Intrepid

''Actually, it's what we both don't know,'' Kris replied. ''What do you know about the latest alliances among the city-states of New Jerusalem?''

''I didn't even know they had city-states,'' said Gramma Polska. ''What kind of alliances do they have?''

''Ever-shifting ones,'' Kris put in quickly. ''I'm not sure Lieutenant Pasley is all that up to date on who's switched to whom and who's trying to gain power or afraid of losing it. That alone would be a full-time job.''

Penny rolled her eyes to heaven. Around the barn a lot more people frowned at each other. Faced with the idea that even a Longknife might not know everything, it began to dawn on them that they might not know it all either.

And what they didn't know just might hurt them.

''But here's the deal, folks. Let's say that a story comes back to Jerusalem, that a bunch of Godless barbarian hicks on this out-of-the-way planet just slaughtered most of a battalion of the Lord's Ever Victorious Host,'' Kris started.

To be interrupted by, ''We're God-fearing Christians, here.''

''Ah,'' Kris said, raising a finger to make the point. ''But are you the right kind of believer? Or is your kind of Christian just as much an infidel as the prays-five-times-a-day Turk?'' Murmurs slipped around the barn as the situation on Jerusalem was hashed over, and everyone came to terms with a whole different take on reality.

''What do you think might happen to us if we used the blood and bones of these invaders to manure our crops?'' Bobby Joe asked.

''Maybe nothing,'' Kris said. ''Only a fool tells you she knows exactly what anyone is going to do. And a planet with a billion people?'' Kris threw up her arms. ''After all, look what someone told Cortez about how easy it would be to take down Panda. ‘They're only farmers.' ''

The barn got real quiet.

Kris spoke her next words softly. Folks leaned forward to better hear her. ''If you look at old Earth's bloodiest periods, there are several patterns that repeat. One is missionaries come. Missionaries get killed. Army comes. Houses and crops get burned. Natives get killed. And the flag comes last. Suddenly a whole lot of local folks find themselves with an empress or kaiser or president they never voted for.

''Oh, and your women. I got some of them toting guns along with the rest of your troops. That's a no-no. Can't work outside the home, and the same no-no with their clothes. A dress. A long dress, covering them from neck to toe. Oh, and a scarf or something on the head. Always.''

The barn didn't stay quiet after that. Kris turned back to her team to let the farmers talk it out among themselves.

''How much of that did you make up?'' Jack asked from behind a hand over his mouth.

''None, I think,'' Kris said. ''In high school I did a paper on New Jerusalem.'' Kris shivered. ''I couldn't believe anyone would choose to live like that. I felt like I had to write it out to try to understand it.''

''You understand it?'' Gunny asked.

''Nope,'' Kris said.

The barn slowly settled down to a dull roar. It stayed that way until Bobby Joe Fronour stood. He got silence.

''Folks, forty years ago, I started this here planet. I didn't much like folks telling me what to do, and I've lived to see it fill up with folks like me. I set it up figuring on certain things,'' he said, looking around at the people gathered in the barn, and clearly proud of what he saw.

''I figured if anything I couldn't handle came along, we together could handle it. Well, it looks like something bigger than that has come our way, and I want you to know that I'm mighty glad to have the help of this young Longknife whelp.''

Kris had been called many things. This was a first time for whelp. Kris wasn't all that sure it was meant to be endearing. Quite a few listeners laughed.

Bobby Joe turned to Kris. ''Mind you, I'm none too sure you'll mosey on your way when you're done here or that you and I will see eye to eye about when that golden moment may be.''

Kris did her best at a dramatic sigh. ''So I'll be adding another to the list of planets where I've been thanked but told not to come back.''

''Yes,'' he said, deadly serious. ''I imagine that's a hard way to live. But you're the one doing it, not me.''

For a moment, Kris tasted the loneliness of what her life would be like for someone so rooted to the fields and dirt.

For a moment, Kris felt the emptiness of her life.

She shook her head, willed away the emotions. People depended on her. That was enough.

''Okay, young Longknife, tell us what you would have us do.'' And with those words, the old farmer sat back down.

The barn held its collective breath.

Kris took a moment to let all that she'd heard and felt soak through her … and out of her. Done, she squared her shoulders, and said, ''I want all of you to accept the surrender of anyone willing to throw down his rifle and put his hands up. I want you to respect any white flag, handkerchief, call of camaradine, quarter, or ‘for God's sake, I quit.' ''