''I guess it's not fraternizing,'' she said as they went into the second dance.
''It's quite public and certainly above board,'' Jack said. ''And so much more modest than the last time.''
Kris frowned at the reference, then remembered the rescue mission on Turantic that involved passing herself off as a working lady of the night and Jack as her trick. Of several possible replies, Kris chose, ''All in a day's work.''
''If you work around Longknifes,'' Jack agreed.
''What are you two talking about?'' Ron asked as he cut in near the end of that dance.
''Top secret stuff,'' Kris said darkly.
''Right,'' Ron agreed, taking Kris into his arms. ''If you told me, you'd have to kill me.''
''No, draft you,'' she said, laughing.
''As a citizen of Last Chance, a sovereign polis of Chance, I am not subject to your laws be they drafty or otherwise.''
''But you are subject to current events, Ron.''
''Every day we get out of bed, Longknife, we take a risk,'' he said, twirling her out to arms length. Then he pulled her back close. ''Your idea of my risks and mine are seen from different perspectives. What do you say we avoid this argument tonight?''
They did for another dance, and then he passed her back to Jack. ''Should I ask what you two were talking about, or is it top secret? And remember, you already drafted me.''
Kris accidentally stepped on his toe, marring his Marine-perfect shoeshine. After that, they just danced. Kris spent the better part of half an hour on the floor, being passed between the local man and her official protector. When Ron called time for the theater, her feet didn't even hurt.
The local theater was pure amateur. Still, the sets were well done, several of the leads had good voices and they seemed to have a clear eye for what they wanted to do with the ancient comedy. Kris was not surprised when she was gently nudged in the ribs at the reference to making Admiral by polishing up the handle on the front door. She elbowed Ron right back.
To her surprise, she didn't even get a raised eyebrow at the line about the junior partnership being the only ship she ever did see. Apparently Ron had done his homework. That was good for him, because she'd planned to do major damage to his kneecap if he didn't respect her ship time.
But Kris didn't make any defense when Ron added his own emphasis to the stage's reference to never thinking of thinking for herself at all. Her hard-won independence from the Longknife shadow, and the voluntary surrender she had finally chosen to make to her name and the legends attached to it was not something she could explain in a whisper during a libretto.
Intermission came with Kris wondering at the fate of women who had to struggle against arranged marriages, and doing her own measuring of the difference between her mother and the Captain's leaning on his daughter. No wonder the humor stayed with us. Some things hadn't changed nearly enough for one girl.
Ron suggested they get something to drink at intermission. Jack maintained his careful two steps behind her, and 360 degrees of concern. The two of them were the only ones in uniform and, though the khakis might have blended in with dust, they didn't blend well with the suits and dresses tonight. Ron had failed to mention that theater was an occasion for showing yourself in style.
The refreshment line was an ambush, but not one Jack could protect her from. They joined the back of the line, and were immediately mugged by three elderly folks leaning on canes and proudly displaying lapel buttons earned for valor in the Iteeche Wars. Kris spotted them as they closed on her at a fast hobble. Of late, her father had been using her to meet with the veteran wing of his party, a portion of his constituency that, until the present troubles, had never been his strong suit.
Kris smiled, and froze that smile as the white-haired woman on the right said, ''What you going to do with that wreck they got swinging around our space station?''
''Now Mabel, that's no way to talk to the woman,'' the bald man on the left said, spruced up in a suit two sizes too large for his sparse form. ''Not if we want anything out of her.''
A more substantial man, hobbling on two canes between the two, now showed that he could manage without either. He elbowed both of them. ''You two hush.'' He squinted at Kris, now leaning on his canes. ''Lieutenant, isn't it?''
''Yes,'' Kris agreed.
''We hear that you have an old Iteeche War General class cruiser docked at High Chance.'' He paused, but his watering eyes fixed on Kris and held her.
''Yes,'' Kris said. ''The Patton is a veteran of all three of the Iteeche Wars, as well as the Unity War. I understand she helped put down the pirate outbreak after the Unity War.''
''Good ship,'' the woman muttered.
''Bad ship. She can't even hold air,'' the left man snapped.
''Oh, I've been aboard her. She holds air. At least part of her does,'' Kris made quick to point out.
''But does she smell like a fighting ship?'' two canes asked.
That was about the last question Kris had expected. She paused for a moment to reflect on the smell of the Patton, then to compare it to the blend of ozone, air conditioning, motor oil, and human sweat that Kris had come to expect of a working man-of-war. She shook her head.
''That's what I expected. She's dead. Lost her soul,'' the left man said sadly.
''Well, she hasn't had any people to loan her their souls since we were kids,'' the woman pointed out.
''There's no chance you're planning on fighting her are you?'' the man with two canes asked.
Ron had deserted Kris, moving ahead with the line toward the order counter. Jack was still at Kris's rear, guarding her from the wrong dangers it seemed tonight, snickering softly at the question. Kris apparently let the question hang there too long, because the white-haired woman took a stab at answering it.
''There is no way this young woman could fight that ship. The second reactor is deader than my late husband, and the main propulsion system has two engines bad out of seven. No doubt the laser capacitors won't hold a charge. And she's got no crew.''
So much for the brilliant idea of some desk-bound commando back at Main Navy that putting a ship in orbit around every planet would make its people feel protected. ''We were kind of hoping to keep that a secret,'' Kris whispered.
''Maybe from someone born yesterday,'' the man leaning on two canes snorted. ''Not from us old maintainers of warships.''
''It's been a long peace,'' Kris said as her only contribution to a conversation that was headed she knew not where.
''That's what bothers us. Kids aren't learning anything about our wars in school,'' the woman snapped.
''Don't know what they're teaching them these days,'' the man on the left added.
''We aren't going to be around forever.'' the man in the middle added softly. ''We have great-grandkids we'd like to show what it was like to fight an Iteeche Death Sun, to close with a Burning Star knowing half your squadron wouldn't be coming back.''
''Not like they see in those vids they make nowadays.''
''All kissing and boom boom shoot'em up.'' the woman finished.
''I certainly agree with you,'' Kris said.
''Good, then you won't mind us doing some work on that cruiser of yours.''
''Not like we could do it any harm.''
''Any worse than it is already.'' The three shot at Kris in rapid succession.
''We have grandkids that need to put in civic-duty hours to graduate from high school. Why not have them do them with us. Listening to our stories.''
''We could show them how to get a ship into fighting shape.''