“Her father, my Emperor, requires it,” said Vice Admiral Georg Krätz, commander of BatRon 12, all its supporting elements, and one Victoria Smythe-Peterwald, now a lieutenant in her father, the emperor’s, Navy.
“I think Dad was afraid I’d starve to death or run out of oxygen or maybe break a nail and not have a file,” Vicky said, dismissively.
“I think he’s more worried about why Iteeche scouts are not coming back at the end of their voyages,” the admiral said darkly, “and very much wants his daughter back after this voyage.”
Vicky gave him a sideways glance. “I wish I really believed that. I’m not at all sure his new wife wants me back. And her already preggers with a boy, not that she doesn’t mention that every five minutes.
“And it’s going to be a body birth. No auto-jug for my new brother. Dad is just always checking in on her. He has Brother’s heart monitor forwarded to his personal computer. Old men should not be fathers!” Vicky said in exasperation.
Kris had been delighted to have a younger brother. But then she’d been four and already being bossed around by a big brother. To her, Eddy looked like a chance for Kris to even up the bossing. Vicky’s experience of her big brother, now deceased thanks to Kris, had not been a topic for much conversation.
At fifteen, Kris had made the discovery that her family met most of the requirements for dysfunctional. Poor Vicky had only recently come to that conclusion.
From the sound of things, the Peterwalds were about to plumb new depths on the dysfunctional scale. In the back of Kris’s head, a small alarm went off. People died in the games Peterwalds played.
So how could Kris keep her distance?
Funny thing, people died around those damn Longknifes. Now it was Kris’s turn to watch her back around someone else.
“How’d your father take to us digging the dirt on the economic wool that’s being pulled over his eyes?”
Vicky snorted. “He didn’t. He didn’t believe me. Didn’t want to do anything about it. Didn’t want to hear another word about it. If you ask me, between my stepmom’s not liking the sight of me and Dad’s not wanting to hear about the way he’s being snookered on the economy, he’s glad to be rid of me.”
Kris shook her head. As much as she wanted to hear more about this, she said, “You’ll have to bring me up to date on all the gossip later.”
“You girls do that on your own time,” Admiral Krätz said, “but I have some official business to perform.” He pulled a flat box from his pocket.
The form of the box was familiar. They usually held a military decoration of some level, but Kris was more than surprised when he flipped the lid up.
A blue Maltese cross was surrounded by golden eagles. Kris would have mistaken it for finely crafted jewelry except for the words written on the decoration.
Pour le Mérite
“Dad, being emperor and all, decided he should start doing emperor stuff, like having a greatest and highest award. The Order of Merit. Or Mé-rite as he insists it be pronounced. Anyway, you’re the first to get it. That oak leaf at the top, that’s for valor. Only people who earn it in combat get the oak-leaf version.”
“What am I getting this for?” Kris asked. “Is there a citation to go with that?”
“Everyone else got a citation on parchment suitable for framing,” Vicky said. “Somehow you got skipped. You can decide whether it’s for surviving the admiral here lasing you from orbit on Port Royal, or liberating Kaskatos from our rogue state-security nut, or for saving Dad’s neck on Birridas. Your call.”
“Ah, no citation to read at my award ceremony, huh?”
“Award ceremony? What award ceremony?” the admiral said, looking around blandly. “You’ve got the medal. You can explain it the same way you do that Order of the Wounded Lion.”
“I don’t explain it,” Kris said sourly.
“Just so.”
Kris pocketed the award; one more thing to add to her growing collection of stuff she rarely wore because of the problem of explaining it all. It was time to get down to business.
“Admirals Channing and Kōta are already waiting in the Forward Lounge with their command teams. I see you brought yours.” Kris eyed the large collection of Greenfeld Navy and Marine officers who followed behind Vicky and the admiral as they went through the ceremony of crossing the Wasp’s quarterdeck.
Most looked familiar.
“You bringing everyone who was with you at Port Royal?” Kris asked.
“In truth, we have orders to make ourselves scarce,” the admiral said. “After the slaughter at Port Royal, there was never any doubt my battle squadron was to be exiled with you. While the Greenfeld Navy, er, I mean Imperial Navy is happy to have Port Royal as a Navy colony, no one wants me running into any stockholders of N. S. Holding Group. The only question was whether or not the young grand duchess here got to come along for the ride.”
“Dad took some persuading.”
“I can imagine. Grampa Ray is making noises like he doesn’t want me doing this either.”
“I thought your gramps considered you so totally expendable,” Vicky said.
“I sure did,” Kris agreed.
“One would think so after perusing your file,” the admiral said.
“Grampa Ray had me to dinner last night,” Kris said. “He spent half the meal trying to convince me that my different assignments had been intended for my development.”
“Development!” Vicky said. “Did he read the same file I did?”
“Selfsame,” Kris said. “The other half of the meal he tried to talk me out of leading this scouting mission.”
“Did he?” the admiral asked.
“Not bleeding likely,” Kris said.
They reached the Forward Lounge. A Marine guard held the door open for them, then closed it behind them.
“You’re keeping this meeting quite secure,” the admiral observed.
“Yes,” Kris said. “I didn’t invite Crossie. There will be no leaks from my meeting.”
“Did King Raymond’s Chief of Intelligence admit to being the source of the leaks?” the admiral asked.
“Yes, and no, and maybe. The man is pathologically incapable of telling the truth. At least Grampa Ray is no longer holding me responsible for the leaks.”
No one announced “Attention on Deck” when Admiral Krätz entered. The Forward Lounge already had two other admirals present. Adding complications to the etiquette challenge were the princess and grand duchess. A consensus had apparently formed that the Forward Lounge was a private restaurant, owned and operated by its own contractor, even if the containers were presently attached to the USS Wasp. When Kris introduced Krätz to Channing and Kōta, they all kept it informal although Kōta did give both Kris and Vicky a very stiff bow from the waist.
NELLY, DOES MUSASHI HAVE AN EMPEROR? I FORGOT.
YES AND NO, KRIS. MUSASHI PROFESSES TO OWE AFFECTION TO THE EMPEROR ON YAMATO. HOWEVER, FOR THE LAST TWO HUNDRED YEARS SINCE ITS FOUNDING, THEY HAVE KIND OF GROWN THEIR OWN EMPEROR. A PRINCE OF THE IMPERIAL BLOOD, THE EMPEROR’S KID BROTHER, STARTED OUT BEING A KIND OF VICEROY BUT AFTER TWO OR THREE GENERATIONS, THE BIRD IN THE HAND WAS A LOT MORE REVERED THAN THE BIRD FIFTY LIGHT-YEARS AWAY.
ISN’T THAT CONFUSING?
ONLY TO OUR WAY OF THINKING, KRIS. I UNDERSTAND THAT THE JAPANESE ARE MUCH BETTER THAN YOU AT HOLDING TWO CONTRADICTORY OPINIONS AT THE SAME TIME AND NOT BEING BOTHERED BY IT.
Kris did her best to not let her internal discussion with Nelly reach her face as she returned a half bow to the admiral. The highest introductions done, Kris glanced around the room. The captain, XO, and Marine detachment skipper for her ships held down the left-hand side of the room, closest to the bar, though that watering hole seemed decidedly unbusy tonight. The representatives from Musashi and Helvetica occupied the middle, while the Imperial Greenfeld contingent took up nearly half the room on the right.