“Kris, I don’t think this is a good idea.”
“Yes, Nelly, but it is what I intend to do. Send it.”
Winston’s glasses lit up, showing Kris the reverse of the scene in the Wasp’s forward lounge. He leaned back, taking in the view. Sandy’s computer was more sophisticated; the scene showed as little more than a gleam on her contact lenses.
The reporter sat up in his chair with a start. “Is that an Iteeche that just walked in?”
“Yes, he is,” Kris said. “Nelly, can you speed the action up? The guy in black is an Imperial herald. Those are Marines in red behind him followed by two Navy officers with two Imperial counselors behind them. The last guy in is my friend, Ron, an Imperial Representative.”
“Kris, your friends get stranger and stranger,” Sandy said.
“Tell me about it.”
“And they’re talking to you and the king,” the reporter observed.
“Yep. You might want to skip ahead. The fun starts five and a half minutes into it. You can go back and see the rest when you have time.”
“You’re going to let me keep this?” the reporter asked.
“That’s my intention.”
“That’s General Trouble,” Winston said. “I mean Tordon, and Crossie from intel. Who’s the last guy?”
“Someone who hangs around me. I hope you can delete him if you ever make this public.”
“He’s your security chief, isn’t he? Jack something,” Sandy said.
“Yes. Nelly, fast-forward.”
Winston was half out of his seat along with Grampa Ray. “What did he just say that got the king’s panties in a twist?”
“It will be repeated,” Kris said.
“ ‘Mutual enemies’! What does he mean by that?” Winston demanded.
“If you sit back down, you’ll find out sooner.”
The reporter sat, but rigidly, on the edge of his chair. The admiral stayed loose in her sofa, eyes raised to the ceiling to better see what filled her contact lenses. When the star chart came out, and the explanation began, Mr. Spencer edged back into his chair.
“Their exploration ships are not coming back?” Sandy whispered.
“As the skipper of just such an exploration ship, I can’t tell you how much that bothers me,” Kris said.
“Yeah, I can only imagine,” Winston said, then watched the rest of the meeting in silence. Finished, he took his glasses off and stared for a long moment at some space just over Kris’s shoulder.
Into the silence, Kris said softly, “Surrender was not mentioned once by either side.”
“Holy ... Mother of God,” Winston whispered finally. “The Iteeche have bit into something too big for them to chew.”
Kris glanced at Sandy. The admiral was gnawing her lower lip, apparently lost in thought. “That is a part of the problem,” Kris said. “We don’t know exactly what the Iteeche have run into. It seems they like to share a problem a lot more and a lot earlier in the problem-solving cycle than we humans do.”
“Yeah, I think I see what you mean,” Winston said. “That was bothering me as I watched this. They are losing ships. Don’t know what’s doing it, so they come to us to make nice. Do they want us to go find out what’s swallowing their ships whole?”
“They didn’t ask specifically for that,” Kris said. “I figure I’d be on the first ship headed into the monster’s maw. Since I don’t have orders to do that, I figure they haven’t asked.”
“Maybe your grandpappy doesn’t want you on that particular scout ship?” Sandy said.
“There is that possibility,” Kris admitted. “But family concerns haven’t been all that obvious in my previous assignments.”
Sandy admitted they hadn’t, with a wave of her hand.
“So, explain to me, slowly, and in little words, why you are dropping this . . . one of the biggest stories of the century . . . in my lap?” Mr. Spencer asked.
“Yes,” said Sandy, crossing her legs and leaning forward, intently.
“I don’t know exactly. You say you’re good. How good are you at spotting shadows of stories? Hints of a hint? I’m going to be so far out that I won’t be getting any kind of news. I found that out when I came back last time, and my brother dropped a load of stuff on me. You could at least send me any stories you see about the Iteeche.”
“That would be kind of obvious,” Sandy said.
“So toss in anything about the new constitution, interplanetary politics. What’s happening on New J. I ended up fighting a whole lot of mercenaries from New J. Send me what you think I need to keep up-to-date on. But send me everything on the Iteeche. And maybe you could write a story or two about our possible new friends the Iteeche.”
“I’m not sure I dare write anything about the Iteeche.
What do you think would happen to me if I published this tomorrow?”
“Let’s see. You’d end up locked away deep in some dungeon that nobody even knows exists. The key would get lost. Oh, and I’d be in the next cell, right beside you,” Kris said with a wide grin.
“That is not funny.”
“I was not joking,” Kris said.
“I still don’t see why you dropped this scorching-hot potato on my cojones?”
“Look at it from my perspective,” Kris said. “When I have a problem, I or it usually ends up battered, bashed, and bleeding.”
“If not dead,” the reporter added.
“No, it’s usually a Santiago or some other poor sailor that ends up pushing up tombstones,” the admiral countered.
“I can’t argue with either of you,” Kris said. “But look at my present problem. I ask you, is this the kind of thing that a few kilos of C-8 can take care of?”
“I don’t see how,” the reporter said. The admiral just shook her head.
“Neither do I, and I can’t even see a way to start. So, how do I solve a problem I can’t kill or blow up?”
“I have no idea, and I’m beginning to sincerely wish I had kept my hands in my pockets and kept walking when I saw the admiral this afternoon,” Winston said, standing.
“But you didn’t, so get with the program,” Sandy said. “Sit down, Win. She’s been ordered off to the left corner of nowhere. There’s no way she can do anything from there.”
“Now I see why you get orders like that so often,” the reporter snapped, showing no willingness to take his seat again.
“Exactly.” Kris chuckled. “I’m off chasing pirates, not a bad gig, I assure you. But who’s keeping an eye on my grampa? Checking him out to make sure he doesn’t forget that the Iteeche can be our friends and that they have a problem. Maybe putting a good word in for the poor Iteeche.”
“Not me,” Winston squeaked.
“Exactly you,” Kris said. “You’re a reporter. You know what’s really going on around here.”
“I used to, but I suddenly got this attack of potted-palm syndrome. Just leave me alone and water me once in a while.”
“Didn’t you just tell me you’re one of the guys that takes the pulse of Wardhaven? Leads the people’s dialogue. Helps opinion makers form a consensus they can use to get anything done.”
“You realize this is the first time a Longknife has had anything nice to say about the media.”
“Of course not. Why I remember Father saying at the dinner table not six years ago that . . . ah . . . Well, maybe you’re right,” Kris sputtered to a halt.
“Honestly, Win,” Admiral Santiago cut in. “Can you tell me that, what with something this important hanging on the wind, you wouldn’t want to know what you know and be where you are?”
He sighed. “Damn you,” he said, turning his face from Kris. “Damn you both,” he repeated. “You know, if this gets out wrong, you being a Longknife will not protect you.”