Kris Longknife: Furious Read online

  “I didn’t have much to do for the last month,” Nelly answered, pointedly.

  “Well, the vacation is over. Nelly, how safe are we at the moment?”

  “You’re stretching your safety margins. Abby needs to get out of that bath, and you need to get out of your vomit. Penny, here, needs to get moving. This hideout is needed by some real thugs, and I can’t vouch for the cops not banging down the door much after they get here.”

  “Can you and your kids keep Penny off the security net?” Kris asked.

  “We’ve done it for a week now.”

  “You’ve been here a week?” Kris said.

  “I needed a couple of days to connect with Abby, then a few more to set up this meeting. Kris, if you think you’ve lived in a security bubble before, you have no idea how tight things are around you now.”

  “Yeah,” Kris admitted. She hadn’t known, and she hadn’t been all that interested in knowing how tight the shackles were on her legs. It didn’t seem to matter, there was no way to cut the chains.

  And no real reason to try.

  Now she had a reason.

  Jack needed help to get out of his mess. And, apparently, all human space needed to be saved from one of her relatives.

  Oh joy.

  With a promise from Nelly to arrange another meeting soon, they slipped away. The light in the room once again became near nonexistent. Penny went first, her clothes ninja black, and, Kris suspected, absorbing her body heat to make her a hole in the night. Abby went next and vanished before her footsteps were lost in the night.

  Kris and Cara quickly found themselves back on the street, retracing their path to the road across from the park. Cara put her shoulder under Kris’s arms, and the two of them staggered a bit.

  YOU’RE BACK ON THE GRID, Nelly warned Kris. The walk back to quarters went quickly, with Kris trying to absorb all that had been dumped on her.

  She really was a prisoner here.

  Jack was locked away just as tight and had even less of a chance than she did to get out of jail.

  Grampa Al, of all people, was dabbling in politics and alien affairs!

  And none of it got down to the real problem: Kris had started a war with alien hordes, and humanity seemed intent on pretending it hadn’t happened.

  Back in her quarters, Kris played her part. She dutifully apologized to Abby for her black eye . . . and was ignored by her surly maid. She sputtered through a cold shower, griping the whole time at Abby, then let herself be put to bed.

  Only after the lights were turned out did she attempt to contact Nelly.

  CAN WE TALK? Kris asked her computer.

  IF WE DON’T DO TOO MUCH OF IT. I THINK THEY’RE MONITORING MY ELECTRICAL USE AND YOUR BRAIN ACTIVITY.

  CAN THEY DO THAT?

  I WOULD. NOW QUIT WASTING TIME.

  CAN YOU GET ME OFF THIS PLANET THE SAME WAY YOU GOT PENNY HERE?

  NOT LIKELY. WE’LL HAVE TO COME UP WITH SOMETHING ELSE.

  ARE YOU WORKING ON IT?

  OF COURSE, KRIS. IF WE DIDN’T THINK WE HAD A CHANCE, WE NEVER WOULD HAVE LET PENNY BRING MIMZY DOWN HERE.

  Right, of course. Nelly would never needlessly risk one of her kids.

  KRIS, I NEED TO DO SOME OTHER STUFF, AND I CAN’T DO IT AND TALK TO YOU. THAT WAS ONE OF THE REASONS I WASN’T TALKING TO YOU. THAT AND YOU BEING A LUSH. I’LL TALK MORE WHEN I HAVE SOMETHING TO SAY. GOOD NIGHT.

  On that note, Kris rolled over. And found she could not sleep.

  Undulled by alcohol, her mind spun madly through the last five years of her life. Assassination attempts, one after another, flashed before her. And battles—battle after battle with high butcher bills extracted from enemy and friend alike.

  Kris tried squeezing her eyes tighter shut. She did everything she could to drive her skull to blankness.

  Nothing worked.

  Finally, a tiny voice in the back of her head asked, Do you really want to go back to this? Are you crazy enough to think they’re worth saving yet again?

  “No,” Kris shot back to herself. “I’ve never wanted all that. I’m not crazy.”

  Well, you’re sure acting crazy. Look around you. You’re safe here. No one’s taking potshots at you. No one’s asking you to go out and save the world. Hell, Kris, what has saving anything got you but a kick in the gut? Has anyone ever said thank you?

  Kris sighed. This other self had a point.

  I mean, you don’t have to crawl into a bottle, any more than you have to get back onto this damn horse and go charging back out into the bloody slaughter for those ungrateful SOBs. Calm down, girl. Take a deep breath. You can put your time on Madigan’s Rainbow to better use. There’s no reason why you have to gallop out of here and pull their and Grampa Al’s chestnuts out of the fire.

  Kris took that deep breath. She was none too sure where this other self of hers was coming from, but she did have some very good points. Yes, Penny and Abby had risked a lot to get her a chance to bust out, but where was she going?

  Don’t have any idea, do you? that voice pointed out.

  But then you usually don’t have a clue where you’re going and what you’ll do when you get there, another side of Kris joined in from somewhere deep in herself. You don’t know, but somehow you pull the right miraculous rabbit out of your hat. That’s what you do best. Right?

  Yeah, right, came back at her. But you know you’re running out of rabbits. Even Captain Drago said you were scraping the bottom of your rainbow’s pot of gold. How much longer before there’s just no more of you left?

  Kris allowed herself another deep breath. Both her selves were dead-on. And if Kris was honest with herself, her stay-here version was way ahead on points.

  What was there out there for her but more bloody gambles with her own and a whole lot of other people’s lives?

  There’s Jack. Because he got crosswise with those damn Longknifes, they’ve got him locked in a corner. He could be stuck there for the rest of his life unless someone like you lends him a hand, came back at Kris.

  Kris found herself scowling. Nobody put Jack in a corner. Not while she had a say in it. And besides, she wanted Jack. She needed Jack. She even missed fighting with him. She missed bouncing ideas off him. Missed having him bent over a battle board beside her, the smell of him close. His warmth . . .

  Right, his warmth close but never touched. Never touched until she finally did . . . and they carted her away and left him standing there on the dock.

  That decided it for Kris. Not for all humanity. Not for Grampa Al. Certainly not for King Ray. But for Jack. Yes. For Jack, Kris would take this ticket out of her quiet little corner of the universe and see what havoc the morrow brought.

  Kris rolled over to the other side and went to sleep, perchance to dream of Jack.

  4

  Next morning, Kris went about her duties as commander of FastPatRon 127 much the same way she had for the last month, but now her eyes saw what she’d ignored.

  She was most definitely locked away in Siberia.

  Her XO was always at her elbow; she or the leading chief was Kris’s constant shadow. Kris couldn’t go to the head without company. And her duties involved spending a whole lot of time in meetings and even more at her desk, reviewing paperwork.

  Kris had never really commanded a ship. On the Wasp, she had Captain Drago to handle all the administrative details. When she’d commanded PF-109, they’d operated by Hooligan Navy standards and left most of the boring stuff to Commander Mandanti on their tender.

  Did it really take all these reports to run a dozen small ships?

  She’d managed only one jaunt up to the space station to review her twelve fast patrol boats and their crews in person.

  Only one.

  Clearly, someone had heard of the legendary charisma and leadership of those damn Longknifes and was taking no chances that Kris might actually lead her squadron into something that the powers that be didn’t want. Kris had to wonder just how scared they were of her. The fas
t patrol boats were tiny things, powered by small matter/antimatter reactors. No one in their right mind would risk them in star jumps.

  Then again, the Longknife legend didn’t credit Kris’s relatives with much right-mindedness. And Kris’s Navy career to date didn’t show much evidence of one for her either.

  After a morning full of meetings with people who loved the sound of their own voices and weren’t much good at listening, lunch was at the club. With no significant military presence, Madigan’s Rainbow had no officer’s club, but there was one restaurant that doubled as the place for the top managers of Elysian Fields to see and be seen.

  As usual, Kris’s lunch turned into a four-martini affair. Her XO saw that Kris’s glass was refilled anytime it got close to empty.

  DON’T YOU EVEN THINK OF REDUCING YOUR ALCOHOLIC INTAKE, Nelly warned before Kris could do just that.

  Kris did manage to leave some slop in the bottom of the fourth.

  HIT THE HEAD, Nelly ordered cryptically, as Kris headed back to work.

  Kris excused herself from her XO, who suddenly manifested a need for the same stop.

  THIRD STALL.

  Kris went to it.

  FEEL INSIDE THE TOILET-PAPER DISPENSER.

  Kris made to get some paper to blow her nose . . . and found a small vial with an easy open lid, something like those used for eye drops.

  KEEP IT HIDDEN, BUT PUT A DROP ON YOUR FINGER, AND PUT IT ON THE BACK OF YOUR TONGUE.

  Kris did—and was immediately and violently sick.

  KEEP THAT HANDY, Nelly said. GOOD-BYE.

  A moment later, Kris sheepishly cleaned out her mouth and washed her face under the eyes of her watchdog XO.

  “I guess I can’t hold my liquor like I used to,” Kris said.

  “Maybe you ought to check in with the clinic. Any chance you could be pregnant?”

  Kris laughed at the thought. “Even Longknifes need a man for that, and, no, my last assignment was a tad too busy for anything like that.”

  The XO had made a point of not wanting to know anything about Kris’s last mission. So had everyone else Kris ran into.

  Everyone.

  First night on planet, Kris had wandered into a karaoke bar and hit upon an idea. She signed up for a stint singing.

  Once Kris got her hands on the mike, she didn’t sing a note, but started laying out for all what she’d seen and done.

  At least Kris had tried.

  She hadn’t gotten three words out before four burly men appeared out of nowhere and grabbed her. A smaller man got his hands on the mike and started singing off-key, while the others hustled her out the back door of the bar.

  A calm-looking little guy in a suit smoking something joined them in the dark alley. He finished his smoke while eyeing Kris, then flicked the butt at her.

  “Don’t ever try that again,” he said. “Next time, my associate will get to play with you a lot more. A whole lot more.” He turned on his heels and left. A minute later, the four guys let go of Kris and seemed to vanish into thin air.

  Kris was left shaking. She was shocked that she had been taken so easily. Anger and frustration filled her at what had been done to her. Barely able to stand, she stumbled down the street and into the bar that became her regular.

  She found herself drinking as she thought over her problems. Then she found herself just drinking because she had problems.

  In the end, she just drank.

  Afternoons at the squadron had always been a blur to Kris. After a four-martini lunch, how could it be otherwise? Today, her XO brought her the usual pile of reports she said Kris needed to read. Kris had a dim recollection of losing herself in them.

  Today, she read. They were long, detailed reports on ships boarded and health, safety, and drug inspections conducted by her boats. Cargo manifests were carefully reviewed and containers checked with contents verified. New passenger arrivals, their qualifications, and future jobs were all here, as well as who was vouching for them and the duration of their contracts. They were usually for thirty years plus.

  Why am I reading all this junk?

  Right, she was reading it because her subordinate told her she had to, and she didn’t know better. Or have anything better to do.

  Kris started to throw the thick printouts across the room.

  Then thought better of it.

  NELLY, IS THIS ROOM BUGGED?

  FOUR VISUAL, FOUR ELECTROMAGNETIC, AND EIGHT AUDIO. DON’T TALK TO ME.

  Kris put a dazed look back on her face and continued slowly thumbing through the reports. On the last page of each, she scrawled her signature as illegibly as she could manage. It was all a blur, but that was how Kris thought she’d been doing it.

  Fifteen minutes before quitting time, her XO came in to review Kris’s work, say some nice things, and take away the stack. It was enough to make Kris vomit without using her little bottle.

  “Here’s a list of ships coming in over the next couple of days,” the XO said, slipping a flimsy onto Kris’s desk in place of the pile she removed. “There should be no problem. Our ships will intercept each one of them close to the jump point and escort them to the station.”

  Kris nodded at the banality. Security was tight here, even she remembered hearing this all before. FastPatRon 127 was Coast Guard and Drug Enforcement, immigration control, and a whole lot of other stuff. What it wasn’t was a fighting unit. If anyone ever threw so much as a harsh word in FastPatRon 127’s direction, her captains wouldn’t know what to do about it.

  This was all wrong . . . and it was Kris’s job to make it right . . . but no one wanted anything changed.

  No wonder she was drinking again.

  As her XO left, Kris put on her blues blouse and followed her. It was early, but Kris always left early. Kris gave her commanding subordinate a bleary smile and stumbled off.

  “Royal Pain is gone for the day,” was the last thing Kris heard as the door closed slowly behind her. Kris wondered who the report was directed to. Nelly could probably tell her but wouldn’t. There was no need for Kris to know.

  All that mattered was how good they were and if they were better than Nelly.

  Kris swallowed a feral grin.

  No one was better than Nelly.

  At her usual place, her usual stool was empty. Her usual bottle was already open with her usual shot glass in place. Kris imagined that somewhere, someone was running a tab for her and sending a bill to Nelly to pay.

  There were too many invisible fingers in this stew.

  It had to change.

  A silent hour later, Kris had polished off a fifth of her liter, and excused herself to the ladies’ room to get rid of it before it did too much damage to her alertness tonight.

  Two hours and another pit stop later, Cara showed up. She gaily ordered a Shirley Temple “with three cherries.” While the barkeep was busy making it, Kris managed to slip a drop of her “medicine” down her throat.

  As the bartender delivered Cara’s drink, Kris was explosively sick right there on the bar.

  Cara said “Eew” and removed herself a few stools over to enjoy her own nonalcoholic drink. Especially the cherries. Kris made insincere apologies to the barkeep as he cleaned up her mess.

  He was very likely one of her keeps. He deserved all she could do to mess with his day.

  Only when Cara had most sincerely enjoyed her drink did she offer to take Kris off the bartender’s hands. He had several things to say about that, none at all nice.

  Kris managed to upchuck her last drink with no help from her little vile of bile.

  Cara and Kris staggered forth with only vituperations filling the air behind them.

  The trip home was disappointingly dull. Still, Kris managed to spend a good half hour in the park. The stockholders had imported samples of most of the surviving songbirds of Earth. Kris was pretty sure that, if they could have managed it, they would have caged the birds for their sole pleasure. But the birds sang best when free, so as sunset came on, they sang
in the park for rich and poor alike.

  Kris was painfully reminded of how the world came alive again for her younger self after Grampa Trouble sobered her up.

  How could she have let herself crawl back into the bottle?

  Well, she’d had some serious weights dragging her down and some serious help pushing her in. If only Nelly or someone would tell her what was coming down. She hated being treated like a kid again—shuffled from here to there with no idea of why.

  When Cara said it was time to go, Kris went.

  Abby ordered a shower to clean Kris up, then washed her hair of the stink left behind by throwing up on the bar. A hair wash from Abby was a sensual delight, from the smell of the shampoos she used to the kneading of her hands on Kris’s scalp. Kris felt herself coming alive some more.

  She still regretted the deaths of all those who’d followed her into hell and failed to come back to things like brilliant sunsets, chirping birds, and tingling shampoos.

  They deserved better than they got.

  But there was nothing Kris could do to make that up to them. Killing herself, or just living dead, would add or subtract nothing from their fate.

  However, finding out what Grampa Al was up to might, just might, keep a whole lot more people from being added to the long list of dead that Longknifes were responsible for.

  Kris went to bed with no objections. She occupied her falling asleep with memories of some of the more spectacular fights between her and Jack.

  She let herself linger on those few moments when they shared that kiss, and fell asleep dreaming of more kisses to come.

  5

  “You afraid of the dark, claustrophobic, or would you mind suffocating to death?” Abby asked as she woke Kris up in the dark of the night.

  The clock on Kris’s night table said it was 2:00 A.M.

  “I was kind of hoping not to die for a long, long time,” Kris muttered.

  “Right, I’ve heard the joke. In some other woman’s bed with some other woman’s husband. Quick. We don’t have much time. Get in this.”