''Hello, Mr. Smythe-Peterwald,'' Kris said, making sure her smile didn't falter. ''What brings you to Wardhaven?''
''Oh, there's so much going on. You can almost smell the future. This is where the real power is, so that's where I go. Once I get your old man past his family's bugaboos about limits on human expansion, there's a whole galaxy out there we can grab with both hands.''
''Last time we tried that, we ended up with Iteeche tentacles wrapped around our neck,'' came from behind Kris. She turned to find her Grampa Trouble, gleaming in dress red and blues, giving Peterwald a rigidly neutral face.
''The Iteeche Empire has been cowed for the last sixty years,'' Commodore Sampson pointed out.
''Some might say quiescent,'' Trouble noted, taking a sip from his beer. ''Their emperors never were much for expansion.''
''But humanity must expand.'' Mr. Peterwald said low. ''Nothing can limit us. Why should we limit ourselves?''
That was the essence of the expansionist party's position. Humanity the Magnificent. Given her druthers, Kris would gladly go along with them. But the Iteeche almost made us Humanity the Extinct. Kris kept her mouth shut.
''Yes.'' Trouble nodded. ''Expansion is necessary. But managed expansion can make sure that we're ready for whatever we stumble into next time. At least as ready as we can be. The galaxy is a pretty vast place, Petie, and who knows what's out there.''
''What do you think, Kris?'' Mr. Peterwald turned his smile on Kris. She tried to measure the sincerity behind it and came away with a plus or minus ten…on a five point scale.
''The galaxy's an interesting place, but I'm just starting to learn my way around it,'' Kris dodged as she'd been taught. Father was not going to see any sound bites from Kris on this evening's opposition media report.
''You sound just like a careful young woman,'' Peterwald's smile got even blander, if that was possible.
''Not a bad way to sound.'' Trouble nodded.
''Well, my son is with your mother's entourage. I hope you'll join me there later. I don't think you've met my son.''
''No, I haven't had the pleasure.''
''Well, maybe today.''
''Yes.'' Kris stayed put while Peterwald made his way, smiling and glad-handing all the way, toward Mother's side of the room. Without a word said, Commodore Sampson turned his back on General Trouble and joined another group of officers. Kris took the time to catch her breath and check her smile.
''I hear you done good,'' Grampa Trouble said, slipping one hand into a pocket and sipping his beer with the other.
''I got everybody out in one piece, sir.''
''You gonna start ‘sir'-ing your old grampa?''
''When we're both in uniform and in public, I think so, sir.''
''Damn straight,'' he said.
''How bad is the mess?'' she asked him.
That gave the old soldier pause. He studied the bubbles in his beer for a moment, then shook his head and glanced at Tommy. ''Not quite bad enough that I wished you weren't wearing that suit, young woman. I think us old farts who still remember what a real war is like should be able to keep the forgetful and misinformed from doing anything stupid.'' He sipped from the beer. ''I hope. What you drinking?''
''Tonic water, Grampa.''
''I still think your biggest problem was the pills your mom was pumping into you back then to make you a ‘nice girl.' I doubt you're an alki.''
''There are many things in life I don't need to know.'' Kris smiled at how gently he passed over what still brought her awake at night, cringing.
''Ladies and gentlemen, if I may have your attention,'' caused only a slight lowering in the room's ambient noise.
''You want to join us?'' Grampa Trouble offered. ''You two are wearing the suit for it, and as I understand, you are our poster child today.''
''If you don't mind, I think I'll stay where I am,'' Kris said, with Tommy nodding rapid agreement beside her.
''Afraid of a few old generals?''
''You've got several galaxies of stars over there.''
''It's your galaxy, too, kids. Someday you'll probably be wearing your own constellation.''
''Grampa, we're serving ensigns. We are not cleared, and we don't need to know the little asides you'll be passing around among yourselves.''
''You're chicken? Hey, you've faced mines and rifles. You can't be afraid of a few old men and women. Or is it just the two of us your afraid of? God knows, with your family, you have a right to steer clear of your relatives.''
''Not you, Grampa, never you.''
He took her arm; reluctantly, she let him guide her around the room. Tommy followed with all the enthusiasm of a ship being towed to the breakers. They passed through the outlying pickets without so much as a bobble. Father was presenting the first couple of medals to artists and bureaucrats as Trouble rousted a pair of three-stars to make room for him and her at the elbow of Earth's Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. Kris stamped a smile on her face and took the vacated seat between the two generals as Tommy took the opportunity to head for a safe, quiet corner.
''General Ho, this is my Great-granddaughter, Ensign Longknife.'' While Kris struggled to remember she was the prime minister's daughter and had survived situations worse than this, she rapidly went down the protocol requirements: He's uncovered. I'm uncovered. Do not salute. Wouldn't anyway: this is a social situation. Like hell it is.
Kris returned his formal nod.
''I understand you did rather well by us.''
''I did what any ensign would have done in the same situation, General.''
''And don't you forget that. Being a Longknife, that might not be so easy. Right, Ray?''
Damn! Her other Great-grandfather had bounced a five-star from her seat on the other side of Ho. Just what Kris needed: a family reunion. She was still trying to figure out how to function as an ensign in a multi-star environment, and now she'd have to do the dysfunctional family thing as well. Oh hell.
''If she survives it, she just might learn a few things,'' Ray agreed.
The prime minister was going up the list and getting more long-winded as the recipients became more politically important to his party. However, the attitude of the military around Kris saved her from further reaction. They had been invited by their political masters, so they came. Still, as a mass, they sat, arms folded across their chests. Silent as embattled sphinxes, they faced out toward a society that did not understand them, rarely needed them, and pretty much ignored them.
As Father reached the end of his unmercifully long list, he announced that the last award would be given not by him, but by General Ho, thereby passing over Wardhaven's own Chairman, General McMorrison. True, Kris was serving in the Society's Navy, but the Typhoon was built and crewed by Wardhaven, and was, for all practical purposes, a Wardhaven ship. The prime minister was cruising for another lesson on the care and feeding of his own warriors…a lesson Kris would not give him.
General Ho raised his eyebrows a fraction of an inch, and the disapproving creases around eyes and mouths deepened a similar fraction among the generals and admirals surrounding him. Still, he made his way to the podium without hesitation. The master of ceremonies handed the general the folder with Kris's citation, then passed the medal to Kris's father. Kris had spent the last hour praying to every bureaucratic god in the pantheon that her family would leave this one to the soldiers who knew how to do it. All to no avail. Mother was sashaying onto the stage, her petticoats flouncing. It was rapidly becoming a bloody political circus. General Ho did not suffer political circuses, bloody or otherwise.
''Ensign Longknife, front and center,'' he growled.
The other recipients had glad-handed their way onto the stage, laughing, talking to Father, or even shouting at people in the audience. Kris marched, shoulders back, head up; her DI would have been proud of her.