Audacious

23

Captain DeVar moved them out as quickly and smartly as Kris expected of a Marine. Kris only tossed two monkey wrenches into his well-ordered plan.

Kris might not have been perforated by the darts, but she was quickly coming to feel like she'd been worked over with a baseball bat. Several of them. Despite the pain, there were things Kris had to do while the moment was right.

''Captain, assign your best electronic tech to that pile of wreckage,'' Kris ordered, though gritted teeth, managing to give the auto-gun a limp wave.

''Already in the works,'' Captain DeVar snapped.

''Nelly, get Chief Beni down here. I don't want that auto-gun vanishing without us getting a complete workup on it.''

''Definitely will do. Now, ma'am, I want you out of here,'' the good captain insisted.

''Take me over there on the way out,'' Kris insisted. ''By those women at that table.''

With an exasperated sigh, the captain waved the stretcher bearers in that direction.

Hotel employees were busily rolling out tables and setting up chairs around them for the well-heeled customers who were not bleeding out on the carpet. Kris pointed her bearers at what she suspected was the first table up. What else could explain why both Ms. Broadmore and Marta Whitebread allowed themselves to collapse around the same table.

''Was this another attempt to kill you,'' Ms. Broadmore demanded. Clearly, in her mind, Kris bore full responsibility for this disruption of her art show.

''Probably,'' Kris admitted with a sigh. ''And I didn't get a chance to buy a thing.''

''None of us did.'' Marta scowled.

From the glare both women aimed at Kris she suspected her name was rapidly plunging toward the bottom of the list of people who just must be invited to every little thing.

Hurray!

Kris put a frown on her face and, leveling herself up on one elbow, said in as dumb a voice as she could manage through the pain. ''There's one thing I don't understand.''

''What could that be,'' Ms. Broadmore sniffed.

''Every other time I've arrived on a new planet, by now I'd have met the president and half of the congress. Being Billy Longknife's brat or Ray Longknife's great-granddaughter usually has them coming out in droves to at least pay their respects.''

Both women just eyed Kris, not at all grasping where this rambling was going. Kris would have to paint a very clear picture for these two.

''Didn't you invite any of the political powers that be to this show? Or to either of your soirées this week?''

''Of course I did,'' both women shot back immediately.

Then paused.

Then looked at each other. The lights going off behind their eyes had to be a least forty watts, maybe more.

But neither said a word to Kris.

''Your Highness, can we please get you out of here?'' Captain DeVar said, as if on cue.

Kris let herself be hauled away. But the two women were in rapid conversation before Kris was out of earshot.

It would be interesting to see what came of that little land mine she'd planted.

As they headed for the car park, the captain glanced over his shoulder. ''Ma'am, I'm pretty well schooled in platoon and company tactics, but I'm not quite sure what I just saw.''

Kris relaxed onto her stretcher. That didn't make it hurt less, just hurt different. ''Captain, in social circles, there is an A-list, a B-list, and a C-list. Me, I suspect today I've sunk to some F-or G-list.''

The captain raised an eyebrow at that.

''But two very proud A-list social harpies have just found out that they have been had by the real As. Used as stalking horses. Everyone likes to be in the know. I just told those two biddies that there are people in the know that knew not to show up. And those people didn't let them know.

''How do you think that makes them feel, Captain?''

''Interesting, ma'am, very interesting.''

Kris spotted Inspector Johnson getting out of his car as she was loaded into a transport. The captain now brooked no delay; Kris ended up fighting just to get her and Jack in the same hulking all-terrain rig.

It could have passed for a tank. The only thing missing was a main battery gun. There were plenty of automatic weapons out. All the traffic now headed for the art show; her rig covered the distance to the embassy in no time at all.

The two police cycles driving shotgun, sirens blaring, might have helped. Tomorrow, Kris would have to thank Inspector Johnson for at least one good deed.

Kris's tour of the embassy had not included a stop by the clinic. She had noticed that an Army doctor shared the mess with the troops. Kris, flat on her back on a gurney, did her first assessment of the doc as he did his assessment of her leg.

Well, at least there was no alcohol on his breath.

Captain DeVar had whispered a quiet prayer—that Kris was supposed to not have noticed—that the good doc would not have drank his supper today. The captain had asked for sobriety, what with two of his primaries out in the shooting gallery, and had sent the doc off to supper with Commander Malhoney to help him remember. Since Kris knew the good commander was much taken by the drink, she was grateful that the two of them had held themselves to the captain's high demands.

''Your leg is stitched, but not deeply,'' the doc said. ''We'll need to cut you out of those stockings and dress.''

''I doubt you can,'' Abby said, materializing at Kris's side. ''I see you had a good time tonight.''

''Nope,'' Kris said. ''No one to shoot back at. Auto-gun.''

''Oh, pooh,'' the maid said.

''Why don't you concentrate on Jack, Doc, who I think is in worse shape, while Abby and I get me out of this getup.''

The doc glanced at Kris's vitals, flashed a light in both of her eyes, let her count his fingers, and then went away.

Abby closed the curtains behind him, giving Kris a bit of modesty, put both her hands on her hips, and scowled down at Kris. ''You are a mess.''

''Could you scold me later?'' Kris said. ''The pain is nasty, and I doubt that horse doctor will give me anything until he's had a chance to see all my black-and-blue spots.''

''I heard that and you got it right, Your Highness.'' came from across the partition.

''Let's get you out of that dress,'' Abby said, reaching for scissors. ''I'm not going to tell you how much you paid for it.''

''Somebody will get a bill for this,'' Kris said darkly.

''No doubt. Now hold still. I don't want to cut nothing off you that you can't afford to lose.'' The dress came off in pieces. The darts held it solidly in place, not letting go from where they had dug themselves into the reactive section of the ceramic body girdle. That girdle had done its job; it and all the darts came off together. Only from the inside could Kris see the cracks and spalling. It had held—but just barely.

Peeling off the bodystocking was almost work as usual, except that every time Kris twisted or turned to work the spider silk down her body she wanted to scream.

Her right side was an ugly line of black and blue where the rounds had hit, been stopped, but demanded payment for the energy they gave up from the soft flesh beneath. At least the ceramic armor had done a good job of spreading the energy.

Spider silk stopped a round. As far as its energy went, that was a matter not mentioned in the promotional material.

When the bodystocking was down to just Kris's right leg, Abby wrapped her in a modest blue gown and said. ''Doc, when you can pry yourself away from that hardheaded Marine, this Navy type is ready for a look-see.''

''Sorry, Princess, but you'll have to wait. You aren't nearly as interesting a collection of bruises and contusions as this fellow I've got in my clutches right now.''

''What?'' Kris yelped, and tried to roll off the table. That produced another yelp. A very real one.

Abby made sure that Kris laid back down, then called over the curtain. ''Jack, you decent? Mind if I let this nosey neighbor of yours at least look at your ugly mug?''

''I'm not sure if I'm decent or not. They kind of got me locked down.'' came back in a way-too-shaky voice.

''Abby, open that curtain,'' Kris demanded.

''I could point out that only family are allowed in here,'' came back from the doc.

''I drafted him. He's head of my security team. Doc, open up,'' Kris almost pleaded.

''Well, since you put it that way. Open the curtain. She drafted you, boy, and you're still speaking to her?''

''Seems that way, Doc.''

So a corpsman slid the curtain aside.

And Kris swallowed the first five things she tried to say.

Jack's dress uniform was in shreds on the floor. No, on closer examination, it was in distinct pieces. Apparently, whoever designed armored dress uniforms made allowances for taking them apart after heavy use.

But that wasn't what held Kris's eyes.

Jack was splayed out in some kind of traction. His back, his neck, and his skull were surrounded by things that held him. It looked like he was being eaten by a huge metal spider.

They had stripped him down to the bare nothing, revealing a back and butt that was a sickly gray in the few places it wasn't livid black and blue. His minimum modesty was preserved by a towel someone had thrown over the vitals.

Kris finally emitted something like a gasp.

''Does he need all that?'' she whispered.

''Most likely not,'' the doc said, stepping away from Jack. ''But you ever met a doc who don't like to play with all his toys when he gets a chance. Especially when someone else is picking up the tab.'' The doc had gray eyes that sparkled and white hair that gave him the look of a father everyone could use. Only the lines around his eyes showed worry. At the moment, those lines were etched deeply as he took in Jack.

''I can't look all that bad,'' Jack insisted feebly. ''You sound like I'm dying or something.''

''More like the something,'' Abby put in. ''I don't think the doc here would let you out of his care that easily.''

''He ain't nearly tortured enough,'' the corpsman put in through a smile.

''So much for your performance rating,'' the doc grumbled, but with too much smile to make the threat real. Then he turned to Kris and took her still-stockinged leg in hand and turned it gingerly. The creases around his eyes failed to soften.

''Corpsman, you keep an eye on what that jarhead claims is his brain,'' Doc said without looking back at Jack. ''If that meatloaf starts to swell any little bit, I want to know about it before it happens. You hear?''

''Loud and clear, Your Godhood,'' said the unconcerned medic.

''Now, Your Highness, let's see what you've done to your perfectly usable collection of flesh and bones.''

''It's been in better shape,'' Kris agreed.

The doc struggled to pull one dart from where it had buried its point in the spider silk. ''Nasty little thing. And it does like where it's at. Captain, quit holding up the wall and bring your strong right arm over here. Nobody's going to commit assault and mayhem in my clinic. I won't allow it. Already writ the prescription agin' it.''

Captain DeVar came over from where he'd established himself, able to observe both casualties and keep a weather eye on the entrance to both the emergency room and, through the window in the door, the clinic's front door.

''Grab a pair of pliers and see how much work it is for you to pry one of those darts loose. Pull it straight out.''

Even the Marine ended up grunting from the effort as the first dart came out.

''That's just the way it is. My second wife always complained that I had those strong surgeon hands for cutting someone open, but hand me a jar of pickles and forget it. Officially, young lady, I'm declaring you a jar of pickles.''

''Or olives,'' Abby added dryly.

''With very nice stuffing,'' the doc said, not letting a mere maid get in the last word.

''Would you two quit it,'' Jack said. ''I'm in enough pain without you trying to get me laughing.''

''Ain't you heard, laughter's great medicine,'' Doc insisted.

''Not just now it isn't,'' Jack and Kris said in harmony.

''Patients,'' the doc spat. ''Don't know why we let them in the door.'' But for someone who didn't seem to have much use for patients, the doc was very reluctant to let them out of his sight. ''Commander Malhoney will just have to find someone else to drink with tonight,'' he said when he was done with Kris.

''You two look fine, but then, I've buried a few patents who were, or claimed they were when they walked out on this old sawbone. So settle in, get comfortable, and get ready to pay attention to my whole collection of horrific patient stories.''

Kris had better things to do with her time. She'd had about enough of playing target in somebody's shooting gallery. It was time for a Longknife to take charge of her own life. Start kicking butt and taking names.

Maybe it was the lame stories. Or maybe it was something she got poked with. But Kris was asleep before Doc finished his third one.