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  “No doubt you’ve heard worse,” Kris said.

  “Yes, from Sailors and Marines, but from your own grandfather?” Nelly sniffed.

  “Well, if he questioned my parentage and DNA, he ought to know more about it than I do,” Kris said through a wicked grin.

  Kris planned to spend the morning at Mac’s office, looking into the specifics of what ships and Marines she could subvert to her own ends. A new nanny showed to cover the morning shift. Mai Tiamat was short and fair-skinned, the opposite of Akumaa, though her hair was raven black and down to her waist in a plaited ponytail. She had Ruthie efficiently ready and joined Kris and Jack as they went down the stairs.

  Senior Chief Agent in Charge Foile was there with Leslie. “I have a full team in place, and we will follow a random series of streets between here and Main Navy.”

  “Fine. What’s our threat level today?” Jack asked.

  “We have tracked down the source of our trouble,” Foile said. “It seems, Your Highness, that someone has put a rather large sum of money on your head. They want you dead. Period.”

  “Any idea who?” Kris asked.

  “No idea,” the agent said. “Though if I were a betting man, I’d put all my money on the stepmother. Isn’t it always the stepmother in fairy tales?”

  “This hardly feels like a fairy tale,” Kris muttered, as Jack opened the door of their limo for her. Leslie was helping Ruthie and Mai in the other door.

  “Though it’s certainly grim enough,” Nelly put in.

  “Lousy joke, girl,” Kris said.

  “But appropriate,” Jack added.

  The drive to Main Navy involved a lot of turns but no surprises. Jack remarked on that.

  “Mahomet’s night shift did defuse a roadside bomb that showed up out of nowhere,” Leslie said. “They chased down a half dozen trucks that had driven by between sweeps. Five stopped and made nice.”

  “And the other?” Jack asked.

  “Was abandoned and burning in a back alley. It was reported stolen yesterday afternoon.”

  “Damn the money,” Kris muttered.

  Field Marshal McMorrison was expecting them; he even seemed to know what they wanted to talk about.

  “We have eight frigates, er, battlecruisers, which have just finished working up. The Princess Royal, Intrepid, Courageous, Furious, Resolute, Defender, Steadfast, and Monarch are almost ready for you.”

  “We’ve got several ships with those names on Alwa Station,” Kris pointed out.

  “I know we sent them out there, but we figured they must have been lost by now,” the field marshal said.

  “They have been,” Kris admitted, “but we built replacements.”

  “You’re actually building ships?”

  “Once you’ve got the basic kernel of the ship, you can grow one rather quickly.”

  “Really?” Mac said, frowning. “And Al Longknife insists it’s such a tough job to put together one of the new Smart Metal battlecruisers.”

  “Nelly, do we have the procedure Admiral Benson uses to grow a ship?”

  “I did manage to get his computer to part with them before we left,” Nelly said as smoothly as if her mouth could melt butter.

  “Let me have them,” Mac said. “The Navy still has some shipyards of our own, and there are several places we can buy that newfangled Smart Metal. Let’s see if we can show old Al a thing or two . . . and get some money back from him while we’re at it.”

  “You may have all the fun with Grampa Al that you want,” Kris said. “Just keep him out of my hair.”

  “Speaking of your hair, would you happen to know how it happened that I got four unrequested bids for adding crystal armor to those eight frigates, I mean battlecruisers, that you’re taking into Greenfeld space?”

  “I may have had Nelly post on the net the process for armoring a battlecruiser with crystal.”

  Kris couldn’t tell whether Mac was delighted or appalled. Likely, he was a bit of both. He did get a coughing fit that had him grabbing for a glass of water.

  “God, I don’t know how you Longknifes keep from killing each other,” he finally got out.

  “Probably because the Peterwalds keep hogging the head of the line,” Kris said, daintily.

  “No doubt. Is that crystal cladding all it’s cracked up to be?”

  “Mac, it saved a lot of lives in the last couple of run-ins with the alien monsters. The Earth squadrons lost ships because their stuff was not manufactured to our quality standards and not fitted properly to their ships’ hulls. Armored, I still lost ships, but it cut my losses at least in half, maybe by three-quarters.”

  “Then we need to get your ships docked for cladding,” Mac said.

  “Admiral Benson’s yard teams came up with a fast way to clad the battlecruisers that didn’t need a dock. It’s all in the package. How many did you say were bidding for the work?”

  “Al, two other yards I trust, and one fly-by-night that just came off being listed for no government work for some shenanigan they pulled last year.”

  “If you could,” Jack said, “keep that last one on restriction for a bit longer. I don’t want my wife depending on the lowest bidder if you can manage it.”

  “I think I can do that,” Mac said. “That would give four to Al and two each to these others.”

  “And if the other two can do the upgrade as quickly as I think they can, you’ll have a baseline you can use to keep Al honest,” Kris said.

  With that decision made, Kris got out of Mac’s way and let him do his best for her. She chose to spend her time wandering the halls, refreshing old friendships and getting a feel for the way the wind was blowing.

  Lunch was in Field Marshal McMorrison’s private dining room and attended by several senior Navy officers. They wanted to know firsthand how things were on Alwa Station.

  “I turned in a full set of reports as soon as we docked yesterday,” Kris said.

  “I stayed up all night reading them,” Commander, Battle Force said. “I didn’t see anywhere that your battlecruisers are following battle-line doctrine.”

  “She’s not using her frigates,” CruDes Forces pointed out, being careful to use the earlier name for Kris’s ships, “like liners. They’re more like independent destroyers.”

  Kris had no trouble finishing her meal while the two of them carried on their own, doubtlessly familiar, battle. Finished, Kris excused herself to attend to Ruthie.

  Her departure was hardly noticed.

  Jack ducked out a moment later and trotted to catch up with Kris. “You’d think they’d want to talk to an experienced combat commander,” he said.

  “You’d think that, but more than likely, you’d be wrong.”

  “Yeah,” Jack said. “They can’t allow for actual experience to interfere with their own ignorance.”

  “Not when it might impact their budget.”

  “You sure you want to come back here and become a staff weenie?”

  Kris shrugged. “Somebody has to, or some alien mother ship could show up in Wardhaven’s sky and those clowns wouldn’t have the foggiest idea how to fight it.”

  “Yeah,” Jack said. “Yeah.”

  They were back to Nuu House safe and sound long before their next meeting got under way.

  12

  Kris rocked Ruthie softly as she rested her eyes out the window of the nursery on the roadway between the gate and the house. A whole lot of people were coming to see her.

  Ensign Meg Longknife was laying out a new blues uniform and switching the ribbons to it under Jack’s watchful eye. Akumaa had Ruthie sound asleep, so Kris hadn’t had a chance to feed her at Main Navy. She’d awoken hungry on the drive home.

  Thus, Kris’s breasts got painfully full and leaked. “There are a few things about this mommyhood thing that weren’t mentioned in th
e manual that came with Ruthie,” Kris muttered.

  Strange, everyone around her kept very quiet as she groused. Smart of them if they wanted to keep their heads from being bitten off.

  Cleaned up, and once again presentable, Kris had Nelly put in a call to Senior Chief Agent in Charge Foile. “Did you do a background check on all these people?”

  “All of them had been fully vetted for their jobs. We did check to see if anyone suddenly had debts or income changes. They all came back clean.”

  That was good, but Kris had hardly rung off when Jack asked softly “Honey, do you think now would be a good time to see if you can fit into your spidersilk underarmor?”

  “No, it would not be a good time to try. I know how many pounds I’m still carrying,” Kris snapped, but stopped short of snapping off heads.

  “There was a small package delivered this morning,” Meg put in. “It’s from your Great-grandmother Tordon. Have I met her yet?”

  “That’s Gramma Trouble,” Kris said, and almost leapt for the wrapped box on the table. Jack put out a restraining hand to her elbow. He retrieved the box and took it out into the hall and down to the bathroom.

  “It’s spider silks in a larger size, honey,” came back a moment later.

  Which left Kris to undress again and wiggle into the abysmally tight things while feeling every extra ounce she’d gained in the last nine months. At least she could do it in the bathroom, away from eyes she didn’t want to be embarrassed by or to tell her nice things she didn’t believe. Dressed again, she rejoined Jack, and, feeling safer than she had in weeks, went out to see what there was to see.

  The second-floor conference room had been reserved for this meeting. Kris saw that metal detectors had been set up at the door. They buzzed as she and Jack walked in wearing their ribbon racks and carrying their service automatics.

  But they’re here to protect me, so that’s okay.

  A large zoo of eyes followed Jack and her as they headed for the two empty chairs at the head of the table. Kris could imagine they were taking her measure and refused to think about the conclusions they drew.

  Seated, Kris looked around the table. It was easy to identify the three primaries. They sat back, maybe a bit more relaxed than those beside them. Around those three were eighteen at the table and on the edge of their seats, ready to jump at the slightest whim. Twenty or more sat alertly along the wall, backing up those at the table. All told, Kris counted over forty people in the room. Several of Foile’s agents were left at the door.

  My meetings keep getting bigger and bigger.

  Kris cleared her throat. “I have plenty of experience blowing shit up and killing people. It seems now that I must find a way to stop some people from blowing shit up and killing each other. Hopefully, before one of them succeeds in killing me.”

  Blank faces around the room took in her words, and realized, likely for the first time, that this latest challenge might not be as safe as their normal daily affairs.

  “I know that there have been many attempts on your life, Your Highness,” said one tall, middle-aged man Kris had identified as a primary.

  “But twice since I got off the boat yesterday is a bit much, even for me,” Kris answered before he got to the question.

  Now eyebrows did rise in concern as heads swung from one side to the other, taking a poll of their friends and measuring the distance for a run to the door.

  Kris was not unfamiliar with this reaction. It had just been a while.

  “There are three groups of you here. You all come recommended to me. You all bring different perspectives to our problem. I would prefer to have all three of you with me. Grampa Trouble thinks that together, you give us more of a chance to succeed. However, you may want to assess the risk you are willing to take. Talk it over among yourselves and let me know when you’ve made up your minds, as one group, or three.”

  Finished, Kris stood, turned her back on their discussion, and walked over to one of the windows that opened on a view of the lovely gardens. That was where Penny had gotten married. Kris smiled at the memory. Too bad she and Tommy had had so little time together.

  Tommy got too close to this damn Longknife, she thought bitterly.

  Kris looked over her shoulder, at where forty some people were earnestly negotiating just how much they were willing to risk to follow this damn Longknife. She doubted that any of them ever expected to be in collateral-damage range of a bomb during the normal to and fro of their daily duties.

  Kris turned back to the view. The trees were turning all sorts of lovely colors. She’d likely miss winter if this mediation process took very long.

  Jack came up beside her, two mugs of tea in his hands. Kris took the one offered her. “Chamomile?” she asked.

  “What else would I bring?”

  She smiled and turned again to the view.

  Kris heard the crack of the glass as the bullet shattered it.

  13

  Jack grabbed for her, but Kris was already going down, folding her legs under herself. Of course, scorching-hot tea was flying every which way.

  Kris could feel the scalding of the tea but no pain yet from the bullet. She took no comfort from that; she’d been hit often enough to know that the agony came later.

  There was the report of another shot, and suddenly Kris was covered with nuggets of glass. The window had held for the first round; the glass failed as the second shot hit.

  A chilly breeze wafted through the empty window.

  Kris dropped flat on her back, covering her eyes with her arms to protect them from more chunks of glass. Jack covered her with his body.

  She knew he always would.

  Somewhere, someone was screaming. Kris turned her head; one of the eager secondaries had a fountain of blood pulsing from her neck.

  Not good. Kris tried to roll out from under Jack. Strange how a man could be so light on her body when they were making love but be so heavy when he wanted to pin her to the deck.

  “Jack,” Kris snapped.

  “I know. Stay down,” he said, cutting her off.

  “Radar has backtracked the bullets to a knoll nine hundred and fifty meters from the house,” Nelly reported. “A team has been dispatched.”

  “We need medics up here. Now! Major trauma,” Kris bit out.

  “Emergency Services have been notified,” Nelly said. “We have a small trauma team on-site. More on the way.”

  The door opened, and two emergency-medical techs monkey-walked low through it with a backboard and medical box dragged between them. A woman in a white lab coat followed, crawling on her hands and knees.

  One of the people at the table had been trying to stop the bleeding with his handkerchief. Now a med tech took over.

  The doctor pulled a packet from the kit. It provided her with a scalpel and clamps. She lengthened the bloody hole enough so she could clamp off one end of the jugular vein, followed by the other.

  “Okay, folks, we’ve really messed up the blood flow. Let’s do this fast.”

  One med tech had already pulled out a plastic-wrapped tube, sticky extensions at both ends. The other tech unclasped the lower part of the wound but tried to keep it closed with his fingers. Still, blood flowed from the exposed, ragged edge. The doctor slapped the tube onto that exposed end of the jugular and taped it down. She let blood in and sighed as blood did not spurt out from the glued-down part. There was leakage.

  “Andy, extra tape,” she said, and turned to the other end. They repeated the process, and a moment later, blood was flowing through the tube, now twisted into a slight U but holding.

  As she slapped a bandage over the entire space, she growled, “Is this still a live shooting gallery?”

  From outside the door came Foile’s voice. “We had the shooter in custody, but she took poison, so there’ll be no one to talk to. Sorry, Your Highne
ss.”

  “I’m sure you will have more chances to catch a live one,” Kris said.

  But attention was focused still on the medical heroes. Two more med techs brought a gurney in. The blood-covered young woman was transferred gently to it, then lifted up.

  “There’s an elevator down the hall,” one of the original med techs said, and led the way.

  “A chopper is inbound, three minutes out,” came from Ensign Longknife, still out in the hall.

  “Anyone else hurt?” the doctor asked.

  “One more,” Jack said.

  Kris looked around and saw nothing. She’d shed her dress blues blouse and with it the scalding tea. She was fine.

  Jack reached over and touched her face. His finger came away with blood on it.

  “It is just a scratch,” Kris insisted, then switched to business mode. “There is a large room in the basement. We can stand around safely there while some Marines scrounge up some tables and chairs.”

  “Only after they’ve made sure this wasn’t the first of a multiphased assassination attempt,” Jack said.

  “I think we can conduct our business standing up. I’ve done some of my work at the bottom of a mine shaft,” was said with a dry chuckle by an older shorter man. “The third-generation owner had never actually seen what it took to make him his money.”

  Others agreed, so they all trooped downstairs. with one med tech at Kris’s elbow, doing his best to care for her scratches.

  14

  Kris found herself in a storage room that looked a lot smaller than it had the last time she had played hide-and-seek with Honovi and Eddy. The unused bar she’d disappeared behind was still there. Now she sat atop it while the med tech did what she would let him.

  Finished, he put away his gear. “You should have a cosmetic surgeon take a look at that one on your chin,” he said. “It’s a coin flip if it should be stitched. I take it you won’t go to the hospital.”

  “You got that one right,” Kris said.

  The med tech whispered something about “those damn Longknifes” as he finished his packing.