Kris Longknife: Tenacious (Kris Longknife novellas Book 12) (28 page)

Captain
Drago and Commander Phil Taussig were in dress blues as they appeared to greet Kris and Jack as they came from their night quarters, exactly one hour later and not a second sooner.

“An escort?” Kris said.

“What with all the modifications, I wasn’t sure you could find your way to the Forward Lounge,” the
Wasp
’s skipper said.

N
ELLY, YOU’RE NOT PUTTING IN THAT
YOU COULD GUIDE ME
ANYWHERE.
W
HAT’S UP?

K
RIS, THIS IS A THOROU
GHLY HUMAN MOMENT.
I
’
M OBSERVING AND KEEP
ING MY MOUTH SHUT, TH
ANK YOU VERY MUCH.

This is going to be a very strange evening.

Despite the report to the contrary, they easily found their way to the Forward Lounge.

“Atten’hut. Admiral on deck,” greeted them as they entered.

For the first time in her life, Kris didn’t immediately shush those offering her this honor. She was too waylaid by what she saw.

The Forward Lounge had been converted into one huge wardroom. As far as she could see, officers stood at their linen-covered tables, china and silverware before them. Every surviving officer, even some who looked pretty banged up, were there. There were even a few Ostriches, doing their best to stand to attention with the humans.

Someone tapped a glass, and they began as one to sing, “For she’s a jolly good fellow.” The song went on; someone had added stanzas that would never be appropriate for children but seemed right at home among her victorious warriors.

Through it all, Kris just stood there.

Maybe her eyes did mist up a bit, but it must have been a flaw in the life-support system. Some irritant in the air, no doubt.

It must have been. Beside her, Jack was having the same problem.

The song ended with a rousing cheer, and Kris began to make her way to her usual head table. Her progress was slow. Every ship’s captain and a lot of their senior division heads were along the main aisle and they wanted to shake her hand. Even Captain O’dell was there with her collection of female officers and four Alwan gun captains who had survived the fight.

Kris got a chest bump from one of them. It was a gentle one. At least gentle enough not to crush ribs.

It took her a long time to get to the head table, but waiting for her there were not only Penny and Masao but also President Almar of Columm Almar and Prime Minister Gerrot of the Bizalt Kingdom.

They greeted Kris with a bow, and Kris returned it from the waist.

Again, Zarra ak Torina stepped forward to translate. Her harness today was red with golden buckles and spangles.

“We are glad that you live to meet us again,” President Almar said as the room fell quiet, again in response to someone’s tapped glass.

“We all are glad to meet you again,” Kris said.

“You have won a most wonderful battle,” Prime Minister Gerrot added.

“A lot of people have won that battle. And many of them are not here to celebrate this victory with us.”

“Yes. Yes,” President Almar said. “Thus it is always. Good young felines die for the homes of their mothers and the graves of their foremothers. We can only offer you our humble thanks that you, who have no homes or graves here, have done us a service we could not do for ourselves.”

“We did what our duty to all sentient life required,” Kris said.

“Yes, so you have told us,” Almar agreed. “But we must offer you tokens of our gratitude, even if they are but minor tokens. They are ours to give, and we give them to you.”

The president looked to her right and two cats, tawny gold coats marked off with the same red-and-gold harness as the translator, came forward. One carried a long black pike with silver-and-jewel inlays along the finely worked point, the other a large sword, its two-handed grip wrapped in gold filigree and studded with sparkling jewels.

Almar stepped forward and took the black-handled pike. “A feline is never without her weapons,” she said, and where a moment ago had been a softly furred hand, now five long claws sprang forth. “However, we learned quickly enough that a good pike could outreach the sharpest claw. Among our people, the Colnan Halberd with its long reach and its sharp blade has defended us from many an attack. In the last two hundred years, few have been honored with the gift of a Colnan Halberd by proclamation of the Congress of Columm. Today, we hope you will accept this from us.”

She handed the ancient weapon to Kris. Kris accepted it with a bow and a “Thank you.”

The room cheered. Kris raised the halberd high so all could see it. She twisted it so that its sharp edge flashed in the light. When the applause slowed, she handed it off to Jack. He accepted it with a bow and stood beside her, the Colnan Halberd at attention.

Kris did the handoff to Jack because Prime Minister Gerrot was coming forward and motioning to the sword bearer to approach as well.

The Prime Minister cleared her throat and spoke. “Among our people, the most ancient of honors is to join their king in the charge. We hope you will allow us to bestow on all of your officers the honor of being Members of the King’s Charge. We ask also that you allow us to bestow on the captains of your ships the honor of Commanders in the King’s Charge.”

“I gladly accept these honors in their names,” Kris said, wondering where this was going and why there was one sword bearer still standing off.

The Prime Minister’s tail twitched, and the sword bearer came to stand beside her. “My king has bidden me to offer you her highest honor. She wishes to raise you to King’s Sword Bearer and Commander of the King’s Charge.” The Prime Minister bowed. “In the thousand years of our recorded history, we have no higher honor.”

The sword bearer presented the sword to Kris, handle first. She withdrew it from its gold-and-bejeweled scabbard and flourished it above her head . . . careful not to slice the overhead or dent the blade.

Who knows which is tougher, Smart Metal or this steel?

No doubt it would be the Smart Metal
TM
, but it would be a shame to find out otherwise.

When the cheering died down, the two leaders of the most powerful lands on the planet below did not suggest that someone serve the meal. No, two more warrior types appeared with boxes in their hands. These were made of fine wood, beautifully polished, and just the right size for awards.

Kris recognized the sizes of the boxes. One was as big as the one that came in the mail from Earth and contained the Order of the Wounded Lion. The other was about the size of the box that Admiral Krätz had tossed to Kris and revealed the Pour la Merit, Imperial Greenfeld’s highest honor.

All had come without fanfare.

Apparently, the felines intended to start Kris on a new tradition. When she opened these boxes, they would really
feel
like awards.

Again, President Almar went first. She opened the smaller of the two boxes. It showed a silver shield with crossed golden swords hung from a watermarked red ribbon with golden edges. “This is the Medal of Highest Valor. For the last two hundred years, it has been the highest award for valor given by the people of Calumm. We offer it to you.”

So saying, she stepped forward and slipped around Kris to fasten it around her neck.

President Almar whispered something.

I
T’S GETTING CROWDED HERE,
Nelly translated.

T
ELL HER THAT IT IS N
O LESS WELCOMED IN T
HE NAME OF ALL THOSE
WHO FOUGHT, BLED, AND
IN TOO MANY CASES D
IED WITH SUCH VALOR,
N
ELLY.

Kris’s collarbone spoke softly. The president did not seem surprised.

Again the Prime Minister came second. She opened the larger box and drew out a long yellow sash with a golden medallion.

“The Order of the Rose and the Thistle is the highest order in our kingdom,” she said. “For those who are recognized for their civic contributions, the Rose is first on the medallion. For those who win it on the field of battle, the Thistle takes the place of honor. Your medallion is the first of its kind. The thistle and rose surround an image of our solar system. We suspect there is more to this symbol than we have yet plumbed the depths of.” She finished with a wry smile.

Now President Almar came to stand beside the Prime Minister. “All of you will find at your place, a simple wooden box. Please open it now. In it you will find an expression of our gratitude. It is the Defender of the Star award, and it is meant for all of you who fought for us. Unlike what we have been giving here, it is an award that the people of Columm and the King of Bizalt give together. This is the first such joint endeavor. We hope it will be the beginning of a long and fruitful cooperation.”

Penny opened hers and showed it to Kris. Like the Medal of Highest Valor, it was in the form of a three-cornered shield. In place of the crossed swords, this one showed a sunburst. Here was an award that looked forward and out, not to the past and what it had meant.

Penny gave Kris a wink.

Yep, we’ve started something. Now to help them finish it in the best way we can.

Servers began to circulate among the tables, bringing plates full of roasted something, petite red potatoes, or something like it, and a bean that the server suggested that Kris not look too closely at.

Cookie and Mother MacCreedy made it taste wonderful, wherever it came from.

The President and Prime Minister joined Kris at her table. They were served a plate of raw meat, seasoned with flakes of something green and purple.

Kris didn’t have to make an effort to not look too closely at that.

“Your general commanding your guard, who I understand is also your mate, advised us that we should not have a banquet in your honor the day that you came to our Association Assembly,” President Almar mentioned as the meal progressed. “Something about it being a fast day for your religion.”

Kris glanced at Jack. They both managed to suppress a laugh if not a grin.

“I think that he feared that our culinary preferences might be as hard for you to take as we find your proclivity for burning good meat.”

“I think you might be right,” Kris said.

“You will forgive us,” Penny said. “Our digestion is only able to fully process meat that has been seared. It helps us digest it in ways that our stomachs can no longer do alone. We have been burning our fine meat, as you put it, for half a million years.”

“Do you have a wise saying that goes something like ‘One woman’s meat is another woman’s poison’?” the prime minister asked.

“We have one just like that,” Kris agreed.

“May I ask what you will do now?” President Almar asked.

Kris put her fork down and turned to face the two leaders. “We intend to clean up the alien holdout base on the other side of your system. We will go there, ask them to surrender and, very likely, have to fight them to their death.”

“I noticed that all of the attacking ships were destroyed,” Prime Minister Gerrot said.

“Many were disabled in the fight,” Kris said. “When they found that the battle was lost, rather than surrender, they chose to do things to their reactors that caused them to blow up their ship.”

“We are told that our nuclear reactors cannot explode,” the president said, alarm showing at her muzzle.

“I don’t believe yours can,” Kris said.

T
HEY CAN’T,
Nelly added.

“We use thermonuclear reactors, the next step up from yours,” Kris added.

“I keep hearing that thermonuclear power is just twenty years away,” the prime minister said. “And it has been for the last forty years.”

“It is a difficult jump from fission to fusion. At least it was in our history,” Kris admitted.

“If we can make the jump to our moon, might you be willing to share with us that secret?”

“It is possible if the request comes from all of your world’s people and a means can be found to share it peacefully,” Kris said.

“If that is a deal you are offering, that is a deal we are taking,” the Prime Minister said.

“You say that the Order of the Defender of the Star is your first joint effort,” Kris said.

“The first of many,” both leaders said.

“Then let us give you a system that is all yours,” Kris said, and raised her glass of water.

Those around the table raised their own glasses. It seemed the locals did brew a most magnificent collection of beers. The mess was enjoying not only home-grown meat but also home-brewed beer.

Glasses clinked. The deal was done.

Exactly how Kris would keep her side of the deal was something only a Longknife could figure out.

And they always did what they had to do, didn’t they?

They
were still accelerating at a comfortable one gee as they swung around the sun, headed for the gas giant on the other side of the system from the cat folks. Kris was holding her reduced squadron to normal gravity while more repairs and adjustments were made.

Officially, Captain Drago was willing to put on 2.5 gees. So were the others. Unofficially, they all asked Kris to go light on the spurs.

She intended to.

No doubt the coming battle would respect her good intentions.

In a pig’s eye.

Clear of the sun, they now got their first good view of the alien base.

“Two ships, six huge reactors each,” Chief Beni reported. “The base has five mega reactors, larger than we’d usually build for a major city.”

“Are their lasers charged?” Captain Drago asked.

“I can’t tell at this range, sir.”

“Well, tell me as soon as you can, Chief. That’s your main job for the next three days.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

Kris tracked the bridge conversation from her own admiral’s bridge. Her space was now more formally a bridge. It was a fiction that impressed the visitors, and she had three of them. Two old felines, an admiral and a general, and the young translator Zarra ak Torina.

They sat at Kris’s conference table now. Seated on stools, the seniors’ tails nervously lashed back and forth.

I
DON’T THINK THEY LIKE SPACE,
Nelly said.

W
OULD YOU WANT TO BE
GOING INTO A BATTLE
TOTALLY DEPENDENT FO
R EVERYTHING, EVEN TH
E AIR YOU BREATHE, AN
D COMPLETELY DIFFERE
NT FROM ANY FIGHT YO
U’D EVER BEEN IN?

K
RI
S, EVERY BATTLE WE GO
INTO IS DIFFERENT F
ROM ANY ONE WE’VE EV
ER BEEN IN.

Kris almost heard a chuckle at the end of that.

“We’re still two days away from any serious fight,” Kris told the two. “Nelly, please show our visitors the likely outline of the battle.”

“Yes, Kris,” Nelly answered primly.

Nelly was no longer a secret though Kris suspected that the general considered her some magic talisman.

Nelly quickly showed the status of the gas giant and its moons ahead of them. The planet had a dozen moons, large and small, as well as a ring system.

“The two surviving alien warships are orbiting this small, planet-size moon. The reactors are also in orbit, so we assume they have built some sort of habitat in orbit rather than a ship. If they should choose to come out to fight us, as we choose to come out to fight them, they’ll have to make their decision tomorrow. Their likely course is thus,” Nelly said, and several appeared on the screen.

In one, they dived down, grazed the giant, then shot up to intercept Kris’s ships faster and farther out. In the second, they swung around the second largest moon and intercepted Kris well before she got to where their habitat orbited. In the third, they rose up from that moon’s gravity well and headed straight for Kris as she made her final approach.

“You can forecast your enemy’s course of action that accurately?” the admiral asked.

“Gravity defines what can be done,” Kris said. “In our ancient days, wind and currents defined what ships could do. Does your history have something like that?”

The admiral nodded. “I knew old admirals who lived by wind and waves. It has been nice to tell a helmswoman to go there, and the ship does. The next generation may look back fondly on the control my generation had.”

“But the next generation will have the stars,” Kris said.

S
HE TRAN
SLATED THAT AS “STRID
E THE STARS” WITH A H
INT OF STALKING FOR
THE POUNCE IN IT.
K
RI
S, ARE YOU SURE WE WA
NT TO GIVE THESE PEO
PLE THE STARS?

N
ELLY,
I
’M DESCENDED FROM
N
ATIVE
A
MERICAN WARRIORS WHO
LIKED NOTHING BETTE
R THAN A LITTLE HORS
E RAID.
M
AYBE STEAL A
WIFE, TOO, WHILE HE W
AS AT IT.
Y
ET, TODAY,
I
HATE WAR AS MUCH AS
THE NEXT ONE.

B
UT YO
U FIGHT THEM SO VERY
WELL.

E
NOUGH,
N
ELLY.

“Which of these paths will your enemy follow?” the general asked.

“I have no idea. We have a saying. ‘You can plan your battle as much as you like, but your enemy gets a vote as to how it will go down.’”

“We have a saying much like that. ‘You may hunt the long-toothed one, but she may also be hunting you.’ So, you will prepare for all three of these?” the admiral said.

“And a fourth. What if they choose to stay in orbit and not come out?”

“That might be the worst option for you,” the admiral said.

“You spotted the problem,” Kris answered.

“I watched your battle. You’re, ah . . . You call them lasers, right?”

“Yes,” Kris said.

“Light. Who would think that light could kill someone?” the general grumbled.

“It seems that we have, but didn’t know we had,” the admiral admitted. “At least some technical students have created them in their classrooms, but they take up way too much energy and do very little harm.”

“And a baby takes a lot of work and shows nothing of the warrior skills she may have someday,” Kris pointed out.

“And the first steam boilers were hardly able to cruise around a pond,” the admiral said, nodding.

Kris was grateful. These folks shook their head when they meant to shake their head and nodded when they meant to nod. That made it easier for her.

Kris nodded back.

“Knowing how you power and arm your ships will make it easier for us to avoid a lot of wrong turns with nothing to show for them,” the admiral said.

Kris chose not to react to that.

“Yes. That may or may not be all it is cracked up to be,” the admiral said, and laughed. For the felines, a laugh was something that began deep in the throat and came out more as a loud purr than as a human laugh.

Kris expected that she could get used to it.

Phil Taussig arrived. He was supposed to take the visiting firewomen off Kris’s hands for a tour of the ship ending in the Forward Lounge. Mother MacCreedy had laid in a very large supply of beer and a single-malt that aficionados said could easily hold its own against any scotch in human space.

Kris’s opinion of scotch was that it shouldn’t be forced on anyone, in or out of human space, but she kept her opinion to herself.

Once Phil left, Kris settled herself at her desk and did admiral things. The report from Amanda and Jacques on the culture of the cats was interesting but not complete. Kris doubted it ever would be. Whatever they were at present would not be what they were ten years from now.

The synthesis of the reports on the original aliens and their home world was ongoing as well. Kris put it aside and ducked out to Captain Drago’s bridge.

Yes, the repairs and modifications were coming along. Yes, the lasers were online. Yes, the engineering spaces were being reorganized. No, there wasn’t a problem bringing in the larger reactor from the
Hornet
to work with the
Wasp
’s two smaller ones.

Not spoken, but bubbling near the surface, was a strong hint that one admiral ought to take herself somewhere else and not bother the working people.

Kris returned to her own spaces.

She used her boards to take a walk through the four ships. It did look like the problem of sorting out two damaged ships and making them into one battleworthy hull was coming along nicely. She had Nelly check the engineering reports and verify that there had been no reactor excursions or burbles in the flow of plasma to the engines during the gentle, one-gee, cruise out.

“Kris, go find something to do,” Nelly suggested. “When the fight comes, you’ll fight it. They’ll fight it. Relax. Go jump Jack’s bones or something.”

“Computer, behave yourself.”

“I’m not a computer. I’m Nelly, and I was never taught by my loving, caring semiowner to behave, so there.”

Kris went back and tried to lose herself in the reports on the original aliens.

There was nothing new. No surprises. Her team had about squeezed everything there was from the data. They were refining it, but so far had not found, or stumbled across or fell into anything that changed what Kris knew about them or had made a wild guess at.

Kris decided she should go down and spend some time with the twenty aliens she’d recruited.

Down two ladders, around three passageways, and Kris was totally lost.

“Nelly, where are they keeping the original aliens.”

“Take a left at the next cross passageway. Go down the next ladder you come to. Ask me for directions again when you get there.”

Kris did.

Or she started to.

Kris had read in the after-action report that half of a Musashi Marine platoon had been hit when an alien laser slashed through the hull. Twelve were dead and more wounded. Somewhere she’d noted that the
Wasp
had opened a memorial chapel to those Marines, but Kris hadn’t noticed where it was.

She walked by it.

It was open.

The tori gate had no doors. Anyone, at any time, walking by could not help but see the twelve pairs of boots, twelve rifles, and twelve pictures standing along the far wall.

In front of them was a sand garden. Somehow someone had either lifted sand up from Sasquan or programmed Smart Metal
TM
to create sand and rocks.

The stonework appeared ancient. Lichen and moss seemed to cover them.

Without thought or reflection, Kris found herself turning into the small memorial garden.

On the walls were simple scrolls. Kris could not translate them for herself and did not ask Nelly to do so.

There was a stone bench.

Kris settled on it. For a long while she stared, eyes hardly seeing, at this memorial to twelve who had given their lives under her command. Twelve who had died defending the feline planet in a space battle they had no real part to fight in.

Something drew Kris’s eyes around. She turned on her stone bench.

The wall beside the Tori gate was etched with the names and pictures of all 187 of those who died on the
Wasp
and the
Hornet
in this, their most recent battle under her command.

Now the sobs came.

The grief that she had refused to touch wracked her. Tears flowed as if they would never stop. She wept for those who had died, and those whose lives went on with their flesh and blood and minds slashed and scarred in obedience to her commands.

She almost wished she could think of some error on her part that she could beg their forgiveness for, but she had fought the fight as best she knew how.

The enemy had been good.

She, and those who fought with her, had been better.

Better, but not good enough to fight these bitter killers and come away unscathed.

Somewhere in her grief, Jack appeared at her side. His arms enfolded her. Ever ready, he produced a handkerchief. He held her. Just held her, and said nothing.

“Thank you,” Kris said when she found she could finally speak again.

“For what?”

“For being you. For being here. For not lying to me and saying it’s all right or some other crap like that.”

“I don’t lie,” Jack said.

“I know.”

“Don’t I get any credit for getting Jack here?” Nelly asked.

“Jack, is this on the way to the alien quarters from Admiral Country?”

“I don’t think so,” he said.

“So tell me, Nelly, who gets credit for getting me here?”

“I do, Kris. You had to do something. There’s another battle coming, and you had a burr up your ass. You’re impossible to live with.”

“Nelly, your choice of words is getting way too close to the gutter.”

“Blame Granny Rita. She would have told you that.”

“She can. Don’t you.”

“You do feel better, don’t you?”

Kris leaned against Jack and found the last of the emotions draining out of her.

“Yes, I feel better. I’m alive. Twenty-two enemy ships’ worth of bloodthirsty killers are not. They will
not
wreck that planet full of kitties, bloodthirsty or no.”

“How about something to eat?” Jack said. “Lately, you’ve only been picking at your food.”

Kris’s stomach picked that moment to rumble. About 6.9 on the tummy-rumbling scale. “You might have a good idea, Jack. I was headed down to pester Jacques about our newly recruited aliens, who seem to be content to eat our meat and rest in the artificial sun outside the cave we’ve made for them. There’s got to be something we can do with them.”

“See why I gave her the wrong directions?” Nelly said.

“You’re going to have to be careful, Nelly,” Jack said. “You keep messing in the affairs of us humans, and we’re going to mess back in your affairs.”

“Yes,” Nelly said, almost sounding contrite, “there is that off button, and if I send you in the wrong direction too many times, you’ll hire one of those dumb navigation systems and start using it.”

“And you, smart girl, would be out of a job,” Kris said, taking the hand Jack offered her to help her up from her stony place. That might not be stone, but the Smart Metal
TM
seemed to have left her just as stiff and cold as real stone would have.

The wardroom was serving dinner. They ate in good company and retired to their quarters. Kris told Jack they’d just cuddle. That was all she wanted, and he agreed.

Whether Kris changed her mind, or Jack changed it for her, she was glad for what came her way.

She slept well that night, untroubled by ghosts.

She’d have more before she slept again.

Many more.