''Your brother had my ship on the ropes. It was his ship and crew or mine. I fired six-inch lasers, aimed for his engines, not bridge. His evasion actions, or maybe it was just dumb luck, put his bridge where we were aiming.
''On his ship, every crewman had a survival pod. We did not find a single one on that pirate ship. When I opened up their bridge, they were all doomed. Most of their bodies were blown out into space.
''On your brother's ship, they all activated their survival pods. With the exception of your brother's, they all worked. His didn't. Consider that.''
Kris paused. She studied the beautiful blue eyes across from her. Tried to measure the acceptance, the comprehension in them. It didn't look like much, but there was some.
''There is one more thing I can add, though I doubt if anyone in my government will back me up.''
''What is that?'' Captain Krätz asked.
''If it's not a state secret, could you tell me what were the series numbers of the survival pods on the Incredible?''
''The Incredible and the Surprise were built at the same time. We all used 68000 series pods.''
Kris nodded. ''The defective pods on the battleships we fought at Wardhaven all had a 90000 series identifier. Do you know what was the number on Hank's pod?''
Both Krätz and Vicky shook their heads in silence.
''I have a picture of his pod. I could show it to you now, but I won't.'' Hank's body was still in the pod. That was one picture Kris did not want to show Vicky. There were still pictures from poor Eddy's kidnapping that Kris had never seen. Would never see.
''Do you know Hank's survival pod number?'' Vicky asked.
''Ninety-seven thousand, five hundred, and twelve,'' Kris said.
''Holy Mother of God,'' Captain Krätz muttered.
''That's impossible,'' Vicky said.
Kris rolled her hand, palm up on the table. ''My computer has all the photos taken on my space station of your brother's pod, both before it was opened and after. Several of them clearly show the pod number. Do you know the pod number on your battle station, Ensign?'' Kris asked.
The woman looked at her captain. ''Yes I do.''
''I also know mine,'' the captain said. ''And it's nowhere near a ninety thousand.''
''Why was I never told this?'' Vicky demanded.
Now it was her captain's turn to roll his hands open, palms up.
''Do you believe her?'' Vicky spat.
The captain was silent for a long minute. ''There is talk, late at night, in the back rooms of private clubs,'' he said slowly. ''Some in the Navy wonder. Some in the Navy remember Ralf Baja and Bhutta Saris and wonder why they're not around anymore. The Navy is not that big a place, and you can't have the crews of six super battleships vanish without them being missed. So, yes, ma'am, if you had to pick between the words of a woman who, just as cool as could be, shot out a pirate's bridge, and the babbling of a political officer, whom would you trust?''
A waiter appeared, kept his distance until several sets of guards waved him forward, then took orders from only those at Kris's table. He had been well briefed and left quickly.
''I don't believe you,'' Vicky whispered, when the waiter was well gone.
''Care to tell me why?'' Kris asked.
''Let's say my dad's Navy just tried to pound your planet into rubble. Let's say you were decorated for stopping them. How many friends did you lose?''
''A lot,'' Kris said evenly.
''And yet, you are sitting here talking to me, my captain here. Eating dinner with us. No. You're lying.''
Kris nodded slowly. ''How much history have you studied?''
''Quite a bit,'' Vicky claimed.
''What happens when two evenly matched countries go to war?''
Vicky seemed to puzzle over that one for a while, then glanced at her captain.
''When two nations of nearly equal strength resort to war to resolve their differences, it is usually a disaster for both,'' the Greenfeld officer said. ''The war is long, bitter, and indecisive. Neither side can win, but neither side will give up. Generations may perish in the fight. Nations' treasures may waste away, and nothing is proven. Is that what you are alluding to, Your Highness?''
''That is what the wiser heads in my father's high command tell me when I get angry at the deaths.''
''That is what the wiser heads in our command councils say,'' Captain Krätz said. ''So far, they have prevailed.''
''Why are you telling her this?'' Vicky asked her captain.
''You could just as easily ask her the same.''
Vicky turned to Kris, her eyes questioning.
Kris shrugged. ''Two plus two is four. A war between ninety planets and a hundred will be a bleeding ulcer. Neither of these facts can be made a state secret. Only a fool would try. I'm not asking your captain how many battleships are building on Greenfeld. He's not asking me about Wardhaven or Pitts Hope. He has his guess, I have mine. We probably aren't off by more than two or three. But none of that really is worth the time of day. Let me ask you something I'd really like to know,'' Kris said, turning to the captain.
''I have four armed security men to my back. I assume you will not ask me to commit treason within their hearing,'' he said through a broad smile.
''I will assume they have no better sense of humor than my Marine escorts do,'' Kris said. There were chuckles from both groups of guards.
Kris waited as the salad arrived, unfolded a napkin in defense of her disgusting evening dress, and picked up a fork. The others did likewise, but waited when Kris paused before spearing a bit of her Caesar salad.
''Why are you here?'' Kris asked Vicky.
''I was drafted and ordered to the Surprise,'' she grumbled. ''Now I go where he goes,'' she said, with a rueful nod to her captain.
As Kris so often did, Vicky had given her an answer, but only the tip of one. Kris wondered if that was all of the answer Vicky really knew.
''Georg,'' Kris said, staking a regal right to a familiarity that a junior officer of her rank had no call on. ''How many Greenfeld naval officers have as great a love of daughters as you have?''
The captain had started to frown at the familiarity. After all, he was trying to break one trillionaire daughter to junior-officer status and needed Kris to help, not hinder. But now he smiled.
''I don't think there's a captain in the fleet who's resigned himself to enjoying, maybe I should say, surviving, feminine surroundings as much as I have.''
''Your oldest,'' Kris went on. ''She should have graduated from college by now. Did she join the Navy?''
Now it was the captain's turn to ruefully shake his head. ''Commissioned in the Nursing Corps on her graduation day.''
''Is she on the Surprise?''
''I would have gladly had her here, but there is a boy.''
''Isn't there always?'' Kris interjected.
''Sad to say, yes. He comes from a good family, and he is on a battleship. So she asked for orders to that battleship.''
''Do you trust him?''
The look Kris got from the captain was a puzzle she could not fathom. He almost smiled as he started again. ''I will let you in on a state secret, Longknife girl. In Greenfeld, a loyal wife, be she wealthy or poor, will take nine months to present her husband with a fit little baby. However, blushing brides, in their eagerness, almost always do it in six or seven months. Strange that, no.''
The security guards behind the captain relaxed into their seats. Kris had no doubt that had the captain begun to reveal a more technical detail, they would have dragged him away. But from the smirks on their faces, a few of them might well be married and already beneficiaries of that bridal miracle.