Resolute

Chapter 13

''You know they caught you on camera last night?'' was the first thing Kris heard in the Command Center next morning.

''I hope they got my right side. The left usually breaks the camera,'' Kris drawled.

Chief Ramirez headed the watch this morning. She nodded toward a monitor that was carrying an early news show. Yep, there she was, raising the caber over her head, the top of her strapless gown seeming to offer a most embarrassing shot any second now. Kris held her breath as the gown failed to keep its promise. The news didn't cut away until the crowd cheered as she did her curtsey. ''And later, she did toss the caber,'' the anchorwoman said. ''That's not your normal princess, but then she's a Longknife, and this is Chance. Good going gal.''

''That how most people are taking it?'' Kris asked, pouring coffee and waiting to see if PR damage control must precede chow.

''Yep,'' the old chief said. ''I'm headed for breakfast at the waffle shop. Nothing's happening here. You want to come along?''

''Things that quiet?''

The chief's grin actually sparkled. ''The fun was earlier. They docked their own liberty boats, didn't go through the shuttle bay, so we didn't get to see the wreckage. Can't tell you how glad I am of that. Gassy let us watch the dirtside half of the disaster. Thank God smellies never caught on.''

They arrived as the waffle shop opened. Kris entered to applause and did a redux of her curtsey. Just as she ordered a bran muffin and juice, sailors started pouring up the stairs from the two piers she had a line of sight on and forming into ranks.

''We being invaded?'' someone asked.

''I thought they did that yesterday,'' another one said. ''Can't they come up with anything but reruns today?''

Nelly, are those sailors armed?

No weapons in view. Which didn't really answer the question.

Kris and the chief excused themselves from their waiter and stepped outside, then slowlike, moseyed upstation for a better look. ''Nelly, anything change?''

''Still no weapons visible.''

''What's on their feet?'' Chief Ramirez asked.

''Athletic shoes,'' Nelly reported.

''PT this early after last night,'' the chief said with an evil grin. ''Somebody up there is after my own heart, vicious to the core.'' Someone barked an order and calisthenics commenced. Soon, sailors were falling out of ranks, some heaving their guts.

''Nelly,'' the chief said, ''have the duty watch see if they can isolate the air over the forward two docks. At least re-circulate that air. If they can't, close the fire bay doors.''

''They are happy to report that they have achieved the isolation of that air section. It may take them awhile to get the odor out the air, but it will stay up there.''

Chief Ramirez turned to Kris. ''Well, if that nice computer of yours can keep a look on those wayward boys, why don't you and I enjoy our breakfast. I'd keep it light. We may end up down that way before too long.''

Kris and the chief had finished their meal before Nelly broke in. ''They are now ordering those who vomited to run laps around the station. Oh, and everyone else as well.''

''I better go talk to them, see if we can limit them to the forward half of the station,'' Kris said, paying their check.

The chief dismissed herself to the Command Center when Kris started to jog forward. Jack connected with Kris as she passed the midship row of shops and fell in step beside her.

''You going into that lion's mouth?''

''Goes with the job,'' Kris said. She spotted a gunny jogging along beside ranks of Greenfeld's finest. She angled toward him. Once in step alongside, she asked, ''Who's in charge, Gunny?''

He took her in, without missing a step. ''I am, sir,'' he said in that bull voice gunnies are born with. ''Each senior NCO is authorized to exercise his men independently, Lieutenant.''

Kris would have to remember not to look over her shoulder every time a Greenfeld NCO ''sir-ed'' her. There being no women officers in their forces, ''ma'am'' was a nonstarter.

''Please halt your men, Sergeant.''

''Yes, sir. Platoon, Forward March,'' he said, which took them out of double-time. ''Platoon, Halt. Platoon, Left Face.''

Kris conformed to the rapid-fired commands. Doing a right face for the last one brought her face-to-face with ''Gunnery Sergeant Wittmann at your service, sir.'' Being uncovered and in PT dress, he did not salute Kris. This guy was on the ball. Well, let's see how this goes.

''Sergeant, I'm glad to see you up early this morning and enjoying the services of my station,'' Kris said. ''I require a meeting with all the senior NCOs conducting these exercises. Would you please dispatch messengers to them, give them my compliments, and inform them that the Commander, Naval District 41, requires their presence here, on the double.''

The sergeant had not been briefed on this possibility, but taking time to blink only twice, he shot out orders dispatching eleven of his troopers. As the runners took off in all directions, Kris did an informal about-face and ambled off a bit, Jack at her side.

''I can't watch, Jack, but tell me what's happening.''

Jack took an extra step so that it looked like he was talking with Kris, his eyes downcast, but his report was wide ranging. ''The runners are making fast time of it. Okay, there's one that caught up with a whole lot of whites, I'd say a boatload of Navy. The chief, or whoever's doing the run, has got someone out of ranks to keep them running and is walking this way. A gunny is joining him. They're exchanging words. Another putative chief is trotting over to them.''

''So we're going to be facing a united front,'' Kris said.

''That would be my bet.'' The two of them let a few more minutes go by, then Kris turned. Oh, this bunch was good. The senior chief in charge, or maybe the flagship's chief, had the other five chiefs in a single line and they were double-timing her way. Directly behind them came four Marine sergeants, with their own honcho calling cadence. Around Deck 1, heads in formation runs turned. Kris couldn't fault the interest. What able seaman wouldn't want to see their leading chiefs jogging in ranks like them. But senior Petty officers with no sense of humor shouted them back and Kris concentrated on her own issues.

The super leading chief dropped his small Navy file into march cadence and cut a perfect corner to put them directly in front of Kris. The Marines followed right in step. Then both chief and sergeant halted, the Navy to Kris's right, the Marines to her left. Sergeant Wittmann, cutting his corners perfectly, marched into the last place in the Marine's line.

''Leading Senior Chief Meindl reporting as requested, sir.''

''Gunnery Sergeant Rothenburg reporting as requested, sir.''

''Thank you, gentlemen,'' Kris said. ''This is my first opportunity to welcome you to my station. I am Lieutenant Kris Longknife, Commander, Naval District 41.'' Kris paused to let them get used to the idea that the commander of this Naval district was a lieutenant… and a woman. Oh, and a Longknife. From the looks on their faces, they'd been told this already, but it was still uncomfortable for them to come face-to-face with something that, by all that they'd been taught to hold military and holy, could not be.

''I am glad to see you using my facilities to keep your crew fit,'' Kris said. ''That a fit sailor is a better sailor is something we can all agree on.'' She paused. In front of her, bland faces began to hint with smiles at the thought of a Longknife actually quoting their own regulations back to them.

''No one talked to me about your morning routine, though. I'd like you to confine your PT, as well as any drill and ceremonies to the forward bays of the station. No further aft than that line of service facilities,'' Kris said, pointing to where the Dragon Café was still boarded up.

''May I ask why, sir?'' said the leading senior chief.

''That's a reasonable question,'' she said, though Kris doubted a Greenfeld chief would normally risk asking it of one of their officers. Still, this fellow would be asked to answer questions when he returned to his ship. Probably not easy ones.

''Chief, this is not a large station, and I'm not funded with a lot of housekeeping personnel.'' I'm not funded with many personnel at all, Kris did not add. ''As you may have noticed, some of your sailors are a bit the worse for wear from last night and they've left a mess around the deck.'' Kris sniffed the air. The senior leading chief scowled. ''I don't know how quickly I'll be able to get this area policed up and shipshape. I'd prefer to limit the problem to the forward bay. Unless your commodore wants to discuss the matter further, I'm so ordering.''

''We will remain forward of those facilities,'' he said. ''Unless we receive different orders from our own officers, sir. And our sailors will police up their own, ah, leavings.'' Then he paused and licked his lips before going on softly.

''Ma'am, is there any chance that those facilities might get opened up? We chiefs noticed a movie house, and gaming space as well as several eateries on the station plan we were issued, but a check last evening showed them all closed. Those not on shore leave only have what we've had aboard ship for the last month. It's wearing a tad thin.''

Kris eyed the NCOs in ranks behind him. They were still board-straight Navy and Marines, but Kris could taste the expectation in the air. ''Those are all private establishments, Chief, but I'll see what I can do about talking someone into opening them. Although the discipline of your men on shore leave last night did nothing to encourage the locals that their property and life are safe around your men, Chief.''

The chief was back to ramrod straight and a face devoid of expression. Kris paused for a moment, but there was no further reaction. ''Thank you gentlemen for your attention. Leading Senior Chief, dismiss your crew to their duties.''

Kris turned her back as the chief and sergeant began barking orders. ''That went well, I think,'' she told Jack.

''What was that last about?''

''I think the request for some open facilities up here was an honest chief looking after his men's needs.''

''And his reaction about the shore party?''

Kris walked along for a while. ''What would you do if you'd been ordered to let your men run wild and someone from the other side pointed out how unprofessional it was.''

''I'd imitate a pole, just like those poor sods did.''

Kris spent the morning with Tony Chang and the contacts he put her in touch with. Tony himself ordered enough food and drinks to get three of the restaurants open for lunch. ''I'm only hiring guys to work those places.'' Kris didn't argue.

Several movie chains agreed to rearrange their schedules and get enough movies up to High Chance's theater that they could start playing later that day. The Game Emporium was tougher. ''Most of the game stations are still up there, that's no problem. They were pretty old and lame. It's finding software to load on them. They are just so out of date.''

''We need something and we need it by close of business today,'' Kris said. ''The sailors that don't get shore leave need some entertainment.''

''I'll have a couple of kids up there to load the software and take their nickels.''

''You are going to keep the price reasonable, aren't you?''

''I was a kid once, a long way from home. We won't rook them, Commander.''

After lunch, Kris had to submit to an oil-of-turpentine manicure from Abby, who dug out a small fortune in tar from under Kris's nails and took an inch off her fingers. ''If you're going out tonight, I'm going to have to glue three nails on you.‘''

''I haven't heard what they're laying on for tonight.''

''Well, you find out, young woman, cause your Mama Abby ain't gonna turn you into no princess with a snap of her fingers. Not with you in the mess you're in today.''

''Yes, Mama,'' Kris said as she escaped from her quarters.

''You know you're henpecked,'' Jack said as she ran into him.

''My mother ignored me for most of my life. Why is Abby making up for it with interest?''

''Why does Abby do anything?'' Jack said. ''I did that monitoring you asked for while Hank's ships were coming in. No Chance messages out that didn't have a business reason for going out. I did, however, go over the communication logs from the jump point buffers. Nelly and I recovered a message sent just after we jumped into the system, heavily encrypted, and with, as it turned out, a false sender identified.''

''Bad sender address? Don't those usually bounce?''

''This was a false sender with a valid sending address. You know many day cares that send priority interstellar messages?''

''No. Has Nelly cracked the code?''

''Nope,'' Jack said. ''And she doesn't expect to. Very complex code that seems to change about every other line. Real good.''

''And you think Abby sent it?''

''I don't know who sent it, but it's interesting that it went out of here right after the St. Pete jumped in.''

''Anything like it since our last trip?''

''No. Nothing.''

Kris considered that as she took the elevator down to the shops. ''Could have been someone on the Pete messaging ahead. Since our main concern seems not to be involved, let's sit on it.'' Kris ran her thumb softly over her aching fingers. ''Abby may be a pain every chance she gets, but she does pull things out of those steamer trunks when we need them. Haven't you enjoyed the last couple of weeks when she didn't have to?''

''Best vacation I've had in years,'' Jack said.

Three restaurants were open, each just happened to be even with the piers in use by the ships. Italian, German, and Chinese were officially offered, but Tony said they'd cook up just about anything. The movie theater was open. Its offerings seemed dated to a girl from Wardhaven, but there were plenty of choices for the various screens that ranged from full auditorium to small home-movie suites no bigger than the one at Nuu House.

The Game Express had all its lights flashing.

''I am so glad to run into you, Lieutenant,'' someone said from behind Kris. She turned… and snapped a salute.

''Good to see you again, too, Captain Slovo,'' Kris said.

He returned her and Jack's honors. ''May I walk with you awhile?'' he asked.

''It would be my pleasure. Should I ask my security chief to find business elsewhere?''

Captain Slovo glanced at Jack. ''I assure you your princess and commander is as safe with me as she is anywhere else.''

''That bad,'' Jack said, but he saluted and detached himself.

''A good man,'' Captain Slovo said.

''You've gotten my briefing file.''

''Him, no, just my own assessment. And yes, we did get your file. Amazingly thin. Leaves a lot to wonder about.''

''You must have gotten the digest version,'' Kris said.

''Maybe, but I still find myself wondering about finding you here so unexpectedly.''

''Luck of the draw,'' Kris chose to answer. ''They were looking for a place to put me, and this opened up. It works the same in your Navy, doesn't it?''

''Sometimes, yes. But when last we heard, this station was unoccupied. So you can imagine my surprise when I find my ship taking active sensor sweeps from a light cruiser. We had heard that hulks were being distributed around Longknife space, mere scarecrows to make the locals feel safer. Yet I find a cruiser with its sensors up, reactors going. Full commission?''

Kris ignored that question, and the growing question as to why a Greenfeld officer was highlighting once again how surprised he was to see her. Nelly, make a note that if I ever give Captain Slovo a tour of the Patton, all the museum plaques come down first.

Will do, Kris.

Captain Slovo let the silence stretch a bit. ''You were not briefed on my commodore's cruise around the area. We were not briefed to expect you. Strange, don't you think?''

Beyond strange, Kris could agree… to herself. To a Greenfeld Navy Captain all she said was, ''Interesting. Is there anything specific I can help you with?''

''No, I was just taking a tour of the facilities you have opened for my men. The prices are steep for the pay of my able seamen, but not gouging. No worse than we usually meet with when we visit the inflation-ravaged economies beyond our borders.'' He smiled at that bit of political cant.

''I am glad to be of service. Hank said this had been a long trip. Your crewmen need something to break the monotony of staring at the bulkheads of their ships.''

''There is one more thing. It seems that I need a ride down to the planet tonight. My commodore is indisposed and there is a cocktail party that he wants some of us to show the flag at.''

''And you don't want to ride down in your own captain's gig?''

''I don't have a gig. None of the captains have a gig this trip. Our commodore wanted room for more liberty launches and said we could always ride in his barge. Yet tonight, his barge is not available.'' The captain coughed softly into his hand.

''And you really don't want to ride back up in anything like the launches were last night.'' He nodded.

''You could have your chiefs provide a bit of leadership.''

He looked away. Kris detected just a hint of a nod.

Kris considered letting him twist on the ropes of this unnamed situation that neither the captain nor the chiefs would talk about. She also wondered if the extra boat space was occupied by assault landing craft. How would this game be played out? And since it was no ''game'' at all, how many would die? Kris made her call.

''I'd be glad to provide a seat for you on my shuttle. What time is the party? You'll probably have to pass a metal detector, and please don't carry any packages that someone else has provided you.'' She did not smile.

He did, rather painfully. ''I will endeavor to keep you as safe as I do my commodore. The party is at eight. We are scheduled to have dinner with some businessmen beforehand, so could we leave by six? Oh, and I require two more seats.''

''Other captains coming along?''

''Yes, the two that sat with me on the barge last night.''

''Ah, the ones that are trying to provide adult supervision to the kindergartners.''

He made no answer to that but began to salute her most gallantly, signaling her dismissal. She got her salute up before he touched his hat. ''You have no idea how close to the truth you are, my dear Princess,'' he whispered softly, did a smart about-face, and left her to ponder many things.

Jack joined her a moment later from where he had kept her in sight. ''An interesting man,'' he said.

''In an interesting situation. Nelly, you better advise Abby that I will be needing my dancing slippers tonight.''

''I told her. You are half an hour late to get gussied up for a night on the town, which will not involve making tar patty cakes or tossing oversize replicas of the male anatomy.''

''If I'm only thirty minutes late, I can still check in with the duty watch at the Command Center,'' Kris said, and she and Jack quick walked toward the elevator.

Kris tried to use the time Abby spent flustering over her to think. It didn't help. Hank's intentions were ambiguous. This could be just a ship visit. So why did Kris feel she was already in a countdown to a coup? The tightness at the back of her neck that failed to soften even under one of Abby's world-class hair washings was fed by what the chief and captain left unsaid.

They had a secret they could not share. Was that secret a planetary take down? And if it was, how did Hank plan to do it? The takeover of a planet was not something you just put at the top of your Order of the Day. It took preparation. You needed an excuse to march in and throw out a government. ''What are you going to try,'' Kris muttered, ''and when? And where?''

''You saying something, Baby Ducks?''

''Yes, but I doubt you know the answer.''

''You got that right. No way do I know when Hank's going to make his play to take over this here planet.''

''So you've noticed our predicament?''

''Just cause I'm underpaid, Kris, don't mean I'm blind.''

It also didn't mean a lot of things.

An hour later, dressed befitting a princess, despite Abby's insistence that she needed another two hours, Kris headed for the lander bay. A bright Kelly green cocktail dress with a flounced skirt swished pleasantly about her with each step. Tonight she was wearing her spider silk body stocking. If the other side felt the need for protection, she might as well give Jack what he wanted before he asked. Jack, in dinner blues and reds, fell in step with her before she got to the elevator.

''Do you have a camera in my bedroom?'' she asked.

''I refuse to answer that on the grounds that I'd be giving away state secrets and might lose the best entertainment a lonely man ever had. You and Abby are better than any comedy routine this side of Earth's Las Vegas.''

''Come to think of it, all the bug catchers I have come from you,'' Kris said. ''Do you give them a blind spot?''

''Or I could just pay Abby a few bucks a month to give me a heads-up on when you're ready to leave your room.''

''She is always complaining that she's underpaid. That's a story I could almost believe.''

''I doubt it would be the first time a maid picked up a few bucks on the side.''

''Nelly, what shape is the shuttle in?''

''I have monitored it since Captain Slovo asked you for a ride. I also reran the records on it for the last twenty-four hours. No events out of the ordinary nor has anyone gone near it that is not on the preapproved list. We should be safe.''

''And I will preflight it,'' Kris said.

''I feel better already,'' Jack said dryly.

The chief maintenance mech met Kris at the door of Shuttle 41. ''It checks out. I've been running a positive charge through the skin. If so much as a fly speck out there touched it, we'd have spotted the spark and any nano would have been burned.''

''You're paranoid. I like that in a crew chief.''

''That was the first question the boss asked me. ‘Do you trust your own mother?' I said ‘hell no,' and he said ‘I want you working on my bird.' ''

So Kris did her own check. A half hour later, she was just finishing up when there was noise aft. Kris pulled herself out of the command pilot's seat, using handles on the instrument panel she usually considered reserved for the old and feeble. Still, she turned her ankle before she was standing in the middle of the flight deck. ''The working parts of a shuttle were not designed for two-inch heels,'' Kris grumbled.

''You might be right,'' Jack said, leading Kris aft.

In the shuttle bay Captain Slovo waited with the two older skippers from the Greenfeld ships. ''You are here ahead of us,'' he said. Jack saluted, and the Greenfelders returned the honor. Kris nodded and offered Merv her hand. He kissed it as did the others as they were formally introduced. Max Göckle of the Eager, Georg Kratz of the Surprise.

''You really are a princess,'' Kratz noted in surprise.

''Actually, I just found the tiara,‘' Kris said, grinning; the officers chuckled politely.

''Hold up,'' came a familiar voice from the escalator. Trotting toward them as fast as their overburdened condition would permit were Chief Beni, and three from the Resolute. ''Mind if we hitch a ride down with you, Princess? There's a really nifty bistro on the south side of town we found last night, and I don't care what anyone says, spaced beer just don't taste right.''

Kris waved her junior-most subordinate aboard first, as per protocol, though somehow, captains waiting for chiefs to arrive did not seem to fit what traditionalists had in mind when they set that bit of Naval lore. She also wished he hadn't shouted where he and the Resolute's drinkers would be spending their evenings dirtside. Hopefully, it would go unnoticed.

Kris boarded after Jack and headed for the flight deck. The captains boarded last. The chief and his buddies buckled into the aft seats, leaving the forward compartment to the officers.

''You are going to fly the shuttle, Your Highness?'' Captain Slovo said as he buckled himself in.

''We're running a bit late and any normal shuttle pilot would have to wait for the next orbit to reach Last Chance. I figure I can cut a few corners and get us there on time.''

That caused a murmur among the captains.

''All ashore that are going ashore,'' Jack called as he slipped Kris's shoes into the pouch at the back of her seat, then closed and verified the lock on the rear hatch. Kris finished her final preflight and glanced aft before she cut them loose. Everyone was seated; no one was pounding on the hatch to get off. How little they know. Guess they really are reading the expunged version of Peterwald's folder on me.

Exactly thirty minutes later, having shed excess energy with several not-so-gentle S curves that were nothing like those that had won her the trophies back home on her mantelpiece, the shuttle settled to the runway with a kiss and soft caress.

A tug waited for her at the end of the runway, but today they towed her to a hanger on the far side of the field, well away from where the liberty launches would be lined up later. Steve Jr. brought the limo up, now with a top on. Maybe one that could stop a bullet? How things had changed in one night.

Jack slipped her heels out and laid them on the floor for her. Kris had learned to do a lot in the footwear demanded of young woman. Breaking a shuttle to a stop was something done better barefoot than in heels. Captain Slovo rose to offer Kris an arm as she walked into her shoes.

''You are quite an accomplished pilot. Now I think I know why my commodore is so reluctant to let you near the controls of our crafts. You might very well show up our pilots.''

Kris rewarded the thickly slathered on praise with a smile. She noted that the other two captains seemed a bit unsure of how to react to her. Clearly, they needed practice responding to female officers. The flag captain and the royal she exited the shuttle first. Steve Jr. was in formal chauffeur dress and even held the door open. ''They're going to lock down this hanger as soon as we leave and have it under guard and surveillance while you're away. Dad figured you'd want to know.''

He left the ''you'' undefined, but Kris found it good to know, and suspected the captain did, too. And if he chose to warn anyone assigned to mess with the shuttle, they'd still have to figure out how to get to it. Kris expected Chance might be harder to crack than they expected.

But Captain Slovo took the information in with no reaction.

The ride in gave time for Max Göckle, of the Eager, to tell Kris, or maybe Steve, all the benefits the ranchers and farmers of Chance would gain if they joined the Greenfeld Confederacy. Or maybe he was just practicing his catechism for later tonight. Neither Steve nor Kris paid him any mind.

The three skippers were dropped off at The Vault, an upscale restaurant. ''You want to join us?'' Captain Slovo asked.

''The mayor hopes you'll share his dinner plans,'' Steve said.

Kris smiled. ''A gal can hardly pass up an offer from an attractive young man.'' That seemed to settle matters.

As they pulled away from the curve, Kris asked Steve, ''Should I have gone along with the Greenfeld skippers to listen in on what they might be hatching?''

''They have more chance of hatching a rock than they have of getting anything out of the ten they're dining with,'' Steve said, shaking his head. ''If Dad had to pick ten business guys more committed to Chance for Chance, they'd top his list. No, those fellows won't be finding much to report back on tonight.''

Dinner was at Ron's favorite steak house. Kris enjoyed relaxing in the company of two fine men who knew how to entertain a woman. And talked shop only as much as she wanted to. Which was to say, way too much of the dinner.

''Folks are pretty disgusted with what came down last night,'' Ron said as soon as they'd ordered.

''Never had a fleet in?'' Kris asked.

''Actually, we haven't. I asked one of the networks to check their archives. No Navy here for over sixty years.''

''So this catch-up all at once is something of a shock to the system,'' Jack said dryly.

''Is there anything we can do about it?'' Ron asked Kris.

Kris leaned back in her chair and watched a ceiling fan make its lazy circles. ''Let's see. You could ask him to leave.''

''He'd laugh in our faces.''

''Insist he make his sailors behave. Tell him we want some Shore Patrol working with your police.''

''I might try that soon.''

''How about having an accident at the brewery?'' Jack said.

''No brew. No chance. Our beer comes from small breweries. They'd all have to have a problem. All at once. Now that would be grounds for invading us. Making space safe for the brew,'' Ron said, raising his glass.

''Here, here,'' Jack agreed, and clinked glasses.

Kris raised her soda water. ''So what does that leave us?''

''Waiting for him to decide to leave on his own,'' Ron said.

''Waiting for him to drop the other shoe,'' Kris said. ''This feels like a card game Tommy taught me at OCS. Santa Maria Hold'em. You deal every player three cards faceup. Then two cards facedown. Players can swap out three cards from either group, but no one knows which facedown cards are turned in. Then you place your bets.'' Kris shook her head. ''We know some things about Hank's hand. More than we did yesterday. I'll get to that in a minute. But there're some things we don't know. And some things he doesn't know. Now we're waiting to see if Hank folds, or stays in the game.''

The men nodded. ''What do we know more about?'' Ron asked.

Kris told them what Captain Slovo had told her. ''So Hank's flag captain has told you twice they weren't expecting to see the station defended?'' Ron said when Kris was done.

''Seems to want to make sure I got the message. Now that might explain yesterday,'' Kris said. ''They went for the quick snatch-and-grab as planned, fell flat, and now are rethinking things. What I don't like is Hank's up there without his adult supervision. Is he just sulking or is he hatching something?''

''Adult supervision?'' Ron said, and Kris shared her comment to Slovo and his whispered response.

''Whose side is this captain on?'' Ron asked.

Kris shrugged. ''Would you want the job of taking Hank out for a cruise and making sure that he comes home in one piece?''

''Been there, done that,'' Jack said. ''Got the bruises to show for my failed effort. It's bad enough having to do it for the Prime Minister's bratty daughter. No way would I take it from the perspective of a captain to commodore.''

Ron frowned at Kris, then Jack. ''You're a first lieutenant of Marines. She's a lieutenant in the Navy. Isn't that the same one-grade difference this Greenfeld captain has?‘''

''Big difference,'' Kris assured Ron. ''They make you a commodore and you're breveted god. While a mere lieutenant occasionally has to admit to error.''

''Not nearly often enough,'' Jack pointed out.

''But I have.''

''What, once in the time I've known you.''

''That's still more than I suspect Hank ever will.''

''She's got me there,'' Jack admitted to Ron.

''I would never make it in your Navy,'' Ron said, shaking his head. ''I make four, five mistakes a day. And that's just in spelling on my reports. Wouldn't survive without Chief Ramirez to save my sorry soul. Speaking of, when do I get her back?''

''Fifteen seconds after Hank and his fleet jump out, and not a moment sooner.''

''I will try to survive,'' Ron said sorrowfully.

Steaks arrived, and they proceeded to do honor to them. Kris was the one who broke the pleasant munching to ask Ron, ''Do you have reinforcements tonight?''

''Some, not as many as we wanted. I've asked other mayors to send me some of their best to stand up with mine, leaving out the untrained volunteers. Most are sending some, but none before tomorrow. Faced with that, I put out a call for former athletes who wanted to spend a night with the kids, any Sunday-school teacher, males only, anyone who wanted to try their hand at riot control. Word has gotten around about last night. If half of the folks who phoned in come, we should have a good turnout.''

''A turnout,'' Jack said.

''We'll have bodies. Skill level is something else. We did have a dozen cabers donated and a couple of friends of Mac-Nab will be helping him tonight. Are you going to toss another one?''

''Not if I don't want my maid to kill me.'' Kris held up both hands. ''If she gives me another manicure like the one I suffered through today, I may need prosthetics.''

''I'll kiss it and make it well,'' Ron offered. Kris let him. Jack looked on dolefully.

''If I did that it would be fraternizing,'' he grumbled. A while later he added. ''If you keep that up, it will qualify as practicing medicine without a license on 212 planets.''

''I'll give you three hours to stop,'' Kris moaned softly. She'd never realized just how sensitive her hands were to a man's lips. She swallowed hard. More than her hands were responding to this man. A lot more.

''Kris, there's a call for the mayor, but his phone seems to be off,'' Nelly said.

Ron leaned back into his chair. ''I turned it off for a reason,'' he muttered, pulling a tiny phone out of his pocket and inserting it into his ear. He listened for only a moment.

''Mother, you know those grandkids you keep talking about. Well, I think you just blew a major opportunity.''

''Sorry, son, but the liberty launches are due in soon and we don't have half the busses we're supposed to. I talked to Mike and he said we've got all the ones he's managed to clean up after last night. Can you get on it?''

Ron waved for the check, and signed it, then stood to go. ''You'll excuse me. Jack, don't dance the feet off her.''

Kris rose from her only half-eaten meal. ''Where we headed?''

And so Kris ended up cleaning busses and getting them to the airport on time. In high heels and without messing her cocktail dress. Not a bad start to an evening. The upside was that Kris found an industrial-strength tar remover to send to the Highland Games that night, just in case she decided to toss a caber.

The downside was that she was still hanging around the busses when it became clear the liberty launches were coming in faster than last night and that they'd never get as many busses as they had the night before.

So Kris ended up at the port as the launches came in. ''I'd prefer you sit this out in Marta's Ops center,'' Jack suggested.

''But you're my security chief, I can't go anywhere without you, and you have to drive a bus.'' Kris managed not to coo. Not really. Jack said a very bad word.

''Besides, this is what OCS calls a leadership challenge.''

''You're being challenged by five hundred woman-starved sailors of a very hostile confederation.''

''True, Jack, but what girl can pass up having five hundred men hanging on her every word.'' Jack said more very bad words.

Jack parked his bus, behind Ron's, at the end of a not very long line. Ron dismounted as Kris walked by him. ''How stiff are the rules about not standing in the bus?'' she asked.

''We usually won't move a bus before everyone is seated, and belts buckled. However, the decision to board a loaded bus and stand is one for the citizen to make, not the government.''

''You mean if the sailors want to load onto these,'' Kris counted, ''ten busses, all five hundred incoming can get to the Oktoberfest on time. If not, they wait to catch the next one.''

''That's it.''

''Shouldn't be a problem.'' And it wouldn't have been except for those older ''able seamen.'' The chiefs and senior petty officers were the first off the liberty launches and first onto the busses. So much for tradition. The rest raced off, shouting and acting like kids on the last day of school. There was much pushing and shoving to get on the busses, nothing like the orderly standing in line that was featured on all movies coming out from Greenfeld space. Ah well, they're away from home.

Kris moved among the sailors, urging calm in that command voice she'd been taught. There was plenty of room. She was only groped once in the press. She said nothing, but replied with lethal elbows. After that, sailors made way for ''The Princess.''

Things seemed to be going well once they got on the busses… until a fist fight broke out on the second bus over who got the last seat. Strange that the able seaman involved looked rather old for his rate. ''Boys, boys,'' Kris called as soon as she was on the bus. ''That old nanny looks so tired. You don't want to make an ancient nag like her stand now, do you.''

''He hit me,'' the younger one said. Strange how the older one didn't seem all that interested in slipping into the seat now.

''Why don't you settle it at the caber toss,'' Kris said. ''That old grandmama hardly looks like she can beat a spry young man like you. Hey, as soon as we get this settled, we can get this bus rolling for the beer.'' The other sailors shouted to get moving. The older ''able seaman'' slunk into the seat, avoiding her eyes.

Kris eyed the chiefs and petty officers in the front rows. Their eyes were locked straight ahead as if they were at attention. Following their orders? Kris dismounted, and waved the bus off. There was a fight on the fifth one; she climbed aboard and called, ''Atten-hut,'' and it evaporated. ''If you have any more trouble,'' Kris told the driver in a carrying voice, ''Just pull over to the side. I'll be in the last bus.''

''Yes, Your Highness.''

''You going to toss that pole again tonight for us?''

''Be one of those to make a winning toss and see what I give you,'' Kris said mysteriously.

She dismounted, scrupulously not hearing loudly muttered hopes, and waited for Jack to pull up to her. ''You have any problems with this crew?'' she asked Jack. He grinned and hooked a thumb over his shoulder. Six Greenfeld Marine sergeants in undress black and greens sat in the front seats. Behind them, as silently deadly as you'd want a Marine to be, were forty-five NCOs and privates. Kris nodded at the senior sergeant, who kept eyes forward and ignored her as he well could a civilian… and after all, his planet didn't recognize nobility. Kris kept her place, standing beside the front door. ''Follow those buses, Lieutenant. If any of them pull off, please do likewise.''

''Aye, aye, Your Highness,'' Jack said, and put the bus in gear, maybe not as smoothly as a professional, but better than at least a few.

''Ma'am,'' came from behind Kris. While Kris might be a civilian and unrecognized royalty, she was a woman, and Greenfeld was old-fashioned about that. The junior Gunny Sergeant present rose to give Kris his seat behind Jack.

''Thank you,'' she said and took it, ignoring the shuffling out behind her as a corporal gave up a seat to the sergeant, and a private ended up standing so the corporal could sit.

The drive into town went smoothly, with no stops.