Deserter

Chapter 21

Abby was putting the finishing touches on Kris's hair when the suite's doorbell rang. ''I'll get it,'' Jack said, his voice the same cast-iron flat it had been since Kris balked his plan to get her off planet.

''Do I look all right?'' Kris asked Abby in the mirror. The maid nodded, and Kris took a final look at herself. Abby had her hair up in swirls held in place by a diamond affair rented from the hotel jeweler. The aquamarine dress's thin waist ballooned in both directions. Petticoats assured the skirt would sway with every move she made. The bodice rose to just brush what it promised she had. With the bombs, Kris almost did. And once she got rid of them, no one would be the wiser.

Well, maybe Hank, depending on how close they danced.

Giving herself one last glance that proved her nose was no smaller—there were limits to even Abby's magic—Kris advanced to see how things were developing.

The living room held no surprises. Three different security details were sniffing about, going through their dominance routines. Hank's was arrayed to the left of the door, the gray goons to the right, and Jack, with Tom in full Navy dinner dress at his elbow, held them all at bay while they each announced their intentions for the night. ''We can handle everything,'' the head of Hank's detail said as if that settled it all. ''Nobody told us about nobody going nowhere,'' the grays bleated, thereby losing all claim to control. ''Kris goes nowhere without her detail,'' Jack said, which seemed to brighten up the grays' day until they realized Jack did not include them in that. Abby bustled out of Kris's room dressed in a severe dark gray suit and took station at Jack's other elbow.

''Are we ready?'' she asked no one.

Hank gave Kris a knowing wink. ''You look beautiful tonight,'' he said as if they were normal people, alone.

Kris did a little wiggle that set her entire ensemble to rustling and returned the favor. ''You don't look half bad yourself.'' Which was definitely an understatement. His light tan tux was well set off by a red cummerbund. The deliciously ruffled shirt was dressed down for tonight with no tie and the last buttonhole empty.

Hank offered Kris an arm, proving chivalry was no longer dead, and led her through the still bickering security details as if they were not there. It took only a second of reflection for Kris to decide that might well be the way to handle tonight. Possibly every night. See how Jack liked that.

Hank's security had the slide car reserved. Hank missed the signal from the head of his detail that would have had Kris wait for the next car. Kris ignored the unseemly scrambling as she settled herself into the rear couch, Hank at her side.

''It's been quite a day,'' Hank said. ''Have you been busy?''

''You may have noticed, Wardhaven isn't Turantic's favorite planet at the moment.'' Hank nodded attentively. ''I've kind of been under house arrest today. After my schedule of late, it's rather relaxing.'' He shared in her laugh.

''Maybe I should try that approach. But Turantic has few ties with Greenfeld, so they don't quite know what to do with me.''

''I thought your Mr. Sandfire was…'' Kris left the words hanging.

''He's not my Mr. Sandfire. I'm not sure Cal is anybody's man.'' Hank sighed, and Kris could almost see him making a mental note to pass that observation along to his father. ''He seems to have his irons in a lot of fires here, but a lot of people have been surprised to see me at his elbow these last few days. I think I'm part of some kind of coming out party. Not sure I really understand how I'm being used.''

''But someone's always wanting to use us.'' Kris sighed.

''At least you get this Princess stuff.'' Hank flashed her an evil grin. ''Makes it easy to save you. Me, I'm just another businessman's brat.''

''Trade you,'' Kris shot back. ''You can have it, crown and all.''

''I'd want a few less diamonds,'' Hank said, glancing up at her present jewelry. ''I don't think all that glitter would look good on a man.''

''Hey, you or I make a fashion statement, everyone listens,'' Kris assured him. ''But these are on loan for tonight. Didn't want to wear a crown out in public what with all the political currents washing around.'' And I traded most of my crown for some pictures I thought might end this whole problem. Hope nobody misses that hat trick.

The door opened, and the guards set up a perimeter before letting them out. Getting organized again took time: Abby and two of the grays missed the second car, and everyone waited until they arrived on a third. ''I've seen better organized riots.'' Abby sniffed as she joined them.

''No doubt you organized them,'' Jack said, a second ahead of Kris.

Hank noticed the interplay and laughed. ''I predict tonight will be very enjoyable.''

''Have you done your usual exhaustive search of the available eateries to find the best… and probably most expensive?''

''But of course, since I'm paying.''

''Hey, I called you up for the date. I pay,'' Kris growled, but she dropped it quickly. Not all the lines it would show on her face were laugh lines.

''But I'm an old-fashioned kind of guy. I would never let a lady pay for her supper.''

''Yes, but my trust fund is bigger than your trust fund.''

''You checked with your broker lately?'' That brought a laugh to both. ''I hate being out of communications,'' Hank finished.

''I really hate it. I'm in the second week of a one-week leave. My Captain's going to keelhaul me when I get back.''

''I can't picture anyone wanting to sign your pink slip.''

''Oh, I could name several Generals and at least one Admiral that would be delighted to be quit of me.''

''That would have to be a career-ending move for them.''

''It may sound that way to you, but there are several members of my father's opposition who would dearly love to see my family in that kind of media circus.''

The restaurant was out of the way. The lighting was dim enough that Jack pulled out his low-vision glasses as he took a seat at a table with Tom and Abby between the door and the table Kris and Hank were led to by a hostess in a shimmering yellow sarong that may or may not have been translucent in good light. Hank seemed to find the view enticing.

''You plan to dance with the girl you brought or the help?'' Kris asked, keeping a smile on her face.

''I never know with you Longknifes if I'll be leaving with you or be run off the planet. Figured I better keep an eye out for fallback options.''

''Well let me get a good look at the waiter, and I may turn you loose.''

''Who would take us?'' Hank said, suddenly serious as he leaned forward so his words did not carry easily to the security details occupying tables three deep around them.

''We could buy this planet and everyone on it. You'd probably have change left over to upgrade that pet computer of yours. We could buy anyone, but could we get anyone here to have and to hold us?''

''Maybe we have to earn that,'' Kris said.

''How do we earn anything when we've inherited everything?''

''You sound like you've been giving this problem of ours,'' Kris said, knowing what she was saying could come out sounding so empty, ''a lot of thought.''

''You in counseling, too?''

''Navy frowns on its officers being emotionally unstable.''

''Just like my old man. Let's say that I may have managed to find a friend or two that he doesn't know as much about as he thinks.'' Kris eyed the twitch of Hank's hand, the blink of his eyes. Sincerity wasn't there so much as hope.

''Your father coming on strong?''

''I think he's starting to feel old. All the rejuvenation we have these days, and men still seem to have their own menopause around fifty.''

''Your grandfather's still alive.''

''And Great-grandfather probably would be if he hadn't had that accident,'' Hank said. Kris had read Grampa Al's business intelligence report on that ''accident.'' The final conclusion was fifty-fifty, a stockholder's revolt or Hank's father.

Interesting family.

But Hank didn't sound any more in love with his family than Kris was with hers. Was there any chance she could bring him into the mess she was in?

A waiter appeared at Hank's elbow. The young man was in a light blue sarong of his own. Shimmers and flesh played hide-and-seek with her eyes in the dim candlelight. Good pecs, good abs. Maybe even better than Jack's. Kris enjoyed the view while Hank ordered in a language that defied interpretation. Nelly?

IT MIGHT BE BALINESE, OR SOMETHING RELATED TO SOUTHEAST ASIA ON OLD EARTH, BUT IT ISN'T CLASSICAL. IT'S CHANGED IN SPACE.

What hadn't? Kris watched the fellow weave his way among the guards, then rose.

''You follow him, and I'll go hunting for the hostess,'' Hank said pointedly.

''I think that sign says the ladies' room is that way,'' Kris said, pointing. ''While I've spent most of the afternoon in the bathroom, my maid doesn't believe in wasting time on old-fashioned uses of the place. I promise you, I'll be much better company if I'm several liters lighter.''

''Say that five times and fast.'' Hank was his laughing self again. ''But I swear, you stay gone too long, and I'll be in the back office with the hostess.''

''I'll keep that in mind,'' Kris said as Abby attached herself to Kris's elbow.

''If I knew you were going to say bad things about me, I'd have demanded a higher wage.''

''I thought the wages of your sins were already sky high.'' Now Jack was at Kris's other elbow, and a gray fog was stumbling from their seats to get in her way. ''Fellows, you get between me and that door, and you get to clean up the mess,'' Kris threatened, and the gray opened before her like the Red Sea did for Moses.

NELLY, WE STILL HAVE DEFENSE NANOS WITH US?

WE HAVE NOT LOST A ONE FROM AMONG YOUR DIAMONDS.

RELEASE THEM AS SOON AS WE GET INSIDE THE DOOR. LET ME KNOW HOW MUCH COMPANY WE HAVE. READY

READY, Nelly answered as Abby pushed the door open. Jack stopped in the doorway, which persuaded any doubting grays that Kris deserved some privacy.

SURVEILLANCE?

TWO CAMERAS SIGHTED DOWN THE SINKS TO SHOW YOU ENTERING AND LEAVING THE STALLS, NOTHING OVER THE STALLS. FIVE FLYING NANOS.

TAKE THEM OVER, NELLY. TRY NOT TO KILL THEM.

WORKING ON THEM.

Abby checked the four stalls and found them empty. She stood back for a moment eyeing them dubiously, then muttered, ''That looks like the cleanest.'' She pulled a bottle from her bag and sprayed down the place. Without a word, she stepped aside to allow Kris to enter.

The drill was to act pathologically terrified of germs. Hell-for-brimstone fighters could be quivering jelly where tiny bugs were concerned. It gave Kris an excuse to immediately flush the toilet, then flush it again. HOW WE DOING, NELLY?

ONE MORE.

DO YOU KNOW WHERE WE ARE? Kris thought as she settled down.

I HAVE LOCATED THIS RESTAURANT ON THE SCHEMATIC. THE FLOW BETWEEN HERE AND THE POTENTIALLY RICH METHANE TRAP SHOULD BE ABOUT TEN MINUTES. I CAN PROGRAM THE EXPLOSIVES.

Drat, that might cut dinner short and certainly would mess with dancing. Then, of course, the security details might not react to a little trouble in the sewage treatment plant. Right, my luck is bound to change before I'm an ancient spinster of thirty. Kris laughed to herself.

DONE, Nelly reported.

Kris felt around, careful of the dress, and lifted out the left bomb, activated it, and let Nelly set its timer. She stretched it lengthwise until it was a good twenty centimeters, then slid it quietly into the water and flushed. A minute later, the second bomb was on its way. Kris took a moment to do what she'd come for—nothing like being scared spitless to fill a bladder—flushed again, and adjusted her dress. Abby waited outside to put the finishing touches on both the skirt and the top as well as help Kris wash her hands without getting water on the fabric. Done, Abby gave her a full once-over, then nodded. ''I do damn good work.''

''What, nothing about how easy it is to make someone like me beautiful?''

Abby fixed Kris with a puzzled eye. ''You really need assurances from someone like me that you are beautiful?''

''Abby, I know I'm not.'' Kris sighed.

''Where were your mother and father, little girl, when you needed them?''

''Busy campaigning, or just busy,'' Kris said. ''You going to open the door?'' Abby did. Kris returned to her table, Hank rising as she sat down. ''You're such a gentleman,'' she told him.

''What? I was just heading for the hostess. I figured you'd run off with the waiter.''

Kris tapped a crystal goblet of water that hadn't been there when she left. ''Someone's been working while I was gone.''

''Water server. Cute little thing. Doesn't bother with that filmy sarong stuff. Eliminates all questions.''

''You know, if I didn't know you better, I'd think you were some sort of rich spoiled brat who was afraid of commitment.''

Hank said nothing for a long moment. ''Boy, ain't that the truth.'' He sighed, then he glanced around, caught the eye of his chief security guard, and waved him close. ''Nobody's going to kill me tonight. Her either. I need space. Back your people up to the walls. Wipe out bugs, then lie low.''

''What about those gray fumble bums?''

''If you can't get them out of the way, I'll have somebody working your job tomorrow morning who can.''

''No problem, Hank.'' The boss made quick, curt hand signals, and black-clad agents began quick-walking grays for the door. Where someone argued, money changed hands, and silence fell.

''Jack,'' Kris said over her shoulder.

''I don't like this,'' he said.

''I'm not asking you to. But I figure if you keep Hank's honcho company and Tom covers the other side, Abby can take a nap at the table next to the ladies' room.''

''Kris, I'm dead serious. I can't be working my heart out trying to keep you alive and biting my nails every time you cheerfully ignore me. I don't want to be the one holding you while you die.'' He spoke as if he were watching her bleed out.

Almost Kris could see him, kneeling over her, feel his arms around her. Feel the blood draining from her. She shivered but would not change her mind. The rest of tonight was hers, hers and Hank's. ''Go with Hank's man.''

Jack did, his face a chiseled mask. Tom found a seat by the kitchen entrance at a table with another of Hank's men. That covered the three exits Kris had spotted as they entered.

''So, you do this often?'' she asked cheerily.

Hank leaned back in his chair, seemed to sluff off a half ton of worry, and shook his head. ''When Bertie was assigned to me, I told him I wanted to do this twice a year. He said he'd let me do it once a year. That was three years ago, and this is the first time I've actually done it.''

''Hurray for you,'' Kris cheered.

''Yes, it is somehow maturing. Or selfish or risky. You think anyone will try to assassinate you tonight? You seem to get one of those as often as most people come down with colds.''

''Now you're plum wrong on that,'' Kris said airily. ''Why, that last brouhaha was really an attempt to kidnap that Senator's cute little daughter.''

''Somebody had to be really stupid to try a snatch out from under you, of all people.''

''Well, I don't think they were expecting to run into me.'' Kris shrugged. ''Me, I was just trying to stay out of range of anyone who might be looking for me.''

''And you walked into that. Dad's right. You Longknifes live wrong or something.'' That left Kris wondering what files the Peterwalds kept on the Longknifes and what they reported as the cause of death for a few of Kris's ancestors. Somehow she doubted she'd ever read those files.

''And you Peterwalds lead such laid-back lives,'' Kris said.

Hank scrubbed at his eyes, his beautiful face showing exhaustion. ''Not this week. Cal wants me at his elbow every waking moment. Not as if he asks my opinion on anything. Just wants me there. I think he enjoys having me for an audience.''

''Why would he want that?'' Kris said. Maybe she would get some gossip for Abby.

''If I didn't know better, I'd say he wanted to impress me. Or intimidate me. ‘Look at all the strings I can pull. Look at all the things I can make happen.' ''

'' ‘You really want me running your show,' '' Kris supplied.

''Maybe that's it. I'm not sure all he's doing is that impressive.''

''Such as…?''

Hank leaned back, eyed Kris up and down slowly, then shook his head. ''Your dad has a few things he wouldn't share with his friendly opposition. You wouldn't talk about that, and I wouldn't push you. Don't push me.'' He almost sounded pleading.

''You're right; there's stuff I know about my father that I'd never want to see in the papers, but there's nothing he's ever done that I'd be ashamed to read, either.''

''Nothing that you know of.''

Now it was Kris's turn to shrug. ''We are talking about what you and I know, aren't we?''

''Yes, but is everything done in your pop's name necessarily what he wants? With the message center hashed, I can't get a question off to my old man. Damn,'' Hank said, looking up into the void above and its star-covered night, eyes pleading as if the stars might answer the questions gnawing at him.

Might Hank be an ally? Could he help her bring this planet off its war boil? Dare she risk popping the question? She almost smiled at that. Girl meets boy, girl invites boy into world-shaking conspiracy. What follows from that?

The table trembled under her hands.

''What was that?'' Hank asked the air around them.

How time flies when you're trying to have fun. Kris sighed. ''Haven't felt anything like that since I got here. Think the spin stabilization is having problems? One of our embassy staff told me they slapped this station together pretty fast. Maybe they missed something?''

''Whatever it was, it wasn't good. Here come Bertie and Jack. Why do I think your dance card just got filled up again?''

''Not if you say it hasn't,'' Kris said with what she hoped was a coy smile.

''I can only go so far against my security folks, then they invoke Dad.''

''Bertie'd have a tough time phoning home tonight.'' Now her smile was pure imp.

''You are dangerous, Miss Longknife.''

''Not nearly so bad since they made me Princess Kristine.''

''And you expect me to believe that. So what is it, Bertie? The natives restless? That didn't sound like jungle drums.''

''No, sir. There seems to have been a methane explosion in the waste treatment plant. The extent of the damage isn't clear, but I must suggest that you retire to your ship.''

''You're not going to leave?'' Kris said.

''Not likely,'' Hank told her, ''but when there's any question of hull integrity, Dad wants me safe in the Barbarossa. You care to join us? It may be a while before they sound the all clear.''

''I think Jack would have an epileptic fit if I did that,'' Kris said, eyeing her agent. He coughed gently into his fist.

''Right. Your man doesn't trust my men any more than… Tell me, Kris, have you ever seen an ancient play about two star-crossed lovers from families that hate each other?''

''Romeo and Juliet, isn't it?''

''I think so.''

''They both end up dead, don't they?''

''Maybe we aren't that much like them,'' Hank said. Bertie cleared his throat. ''Right. Kris, call me in the morning. Maybe we can do something tomorrow if they clean this thing up.''

''They're going to have to do a lot of cleaning up,'' Tom said, joining them. ''They had a water geyser up in the sinks. Really stinks in there.''

Abby also appeared at Kris's elbow. ''I hope you won't be requiring another visit to the ladies' room,'' she said. ''The place is in some disarray.''

The odor reached Kris. ''I shall endeavor to hold it until we get back to the suite,'' Kris assured her.

Outside, her pack of gray surrounded her, apparently none the wiser about the problem. On the promenade, a glance up showed cracks in the mirror on the right-hand wall of the Top of Turantic. Some couples were heading for the slide cars while others talked, as yet unaware of the extent of the problem.

''Sir, if we don't move fast, we could be stuck here for some time,'' Bertie said. Kris stayed on Hank's elbow as his men opened a path for them and her team. They only had to wait for one car and quickly filled it. The Sergeant commanding the grays was most distraught when there was no room for them.

''With luck, we won't see them for a while,'' Kris said as the door closed. ''Abby, you want a night out? Tom, what about you?''

''I would prefer we were all in the suite, if that Sergeant does a bed check,'' Jack said behind his hand.

''Is it really that bad?'' Hank said.

''Some newsies and grays seem to think Wardhaven should be treated as a cobelligerent with Hamilton,'' Kris said airily.

''Oh, right,'' Hank said, rather too easily reminded. That must have been among the things he'd watched Sandfire prance through today. How a business tycoon arranges the first moves of a profitable war. Basic and advanced course in one easy lesson. Of course, Sandfire would spare Hank the blood and the mud Kris knew as war. Definite oversight in Hank's education. Should she tell the guy he was being shortchanged? A glance at Bertie was enough to make Kris swallow the idea. That cold, bland face could hide a mountain of evil. She doubted she'd get three words out.

Hank might not know Sandfire wanted her dead. Bertie, now that was a different matter.

The slide car slowed to a stop. Kris and her people shuffled to the front. ''You want to come in?'' she offered Hank.

''We really must get you aboard ship, sir,'' Bertie said, an order if Kris ever heard one.

''I guess I better not,'' Hank said, not hiding the longing.

''We must try this again. Sometime when we can really talk.''

''I hope so. Why would anyone blow up a sewage treatment plant?'' Hank shook his head at the question.

''Was it blown up?'' Tom put in. ''Every waste plant has problems with methane buildup. You don't treat that smelly sludge with respect, things come back at you. I heard this was a rush job. Maybe some contractor cut the wrong corner,'' the space born finished, giving Hank something to think about other than what Sandfire would tell him.

''I'll see you tomorrow?'' Hank asked as the door opened.

''Somehow I doubt I'll be all that busy.'' Kris smiled as she let Jack and Tom lead her out, Abby gently pushing from behind, the reluctant good night until the door closed.