Kris nodded; not a bad way to tell the world where you were coming from when you hit the ground running.
As the dance went on, Aholo circulated. Kris found herself being asked many of the same questions she encountered on other planets. ''Does King Ray intend to tax us to support his sending folks out exploring for more islands in the stars?'' ''Won't we be better off just fishing in our own lagoon rather than getting all involved in your big ocean?'' The questions were phrased different on Hikila, but the fears were the same.
Kris tried to reformat her usual answers into something comfortable for the locals. ''Those who hunger to see new islands will have to build their own canoes, and those who will profit from new lands should be the ones to pay for their paddles,'' got a wide smile both from Aholo and the small group Kris first tried it on. A simple ''No single planet beat the Iteeche,'' spoken to a group including some old enough to remember those wars seemed the perfect answer to those who wanted to hide on their own little islands. Then again, people who built wooden canoes and fished for a living weren't going to fund all that many starships.
But the electric cart, the hardened sand? There was technology underpinning this paradise. Something didn't add up.
At the edge of the beach, in a small clump, stood several dozen men and women dressed formally for a cocktail party.
Kris very suddenly felt very naked.
''You trade your uniform for this, and I might come around more often,'' came in an all-too-familiar voice. Kris searched among the well-dressed for the source and found the all-too-well-sculptured features of Henry Smythe-Peterwald XIII… or Hank to her. With an effort, she suppressed the urge to cross her arms over her breasts and cup a hand at her crotch. Aholo kept her hands at her sides; Kris did, too. These folks were the foreigners; Kris wore a crown given her by the locals.
''What brings you here, Hank?'' she said as those around him opened up and he stepped forward.
''We're opening up several new sales and distribution centers on the mainland. I think the Islanders call it the Big Island. Our local woman thought I ought to see how the other ten percent lives, the ones that soak up all the taxes, so I flew out here for the party. Didn't expect to see you here. Certainly not so much of you,'' he said, doing a slow scan from her toes to her upper set of flowers.
''Some of us adjust to the local culture,'' Kris said, fluffing her hair.
''Some of us adjust to the dominant culture,'' Hank shot back.
''The Islands are the navel of Hikila,'' Aholo snapped.
''Four in five live on the mainland. Four in five pay taxes to support your fantasy island existence. Don't you think it's time you change that? What's the matter, Longknife? I thought you'd be all up in arms about taxation without representation, or doesn't that apply when your old war buddies get the taxes?''
''I'm sorry, Your Highness.'' A tall, thin woman with silver hair and a wraparound dress stepped forward. ''I'm afraid my associate has had a bit too much of your island drink and a tad too much talk with some of our mainland hotheads. I apologize for his behavior,'' she said and pulled Hank back into the crowd of mainland partygoers. Several men and women promptly took him in hand and headed him for a table of hors d'oeuvres and wines.
Aholo turned away. ''You know the young man?''
''Hank Peterwald. I once thought he might make a nice boyfriend. I asked him one too many questions the last time I saved his life. Bad form on my part.''
''I've never saved anyone's life. I will try to remember not to ask them any questions if I do.''
''Are there problems with the Big Islanders?'' Penny and Nelly had briefed Kris on the general situation here. They'd passed over the population imbalance without comment. Taxation had not come up. What had they missed?
Aholo headed for one of the roasted pigs and dinner. ''It should have been resolved years ago, but it didn't seem to be a problem. The People came to Hikila almost two hundred years ago, trying to rebuild a way of life that had vanished almost that many years ago on Earth when the Pacific Islands sank. We didn't have any use for the Big Island, so when refugees from blasted planets in the Iteeche Wars needed a place for a while, we gladly loaned them that land. Same for when your Grampa Ray pushed through the Treaty of Wardhaven and pulled back some of the more scattered colonies to slow humanity's spread.''
Several of those last planets had been started with Peterwald money. Losing those colonies had cost them and created more bad blood between the Longknifes and Peterwalds. Kris wondered how many of the refugees on the Big Island still thought of themselves as Peterwald men. Oops.
They each drew a wooden platter and pronged fork from stacks. A round, black-toothed cook in roast pig tattoos sliced them off a big slab of pork. Others piled Kris's plate with roasted banana, several kinds of baked taro, and other items that defied recognition. Aholo led Kris to a quiet palm tree that the wind had blown almost level to the sand before it recovered and grew up. Jack and Afa followed.
''We have lost one home. We will not have that happen again, so when we took in the refugees, all we asked was that they agree that to gain a right to vote, they'd have to take up the Island ways,'' Aholo said, taking a bite. ''Some did. Came here. Married. Look around our fire tonight, and you'll see people as blond as you. Redheads, too. If you want a vote, just stop being a foreigner.''
''Most didn't,'' Afa put in. ''Some went back to the stars or other colonies. Most just settled on the Big Island and raised their kids in their own ways and watched their grandkids and great grandkids grow up the way they wanted them to.''
''With no vote,'' Kris said after she swallowed a delicious bit of pork.
''How many people bother to vote on your planet?'' Afa asked.
''About half.'' Jack nodded as he chewed.
''But taxes?'' Kris asked, trying some of the banana.
''It's a standard income tax package, passed about the time of the Iteeche Wars. Probably the same as the one on your planet,'' Aholo said.
''That depends on income,'' Kris said slowly.
''I fish to feed my family,'' Afa said. ''We will not have net-dragging trawlers rape our ocean to feed canneries. Our Marine Fisheries Conservation Plan lets them do what they want within their one hundred and fifty-kilometer coastal zone but not in my deep ocean.''
The words sounded well-worn, frequently spoken. ''So the Big Island's cash economy pays taxes, and the Islands' subsistence economy can't really be taxed,'' Kris said.
''We bled plenty during the wars,'' Aholo said. ''No one questioned our sacrifice. After the wars, there wasn't all that much left over to tax. I guess it was about forty years ago that the Big Islanders noticed they were paying most of our off-planet contributions to the Society.''
''What about extra ships to patrol the Rim?'' Kris asked.
''We don't have any colonies, at least not any the Council of Elders officially name. I guess some of the banks on the Big Island may have bought into some. I think they may have donated a ship to Wardhaven or Pitts Hope's Navy once in a while, but that was local subscription, not something that came before the Council of Elders out here.''
''Local subscription?'' Jack said before filling his mouth.
''It's not like we're stupid. We may run around in tats, but that doesn't make us dumb,'' Afa snapped. ''Each of the towns on the Big Island has its own elected mayor and city council. Once in a while they have a council of councils, if they want to talk about something that's really big to them. And they do send petitioners to stand before our own Council of Elders and state their case on global issues. Grandmama listens to all sides and then hands down a boon that usually makes everyone happy.''
''Or has. Or usually does,'' Aholo said.
They ate in silence for a while. The moon was well up. The dancing continued. Different drummers. Different cadences. Different steps.