Trouble took the next elevator. This time it took him up to the thirty-third floor. He turned right, past Marines who saluted him, and headed for the door at the end of the hall.
Behind it was either a very worried or very angry man. With Ray Longknife, it was always hard to tell.
“How’s it going, Ray?” Trouble said, he being one of the few old enough to still address the king by his first name.
“Kris is back,” the king snapped.
“Yes, I heard. Have you heard anything else?”
“Not a damn thing. Not one damn thing! I get this high-priority message from Sandy at High Chance Station. All it tells me is that Kris is back, not where, not when, not on what ship, just that Kris is back. And it breaks in the news not five minutes after I get the word. How’d that happen?”
Trouble shrugged. The workings of the fourth estate had been a puzzle to him since before he was commissioned on that long-ago day.
“I take it that you’ve sent a high-priority message out to Sandy for more info,” Trouble said.
“Of course I have. But it will take a day, if not more, to get to her and back to me. What am I supposed to do, chew my nails?”
“Well, you have to admit, your setup here is a whole lot more comfortable than a lot of places you and I have squatted a while to chew our nails,” Trouble said, glancing around at the king’s digs.
The desk that separated the two of them was lovely, worked in wood and marble. The commlink was buried in the desk, out of sight. The walls were covered with red wallpaper with golden fleurs-de-lis. There were several bookcases and cabinets full of memorabilia from Ray’s days as general and president of the Society of Humanity. Place of pride was held by a signed original of the Treaty of the Orange Nebula, the paper that ended the Iteeche War before it ended the human race.
Ray had led an eventful life. And Trouble had been right there, making a lot of the events survivable.
There was a reason why the king had called for his old war buddy at a time like this.
Of course, Trouble was not the only one who had gotten the recall. Field Marshal Mac McMorrison, Chief of the United Society’s General Staff, came hustling in, just a few moments before Admiral Crossenshield, the Chief of Intelligence.
Trouble tried not to raise his eyebrows at the party forming up. He knew that Kris had taken to calling these three “the unholy trinity,” with good cause for the name.
Of course, she’d also come to realize he was Trouble… after he’d given her good enough cause.
Each new arrival was treated to the same greeting Trouble got. Each commiserated with the king as much as they were inclined to do. None of them, of course, knew anything more than the king.
“Ray, we’ve been here before,” Trouble finally put in. “This is not one of those silly faux events the media stages where everything you need to know is spoon-fed to you. This is real life like we’ve lived through before. We’ll just have to sweat it out like we always have.”
Ray did not take gracefully to being reminded that he was just as human as ever and subject to the limits of the human condition.
Trouble found a good place to sit and watched as first Mac, then Crossie, did his best to settle their king down.
They were no more successful than Trouble had been.
Then the commlink chimed. “A new message has come in from Admiral Santiago, Commander Naval District 41.”
“Well, give it to me,” the king demanded.
“It’s in a very tight code, sir. It will take us a few minutes to decode. There is some video included in it.”
“Get me the video as soon as you can.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” and the duty code officer got to ring off.
Pity the poor kid, Trouble thought. Back in the old days, Ray had been a lot more concerned for the folks who worked for him. Not necessarily the ones he would get killed but those who worked close to him.
How times have changed.
They waited a good five minutes before the coding officer called back to say they still didn’t have the text decoded, but the attached video was ready.
“Send it, send it. Now if not sooner!” Ray said, and the screen on the wall next to his desk changed from a lovely south-sea-island sunset to blank.
Disembodied came the words, “Unknown ship in system, identify yourself,” then the screen split to show an earnest young lieutenant in a U.S. Navy blue shipsuit glaring from the command seat of a fast attack craft.
On the other half of the screen, Captain Drago waved a hand at the high-gee station that Kris was slumped into, dumping the honor of first reply to her.
Kris stood to stare from the screen. Her khakis were stained and rumpled as if she’d slept in them… for several days and nights.
Still, she stood proud and tall, and announced that she was Princess Kris Longknife, a lieutenant commander in her grampa’s Royal U.S. Navy and the woman who’d led the great Fleet of Discovery.
On the one screen, the junior officer hit his own commlink to call his superiors for advice.
Smart man.
After which, his screen went blank.
On the other screen, Vicky Peterwald glided onto the bridge and grabbed a handhold next to Captain Jack Montoya.
She giggled a bit as she asked Kris, “Do you often affect men like that?”
Kris shrugged, before admitting, “I guess I should have brushed my teeth this morning.”
“I don’t like the smell of this,” Jack said, “and I’m not talking about your body odor.”
Kris shrugged. “I agree, Jack. I don’t think this is some kind of joke.”
On the other screen, the young man apparently got his answer and tapped his camera to life. To Trouble, he looked like he was holding something smelly the cat dragged in.
“You will exit this system immediately and report to Admiral Santiago, ComNavDist 41 on High Chance. If you deviate in any way from that direct course, I am authorized to use deadly force.”
“Hold your fire,” Kris said. “We’ve been struggling for the last, I don’t know how long, to get back to human space. We’re just looking for a dock, some food, a bit of water and reaction mass.”
“I am not to talk to you about anything other than getting you to High Chance. Can you identify the jump point out of here?”
“Mister,” Kris drawled, “we discovered the jump point into here and did the first explorations below, remember?”
Trouble found himself chuckling at Kris’s wry remark. Crossie gave him a nasty look.
Screw yourself if you can’t take a joke, was the look Trouble gave back to the intel man.
The young officer showed red at the collar as he apparently remembered this system’s recent history, but he went on doggedly. “Then you can point your ship at the jump point. My patrol craft will follow, and if you attempt to escape, I will disable your engines.”
“Kid,” Captain Drago growled, “the Wasp ’s engines are damn near disabled. You throw even a hard word at them, and they’re likely to quit on us. You be careful. Relax. We will follow your directions to the letter.”
Kris’s screen cut off. They were treated to an outside view of the Wasp. Trouble found himself shaking his head. “That boat is in dire need of a little loving care, Ray. You sure they should be risking their life jumping in that thing? It would be a shame to lose them now that they’re back.”
“It’s too late to change things,” Field Marshal Mac put in. “With the time delay we’re dealing with, they’ve already arrived at High Chance.”
“Or went bust trying,” Trouble said. “Look at that thing. Isn’t the nose of that ship bent off at an angle different from the engines? Computer,” Trouble told his own assistant, “can you run a line through the keel of that tub?”
A line did appear. Aft, it was pretty much parallel to the ship. As you got closer to the bow, it diverged more and more.
“What’s the angle on that?” Ray asked.
