Resolute

Chapter 2

An hour later, they boarded a small Boeing shuttle. It was in standby mode drawing from the station's power to keep juice flowing to the antimatter containment pod. Kris had just enough power to break out of orbit and glide to the port outside Last Chance. She set those coordinates into the nav computer and let herself grin. ''Landing this will be no strain.''

''Assuming we don't run into traffic on the way down,'' Jack said, slipping into the copilot's seat and bringing up a report on traffic into and out of Last Chance.

''Looks like they're coming up on a solid hour of no business,'' Kris said.

''Assuming there's no one else dropping in unannounced,'' Beni said, standing between the two of them. ''My old man would whap me horrid if I flew into some place with no flight plan.''

''Yes,'' Kris agreed, ''but where's the fun of telling them we're coming. They might bake a cake.''

''Order out the antiaircraft defenses,'' Jack muttered. ''You're really going to surprise them?''

Kris knew the rules, but she was tired of being on the receiving end of all the surprises this trip. If there was going to be another, she would do it. Besides, with all her skiff racing, no question she could put this puppy down just fine. A glance at Last Chance's airport showed plenty of fields around it. Kris measured the risk she was taking, found it low enough for her, if not for Jack, and checked the rest of her board. Everything showed green. ''Strap in, Chief, we're headed down.''

''Is it too late for me to get out and walk?''

''It was already too late when you said, yes, you'd work for this woman,'' Jack said, cinching his seat belt in tight.

Fifteen minutes later, Kris had the shuttle on final approach. No one at the port had called her, but she decided she'd better check in. ''Last Chance Space, this is Navy shuttle 41, I'm on final approach for a dead-stick landing on runway 090. Is there any traffic I should be aware of?''

''Navy shuttle 41, you got power for a go around?''

''Negative on that.''

''Then I guess we better not have any traffic in your way. You're lucky we're in an after lunch slump in business. Give me a minute while I redirect a freighter.''

''Thank you, Last Chance Space.''

Exactly one minute later, the tower came back on, and gave Kris wind, temperature, and barometric pressures.

''Ah, that's not what your automatic station is broadcasting,'' Kris said, adjusting her instruments.

''Everyone local knows that station is off, and makes their own adjustments. You being Navy, I figured you might not know.''

Beside Kris, Jack studied the heavens as if they might hold some hidden wisdom. What Beni was muttering wasn't fit for a princess's ears. But an experienced Navy princess found it rather mild compared to what she wanted to say.

''Thank you for the update. We're two minutes out.''

''We'll get a tow for you. Have your credit card handy.''

Now Kris did say a very unprincess-like word.

She set the shuttle down smoothly; the brakes were uneven, but they slowed to a stop just past a bright yellow tug. Halted, Kris opened the window and waved the tug in. It came, but stopped in front of the shuttle and did nothing. Kris waited for a minute to be hooked up to power and a tow. Then another minute. Outside, nothing happened.

''Ah, I think they're waiting to be paid,'' Beni stuttered.

Kris snapped off her seat belt and headed for the hatch, aft. Jack followed, whether concerned for her safety… or the tug crew… he didn't say. Kicking the hatch open almost made Kris feel better. She quick marched into a dazzling sunny afternoon. The two fellows lounging in the tug's front seat seemed to be enjoying it. ''You planning on parking me right here in the middle of the runway?'' she demanded.

The younger of the two, a long, tall drink of water with an unruly shock of blue hair and sporting worn coveralls, looked about ready to run. The other fellow, bald, scruffy white beard, and more substantial if not downright round, held on to the steering wheel of his tug and fired right back. ''We don't move you until we run your credit card. Navy credit's no good. Operations Chief says she's got enough unpaid chits from the Navy.''

''Just how much has the Navy been ignoring this place?'' Jack muttered softly. Which gave Kris pause enough to eye the well-worn tug, overdue for a paint job. She scuffed the concrete runway. It was solid, but in need of recovering. This is Naval District 41's territory. Not Wardhaven, Lieutenant Longknife, she reminded herself.

Reassessment over, Kris reached for her wallet, went past the official Naval District 41 charge card she'd been required to oh so formally sign for and pulled out her own. When Kris signed for the District card, she'd asked what her limit was. The procurement agent 3/c said that depended on the appropriations approved for her District. All effort by Kris or Nelly to find out what that magic number might be had failed.

Kris offered her personal ID and credit chit to the tug driver. He fed it into a remote on his rig without even looking at it. At least he didn't until the remote beeped happily and approved the charge. Once the card popped back out. the driver did give it a solid look. ''You this Kris Longknife?'' he asked.

''Usually. On my good days,'' Kris answered

''Boss, you know who she is. Don't you ever watch any vids but racing and football?''

''Nothing else worth watching,'' the boss said and elbowed the kid out of his seat. ''We don't have all day. Let's get this thing off the duty runway.''

''But she's… She's…'' The tall fellow seemed to have developed a stutter.

''Just another flyguy.''

With the shuttle hooked to the tug, the two piled back into their seats. ''Is there a crew truck coming for us?'' Kris asked.

''Nope.''

''Can we ride in with you?''

''Nope, seats are full.''

''Can an old chief hitch a ride in on your back bumper?'' Beni asked, not interested in a long hike to the facilities.

''Suit yourself, Chief,'' the driver said. ''If you're not too proud, the rest of you can share the bumper. Or walk.''

Jack offered Kris a hand up, not that her six feet needed all that much of an up. Still, it was nice of him. It also reminded her that she was a princess and serving Commander of Naval District 41 and it would be undignified to screech at a tug driver. And might upset the locals if she killed him.

The drive to a tie-down slot was sedate. Their shuttle was exiled to one well away from the terminal. After making sure it was secure, the driver offered them a ride to the operations center, a dilapidated building with a very threatening windsock hanging limply in the center of a patch of brown grass.

''You better settle up your bill with the port manager,'' the driver warned as he dropped them off. Inside Kris found flies, a desultory ceiling fan, and a middle-aged woman behind a counter. Kris approached, then cooled her heels while the woman finished a game of solitaire on her old-fashioned computer.

''So they did send us a Longknife,'' she said, not looking up.

''Just a young one,'' Kris countered.

''A Longknife is a Longknife. The old ones are doing you. The young ones are dreaming of when they'll be big enough to do you. Which one are you?'' she said, looking Kris's way. The eyes held Kris. Whether the frumpy outer show was real or fake, the eyes were a piercing blue that cut deep. There was ice around them, too. They took Kris in, weighed her to the last milligram and found her… worth keeping an eye on. She leaned back from her computer and kept those eyes locked on Kris.

''I'm Kris Longknife,'' the Navy lieutenant said. ''I commanded at Wardhaven.''

''You are that one,'' the woman nodded slowly in agreement. She let that hang in the warm, summer-filled air for a moment before posing her next question. ''And I am Marta Torn. What brings you to our neck of the backwoods?''

Kris had a dozen answers to that, but none got past the woman's eyes. ''They didn't have any other job for me. I think they're hoping I'll hang around here, get bored, and resign.''

The woman snorted. ''I think you just told me the truth. But it will serve as good as any lie. Nobody'll believe that.''

Kris shrugged. ''None of them ever crossed Billy Longknife.''

''That's the fate of every kid hatched, honey. Mommy, Poppy are never happy with you. Happy the parent who finally realizes the kids are their own best judge of what's good for them. God help the kid who gives in and lets Mommy and Poppy rule.''

''Any chance you could talk to my mother, father about that?''

The woman laughed, a big one that started low in her chest and reached all the way to her eyes. ''If they ain't listened to you, what makes you think they'll listen to me?''

''Speaking of listening… or talking where talking's not all that wanted, I'm kind of the new commander of Naval District 41 and it's going rather strange. You wouldn't happen to know where I could find Steve Kovar and have a little talk with him?''

The woman tapped her computer. ''He should have been here by now. It's Tuesday afternoon, so he's driving a cab.''

''I thought he'd be running a chicken ranch?''

''He does, and cabbies, too. You can ask him about that. I think I just heard the cab pull up.''

The front door of Ops opened and a short fellow in jeans and a flannel shirt walked in. His red hair was long and his beard shaggy. ''You got any baggage?'' was his only question.

''Only a one-day hop, down and back,'' Kris said. ''You will see that my shuttle is refueled,'' Kris said back to Marta.

''I guess your card is good for it,'' the Ops manager agreed. Steve gave the woman a raised eyebrow. ''She's using her own card. No Navy IOU from her.''

Steve shook his head ruefully and turned for the door; the Navy had to hurry to catch up. The cab had four doors in front. About halfway to the rear, it turned into a pick-up. Well, this was the Rim; everybody worked.

Kris settled in the front seat beside Steve; Jack and Beni shared the back. The former commander of Naval District 41 took off, spieling a monologue about the crops in view. ''We export the most prized, single-malt whiskeys this side of Old Scotland. Or the new one. And our wines are highly prized as well. We also grow several modified crops for feedstock to the pharmacy industry. Chance is proud of its trade balance. We import only the critical items needed for our growing industry. Fifteen of our twenty largest cities have their own fusion reactors. The others are making use of our natural waterpower.''

''I got that briefing on the way out,'' Kris said.

''Yes, but no briefing gives you the smell of the thing. The pride in the workmanship,'' the man pointed out. ''Look around.''

Kris did; they were coming over a slight rise. Behind stretched fields of grain. Almost lost in them were the tower and two long runways. Ahead, in a shallow bowl, was the city of Last Chance, stretching along both sides of the wide An'Ki River. There were tall buildings, none as tall as those on Wardhaven, but still, the city compared with several of the smaller metropolitan centers back home.

''Looks nice,'' Kris said. ''Why name it Last Chance?''

''It was intentional. Place like Greenland back on Earth, Greenfeld with the Peterwalds, are intended to fake people into thinking they're headed for a great place to live. Folks that settled Last Chance didn't want those kind. They wanted folks looking for a challenge. Willing to fight a planet for their future. Our population's over a hundred million. We've got no unemployment to speak of. We like it here.''

That hadn't been in Kris's briefing. Oh, the raw numbers, yes. But the attitude. Hmm. Something to think about.

''How do you like my station?'' That question still showed pride of ownership even if he wasn't interested in taking Kris for a change-of-command tour.

''Very clean. Very shipshape. Very empty.''

Steve laughed. ''Yes, I imagine it is very empty.''

''You know, anyone could have come along and grabbed it. You're just two jumps from Peterwald space now that the Greenfeld Confederacy pressured Brenner's Pass into joining them.''

''Yes, but no one did until you came along and took it.''

''It's a Wardhaven command.''

''Is it? Ask Marta Torn back there how long it took her to get payment from Wardhaven for my chits. Ask any merchants I wrangled supplies from.'' There was raw anger behind those words.

Kris chose to watch the road. It had widened into four lanes as they passed through a residential area, and needed the extra lanes for the amount of traffic sharing the road with them.

''Where we going?'' she finally asked.

''I figured on dropping you on the mayor's doorstep. Ron Torn, you met his mom back at the port. Let him handle you. We don't have a planetary government. Each city has a mayor and takes care of itself. Kind of like the classical Greeks.''

Kris recognized the reference. ''Those city-states didn't do so well when the Persian Empire took an interest in them.''

''But they did fine up until then. And seeing how small we are, and how much we've been ignored by all the Empire builders, we kind of figure we can keep on keeping on. At least we did until we found ourselves entertaining a Longknife brat.'' He softened that with a wry smile. A very small smile.

''If I understand your defense posture,'' Jack said from the back seat. ''It's to make like roadkill in the ditch and hope no vulture takes an interest in you.''

Steve glanced over his shoulder. ''I should have expected a Marine to put it that delicately. But yes. You got it in one.''

''It won't work,'' Kris said.

''Says you. Tell it to the mayor. You'll like him. He's even less likely to buy what you're selling than his mom.''

While Kris absorbed those twists, Steve pulled out of traffic to an unloading zone in front of a tall building of concrete and gleaming glass. Waiting for her was a tall fellow in slacks, a long sleeve white shirt, and sweater vest. He studied her with his mother's blue eyes and looked uninterested in buying anything she was selling… the standard face of an opposition politician. He let her open her own door. Once she and her team were on their own feet, he offered her his hand.

''Hi, I'm Ron Torn, Mayor of Last Chance.''

Kris did the introductions of her own crew.

''You hungry,'' the mayor asked.

''You bet,'' the chief cut in. ''All we had for breakfast was those ration boxes someone left out. And for supper, too.''

Steve joined the group. ''Any of you know how to cook?''

''Peanut butter on toast,'' Beni said. Jack shook his head.

''Jack says I boil water very nicely,'' Kris offered.

Steve looked hurt at the skill level of his replacements. ''I guess I'll take the chief over to The Old Camp Store. They've got travel chow that is a step or three above Army issue.''

''I'm yours,'' Beni said, arms open wide.

''Get some fresh eggs,'' Jack said. ''It can't be all that hard to scramble a few.''

''And fresh coffee,'' Kris added. ''And bread and cold cuts. I can make a sandwich.'' Beni started looking very poor as the list lengthened. ''Nelly, give the chief a credit voucher.'' got a happy smile from him. Steve rolled his eyes. But no one made any nasty comments about a helpless damsel in distress. Maybe she'd outrun her Princess label.

Kris and Jack followed Ron into the office building. ''Nice city hall,'' she told him in the spacious foyer, cool in black marble floors, gray granite walls.

''We only rent space here. Not even a whole floor. Chance is death on big government. Keep the beast small and out of the way. ‘Nothing important is ever done by government.' ''

''You don't look like the type to settle for something that doesn't do anything,'' Kris said as they entered the elevator.

''My family curse. Great-grampa was central to raising Chance's troops for the last campaigns of the Iteeche Wars. Folks just kind of expect a Torn to go into government. I think they leave it to us.'' Kris didn't see an opening there to talk defense and decided to put it off for a while. Going hard from the start hadn't gotten her anywhere with the lieutenant. Maybe polite chitchat would show her a better opening.

The mayor's office was on the thirteenth floor. ''We get a discount for taking that unlucky number.''

''Why didn't they skip it?''

''I think they liked the idea of our address starting with thirteen,'' Ron said, opening the door for Kris. The small waiting room held a woman at a computer, some chairs and a table covered with readers. The mayor led Kris and Jack into his own office.

The view from Ron's corner office was spectacular. As he offered Kris a chair she said, ''I'm surprised a government that has so little respect gets such a grand view.''

Ron waved Jack toward a chair. ''I think the business folks want me to see what they're doing. Admire it. Be intimidated by it. Which do you think?'' Again those blue eyes were on her, now with a hint of a smile at the edges. Was it for her, or the sardonic twist of their conversation? Hard to say.

''You must have some tax base,'' she said, turning the topic to something Billy Longknife's daughter would. Something neutral they could talk about. She wanted to keep him talking about his world. Not her issues. Not for a while.

''Yes, there's a small tax on imports. Not exports, mind you. But if we buy something off-planet, I get my milligram of flesh. Tells you how much we want to be self-sufficient.''

''It can't be enough for essential services,'' Kris said, taking in the view and measuring it against what she knew of the cost it took to support a place this size.

''Fire department is mostly volunteer, with a few full-time folks to hold it together for the rest. Same for the police, though we don't have much crime. What with near-full employment, most everyone is too busy to bother with stealing from their neighbor. Again, I do have a few full-time members of the constabulary. Most are older folks, the kind of grandma or grandpa types who can settle disturbances with a stern glare and a few reasonable words.'' Ron's eyes broke from Kris to sweep the vista of his city. ''It may look big, but we are pretty small town in our attitudes. It's embarrassing if your kid gets in trouble, more trouble than Grandmama expects,'' he said, with a wink for Kris. Then he shrugged.

''There's a lot to like about Chance. Wear out a pair of shoes here, and you'll never leave.''

Kris glanced down at her nearly new shoes. ''That what happened to Lieutenant Kovar?''

''Didn't he tell you his story?''

''It didn't come up. We were discussing other things.''

Ron raised an eyebrow at that. The crinkle around his eyes got thoughtful. ''Maybe I shouldn't tell his story. Then again, maybe my mom knows his story better than he does.'' There was a pause. Kris let the silence hang.

''Mom says he was a real hard charger when he came out here. Not bothered at all to find that he was the only officer here besides the captain. When that captain retired and left before his replacement got here, Mom says he was really tickled to be acting commander of his very own Naval District.''

Ron must have read the question in Kris's eyes. ''No, not strutting around making a big thing of it. Steve's too serious to let rank go to his head. No. But serious as a heart attack about doing a good job of it. Because that was what the next Commander suffered on the last leg of his trip out here. They brought him off the boat on a stretcher, and then wheeled him right back on board. Question about when he'd recover kind of left the command up in the air for, oh, six, nine months. Then they appointed a new boss for 41. Who wrangled new orders while in transit. I think the Jonah curse was already pretty plain to see. At least for anyone not here on Chance. Somehow, Earth got busy with other things and never did bother appointing a new commander. Glitch in the computer. Who knows?''

''And Lieutenant Kovar just sat here and did nothing?'' Kris could understand a year or three. But fifteen?

''Well, there was a lass. Lovely girl. My mom's youngest sister. She seemed to make his exile quite survivable.''

Those blue eyes smiled at Kris. Edges nicely crinkled. Lips full. Was he offering to soften her exile? Did she really want to keep knocking her head against all the stone walls people put in the way of her Navy career? That was not a question she needed to answer today. Time was something she had plenty of. But no reason not to answer one question. Nelly, is Ron married?

Chance central records shows him unmarried, Kris. But I should point out that my review of the files shows that the last marriage entry is dated over a year ago. Births and deaths entries are up to date as of yesterday, but other data is batch entered at sporadic intervals.

Right. Whenever they can get a volunteer to do it.

Kris realized she was letting the conversation sag, and not on a note that she wanted to emphasize. She grabbed for something and her mouth opened on, ''And he wasn't bothered by the lack of active duty personnel assigned to District 41?''

''Maybe the Chief should answer that one. Chief,'' he yelled.

The door opened in a moment; the woman who'd been occupied with the computer asked, ''What you bellowing about, Mr. Torn?''

''The Navy here wondered how it came to pass that all Steve was honchoing were reservists. You, being the Chief of Personnel up there for so long, I thought you might give her your take on why he put up with all your lip and back talk.''

The woman, only slightly shorter than Kris, and with middle age helping to fill out her curves, shook her head. ''The real question is why I put up with your lip,'' she said, but she came in. Jack leapt to his feet to give her a seat, which she took with full nobility, leaving the Marine to hold up a wall.

The chief put one leg up on the desk, then crossed the other pants-suited one over the first and leaned back comfortably. When Ron did the same, Kris made to imitate them, and almost went over backward in her chair.

''Oops. Sorry,'' Ron said. ''You got the bad chair.''

Kris got herself balanced upright, back to prim and princess. And made a note of just who rated comfortable chairs from Ron… and who didn't.

''I don't think the lieutenant noticed what BuPers was doing to him, not for a while. A couple of permanent parties shipped in after him. Other folks shipped out. Then more shipped out and no one came. And the budget would come through with more in the reserve account for active days and less in the active-duty account. Come second year, when we were down to just four permanent and him, he and I had a long talk about what we saw going on. I told him you can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear, especially when no one's offering you a sow to de-ear.''

''What did the lieutenant say?'' Kris asked.

''Something about how did they expect him to defend a whole sector of space with nothing but part-timers.'' That was a sentiment Kris could agree with. But it sure didn't sound like Steve the Taxi Guy that she'd talked to this morning. Then again, ten years can change anyone. Or wear them down.

''What did you do?''

''The rest of us part-timers ratcheted up our ball game. Had to when all four of the active duty types shipped out together. The real bite—ah problem was that they didn't allow for us to recruit any new reservists. Leastwise, not to start with. Fill the hours, but do it with the same old hands. Something about saving on training. We did what we could. And some of us had kid sisters, little brothers that maybe tagged along and took up some of the slack. You know, you can learn a whole lot about operating a 6-inch laser in makie-learnie fashion.''

Kris wasn't sure she'd like to trust her defenses to someone who'd picked up their laser training as monkey see, monkey do. Then, no one was offering her anyone with any kind of training.

''You said ‘at first.' That changed?''

''Yeah, right about the time you and Earth split the sheets, they let us know that anyone who wanted to join up was only too welcome. By that time we old hands were kind of sour on all things blue, and we also noticed that things were more than a little bit hot in this place or that. You must have noticed. News stories tended to mention that you were there.''

Kris nodded as innocently as facts allowed.

''So I told my kid sister that if she wanted to join and get paid for what she'd been doing, I'd tear her arm off and beat her over the head with the bloody stump.'' The chief eyed the ceiling. ''I recall my objections to my sister were the gentlest of several we all made. Anyway, I called everyone's attention as to how all of us were coming up on retirement about the same time.''

''And you all went out together,'' Kris said.

''Most of us joined together. During that long peace we sure as blazes didn't join to fight anyone. No, we joined for the friendship, and we quit as friends.''

''And the volunteers just did it for the friendship, too?'' Kris said. Just how altruistic was everyone here?

The chief and Ron exchanged glances, the kind thieves do late at night over beers. ''Friendship, helping out big sis, and Steve did manage to pay them a bit under the table,'' Ron said.

The chief was grinning from ear to ear. ''Every morning down on Chance, the lieutenant would fill the shuttle's tank with reaction mass. Up at High Chance, he'd unload all but what he needed to get home that night. We all did it. And sold the reaction mass at a premium to ships going through. The proceeds paid a stipend to our volunteers. Worked great.''

''No accountants ever noticed,'' Kris said dryly.

''Nobody from any headquarters ever came by to check the books,'' the chief grumbled.

''Ah, this might not be the best approach for you, Your Highness,'' Ron said. There it was, the princess thing was back on the table. ''I understand that you recently had trouble about using your own money on a relief mission. This informal staffing solution definitely wouldn't pass anyone's idea of a smell test.''

''I'm glad we agree on that.''

''However, my mother said to tell you your shuttle is topped off on reaction mass. Please unload the extra mass to the station's tanks to the account of High Chance Welfare and Aid Fund, a certified charity here on Chance.''

''And you think that is legal?'' Kris paused before asking Nelly for her opinion.

''Defense personnel are authorized to render aid to certified charities, per 18 U.S.C. 8525.1 am prepared to stand up and swear in any court of law that this is such, my mother serving on the board of said charity,'' Ron said, the crinkle back around those blue eyes. No question, the crinkle was for the game.

Nelly, is Ron a lawyer?

His law degree is from the public net. Public net degrees didn't get a lot of respect. Still, they were recognized before the bar as equal to anything from Earth's near-mythical Harvard. She might not hire Ron to present her case, but she'd definitely be glad for his testimony.

''Nelly, do everything you can to set up legal barriers between me, my command and the High Chance Welfare and Aid Fund.''

''Doing that, Kris.''

''So that's the other head you sport,'' Ron said.

''Very helpful on things like this.''

''Well, tell me, are you as hungry as your chief?''

''Breakfast was abbreviated.''

''At least the part we risked,'' Jack said.

Everyone stood. ''Well, I know a great place for a steak dinner. Maybe a bit more. And our local civic theater is doing a revival of Gilbert and Sullivan, I think this month's feature is HMS Pinafore. The reviews say the humor has aged well. Would both of you care to join me? I have three tickets.''

For someone who had not filed a flight plan, Kris had the very strong suspicion she was very much expected.

Dinner proved that Chance's beef industry was easily the equal of any, certainly Wardhaven's. Ron ordered one of the local wines, but made nothing of Kris sticking to water. Jack praised the vintage lavishly enough for both of them. Dinner was down to the bones well before time for the local theater, even if it did have an early curtain, ''So all could be early to bed and early to rise.''

But there was a live band and a full dance floor even at this hour. ''Folks with desk jobs have to get their exercise somehow,'' Ron offered as he stood and reached for Kris's hand. She humored him, but found no reason to regret the move; Ron was a fine dancer. He, unlike so many ''official'' partners Kris had survived, did not endanger her toes. After two dances, Ron handed Kris off to Jack with a smooth motion that came so suddenly and seemed so natural that Kris found herself dancing with the Marine.

''I guess it's not fraternizing,'' she said as they went into the second dance.

''It's quite public and certainly above board,'' Jack said. ''And so much more modest than the last time.''

Kris frowned at the reference, then remembered the rescue mission on Turantic that involved passing herself off as a working lady of the night and Jack as her trick. Of several possible replies, Kris chose, ''All in a day's work.''

''If you work around Longknifes,'' Jack agreed.

''What are you two talking about?'' Ron asked as he cut in near the end of that dance.

''Top secret stuff,'' Kris said darkly.

''Right,'' Ron agreed, taking Kris into his arms. ''If you told me, you'd have to kill me.''

''No, draft you,'' she said, laughing.

''As a citizen of Last Chance, a sovereign polis of Chance, I am not subject to your laws be they drafty or otherwise.''

''But you are subject to current events, Ron.''

''Every day we get out of bed, Longknife, we take a risk,'' he said, twirling her out to arms length. Then he pulled her back close. ''Your idea of my risks and mine are seen from different perspectives. What do you say we avoid this argument tonight?''

They did for another dance, and then he passed her back to Jack. ''Should I ask what you two were talking about, or is it top secret? And remember, you already drafted me.''

Kris accidentally stepped on his toe, marring his Marine-perfect shoeshine. After that, they just danced. Kris spent the better part of half an hour on the floor, being passed between the local man and her official protector. When Ron called time for the theater, her feet didn't even hurt.

The local theater was pure amateur. Still, the sets were well done, several of the leads had good voices and they seemed to have a clear eye for what they wanted to do with the ancient comedy. Kris was not surprised when she was gently nudged in the ribs at the reference to making Admiral by polishing up the handle on the front door. She elbowed Ron right back.

To her surprise, she didn't even get a raised eyebrow at the line about the junior partnership being the only ship she ever did see. Apparently Ron had done his homework. That was good for him, because she'd planned to do major damage to his kneecap if he didn't respect her ship time.

But Kris didn't make any defense when Ron added his own emphasis to the stage's reference to never thinking of thinking for herself at all. Her hard-won independence from the Longknife shadow, and the voluntary surrender she had finally chosen to make to her name and the legends attached to it was not something she could explain in a whisper during a libretto.

Intermission came with Kris wondering at the fate of women who had to struggle against arranged marriages, and doing her own measuring of the difference between her mother and the Captain's leaning on his daughter. No wonder the humor stayed with us. Some things hadn't changed nearly enough for one girl.

Ron suggested they get something to drink at intermission. Jack maintained his careful two steps behind her, and 360 degrees of concern. The two of them were the only ones in uniform and, though the khakis might have blended in with dust, they didn't blend well with the suits and dresses tonight. Ron had failed to mention that theater was an occasion for showing yourself in style.

The refreshment line was an ambush, but not one Jack could protect her from. They joined the back of the line, and were immediately mugged by three elderly folks leaning on canes and proudly displaying lapel buttons earned for valor in the Iteeche Wars. Kris spotted them as they closed on her at a fast hobble. Of late, her father had been using her to meet with the veteran wing of his party, a portion of his constituency that, until the present troubles, had never been his strong suit.

Kris smiled, and froze that smile as the white-haired woman on the right said, ''What you going to do with that wreck they got swinging around our space station?''

''Now Mabel, that's no way to talk to the woman,'' the bald man on the left said, spruced up in a suit two sizes too large for his sparse form. ''Not if we want anything out of her.''

A more substantial man, hobbling on two canes between the two, now showed that he could manage without either. He elbowed both of them. ''You two hush.'' He squinted at Kris, now leaning on his canes. ''Lieutenant, isn't it?''

''Yes,'' Kris agreed.

''We hear that you have an old Iteeche War General class cruiser docked at High Chance.'' He paused, but his watering eyes fixed on Kris and held her.

''Yes,'' Kris said. ''The Patton is a veteran of all three of the Iteeche Wars, as well as the Unity War. I understand she helped put down the pirate outbreak after the Unity War.''

''Good ship,'' the woman muttered.

''Bad ship. She can't even hold air,'' the left man snapped.

''Oh, I've been aboard her. She holds air. At least part of her does,'' Kris made quick to point out.

''But does she smell like a fighting ship?'' two canes asked.

That was about the last question Kris had expected. She paused for a moment to reflect on the smell of the Patton, then to compare it to the blend of ozone, air conditioning, motor oil, and human sweat that Kris had come to expect of a working man-of-war. She shook her head.

''That's what I expected. She's dead. Lost her soul,'' the left man said sadly.

''Well, she hasn't had any people to loan her their souls since we were kids,'' the woman pointed out.

''There's no chance you're planning on fighting her are you?'' the man with two canes asked.

Ron had deserted Kris, moving ahead with the line toward the order counter. Jack was still at Kris's rear, guarding her from the wrong dangers it seemed tonight, snickering softly at the question. Kris apparently let the question hang there too long, because the white-haired woman took a stab at answering it.

''There is no way this young woman could fight that ship. The second reactor is deader than my late husband, and the main propulsion system has two engines bad out of seven. No doubt the laser capacitors won't hold a charge. And she's got no crew.''

So much for the brilliant idea of some desk-bound commando back at Main Navy that putting a ship in orbit around every planet would make its people feel protected. ''We were kind of hoping to keep that a secret,'' Kris whispered.

''Maybe from someone born yesterday,'' the man leaning on two canes snorted. ''Not from us old maintainers of warships.''

''It's been a long peace,'' Kris said as her only contribution to a conversation that was headed she knew not where.

''That's what bothers us. Kids aren't learning anything about our wars in school,'' the woman snapped.

''Don't know what they're teaching them these days,'' the man on the left added.

''We aren't going to be around forever.'' the man in the middle added softly. ''We have great-grandkids we'd like to show what it was like to fight an Iteeche Death Sun, to close with a Burning Star knowing half your squadron wouldn't be coming back.''

''Not like they see in those vids they make nowadays.''

''All kissing and boom boom shoot'em up.'' the woman finished.

''I certainly agree with you,'' Kris said.

''Good, then you won't mind us doing some work on that cruiser of yours.''

''Not like we could do it any harm.''

''Any worse than it is already.'' The three shot at Kris in rapid succession.

''We have grandkids that need to put in civic-duty hours to graduate from high school. Why not have them do them with us. Listening to our stories.''

''We could show them how to get a ship into fighting shape.''

''My grandson has a couple of his buddies working on their engineering degree in power systems. They'd love to fix up the reactors on that bucket. It would look great on their resumes.''

''Or so Mabel keeps telling him.''

''I bet we could get that old tub in good enough shape for a trip out to the moon and back. We could.''

Kris held up her hand, to slow the machine-gun-fast patter. These old vets wanted to fix up her warship for some pleasure cruises. No. ''You want to turn the Patton into a museum!''

''Yep.''

''Pretty much.''

''You got it, Lieutenant,'' came back.

''It's not like you ever planned on commissioning her and taking her out for a fight,'' Jack whispered softly behind her.

''That was supposed to be a secret between the two of us,'' Kris whispered back. The three oldsters in front of Kris grinned from ear to ear.

''It's not just us that want to work on your ship,'' two canes offered, careful to use the ''your'' where the ship was concerned. ''There's fifty, sixty of us old farts chomping to get our hands on that bit of history, scrap of our youth, if you don't mind me putting it that way. It's not just our kin alone that will be working on it. There're several high schools, and not just those around Last Chance. We could do it up nice.''

''And put some fight back in the old girl,'' the woman added with a faraway smile. ''Just cause she's old don't mean she don't still have some fight in her.''

''Mabel, don't scare the lieutenant. Ma'am,'' two canes added quickly, ''we're old, but we ain't fools. We just want to fix up the old boat. Nothing more.''

Kris nodded, not risking words. Kris had been finding humor in the idea of these old folks painting the Patton and maybe putting some of the circuits back in working order. But Mabel's words had struck an echo, a reminder of enthusiastic volunteers Kris had led out against battleships. Those wonderful optimists had fought and, too often, died.

No, Kris was not interested in a bunch of superannuated vets and their adoring great-grandkids turning the wreck of a ship into a false façade that would crumble on them when put to the test. Well, there was one quick way to squelch this: ''Nelly, as the Commanding Officer of Naval District 41, am I authorized to accept the donation of labor and equipment in the performance of my official duties?'' A quick no should end this.

''Your Highness, you are,'' Nelly said simply.

''What!'' Nelly, that's not the answer I wanted.

Sorry about that. You asked me. You should have asked me before you drafted Jack, but you would not even let me get a word in edgewise. ''Your Highness, as a member of the Royal Family, you are authorized to accept donations of labor and products for the defense of the realm and for historical purposes. It is not for me to say which covers the offer these fine people are making, but it does fit into one of these options in 10 U.S.C. 21215.''

''Let me guess,'' Jack said from behind Kris. ''A new reg.''

''Promulgated after the attack on Wardhaven,'' Nelly added. ''It seems that several of the donations of equipment, even the ones that were intentional, were not legal.'' Was Nelly sassing Kris for some of the more piratical ship acquisitions she'd made in her three days of sweating before that battle?

Ron returned with sodas for Kris, himself, and Jack. His timing was perfect for catching the final offer of the vets… and Nelly's take on current events. The crinkle around his eyes and lips looked potentially terminal. He handed Kris her drink. ''I'd heard of the famous Nelly, but I hadn't really believed the stories. Is that what we all have to look forward to in a couple of more years?''

''Not if I have Aunt Trudy reboot her,'' Kris scowled.

''She is always threatening that,'' Nelly said primly. ''She never does. And I personally think Aunt Tru and her own computer are enjoying me too much to ever let Kris harm me.''

''Some day I'm going to let Tru wear you for a week. Then we'll see what you're sounding like.''

''You could not survive a day without me.''

''I don't mean to interrupt,'' Ron said, ''but there is a motion on the table to let these fine people donate supplies, and work for the repair and maintenance of a warship in Chance orbit. Considering how concerned Lieutenant Longknife is about Chance's defense, I should think she would jump at the chance to improve them. What say you, ma'am. We need a decision.''

''Ron, the Patton is not a warship. It's a wreck looking to happen. It is not contributing anything to your defense.''

''Then let us turn it into a museum,'' two canes shot back.

''You want our people to be more aware that the universe out there is a dangerous place,'' Ron pointed out so reasonably. ''What better way than to have these old veterans passing along to our young the true stories of what they faced.''

Kris did not like being manipulated. Father did it. Mother did it. And Grampa Trouble had just done a superb job of it. She wanted to take this bunch and tell them to stuff their idea where the sun didn't shine.

''And if we're working on the Patton up on the station,'' two canes added, ''we'll need food, things like that. Tony Chang has agreed to reopen his New Chicago Pizza and the Chinese Waffle House for us. I understand you're living on tight rations.''

Kris glared at Ron. ''I didn't tell them,'' he insisted.

''I ran into your chief at The Old Camp Store,'' the white-haired woman said. Surrender did not come easy to a Longknife. But clearly, this was one of those times when surrender was an option, and best done quickly.

''We,'' Kris was careful to use the royal pronoun, ''are glad to graciously accept your donation toward the common education of the youth of your planet.'' Education. Not defense. Never would Kris let that ship sail into combat.

After intermission the rest of the play went quickly. The guy got the girl, or maybe it was the other way around. Ron drove Kris and Jack to the port late that night. He turned on the runway lights and did not try to kiss Kris good night but he did surprise her.

''Hank Peterwald never would have let those people mess with a ship of his. But then, I'd never expect to see him out here with just a hulk.''

''You know Hank?'' Kris got out.

''I had a scholarship to Peterwald University on Greenfeld. Took classes with him. You are not at all what I expected.''

Nelly?

You didn't ask and you were busy and how was I to GET A WORD IN?

Kris got the shuttle back to orbit and safely docked. She left the men to put away the groceries and got to her room before the shakes started. I spent the day with a buddy of Hank's. What was the real story of this planet? And where was a ship when she needed it?