Undaunted

19

Kris’s two great-grandfathers slipped aboard the Wasp with no fanfare. Admiral Crossenshield accompanied them, as well as, to Kris’s delight, her brother Honovi.

“What are you doing back?” he asked, as Kris gave him a hug.

“It will be easier to show you than tell you. What did they tell you?”

“Only that you were back, and into something big, and they’d like some help keeping you out of trouble.”

“Too late for that.”

“It’s never too late,” Honovi said, sounding far too optimistic but very political.

“You haven’t seen what followed me home this time,” were the last words Kris risked as the small party was guided to the forward lounge.

The ship’s carpenter had knocked together a table that afternoon that was as high as the average bar. The tall chairs looked like they’d been stolen from one of the station’s more disreputable establishments.

“I think I remember the dive you got these from,” Grampa Trouble said as he passed Kris, heading for a seat.

“They promised me they’ll look a whole lot better when we turn down the lights,” Kris said.

King Raymond and General Trouble took the two center seats. Kris sat at Grampa Ray’s right, with Honovi beside her and Penny beside him. To Grampa Trouble’s left sat the intel admiral.

Jack and the colonel were in dress uniform along with the Marines at both ends of the table. Somewhere behind them, Abby oversaw a full suite of recorders.

Grampa Ray turned to Kris. “Are your Marines locked and loaded?”

“Every one,” Kris whispered, and showed her grampa where her own service automatic rode in the small of her back.

He showed her his. “Us Longknifes are a bunch of paranoids.”

“Just doing what it takes to stay alive,” Kris said.

“Yeah,” he said, and faced forward just as a recording blasted out the weirdest set of notes Kris had ever heard.

“So I didn’t live long enough never to hear those again,” Grampa Ray muttered under his breath. He set his jaw . . . and kept his seat.

Beside him, Grampa Trouble was coming to his feet at full attention. The rest of the people on Kris’s side of the table followed suit, but Grampa Ray put a hand on Kris’s knee.

“Let’s see how our royalty matches against his imperialism.”

Kris had spent a good half hour with Jack and Abby going over the history of court etiquette. A king should sit through the arrival of an Imperial ambassador, as senior to an equal’s representative. But they’d concluded that a mere princess was junior to an Imperial Representative, since he was standing in for the big man, and she was only in line for the throne. Which she actually wasn’t. But . . .

Kris kept her seat. She hoped her great-grandfather appreciated her obedience.

He did smile at something.

The Imperial herald entered, his pole weapon shortened to make it through the entry easily without dipping. Iteeche Marines came next. The wall across from Grampa Ray had been left vacant for them, and they quickly filled it in.

Grampas Ray and Trouble took the Imperial Iteeche Marines in with hard eyes.

The two Navy gray and golds marched in, squared their corners, and came to rest at either end of the table. Grampa Ray studied the two and seemed content.

His eyes grew hard again as the two green-and-white Imperial counselors slowly made their way in. They refused to look at anyone on Kris’s side of the table, fixing their eyes on the ceiling behind Kris’s head.

Finally, Ron processed in, his raiment sparkling in the dim light of the lounge. With full solemnity, he walked to the center of the table. He took in Kris, seated beside the king, and locked eyes with King Raymond. All four of them.

Then he bowed.

Kris took Nelly from around her neck and set her on the table between them.

“I greet you, King Raymond of the Long-Reaching Knife in the name of my Imperial master,” Ron started slowly, giving Nelly plenty of time to translate. “I speak to you with the full authority of my Imperial master and at the most special request of my chooser. You know him as a negotiator for our Imperial master when you and he met at what you call the Orange Nebula. There, you brought the blessings of peace once more to the People and to your own kind.

“He instructed me to tell you that he still holds fond memories of you and has told me to rejoice that you are in good health and still not with your illustrious ancestors. He hopes that you remember him well and also hold good hopes for his continued health.”

“I am sad to see that he has not yet been invited to drink the poisoned cup to its fill,” King Ray said in a soft growl.

The two green and whites’ eyes grew wide, and they looked at their young superior with necks dark red.

Kris had to work to keep her own head from swiveling around, and her mouth closed. Admiral Crossenshield went ghost white, showing that humans could use skin tones to communicate their feelings.

Ron barked a sound that was the closest the Iteeche came to a laugh. “My chooser warned me that you were likely to say that. I am to assure you that it has been a close thing several times; but so far, he has managed to hand that cup out, not to drink from it.”

“I suppose I should be glad that Roth is still aboveground,” King Raymond said. “He was none too sure that the agreement we made together would not require him to drink a barrel of the stuff.”

“He shared with me that it was, as you say, a close thing. In the end, the emperor smiled upon him and the peace he brought from you. It is good to enjoy peace and harmony, is it not?”

Such words were not just empty platitudes to the Iteeche. There were formal replies to make to them. Beside her, Grampa Ray must have remembered that, or maybe his personal computer was quickly reviewing some things with him that hadn’t been fully disclosed to the historians.

While King Ray did the yammering that court required, Kris took a look around. Beside her, Honovi’s eyes were not quite as wide around as an Iteeche’s, but it was close. His one glance her way was pure big brother Sis, you really outdid yourself this time.

Kris would have loved to stick her tongue out, in sisterly fashion, but there are things a princess just does not do. But it was close.

An examination of the Iteeche Marines against the wall showed that their weapons were not loaded. Kris was grateful for that show of trust. She would have gladly had her Marines unload, but that didn’t fit into the protocol process, so she let it ride.

Kris tried to get a look at Admiral Crossenshield’s face, but Grampa Trouble was leaning forward, studying each of the Iteeche across from him. He kept going back to Ted, the old Navy officer that seemed to be Ron’s most trusted advisor. Did they know each other?

A glance over Kris’s shoulder showed that Abby was recording all of this . . . and that Cara’s head was peeking out from behind one of the couches against the wall.

That little trickster! Kris thought.

Don’T worry, Kris. I know she’s There, AND I’Ve alREADY TOLD her THAT she will Be COMPOSING a THOUSAND-WORD essay on This EXPERIENCE. FROM her VIEWPOINT. No JUST QUOTING WHAT people say.

DID you know she was up To This?

No, Kris, she TURNED off DADA, SOMETHING I HAD NOT EXPECTED. Clearly, policy NEEDS To Be ESTABLISHED.

Yes, but further thoughts about the twelve-year-old vanished as King Ray leapt to his feet.

“Repeat what you just said.”

Across from him, Ron took a step back from the table but did not blink. His neck, a disengaged green, suddenly went pale, then red, then pale again. “I said that my chooser looks forward to the day when Iteeche and humans may stand together, presenting our common faces to our mutual enemies.”

“Nelly, are you sure that you have the right translation for that?” the king demanded.

“Yes, Your Highness. All of those words have been used many times, and I am over ninety-nine percent confident of their usage. Although ‘mutual’ and ‘enemies’ have not been used together in any recorded conversation, I am sure that I have properly translated them.”

“She has properly translated them,” Ron said softly . . . in English.

“I want this room emptied. You, Captain Montoya,” he said, glancing at Jack, “get your Marines out of here.”