Defiant

5

Kris found herself standing in court the next morning, enjoying being a material witness rather than the accused. Seven judges presided, all addressed either as Your Honor or Grandmother/Grandfather as the gender required. Lavalavas, sarongs, and flowered Mother Hubbards covered their honors as well as everyone else.

Kris cleared undress whites with Aholo beforehand. ''Long pants, no shorts.'' She also ran her testimony by the princess, which turned out to be a good idea. Abby was added to the witness list to establish that computer-controlled paint, which changed designs and colors several times a second, had been the rage on Earth five years back.

''It hasn't reached here?'' Abby seemed quite surprised.

''No, it hasn't,'' the senior judge, a grandmother, informed her. That answered some questions about the bomber. He or she had probably used body paint and quickly resumed a different front to the world, explaining why no one in an all-black tattoo scheme or outfit had been caught.

Kris's ''Don't you have nanos to sniff for paint?'' drew a frown from Afa.

''If someone is accommodating enough to present a friendly face to our ways, wouldn't you consider it bad form to sniff around them for paint fumes? We gave you and your man the value of the doubt. Besides, nanos don't survive very well in our salt air and trade winds. We stay low-tech on the islands.''

Kris had seen that; question was, how low-tech were they on the Big Island?

The court didn't accomplish much. It cleared her and Jack of any wrongdoing … maybe she wasn't as material a witness as she thought… and advised the men of Nui Nui to improve their security. Court adjourned.

''Now what?'' Kris asked as everyone left.

''Now I meet with Grandmama and several of the chief elders. It is time we do something,'' Aholo said, biting her lower lip.

''And I go fishing. Good thing it's Wednesday, or they'd be stuck with just last night's leftovers. Want to come?'' Afa said.

''Aren't you in on the Council?''

''I'm about a hundred years too young.'' Afa laughed. ''Rather go fishing. And you're about a zillion light-years too off island to sit in. So, want to go fishing? Everyone has to eat, and if they talk to Grandmama forever, I'll have to feed them all. Besides, we'll probably hear the best parts over supper. And if I'm half as smart as Papa was, I'll straighten Sis here out if she gets anything wrong.''

Little sister slugged big brother… but not too hard.

Kris eyed Aholo. ''I guess I go fishing.''

''That would be best. We may need your Grandpapa's help before we're done, but we have to do this the Island Way first.''

''Let me go get my swimsuit,'' Kris said.

''You don't have to use one,'' Afa called after her.

Kris kept on walking.

***

Thirty minutes later, dressed in a fresh armored bodysuit and a one-piece swimsuit with strategically placed ceramic plates and even a bit of flotation added, a hat that gave Nelly a good antenna, and protection against the sun and 4 mm assault slugs, Kris was ready to negotiate her freedom from Jack for the day. He frowned at a weather report.

''It looks fine,'' she said. ''No trouble.''

''Yeah, but what did the satellite pic show the day Aholo's mom and dad disappeared?''

Kris had wondered about that. She shrugged.

''I'll be in security today,'' Jack said, ''offering any suggestions they'll take. They have a chopper. Nelly, keep in contact. I lose your signal, and I'll be out looking for you.''

''We girls understand,'' Kris said, answering for Nelly. She found Afa along the beach where the outriggers were pulled up. His boat was long, clean-lined, and painted fire engine red.

''Can you paddle?'' he asked without looking up from where he was arranging nets and fishing lines.

''I've sailed and rowed boats. I've paddled canoes. If my style doesn't pass your muster, I'm sure you'll enjoy showing me how to do it right. I'm a fast learner,'' Kris said.

''Ever fished?''

''Not with anything like the gear you've got in there.''

''This should be an interesting day. Grab a handhold; let's get the rig in the water.'' Kris grabbed where he pointed and succeeded in getting the boat in the water and herself in the boat with no negative comments from Afa or the several dozen guys looking on, and who had their outriggers in the water as soon as Afa and Kris did and were paddling for the reef right along with them. Which gave Kris several examples of how to paddle. And several shouted suggestions of who had the best form.

''Do you usually have this kind of crowd?''

''No, I suspect it's the company I'm keeping.''

By the time they got to the reef, most of the company had departed for their own fishing grounds or gone back to the beach. Afa showed Kris how to throw a net and collect the fish it caught. ''Watch out for the ones with nettles.'' Kris did.

The fish around the reef were small to medium. Kris was ready to toss away the small ones. ''Don't. We'll use them for bait. Ever tasted smaki smaki?''

''No. What are they?''

''They're big, about the size of an Earth tuna, and tasty. Thought I'd bring one of them home for the elders.''

''Or maybe to impress the star girl?'' Kris muttered.

''Maybe. They school out beyond the reef in the deep. Game for some real fishing?'' he said, picking up a hooked line.

NELLY, HOW STRONG'S YOUR SIGNAL?

I AM PATCHED INTO THE SATELLITE NET. I SHOULD BE GOOD.

Kris smiled. ''I'm good if you are.''

Two more throws, and Afa pronounced them with enough bait and enough yellowtail. As they paddled for the passage through the reef, he called to another canoe and passed them a net with their edible catch. ''You're not going after smaki smaki, are you?'' the guy in the other canoe asked.

''Why not?'' Kris asked.

''You're like to catch a shark as a smaki.''

''Shark?''

''We won't drop our hooks until I find a school of smaki,'' Afa grumbled. ''I know better than that.''

The other fellow handed Kris a knife as he took her net of fish. ''Cut your line loose if it looks like you hooked something other than smaki.''

''Thanks.'' Kris checked the bottom of the boat. Afa had a knife, but it was at his end, not hers. ''Thank you very much.''

''You'll probably be fine,'' the other guy assured her. ''Afa's almost as good a fisherman as he thinks he is.''

Kris eyed the passage. Waves three to four meters tall were cresting as the tide went out. It was going to be a rough row even without breaking surf in the passage. Afa rigged a small sail to take advantage of the wind at their backs and they paddled quickly through the passage to the calmer water outside.

Kris couldn't count the hours she'd spent on the sailboat on the lake as a kid. But none of those hours counted against what she faced now. This open ocean heaved, raising her a good three meters up where she could see Nui Nui and another island off ahead of them, then plunged to where all she could see was blue water all around her… oh, and a patch of blue sky above.

She'd never been seasick in her life. Never spacesick. But she found herself entering into negotiations with her tummy about there being a first time for everything.

''I will not be seasick,'' Kris ordered.

YOU TALKING TO ME?

NO.

WELL, IF YOU WERE, I'D TELL YOU THAT ABBY STASHED A SMALL COLLECTION OF SEASICK PATCHES IN YOUR BELLY POUCH. Kris checked, found four, and applied one under her swimsuit. A moment later she felt better.

''You okay?'' Afa asked, a bit later.

''Just fine. Where's that school of fish?'' she countered.

''And why ain't I using some high-tech gadget to find them? I would if I was working for the Marine Census, but today, I'm fishing, and it doesn't seem fair to use all those gadgets. All they're doing is trying to make a living, just like me.''

''That's one way of looking at it,'' Kris said.

''But not the way they taught you in school.''

''I didn't say that.''

''I doubt your university was any different than mine.''

''University,'' Kris echoed.

''Ikamalohi University has the best marine conservation program in human space. I had classmates from Wardhaven.''

''That doesn't surprise me. We're only just starting to take our oceans seriously.''

''Big mistake. You let the trawlers mess them up, and you'll be a long time getting your seas back right. There's a reason why I hand-built my own dugout outrigger canoe for fishing.''

Kris looked it over. She could see the chisel marks, but not a lot of them. The walls were tall and even, the bottom smooth. The bamboo outrig was lashed down tight with some sort of rattan lacing. The whole rig was doing a good job of give and take as it bobbed around in the open sea.

''It looks shipshape,'' she answered.

''Making a dugout was easy. Now our culture. That was hard. All we had to go on was some novels or sociology books written by pale skins who talked to our people, and we knew some of what they wrote had to be tall tales they'd been fed. Still, that was what we were about, and maybe some of those tall tales were worth giving a try. We sure had lived the life of you pale skins long enough, so we came here, and we've lived our way, and no one is going to take that away from me.'' He was scowling at her by the time he finished his speech.

Kris showed her open hands. ''I'm not trying to take anything away from you. My great-grampa thinks it would be good if Hikila joined his United Sentients, but that's your call.''

Afa chuckled as he adjusted the steering paddle. ''Sorry. Things like last night really get to me.''

''I was the one who stopped it, remember?''

''Yes, and I thank you. I know my sister and grandmama are grateful for what you did. We owe you, and it seems the fish also admit their debt to you. See, they come.'' He pointed.

Two hundred yards out it looked like the ocean was being rained on. But the sky was blue. As Afa changed the set of his sail and aimed for there, Kris studied it. Yep, there, a small fish broke surface. Then another. ''What is it?''

''Those are the tiny fish the smaki smaki feed on. Where they are, there's smaki. Start baiting the hooks.'' Kris had fished before and knew it involved putting small living things on hooks so you could catch bigger living things, but someone else usually baited the hooks. Kris held her breath, captured a small fish from the bait net alongside, and jammed a hook through its wiggling belly. It quit wiggling.

''That's not the way to do it,'' Afa said, smiling.

So Kris took the steering paddle to let Afa do the honors. As he settled her at the helm, his hand stroked her arm. ''You're wearing that strange thing you wore last night.''

''A different one. Super Spider Silk body stocking. Can stop a four-millimeter dart and most other things assassins may throw my way.''

Afa glanced at the sun overhead. ''You're going to burn.''

''Also is good for SPF thirty sunblock. I'm protected.''

As he moved forward to bait the hooks, he muttered something about being very well protected. Kris let it pass.

They reached the roiled water about the time Afa had the first line ready to go over the side. He tossed it, played out some line, then held down the stick with the line on it with his foot while he brought down the sail. Then, transferring the stick to his teeth, he baited a line for Kris. She took it and tossed it over the side, let it play out about thirty, forty meters, then glanced at Afa. ''So now we wait?''

''The fish are moving a bit to windward,'' he answered. ''Let's paddle up that way.'' He put the line between his teeth and paddled. Kris could only imagine what Mother would say if she saw her doing that, but Kris did the same. There, they settled back to drifting again.

After a while, Kris got the feeling her line was awful slack and started pulling it in. ''Don't do that,'' Afa said.

Kris weighed her options and chose to ignore the guy. Good thing; only a head dangled from her hook. ''Any chance your fish have gone to college, too?''

Afa snorted at her joke and rebaited her hook.

A couple of minutes later, he hauled his in and reloaded its bait. ''They are showing off for a star walker. Never did this for me,'' he assured her.

As time passed, Kris began to wonder how long this could go on. No wonder the others skipped this kind of fishing. Again they rebaited their hooks and moved the canoe upwind. Kris tried staring into the blue sea. She easily spotted the tiny silvery forms that darted here and there, disturbing the surface of the water. There were other larger shadows moving among them, deeper down. Big and thin and round. Would the darts from her automatic reach them? Then something long and dark and missile-shaped shot by, and one of the other things came apart.

''Did you see that?''

''It's not good luck to stare into the sea. You might see one of the mer people and have your heart stolen away and go to live under the sea. Or maybe its an old tale to make it easier when people drown.'' Kris saw pain there and remembered how Afa's parents had died.

''I think I saw something long and ugly eat one of your smaki. What's a shark thing look like?''

''Long and ugly about fits it,'' Afa said, and yelped as his line went taut. ''I've got one.''

He held his line for a moment, then let it unwind fast. Still, the canoe took off as if both Kris and Afa were paddling with the tide. Kris knelt at the steering paddle, waiting for instructions, as Afa held onto his stick with both hands and let it play out as fast as it could unwind.

''Ah, how many times have you done this?'' Kris asked, thinking it was a bit late to raise that issue.

''Many times,'' he answered.

''Many times as in too many to count, or many as in too many to count for this dumb girl on the fingers that I'm busy using.''

''Many times,'' he said through gritted teeth. He was reeling out the fishing line more slowly now, fighting it more.

Kris had read about this Nantucket sleigh ride. No, that was when you caught a whale. Bigger fish. She eyed the bow. It was down, digging into the sea, but not shipping much water even when they dipped after cresting a wave. She wished he'd suggest something. Absent any comments from him, she edged the canoe off a few degrees to the right of the course the fish was pulling them in, letting it drag the canoe a bit.

Wrong answer! The outrigger rose a good quarter meter out of the water. Afa leaned back, and the rig went down hard.

''The line needs to be on the other side of the bow. The helmsmen always keeps the fishing line between the bow and the outrigger,'' Afa said.

''Now you tell me,'' Kris snapped.

''Sorry, I didn't think.''

''You've caught some fish. You've never led the fishing.''

''Not before today.''

''Now you tell me.'' NELLY, IF WE GO INTO THE WATER, CALL JACK FAST AND GET A CHOPPER HEADED OUT HERE.

AND IF I COME LOOSE AND SINK?

HOLD ON TIGHT.

YOU KNOW I CANNOT DO THAT.

I'LL HOLD ONTO YOU, AND IF YOU DO COME LOOSE, POWER DOWN, AND WE'LL SEARCH FOR YOU.

YOU BETTER SEARCH FOR ME, OR … OR I WILL NEVER TALK TO YOU AGAIN. Nelly actually put feeling into that old threat.

Something long and dark and ugly shot through the water beside Kris. ''We got trouble, I think,'' she just got out when she had to make a grab for Afa. The line had gone slack so suddenly it almost shot him out of the boat. She grabbed him by his lavalava. Not a good handhold.

He came out of it, still headed over the side.

She made a second grab for around his waist and landed on top of him. Now, having a naked island boy all to herself might or might not have been one of Kris's teenage fantasies. But having the outrigger rising over her head, tipping them both toward a dip in the ocean, an ocean presently occupied by a toothsome monster ripping what was supposed to have been their supper to shreds, definitely did not qualify as fantasy.

Kris was grateful for Afa's arm pushing her off in the right direction, which helped them rebalance the canoe. As the outrigger splashed back into the sea, they both began to laugh. In the process of separating, Afa ran his hand down Kris's side, sending shivers through her. Getting back into his lavalava, he didn't afford Kris too many chances to steal peeks.

He did look nice.

But the momentum of the fishing run had carried the canoe up to a patch of water where bits of fin and flesh were surfacing. That was a solid reminder of how deadly their situation could be. As they sat catching their breath, they rode the waves up and down. From the tops they could make out Nui Nui in the distance. It looked like a long paddle.

''Papa always said, sometimes you win. Sometimes the fish win,'' Afa said, looking at the water, not at Kris. ''Today the big fish won. I guess I better set sail. The wind is changing, and the tide as well. Don't worry. We'll make dinner.''

And they did, though it took a lot of paddling, and there wasn't time to change. It didn't matter; a swimsuit was just as proper as anything else. The elders enjoyed the story of the shark robbing them of their smaki smaki just as much, if not more, than the fish itself. So Kris got several tales of how you really fished for smaki. By the fifth variation, none of which agreed much beyond using a hook and line, Kris winked at Afa. Clearly, everyone did it their own way … and sometimes you won and sometimes the fish won.

When stomachs were full, Kris asked how their day had gone. Aholo looked at where her grandmama lay on cushions and spoke for her. ''It is time for me to go to the Big Island. I and most of Grandmama's counselors. Vea Ikale called the city councils to see when they can meet with us. The elders think that if we start with the most willing, and then those less happy with the prospect, we can slowly build a wave that no one can resist.''

''Any answers?'' Kris asked.

''No surprise, Port Stanley agreed immediately,'' Vea Ikale, a tall, round chief with sailing tats said. ''Others are still thinking about it. Port Brisbane says they have to call a council meeting before they'll answer our call.''

''No surprise there,'' said a grandmother.

''So we need to get things moving quickly,'' Kris said.

Heads nodded. ''Nelly, raise Commander Santiago on the Halsey, give her my compliments, and ask her to call me.''

''Yes, ma'am,'' was followed by a brief pause. ''Commander Santiago sends her compliments and is available to talk now.''

''Captain, this is Princess Kristine.''

''It's good evening there, if I'm not mistaken.''

''Yes. I was wondering if I might impose on you for the loan of your gig.'' Kris glanced around at the entire collection of elders. ''Or maybe your longboat and gig.''

''You starting a war?'' came dryly.

''Actually, I'm starting a peace. Specifically, I want to quickly transport a negotiating team to get talks going to settle a long-running problem.''

''Doesn't sound at all like a Longknife gig.''

The queen snorted. Several elders grinned; Aholo looked puzzled. Kris sighed. ''We're trying to turn over a new leaf. Seems like a good idea just now. I promise to return the gig and longboat to you in good order and with no new dents.''

''That'll be a first. When do you need them?''

Kris ignored the comment and passed the question to the queen with her eyes. Queen Ha'iku'lani passed it, too. Several elders found themselves tossing the hot potato back and forth and settled, to their surprise, on, ''Tomorrow?''

''Could you have the gig and longboat on the beach at 7:30 a.m. to load out?'' Kris said, pushing things to the limit. ''That should put us on the dock at Port Stanley by 9:30 at the latest, with a whole day to devote to greeting, meeting, and talking.''

''You want Marines?'' Commander Santiago asked.

''This is a local issue. We're not involved. Not even sure I'll be going, since I don't have an invite at the moment,'' Kris said and signed off.

''I was kind of hoping you'd go fishing with me some more,'' Afa said, his eyes more bedroom than fishing.

''It was fun.'' Kris swallowed hard.

''I hope you will come with us to the Big Island,'' Aholo said.

''I was only waiting for an invitation,'' Kris said, then gave Afa a raised eyebrow. ''Why don't you come to the Big Island?''

His face fell as he shook his head. ''I fish. Aholo speaks for us.'' The elders made noises about packing for travel and took their leave; Aholo did the same. Kris realized she needed to pack up, maybe not the entire seven steamer trunks, but a big chunk of them, and bowed out as four strong men brought in a sedan chair to take the queen back to her room.

Kris joined Abby going through her collection of clothes and wondering which she should leave behind and which she should keep with her. A couple of uniforms did not seem like they would do; Kris suspected she'd need to come the attentive princess more often than the gallant trooper. So, sundress or power suit, ball gown or flowing lama sarong?

A soft knock got her attention a half hour into this exercise in frustration. ''Come in,'' brought a puzzled looking Aholo into the room.

''Oh, you have so many different kinds of clothes,'' the princess said, eyes wide in wonder.

''Yes.'' Kris sighed. ''You just need to pack a dozen different colored sarongs, and you're done. I suspect I'll end up loading four or five steamer trunks onto the gig and still regret something I leave behind.''

''But should I walk among those on the Big Island so clearly not of their ways?'' she frowned. ''Should I show more respect for their ways if I want them to respect our ways?''

Kris moved several dresses aside to find space for herself on the bed and sat down. ''Good questions. What's your answer?''

''It does not matter. I have nothing else to wear.''

Kris eyed the other princess. She was, of course, more busty. And shorter. Where was that sundress that was way too short and hung on Kris? There. ''Why not try this one?''

Aholo wiggled out of her sarong, underwear not being popular on the islands, and Kris helped her get the sundress over her head. The dress's waist was gathered in, providing natural support, and the skirt flounced out beautifully on Aholo. She glanced at herself in the full-length mirror on the bathroom door, and pirouetted. ''It's lovely.''

''You're the one who's lovely. The dress is yours. It sure doesn't look that good on me. I think your feet are about my size. Abby, do we have some shoes for her?''

Abby rummaged a bit to produce sandals … and frilly panties two sizes up from Kris's. ''I keep these around. If you keep eating aboard ship like you do, you're bound to end up needing them with no store nearby,'' the maid said with a sniff.

Kris made a face and said nothing.

''Since you're attending some serious talks, you might want to have some serious business clothes,'' Abby went on, pulling a red power suit from a different trunk. It was shorter than the one she'd offered Kris, and more roomy. The face Kris gave her maid this time was different, but Abby proved to be just as impervious to it as the other. And she produced a dark blue and bright green suit, both with skirt, pants, and tights, depending on what the businesswomen on the Big Island were wearing.

All a great fit for a 5'8" gal with great curves and totally out of place in the wardrobe of a six foot tall beanpole.

Abby, we got to talk someday. When things slow down.

But not tonight. She stood aside as Abby outfitted Aholo with a full set of underwear, bra size 38-C well up from Kris's own 34-A, but Abby walked right through Kris's frown. What did the woman have in all her trunks?

Makeup was skipped, but not accessories for the ensembles … more shoes, scarves, and light jewelry. ''Unless you have some of your own?''

''Most of mine is handmade and not so fancy. Let me get my box,'' and that brought out a lot of oohing and aahing as both Abby and Kris matched natural pearls, lovely brooches, necklaces, and bracelets to each of the outfits. And watched as Aholo tried them on. Then tried on some of the formal wear that was supposed to look like it had the flowing look of Island wear but was totally synthetic.

''Why not just wear a sarong?'' Aholo asked.

''Hard to answer that question,'' Abby said. ''Kind of like if you ask it, there's no way to answer it for you.''

''Oh,'' the Island princess said.

''Now it's late, and the gig will be here early. I'm just gonna load all of your stuff on one trunk, Princess,'' Abby said with a nod toward Aholo, ''and I'm gonna take all your stuff, Kris, ‘cause I don't have time to pick and choose. There's plenty of good-looking guys around only too glad to show off their muscles for me, and I'll let them load this stuff back out.''

Why did Kris suspect that this was exactly what Abby had wanted… and that one of those trunks had always had Aholo's size, and… Too many questions. Way too many.

Morning came early; there were Marines aboard the gig, and Kris suspected the long boat, but they sat in the back and kept their rifles out of sight. Kris nodded at Sergeant Li and got a businesslike nod in return. Though they left Nui Nui at 8:30 a.m. and spent about an hour and a half making orbit and breaking back down, they landed in a large bay surrounded by Port Stanley at 8:00 a.m. local time, having gained two hours against the sun. It would be a long day.

They motored up from the shuttle port through an industrial park that would have done a medium-size town on Wardhaven proud. The greeting speeches at the Civic Auditorium, though they were long and formal, were to a packed audience. They were full of thanks for all that the Islanders had done for them in their time of need so many years ago and reminders of all that they had done for the Islanders lately. Kris had to respect the way Aholo, in a bright red suit with conservative skirt, followed right along, thanking them for their support in building hospitals and navigational aids in the Islands and glad that they had enjoyed the hospitality of the Big Island in their time of great need.

Aholo then went on to say what they had left unsaid, that the decision made so many years ago, based on false expectations, now needed to be revisited and set along a different course.

That finale to her speech drew applause that even Kris's father would have envied. Especially just now with him fighting for his political life. For a kid raised in a less-than-partisan political environment, Aholo looked to be a quick study.

After a break, they adjourned to the city hall and its council chambers, and a table expanded to provide room for Aholo and the elders with her. Kris and Jack casually did a walk-around that turned up nothing threatening and only the standard swarm of news-type bugs. They let them live. When Jack went outside with Penny to meet with the local constabulary, leaving Tom to keep watch at the door, Kris settled into a chair along the wall, fluffed out the wide skirt to her sundress—she was intentionally underdressed beside Aholo—and got ready to listen and smile through the rest of the day.

Which was about all she did.

Everyone had to have a chance to talk, and they did. Islander and Mainlander—they insisted on that name and soon even the Islanders were using it—got their say. Kris wondered if she was the only one who noticed that most of them were saying the same thing. Times were tough when they came to the Mainland, and they worked hard to make a wilderness into a home, and they'd succeeded and watched their kids and grandkids grow and prosper. Now they had as much interest as anyone in this planet, and it was their tax money that paid for everything on this planet. Everything.

Of course, the Islanders had their mantra. They fought hard and bled during the Iteeche Wars, saving humanity while the refugees on the mainland were just struggling to stay alive. They just wanted to live their way and they didn't take much. And after all, this was their planet.

By four o'clock when they adjourned, Kris had heard a lot of chest pounding but not much give and take.

Abby had taken over the Royal Suite at the Hotel Stanley. Aholo and Kris had separate bedrooms. Abby and Jack were across the hall. Penny and Tom had rooms on either side of them.

The maid was clearly ready to do two princesses for the price of one. Abby set up a bathing, hair shampooing, and dressing assembly line that was a marvel of modern efficiency, and produced two fully decked-out young women in flowing gowns by the six o'clock supper hour. This even allowed for Kris and Aholo to spend time dithering over each other's jewelry boxes. Aholo ended up wearing the best Wardhaven and six hundred human planets had to offer; Kris wore Island finery.

Dinner was in the hotel's smaller ballroom, and Kris found herself sitting between the mayors of Port Stanley and Port Phoenix, a town so far upriver that its creek was nowhere close to navigable. However, until only a few years ago, out of respect for the Islanders, every town on Hikila, no matter how high and dry, was a port.

Kris wondered how much the Islanders appreciated that.

''So, what's King Ray really up to?'' kicked off the dinner conversation over a delicious clam chowder. A check around the table showed everyone was a mayor or the spouse of a mayor seated at another table sent to hear and report back. And all wanted to know what was really going on in United Sentients.

Kris gave her usual bland, ''I don't know. Good chowder.''

''Is Ray slipping, letting the Constitutional Convention convene at Pitts Hope while he stays on Wardhaven?'' a fellow who might have fought the Iteeche asked. ''I mean he's a Longknife, but that's a bit far to pull strings even for one of them.''

Kris kept a smile on her face and kept spooning chowder.

A younger woman whom Kris could easily grow to like asked, ''Do you know anything about what's going on?''

''No, I don't know if the next course is salad or fish,'' Kris said with a straight face.

That got a laugh. She took a napkin to her lips, folded it again, and glanced around the table. ''My grampa takes seriously that he's a constitutional monarch, and we don't have a constitution. Kind of makes it rough figuring out what we so-called royalty are supposed to do,'' Kris said with a wry grin.

That got her a round of dry chuckles.

''Anyway, he's on Wardhaven, and the palavering is on Pitts Hope because he really wants it that way. The folks who have tossed in their hats are deciding how United Sentients is going to run. Should the legislature have one house, two, or three? I don't know; they'll decide. One planet, one vote. Join now and have a say. Join later and, well, you'll know what you're joining, but the saying will be done.''

''I take it you're for joining early,'' the mayor of Port Stanley said.

''I tend to want to be heard when I say my say.'' Kris grinned.

''I've heard something to that effect,'' brought a chuckle from around the table. Kris did her best impression of wounded innocence. The chuckles grew to full laughter.

''Will this U.S. thing protect us?'' One mayor asked.

''A major chunk of the Wardhaven fleet is at Boynton taking the pressure off them,'' Kris answered.

''All of it, I understand,'' one corrected.

Kris said nothing.

''Is it there to protect Boynton, or to pressure them into joining United? If we don't come in, will we be looking up at a squadron of Wardhaven battleships blockading our trade?'' said a young mayor. Kris hadn't gotten his town.

''That's one interpretation of the situation out there I hadn't heard,'' she said slowly. ''For the record, Boynton was in the final process of completing its application when ships started showing up from two, three different other planets. I don't know what they were planning on doing, or who called them in. They aren't saying. Boynton's government asked for help. Wardhaven responded. So did several other planets. At least that's what I saw on all the news. Where'd you hear different?''

''One hears different things, different places,'' the man said, returning to his chowder.

The salad arrived, and talk lapsed into generalities about the future of humanity and the problems of six hundred planets. Nothing specific to Hikila, Kris noted. She ate what was put before her and answered the questions posed to her, careful to avoid any hypotheticals that might come back to bite her or her grampa.

After dinner was a ''dance,'' which meant that some people actually got out on the floor and danced to music that might have been popular long before humanity left old Earth, or music derived from such sounds. It was music intended to let some people move together in a lovely fashion while others looked on and got about the main reason they had gathered here: talk.

They talked about the other people with them or talked about politics. Tonight, politics seemed to be the main topic.

And Kris found herself pretty much out of the mainstream.

She enjoyed the quiet for a while until an attractive man of about her own age and height settled into the chair next to her and said, ''Lovely jewelry they make in the Islands. You and the other princess swap baubles?''

Kris held up a bracelet of coral and pearls. ''It's probably the most authentic object I've ever worn in my life.''

He rubbed his chin. ''Authentic is big with them.''

''You've probably figured out I'm Kris Longknife. You are…?''

He offered his hand and a smile. ''I'm Sam Trabinki, son of the mayor of Port Stanley. I've been watching you two young ladies from the cheap seats most of the day, seeing how this political thing is done, taking notes. My dad will be inflicting a quiz on me as soon as you leave town.''

''Your dad sounds very much like my father.''

''Politician first, everything else much later?'' he said.

''And I would have sworn they only made one like him, and I got him.''

''And I thought I had that privilege.'' He chuckled dryly.

''Did yours refer things you wanted ‘to committee for further study' and leave you scurrying around the family to corral enough votes to get it out?'' Kris asked.

''Yes.'' He laughed. ''I was the only ten-year-old to organize my family supper talk in bullets.''

''I started that at nine,'' Kris said, hoping he wouldn't feel one-upped.

''We'll, your dad was a Longknife. Did it get worse?''

Kris thought for a moment, blinked, then nodded. ''Yes, it did. Father quit coming home for supper.'' And she found herself talking about Eddy's kidnapping and death. Her eyes still stung, and there was dampness there, but she didn't choke on her words. Not now. He was a good listener, head nodding, making those faint listening noises that encouraged her to go on. She still stripped out anything she wouldn't want to see in the paper tomorrow, but she did feel better for the talk, or maybe it was the finish. ''Then again, I did kill the last kidnapping bastards that crossed my path.''

''I thought you captured those punks on Harmony.''

She blinked, full defenses going up. ''You researched me!'' she said in full accusation.

He grinned and threw himself happily on her mercy. ''When a Longknife comes to town, an apprentice politician kind of has to do a bio on the visiting fireman, er, woman. Dad gave me an A-plus,'' he said by way of mitigation.

''Send me a copy. I need to know what the news has me officially guilty of these days. But I think that last kidnapping was kept out of the paper, or at least my name wasn't attached to it. Anyway, if you're ever kidnapped and I'm nearby, the rescue is free.''

''You're quite a spectacular woman.''

''And that's the best pickup line anyone's ever tried on me.''

''No, really, you did whatever you did at the Paris system and on Turantic, and yet you're sitting here quietly, letting Aholo get all the attention tonight.''

''It's her planet, her show.''

He glanced Aholo's way. ''Were you in the Islands long?''

''A couple of days.''

''What's it like?''

''I think paradise is the usual word that's overworked.''

''Yeah, that's what my dad says, but my mom keeps coming up with reasons why I can't manage to fit a visit into my schedule.''

Kris could understand that. She surveyed the room; dress here was light on skin and solidly conservative. Even Mother's latest fashion delivery from Earth would be decidedly out of step here. Yep, the Mainland was in rebellion from the Island culture, and not just work versus subsistence, cash versus barter. There were a lot of differences, and they went deep and philosophical. Whatever political machinery they came up with would have to be resilient enough to survive a lot of pushing and pulling over the next fifty years.

Nobody said it would be easy.

Kris let Sam get her talking about how her one fishing expedition almost landed her in the water with sharks. ''And while some folks talk about us Longknifes and sharks in the same breath, I don't think I would have gotten any professional courtesy from that big mouth.''

That had him laughing, but she noticed that as she talked, he'd glanced more and more toward Aholo. Not that Kris could blame him. She was an eyeful, and she did carry herself with all the poise you'd expect of a soon-to-be-reigning queen.

''Do you think she'd like to dance?'' Sam finally blurted out.

''I know that after an hour or more of yakking, I'd kill for a chance to get out on the dance floor.''

''Do you mind if I leave you?''

''I've enjoyed talking with you.'' But it is his planet, and Aholo is the local girl, seen from the distance of twenty-five light-years, Kris reminded herself. And it wasn't as if she was really letting this one get away.

So he slipped off, and when the noise around Aholo paused for a second, he asked her for a dance, and she said yes without looking too relieved to slip out of the conversation straitjacket. As Sam led her away, the bubble around her broke up. The mayor of Stanley cadged a refill for his wineglass and a refill for Kris's sparkling water before taking the still-warm chair beside Kris.

''Sam keeping you company?''

''He has the makings of a first-class politico,'' Kris assured the father of the topic at hand.

''He doesn't dance too bad, either.''

''Considering that he's probably having to teach her the steps,'' Kris said, taking a sip.

''I understand you had to learn some pretty fancy steps a few nights ago,'' he said with a raised eyebrow.

Kris decided to ignore the reference to her going native—or to her stopping someone from blowing up the native treasures—and chose to cut to her chase. ''How long is everyone going to keep saying what everyone knows, and when are you going to start solving the problem everyone knows has to be tackled?''

''You are one of those damn Longknifes, aren't you,'' he said, raising his glass in salute.

''All one word,'' Kris saluted back.

''Well, your daddy must have taught you the importance of letting folks vent.''

''When I was still in diapers,'' Kris agreed.

''And what we said here today will be in all the news out on the Islands and all over the Mainland. Lots of folks will say, ‘Right, you tell ‘em,' and we're doing it here, in Port Stanley where things won't get too hot, ‘cause we all know what really needs to be done.''

''You do.''

''Yeah. While we have some hotheads here, and they have their hotheads there, just about all of us agree we need a government that respects both the majority and the minority. Say a House that's popularly elected and a Senate that represents specific locals. Problem is, which locals? They have some mighty small islands and we have some mighty small towns. They don't have many more islands to settle, and our population is growing, and there's a lot of land up here on the Mainland that hasn't been touched yet.'' He scratched his head. ''I sure don't know how we're going to juggle all that, I just know we have to.''

''Where does my grampa's United fit into this picture?''

''At the heart of it. Money.'' The mayor's grin was all teeth. ''As soon as Earth folded its Society of Humanity, we eliminated that tax from our budget or started spending it on something local. Now, if we have to pay for that fleet your grampa wants—and don't tell me that hasn't been decided; I can read the need as good as any blind man—that means taxes. If Queen Ha'iku'lani took us into United without a popular vote, there'd be riots here on the Mainland and … well, I think even Stanley would be voting for independence from Nui Nui.''

''It's that bad?''

''No, not so long as you keep the status quo. It's only if you try to change anything that things get interesting.''

''But things are changing.''

''You noticed that, too.''

''So you can't change just a little bit,'' Kris said.

''We got to eat the whole apple, core, seeds, and all.'' The mayor sighed. ''Damn, if my boy ain't talked your girl into a second dance.''

''If it was dance or talk politics, which would you do?''

''Dance at their age.'' He sighed. ''So, Longknife, what you going to do?''

''My grampa sent me here to hold an old war buddy's hand while she dies. She asked me to help her great-granddaughter try to make her heart light as she lies dying, so I borrowed a gig to get things moving fast.'' Kris eyed the mayor sideways, ''But this isn't my world, so I'm sitting here like a good wallflower.''

''Like you did on Turantic.'' He grinned.

''That being the subject of several legal proceedings, I am advised by counsel to reserve comment for my day in court, if I ever get one,'' Kris said dryly. They both laughed.

He went his way, no doubt to report on their conversation. She warmed her seat. There were several other young men at the dance, but none so much as looked her way. What was it about her that scared them off: the Princess, the Longknife, the money, or the target painted on her … front and back?

At eleven, Aholo called it quits; there were early meetings next morning. Back in their room, as Abby got them out of their formal rigs, Kris got to dissect the night with another girl for the first time in her life. Beyond the ''Wasn't that wonderful,'' and ''Oh, my feet hurt,'' and ''I wondered if they'd ever stop talking,'' Aholo got in ''What did you think of Sam?''

''He's got a good head on his shoulders.''

''He dances well. For a Big Islan—Mainland guy.''

''Both of you danced well. What did you talk about?''

''He has a sailboat. Not an outrigger, but a sailboat with a keel. He loves sailing with the wind in his hair. I didn't think any Mainlander was like that.''

''People surprise you,'' Kris said. Why hadn't he mentioned that to her? She loved sailing. ''Too bad we'll be losing Sam when we leave Port Stanley tomorrow.''

''Oh, but we may not. He's asking his papa if he can come along as his secretary. The Mainlanders have decided to start forming a Constitutional Convention by kind of rolling up the members from the cities where I've been. That way when we hit the last ones, the more difficult ones, we'll have not only my elders with me, but also the Mainlanders who support me.''

That was news to Kris. Maybe she needed to rethink being a wallflower. Or maybe she was finding out things just about the time she needed to. After all, this was these people's show.

Not mine. Remember that, girl. Not mine.

By the fourth city, four days later, Kris was ready to draw some conclusions. The cities were big, and they'd flown over quite a few small towns. In all of them, recent urban renewal had replaced the last remnants of the refugee camps and hasty occupation with centrally located city services, arenas, and gleaming shopping opportunities. Progress.

The fourth city also had demonstrators.

Oldsters in proudly mismatched clothes lined the street with signs saying, It's Our Land, We Worked for It, and similar sentiments. Another line of protesters was more worrisome to Kris. Youngsters in spiked hair in a riot of colors and dressed in somber long-sleeved shirts and pants, buttoned at the neck despite the heat, showed signs demanding, Don't Give the Nudies Nothing. Since attitude toward skin didn't prevent a young mom from nursing her baby without so much as a blanket to block the view, Kris suspected the issue was all political.

It was time to get ready for trouble. The tight lines around Jack's eyes as he studied the crowd along the street their motorcade drove showed his vigilance had gone up a notch. Kris leaned forward, signaling Penny and Tom to do the same.

''We got a problem?'' Tom asked softly.

''None I'm more aware of than you, but…'' Kris nodded toward the show outside their limo. They nodded back. ''Jack stays with me. Penny, you connect with the local constabulary and plug into their command center. Tom, that leaves you with the princess. First chance you get, draw a body stocking from Abby and start hanging as close to Aholo as the situation allows. If someone takes a shot at her, try to take it on your backside.''

''Like I took your last one.'' He grinned, lopsided.

''But don't get too close to the princess,'' Penny said.

''Sam's holding down that slot all by himself.'' The boy wasn't in the car with Aholo, but once things sorted themselves out in the conference room, he was usually close to his father, which was never far from the princess. And somehow, he'd managed to outcompete a lot of guys to be her main dance partner.

NELLY, ASK ABBY IF SHE HAS ARMORED BODY STOCKINGS FOR TOM AND SAM.

There was only a short pause. SHE DOES.

ASK HER WHERE SHE FOUND A SALE ON ARMORED BODY STOCKINGS?

THAT IS A RHETORICAL QUESTION, CORRECT?

FOR NOW.

ABBY SAYS TOM'S ALREADY DRAWN A STOCKING. SHOULD BE WEARING IT.

Kris eyed Tom. He grinned. ''And I was about to get around to telling you that Penny and I have been in stockings since we came ashore. Just like you and Jack, right?''

Jack elbowed Kris without looking away from the crowd.

''And I've been working with the local police since Port Stanley,'' Penny said. ''They're good, but they're about two hundred years behind the tech curve. A high-tech bank robber here uses a computer-printed note and a gun.'' Penny sighed. ''There's a couple of cops from Port Stanley with us now. A couple more from each town have been added. They know how important it is, but they've never worked at anything like what I talk to them about. They just shake their heads and say, ‘That can't happen here.' ''

''Let's hope they're right,'' Kris said, reminding herself that there was a reason why she was not alone here. She had her job and was doing it. These professionals had theirs and were doing them very well, thank you.

That day nothing like that happened at Port Winslow. More tough talk in public, another dinner-dance party that night, and over cocktails talk of district lines cut along this natural boundary or that population limit, criteria for taxing cities to pay for opening up new lands for youngsters.

Two days later, they flew into Port Brisbane at the foot of an imposing snow-covered mountain range. A river and a lake provided its essential water. Its hinterland propelled its growth with food, fiber, metals, and oil. The cocktail debate was whether it or Stanley—the Port was rarely appended now in conversations—would be the new capital, or co-capital with Nui Nui. Not all the friction was Mainland versus Islander.

The speeches were blessedly short and done at the airport. There were no protestors lining the streets as they drove directly to the convention center. Abby led a second caravan to the two hotels the entourage now took up.

Well-practiced, Penny went to the command post the local constabulary established on site. Tom and Sam kept close to Princess Aholo as inconspicuously as two good-looking young guys could. And Kris and Jack did their own wide-ranging walk-around.

The convention center was huge, as befitted Brisbane, and on three levels, with an airy gathering space dividing the two main work areas. On the south side were three huge exhibit halls. The middle-level hall had been arranged for the proto-assembly. The upper and lower halls were reserved for growth, caucuses, media, whatever came up. On the other side of the gathering areas were breakout rooms, over two dozen of various sizes, as well as several places to get something to eat quickly. More formal restaurants were across the streets or in the hotels near the convention center. It reminded Kris of some of the better centers she'd been confined to during Father's campaigns on Wardhaven. High praise from her perspective.

''We're starting to get organized in here,'' Tom reported.

''We've got a newly installed security camera giving us fits in meeting room nine,'' Penny reported.

''We're just down from it,'' Kris reported. ''We'll check it.''

But a Brisbane cop and repairman were first through the door. They died in a hail of automatic fire for that honor.

As Jack returned fire from the side of the door, Kris shouted into her commlink, ''Officer down. Breakout room nine.''

Somewhere in the building there was an explosion. Somewhere there were bursts after bursts of automatic weapons fire. Police pistols sounded puny as they answered. All too quickly there was little return fire.

''Tom,'' Penny shouted on net. Static answered her.