Redoubtable

42

Kris struggled for air. When had she ever told anyone about Ron? Certainly, she’d never called him her friend. Then Kris spotted the byline. Even through watering eyes she could read Winston Spencer.

She had never told him that she was friends with an Iteeche! Never. Not once!

Through coughing fits and tear-filled eyes, Kris read the first couple of paragraphs of the news story. Oh, he didn’t mention her name. No, these were other people who were willing to say that they’d been friends with Iteeche.

Kris allowed herself a couple of more coughs to clear her throat, then risked a small sip of her drink. It went down the right way. Then she caught her breath.

Once she had full control of her faculties . . . and had offered a quick prayer of thanks that someone coughing to death could not say something that would forever embarrass her . . . she tackled a response.

“What do you mean, ‘My Friend the Iteeche’?” she said to Vicky.

“Well, it was written by a friend of yours, that newsie you have sending you reports on what’s happening in Longknife space.”

“I told you, I hired him so I wouldn’t be caught flat-footed in polite conversation with my big brother next time we run into each other. Out here on the Rim, a girl can get totally out of touch.”

“Yes, I know you said that. But isn’t it strange that a big chunk of the stuff he sends you has to do with the Iteeche, far more than would be statistically significant, considering how little is said about those horrible creatures. And then he writes an article like this.”

“Who’s talking about my friend the Iteeche?” Campbell asked.

“Just some news guy,” Kris said, making sure to avoid admitting any familiarity with him. “Nelly, can you put the article up where people can read it?”

“Oh, I have it here,” Vicky said, and the article suddenly appeared in big, bold letters on the view screen of the Forward Lounge, emblazoned against a backdrop of pipes and ducts. Beside Kris, others started reading.

They didn’t read in silence for long.

“That’s unbelievable,” Taussig said. “Her father had Iteeche POWs working on his farm while she was growing up.”

“She thought they were pets,” Lieutenant Kitano put in. “To a ten-year-old girl, I guess a rock can be a pet.”

“A rock I can buy,” Campbell said. “An Iteeche?”

“It says here, one of the Iteeche farmhands saved her brother when he built a raft, and it came apart.”

“I built a raft when I was a kid, and I needed saving,” Taussig admitted.

“We couldn’t have captured that many Iteeche,” someone said incredulously.

“Not during the first part of the war,” Kris said, “when it was mostly their wandering men against our pirates. As you may have noticed recently, pirates don’t take very good care of their prisoners. When we recaptured territory from their wandering men, what we found wasn’t pretty. I bet it was the same for them.” Kris knew quite well from her recent talks with Ron, the Iteeche Imperial Representative, that they’d found some pretty ugly scenes, too.

“However,” Kris went on, “once Society of Humanity forces found ourselves fighting Imperial troops, such atrocities ended. If you can believe this article.”

Kris did, but others would have to make up their own mind. This article was certainly going against the commonly held perception of a great generation.

“You know, this is interesting,” Campbell said, rubbing his chin. “My dad said he had a friend who was captured by the Iteeche and lived to tell the story. Now, I wish I’d looked the fellow up and asked him. Then, well, everyone knew the Iteeche didn’t take prisoners. And neither did we.”

“I am fifty years old,” the admiral said, “and never would I have expected to read such a story. But now, come to think of it. Back when I was in the Academy, there was a whispered story that the head of the Department of Escape and Survival had survived an Iteeche POW camp. Like you, I did not believe the story. Now, I, too, wish I had asked more questions.”

“Interesting that your friend wrote the story,” Vicky said, grinning at Kris.

“I told you, he’s no friend of mine. I’m a Longknife. He’s a newsie. They say nasty things about us, and we think nasty thoughts about them. Even on Wardhaven, that is no basis for a relationship.”

“But you did talk with him,” Vicky said. You could almost hear the steel teeth of the bear trap closing on Kris’s leg.

The bad leg.

Kris stalled. “What makes you say that?”

“I have a copy of the trip tick from the cab that took him and Admiral Santiago to Nuu House. And a copy of the return ticket.”

“Maybe I wasn’t there,” Kris tried.

“You were there. You had the insert for Nelly directly into your head reinstalled that morning. You were there.”

“My, aren’t you the little sleuth.”

“No, I’m not, but I’ve learned how to buy their services when I need them. One of Greenfeld’s best spent two weeks as guest of our Wardhaven embassy, checking up on what he could check up on.”

Kris couldn’t decide whether she should congratulate herself that her student was actually learning . . . or throttle the kid before she got too smart. For the moment, Kris settled on waffling. “Okay, maybe I was there, and maybe he came along when I set up some quality time with a good family friend. What does it mean?”

“You and your great-grandfather met with an Iteeche,” Vicky said with all the drama and accusing power of the best vid prosecutor.