Kris stood there for about two seconds before a young woman in full kilt was at her elbow. ''I'm Captain Rutherford. I understand we share the same luck.''
''I'm Ensign Longknife. What luck might that be?'' Kris did not want to spend the evening comparing seven- and twelve-step programs and arguing which was better.
''Your great-grampa and mine both walked off Black Mountain with their balls still attached.'' The woman grinned. ''Otherwise, we wouldn't be here. I'm Emma,'' she said, holding out her hand.
''I'm Kris,'' Kris said, shaking the offered hand. ''This is Tom. He's from Santa Maria, but don't hold that against him.''
''Ah, then you like our pipes.''
''Love them, a wee bit of home so far from the old sod.''
Kris almost choked on the first sip of her newly arrived drink.
''It can't be that strong,'' Emma said.
''Exactly the way I ordered it,'' Kris assured Emma and the young soldier who'd brought it, while eyeing Tommy like the rat he was.
''We always have choices,'' Tommy reminded her.
''Social coward,'' Kris whispered back.
''Politically astute. I thought, being a politician's daughter, you'd have more appreciation.''
''Am I walking into the middle of something?'' Emma asked.
''Only something that started at OCS when he stopped to tie his shoe in the middle of the obstacle course,'' Kris said, nudging Tommy in the ribs.
Emma studied them for a second longer, then smiled and shrugged as much as the heavy woolen doublet allowed. ''Let me introduce you to some of the battalion's other junior officers.''
Kris found herself trying to remember a blizzard of names made easier by a regimental tendency to give everyone a nickname. Chalky was Second Lieutenant Sutherland who had an unruly thatch of white hair. Tiny was, of course, well over two meters tall. In general, the junior portion of the officers' mess seemed comfortable with their place and delighted to meet Kris.
It was when Emma passed Kris to Major Massingo for introduction to the senior members of the mess that things got complicated. The corner with Commander Owing had acquired several more officers by the time Kris was pointed in their direction. Kris wasn't sure, but it seemed the mess server had made quite a few trips to this circle to refill empty glasses. The doctor looked unlikely to be vertical by the time supper was announced. After the obligatory round of names, Kris was prepared to bow out and return to the juniors when the supply officer, a major, blurted out, ''And what does a Longknife think of devolution? You aren't going to stand with Earth, are you?''
A bit surprised, still, Kris found that an easy one. ''I'm a serving officer, sir, I stand behind my commanding officer and in front of my troops,'' she said, deflecting the question.
''So you'll just do whatever you're told,'' the doc said, leaning forward in his chair and almost falling out of it. A friend helped steady him.
''I'm kind of new at this, just a boot ensign, but I understand that we're supposed to follow orders.'' Kris smiled and took a step back. It wasn't enough to get her clear of the conversation circle, however.
''But what if a greater good is involved?'' put in a major with crossed muskets on his doublet. ''If some idiot orders me to charge a heavily defended bunker, it's usually understood that I can use smoke and hunt for a flank.'' That got nods from his messmates. ''So what's our duty to the greater good? It was a Longknife who killed President Urm. Was he following orders?''
''No,'' Kris agreed.
''So, when evil's rampant, the soldier, for the greater good, may have to act on his own?''
''The books I've read said Urm was pretty bad,'' Kris pointed out. ''I don't see anybody around like him. Do you?'' Kris wanted out of this discussion. It didn't look like anyone was taking notes, but you could never tell when someone might have their personal computer set to record. ''Nelly,'' Kris said subvocally, ''start recording.'' At least she'd have a transcript of this conversation if it did hit the Wardhaven media.
''Yes, evil as barefaced as Urm makes it easy to know a soldier's duty. But what if it's an insipid, tepid evil, wearing away the soul and psyche of humanity a little at a time? Evil that seeks to turn virtue into vice and pass vice off as virtue a bit today, a bit more tomorrow?'' That didn't require an answer from Kris; she'd learned long ago to keep her mouth shut. No reporter ever got a sound bite from silence.
''Yeah,'' another officer filled the dead space. ''When did you ever hear a civilian say anything good about duty? I don't even think honor's in their vocabulary. My kid's going to college, got her a new set of writing gear. Damn computer asked her how to spell honor. Wasn't in its database.'' That got snorts all around. Kris couldn't believe it was true, but it made a great story.
''Strange, it was in mine,'' Kris said before she knew her mouth was open. Damn, Judith said she had too much fight in her for her own good. And after all those therapy sessions, it was still there.
''Your father is rather high in the government. Your grandfather is running Nuu Enterprises. Some might see you…'' A hand waved diffidently as if searching for words.
''As part of the evil,'' Kris supplied.
''More like allied with its sensibilities,'' the major countered. ''Listen, we soldiers know the score. The game is rigged from the top. When common people don't like it, we're the ones that get called in to keep them placing their bets at the table. Look at your Colonel Hancock. Some farmers on Darkunder don't like the way the cards are falling, him and his battalion get called in. Dumb farmers don't know when to call it quits; so a lot of them die. Hancock did what he was told to do, and see what it got him. He had the power on that mud ball. When they ordered him off to face a court-martial, he should have marched his battalion down to that bunch of fat money men that passed for a parliament on Darkunder and sent them all scurrying for their rat holes. Then the media would have made him the farmers' bloody messiah rather than their murderer.''
Kris couldn't say she was shocked. Back at the Scriptorum, there'd always been the right-winger, ready to call for war.
''What people need is fire and duty to purify them from the greasy money men and their cheap, easy ways.'' The vets on Wardhaven had said the same thing. Why was hearing it from a serving officer sending chills down Kris's spine?
Because these are the blokes that are supposed to stand between civilization and the rack of war, not the ones to bring it. The real question for Kris was, was this guy serious, or was it just the whiskey talking? Was he just pissed that his battalion was stuck in the mud on do-gooder duty, or might he really want to march down the street and take over Olympia's government? Kris suppressed a smile. He'd have a hard time finding any government to take over. The exhibit barn the legislature shared every three years with the weekly cattle auction had collapsed months ago.
If this guy was for real, he wasn't Ensign Longknife's problem. Colonel Hancock would have the job of facing him down. And if it was only talk, whether drink- or anger-inspired, it still wasn't Kris's problem. She'd faced kidnappers' guns and roving bands of heavily armed hungry. She'd shown she had the stomach for a real fight. This kind of O club bull session seemed rather tame now.
''Excuse me. Nature calls,'' she said and wound her way out of the group to head for the ladies' room. Facing the stalls, Kris concluded her heavily starched whites would come away looking like an accordion, and wondered if Wardhaven had any Highland units. A transfer might not be a bad idea, except these guys charged machine guns when they went into battle, and the Navy was smart enough to take along a nice bunk and good chow when they went to a fight. Kris splashed water on her face, told Nelly to quit recording, and prepared to go public again. Major Massingo and Captain Rutherford were waiting for her.