Resolute

Chapter 12

Kris paused just inside the ballroom to orient herself. The huge room was organized with dinner tables to her left, a dance floor to the right. A small orchestra played background, but looked ready for dance music later. The place smelled of pride and confidence… oh… and hard-earned money.

Kris was not announced; Chance was too egalitarian for that. Still, heads turned in a spreading wave as word raced through the hall. The campaigner in Kris put attendance at about two thousand. The blue dress uniforms of a hundred Greenfeld officers were bunched protectively in six clumps Kris suspected represented ships. Whether or not there was safety in numbers, there surely was comfort.

While she and Jack came down the steps to the main floor, Kris spotted a large congregation of locals in full dinner dress around Hank and his captains. The locals' heads joined the general turn toward her. Hank ignored her.

No doubt, he did not appreciate the drop in attention. Into the silence he said, ''Greenfeld will have no truck with royalty and the tax burden it adds.'' It might have been better argued by someone who didn't so obviously hold his present position by birth. Maybe Kris should have worn her Navy uniform to better show the balance between hard won and easily given.

No, the reaction she was getting as a princess, from Hank, from that little girl, and from about everyone in this hall was well worth the extra weight of the tiara on her head and the delightful pleasure of satin swishing around her legs. Yes, tonight was definitely worth putting on stockings.

As per Father's early-taught instructions, Kris tried to circulate quickly, passing from one group to another with only a few words spoken or a quick smile. The men in black tuxes or white dinner jackets, the women in dresses as colorful and light as Kris's wouldn't let her. Many had fathers or grandmothers, younger brothers, kid sisters, or older sons and daughters of their own working on Kris's station or the Patton. Everyone on Chance seemed to be related or know someone working in Station Security or the Museum or something topside. Kris thanked them for the assist and that seemed enough of a toll for her to be passed on to the next small knot.

Shortly, one of the young ladies in formal tails and white bow tie appeared at Kris's elbow with a glass of soda water and a suggestion that dinner was ready to be served if ''Her Majesty would kindly take the seat prepared for her.'' Kris saved the girl from a mortal case of embarrassment by not pointing out that only King Ray merited the ''Majesty''… she was just a ''Highness''.

The room followed her move to their chairs. Hank was slow at getting the word, or maybe he intended for his six officers to be the last ones standing. Kris did note that they were eating at tables as far from hers as physically possible without knocking out a wall. Kris also noted that Ron personally escorted Hank to his table. Kris's unbidden question as to who might be Ron's date for tonight was answered as his mother took the seat next to him. Poor Ron. Then again… lucky Kris. Or was Marta in cahoots with her son on seeing that he had nothing on his mind but Hank? Or maybe Hank and Kris?

It would be so nice if I could read that woman's mind, Kris thought… and turned to her dinner partners and prepared for the usual table banter that passed for warfare by other means.

To Kris's great surprise, she was not immediately asked what Grampa Ray was up to or for the latest rumors about the ongoing Constitutional Convention still talking to itself on Pitts Hope.

No, the man next to Kris was the owner of a machine shop and foundry. ''You're employing some of my best workers, don't you know, Your Highness.''

''Then I much appreciate your loan,'' Kris said.

''I may need them back real soon. A consortium of us is bidding to build a Kawanashi plant to fabricate the larger sections for fusion reactors. We lost a similar bid with GE just a few months ago. They chose Turantic for their new Rim plant.''

''Seems Turantic was considered a better bet than us, or safer,'' another man around the table added with a scowl.

Kris nodded, but declined to point out that Turantic had just joined Grampa Ray's United Sentients and was now recovering from a rather lengthy financial slump.

''Anyway,'' the first man went on, ''the Rim is growing and we need fusion reactors. Chance has a highly trained and competitive workforce. We're a growing population, over a hundred million now,'' he said, and smiled lovingly at his wife.

She patted the swelling roundness of her stomach. ''A hundred million and one next month,'' she told the table, and received happy, encouraging noises in return.

''Then we want to make sure that your…'' Kris paused.

''Daughter,'' she provided.

''Has the same chances that her mother and father had.''

Several men nodded and glanced across the ballroom to where Hank was talking loud enough to be heard above the soft roar of the room. Dinner talk continued in that local vein, them telling her why she should love Chance, her occasionally highlighting the present question before them. There was only one break from that when the woman to Jack's left spoke.

She'd been silent the entire dinner, not talking to her partner or to Jack. Her own dessert untouched when most were finished, she turned to Kris and said simply, ''Why are you here?''

The question was so out of step with the rest of the evening that Kris faltered for a moment and said the first thing that came into her head. ''I was invited to dinner.''

''Not here tonight,'' the woman said, tapping the table. Her hand shot up to point a finger at the ceiling. ''Here, on Chance. Out on the Rim. Despite what Ted says, we aren't that big a market, yet. Why send a Longknife? And that's before we go into what you did on Turantic and Wardhaven's recent battle and all that other stuff. What war are you supposed to start?''

''Ginjer, that is out of line. May I apologize for my wife,'' the man next to her said, half rising from his seat and placing a hand on his wife's elbow to move her in the same direction.

''No, no,'' Kris said with a dry chuckle. ''She has probably just asked the question on half the minds in this room. Wouldn't you like to hear my answer?'' Ginjer's husband seemed torn between excusing himself or settling back into his seat. The other men around the table looked uniformly embarrassed.

The pregnant mother rubbed the top of her extra curve very protectively and said, ''Yes, I would like to know what war you are here to start.''

''Alice!''

''So would you, Theodore. Shut up and let the woman tell us something. We can decide later how close it is to the truth.''

Now Kris did laugh, ''Candor is something I encounter so rarely, it's a joy to run into it twice on the same night,'' Kris offered in explanation for her mirth. She reached for her napkin, patted her mouth, then mused out loud.

''Why am I here? What war will I start?'' Kris frowned. ''You know that I have only two officers, a chief and my maid with me. Kind of slim pickings for starting a good-size war.''

''Weren't most of them with you on Turantic?'' Theodore, who still grated at that planet's winning of the GE plant showed that he did, indeed, know a bit about what went on there.

''I went to Turantic to break a friend loose from a guy who kidnapped him. And then I found myself running for my life. The rest just kind of happened. I went to Hikila to hold the hand of one of Grampa Ray's old war buddies who was dying. Somebody kidnapped several hundred people, started killing them. By now you've probably figured out I don't like kidnappers. Some of you may know why.'' Around the table there were nods.

''Wardhaven? Well, like Chance is your home, Wardhaven is mine and I fought to defend it. So did a lot of other folks who had other plans that particular week.'' Kris knew her face was hard, but she didn't know how to talk about that battle in a soft way. She shivered at the memory of faces she'd never see again.

''You want to know why I'm here?'' Kris said, turning a face as open and honest as she knew how to wear toward Ginjer. ''I'm here because I've gotten in a lot of people's hair and they want me as far away from their hairdo as they can get me. This may come as a surprise to you folks born and raised here, but in the Wardhaven Navy, Chance duty is not a plum assignment.''

Beside her, Jack grinned and nodded emphatic agreement.

''If you doubt me, talk to Steve Kovar. Navy officers are not supposed to retire as lieutenants. Not supposed to spend fifteen years in the same billet and never get a promotion.''

The table took that in and weighed it. The eyes that looked back at Kris seemed devoid of conclusion. All but one.

''That is why you're here, isn't it,'' Alice said, once again massaging her future daughter.

''Alice, I'll warn you,'' Kris said. ''I just told you the best of all lies.'' Eyebrows raised around the table at that. ''I told you a truth no one will ever believe.''

The table chuckled, unsure at that.

''May I put in two cents,'' Jack said, breaking his silence. ''For as long as I have known this woman, she has never gone looking for a fight. Never set out to start a war.'' He paused, grinned, then said, ''Though I have known her to shut a few down.''

There were snickers around the table at that.

''No, this Longknife does not go looking for trouble,'' Jack said. ''But I must also tell you. I have never known trouble to not find her.'' Jack eyed Hank's table across the room. ''I have never known trouble to miss a chance to ruin her day… or mine.'' Those around the table grew silent, intent on digesting the rather large chunk of raw, red truth they'd been served.

Then the music started and Kris was not surprised to find Ron beside her chair. ''I think you promised me the first dance.''

It took Kris only a moment on the floor to remember why she enjoyed dancing with the man. He led, but not too strongly; she followed, but not too willingly. They were a good match.

''Aren't you going to ask me about our dinner conversation with Hank?''

''Was there anything more to it than ‘You need to get on the bandwagon before it runs you down.' ''

''He didn't exactly threaten us, but you got the gist of it.''

Kris looked around the dance floor. It was filling up with couples, mostly locals. Here and there Kris spotted a young local girl in the arms of a junior Greenfeld officer… the most ancient form of sedition at work. Across the room, Hank and Marta had their heads together in conversation.

''And you left your poor mother to baby-sit Hank?''

''More likely to warn any available young woman that here is an available young man you don't want to get anywhere near.''

''You've changed your opinion of Hank!'' Kris said in perfectly feigned shock.

He scrunched up his face as if in deep thought. ''Yes, I believe I have. Most definitely. I didn't much like him in college. I like even less the little twerp leading warships into my home planet's orbit.''

The music ended. No one made to break in, and they went smoothly into a second dance. Something from old Earth that allowed them to stay close and talk. ''You aren't upset that he was once a potential suitor for my hand, are you?''

''The hand with the gun, or the one with the hand grenade?''

Kris squinched up her face in deep thought. ''I think both.''

''Foolish young man,'' Ron said.

''Speaking of, here he comes,'' Kris warned through a smile.

''Mind if I cut in.'' Hank did not ask.

''Of course not, Commodore. This shindig is in your honor. But don't tie up all her dances. I think a line is forming.''

''Strange, I didn't see anyone,'' Hank said, putting his arm around Kris's waist and feeling around a bit before they began to move to the music. ''What, no assault rifle?''

''I escrow heavy artillery when I come the dainty princess.''

''Well, I'll assume I'm safe from kidnapping when with you.''

''And I feel oh so much safer from the odd and sod assassin when in your arms,'' Kris shot back.

''You know, it doesn't have to be this way between us.''

''It doesn't?'' Kris said. No need here to play the coy innocent. The two of them knew exactly the way things were.

''No. My dad is not the monster you make him out to be. Yes, he has some subordinates that got out of control. But weren't you the one that pointed out that your own grandfather was a slumlord?''

''I most certainly did.''

''And did he do anything about it, but sell off the embarrassing property, no improvements made?''

''The old guy is guilty as charged.''

''Well.''

''You're talking about the splinters in my family's eye that I've been hollering at them about, but I have yet to hear you say a word to your old man about the I beam sticking out of his.''

''There you go again, insisting that it's all our fault.''

''And there you go insisting that none of it is. Want to tell me how your father arranged that attack on Wardhaven?''

''There's no proof at all my father was involved.''

Kris had been doing her best to let Hank lead, but he tried to send her into a deep back bend and there was no bend in her. She took two steps back, her own back ramrod straight, and right there, on the dance floor, they came uncoupled. ''Of course there's no proof. All the survivors from six honking-big battleships died.''

''You shot the prisoners,'' Hank shouted, his voice breaking.

''Somebody jiggered their survival pods,'' Kris shot back, her voice low and deadly.

''Commodore, Commodore, didn't you promise me a dance?'' Marta Torn was there, at Hank's left, leading him into a turn away from Kris. And Jack was at Kris's left, turning her away from the red-faced youth in the Commodore uniform.

''Well, that went well,'' Jack offered.

''Think he'll want another dance?''

''I think we better arrange our own ride up to the station.''

''You think so?''

''I know so. You Princess. Me Chief of your security. Me making this call. Any argument is hereby ruled out of order.''

Kris sighed. ''I guess this is another date I end up walking home from.''

''Didn't your momma tell you a gal's mettle is determined by the ones she walks home from, not the ones she rides back with?''

Kris scowled at the mention of her mother. ''Nope, I think that escaped her.'''

''Aren't you glad you have a security chief to teach you the most basic things about being a young woman.''

Kris leaned her head against Jack's shoulder. ''Yes, I'm glad,'' she said. Unfortunately, she could never tell him just how glad she was to have him there.

Jack expertly led them to the far edge of the dance floor, Kris did not see Hank for some time, and when she did he made a point of ignoring her. Kris did notice that the woman he danced with wore a wedding ring. Part of Marta's plan?

When the next dance was new and far too frantic for Kris, she and Jack made their way back to their table. Ron was there, and the expectant mother, her feet up on the chair next to her.

Kris eyed the empty chairs. ''Are they off carrying my possibly true words to the entire gathering?'' Kris asked.

''I think the entire gathering tracked every word you and the commodore exchanged. What's that about you shooting prisoners?''

''We didn't,'' Kris said, taking her seat and draining a water glass. One of the servers appeared and immediately refilled it. ''Just a rumor the Peterwalds spread that doesn't add up.'' Kris didn't want to shout exactly how with the music so loud. The next song came up soft and gentle; Ron was again waiting.

''Care for another dance if I pledge myself to defend possession of your delicate body with tooth and nails?''

''Be warned, I'm armed with this cake sheer,'' Jack said darkly adjusting his sword at his side. ''Oh, and a pistol, too,'' he said as if just remembering his service automatic.

''If the woman says to let you cut in, I'll consider not putting up too much of a fight,'' Ron agreed.

Kris danced with the mayor, and with her security chief, and with several other young men from Chance who migrated to her table and asked for the privilege of risking their toes to her missteps. She did keep an eye on Hank and his blue suits, but nothing happened. The junior officers danced, as did Hank and his young captains. The three older skippers did not, but sat together, talked quietly, and sipped wine.

It was a pleasant evening, right up to the moment when Ron and Jack both cut in.

''I think we need to leave,'' the mayor said.

''Problems,'' Kris said after just one glance at their faces.

''My Chief of the Peace has a problem. Hans isn't too happy, either. I'd like a Naval officer's opinion as to what is just sailors blowing off steam and what is an assault on my city.''

Kris collected her wrap and left quickly. Steve Jr. was waiting for them and, the injunction about speed having expired, headed for the Oktoberfest at only slightly below light speed.

Hans and the Chief of the Peace were waiting outside a large daub-and-beam building signed the Edelweiss. One light post down four sailors were cuffed and laid out on the ground while a dozen good-sized men looked on. All twelve sporting a red armband with a hastily sewn, gold cloth star that, apparently, identified cops tonight. This might have passed for a normal night when the fleet was in. What didn't look normal were a couple of dozen sailors standing around giving the cops dark glowers and occasional encouraging words to their buddies on the deck.

Kris could tell a riot looking for a way to happen.

She did a quick survey of the street. Cops walked in pairs or foursomes. Other locals moved up and down row upon row of tables and benches that covered the street, handing off foaming glasses to sailors shouting for them. There were a lot more sailors shouting than hands passing out beer. ''I don't see any women,'' Kris said. ''No barmaids on Chance?''

''We sent them home,'' Hans said. ''We run family businesses. The women working here are our wives, daughters, their friends. Some of the things the sailors said to them…'' He shook his head.

''It was better to send the women home before they started dumping more beer over sailors heads than they put on the tables in front of them. Or their sons and husbands started fights… and I know we don't want no fights,'' Hans said to Ron.

''Mayor,'' he continued, ''we really need more guys to shell out the beer or there's going to be a riot. Half those men Gassy has wearing armbands have worked here. I need them.''

Ron eyed his Chief of the Peace. ''I have barely enough, Boss. And if things get any worse, I won't have anywhere near enough. These guys keep drinking and things are only going to go downhill. I know you don't want to hear this, but I think you better close down the Beergartens.''

To Kris's surprise, Hans' only comeback to that was a weak ''I hope you don't do nothing like that.''

''Who's paying for the beer?'' she asked Ron.

''The city's paying some, and Hans's friends are selling to the sailors at half price. About midnight, we're going to let them tap out the older stuff that's gone stale. What we usually make them pour down the gutter.''

''Well, if you don't have a riot before midnight, I'll bet on one after that,'' Jack said.

''We thought they'd be too drunk to notice,'' the garten owner said with a shrug. ''The way they're swilling my best, they can't have any taste left by then.''

Kris did a second look around. Yep. most were going through their large glasses as fast as she'd come to expect of college boys—or girls, but there were no girls on a Peterwald ship. On closer study, she spotted, here and there, a fellow who looked a bit too old to be an able seaman. And those few were nursing their glasses. Come midnight, at least a few would know what was being served. And a shout would…

''Jack, you see what I see?''

He nodded. ''There're troublemakers out there.''

Gasçon following where Kris looked and scowled at what he saw. ''You think we're being set up, Princess?''

''That's what the Peterwalds do. I don't see any Shore Patrol. Have they checked in with you?''

''There is no Shore Patrol,'' the Chief of the Peace said.

''I think now would be a good time for you to call Hank,'' Kris said to Ron.

The mayor nodded, a deep scowl on his face. With a sigh and a shake, he turned his face to pleasantly friendly. ''Oh, Kris, you better get over there,'' he said, pointing to a piece of pavement well in front of him. She and Jack did.

Ron held up his wrist and said. ''Ron Torn here. Connect me to Marta Torn.'' A moment later he was talking to his mother. ''Things going well on your side?''

''No blood on the carpet. I guess that counts for success tonight. You out on the street, Mr. Mayor?''

''Yes, Mom. Is our visiting commodore close? I need to talk to him.''

''I figured you would when I saw the company you left in. How many times have I told you, son, if I'm ever going to have any grandkids, you have to leave with just the girl. Not her papa, not her best friend. Find one girl, and leave with her.''

Ron scratched his forehead. ''You're right, Mom, I blew it again,'' he said, casting a not-all-that-brotherly look Kris's way. She returned it just as enthusiastically.

''I always tell guys, listen to your mother,'' Kris whispered.

''Here's the man you asked for, Mr. Mayor,'' Marta said, the mother gone, the senior manager solidly in place.

''I missed you, Ron,'' Hank said, effusively. ''Last time I looked around for you, you were no where to be seen. I've been dancing with all your old girlfriends it seems.''

Jack elbowed Kris. She tossed him a glare before turning a wide-eyed, innocent face to Ron. He was trapped by the camera on his wrist and Hank.

''Didn't know I had that many old flames,'' Ron said, maybe for Kris, then cut straight to the chase, ''but you, Commodore, have lots of sailors. Now, I'm glad they're enjoying themselves, but quite a few of them can't seem to handle their beer. We've had fights, sailor on sailor, sailor on innocent civilian.''

''Oh, I wouldn't be so sure those civilians are innocent. There're Longknife provocateurs everywhere. Longknifes throw money around like it's water when one of our ships is in port. If our sailors don't protect themselves, they'd be tied up and hauled off to some pig farm in the backwoods.''

''Our judges will help you sort that out tomorrow.''

''Judges?''

''Yes. From where I'm standing, a couple dozen of your boys will be sobering up courtesy of the sovereign city of Last Chance, and talking to a Court Commissioner in the morning.''

''I should hope not, Mayor,'' came in a voice devoid of all the Hail and Good Fellow that Hank had been projecting.

''What would you hope for, Commodore? My Safety people can't just leave them on the street to start another fight.''

''What does the old song say, Mayor, ‘roll'em up and put'em in the longboat?' Run them out to the liberty launches. We'll take them from there. I'm certain you'd provide such a courtesy to any visiting U.S. ship.''

''Don't most U.S. ships have a Shore Patrol to work with the local Safety folks…'' Ron started and trailed off.

''Sorry, son, he just turned his back on me and stomped off.''

''Didn't anyone teach that man manners?'' Hans muttered.

''Apparently not.'' Ron growled. ''Gassy, it's up to you.''

''What can you give me for back-up, Boss?''

''Most of what I'd normally back you up with is up there,'' he said, giving a thumbs-up that Kris suspected meant her station. ''But I do have some reserves.''

''Not the boys,'' Hans and Gassy said together.

Ron's hand was back up and he was talking to his wrist. ''Coach, I need all the help you can give me.''

''You want just the wrestlers, or should I call in the football teams as well?''

''Everything you got, college and high school level.''

''You going to let high schoolers into the Oktoberfest?''

''I got Gassy right here beside me. I promise that none of your underage kids will be busted for either serving beer or waltzing through the gartens twirling a nightstick.''

''Bad precedent, Ron,'' said the coach.

''We get through this visit and I'll visit every school and explain why I did it and tell them we'll give them unshirted hell if they do it again.''

''I've got the call tree already going. My wife and kids are calling as we speak. My teams ought to start showing up in five, ten minutes.'' There was as chuckle. ''I think some of them may be just down the street, waiting for word to come.''

Ron rang off. ''Wrestlers, football players?'' Kris said.

''That was Randy Gomez, head coach at University of Last Chance. He's calling every kid involved in any of the ever-popular, nasty contact sports played at our local schools.'' Ron looked up the street. A pick-up with a youngster at the wheel and more in the back rolled up to the yellow tape that excluded traffic from the five blocks of Oktoberfest. Those that jumped down were uniformly tall, bulky, looking eager and mean enough to chew red-hot steel for breakfast come morning.

''Have they been trained in police procedures?'' Jack asked.

''One hour last week. I had my best deputies show riot-control techniques to their classes,'' Gassy muttered. ''But I'll team five of them with two of my deputies or reservists. With luck a drunk will take one look at their prospects and give it up. If not, well, things may get interesting before those liberty launches lift off.''

Ron's wrist chimed, he gave it a ''what now'' look and tapped it. ''Please be kind to your ever-friendly mayor,'' he said.

''Don't know how kind this is, but we're having trouble getting the Highland Games started. Could you stop by and maybe offer some insights into what I'm doing wrong. What is it with sailor suits? This is always so much easier when the guys and gals wear kilts.''

So Kris, Ron and Jack turned for the college two short blocks away. But the walk got longer because the stadium was on the far side of the campus. And the sidewalks meandered around trees and a fountain. ''Is this supposed to isolate the jocks from learning, or those who want to learn from anything resembling physical exercise?'' Jack asked the rising moon.

''I think it's lovely,'' Ron said, putting an arm around Kris. It wasn't that cold, but his touch sent a shiver down Kris's spine. She leaned against his shoulder and enjoyed the walk.

A shot ended that.

They'd just come around the south side of the bleachers to the track. They spotted the source of the shot before Jack had his Navy-issue pistol out. Unfortunately, Kris had raised her skirt, showing a lot of leg, and the weapon hiding in her garter.

''That's where I figured it for,'' Jack said, but all three of them were mesmerized by the sight of manly excellence before them as runners raced around the track… or whatever.

One sailor had come out of his crouch at the sound of the gun, stumbled for two steps, and fallen on his face and was now adding vomit to the blood that speckled the track. Others were worse. Two charged down the track, bounced off each other, and took off in directions that had nothing to do with the chalk lines drawn for the race. One seaman started fast. Stopped. Looked around at the shouting crowd… and turned tail. He was now racing the wrong way as fast as his legs could carry him.

Three, no, four sailors were still galloping along in the right direction at speeds that put the Interstellar Track and Field records well out of reach.

''I ask ya', is this normal?'' said a thin old fellow, a few wisps of white hair combed over his sunburned scalp. The clipboard in his hand and the kilt that didn't reach to his knees identified him as someone in charge. ''I mean, I heard tales of some mighty god-awful drinking at Paris when they finished up the Society, and there was mention in our newsletters of the worst sporting events in the history of the Games, but this. ‘Tis…'' he seemed at a loss for words and settled for ''disgusting.''

''I've heard that beer and physical excellence don't mix, but I never saw such solid proof,'' Jack said, covering a smile.

''I had other fun and games at Paris,'' Kris said vaguely.

Ron did the introductions. Douglas MacNab ran the city's annual Highland Games. ''Not sure that qualifies me for this. We finally locked up the stones and hammers. I'm afear they'd do more damage to themselves and my school if I hadn'a.''

''You going to Caber?'' Kris asked, eyes lighting up.

''No,'' Jack said.

''I'm still trying,'' Douglas said, ''but it's no easy to get these boys to even line up, much less listen to how it's done.''

''What if I show them?'' Kris said through a widening grin.

''What if you don't,'' Jack said.

''I'm not sure about this,'' Ron added.

''But I've always wanted to toss a caber. I can't tell you how many times I had to shake hands through a Highland Game for Father's campaign and never got to tossing one of those poles.''

MacNab ran a hand through what was left of his hair. ''We let the kids play at this because they do what I tell ‘em, and their parents sign waivers. I don't see anyone around to sign a waiver for you, lassie.''

''I'm over twenty-one,'' Kris said eagerly.

He eyed her over his spectacles. ''And will you listen to what I tell ya.''

''Of course,'' Kris said.

''No way,'' Jack said.

''I'm not too sure about this,'' Ron said again.

''Where's the caber toss?'' Kris asked.

''On the other side of the seats,'' MacNab said, and led the way. Beside them, the four remaining runners were losing speed at a rapid clip. One of them shouted for a beer and took a hard right into the infield toward an honest-to-God beer wagon, complete with four beautifully groomed horses.

''Aren't those horses lovely,'' Kris said.

''Let's detour for an hour or two and say hi, Princess.'' Jack's suggestion almost reached the level of an order.

Ron's ''Yes'' was merely civilian-strength suggestion.

Kris kept walking; they reached the end of the seats just in time for Kris to catch something out of the corner of her eye.

She did a quick jump back. A long, thick pole slammed down in front of her, exactly where she'd been. If her oversize nose had been a hair longer, it would definitely have been shortened.

''Oops,'' said a sailor at the other end of the caber.

''Sorry, ma'am,'' said a second. A third, one of those older types Kris was spotting now and then, said nothing as he stepped back and disappeared into a milling crowd of sailors around a second beer wagon, complete with horses.

''Princess, I strongly suggest you go get acquainted with that team of horses,'' Jack said, undoing the flap on his holster. ''Ron, Douglas, who's the head of security for this layout?''

There was a delay while Kris was introduced to Hilo Kalako, Chief Deputy, and the two men and four boys at his side. But while they talked their line of business, Kris spotted a half dozen cabers laid out and walked over to make their acquaintance.

''How do you lift one of these?'' she asked Douglas.

''Da I not recall you saying you'd do what Ah told ya?''

''I did.''

''Then stick those fine pale fingers of yours in this,'' he said, holding a bucket of strong smelling black stuff for Kris.

''I didn't say I wouldn't ask questions. So, what is it?''

''Tar and other stuff you'll be needing to hold on to the caber when you want to be holding on, and let it be slipping a bit when ya need that.'' Kris sank her hands into the goo.

''Abby would not approve,'' Jack said, coming up behind Kris.

''I think you're right on that,'' Kris agreed.

''Who's Abby?'' Ron asked. ''Your mother?''

''Close,'' Jack said. ''Her maid.''

Ron said nothing to that. Kris eyed the long wooden pole and frowned. ''Which end of the pole do I pick up first?''

''Normally you wouldna be asking that,'' MacNab said. ''The last one to make a toss is supposed to stand the caber up for the next. But you're first, and me old back isn't up to this kind of lifting no more.''

''So I'll do it,'' Kris said, and stooped down, lifted one end into her lap, then stood up the rest of the way, carefully using her knees for the lift.

''Ya did that one right, lass, but ya remember ya tellin' me that you'd do what I told ya to.''

''Yes.''

''Well, that also means waiting for me to tell you what ta do. For now, ya just go hand over hand until ya got the caper standin' tall.'' She did. Soon, she found herself with her hands high over her head and her strapless gown playing an interesting game of show and tell. She managed to get the caber standing straight up with little shown and less to tell about it. A few wolf whistles soon changed into a ragged cheer as she finished. Leaning against the caber, she did the cute curtsey she'd learned at four or five… and the cheer grew louder.

Through a wide grin she whispered to Douglas, ''What next?''

''The hard part, lassie.'' He quickly whispered to Kris how she was suppose to go from leaning on the caber, it's butt on the ground, to holding the bottom of the caber in both her hands, leaning it against her shoulder while she leaned her shoulder against it. ''Ya got that?'' Kris measured the expectant shouts from the crowd of Greenfeld sailors, males all, and her own expectation of success and found that the only future ahead for her involved either a successful caber toss or going down in flaming failure. Had that agent planned this as his fall-back plan if he didn't succeed in driving her into the turf with that falling pole? Nah, this is just another one of my dumb stunts.

Someone shouted, ''Hey, that's Princess Longknife. How many of you want to toss a caber like her?'' And a line began to form.

That cinched it, walking away was not an option.

Kris reviewed the old fellow's instructions and squatted down, thanking her mother for the ballet lessons that had kept her supple all those years. ''Gee, Mother, I do owe you.''

Fingers interlaced around the pole, shoulder against it, she felt the top of it begin a wild weaving pattern that threw the weight of it first right, then left, then front, then back. She held it there until it steadied for a moment, then made the lift from the knees, feet widespread. She felt all kinds of things go wrong in places she hadn't expected to feel until that undefined future day when she might give birth to some poor girl with a nose too long. Kris struggled to shuffle her legs closer together. Oh, and somehow, she also kept the caber upright enough to not get out of control and lay her and it out flat.

Douglas had called this the spider dance and said she'd understand it when she was doing it. Yes, it would have been nice to have eight legs at the moment, but she only had the two God gave her and she was busy working them like four. For a second, the caber took off on its own, but she managed to stutter jump to her left and catch the center of gravity again.

I've flown ships to orbit, standing them up on just a pillar of flame. Surely I can balance a five meter pole in my own hands. Course, the ship had an inertial guidance platform and all I have is my head. I am not gonna let a machine beat me!

The dance went on for a couple of weeks, maybe less. It was still dark and the moon was about in the same part of the sky when Kris found herself where Douglas said she should be. She stood. The butt of the caber was in the palm of her hands. She leaned against it while it leaned against her left shoulder.

Oh, and her dress had all kinds of tar streaks on it. Abby was not going to be happy.

''That's some Manual at Arms your doing, Princess,'' someone shouted from the back of the crowd.

''I don't see you in line to try it yourself,'' Jack shouted back. While Kris got her breath for what had to be an easier finish, MacNab sent the kids with armbands to form the sailors into six lines to match the six cabers they had. Since the crowd of gawkers in front of Kris got very thin, most everyone around must have gotten in line.

Kris had her breath back… and her arms and legs were beginning to scream at the abuse… when MacNab was back at her elbow. ''You're going to want to let the caber begin to topple over,'' he pointed downfield. ''Ya go along with it, picking up speed. When ya feel you're in the best spot, ya put everything ya have into lifting up the butt of it and tossing it up and out. The idea is to have the other end of the thing land first. If the butt lands first, or it just kind o‘ lays down lengthwise, it no been tossed and it no counts. Understand?''

''I'm not doing this again.''

''You'd have to wait in a long line to get another chance,'' Ron said, looking back where Kris didn't dare spare a glance.

Kris let the caber begin to fall. Slowly at first, then faster, she chased after it. She'd calculated ballistics since she was in middle school. She'd flown orbital skiffs by the seat of her pants. Certainly this couldn't be worse than those.

But orbital skiffs only took a flick of a finger to send them turning. This caber was dragging along her whole body, sucking every ounce of strength she had. One misstep on this grassy field, one stumble in the dark, and all she'd done would be for nothing. She'd be a joke to all these Greenfeld sailors.

Worse, she'd be a girl.

Kris found all the strength she had… plus an extra boost from anger… and hurled the caber high.

MacNab dropped a marker where Kris's foot was when she hefted it, then watched as the pole arched high and executed a perfect ballistic flight to slam down, nose first, in the grass.

''Well done. Well done, Lass,'' he called. ''That won't be a record, but it would be a good finish in any game I've bossed in my thirty years of doing the honors.''

Now there were cheers from the crowd behind Kris. She turned to them and did a formal curtsey. The cheers got louder. Ron presented Kris with a towel. She tried and failed to clean the mess off her hands as they headed back for the racetrack. The sailors opened a path for them, to shouts of ''Good going.''

''Good shot.''

''Great doing, for a girl.''

Before Kris could make a comeback, a sailor provided one for her. ''My sister could have done just as well. We ought to let the girls have chances like that.'' That started an argument, that, fueled with beer, was best left to the sailors to resolve.

''We should get back to the port,'' Jack suggested. ''We do have a shuttle to catch.''

''And you don't want to be there when Hank and his mob start filling up the sky,'' Ron said. ''I'm not sure there's a designated driver in the batch.''

''Wasn't there anyone to take the drunks off your hands at the liberty launches?'' Kris said.

''The first report back said the launches are deserted. No one standing guard. No pilot standing by.''

Kris shook her head. ''What are your security people doing with the drunks?''

'' ‘Rolling them up and putting them in the long boat.' ''

''But,'' Kris started, then stopped.

''Oh Lord, but those boats are going to stink come midnight,'' Jack said, almost in pain at the thought of it.

''I'm sure you want to ride up in the work shuttle.''

''Please, Mr. Mayor,'' Kris said.

They took a different way back into the Oktoberfest that put them at the opposite end of the street. With a guy on each arm, Kris looked forward to the walk. Farthest from the busses that had brought the sailors was the Heidelberg. A glance inside showed Kris several wide, smiling women working the taps… ensconced behind an equally wide bar.

She brought her men to a halt, ending the happy stroll. But before she could open her mouth, she spotted the difference between the Heidelberg and other Beergartens tonight. The tables, row on row, were filled with chiefs, older, maybe a bit more sober, but definitely quieter.

''So that's where all the NCOs are,'' Jack said.

''In there, not drinking with their own men. Not making any effort to keep discipline or order,'' Kris mused.

''I thought having a separate club for the chiefs was normal. At least that's what Hank's contact man told us,'' Ron said.

''Right,'' Kris said. ''Still, you'd expect them to keep an eye on their men, hold them to a certain level of behavior. Maybe not as high as their moms and dads, but…''

Kris looked up the street. A fight was just being broken up by the armbands. Here and there men, hardly more than boys, emptied their stomachs into gutters, bushes, whatever. Not a view to make you proud of your fighting men.

The next beergarten, the Happy Bavarian, held the senior petty officers. That only men manned the taps showed they were only marginally better behaved than the seamen on the street.

Gassy was headed their way, a bespeckled man in a rumpled suit at his elbow. ''Thought you might want to meet Pinky here.''

''Harvey Pinkerton,'' the man said. ''I own the only remote-controlled observer system in Last Chance.''

''You of the Pinkerton Security Family?'' Jack asked.

''Doubt it. Family story is that great-great however-many was shuffled off Earth in lieu of prison. I don't work for Gassy if there's just some enterprising young fellow involved in an exchange of property,'' the guy said with a grin at Gassy, who seemed to be studiously looking elsewhere. ''Mostly I track wandering husband's, wives, teenagers. Not that Ron wants you to know his wonderful Chance has those oh so normal human problems.''

''Pinky, show her what Gasçon told me about,'' Ron said dryly.

Pinky handed Kris the oversize reader he carried. It showed an aerial view of the Oktoberfest. He tapped it and it zoomed down. ''Gassy told me there's some ringers circulating among these fun-loving sailor boys. Wondered if I could spot them.''

''They're just sailors like the rest. But a bit older.''

''There's two of them now. They usually travel in pairs.''

Kris eyed the screen. White uniformed sailors filled most of the enlarged picture. But two were in gray sailor suits.

''Something go wrong in their wash?'' Jack asked.

''Spider silk doesn't look at all like cotton when you catch it in the right light spectrum.''

''Spider silk,'' Kris said with a growing frown. ''Somebody's not willing to take chances with the rest of the poor dumb sheep they're setting up for a fall.''

''Looks that way,'' Gassy said. ''Anyway, we've isolated ten pair of off-white sailors and we'll take them out of circulation come eleven thirty. Well give them a ride to the airport in our very own paddy wagons and see that they are on the first liberty launches down the runway.'' He flicked his eyebrows up twice. ''The smelliest ones.''

''Kris, I think we better get gone.''

''Jack, I agree. Ron, I want to thank you for showing a girl a great time,‘'' Kris said, giving the mayor a kiss on the cheek.

''I thought you said I showed you a great time,'' Jack said in wounded male pride.

''You did, but this is the best time I've had that didn't involve wrecking a space station.''

Ron gave Kris a hug and a kiss of his own, and it wasn't on the cheek. ''Someday I really want to read about your love life.''

''Oh, now you've got tar on your formal duds. What are you going to tell your mom?''

‘''That things like that happen if she's ever to get those grandkids she keeps talking about. You two take care. Steve, don't you wrap your father's best rig around a tree or anything.''

''Tough job that fellow has,'' Jack said as they left.

''About as tough as yours, I imagine.''

''He keeps track of a city. All I have to handle is you.''

Kris shrugged. ''As I said. About even.''

The ride up the station was a problem. The passengers sniffed the air around Kris. One pointed out, ''After you toss a caber you're supposed to change clothes and take a bath before mixing in proper company.'' But the vote was twenty-three to twenty-two to let their princess share their ride. This really was Chance, where everyone knew everything. And someone had told Abby. She greeted Kris at the door of her quarters with a scowl.

''Do I space that dress with you in it?''

To help Abby decide, Kris started unzipping out of it. Jack had decided that Kris's safety tonight just might require him to unfasten the top hook and work the zipper down to where Kris could reach it. ''What I do to keep you alive.''

Out of the dress, Kris handed it to Abby. ''I guess you might as well space it.''

Abby made a grab for Kris's hand. ''And look at these. You broke two, no three, nails and how are we ever going to get that tar out from under your fingernails.''

''I'm sure you'll enjoy doing it and it will involve hurting me a whole bunch,'' Kris said. She slipped into a shipsuit and ducked over to the Command Center. Penny was there with Steve.

''The chief get away?''

''Yep,'' Penny said. ''Beni went off with a couple of thirsty types from the Resolute to keep him company.''

''May keep him out of trouble. Anything happen up here?''

''Not a thing. All ships quiet as a church,'' Penny said. The board showed Hank's Incredible, as well as Fury, Dominant, Fearless, Surprise, Eager. Traditional names, but in this collection, Kris wondered if they were hinting at anything.

''Wonder which ships belong to which captains?'' Kris said.

''We should have had a reply to my priority search request. Don't know what's taking them so long.''

''Abby didn't space you?'' Steve grinned.

''I think I may be escaping a well-deserved fate.''

''Throwing the caber in a silk party dress,'' Penny said.

''My skirt wasn't any longer than the kilt on old Douglas.''

That didn't stop the heads from wagging. But it did let Kris get a good eight hours' sleep.