''Full blast into all mess hands' quarters.'' Even on the ground floor of the converted hotel, Kris heard the bugles. Two minutes later, PO 2/c Blidon appeared. To Kris's surprise, Blidon was a short woman fighting a weight problem, which probably explained her assignment here.
''You wanted to see me?'' she said sourly.
''Did you eat here yesterday?''
''Yes, I did, and no, I didn't much like it, but no, I'm not interested in cleaning up this mess.'' After a long pause, she added, ''ma'am.''
''What's your price?'' Kris asked.
''My price?''
''Yep, everyone has one. Right now, I need you. In case you haven't noticed, this outfit ain't going to hell, we're already fully established in residence. Food can change a lot for a spacer. We need to change things, and you look like the best change agent in town.''
Blidon scowled at the praise. ''You're a Longknife?''
''Yep, and I don't much like having what my father does thrown up in my face, so I suspect you don't, either.''
''How many cooks they have?'' Blidon said, glancing around.
''Two that like to drink the potatoes, and three renegades from boot camp.'' Blidon wrinkled her nose at that. Slowly, she paced her way into the kitchen. That drew a disgusted grunt.
''No wonder the food's so bad.'' She turned to Kris and offered a hand. ''My friends call me Courtney. I'll name my price later, and it won't be cheap. For now, the challenge has hooked me. And I'm hungry. I want six volunteers to start cleaning this kitchen right now.''
Kris volunteered the first six from the warehouse that came through the door.
When the cooks finally meandered in, Courtney took one look at them and declared them unsanitary and unsafe in any kitchen. Kris peeled off another six of her crew, with a third-class in charge and orders to get those two clean if they had to use wire brushes. After last night's meal, Kris had to turn down volunteers for that detail.
Lieutenant Pearson showed up as the cooks were marched for the showers. ''When is breakfast?'' she asked. The voice was high, the handshake limp, and the dark roots showing in the blond thatch left Kris wondering if anything about the woman was authentic.
''Give me a half hour,'' Courtney shouted from the kitchen.
Pearson didn't hide her disappointment. As the lieutenant glanced around the mess hall, Kris could hear her grinding her teeth. ''I guess I'll be at my desk. I'm still trying to define the correct policy for who we help. There are so many in need, but so many of them have guns. What this place needs is a good gun control law. Really. Ensign, have someone bring over some toast when it's ready, and some fruit, spring melons if there's some left from yesterday. I'll just start my day early at my desk.'' Her exit, however, was slow, as if she expected Kris to stop her, do the proper junior officer thing of asking the wise senior to tell her all she needed to know.
Kris didn't have time for that; she headed for the kitchen and its scrub teams. That got Pearson moving in the opposite direction. ''Nelly, what's Pearson's job?''
''She commands the Admin Division.''
''Last night's sleeping watch standers,'' Tommy remarked.
''Looks like it. Can you imagine her and Hancock in a staff meeting?''
''Why do I suspect we won't have many staff meetings?'' Tommy grinned at the prospect. ''But did I hear right? She's developing our policies?''
''And probably will be for the next ten years.'' Kris knew people like Pearson, both in volunteer work and on campaigns. They were usually too fixated on their minutiae to get in Kris's way. ''We'll get everybody fed, with or without policies.''
Courtney came to stand in the kitchen door, hands on hips. ''Scrambled eggs and bacon is the fastest thing I can get out this morning. Any of you smiling faces ever flipped hamburgers or done some industrial-strength cooking?'' Kris cringed at Courtney's choice of words; the woman grinned unrepentantly. Several hands went up among the gathering troops. The new head cook waved them into her kitchen with a proprietary grin and a ''Scrub your hands, then draw an apron and gloves.''
While the place took on the smell of a kitchen in use, Kris circulated. Nelly gave Kris a heads-up about who had what assignments and how long they'd been on Olympia. With Nelly coaching, Kris asked a question here, made a neutral observation there, and managed to get most talking about their jobs.
Then Kris listened. There was a lot of resentment, some at the locals, lots at the brass, but most of it was frustration, pure and simple. Olympia was a lousy place to be, and they were just sitting on their thumbs while it got worse.
''Who is in charge of the warehouse?'' she asked the first person who admitted to working there.
''I don't know, ma'am. I think we're in Admin, like most of the rest here. There's a third-class petty officer that shows up sometimes, but most of us just sit over there and stack supplies when a shipment comes in.''
''Who built the fence?''
''A local contractor. Why, ma'am?''
'' ‘Cause there's a hole in it that needs fixing.''
''Wasn't there yesterday when we knocked off, ma'am,'' the able spacer assured her.
''Nope, a truck drove through it last night when I was shooting at it.''
''You went there at night!''
''You shot at them!'' The woman beside him added.
''Seemed like the thing to do. They were shooting at me. You know about the nightly shipments from the warehouse?'' The two looked at each other, palpably uncomfortable.
The woman answered, ''We know things are gone most mornings. Nobody told us to do anything about it.''
''I think we'll be doing something about it,'' Kris said.
As they walked away from those two, Tom shook his head. ''I'm starting to think the smartest move I ever made in my life was stopping to tie my shoe during that obstacle course. I can't tell you how glad I am you graduated a seat ahead of me at OCS.''
''And all the time I thought it was that final exam on military etiquette,'' Kris said, nudging him in the ribs.
The cooks returned from the showers to impromptu applause and turned to under Courtney's watchful eyes. Two of the volunteers asked to stay on. Kris started making a list of things she was going to need forgiveness for. She definitely wasn't about to ask permission first. Father always said it was a lot easer to get Parliament to forgive what was working than get those prima donnas to approve what might blow up. Everything she'd seen in the last four months convinced her that, at least in that one respect, Father and the Navy Way were the same.
Her meal done, Kris went through the line again and took a tray and coffee mug across the way to the HQ. Pearson was bent over her workstation, moving a paragraph from one part of her document to another. Hancock was still asleep in his chair. Kris set the tray and mug on his desk and turned to go.
There was a snort behind her as snoring halted, then the sound of boots hitting the deck. She turned. The Colonel looked at her through red-rimmed eyes for a long moment, then reached for the mug. A long swallow later, he put it down. ''What you looking at, Ensign?'' he growled as he attacked the plate.
Kris flipped a coin. As Billy Longknife's daughter, she'd gotten away with a lot. As an ensign, it might be a good idea to at least let the Colonel know what direction she was headed off in. ''Nothing, sir. I was wondering if I might ask for some guidance, or whether I should wait for Officer's Call.''
''No way I'm going to…'' The Colonel decided not to finish that sentence. ''Okay, Longknife, what do you want?''
''Am I in charge of the warehouse?''
''Yep.''
''I report directly to you.''
''I told you so.''
''There's a hole in the warehouse fence where a truck drove through it last night. Who do I talk to, to get it fixed?''
''Pearson,'' he bellowed. ''Get in here.''
The lieutenant did not rush to her commander's call. Adjusting her khakis, she came to stand beside Kris in the Colonel's doorway. Her ''Yes, sir'' came out with a mixture of pain and disdain.