Chance central records shows him unmarried, Kris. But I should point out that my review of the files shows that the last marriage entry is dated over a year ago. Births and deaths entries are up to date as of yesterday, but other data is batch entered at sporadic intervals.
Right. Whenever they can get a volunteer to do it.
Kris realized she was letting the conversation sag, and not on a note that she wanted to emphasize. She grabbed for something and her mouth opened on, ''And he wasn't bothered by the lack of active duty personnel assigned to District 41?''
''Maybe the Chief should answer that one. Chief,'' he yelled.
The door opened in a moment; the woman who'd been occupied with the computer asked, ''What you bellowing about, Mr. Torn?''
''The Navy here wondered how it came to pass that all Steve was honchoing were reservists. You, being the Chief of Personnel up there for so long, I thought you might give her your take on why he put up with all your lip and back talk.''
The woman, only slightly shorter than Kris, and with middle age helping to fill out her curves, shook her head. ''The real question is why I put up with your lip,'' she said, but she came in. Jack leapt to his feet to give her a seat, which she took with full nobility, leaving the Marine to hold up a wall.
The chief put one leg up on the desk, then crossed the other pants-suited one over the first and leaned back comfortably. When Ron did the same, Kris made to imitate them, and almost went over backward in her chair.
''Oops. Sorry,'' Ron said. ''You got the bad chair.''
Kris got herself balanced upright, back to prim and princess. And made a note of just who rated comfortable chairs from Ron… and who didn't.
''I don't think the lieutenant noticed what BuPers was doing to him, not for a while. A couple of permanent parties shipped in after him. Other folks shipped out. Then more shipped out and no one came. And the budget would come through with more in the reserve account for active days and less in the active-duty account. Come second year, when we were down to just four permanent and him, he and I had a long talk about what we saw going on. I told him you can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear, especially when no one's offering you a sow to de-ear.''
''What did the lieutenant say?'' Kris asked.
''Something about how did they expect him to defend a whole sector of space with nothing but part-timers.'' That was a sentiment Kris could agree with. But it sure didn't sound like Steve the Taxi Guy that she'd talked to this morning. Then again, ten years can change anyone. Or wear them down.
''What did you do?''
''The rest of us part-timers ratcheted up our ball game. Had to when all four of the active duty types shipped out together. The real bite—ah problem was that they didn't allow for us to recruit any new reservists. Leastwise, not to start with. Fill the hours, but do it with the same old hands. Something about saving on training. We did what we could. And some of us had kid sisters, little brothers that maybe tagged along and took up some of the slack. You know, you can learn a whole lot about operating a 6-inch laser in makie-learnie fashion.''
Kris wasn't sure she'd like to trust her defenses to someone who'd picked up their laser training as monkey see, monkey do. Then, no one was offering her anyone with any kind of training.
''You said ‘at first.' That changed?''
''Yeah, right about the time you and Earth split the sheets, they let us know that anyone who wanted to join up was only too welcome. By that time we old hands were kind of sour on all things blue, and we also noticed that things were more than a little bit hot in this place or that. You must have noticed. News stories tended to mention that you were there.''
Kris nodded as innocently as facts allowed.
''So I told my kid sister that if she wanted to join and get paid for what she'd been doing, I'd tear her arm off and beat her over the head with the bloody stump.'' The chief eyed the ceiling. ''I recall my objections to my sister were the gentlest of several we all made. Anyway, I called everyone's attention as to how all of us were coming up on retirement about the same time.''
''And you all went out together,'' Kris said.
''Most of us joined together. During that long peace we sure as blazes didn't join to fight anyone. No, we joined for the friendship, and we quit as friends.''
''And the volunteers just did it for the friendship, too?'' Kris said. Just how altruistic was everyone here?
The chief and Ron exchanged glances, the kind thieves do late at night over beers. ''Friendship, helping out big sis, and Steve did manage to pay them a bit under the table,'' Ron said.
The chief was grinning from ear to ear. ''Every morning down on Chance, the lieutenant would fill the shuttle's tank with reaction mass. Up at High Chance, he'd unload all but what he needed to get home that night. We all did it. And sold the reaction mass at a premium to ships going through. The proceeds paid a stipend to our volunteers. Worked great.''
''No accountants ever noticed,'' Kris said dryly.
''Nobody from any headquarters ever came by to check the books,'' the chief grumbled.
''Ah, this might not be the best approach for you, Your Highness,'' Ron said. There it was, the princess thing was back on the table. ''I understand that you recently had trouble about using your own money on a relief mission. This informal staffing solution definitely wouldn't pass anyone's idea of a smell test.''
''I'm glad we agree on that.''
''However, my mother said to tell you your shuttle is topped off on reaction mass. Please unload the extra mass to the station's tanks to the account of High Chance Welfare and Aid Fund, a certified charity here on Chance.''
''And you think that is legal?'' Kris paused before asking Nelly for her opinion.
''Defense personnel are authorized to render aid to certified charities, per 18 U.S.C. 8525.1 am prepared to stand up and swear in any court of law that this is such, my mother serving on the board of said charity,'' Ron said, the crinkle back around those blue eyes. No question, the crinkle was for the game.
Nelly, is Ron a lawyer?
His law degree is from the public net. Public net degrees didn't get a lot of respect. Still, they were recognized before the bar as equal to anything from Earth's near-mythical Harvard. She might not hire Ron to present her case, but she'd definitely be glad for his testimony.
''Nelly, do everything you can to set up legal barriers between me, my command and the High Chance Welfare and Aid Fund.''
''Doing that, Kris.''
''So that's the other head you sport,'' Ron said.
''Very helpful on things like this.''
''Well, tell me, are you as hungry as your chief?''
''Breakfast was abbreviated.''
''At least the part we risked,'' Jack said.
Everyone stood. ''Well, I know a great place for a steak dinner. Maybe a bit more. And our local civic theater is doing a revival of Gilbert and Sullivan, I think this month's feature is HMS Pinafore. The reviews say the humor has aged well. Would both of you care to join me? I have three tickets.''
For someone who had not filed a flight plan, Kris had the very strong suspicion she was very much expected.
Dinner proved that Chance's beef industry was easily the equal of any, certainly Wardhaven's. Ron ordered one of the local wines, but made nothing of Kris sticking to water. Jack praised the vintage lavishly enough for both of them. Dinner was down to the bones well before time for the local theater, even if it did have an early curtain, ''So all could be early to bed and early to rise.''
But there was a live band and a full dance floor even at this hour. ''Folks with desk jobs have to get their exercise somehow,'' Ron offered as he stood and reached for Kris's hand. She humored him, but found no reason to regret the move; Ron was a fine dancer. He, unlike so many ''official'' partners Kris had survived, did not endanger her toes. After two dances, Ron handed Kris off to Jack with a smooth motion that came so suddenly and seemed so natural that Kris found herself dancing with the Marine.