''It's a Wardhaven command.''
''Is it? Ask Marta Torn back there how long it took her to get payment from Wardhaven for my chits. Ask any merchants I wrangled supplies from.'' There was raw anger behind those words.
Kris chose to watch the road. It had widened into four lanes as they passed through a residential area, and needed the extra lanes for the amount of traffic sharing the road with them.
''Where we going?'' she finally asked.
''I figured on dropping you on the mayor's doorstep. Ron Torn, you met his mom back at the port. Let him handle you. We don't have a planetary government. Each city has a mayor and takes care of itself. Kind of like the classical Greeks.''
Kris recognized the reference. ''Those city-states didn't do so well when the Persian Empire took an interest in them.''
''But they did fine up until then. And seeing how small we are, and how much we've been ignored by all the Empire builders, we kind of figure we can keep on keeping on. At least we did until we found ourselves entertaining a Longknife brat.'' He softened that with a wry smile. A very small smile.
''If I understand your defense posture,'' Jack said from the back seat. ''It's to make like roadkill in the ditch and hope no vulture takes an interest in you.''
Steve glanced over his shoulder. ''I should have expected a Marine to put it that delicately. But yes. You got it in one.''
''It won't work,'' Kris said.
''Says you. Tell it to the mayor. You'll like him. He's even less likely to buy what you're selling than his mom.''
While Kris absorbed those twists, Steve pulled out of traffic to an unloading zone in front of a tall building of concrete and gleaming glass. Waiting for her was a tall fellow in slacks, a long sleeve white shirt, and sweater vest. He studied her with his mother's blue eyes and looked uninterested in buying anything she was selling… the standard face of an opposition politician. He let her open her own door. Once she and her team were on their own feet, he offered her his hand.
''Hi, I'm Ron Torn, Mayor of Last Chance.''
Kris did the introductions of her own crew.
''You hungry,'' the mayor asked.
''You bet,'' the chief cut in. ''All we had for breakfast was those ration boxes someone left out. And for supper, too.''
Steve joined the group. ''Any of you know how to cook?''
''Peanut butter on toast,'' Beni said. Jack shook his head.
''Jack says I boil water very nicely,'' Kris offered.
Steve looked hurt at the skill level of his replacements. ''I guess I'll take the chief over to The Old Camp Store. They've got travel chow that is a step or three above Army issue.''
''I'm yours,'' Beni said, arms open wide.
''Get some fresh eggs,'' Jack said. ''It can't be all that hard to scramble a few.''
''And fresh coffee,'' Kris added. ''And bread and cold cuts. I can make a sandwich.'' Beni started looking very poor as the list lengthened. ''Nelly, give the chief a credit voucher.'' got a happy smile from him. Steve rolled his eyes. But no one made any nasty comments about a helpless damsel in distress. Maybe she'd outrun her Princess label.
Kris and Jack followed Ron into the office building. ''Nice city hall,'' she told him in the spacious foyer, cool in black marble floors, gray granite walls.
''We only rent space here. Not even a whole floor. Chance is death on big government. Keep the beast small and out of the way. ‘Nothing important is ever done by government.' ''
''You don't look like the type to settle for something that doesn't do anything,'' Kris said as they entered the elevator.
''My family curse. Great-grampa was central to raising Chance's troops for the last campaigns of the Iteeche Wars. Folks just kind of expect a Torn to go into government. I think they leave it to us.'' Kris didn't see an opening there to talk defense and decided to put it off for a while. Going hard from the start hadn't gotten her anywhere with the lieutenant. Maybe polite chitchat would show her a better opening.
The mayor's office was on the thirteenth floor. ''We get a discount for taking that unlucky number.''
''Why didn't they skip it?''
''I think they liked the idea of our address starting with thirteen,'' Ron said, opening the door for Kris. The small waiting room held a woman at a computer, some chairs and a table covered with readers. The mayor led Kris and Jack into his own office.
The view from Ron's corner office was spectacular. As he offered Kris a chair she said, ''I'm surprised a government that has so little respect gets such a grand view.''
Ron waved Jack toward a chair. ''I think the business folks want me to see what they're doing. Admire it. Be intimidated by it. Which do you think?'' Again those blue eyes were on her, now with a hint of a smile at the edges. Was it for her, or the sardonic twist of their conversation? Hard to say.
''You must have some tax base,'' she said, turning the topic to something Billy Longknife's daughter would. Something neutral they could talk about. She wanted to keep him talking about his world. Not her issues. Not for a while.
''Yes, there's a small tax on imports. Not exports, mind you. But if we buy something off-planet, I get my milligram of flesh. Tells you how much we want to be self-sufficient.''
''It can't be enough for essential services,'' Kris said, taking in the view and measuring it against what she knew of the cost it took to support a place this size.
''Fire department is mostly volunteer, with a few full-time folks to hold it together for the rest. Same for the police, though we don't have much crime. What with near-full employment, most everyone is too busy to bother with stealing from their neighbor. Again, I do have a few full-time members of the constabulary. Most are older folks, the kind of grandma or grandpa types who can settle disturbances with a stern glare and a few reasonable words.'' Ron's eyes broke from Kris to sweep the vista of his city. ''It may look big, but we are pretty small town in our attitudes. It's embarrassing if your kid gets in trouble, more trouble than Grandmama expects,'' he said, with a wink for Kris. Then he shrugged.
''There's a lot to like about Chance. Wear out a pair of shoes here, and you'll never leave.''
Kris glanced down at her nearly new shoes. ''That what happened to Lieutenant Kovar?''
''Didn't he tell you his story?''
''It didn't come up. We were discussing other things.''
Ron raised an eyebrow at that. The crinkle around his eyes got thoughtful. ''Maybe I shouldn't tell his story. Then again, maybe my mom knows his story better than he does.'' There was a pause. Kris let the silence hang.
''Mom says he was a real hard charger when he came out here. Not bothered at all to find that he was the only officer here besides the captain. When that captain retired and left before his replacement got here, Mom says he was really tickled to be acting commander of his very own Naval District.''
Ron must have read the question in Kris's eyes. ''No, not strutting around making a big thing of it. Steve's too serious to let rank go to his head. No. But serious as a heart attack about doing a good job of it. Because that was what the next Commander suffered on the last leg of his trip out here. They brought him off the boat on a stretcher, and then wheeled him right back on board. Question about when he'd recover kind of left the command up in the air for, oh, six, nine months. Then they appointed a new boss for 41. Who wrangled new orders while in transit. I think the Jonah curse was already pretty plain to see. At least for anyone not here on Chance. Somehow, Earth got busy with other things and never did bother appointing a new commander. Glitch in the computer. Who knows?''
''And Lieutenant Kovar just sat here and did nothing?'' Kris could understand a year or three. But fifteen?
''Well, there was a lass. Lovely girl. My mom's youngest sister. She seemed to make his exile quite survivable.''
Those blue eyes smiled at Kris. Edges nicely crinkled. Lips full. Was he offering to soften her exile? Did she really want to keep knocking her head against all the stone walls people put in the way of her Navy career? That was not a question she needed to answer today. Time was something she had plenty of. But no reason not to answer one question. Nelly, is Ron married?