“We did what we had to do to save body and soul,” Pinga agreed.
“I’m sure you did,” Kris said, leaning back in her chair.
PENNY, IS THIS ALL NEWS TO YOU? Kris asked via her computer link through Nelly and her kids.
SORRY TO SAY, YES IT IS, KRIS.
AH, CREW, I KNOW IT’S NEAT TO HAVE THIS NEW TOY FOR TALKING AMONG OURSELVES VIA OUR COMPUTERS, came clearly in Jack’s voice, BUT DON’T YOU THINK THESE FOLKS DESERVE THE COURTESY OF BEING INCLUDED IN OUR CONVERSATION?
“Mr. Annam,” Kris asked, “have you heard anything about the conditions on New St. Pete?”
The plantation owner raised his hands to heaven. “I wanted to know as little about the goings-on there as I could. I thought they knew nothing about us, but I guess you cannot get the tiger drunk without its knowing where the good stuff comes from.”
“I told you so,” Pinga was quick to point out.
“Those who came to us first were the merchants who sold my products. I thought when I took them in that I had rolled up the carpet behind me. Unfortunately, others knew, and they told still others.”
“It’s the gunmen I’m curious about,” Penny said. “We don’t know much about what is happening in Greenfeld territory. Maybe even less about New St. Pete, but some of our analysts insisted there were a lot more criminal elements in the mix than the intelligence estimates allowed for.”
“Something tells me even they were lowballing it,” Kris said.
“And if Mr. Annam and his people are dealing with the criminals who had to flee St. Pete . . . ?” Jack said.
“What’s left behind must be even worse,” Penny concluded.
Kris shrugged. “But that is Vicky’s problem.”
“Commander Longknife, Captain Montoya, this is Staff Sergeant Bruce. We got company coming.”
“What kind of company, Sergeant?” Jack asked.
“I make out forty-five trucks driving up the road from town. They’re averaging about fourteen klicks an hour. ETA at our roadblock is seventeen minutes. Hey, Nelly, this new computer gives me real numbers.”
“I told you so,” Nelly said on net and to all present.
“Are they armed?” Jack cut in.
“First couple of trucks appear to have a general collection of rifles and pistols. Looks like the sort of stuff you could use to set up a nice museum of ancient firearms, sir. Beyond that, there are not a lot of long guns showing.”
“Kris,” Jack said, looking her straight in the eye, “now would be a good time for you to get out of here.”
Kris made a face. She hated the idea of running. Even more, she hated the look on the faces of the farmer and his wife, like she’d kicked a puppy and was leaving it alone beside the road.
But she wasn’t supposed to be in the middle of a shoot-out. Not with half Jack’s company still in orbit.
Kris prepared to follow her security chief.
Then everything changed.
“Uh, this is the pilot of Shuttle 1. We got a problem.”
“What kind of problem?” Jack asked, giving Kris the evil eye as if somehow, in some way, she was responsible for whatever came next.
“We, uh, thought we’d get ready, just in case we had to make a run for orbit. Just like I guess you want us to do now.”
“And,” Jack snapped. “Pilot, tell us today, not next week.”
“Well, we needed water for reaction mass. So we started pulling lake water into our tanks.”
“And you caught a fish?” Kris suggested.
“No, Your Highness. A fish we could have handled. No, they got a lot of water weeds growing around the wharf here, and we sucked them into our intakes. Locked them up something terrible.”
“The other longboats made it to orbit,” Jack snarled.
“Yes, sir. They pulled water into their tanks while they were out in midlake.”
“Can you get the weeds out?” Kris asked.
“The copilot and some Marines have been trying to do it for the last five minutes. We really sucked it up there, ma’am.”
“So we aren’t going anywhere,” Kris concluded.
“It sure looks that way,” the poor pilot answered.
Kris stood. “Thank you for your hospitality,” she said with a prayerful bow to the couple. Then she turned to Jack. “Captain, Lieutenant, looks like we better start walking over to Sergeant Bruce’s roadblock.”
“It does look that way,” Jack said, activating his battle board and beginning to arrange his way-too-few troops.
5
The hike to the roadblock was hot and dusty. As Kris reflected back on her other advances to hostile contact, they all were either hot and dusty, or cold and wet. Why was a firefight never on a lovely, pleasant day?
Must be a rule somewhere.
“So, Your Highness,” Jack said, “what are we doing here?”
Kris heard a serious question . . . heavily salted with sarcasm. But she had to admit, she’d been seriously chewing on just that question . . . in the light of what she’d started off the day wanting to do.
“Wouldn’t it be nice if we don’t win a bloody battle today?” she finally said.
Jack didn’t seem surprised at her answer. “I assume that ‘Let’s not lose a battle today’ is at least one step higher on your priority list.”
“No question about that,” Kris agreed.
Jack mulled that over for a moment. “You know, if we did kind of accidentally wipe out this hostile force coming our way, it might leave us the only power on this planet.”
“I doubt it,” Penny put in.
Kris gave her a raised eyebrow.
“Face it,” Penny said. “Do you honestly think the big man is in the mob headed out here? You announced yourself, Princess, when you took down that pirate in orbit. They know they’ve got one of those damn Longknifes in the mix. If I were the big guy, I sure wouldn’t risk my fair skin anywhere near you.”
“I think Penny has a point,” Kris said. “Even if we killed or captured every thug we’re about to run into, there will be plenty left to cause us trouble tonight and next week. Jack, do you think you could control this planet with two hundred Marines?”
Jack scowled. “My company’s job is to protect you, Miss Highness, not get stuck running around a planet chasing every bad actor with a gun.” He paused, then added, “Still, I hate standing by while those pigs steal food from starving people.”
“There is that.” Kris sighed.
“There’s a second reason we really shouldn’t be wailing all over the badness on this planet,” Penny said.
Kris and Jack both eyed her.
“Let’s say that we set up our own police force here. That means we’ll have to run food in here to feed all the hungry. How are you going to explain to Vicky Peterwald next time you run into her that you aren’t really, actually, intentionally poaching on her old man’s territory?”
And Kris was under specific orders not to even give the appearance of United Sentients horning in on Greenfeld’s natural sphere of influence . . . much less actually doing the horning-in thing.
She hadn’t complained about those orders when she got them.
But then, when she accepted her orders, she wasn’t having her face rubbed in this mess. Had Grampa Ray, King Raymond I to most everyone else, seen this coming when he sent her here to do this job?
Had he, once again, chosen her because he knew she’d ditch her orders and do the job?
For the forty-eleventh-million time, Kris allowed nasty thoughts about being one of those damn Longknifes to chase themselves around the inside of her skull.
Enough of that, Kris thought, shaking her head. Policy reviews would have to wait for another day. Just now, she had a lot of heavily armed people who were eager to make her acquaintance. If she wasn’t careful, some people might not survive the experience.