Audacious

10

Kris had known intense moments in battles to cause it, that heightening of awareness that let you take everything in but no time seemed to pass. How often had Kris joked about her social life being like a battle?

Now she had battle awareness right in the middle of the ballroom floor.

Victoria Smythe-Peterwald looked so much like her brother. The same flashing blue eyes, perfect skin, rigid set of jaw. The white dress was skimpy up top, barely covering a set of boobs Kris would kill for. Original equipment or after-sale add-ons? No way to tell. Vicky was supposed to be totally natural, no genetic engineering, due to a slip up in her birth.

Hank was a totally engineered product, implanted in the womb. Vicky was a natural blowby that should have never made it to birth…but here she was.

Those cold blue eyes were full of raw determination. No, this woman would not be easily dismissed.

The gown looked painted on. It flowed over more curves than the law should allow. Men were going to be easily distracted around this woman. Pity them, Kris decided. At the floor, a flair of faux fur covered her feet. Maybe they were too big?

Even as Kris took in the outer display of the woman, she also checked the backup. Three alert men and a woman looked to be clearly in Victoria's orbit.

At least we're even there. While Vicky's weren't Marines, Kris suspected they'd make up in pure viciousness what they lacked in honor and field craft.

Outside the bubble of Kris and Vicky, beyond their guards, the room fell quiet, grew expectant. So we're Ms. Broadmore's floor show. Let's not keep the paying customers waiting.

Kris extended her hand. ''I am glad to make your acquaintance'' seemed like a good, neutral start.

Vicky took Kris's hand in a surprisingly strong grip. Like some men, she then tried to twist it, put her hand on top, Kris's on bottom. Kris was not about to send submissive signals. Her hand stayed where she had it, thumb up, little finger down. Kris could feel her knuckles going white. Vicky's dainty pale hand went pink.

It was Victoria who broke the shake.

Vicky spat, ''You killed my brother.'' So much for chitchat.

''I really don't think I did,'' Kris said, as matter-of-factly as she could. ''His brand-new cruiser was blasting away at my ship. I admit I returned the favor as well as my eighty-year-old command could. It was his choice to start shooting.''

''What, and leave you with all that alien technology you'd stumbled upon? Let you Longknifes make a fortune and cut the rest of us out?'' Vicky could teach a cobra how to spit.

''I told Hank before he started shooting that he was rattling off a pipe dream. No way my family could hog all that. Or would want to. Look at what is going on as we speak. Half the universities in human space have staff in those two systems. Most every major and a whole lot of minor corporations are trying to figure out what they have. ‘Trying,' being the operative word. Last I heard, they don't know squat. You heard differently?''

''That doesn't change the fact. You shot up a Greenfeld ship and my brother died.''

How much of the woman's anger was that Kris had ''shot up a Greenfeld ship,'' and how much was because her ''brother died''? And I thought my family had interesting dynamics.

Kris shook her head. ''He should have lived through that battle.'' Then she added, ''I did.''

''Count your days, Longknife. Count your days.''

Even as Kris snapped back the first thing that came to her mouth, she knew it was a mistake. ''They'll be long and happy if you don't send anyone better than the ones you hired last night.''

Oops, that lovely pale skin, milk white to begin with, was now showing red from—was that a nipple peeking out—to her cheeks. So, Vicky, you have a temper to go with that red hair. Better learn to control it, girl.

''That was none of my doing. Some junior employee's idea of a welcoming present for his boss's daughter. He's no longer in our employ. He's paid for his mistake.''

Kris tried to gauge whether that last comment referred to losing his job or something worse. Kris wouldn't bet the poor fellow was still breathing. Now don't get all sympathetic for the guy who tried to kill you last night, a small voice in the back of Kris's head warned her.

But in my line of work, you got to love the ones that miss, the imp in Kris shot back to her more cautious self.

''I suspect I'll be seeing you around,'' Kris said, as offhandedly as she could manage and turned her back on the second deadliest woman in the room.

In the end, Vicky could spit her venom all she wanted. It was Kris who had been there, done that, and buried way too many of both the good and the bad.

''That was educational,'' Jack whispered at her side.

''I hope Ms. Broadmore enjoyed the show,'' Kris whispered back. ''Nelly, we will not be accepting any more of Ms. Broadmore's invitations. The ambassador can hang himself before I'll make another trip to this snake pit.''

But Kris could not—would not—cut and run. And the senior representative of Nuu Enterprises on Eden was right there, with his wife, ready to glom on to Kris's elbow. They exchanged chat about the weather…it was going to get hotter as spring turned into summer. That was comforting news. He also deftly guided her around several business associates whom he said she might find interesting.

One had a daughter at his elbow. In her senior year at Eden U., she looked to Kris for support for her decision to join the Navy. Both father and mother were shaking their heads as the words tumbled over their daughter's lips.

''These are interesting times,'' Kris said. ''And if we don't all share the burden evenly…'' She left that thought for the parents to finish. ''Besides, a couple of years with the colors will be educational. I know they have been for me.''

''Assuming you and Karen survive the experience,'' the father put in, tight-lipped.

''What doesn't kill us, makes us stronger,'' Karen offered.

''You're too young to realize what you're saying,'' the mother shot back.

Kris beat a retreat from an argument she was not likely to resolve. Her own mother and father were still not happy about her career choice.

Nearly an hour later, Kris withdrew to a tiny table. She edged her feet out of her shoes. How could something so small be so painful to wear?

As she mulled that reality of her life, she eyed the room. She'd managed to keep most of it between her and Vicky even as they circulated. The orchestra, a full-size one no less, had launched itself into dance tunes shortly after the shoot-out between Vicky and Kris.

The woman in the flyaway apparel—Kris could not think of it as a ball gown—and the long line of men waiting to see what the view was up close, held down the center of the dance floor. As long as Kris kept Vicky's white dress behind that zoo, they were in no danger of a second battle.

Maybe the almost-not-dressed woman was not an accident of personal choice. Would Ms. Broadmore go so far as to hire a professional stripper to be a control rod to keep her party below nuclear meltdown? Interesting question.

Kris edged her toes back into Abby's torture device and prepared to prove she would not flinch first. Not her.

A voice came from behind her. ''So, did you kill that poor girl's brother?''