There had to be a way to kill Sandfire as many times as he deserved.
Kris swallowed hard on rage and commands that vented hate to no good end. There could be no room in her heart, in her head, in her gut for anything so human as anger, as vengeance. Emotions took up space, took up blood flow, took up brain-power.
Cold as space, Kris studied the man on the screen even as she widened her vision to take in her board, reactor temperature, mass available, laser temperature, and power reserve.
Someone was going to die very, very soon. That someone would be Sandfire.
“Missed again,” she said, molding her lips into the cold, unfeeling grin that showed teeth but no cheer. “That the best you can do, Cal? Get close, but never touch me. You kidnap a kid and make me a hero. You plan a war, and I end up a Princess. Your hate for us Longknifes only makes us richer, more powerful, more admired. It must really eat your guts out,” she said, watching flaming passion rise up and consume him.
He was screaming now, demanding the cruiser fire as he struggled against his restraints, hands out, fingers reaching like claws as he tried to climb through the screen, get his hands around Kris’s neck.
Offscreen, Kris heard someone report the lasers were just coming up on a full charge. Again Tom put the
Barbarossa
into a wild dance as lasers reached out for them, missed them yet again.
Sandfire roared his grief.
Kris ignored him as she took in her weapons status. Sandfire had wasted two broadsides while she cooled her lasers, charged their capacitors. NELLY, FIRE SIX BURSTS AT ONE-TWELFTH POWER. IF ONE HITS, FOLLOW IT UP WITH TWO BURSTS, ONE-QUARTER POWER.
YES, MA’AM. On Kris’s board, below the screen with Sandfire’s twisted visage, six beams reached out. Two connected, staggering the cruiser. Before Kris could form the word
fire,
two more shots followed, pinning the cruiser, cutting it through. Sandfire’s face vanished as the screen above Kris went blank.
For a moment, the attacking cruiser hung there against the black of space. Then the screen dimmed as the ship turned itself into a momentary star. The screen flashed back to normal, revealing an expanding cloud of gas that, even as they looked, vanished as if it had never been there.
Sandfire was gone. Only the evil of his passage remained.
“He’s dead,” Jack said slowly. “But so is Eddy.”
“You can dispose of evil,” Abby added, “but you never can reclaim what it has done.”
Kris studied her threat board. There was nothing on it. “Tom, set a course for the main jump point. It’s time we head back to Wardhaven.”
“You want to know what’s happening on Turantic?” Penny asked.
“That is Turantic’s business. Not mine,” Kris said. She knew something in her gut was growing hot. Like the ship, she was going to explode . . . but not yet. “If anyone needs me, I’ll be in my cabin.”
“Take mine,” Hank offered. “Level five, right-hand.”
“You’ll need it,” Kris said, unstrapping herself.
“Not like you need it,” Hank said. “It’s got a full relaxing tub.”
“I can draw you a bath,” Abby said, rising from her seat.
“No. I want to be alone.”
“As you wish.” Abby dropped back into her seat.
“I’ll hold the ship at one g,” Tom said. “If I have to change it, I’ll let you know with plenty of warning.”
Kris made it to the elevator, teeth locked against the emotions washing through her. She punched 5 rather than attempt to get a word past the constriction in her throat. The door opened on a pleasant, wood paneled hall, new enough to still smell of sawdust and varnish. A door on the right gaped open.
The room was large, taking up half of the ship’s hull at this level. The bed was big enough for five. Kris fled to it, threw herself on it, and let the hell inside her rip loose.
Long hours later, Kris slipped into a chair in the dining area of the
Barbarossa
. She’d voided all the emotions she could for one morning. Now she needed something to fill the emptiness inside. “What’s to eat?” she said, voice hoarse.
“I am rather amazing with a skillet and eggs,” Abby said, poking her head out of the small galley.
“Scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast would be nice,” Kris said.
“Toast coming up,” she heard Tom announce from the galley. “Milk, orange juice, or apple juice?”
“Yes,” Kris answered feeling dehydrated. She’d scrubbed her face; she would not go public with red, puffy eyes.
“Who’s got the bridge watch?” she said, glancing around the empty dining room.
“Penny has it,” Tom said, setting three glasses down on the table. “Hank’s showing her what he knows about this boat. Jack’s keeping an eye on him. I don’t think he trusts the boy.”
Kris drained the glass of apple juice. “He never has.” “Hey, Kris, you in the galley?” Penny said from the speaker.
“Seems so,” Kris said.
“I have some message traffic for you. You know Abu Kartum, that cabby who helped us one night?”
“And a few other times,” Kris added under her breath.
“He sent a message. Says you don’t owe him anything. Him or his nephew. He considers everything paid in full. Oh, and Tina had a beautiful baby girl she’s naming Kris. She and all the women of the rug factory send their best. Kris, is there something here I should know?”
“Not to report,” Kris said. NELLY, CAN YOU ARRANGE $100,000 DONATION TO ONE OF THE CHARITIES ABU WORKS WITH?
CONSIDER IT DONE.
“Well, since you’re so excited about that one, I’ll pass along this one, too. Senator Krief says she never much believed those stories you hear about Longknifes. She says she’s a believer now, and oh, yes, thanks from all her friends, even Dennis Showkowski can’t find something to complain about.”
“That’s got to be a first.” Kris smiled.
The elevator chimed softly. Hank and Jack joined Kris at the table. “Penny says she has the hang of my ship,” Hank said, pride in ownership still showing. “It’s heavily automated.”
“We’ll get you a crew on Wardhaven,” Kris said. “Certainly a cook.”
“I heard that,” Abby said, raging pride in full pout. “How badly burned do you want your eggs?”
“Scrambled like the Hilton always did them.”
“Such high standards for someone who has no respect for her hired help.” Abby sniffed and went back to work.
“An interesting group you have here,” Hank said, taking a chair across from Kris. Jack settled down at the end of the table with both Kris and Hank in easy reach. Then he pulled out his reader and seemed to vanish into the furniture.
“I don’t think I could have asked for a better team for what they had to do.”
“Just exactly what did you do?” Hank’s eyes were wide; his head was angled for sincerity. Did he really not know what had just happened?
“What did you see happen?” Kris asked. Father said you can’t show someone something they won’t see. And it was amazing the size of things that vanished before some people’s eyes.
Hank leaned forward, resting himself almost eagerly on his elbows. “I saw a space station blow up. I saw three, no, one cruiser attack me. I saw you blow that cruiser out of space. And I heard Cal say a lot of things that didn’t make sense.”
“Such as?”
“He hated you. He seemed to blame you for everything that had ever gone wrong with his life. I knew Cal as a hardheaded businessman. If it didn’t add to the bottom line, he didn’t give a fig for it. Yet he went chasing after you, insisting his crew kill you. He was way over some edge. Why?”
“Did I hear him right?” Kris said slowly. “Did he say that he and some other ‘us’ missed killing me when they killed my kid brother, Eddy?”
“I missed that,” Hank said, leaning back into his chair.
“I didn’t,” Tom said, bringing toast from the kitchen and a pot of coffee. He offered Hank the coffee. Hank grabbed a mug from the center of the table and let Tom fill it. Jack came out of his reading long enough to wangle a mug, too. Tom poured for himself and settled down at the other end of the table.
“I’ve been with Kris much of a year. I know what Eddy meant to her. What she felt about his death. I may not have perked up my listening like Kris did when that son of a bitch mentioned the boy, but I paid attention good. He and someone else arranged to have Eddy killed. Who was that?”
Tom said the words so calmly, almost casually. Kris wanted to shout them. But at who?
“I don’t know,” Hank said, shaking his head. “I was what, ten, eleven when it happened? No way I could know.”
“That’s the first answer,” Kris said, sipping the orange juice. “Lots of stuff I didn’t know about the Longknifes I’ve been learning lately. Learning because I needed it to stay one step ahead of the assassins your friend Cal was sending my way.”
“He was not my friend.”
“He worked for your father. He arranged things for your father,” Kris said, putting the juice down slowly, willing each muscle in her body to do just what she wanted, stomach not to revolt, arms not to throw things. Eyes not to tear. “He was your father’s man. What had he done for your father before?”
“I don’t know,” Hank said, choking on his answer. “Dad always said good things about him, but nothing specific. This was my first time to work closely with him, Kris. I told you I didn’t much care for him. Remember, I told you that before any of this happened.”
“Yes, you did.”
“What do you expect of me?” He left that question in the air for a moment, then glanced around the room. “I did what I could for you. I told him you weren’t holding me hostage. Hey folks, I don’t know how you got on my ship, but I don’t think it would look all that good in a court of law.”
“We’re not in a court of law,” Kris said. “We were at war.”
“War!”
“That was what Sandfire was trying to get started. That’s what we stopped. Just like we did at the Paris system.”
“Kris, my old man is in business. He doesn’t deal in war.”
“Are you sure?” she asked softly. “Have you tipped over any rocks? Looked at the seamy underbelly of your family tree? Hank, those smart-metal boats you donated to me on Olympia almost killed me. Did you buy them?”
“Yes, I bought them. Well, I ordered them.”
“Ordered them. We initiated an investigation into them. We tried to trace them to a specific company. No luck. No evidence they’d ever been bought. Who’d you buy them from?” Kris knew she was sounding like a prosecutor; she watched Hank close up like a castle under siege. This was no way to win friends and get a boy to ask her out. But she needed to know the truth more than she needed something to do Friday night.
“I ordered them. I told my personal assistant to get them.”
“Personal assistant?” Kris said.
“Yeah, my computer, you know, this thing,” he said, opening his shirt and tapping the computer around his shoulders. “I had it order the boats. It said it did it. I didn’t think about it again until you gave me that cryptic report a few days ago.”
“Who programs your computer?” Kris asked, already suspecting the answer.
“Ah, Ironclad Software. Every other year, they’d sell me a new computer, program it for me, straight turnkey operations. I don’t have time to waste with a dumb machine or one that doesn’t work. And I don’t give mine silly names like Nelly.”
“Fool you,” Nelly whispered.
“Shush, Nelly. Hank, did you hear what you just said? Sandfire let you pay him for the privilege of having a computer that gave him a back door into everything you did. Did your father suggest Sandfire’s company to you?”
“Yes, no, this whole mess is Sandfire’s. Not my dad. Dad would have nothing to do with this.” The young man’s face twisted in pain no amount of genetic sculpturing could make beautiful as he fled to the elevator.
Wordlessly, Abby settled eggs in front of Kris, then rested a hand on her shoulder.
Kris eyed the food, but shook her head; her appetite was gone. Food would not fill the void inside her today.
It was a long trip to Wardhaven. The ship’s smart-metal hull could not keep out the cold, silent emptiness of space.
26
Kris stood at the top of the stairs at Nuu House. Below her the black and white spiral swirled its way to a point in the middle of the foyer. Eddy had chased her down its twists, her on white, him always on black. What was it about black that drew the little boy of six?
A question she would never answer.
Strange how getting the answer to one question didn’t give you the answer to others.
But today was a day if not for answers then for answering. She’d been called to General McMorrison’s office to answer for what she had done.
Last time she’d been put on the hot seat, Grampa Trouble and Ray had been in the foyer, offering, if not support, then quiet acceptance that she’d done what had to be done in the best Longknife tradition.
Grampa Trouble was off doing General stuff. Grampa Ray had not returned her call of last night. Kings were busy people. And maybe it was better to get the Navy out of the way before she faced her family.
Auntie Tru had called only seconds behind Mac. Over Nelly’s objections, Tru was third on Kris’s cleanup to-do list.
Jack stood at the foot of the stairs. “Your car’s here.”
She smoothed down her undress whites. Decorations were an option for this uniform; she chose to leave them behind. Whatever was the intention of this command performance, she’d rise or fall on herself, not glory that some said was borrowed. Heels clicking on the tile floor, she let Jack open the front door for her. He also opened the door of a modest sedan, no limo today, let her settle into the backseat, then joined Harvey in the front.
The old chauffeur knew this morning’s destination. He speed-dialed Main Navy and set the car in motion. The silence went long, like a funeral might. Still, she was among friends, as close to friends as she might ever know.