At 1630, Kris joined the nine other ship's officers in the hulking shadow of the Typhoon as a line of vehicles arrived to take them to the reception. The captain and XO shared a limo; Kris and Tommy piled into a reasonably clean all-terrain rig.
At the general manager's residency, the officers arranged themselves in rank order before entering a crowded, wood-paneled ballroom lit by several crystal chandeliers that would have been right at home on Wardhaven but seemed a bit out of place on a start-up world. Captain Thorpe in dress whites resplendent with rows of medals led his officers toward a formal reception line, civilian men in brightly colored formal wear, women in floor-length gowns from last year's Paris designers. As the most junior members of the Typhoon's crew, Kris and Tommy made sure no one got behind them. That didn't last very long.
''Longknife. Kris Longknife? That was you in that skiff this morning!''
Kris looked around for the voice; she didn't recognize it. A young man in a maroon tux and a drink in both hands headed for her. He looked vaguely familiar.
''Recognize me?'' he beamed.
Raised on politics where everyone was your best friend, at least until the door closed behind them, Kris had plenty of experience watching Mother or Father fake eternal friendship. ''Long time, no see,'' she said, taking the offered drink.
''Hey, Anita, Jim, you have to meet this girl. Come on over. This has to be the woman Edith says saved her.'' At that shout, the receiving line disintegrated just as Captain Thorpe extended his hand to the general manager. Leaving the skipper's hand waving in empty air, the man and woman at the front of the line headed for Kris, with everyone else only a step behind.
''Are you the woman who rescued my Edith?'' Behind the sequined gold lame dress and expensive coif, Kris saw the woman who had slogged through muck to her child this morning.
''I led the ground assault team,'' Kris answered, trying to avoid letting her small area of responsibility impinge in any way on Captain Thorpe's overall command.
''I told you there was a Longknife flying that skiff, didn't I?'' Kris's unidentified friend went on. ''She beat the pants off me two years running at college. I'd recognize those smooth curves anywhere. Ought to, I studied them damn near every night. Can't tell you how glad I am to see you again.''
Beneath that umbrella of continuous chatter, the mother introduced herself as Anita Swanson, wife of Jim Swanson, Sequim's general manager and sister to the magpie. A servant was dispatched to wake Edith, who had gone to bed early under protest at not being allowed to come to the party. Through all this, Captain Thorpe stood ignored at the elbow of Jim Swanson's powder-blue tux. Watching the red rise on her skipper's neck, Kris did what she'd better do if the entire crew was to be saved from a miserable week, month, and year. ''General Manager Swanson, may I present to you the commander of the ship that saved your daughter, Captain Thorpe.''
Jim Swanson turned to shake the captain's offered hand. ''I want you to know that as the planetary leader of this colony, I have recommended Ms. Longknife for the Distinguished Flying Cross. I may not be the afficionado of skiff flying that my wife's brother Bob here is, but I want you to know that I've never seen the skills that this girl put into her skiff flying this morning.'' Kris started backing up, looking for a convenient place to hide. Mr. Swanson sounded like one of those politicians who knew just enough about the military to make it really miserable for anyone he took an interest in. ''We were watching on the secure hookup you provided us, Captain. I was hardly breathing when your skiffs started their drop. Then this kid's skiff takes off doing loop-the-loops, and even I can tell it's burning reaction mass in all the wrong directions. How much did she have left when she got down?''
''I will have my executive officer look up what the fuel situation was on Ensign Longknife's Landing Craft Assault,'' the captain said, emphasizing that it was no racing skiff Kris flew that morning. ''The skill Ensign Longknife displayed today,'' the skipper continued with a nod in Kris's direction, ''was in the highest tradition of the service. However, Mr. Swanson, the DFC is out of the question. That is a combat medal, sir.''
''And those kidnappers weren't more heavily armed than anyone the Navy's come up against in years?'' Mr. Swanson observed dryly.
''So it seems, sir, but we were here in support of a police matter, not a military combat drop.''
Even Kris, just getting used to being a subordinate, could read the captain's cutoff as clearly as a brick wall. However, Kris had witnessed several of her father's failed conversations with military types. This had all the markings of a massive one.
''I should think, Captain Thorpe, that as the skipper of the good ship Summer Morning Breeze, you would be happy to have one of your crew recommended for a distinguished medal by the senior political official on a rapidly growing colony planet.''
Oh boy. Kris glanced around for a place to hide. As the daughter of a prime minister, this might be fun to watch. As a very junior officer at the center of all this attention, she'd gladly forgo the honor. The ship out at the spaceport might be the Fast-Response Corvette Summer Morning Breeze to the politicians who paid for her, but she was the Fast-Attack Corvette Typhoon to the officer who commanded her. Kris had heard several variations on both names among the enlisted, but they didn't count. She'd heard her father say, after a long, bitter budget battle, that he'd call a ship any damn thing he needed to get the votes to fund it, and if the votes were for Warm, Cuddly Koala Bear, by damn, he'd have a nice little old lady commission it that. What the Navy officers chose to call it once they took possession was their own damn business.
It had only taken two nasty incidents before the prime minister learned to keep careful track of who he was talking to and call the ship by the appropriate name for the listener.
Mr. Swanson was about to have such a learning experience.
''Is that her? Is that the ‘arine that came for me?''
Said learning experience was forestalled as a tiny form in a white nightdress with pink ribbons dashed into the room. Kris found herself gazing down into familiar wide blue eyes. This time, there was no red rim from tears. The face had been washed and was about as angelic as a six-year-old ever got. Edith now had a cuddly teddy bear in tow. Her mom bent to pick up Edith, but the girl made a beeline for Kris.
Handing her untouched drink off to Tommy, Kris stooped, starched uniform crinkling, to swoop up the child. Edith gave Kris a hug that had to be worth all the medals the Navy ever minted. ''You have a beautiful little girl, here,'' Kris said to mother and father. ''It was my pleasure to return her safe and sound to you. I know I speak for my marines, and the entire ship, when I say it was our honor and joy to see her in your arms.''
That drew a unanimous round of applause.
Made unsure by all the noise, Edith decided she wanted her mother's arms around her. As Anita took the girl from Kris, she muttered, ''If only all such horrible things ended so happily.'' Then the mother blanched. ''You're Kristine Longknife. You lost your… Oh, I'm sorry!''
Breath went out of Kris like she'd been kneed in the belly. It was so easy to handle people and their fights. Thanks to Father, she had plenty of experience there. But solicitous people, people who thought they knew the pain she'd been through, that was more than daunting. Steeling herself to put on the required face, Kris nodded. ''Yes, ma'am. I'm that Kristine Longknife. And I am very glad that your family's ordeal ended very different from mine.''