Auntie Tru had called only seconds behind Mac. Over Nelly's objections, Tru was third on Kris's cleanup to-do list.
Jack stood at the foot of the stairs. ''Your car's here.''
She smoothed down her undress whites. Decorations were an option for this uniform; she chose to leave them behind. Whatever was the intention of this command performance, she'd rise or fall on herself, not glory that some said was borrowed. Heels clicking on the tile floor, she let Jack open the front door for her. He also opened the door of a modest sedan, no limo today, let her settle into the backseat, then joined Harvey in the front.
The old chauffeur knew this morning's destination. He speed-dialed Main Navy and set the car in motion. The silence went long, like a funeral might. Still, she was among friends, as close to friends as she might ever know.
Kris let her eyes rove the familiar streets of Wardhaven, watching the walls of new construction go up from deep pits. Those mimed the answer to some of her questions.
A wall of money separated her from Tom and Penny and Jack.
A deeper pit separated her from Hank. Kris'd had her fill of being one of those Longknifes long before she ran off to join the Navy. She'd had her fill of Father's politicking and Mother's socializing. She was ready to hunt for where the glitzy press releases ended and the truth began.
Hank was not there yet. Might never be there. Hank Smythe-Peterwald the Thirteenth was still the loving and trusting son of Henry Smythe-Peterwald the Twelfth. Maybe when Hank started eyeing the fine print on his birth certificate, started looking deeper into the family business than the official reports told him, maybe then there would be someone for Kris to talk to.
Now, he was just a balloon filled with his father's hot air.
The car came to a stop in front of Main Navy's old concrete façade. Pigeons flew as Jack opened the door for her. She passed through security quickly, then marched down the polished tile halls for the Chief of Staff's office. Today's appointment was for oh eight hundred. Not bad, considering she'd only disembarked from the Barbarossa at nine-thirty last night. Either Penny was filing reports very fast, or Mac had his own little birdies following her.
The Secretary passed her in without hesitation. Jack fell out to a chair, opened a magazine, and settled into his usual reading fake. Physically, Kris had nothing to worry about here. The only threat of death this morning was to her soul.
Cutting her corners sharp enough to warm the heart of any Gunny Sergeant, Kris presented herself at rigid attention. Her salute passed precisely up her gig line. Mac waved in the general direction of his forehead without looking up from the three flimsies he was reading at once.
He also didn't release her from attention.
Kris stood like a board as sweat trickled down her back.
''Quite a mess you left,'' General McMorrison said, still not looking up.
''Looked to be a bigger mess if I did nothing.''
The general's ''Hmm,'' told her nothing. ''There's a revolution or rebellion or some such thing causing quite a dustup on Turantic.''
''Yes, sir.'' Two days after Kris busted out of Turantic space, a rather large task force from Wardhaven made orbit above that troubled planet. The Navy brought vaccines against several kinds of Ebola and a new comm suite. The Navy had been welcomed with open hands by all factions, but stood aloof officially, while distributing the vaccine and getting the comm link back up between Turantic and the rest of human space. The last Kris heard, President Iedinka had suffered an accident, died of natural causes, or been assassinated. What all reports agreed upon was that he was no longer among the living. Now the people of Turantic were struggling to clean up the loose ends of his administration.
''You have anything to do with the President's death?'' Mac said, for the first time looking up at her.
''Not to my knowledge, sir. I suspect I encountered several of the major players on Turantic, but I neither encouraged them to do anything nor promised anything in the name of Wardhaven.''
''That's nice to know, Princess Kristine.''
So it was going to be a ''Princess'' dressing down. There was no avenue for her to appeal that. She made none.
''You overstayed your leave. You also missed a ship's movement.''
''I understood that the Firebolt was to be tied up for four weeks, sir, as Nuu Docks worked on the Uni-plex.''
''Nope. Firebolt's Engineer lit a fire under the yard. Also seems there's quite a bit of money to be made in the dumb metal stuff, and Nuu Enterprises moved ahead faster than they thought possible.'' Grampa Al must be looking at a lot of money to push matters that fast.
''They took the Firebolt out for its tests last week. Passed with flying colors.''
''I didn't think the Engineer would go out without my personal computer riding shotgun on the tests, sir.''
''Seems new computers for the test were financed out of another fund, Princess. You are not irreplaceable.''
''No, sir. I didn't think I was, sir. However, sir, when I found myself quarantined on Turantic, I did check in with the local military authority at the embassy. There should be a report from them of my unusual circumstances.''
The General leafed through his flimsies. ''Nope, nothing here, Princess. Not a word. Oh, excuse me, here is a report from the embassy. Seems you played the Princess rather strongly. Tied up several of their people full time. Interfered with them making normal reports. Put several of them in life-threatening situations. On first read, it pretty much sounds like normal damn Longknife behavior.''
''The embassy doesn't say anything about me checking in with them.''
''Not a word, Princess.''
There were a lot of things Kris could say. I did, too. They're not being fair. Somebody's out to get me. None sounded appropriate for a naval officer. She said nothing.
That got her another ''Hmm.''
''I understand Admiral Crossenshield made you a job offer. Offered you a job in intelligence gathering or analysis.''
''Yes, sir, he did.''
''You turned him down.''
''Yes, sir, I did.''
''At ease, Lieutenant. You want to explain why you did? Sit down, take a weight off your feet,'' he said, waving at a chair beside his desk.
Kris relaxed… about one tenth of a degree. She slipped into the offered chair, tried to calm the storm raging in her stomach, her blood, her head. This ''counseling session'' is not fair. It is not right. But Lieutenants don't tell four-star Generals that, not even when they're the Prime Minister's brat and a Princess. Especially not when they have that family baggage.
''You know, Lieutenant, this latest, ah, experience of yours kind of points out something me and Crossie agree on. You've got the head for irregular situations. Damn, but you came up with an irregular solution to one hell of an irregular situation.''
''Yes, sir. I did what I had to do. But that doesn't mean that I enjoyed it, or would be good at it on a regular basis.''
''Why not?''
Kris took a deep breath. Could anyone understand what she was about to say? ''Sir, the people in my family have made a tradition out of doing what has to be done in really crappy situations.''
''That's one way of putting it,'' the General said, what might pass for a smile crinkling the edge of his mouth.
''None of them ever sought to be in that kind of mess.'' She laid that out, pure and simple. If Mac saw it, grasped what she meant, she didn't need more words. If he didn't get her meaning, more words wouldn't do her a lot of good.
He sat back in his chair, head slowly nodding. ''You have a point there. I sometimes wonder if some of Crossie's folks don't get too much fun out of what they do.''
''Sir, I don't want to become someone who enjoys that kind of stuff. I don't think it would be good for Wardhaven to have a damn Longknife who does.''