Kris changed the topic. “Have you found out anything about Kaskatos?”

“Not. A. Thing. I sent out requests for any data to both Greenfeld and Wardhaven sources. I actually got a couple of answers from Greenfeld planets nearby. All were negative. No responses at all from our own nearest planets. It’s clear that the official databases are null. What I wonder about is if a bit of informal snooping around would be just as fruitless?”

“Are you suggesting we need to build up our own contacts on the ground around here?”

“It would be nice to have some Baker Street Irregulars to snoop around corners for what the officials don’t know,” Penny said. “You do know who the Baker Street Irregulars are?”

“I read the required classics in school,” Kris admitted.

“My dad introduced me to Sherlock Holmes when I was just starting to read. I loved them.”

Kris changed the topic. “You got replies from Greenfeld officials?”

“Yes. They know we’re out here, and, at least to the extent that they are answering my search requests, they are cooperating.”

“I wonder how long before a couple of Greenfeld cruisers come looking for us?”

“Depends on whether any can be spared from using their sailors to patrol the streets of this planet or that one,” Captain Jack Montoya of the Wardhaven Royal Marines said as he slid into the chair next to Kris. He arranged his breakfast plate, attacked his eggs and bacon, and waited for Kris to comment.

“So far, we’ve had this space to ourselves,” Kris said.

“Not even so much as a warning to get out of their neck of the woods?” Jack asked.

Penny shook her head. “Not a peep. All the other ships of PatRon 10 have the same report. An occasional merchant ship, usually glad to see us out here, but no sightings of the Greenfeld fleet. Not so much as a tug.”

Jack shook his head. “If this were my stomping grounds, I’d be out here marking my territory with something. Things must be really bad inside the fraternal order of Peterwald good buddies to have the whole fleet tied up.”

“I think the Navy is the only power that the Peterwalds trust to enforce their sway over their planets,” Kris said. “Henry Peterwald got really lucky when he sent his daughter out to the fleet for an education.”

That Kris had provided a bit of that education the rest of the table was kind enough not to comment upon.

“Penny, are you getting anything more specific from inside the Greenfeld Empire? We all know it’s a mess, but . . .” Kris trailed off. She knew so little that she didn’t even know how to talk about how little she knew.

“Sorry, Your Highness, but this little minion is deep down a dungeon’s coal bin surrounded by black cats at midnight. Newspapers never have been all that trustworthy in Peterwald territory, and what with no one sure who’s going to come out on top, you can’t blame the media for not really wanting to stick their fingers into the ongoing catfights. Maybe Abby knows something from her informal sources?”

Abby, Kris’s maid, settled at Kris’s other elbow, her twelve-year-old niece right next to her. Abby really was a maid. Very highly trained and all. The problem was that she wasn’t just a maid.

On Earth, where Abby had started maiding, personal help was expected to do other things . . . like shoot back when their Ladies got shot at. Abby got quite good at that. She also found out from others of the help that she could make extra money selling information to the gossip media. Abby got very good at that, too.

Working for Kris Longknife gave Abby plenty of chances to excel at all of her many skills.

Usually.

“Why do I hear you people taking my name in vain?” Abby said. She normally got up on the wrong side of the bed, and today looked to be no exception.

Kris repeated the question. Abby was shaking her head before Kris finished.

“No way, nohow am I wasting my hard-earned money on the rumors coming out of the Greenfeld Alliance. Best intel the info marketeers have even they admit is C-4. Secondhand idle rumors picked up by shady characters with only a passing acquaintance with the truth and that have dogs of their own in the fight. Princess, if you want me to waste your money on that untreated sewage, I’ll do it, but you’d be better served spending it on some trashy suspense novel.”

Colonel Cortez took this moment to join the breakfast club. He surveyed the growing silence with raised eyebrow. “My, aren’t we quiet today.”

“Not much going on,” Penny said.

“Good. Would now be a good time for me to put in again for a transfer out of the princess’s merry band of optimists to someplace safe and sane . . . like a Royal prison?”

Kris shook her head as she stood up. “Okay, boys and girls. Just because we’ve run into so many dead ends that it’s starting to look like a holiday, doesn’t mean that it is. Keep your eyes peeled. Our vacation will be over when you least expect it.”