She had her service-issue automatic. She could shoot it out right there on the pier. She’d likely end up dead or sleepydarted.
None of her prospects looked good.
She opened her eyes and gazed up into Jack’s. The same agony was on his face that must be on hers.
“Damn, I wish we’d done this sooner,” he said.
“Me, too,” Kris said, and took a step back.
His hands refused to let her go, but held her even as she took a second and a third step away from him. Finally, only their fingers were touching.
Another backward step broke even that contact.
“I will find you,” he whispered.
“I will wait for you,” she whispered back.
Then she turned, every fiber of her being in agony and rebellion, and marched the short distance to where the courier pilot waited.
“Let’s do what you have to do,” Kris said.
63
Kris had never made a trip at 4.25 gees. She’d heard that the courier ships did, but she’d never believed it possible. She spent the entire trip floating naked in a tub of something a lot more viscous than water. Food and water both came from a tube. The skipper sent a crewwoman around to catheterize Kris.
“This just for us girls?” Kris asked.
“Nope, I get to do it to the boys, too. You ought to see how they blush.”
Other than that visit, Kris was left alone for the entire, though quick, flight to Wardhaven.
In the brief seconds that Nelly took to send Sandy Kris’s report, Sandy’s computer sent Nelly the latest update of Winston Spencer’s report on what was happening inside human space.
Refusing to give in to the temptation to wallow in self-pity and regret, Kris had Nelly run the news feed. It held no surprises.
As she’d expected, once the wreckage and bodies from her first encounter with the aliens arrived at Santa Maria, the story went public. Suddenly, everyone knew the Iteeche were losing scout ships to some unknown horror and that the mercurial Kris Longknife had insisted on taking out a squadron to see what there was to see.
That eight battleships had been added to her force by various concerned parties didn’t make it into the media.
Not then. That was saved for when the second report came back.
Kris thanked her lucky stars that a beauty like Amanda Kutter had taken the ride back to human space. She was too lovely not to be invited to all the talk shows. If she hadn’t been out there talking, the only story in the media would be that Kris Longknife had taken it into her head to attack some poor, innocent alien ship that was just wandering through the cosmos minding its own business.
If Kris had been reading a report, she would have thrown it across the room in her fury. Of course, at 4.25 gees, Kris could hardly raise a finger.
She let Nelly go on.
Amanda had gotten Kris’s story out. The destroyed alien planet and the target avian species did not get lost entirely. Still, the Emperor of Greenfeld dispatched a fast cruiser squadron to carry the message that Admiral Krätz was recalled and should return immediately.
Those cruisers might or might not have carried the same orders from Geneva and Musashi. Those two governments chose to play it close to their respective vests.
Kris noted that Wardhaven sources never mentioned that she’d been shipped the Hellburners. That seemed like a very telling omission.
It was a fast trip to Wardhaven, but before Kris was even halfway there, it was clear that she’d been set up to take whatever fall was necessary.
After a while, Kris ignored the news and spent the time floating in the tub meditating on her future. What was the old saying?
No good deed goes unpunished.
They docked at High Wardhaven station quick and smooth. The crewwoman came around to decath Kris. “I’m sorry we didn’t get to wash your uniform, but we don’t carry so much as a clothes washer. The crew is all girls, and the uniform can get very informal.”
“No problem,” Kris said. “If Grampa doesn’t give me time to shower and change clothes, he deserves what he gets.”
“Grampa?”
“My great-grandfather. King Raymond.”
“Some of the girls thought you might be that princess, but you looked so bedraggled when you boarded . . . well, you know.”
“It’s been a rough stretch,” Kris admitted, adjusting her own gig line.
“There are some folks waiting for you pierside,” the woman advised Kris.
“I bet there are,” Kris said, and marched for the tiny quarterdeck.
And bounced her head off the overhead.
“Be careful. They only chose girls less than five-foot-two and 105 pounds.”
“Where do they recruit you, ballet school?”
“Several of us did take a swing at dance.”
Kris forced herself to leave the wonderfully relaxing small talk behind and finished her exit without further head bashing.
Three station carts awaited her: Two were full of Marines, and one had a Navy captain driving. He waved her to him. She went.
He took off as fast as the cart could go as soon as she sat down. He didn’t even wait for her to buckle in.
“We’ve got to catch the next ferry dirtside. If we’re late, they’re under orders to hold it, but that will tell anyone watching that something special is going on.”
“Am I expected?”
“The media has been told you’ll be arriving in two days. Three-gee acceleration all the way. Kid, you stink. Didn’t they have a shower on that boat? That uniform’s a disgrace.”
“At 4.25 gees, you don’t shower,” Kris said. “And no, they don’t have a clothes washer. You want to drop me by Nuu House. I’d love a shower and a clean set of whites.”
“Nuu House is surrounded by reporters. So is Main Navy. Your meeting was moved just an hour ago, when there may have been another leak.”
“It’s nice to be popular,” Kris said with as much cheer as she could muster.
“What is it with you?” the captain snapped, not taking his eyes from the drive. “First you get away with mutiny. Then you gallivant off wherever you want, missing ship’s movement. What you don’t blow up, you mess up. For God’s sakes, woman, why don’t you get out of my Navy and give us a chance to recover some of our honor?”
“I’m glad they sent along such a fan,” Kris said, holding on to her temper with her fingernails. This was not going to be a good evening. As tempting as it was to take this old fart’s head off, it would not help her with her grampa or with the Navy.
“Someday I must write my memoirs and get the truth out,” Kris said softly.
“A pack of lies,” the captain growled. “Your kind says whatever sells books.”
Kris leaned back in her seat and slid her cap over her face. “Wake me up when we get there.” That at least got her peace and quiet for the drive to the space elevator.
Kris and her guards hustled aboard the ferry, which dropped loose even as they were taking their seats. This one had Admiral Crossenshield’s secret quarters and passageway. They were never in view of the paying customers.
Dirtside, it was the same. Kris was hurried into a fleet of large SUVs with darkened windows and quickly found herself on a limited-access highway headed out of town. Somewhere she’d lost the captain who was such a groupie. The team she’d picked up did not attempt to talk to her; neither did she say a word to them.
They turned off the highway onto a winding country road. Kris had a dim recollection of visiting the place once before. It had been before Eddy died, when Grampa Al was prime minister. If that was the case, the place had very good security.