Intrepid

Vicky studied them for a long moment. Kris let the silence stretch. She was learning that more often than not more was learned in the quiet between words than was ever conveyed by them. Now she waited for the young Peterwald woman to show she was learning … or not.

''Explain yourself. I would have thought that a commodore was safer, more powerful.'' Vicky paused for a moment. ''As an ensign I sure don't feel any power. Or very safe.''

Kris eyed Krätz. He shook his head. ''I can offer only advice. You have walked in her shoes and survived. You can speak to her from experience.''

Now Kris put her own napkin down and pushed back from the table. Beside her Jack did the same. Around them, the security people turned their chairs to face out, giving them as much privacy as their station and the risk factor allowed.

''A commodore does seem to have a lot of power … if he or she knows how to use it. Captain, did Hank know how to use the power of a commodore?''

The captain shook his head. ''Sadly no. He played with the power, but he neither understood it nor knew how to wield it.''

''That was my observation, too,'' Kris said. ''Captain, how long have you been preparing to command a cruiser?''

''Ensign to command captain, twenty years,'' Krätz said, ''including two years commanding a destroyer, Your Highness.''

''How long had Hank worn the uniform?''

''Four months when he died.''

''That, Vicky, is what killed your brother. Power he didn't know how to use. You're an ensign. Do you have any power?''

''Painfully little.''

''Are you able to use it properly?''

Now Vicky turned to face her commanding officer. ''I am learning to be a very good assistant communication officer.''

''You are,'' he agreed.

Vicky turned back to Kris. ''Are you saying that it's better to do a job you know how to do than fake doing a job you can't handle?''

''I think so.''

''I paid good money to get a copy of your file. It sure doesn't look like you practice what you preach.''

Beside Kris, Jack snorted. ''Amen to that.''

''Whose side are you on?'' Kris asked, elbowing Jack.

''The side of me staying alive,'' he said.

Kris got serious. ''You bought my file. You read it. Did an analyst explain it to you?''

''I just got the file.''

''Captain, you might walk her through it. You can explain to her where I was just bleeding lucky and where maybe I had a little help from my friends.''

''Would you, sir?'' Vicky asked, sounding like a boot ensign talking to her superior officer for the first time that evening.

''My orders are to educate you. To help you stay alive and learn. I think that could be considered part of my job. Though I warn you, your father probably would not consider Kris Longknife a proper role model for his daughter.''

''I don't think any father would consider me a good role model,'' Kris said dryly.

''Certainly not for any of my daughters,'' Captain Krätz agreed. ''But I remind you, Ensign Peterwald, anyone without dumb Longknife luck would have died a dozen times doing what is recorded in that file. And no, none would have occurred while you were paying the piper.''

Vicky looked very thoughtful as they finished their dinner.

Done, Captain Krätz stood. But before he turned to leave, he gave Kris an informal bow. ''I believe your file says that your first skipper was a Captain Thorpe?''

''Yes,'' Kris said, avoiding adding anything more.

''He is no longer serving in the Wardhaven Navy.''

''I believe not,'' Kris said, trying not to sound evasive.

''I ran into him recently. He has hired on with a merchant shipping line that is providing irregular service to ports out beyond the Rim. Are you aware of these illegal colonies?''

''I've visited a few. Never ran into Captain Thorpe.''

''I understand such shipping lines are the main prey of the pirates. I hope nothing happens to your former captain.''

''So do I,'' Kris said, not sure exactly what she was being told or how she felt about it.

Outside the restaurant, Jack leaned close to Kris's ear. ''How much you want to bet me you are going to regret helping that young woman stay alive?''

That was a bet Kris was not willing to take.

7

Four hours with lawyers experienced in what passed for a modern, up-to-date legal system on Cuzco, and Kris was missing Chance's nice informal approach to the law.

While Kris had blown Compton's bridge and all its watch standards to kingdom come, and with it the ship's papers, what was left of the hulk still told a tale. The reactors had the serial numbers stamped on them by Westinghouse. That company's database said they had been installed on the Big Bad Bustard, presently under Lorna Do registry. Its last-known port of call had been Nobel Pride six months ago.

A fast message to the port authority there brought back a ship's bill of lading and, suddenly, the containers were talking, and the cargo was matching up … some of it.

Some containers were missing and some new ones had been added. Apparently Nobel Pride had not been the last port of call.