Mutineer

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Kris awoke to no memory of dreams and only a slightly bad taste in her mouth; there were advantages to staying sober. Showered, dressed, and feeling painfully alive, she made her way to the mess hall. Maybe it was just her, but the troops seemed to have more spring to their step. Were their heads really held a bit higher? A glance out the window showed the same gray rain; that hadn't changed. The Colonel waved her to his table.

''You sleep well?'' he asked. Kris took inventory and nodded. The Colonel measured her nod and found it satisfactory. ''I checked on your wounded. All three are doing well.''

''I'll drop by sick bay after breakfast,'' Kris said as she found herself hungry and dug into her meal.

The Colonel leaned back. ''I hate to tell you, but I've got another difficult mission for you today.'' So why was he smiling?

''It can't be harder than yesterday.''

''Much harder, but safer.'' If possible, the grin got wider.

''Colonel, has anyone ever complimented you on your wonderful sense of humor?''

He managed a bent frown for a moment. ''No, don't recall any.''

''Something you might want to think about,'' Kris paused for a protracted moment, then added the required ''sir.''

''Just for that, you get no more sympathy from me, Ensign. We've got a visiting do-gooder today, come a long, long way to see all the nice things we are doing with his donations. I want you to escort him around the place, show him what's going on, while I take a nice drive in the country.''

Sounded like a thoroughly boring way to waste a day. ''Who is this old nanny?''

''Not so old. You might find him cute. A Mr. Henry Smythe-Peterwald, the thirteenth of that name,'' the Colonel said. ''Bad enough to saddle a kid with the same old same old, but to make him the thirteenth.'' The Colonel shook his head.

Kris managed to swallow what was in her mouth and to smile at the Colonel's attempted joke. Oh Mother! All my dodging of this nice young man you're throwing at me, and now I've got to spend a day with him. The fact that his father was at the top of Aunt Tru's list of people wanting Kris dead really shouldn't complicate the relationship, should it?

And you thought today would be safe, Colonel.

Kris saw to the trucks' load out, while Tom did a final check on their ready status. As the three convoys got ready to roll, she kept a smile on her face at the prospect of being chained to a desk while most of those who had been with her yesterday faced more muddy roads, swamps, and bandits. Kris stretched the laugh of offering to trade jobs with anyone about as far as the lame joke could go.

When the trucks headed out, she turned to her office. Jeb was waiting; they quickly went over today's schedule of drops to be unloaded, stored, and made ready for tomorrow's road runs. Spens was at his workstation outside her office; one trip out had been enough for her accountant. As an operations specialist, he brought order out of the information flooding battle boards. He was doing the same for her. He shook his head as she walked by.

''Something bothering you?'' Kris asked.

''It's this junk they're shipping us. Twenty-year-old combat meals are just a bit harder to chew. But I have half a warehouse full of medical supplies past their expiration' date. Look at this,'' he waved a printout. ''Raw vaccine feed a month past its due date. Can we use that stuff?''

''Check with the pharmacy,'' Kris said, coming to look over his shoulder. Yep, half of Warehouse 3 was out-of-date junk. ''Probably was expired when it was donated.''

''By what, a week? Someone's using us for a dump!''

''No, someone's using us for a tax break for their generous donation,'' Kris spat.

''My old man probably suggested the scam,'' Spens growled. ''And he wonders why I don't want his job.''

Kris scowled at the printout with its indictment of the world she'd joined the Navy to get away from.

''Hey, look what the cat drug in,'' came cheerfully from behind her.

''I'd hoped for a somewhat better introduction than that.''

Kris turned to see Tommy grinning and Henry Smythe-Peterwald the Thirteenth, arms folded, standing in her doorway. The finely sculptured handsomeness of him was a lot easier to take without Mother hanging on his elbow. Today he wore field dress, finely tailored and expensive. Kris remembered being similarly decked out by her mother for her hikes in the Blue Mountains back home.

She quickly swallowed a scowl at the memory, lest her visitor think it intended for him. ''You don't have a visitor's badge. I'll take you over to the HQ and get you checked in,'' Kris said, falling back on standard procedures to give her brain a chance to catch up. ''You'll want to see Commander Owen. He's in charge, since Colonel Hancock's out on a relief run.''

''Can't we avoid all that? I can see paper pushing without leaving home,'' he said with just a hint of a scowl.

''What do you want to see?'' Tommy asked, giving Kris a sidewise glance that yelled, Besides a certain boot ensign.

''Anything but my old man. What are you doing out here, Kris?'' Henry quickly sidestepped Tommy.

''Whatever the Navy wants me to do, Henry. Joining the Navy looked like the best way to give Mother an early heart attack.''

''Ah, our dedication to our parents' coronary health.'' He chuckled dryly. ''So, we do have much in common. And call me Hank. Dad has a pretty solid lock on Henry.''

''Sounds fine by me. Mother will love to hear of it.''

''Your mom throwing you at me like my dad is throwing me?''

''With all the force of an asteroid catapult.''

''Then I probably owe you an apology.'' Hank smiled softly.

''Given, taken, and returned,'' Kris said, offering her hand. He took it; for a moment she thought he might kiss it, but no, he just shook it firmly. No first impressions, Kris shouted to herself. She would let this man define himself, not take him on his parents' past history, Mother's illusions, or, for that matter, Auntie Tru's suspicions.

''So, what can we do for you?'' Tommy said, bringing the handshake to an early halt.

''I think the idea is for me to do something for you. At least, that was how I talked Dad out of sending me off to run a plant start-up on Grozen. ‘If we get our faces in the media for doing good, let's do it right,' I told him. So I have this ship full of various things we thought might come in handy.''

''And when it's unloaded…?'' Kris asked.

''Then I go on to Grozen.''

''How long do you think it will take to unload?'' Tommy asked.

''How long do you think it will take me to figure out what's aboard it that is useful here?''

''A few hours,'' Tom said as Kris answered, ''A few days.'' Tom threw her a quizzical glance.

Well, no one said this young man was out to kill me. ''Spens here came across some interesting stuff this morning.'' Kris watched Hank's face while her accountant filled him in on the scam of the morning. When Spens was done, the visitor tapped his commlink.

''Ulric, we have any medical supplies in our cargo?''

''Several tons, sir.''

''Send the data on them down here, including expiration dates to, what's your name?''

''Spens, sir.''

''I have that address, sir.''

''Good, Ulric. Make the Smythe-Peterwalds proud.'' He turned to Kris. ''That should handle that.''

Kris nodded. If there was a scam, that should put an end to it for at least today. ''So, what would you like to see?''

''What your average day is like.''

''That could get messy,'' Kris said.

''Or dangerous,'' Tom put in.

''I heard about yesterday. A real Wild West shoot-out.''

''Something like that,'' Kris evaded.

''Why don't I show you where we rebuild trucks?'' Tom put in.

''Not a bad place,'' Kris agreed. It would give her a chance to get her thoughts in order while Tom and Hank did that male bonding thing. More like male bashing, as Tom did his best to show the rich kid how little he knew.

***

''You've never stripped an engine?'' Tom said fifteen minutes later, wiping oil from his hands.

''Never been close to one with its top off.''

''Even a car engine?''

Hank stared out the garage door at nothing. ''My chauffeur took care of that. Didn't yours, Kris?''

Kris read the Help me, there but wasn't about to throw Hank a line. ''I helped our chauffeur change the oil, tune up the limos all the time.'' Well, twice when Mother wasn't looking.

''It helps when you get shipped trucks just this side of the junkyard,'' Tom put in.

With a huge sigh, Hank tapped his commlink. ''Ulric, what's the usage on those trucks we have aboard?''

''Highest is fifteen point three kilometers, sir.'' Hank tapped off with a satisfied smile. ''I doubt if any of the thirty trucks I'm delivering will see the inside of this shop for a while. What else is on my tour of the seamy underside of relief work?''

Tom looked sorely distressed at being bested. His grin actually faltered for a full three seconds before it popped back to full force.

Kris stepped in before someone got hurt. ''Let me show you my ware yard.'' That moved the center of attention from Tom to her and gave her a chance to show off what she'd done. As Kris walked Hank around, she found him easy to talk to. Well, it was easy talking about what she was proud of, how she'd blended the warehouse workers she'd inherited, volunteers she'd acquired, and the handful of Navy guards she used to keep the place safe. In her life, she'd straightened up plenty of other people's campaigns or volunteer programs that one of Mother's friends had dreamed up but couldn't organize to save her life. This yard and the people it fed was her show.

It also gave her plenty of chances to point things out to Hank. And while he looked, she studied him. There was a wariness about the eyes in his perfectly sculptured face, but they were wide and expectant as he took in her work.

The walk-around also gave Kris a chance to compare the two men presently in her life: one boyish in his eagerness to make sure the other was no threat, the other self-contained and seemingly oblivious to anything but Kris's words, listening intently, never interrupting, always asking good questions that got her talking again when she ran out of things to say. A guy like this was easy to have around.

They finished up at the seawall, watching an unmanned drop ship on final approach. It splashed down, sending froth and spray flying into the pouring rain. A tug glided away from the marine railroad as soon as the supply ship came to a bobbing rest. ''That's one of mine,'' Hank pointed out, ''loaded with a something called famine biscuits. Each two hundred gram bar has a day's allotment of protein, vitamins, and minerals. Nice thing about them is that with water they expand in the stomach to make you feel like you've had a real meal.''

''That will be a nice break from rice and beans,'' Tom agreed.

''What you doing with the landers when they're empty?''

That was a question for Kris. ''We're recycling the air jell hulls,'' she pointed to where bales of the shredded stuff was stacked. ''The engines we're reducing to carbon powder. In most rescue missions they'd be recycled into the economy, but Olympia hasn't got any economy to talk of, so I guess we'll just leave them here until something comes up.'' She shrugged.

''But you can use my trucks?'' he fixed Kris in his gaze for the first time.

''In a flash,'' Kris agreed. ''Nelly, show us a map of a hundred miles around here.'' A holograph appeared before them; Kris concentrating on the map to avoid the intensity of the young man's eyes. She hadn't heard a thing she didn't like in the last hour. What was not to like about a generous young man who took time to come out and see what was needed? She'd joined the Navy to do just that.

From the sounds of the business empire Hank was half bossing with his father, this was about the closest the young man could get to the real world.

''We've got food going to the soup kitchens in town,'' Kris said, waving at the center of the map and getting the boys' attention, ''so no one here goes hungry. It's the hinterland that's the problem. Even with Tom's crews working around the clock, we only have fifteen working trucks. Two out of three are down with something wrong. Local mechanics strip one to get another working, but with the roads in such lousy shape, one gets fixed and two get broke.'' She sighed.

''My thirty trucks should help with that,'' Hank said, following Kris's gaze to the map. ''But up north is going to bring its own set of problems. Lots of hills and river valleys. I don't see many bridges.''

''Aren't any,'' Tom said. Kris quickly filled both of them in on what she'd learned from the Colonel about the goal of minimum government. ''Unless a local farmer built a bridge, there isn't one.'' She overlaid a pre-volcano map on the present situation. There had been four bridges; they were all washed out.

''What you need are boats or portable bridges,'' Hank mused. Then his smile widened. ''Let me tell you what I've got for you,'' he said, sounding like a man ready to sell vacuum to asteroid miners. ''Dad just bought out a company that's making boats out of Smart Metal. Like the stuff your Typhoon is made from. The boats fold into a standard container-size box, a perfect load for any handy truck. Just put it in the water, select a form, and stand back. In five minutes you've got a boat, a barge, or a bridge, ready to load up or drive over. And the price is something you can't beat, little lady; free for you.''

''How much do they weigh?'' Tom cut in, no smile at Hank's snake oil routine. ''Those roads are muddy. And how do you get them off the truck and into the water? They walk, too?''

''No,'' Hank sobered. ''They are heavy. We usually use a crane. Metal may be smart, but no one, even on Santa Maria, has figured out how to make metal light.''

Kris did her best to suppress a grin at this testosterone-powered battle beside her. ''Any of those trucks in orbit happen to have a crane on them?'' she asked.

''Might be a few. I'm hungry. Will you have lunch with me?''

Now Kris did laugh. ''For mobile bridges, I think I can afford to sign for your meal at the mess hall. But I warn you, it's only slightly unfrozen cold cuts. Half our personnel went with today's convoys.''

''I was thinking of something a bit more intimate,'' Hank countered. ''There's this restaurant in town that serves the most delicious steaks.''

Tom looked like someone was stealing his teddy. ''It can't be still in business.''

''My sources assure me it is.''

Kris had serious doubts it still was. She had a dozen other reason to say no, from ‘My boss won't let me go outside the gate,' to ‘Should we be eating steaks when everyone else is starving?' ''Sounds great,'' was what she said. ''You want to come, Tom?''

''Somebody better keep an eye on the fort,'' he said. Kris had never seen the freckled leprechaun in such full defeat.

Checking her side arm, Kris let Hank lead her toward the gate, where a luxurious all-terrain vehicle awaited them with two good-looking men that might be ex-marines standing by. ''Dad won't let me go anywhere without these two mugs. Where's your bodyguard?''

''Military doesn't authorize ‘em to ensigns, no matter how much of a pain in the neck you are,'' Kris answered. ''Back home, my chauffeur was ex-military, but I thought of him more as a friend than anything else. I mean, it's hard to think of a guy who roots for you at your soccer games as anything but a buddy.''

''You got to play soccer! That must have been wild.''

''Didn't you?''

''Nope. Dad didn't think it was healthy, all those other kids out there in an uncontrolled mob. Too risky, he insisted. But then, I was an only child. You're not.''

Kris thought she had had an overprotected childhood, especially after Eddy. She'd never considered that big brother Honovi had been a windbreak against excessive parental concern; she usually just thought of him as a pain.

''No, I was the second kid,'' she said without letting the thought of the third one make her flinch.

''It would have been nice to have a kid sister with freckles,'' Hank said, giving her a sly sideways look. Before Kris had to answer that, they were at their destination.

The restaurant was on a side street off Kris's normal path. No sign announced its presence, though Kris spotted one set of armed men loitering across the street from it, another on the roof. If she needed riflemen around her soup kitchens, she could imagine the protection a really decent place to eat would need.

The door opened before Hank's bodyguard touched it. The portly man in black tie and tails stood in the shadow of the door, menus in hand. He quickly led Kris and Hank to a quiet corner and a table covered with crystal, silver, and linens. Kris had to make an effort to notice where the guards went to ground, taking over separate tables on opposite sides of the dining room, their gray suits somehow merging into the restaurant's motif of wood, crystal lightings, and thick red carpeting. There were three other sets of customers, but tastefully placed plants made it impossible to make out faces. So the Colonel was right; not everyone was starving on Olympia. Where there was money, there was still fancy food to be had. More education for a boot ensign, a prime minister's daughter, and the recipient of Ernie Nuu's multi-trillions.

The menu promised several delicious cuts of steak, even seafood. Ominously, it listed no prices.

''I don't know what to order,'' Kris said after a quick glance down the menu.

''Let me order for you,'' Hank answered.

Kris did not appreciate men who assumed that reading complicated menus were beyond a woman's shallow grasp.

''I know what the menu says, Hank. The Colonel had us turn in our credit cards,'' she didn't quite lie. ''Not sure I can cover the check.''

''I was told that local credit cards were showing up on the black market. Your Colonel is a wise man,'' Hank agreed. ''This is my treat.'' Since their net worth had to be within a decimal place of each other, Kris decided it would be nice to be pampered by a young man of her own age for a change. After the calls she'd made yesterday, why not let this fellow puzzle over the choice of salads?

''So,'' Kris started the dinner conversation, ''you let your dad take you into the family business right out of college.''

''Hardly. Dad's not one to waste time on useless book learning. I started in the business when I was fourteen. If you can believe it, he had me spend my summer in the mail room. I've advanced my career considerably, don't you think?'' he said, waving a hand up the imaginary corporate ladder.

''No college?''

''Well, actually, Dad brought out professors from Earth or wherever to do it on the job. My high school graduation project was a major pharmacy plant start-up, shadowing one of Dad's best men, learning all he knew, and writing it up for Dad and Professor Maxwell. I think that was the guy's name. Maxwell gave me an A. Dad went through the paper point by point, showing me why it deserved no better than a B. I never saw that professor again.''

The wine waiter arrived with a sauvignon whose label would have been expensive on Wardhaven. Hank expertly went through the ritual of sampling the vintage. ''Very good,'' he nodded after a sip. ''You'll enjoy this,'' he assured Kris.

Kris waited while her glass was filled, then performed the mandatory sampling, praised it extravagantly, then set it next to her water glass and promised herself not to touch it again. After last night, she wasn't going down that road twice.

''Doesn't sound like there've been a lot of permanent fixtures in your life.'' Kris said to move the topic away from wine.

Hank thought on that one. ''No,'' he finally grinned. ''Haven't you heard, the only permanent thing in life is change.''

''Read it somewhere.'' Kris agreed wryly. ''I could usually count on a few things. Harvey was always there to take me to soccer games and cheer me on. His wife was always ready with a treat in the kitchen. And there were always aunts and uncles, some actually blood relatives. Didn't you have family?''

''Uncle Steven died in a racing accident when I was a kid. Aunt Eve had one of her many love affairs go sour in a rather major way. If she hadn't insisted on traipsing off to the most out-of-the-way places, she'd still be with us. By the way, the trunk of that rig outside has a full emergency medical station in it. The driver isn't certified for brain surgery, but I bet he'd love to give it a try.''

Kris put her elbows on the table, rested her chin on her two hands, and batted her eyelashes dramatically. ''Listening to you makes my childhood seem rather, well, delightful, on review.''

''Oh, come now, it couldn't have been all that great. Nobody has a good childhood. It says so in all the books.''

And so the lunch went, each of them cheerfully trying to better the worst the other claimed for their upbringing. It was a game Kris had never had a chance to play; it is hard to get a fair hearing when even those closest to you are envious. At university, Kris had quickly learned that even those she let down her guard around could not believe a Longknife ever had reason to complain.

The meal went surprisingly quickly, and when Kris excused herself to the little girls' room, she was startled to find that two hours had passed. Washing her hands, she stared at herself in the mirror. Her nose hadn't gotten any smaller, and what the weather was doing to her skin would have had her mother galloping for the nearest spa. Her close-cropped hair wasn't quite as bad as that on some scarecrows. Still, Hank was clearly warming to her. He was one man who wouldn't be after her money if Auntie Tru's financial statements could be trusted. Of course, Auntie Tru was sure he, or at least his family, wanted her dead.

Kris tossed the used paper in the basket, eyed the lotions, sprays, and other personal necessities offered for use beside the sink, gave up on a quick remake of the ensign into some kind of glamour girl, and returned to the table. Hank was talking into the commlink merged into his suit's cuffs. ''Drop the next three as quickly as you can,'' he said, then stood to greet Kris. ''If you take time for dessert, I think you will find some very nice presents waiting for you at the port.''

''What would you suggest?'' Their server had already brought over a cart, covered with chocolate, fruit, and baked confections to make the soul water as much as the mouth. A sniff told Kris these were not plastic stand-ins but truly savory offerings. The imp bit her, as Harvey's wife would say. ''Thank you, just park the cart here. Come back in an hour to pick up the crumbs,'' she grinned.

''You heard the lady,'' Hank said, waving the young man away.

''No, no, no,'' Kris said. ''I'm already too stuffed to be worth much on the job this afternoon. Do you have any sorbet?''

''Raspberry, strawberry, or citrus medley,'' the server said.

''Citrus medley,'' Kris said.

''Same for me,'' Hank finished, though he looked longingly at the cart as it was rolled away.

''Just because I'm passing doesn't mean a growing boy like you has to,'' Kris pointed out.

''Discipline, Dad says. ‘Discipline yourself, because nobody else will, or can.' '' Hank quoted. ''I suspect you have already discovered that when rebelling against successful parents, one must be selective. Not all of what they handed us was bunk.''

''Ah, yes,'' Kris answered sincerely, ''but separating all that manure from the pony can be the challenge of a lifetime.''

''Is that why you're in the Navy?''

''Is that why you're on Olympia?''

''I'm here to see for myself what needed doing.''

''Yes, but why are you doing it in the first place? Your father can't be too happy that you're taking this detour on your way to that start-up,'' Kris said, turning all the generalities they'd tossed about over lunch into a very specific Why are you here? that would make Auntie Tru proud.

''Yes, but the straight route would be pleasing Dad a bit too much. I have to get a little of what I want.''

''But why do you want this?''

''Ah, now that would be telling a bit much for a first date, don't you think?''

Maybe, but then again, it would be nice to know what was really going on behind that dancing smile, those hooded eyes. But before Kris could come up with further probes, her commlink went off. ''Ensign Longknife,'' she snapped.

''There's been a rocket attack at the warehouse.''

Kris's stomach went into free fall, and that fine steak started demanding revisitation rights to her mouth. ''Casualties?''

''Don't know yet,'' Tom shot back.

''I'll be right there,'' Kris said, standing and about knocking over the waiter bringing their sorbet. Hank rose just as quickly and went through the formalities of covering the check. His gunmen assured that the way to the car was clear, even as Hank signed off on a bill that made even Kris gulp. Outside, it was hardly raining, but there was no one else on the street, no one on the roofs, no one peering out any window.

The locals had learned to hide when things went boom in broad daylight.

Five minutes later, Kris was back at her warehouse compound. A gaping hole showed in the south side of her nightly watchtower. Smoke came from her own office area.

''I'm going to have to leave you here,'' Hank said. ''There is only so much stretch in my dad's orders before these two get me in a hammerlock.''

''I know what you mean. You had no way of knowing the hornets' nest your lunch date had stirred up.''

''Watch the next three drop ships. I really wanted to be here when you opened them. They'll have trucks and those boats I told you about.''

''Wanted to see what I look like excited, maybe steal a kiss?''

''The thought had occurred to me.''

She gave him a peck. ''Now you know what it's like having a sister. Now I've got to run. See you next time I see you.''

He laughed, maybe a bit startled by the kiss. ''Yes, I definitely will see you again.'' And then he was gone.

Kris didn't look back; it was time to be Navy again. Where were the casualties? Where were the attackers? How safe was this place? She tapped her commlink. ''Ensign Longknife in the warehouse compound. Any report on casualties?''

''We've collected all three of the wounded at Warehouse 2.''

That was where Kris's office was. ''All present or accounted for. We got lucky. No one killed,'' Tom reported.

That was good to hear. Kris double-timed it for the wounded. Ester Saddik was wrapping a bandage around one civilian's arm. Spens, Kris's accountant, was lying down, his uniform torn and bloody. A medic was going over him.

''Ouch,'' Spens said as a bloody section of shirt got lifted.

''Can't be too bad if you can still complain,'' the corpsman chided.

''Bad enough. Damn it, why didn't Dad ever have a day like this at the office?''

''Probably ‘cause Dad never pissed off the bad guys like we did yesterday,'' Kris suggested.

''Nah, Dad always ran with the bad guys, respectable ones, not like the ones we took on yesterday, but just as nasty. Ensign, glad to see you back.''

''Sorry I wasn't here for all the fun.'' Kris said, kicking herself for a two-hour lunch.

''No, ma'am. Glad you weren't. You think I look bad. It was your desk the rocket took apart. Now you'll have to spend all your time walking around the yard.''

''Guess I will at that,'' Kris agreed. ''He going to be okay?'' Kris asked the medic.

''He will be, if he doesn't complain so much I slit his throat to shut him up,'' the corpsman answered.

''How about I entertain you with a few of my accountant jokes?'' Spens suggested.

''Where's that knife when I need it?''

Everything here as much under control as it was likely to get, Kris headed for her office. Ester joined her. ''I didn't know your folks had rockets,'' Kris said.

''The government arsenal kept a supply; they were not considered proper personal property.''

''And the arsenal?''

''It burned down about a month after the rain started.''

''Let me guess. There was no big explosion.''

The older woman nodded. ''The fire was surprisingly low energy for what the building was supposed to have.''

''Anyone used rockets since then?''

''No.''

''So there's a lot more out there.''

''I would imagine so, but have you taken note of what was done here? Only two rockets were fired. They hit your office and your guard tower. None hit where the warehouses had food. None hit the yard where people were working.''

''Selective shooting, and very accurate,'' Kris concluded.

''I believe so.''

At her office Tom was overseeing a hose team putting out the small fire that had finished what the rocket started. As Spens said, nothing remained of her desk; Kris now had a new window to look out. If she'd been here, nothing would have been left of her. Well, Auntie Tru, Hank Peterwald was the main reason I wasn't here. That prove anything to you?

It did to Kris.

''Any problems at the main compound?'' she asked Tom.

''Not a peep. Commander Owing is still sleeping off his five-martini lunch.'' Kris surveyed the fire team, more local than Navy. Jeb detached himself from a fire hose team.

''Most of us did volunteer time with the fire department.'' her foreman told her. ''We know what to do.''

''Do you know who did it?''

''Got the same guesses you do, ma'am.''

''Well, thank you for stepping in.'' Kris turned to Ester. ''Any of your folks feel the warehouse has gotten a bit too dangerous, I'll see what I can do to find them work elsewhere.''

Ester turned back to the fireman. ''Jeb, any of your folks want to take her up on that?''

''I'll ask around, but if they wanted to go, they'd be gone already. Most of us like what you did yesterday.'' He glanced at the fire. ''Obviously, not everyone.''

''They could have killed me,'' Kris pointed out.

''I know, ma'am. And if I find out who, I'll mention their names to you. But, at the moment, I don't know nothing, so there's nothing I can do.''

''Fair enough for now,'' Kris said. ''I'm expecting a lot of drop ships this afternoon. Some of them will have trucks and other heavy equipment. You know any drivers we can trust?''

''I'll send a boy into town to get a couple,'' Jeb answered.

So Kris went about the rest of her day as if it was routine to have her work spaces blasted to rubble over her lunch break.

True to his promise, Peterwald's next two drop ships deposited thirty large all-terrain trucks in Kris's yard. A third provided a crane truck and a half-dozen boxes whose instructions promised they'd open up into several water defeating forms. Kris gave Hank a thank-you call. He seemed delighted by her delight but made no offer to come down and share it up close and personal. His ship had a schedule change; Father was cutting short Hank's trip. There was some kind of trouble in the start-up.

Later that afternoon, Colonel Hancock gave a low whistle as he dismounted from his truck, moments after his supply convoy drove through the warehouse gate. ''Woman, you do insist on having all the fun, don't you.''

''Sorry about the mess, sir.''

''Casualties?''

''Three injured. One Navy, my accountant, Spens. My office was wrecked. The watchtower's sandbags seem to have cut down on the damage. A local engineering tech swears there's no structural damage.''

''So. You going to post guards up there tonight?''

''Yes, sir. I'll take the watch, with a couple of marines.''

''The marines will take the watch. You will not.''

''Sir.''

''Don't sir me, young woman. You may have forgotten, but I haven't. You are one of those Longknifes, and I have no intention of getting called on the carpet to explain to the prime minister, your father, how I got you killed.''

''You won't have gotten me killed, sir.''

''If it happens, it will be on my watch. In case you haven't noticed it, in the Navy, if it happens on your watch, you are responsible for it. I know that, in spades, Ensign. Now, how'd your time go with that what's his name?''

''Mr. Peterwald has been kind enough to provide us with thirty trucks and six convertible boats or bridges. He also took me off base for a two-hour lunch, which explains why I wasn't at my desk when it went to pieces.''

''Thank the gods for minor favors. You and he hit it off.''

''Better than I did with some of the locals, it appears.''

''Ensign, you will soon discover that it is a rare day when everyone is happy. You have one of those days, savor it.''

Kris chuckled. ''If I get one, sir, I'll take your advice.''

Colonel Hancock stayed with her as she checked in each of the convoys. He also checked out the new trucks. Local mechanics had already gone over them and pronounced them fit. Kris doubled the night shift so all the available rigs would be loaded up for tomorrow's run. The Colonel frowned as he took in the rolling stock. ''I hate to admit that I'm embarrassed by my riches. Until the Highlanders get here, I'm going to have more trucks than I've got troops to keep them rolling.''

''The Highlanders are due tomorrow, aren't they? I've already got four buses under contract,'' Kris said.

''I got word just before I left this morning that their transport blew two engines. They're having to limp across the last system and down here on half power. Expect them two, maybe three days late.''

''So we'll have food and transport but no one to move it where it's needed.'' Kris didn't like the taste of that in her mouth. There were an awful lot of hungry kids out there.

''Ensign, that NGO you're funding?''

''I didn't say I was funding it, sir.''

''No, you managed to overlook that bit of information when you were briefing your superior officer. Don't you think I can do a computer search as well as you can?''

''No, sir, I mean yes, sir. I mean…you know what I mean, sir.''

''I probably do. I was an only moderately subordinate second lieutenant once. Fortunately, I dodged the mutiny charge as well as I expect you will. Now, could you wrestle me up a dozen civilians who could keep any NGO gunmen in line and follow any orders they get from the likes of Owing and Pearson?''

''Ester and Jeb are pretty levelheaded folks. I've met a priest, preacher, a couple of salesmen I think have the respect of the locals and could get along with any decent Navy types.''

''l didn't say decent, I said Owing and Pearson.''

''Maybe Ester and Jeb should be assigned to them.''

''Then you'll have the base to yourself tomorrow, and I'll have just about everything in uniform on the road.''

A quick touch-base with Ester got Kris a list of folks who could ride herd on a batch of riflemen, as well as get along with their Navy coordinator. Jeb was out; he was a Quaker and would not carry a gun. Kris wasn't willing to put him out there without a weapon. Instead, he volunteered to work the warehouse all night to get the rigs loaded. A good day's work done, Kris headed back to base, Ester and two gun-toting women at her side.

''I can take care of myself,'' Kris told the older woman.

''I know you can. I'm just enjoying a nice stroll.''

''Ester, it hasn't quit raining all day.''

''I know. Maybe I'm getting used to it.'' After several more sallies by Kris, just as cheerfully and absurdly parried by Ester, the women left Kris at the base gate. Kris was just in time for the last of the chow, which under Courtney's hand was just as tasty as the first off the griddle. The Colonel came in for a cup of coffee as she settled at a table. He joined her.

''Your quarters have been moved.''

''Sir, don't you think that's taking it a bit far?''

''Blame your friend Lien. He wanted to bunk the Highlanders in a block so their NCOs could keep them out of trouble. He had Millie roust you into new quarters.''

''I thought the Highlanders were delayed.''

''They are, but that boot ensign didn't get the word.'' Or was in cahoots with a certain sly colonel. ''My old quarters empty tonight?''

''And the ones all around it. Made sure the cleaning people knew you were moving, just not where.''

Kris couldn't argue so long as no one else would be on the receiving end of any rockets intended for her. Tommy was at the check-in desk, waiting for her when she got to the quarters. ''Colonel told me what you did. Thanks.''

''I didn't do anything,'' Tom lied through a freckled grin. ''Here's your key. You're on the second floor. Far enough up not to be easy to get at and low enough down not to give anyone in town a clear line of flight.''

So, despite herself, Kris had a good night's sleep.