Anita seemed at a loss for words; her husband stepped in. ''I think we're about ready to serve dinner. If Edith is ready for Miss Lilly White's party, Nurse can put her to bed and the rest of us can discuss matters further over dinner.''
Edith left with backward waves for all. Kris excused herself, claiming rest room necessity. There was an exit just past the ladies' room; Kris took it. Outside, the air was warm, but an evening breeze cooled the expansive grounds of the general manager's mansion. Hands stiff at her sides, Kris fought to organize the emotions ripping at her gut.
That was what Judith said. Know the dragons coming at you out of your darkness. Name them if you wish, but get familiar with each and every one of them. Some were easy. The captain she knew.
He needed his ship and the authority it gave him. He needed control of his domain. If he hadn't chosen the Navy, he'd be a senior manager by now, maybe running his own business. But he'd chosen the Navy because it did Important Things That Mattered!
Kris understood Swanson as well. He was Building Things! People looked up to him for what he did. Someday, they'd put a statue of him in the planet's capital, when it had an elected legislature and full membership in the Society of Humanity.
The captain and the general manager were Very Important People, and Kris had watched her father take the likes of them apart, leaving them bleeding career-wise and begging for help. Yes, Kris knew big men like these could be made very small.
So why was she in the Navy where Thorpe could order her to risk her life using two-bit equipment to rescue Jim Swanson's daughter because he hadn't funded his own police well enough to do the job?
Because today I did what I couldn't do when I was ten. Today I saved Edith. If only I had been there to save Eddy.
There it was. Still the survivor's guilt. No matter what she did, she'd always be alive and the little boy she was supposed to take care of would always be dead.
A knock at the door yanked Kris out of this all too familiar round of self-flagellation; Tommy stuck his head out. ''Thought I'd find you here. You should get back. They're about to officially seat us, and you don't want to make a grand entrance.''
''Already made one today. Think I'll save the next one for tomorrow.''
''By my ancestors' count it's already two today. And yes, even the wee people would be saving up the next one for several tomorrows from now.''
Kris gave Tommy the grin his mixed-up mythology deserved and slipped back into the dining room before the movement to the tables was so pronounced as to make her absence noticeable. Kris was seated well away from the head table, although Bob, the magpie brother-in-law, somehow managed to seat himself next to her; that settled the table's conversation on skiffs. Kris found that if she played it right, she did little of the talking. Magpies did have their benefits.
Late in the meal, a marine brought message traffic for the captain. The officers grew silent at something so important it required the old formality of the captain reading a flimsy; though talk among the civilians continued undimmed. Captain Thorpe signed the receipt, then pocketed the message. The officers would learn about it in the captain's good time.
When Mr. Swanson stood to lay more profuse praise on them, the captain asked if he might say a word. As the skipper rose, he pulled the message flimsy from his pocket. ''The Typhoon has been ordered back to base,'' he said curtly, glancing around the room. ''Due to the failure of the President and the Senate to arrive at a budget resolution, all ships of Fast Attack Squadron Six will stand down for a three-month storage period. Officers will be placed on half pay. Enlistments that will be up in the next ninety days will be processed immediately. I regret to say that all requests for reenlistments have been declined at the highest level. We will be raising ship at oh-six-hundred tomorrow.'' That said, the captain sat down.
''That's impossible,'' Mr. Swanson sputtered. ''The Senate and the President agreed on the full Navy bill. That's what my contacts on Earth informed me.''
The captain did not stand, but his command voice carried to the farthest corner of the room. ''You are correct, sir, as far as your information goes. However, to fund the full appropriation required an increase in taxes. The rim got the Senate to pass it. The Earth-born president vetoed it. While we are authorized to write enough checks to operate the Navy, Treasury lacks the money to cash them all. Rather than kite checks into next year, the Navy Department is ordering a stand-down.'' Thorpe paused for a moment before adding, ''Be glad your daughter was kidnapped this month. Next month there wouldn't be a ship to respond.''
Mr. Swanson stumbled back a step, as if hit by a wayward asteroid. The captain wasn't exactly correct. Supplemental appropriations were available for emergency activity. Indeed, this entire response might be debited to that account, leaving more money to cover naval operations, but Kris was not about to correct her captain. On that note, conversation around the room limped on. Ten minutes later, Captain Thorpe asked the hostess's leave to depart, and the ship's officers left as a group. As the door closed behind Kris, the civilians' conversation took off like thunder. She could easily imagine the topic.
The Executive Officer was waiting for Kris as she crossed the quarterdeck. ''Ensign, a moment.''
Kris stayed with him as the other officers went to their quarters; he said nothing until they had the space to themselves. ''Captain Thorpe has forwarded a recommendation that you receive the Navy Marine Corps medal for your lifesaving effort today. Swanson was kind enough to provide us with a copy of his write-up.'' Kris nodded, but the XO wasn't finished. He stared off across the port to the city lights of Port Swanston, Sequim's largest city. ''I hear Sequim is trying to get Wardhaven to finance some new mines along their asteroid belt. Got to look nice, him putting the daughter of Wardhaven's prime minister in for a fucking medal,'' he spat.
Stunned at the hatred in the XO's voice, ''Yes, sir,'' was all Kris managed to sputter. She'd risked her neck to save a kid's life, not for a medal, and all anyone could see was that she was one of those Longknifes. Dismissed, she stumbled through the unfamiliar passages to her room, slammed the door behind her, then pounded on it a few times for good measure.
''Don't think that door will be bothering anyone for a while, ma'am,'' a quiet voice drawled in the darkness.
Kris whirled: the dark of her room showed nothing. ''Lights, dim,'' she ordered, trying to keep the emotions strangling her throat from turning her voice into a series of squeaks. The overhead came to life, casting low light around the rearranged quarters. Right, I'm sharing a damn room with Chief Bo.
''I'm sorry, Chief, I forgot. I'll be quieter. Lights, out,'' Kris ordered, to hide herself.
''Lights on,'' the chief said as she threw her covers aside and sat up in bed. Worn pajamas were missing the two top buttons, and the pants were cut off at the knees, revealing more wrinkled yellow skin than Kris wanted to see as the old chief settled cross-legged on the lower bunk.
''Honey, you look like you been rode hard and put away wet,'' drawled the small, Oriental-looking woman. The question, Don't you want to talk to your Auntie Bo? was left hanging. As far as Kris was concerned, it could hang there until it strangled. She turned to her locker to get her pj's and to hide her face.
Her locker wasn't there.
''Damn it, where is everything?'' Kris exploded.
''Scattered around the ship, as best I can tell,'' the chief answered easily. ''You know, ma'am, I don't think they quite have the hang of rearranging the ship in flight. At least this time, we didn't space anyone.'' Kris was kicking her way along the panels under her bunk, hoping a door would pop open. Mainly just kicking. ''They haven't actually spaced anyone during a reconfiguration,'' she said, then added, ''have they?''