Deserter (3 page)

Today, the yard team included new faces. “We watched your run,” the yard’s Project Manager said. “Figured we’d better add a few scientists to our meeting.”

“Lieutenant Longknife told me about your not-quite-so-smart metal,” the Captain said, taking in the four new members. “You working on that?”

A woman leaned forward in her seat. “My team has been seeing what we could do with Uni-plex since Princess Longknife arranged for us to get a sample of it.” Kris gritted her teeth.

“How does it work around smart metal?” Dale said, getting right to the point. “I think my engine room is a good candidate for Uni-plex, if you can keep it contained. You can understand my Captain’s reluctance to discover the bulkhead between him and space might have acquired a bit of this stuff the next time he changes ship.”

“Our testing hasn’t gotten that far,” the woman admitted with a sour frown directed at one of her subordinates.

“When will it?” Captain Hayworth shot back.

“Two weeks, sir,” the subordinate replied. “Two weeks to finish our testing. Then another week to produce five hundred tons of Uni-plex. Say another two weeks working with you to design an approach to siphon out the smart metal and replace it with this stuff. Five weeks total.”

“Four weeks,” the Engineer answered back. “You and I can be refining the process while you’re doing your testing. Maybe less if you can get us this Uni-plex as it becomes available. I’d sure like to test this replacement process one step at a time,” he told his Captain.

“A lot of unknowns in this,” the Project Manager said, glancing at his wrist unit. “There’s also a matter of costs. These tests have already exhausted their cost centers. Who’s going to come up with the extra money?”

Captain Hayworth shook his head. “I’ll have to check on that. Who’s paying for this metal development?”

“Nuu Enterprises,” the Project Manager said and Kris nodded. Grampa Al was footing the bill for the work on Uni-plex both because he was still hoping to pin down who tried to kill Kris and, if Nuu Enterprises paid for the research, NuuE got all the profits. Grampa Al was such a warm-hearted type.

“Okay,” the Skipper continued. “That gives me one week to get approval for funds, another week to get them transferred. I’ll get back to you in a week.”

“I’ll check with you tomorrow to see how it’s coming,” the yard man said with a smile that had the proper blend of predator and supplicant that a government contractor needed.

Meeting over, they started back to the ship. “Dale, you have any questions?” got a quick negative from the Engineer. “Longknife, we might as well stand the crew down. Anyone who wants leave can have it. That includes you, Lieutenant.”

“I’ll be here keeping a good eye on the yard staff, sir.”

“I’d rather you didn’t. They never know whether they’re talking to a Navy Lieutenant, a Princess, or a major stockholder of Nuu Enterprises. Until I get money approved, I can’t risk someone taking one of your nods as a work order.”

“Sir, you’ve never expressed that concern before.”

“I’ve never had anyone at the yard call you Princess before. I don’t know who this woman is, and I don’t want problems.”

Kris didn’t know how to answer that. “I don’t need any leave, sir,” she finally concluded.

“And we probably will need your ‘special’ relationship. Just keep your distance from that science crew. Now, don’t you have a commitment tonight?”

“A ball, sir.” Kris scowled. She’d hoped the test would take longer, give her a good excuse to be comfortably absent.

“Right. So why don’t you head dirtside.”

“Sir, did my mother—”

“No, the Prime Minister’s wife has not taken to issuing me orders for you . . . yet. But my wife did notice in the gossip columns that your absence at last week’s Ball for United Charities was commented upon at length. So my personal computer, nowhere near as smart as yours, is now searching the social pages for what I suspect are your social duties. Lieutenant, we all have our responsibilities. So long as you insist on juggling Navy duties with those of a Princess, I don’t expect you to short the Navy, but I can’t afford to report to the Prime Minister or his lady every time you short the other.”

“Sir, I
joined
the Navy. I got
drafted
into this Princess stuff,” Kris spat.

Hayworth actually smiled. “We all must bear our burddens, Lieutenant. The elevator is that way,” the Captain said, pointing Kris toward the trolley line that would take her from the yard to the central station hub and thence to the space elevator down to Wardhaven.

Kris glanced at her wrist unit, which was faster than thinking, WHAT TIME IS IT, NELLY? “My mother will be happy to know I have four full hours to get gussied up for her ball. I’ll tell her my Captain shares her concerns for my social calendar.”

“Or at least his wife does,” Hayworth added as he turned toward the
Firebolt
.

Kris scrambled onto a passing trolley and plopped herself down in a vacant seat. She could spend the time in a pity party, not a bad idea with the mess her ship assignment was turning into. General McMorrison, the Chief of Wardhaven’s General Staff, said he didn’t know where he could dump his least-favorite billionaire Junior Officer, Prime Minister’s brat, now Princess, and, oh yes, mutineer. But Kris hadn’t picked her parents! And she hadn’t had much more choice in relieving her last Skipper.

Still, Kris had asked for ship duty. Like every other Junior Officer, she wanted it in the worst way. And she’d gotten about the worst ship duty anyone could get. With the
Firebolt
tied up to Pier Eight going through change drills, the crew slept aboard the station . . . and Kris slept at home.

At least in college she’d gotten to sleep in the dorm. Here she was a grown woman sleeping in the same room she’d had as a kid.
It could be worse; at least Father and Mother lived downtown in the Prime Minister’s Residency.

“Kris, would you like to go over today’s mail?” Nelly asked out loud, bringing her owner out of her funk.

“Might as well. Anything good?”

“I deleted most of the junk mail. Financial reports have been filed. I will give you a synopsis Friday. There is a message from Tom Lien. I did not review it.”

“Thanks, Nelly,” Kris said with a smile. Tommy was the one friend she’d made in the Navy. Problem was, he was still on the
Typhoon,
and she was now on the
Firebolt
. That was the Navy Way.

“Hi, short spoon,” Tommy started, a laugh in his voice. “I’ve got some leave to burn.” Kris knew just where she wanted him to burn it, too.

“There’s this new planet, Itsahfine, out past Olympia. They say they’ve found some old ruins, maybe from the Three. Anyway, I’ve booked cheap space on a tramp starship,
Bellerophon,
and I’m headed out there for a week.” Maybe Kris would take some leave. It’d be fun digging around in stuff left behind by the ancient races that built the jump points . . . with Tommy at her elbow.

“This leave,” Tommy continued, “I’m not going near a Longknife. With luck, no one will just miss killing me, and I can actually relax.” He was probably softening this with one of his lopsided grins, but Kris didn’t have him on visual. She felt slugged in the gut. It wasn’t her fault Tommy’d been too close during three tries to kill her. He’d only been at risk for two of them. Still, she couldn’t really blame him for distancing himself from the Longknifes in general, and her in particular.

“I am sorry that Tommy feels that way,” Nelly offered. Her latest upgrade was supposed to make her a better companion. All Kris had noticed was that the computer seemed prone to arguing.

Kris shrugged. I DIDN’T EXACTLY TELL TOMMY I WANTED TO SPEND MY LIFE WITH HIM, she told Nelly. What could she expect?

A toddler, defying gravity with each improbable step, hurtled by Kris, the string to a yellow toy duck clutched in his pudgy fingers. It followed him in fits and starts, quacking in his wake. The child rewarded its noise with happy laughs.

“Hold on tight,” Kris whispered. “That’s the only way you can hope to keep ’em close.” At home in her closet somewhere must be a speckled giraffe that had once been her inseparable pal. Would people talk too much if a Navy Lieutenant/Princess suddenly started showing up with a clicking giraffe in tow?

Kris was drawn from further reveries by the elevator station. A ferry was in the final stages of loading. As usual, Kris headed for the observation deck, while most people settled into chairs that let them ignore the fact they were dropping 20,000 kilometers in less than a half hour. Kris loved the view.

As she settled into a seat, a man in a Vice Admiral’s uniform sat down across from her. She started to rise, but he waved her down. Kris concentrated on staying out of his face by looking out the window. No view yet. The window reflected Kris’s face . . . and the Admiral’s. He was watching her. He looked familiar.
Where?

Right
. Scowling, Kris turned to the Admiral. “I know with the crisis, promotions are coming fast, but three months ago you were a Commander. Rapid promotion”—she took in his ribbons and the rest of his uniform, no real information there—“even for the Intelligence Service.”

The man shrugged. “A Vice Admiral interrogating a mutinous Ensign, even an Ensign whose dad is the Prime Minister, might get people talking. I figured a Commander was about the right rank. What did you think?”

Kris thought she’d had enough of this man’s games and let the angry Prime Minister’s daughter and billionaire speak. “I didn’t much like the topic of conversation, no matter who was pushing it at me. I didn’t plan a mutiny. It just happened.”

“I know that now,” the Admiral said, leaning back into his seat as the car began to move. “We’ve finished debriefing those who took your side against your Captain, and its clear you did nothing illegal beforehand. Some damn good leadership in some tough situations, yes. Few men or women could have earned the trust and respect you did. And that fast.”

“Flattery from Naval Intelligence?”

“I like to think that truth is my business. Care to make it yours?”

Kris let her eyes rove out the window. The station with its piers and ships spun above her, then quickly receded as they fell away at one g acceleration. She spotted
Firebolt,
still in its diminished form. Ship duty! Right!

“This a job offer?”

“Mac still doesn’t know where to assign you. You’re one of his many hot potatoes. He offered me the chance to solve one of his problems and one of mine. I can use someone with your skills and unique opportunities. Unlike Hayworth, I don’t mind you using your own pet computer.”

“For what? Does the Chief of Staff expect me to spy on my father?”

The admiral rubbed his eyes with one hand. “Tact is not one of your strong points.”

“I’m not a spy,” Kris said. “Certainly not on my own father.”

“I don’t want you to be. Mac doesn’t want it either.”

Kris took that with a grain of salt. “So, what kind of job are you offering me?”

The Admiral swept a hand out to the black of space and its unblinking stars. “The galaxy is a challenging place. It’s got the most dangerous critters in it: man. It’s got people who want this or that and frequently don’t want other people to have that or this. Latest news reports say Siris and Humboldt are this close to war,” he said, holding two fingers a few centimeters apart. “As a Princess—and yes, I know you hate the word—you can go lots of places an officer can’t or shouldn’t. You can learn and do things Wardhaven needs to know and get done. And I could help you as much as you could help me.”

Kris turned back to stare out the window. The drop car passed rapidly into the atmosphere, causing fireflies of ionization. The dark of space was rapidly replaced by the haze of atmosphere. Below, Kris spotted the bay Wardhaven City wrapped itself around.

When she rode the elevator up, on her way to Officer Candidate School, she’d been glad to be quit of the place. Now, having seen a few other places, Wardhaven looked mighty nice.

Did she want to protect it?

That’s why she put on the uniform. That and a wish to get out from under a father and mother who left very little air for their daughter. That and a desire to save a bit of this, do a bit of that.

Which she’d done.

Did she want to let this man call the shots for her now?

It had to be better than the
Firebolt,
she reminded herself.

But the
Firebolt
was a job for Lieutenant JG Kristine Anne Longknife. Not the Prime Minister’s brat, or the Princess, or the rich kid. This Admiral, if that was what he was, wanted her for all the things about her that she wanted to escape.

She shook her head. “Sorry, Admiral, I’ve got this job. A ship depending on me. I wouldn’t want to disappoint my Captain.”

“I doubt he’d shed a tear if you got new orders.”

“Yes, but the Chief Engineer loves what me and Nelly do.”

“My budget can get Dale a very good computer.”

The bastard even knew the Chief Engineer’s first name. “What is it about
no
that you don’t understand?” Kris asked.

“Just wanted to make sure
no
was
no,
” the Admiral said, reaching in his pocket for an old-fashioned printed business card.

 
 
Kris eyed the card for only a moment. She’d never seen a fifteen-digit phone number. Fourteen, yes. Fifteen! What did the two do? NELLY, YOU GOT IT?

YES.

Kris tore the card in half, then into quarters, and handed it back to the man. “Not interested.”

He gave her a crack of a smile. “Would not have expected anything less from you, but Mac wanted me to try. Have a good evening. Maybe I’ll see you at the ball tonight.”