he’ll get someone to take it.”
“No doubt,” Trouble said dryly.
In less than a minute, the general found himself talking to the reporter Winston Spenser. “No, I wouldn’t mind talking about Kris on camera with you,” he said, wondering how soon and how much he’d regret this.
There was one advantage to being retired; he didn’t have to ask anyone’s permission to make a fool of himself in the media. He was as free a citizen as anyone else. Though some would expect him to have better judgment than the rest, and others, no doubt, expected him to be a whole lot dumber than the public in general.
It was strange how the same person was so many things to different spectrums of the public before he even opened his mouth.
Well, come three o’clock, Trouble would be opening his mouth. “With luck,” Winston’s word choice, they might just catch the six o’clock time spots.
By seven, Trouble hoped his name wouldn’t be mud in some circles. Then again, there were advantages to being known as Trouble with a capital “T” in all circles.
They had come to expect trouble from him.
The studio Winston directed Trouble to a little before three was something of a letdown and not a bit of a surprise. It was a small room with two comfortable chairs, a low table between them, but no bright lights and no cameras or cameramen.
A more thorough inspection of the room showed Trouble how he’d missed the cameras. There were several small ones mounted both high and low on the walls, covering every angle in the room.
No doubt, the camera operator was in some other room with a producer watching everything and doing what would sell the most soap or whatever was paying the most for advertising these days.
You got to be less cynical, old boy. This guy is willing to let you do what you can to spin your kid into the best light.
Maybe, his cynical self replied.
Winston opened with a couple of softball questions.
Trouble identified himself. Yes, he was a veteran of the Iteeche War. Yes, he knew Ray from way back. Oh, and yes, both he and the king had the proud honor of having one Kris Longknife, sometimes styled princess and a serving lieutenant commander in the U.S. Navy, as a great-granddaughter.
And yes, she had indeed led out a Fleet of Discovery not too long ago.
Winston broke in to mention that he’d interviewed Amanda Kutter about the change in the fleet’s mission. They paused as the lovely Miss Kutter described the horror the fleet had found and its preparations for battling the same.
That left Trouble to wonder if his interview would be cut down to the few seconds that seemed to summarize all that Amanda had had to say about the selfless choice of thousands to do battle against impossible odds.
Trouble guessed that didn’t sell soap.
“So, General, I’m told that the only reason the Fleet of Discovery could hope to engage the huge alien ships was that the U.S. government provided them with a totally new and immensely destructive weapon. Something chipped off a neutron star, isn’t it?”
Bushwhacked in the first two minutes, Trouble growled to himself, but he smiled and answered. “Well, if somebody told you, maybe I should be interviewing you. Tell me, what do you know about this new superweapon?”
“Come now, General, it was in several respected magazines. Space Technology as well as Physics Today. Certainly you can speak about it.”
Quick excerpts were played on the screen. No doubt, some producer had started planning this ambush right after he called to ask to be tossed into this den of worms.
“That’s interesting stuff,” Trouble said. “I’m retired, Winston, and I don’t get the secret briefings I used to.” Trouble tried to poor-mouth himself. “But those do look like some real deadly toys, if you know what I mean.”
“Well, General, if you had access to such weapons and the ships of the Fleet of Discovery, what would you do? Arm the battleships with them?”
Trouble cringed at the question.
Well, old man, the door is right over there. You walked in. You can walk right out.
But who will talk for Kris if you do?
Clearly, the answer was no one.
“That’s an interesting question, Winston, and you’re asking it of an old gravel cruncher. I was a Marine, not a squid. I wasn’t a ship driver, like my great-granddaughter is. But, if you want my uneducated guess, no, I would not put them on the battleships.”
“Aren’t they the most powerful ships in her fleet?”
“Yes, but they are also the biggest. And big in this sense means a big target. Now, as a ground pounder, I am qualified to talk about a few things. Like tanks. Now, there are a lot of guys who like to drive around in those big, heavy-metal coffins. Then there are guys like me, who like to use our ability to stay small and not worth a lot of shooting at. And who love to sneak up on those big armored behemoths and slip a rocket into their back end.”
“So you think Kris would have kept the neutron torpedoes for her small corvettes and used them to sneak up on the aliens?”
“That assumes that there was a way to sneak up on something that big and bad,” Trouble pointed out. “You know, we’re guessing. Just fighting battles made of smoke and supposition. In a few days, Kris may be able to tell you herself what she faced and how she chose to face them.”
“So you think she’ll be brought here to Wardhaven and made available to the media?”
“May God have mercy on her soul and preserve her from such a fate,” Trouble said, and his host had the good humor to laugh at his prayer.
“But, yes, I can’t see any reason why Kris wouldn’t want to be available to you. She’s a big girl now and can handle herself quite well.”
“So, General, why isn’t she here already?”
“Winston, space is big. Our own human sphere is several hundred light-years across. Kris’s voyage covered tens of thousands of light-years. We may travel across those distances, but it takes time. The basic news that Kris is back can be flashed across space quickly. Getting more information needs more time. And getting Kris from where she is to where you want to interview her can take even more time.”
“Where is she?” Winston slipped in with an angelic look on his face.
“You know as much as I do about that,” the general evaded.
“That’s part of the problem, none of us know. The word we all have seems to have originated at Chance, in the Helvitican Confederacy. We’ve asked our associated news sources from there to confirm that she’s there, but they haven’t gotten back to us. I would assume that if she was there, we would be getting all kinds of reports flowing from there and not have to be asking them for anything.”
“Don’t you just hate waiting for the speed of light to cough up stuff?” Trouble said. “I’ve got several criminal associates and scofflaws trying to figure a way to break that law.”
“Let me know if they have any luck on that,” Winston said, going with the joke. “But for now, it does seem strange that the media have nothing to say from Chance.”
“Maybe that’s because they don’t have anything to report,” Trouble said. “Just because a report comes from somewhere doesn’t mean that it started there or that there’s more to see there.”
“So, General, what do you think about the speculation that the Greenfeld Empire will take it personally if Kris doesn’t bring home their battle squadron?”
“As I recall, there were eight battleships. Four from Greenfeld and the other four from the Helvitican Confederacy and Musashi.”
“But the new Emperor, Henry I, sent along his only daughter. If she’s lost, that could change a lot of things between the U.S. and Greenfeld.”
If Crossenshield was right, Harry might just send a “thank-you” to Ray, or Harry’s new wife most definitely would. But what could Trouble say, without, ah, getting into trouble?
Well, there was a reason he had that name.
