“We will respect the sanctity of your Holy of Holies,” Kris assured the skipper.
“Good, then let’s head down for chow.”
Captain Drago led them off the bridge through Kris’s Tactical Center. At present, except where doors intervened, huge screens covered the walls, showing Japanese landscapes or maybe scenes from Musashi. Kris couldn’t tell. What she did notice was that they stretched from deck to overhead. No one had skimped on the ship’s fittings.
The wardroom seemed identical to the old Wasp, only more spacious. Katsu admitted that they had modified the original facade of many of the ship’s areas to match pictures brought by the old crew from their last ship.
Smart MetalTM truly was a miracle material.
Until it turned on you, as Kris had found out many times in the past.
While they went through the steam tables and filled their plates, Kris recited a litany of times Smart MetalTM had failed to perform as advertised, or even tried to kill her.
Katsu listened silently through the list.
Only when they were seated at their table did he venture a reply. “I read of your experiences on the Typhoon and the Firebolt. I did not know about the time a boat of the metal turned to liquid, but I should have realized that the dumb metal came from somewhere.”
He took out his chopsticks and stared at them for a moment before picking up a rice ball wrapped in raw fish. “I have tested all the changes I have made to your Grandfather Alex’s Smart Metal on a ship of our own construction, the Kashi, Strong Oak, in your language. It has bent, but it has not broken. We ran it at five gees for six hours, three out and three back. I believe in what I have done. If you wish, I will ride in your Wasp until you are totally satisfied with my work.”
He put the rice ball in his mouth, chewed it for a second, then grinned. “And maybe while I am showing you the ropes of my ship, you can show me the ropes of your computer. I feel like Fumio-san and I are crawling while everyone around me is racing off at the speed of light.”
Kris took a slice out of her broiled chicken and nodded. “We may both take each other up on that.”
Since the ship wasn’t yet in commission, Gunny had followed along, even into the wardroom. As he settled down, Nelly interrupted the supper discussion.
“Kris, there is a man at the quarterdeck with two footlockers and a request to see you.”
“Do you know him, Nelly?”
“He is not identifying himself, but he says he very much wants to meet you.”
“Is he carrying a weapon?” Jack demanded.
“No, but when we scanned his footlockers, they seemed filled with electronic gadgetry. None of which I recognized.”
“Maybe I better check on this,” Gunny said, and left his supper to grow cold as he jogged out.
Kris had time for just five more bites of her supper before Gunny escorted two men into the wardroom. One was a short older fellow, sporting a beer belly that on a woman would mean a birth in a couple of months. Maybe weeks.
The other fellow was tall, with jet-black hair and olive skin. His bearing was quite aristocratic.
The short fellow stepped forward first. “Your Highness, I’m Chief Beni.”
Kris dropped her fork.
“Pardon me, I’m Senior Master Chief Beni, retired. My boy sailed with you until recently. I’d like to sail with you now. Once upon a time, I could claim to have taught my son everything he knew. Well, that was no longer true I hear, but, ma’am, this old seadog ain’t too long in the tooth to learn some new tricks.”
Kris stared at the man. There, underneath the wrinkles and sags, was the spitting image of the young chief. “I’m sorry for your loss,” Kris said.
“Me and the missus really miss him, but, ma’am, I ain’t here to talk about what can’t be. He died doing a Sailor’s job. I want a chance to take a bite out of them that did it to him.”
“He lived through the fight,” Kris said, feeling guilt anew at losing Longboat 3 with all hands.
“Yes, ma’am. I know he died getting fuel so the rest of you could make it home. Still, you wouldn’t have been in that fix if them bastards hadn’t chased you until you were damn near dry. Please, Your Highness, give me a chance. I served in a long peace. There’s a fight coming. Let me have a chance to show what I can do.”
He added, “I brung along a lot of my gadgets. They’re good for a lot more than that store-bought crap.”
“As your son so often proved,” Kris said. “Chief Beni, you’re welcome to our company. I have no idea what the pay is, but what we have, we’ll give you a share.”
“Don’t need no pay, ma’am. I got my retirement. But that chow does smell good. Mind if I take a plate?”
“Help yourself, Chief.”
The old chief made a beeline for the steam tables. Clearly, the son had come by his predilections honestly.
The second man stepped forward. With a nod that might have served as a slight bow, he said, “I am Joao Labao, on leave from the University of Brazília, at your service. You have a reputation of providing scientists with many opportunities to see the galaxy, discover what they never dreamed of, and, no small matter this, also write papers that bring wide acclaim, renown, and no small amount of awards. Like the old chief, I am no longer at my prime in creating great scientific insights, but I have some skill at getting, what do you call them, boffins, to work together rather than descend into bickering.”
“You willing to work for food?” Kris asked.
“As I said, I am on a fully paid sabbatical.”
“Captain Drago, you seem to know a whole lot more about the state of our personnel. Are we going to have a science team this trip out?”
“Several of your boffins who returned with the Wasp have already reported. God help us, that includes Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum.”
“They will be a challenge I look forward to,” Professor Labao said with a most aquiline smile.
“Amanda Kutter is also here,” the skipper added. “She wants to have first crack at studying the bird people’s economy.”
“If she helped save my neck, she’s earned it,” Kris said, then eyed the scientific administrator. “Well, it seems we have needs of your services, Professor. Why don’t you get a plate, and we will break bread together and share salt. It may be all the pay I have for you at the moment.”
Kris leaned back in her chair. “I can offer no pay. I have nothing at hand but a chance to risk your neck on the other side of the galaxy. Haven’t any of these people heard about how dangerous it is to get too close to a damn Longknife?”
“Ah,” the skipper said, “there are damn Longknifes, and then there is Kris Longknife.”
“I’ve never noticed a difference,” Kris grumbled.
“We have,” Jack said, and gave Kris’s hand a discreet squeeze.
Kris shook her head, she’d think about that later. Now she turned to Captain Drago. “Since it’s clear I now have a ship, or at least a hole in space I need to throw money into, I guess you better talk to Admiral Crossenshield. Mind you, he can have no more than a quarter of my soul. An ounce more, and we walk, you hear?”
“One of his minions is lurking around a dive on High Kyoto. I think I can seal the deal in my blood tonight. No need for you to prick your little finger.”
“Last time I danced to his tune, I came near to getting my head chopped off.”
“Almost doesn’t count, insisted my sainted grandfather, veteran of the Iteeche War under your great-grandfather.”
“Now I know you’re just making things up,” Jack said through a chuckle. “There can’t be a saintly anything in your family tree.”
“I am cut to the quick,” the skipper said, and dismissed himself.