“And that action was?”
“I shot it until it exploded, Inspector,” Gunny Brown said.
“You have a permit for that weapon, mister?”
“That was what I was talking to your lieutenant about,” Kris put in. “My submitted request for a weapons permit for me and my security detail. I think this proves I need one.”
“Hmm,” said the inspector.
Lieutenant Martinez shook his head eying the direction of the vanished motorcade. “I’m not so sure you get credited with this one.”
“You mean she’s now walking into other people’s assassinations.” Jack shook his head. “That’s really not fair.”
In the road, four people in civilian clothes organized a thorough search of the bomb scene. One of them came over to talk in dark whispers with the inspector. He waved Kris and company toward a tree ten meters away. They went.
A few minutes later Inspector Johnson rejoined them. “Did that bomb sniffer of yours make a record of findings?”
Kris glanced at Corporal Singe.
“Full and complete, Your Highness.”
“I’ll need that record,” the inspector said.
“We’ll make a copy,” Kris said.
“I want the original.”
“You may have the original. We want a copy.”
The inspector nodded. A large, apparently armored, vehicle pulled up. “I will need all of you to accompany me downtown.”
“For what reason?” Kris demanded.
The inspector seemed to recognize the error of his ways and moved to explain. “We need as much residue from this new form of bomb as we can get. Your clothes are potentially peppered now with fragments of the explosive, electronics, what have you. Would you please accompany me downtown where our experts can examine you and your clothing.”
Put that way, Kris could only answer, “We will be glad to. Let me call my embassy and explain why I will be late returning from lunch. Don’t want to be declared a deserter… again.”
Several
hours later, Lieutenant Martinez offered Kris a hand in her dismount from the same armored transport, or its sibling. Her hair was stripped clean down to the second layer of cells; Abby would have a fit. The Marines formed a perimeter around her. Even on the embassy doorstep, they were not taking chances.
“I will do my best to speed the process of awarding you a permit,” he said without looking her in the eye.
“Is there a problem?” Kris asked.
“My supervisor did not seem in any rush.”
“You could wave this. It’s bound to make the media.”
The local cop shook his head. “Not in any outlet he’s likely to read.”
“Well, please tell me which media it will make. After last night vanished into some kind of invisible hole, I’m wondering how to fill up my scrapbook.”
Or Abby’s.
“You haven’t heard about our alternate press.”
“Is it to be trusted?”
“Some more than others. I read the
El Camino Real
. You might want to subscribe.”
“I’ll look into it.” N
ELLY, SEE ABOUT HAVING
P
ENNY SUBSCRIBE.
T
HAT SHOULD KEEP MY NAME OUT OF IT.
D
OING
, K
RIS
.
Kris hardly got in the basement door before she was ambushed by the ambassador’s secretary. “Where
have
you been?”
Kris frowned at Jack. “We reported to the Marine Comm Center where we were,” he said.
“Well, they didn’t tell anyone else. You
can’t
just vanish, Your Highness. People
expect
better things of you,” he sniffed.
Kris wondered how big a bribe it would take to have one of the Marines behind her pop this guy one. From the looks on their faces, the fellow was rapidly reaching bargain-basement pricing. A few of them looked willing to pay for the privilege.
“Did you check in with the Marines?” Kris asked softly. Dead softly.
The secretary ignored Kris’s question and went on to the matter of some importance to him. “We have a request for your presence this evening. Ms. Broadmore is throwing a small party at her city residence and would so like you to serve as the centerpiece of her evening.”
“I’ve had a rough afternoon,” Kris bit out.
“Not
doing
your duties, if I may say so. The negotiations
floundered
without you. They’ll continue tomorrow. Please
try
to be there.”
“Last night, I went to one of Eden’s little balls and got shot at.” Kris was rapidly losing what temper she had left.
“So
you
say. The ambassador wonders about that. I must say, I do, too. Ms. Broadmore is a
very
important person here on Eden. You
really
must be there. It will be small, so even
you
will likely not foul it up. Here’s your invitation. Do be at least fifteen minutes late. Any more is gauche. Any less and, well, you
are
a princess, aren’t you.”
And apparently, some people figured that made her just the person they could order around.
Before Kris could decide between decking the guy herself or just hanging, drawing, and quartering him, she was interrupted.
“Kris, what have you done to your hair!” And Kris got ready to be ordered around some more.
Unfortunately, the secretary was long gone by the time Kris explained that the condition of her hair was the result of another bomber’s near miss.
“I had planned to go out this evening,” Abby grumbled, “but it looks like I’ll be up to my elbows in princessing you for most of the afternoon. Let’s get started.”
Kris was freed from Abby’s “tender” care just in time to board one of the embassy’s armored battlewagons at 1930. Jack was her escort, in dress red-and-blues. The driver and one other Marine were also in dress uniform. Two men and two women in formal dress were too clean-cut to be anything but Marines.
“I’m glad you could arrange things so quickly,” Kris said.
“Captain DeVar was already on it when we got back. He seems to be better wired into the embassy rumor mill than the ambassador’s secretary.”
“Good man,” Kris offered.
“He also asked if you might want to go jogging with some Marines. They run their three miles at 0515 every morning. Five miles on Saturday.”
“I’d love to join his Marines,” Kris said. It would be good to spend an hour with real line beasts every day. The rest of her day was la-la land; a bit of time sweating with people who got their hands dirty might keep her grounded. Heaven knew, with all the food thrown at a princess, if she didn’t get some exercise, this desk job might be the death of her.
“I told him you would.” Jack grinned. “I am supposed to take care of your security, and if you keep eating like a hog and don’t exercise, I’ll lose you to a heart attack.”
Kris started to swat him, but the limo was already slowing to a stop. A glance at the bright lights showed that now might not be a good time to assault her security chief.
9
If
this was Ms. Broadmore’s townhome, Kris wondered what she used for her rural retreat. Something the size of Texas? Of course, Kris had never figured out how large Texas was, but the old saying suited this place.
Ms. Broadmore’s town house might be smaller than the Wardhaven Embassy. Then again, the huge, column-lined facade before Kris could be hiding a dozen wings… or two. Around the grounds, several scores of limos, many larger than Kris’s, were parked on concrete or grass, depending on how heavy the liveried men directing traffic took the rig to be.
“Small get-together my well-armored derriere,” Kris said.
Jack took it in. “You carrying?”
“And you ain’t getting it.” She locked eyes with Jack. He looked away. “Now that that’s all settled,” Kris said, “let’s go see what this is all about.”
Jack handed her out of the limo. A man in white livery and knee britches took the invitation from Jack and escorted them to the main entrance.
He frowned as the four formal-dressed Marines formed two couples and followed.
“Madam has provided refreshments and entertainment for your servants, Your Highness.”
“Good. Then they can rotate, one couple at my elbow, one on break,” Kris said, giving one half her detail. But only half.
His “As you wish” dripped with disapproval.
Kris had learned to live with disapproval at an early age. Dead was not something she wanted to live with anytime soon.
Through the glass doors was a marble hall that, apparently, served only as a foyer. This was laying it on thick.
K
RIS, THIS DESIGN MIMICS A
F
RENCH PALACE OF THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY.
E
ARTH
.
T
HANK YOU,
N
ELLY.
L
ET ME THINK, PLEASE
.
They came to a ballroom that was larger than the drill field at OCS. More marble pillars held up a domed ceiling streaked with gold and lit by chandeliers that actually burned candles. The aroma was very striking. A marbled and carpeted staircase led down into the second level of the ballroom.
Beside Kris, her liveried escort handed off her invitation to a man in a coat of gold cloth holding a huge staff.
“Princess Kristine Anne of Wardhaven and Nuu Enterprises” boomed out in a rich baritone.
“Not bad,” Jack whispered.
“And associates” was added a long second later.
“I guess that puts us in our place,” Jack added.
“Just stay close,” Kris said. “This is not what I signed on for tonight. I do not want any more surprises,” she added as she took the steps slowly down into what she could only think of as a gladiator’s arena.
But a bloodless one. Most likely.
Kris had been processing all the surprises of the day as Abby prepared her for the evening. She hadn’t paid much attention until Abby poured her into the red, floor-length ball gown with the tight bust. At the time, Kris had considered it a bit too much for what she thought she was headed into, but didn’t need a fight with her maid to add to all the day’s other battles. Now, a glance around the floor showed that Abby was far more plugged in to the social circuits here.
Dress was formal. Very formal. Some of it was into that outlandish area that can only be attempted by stamping it “formal.” One woman, either very young, or very well preserved was wearing… something. A haze of multicolored lights orbited her, keeping her somewhat modest. And teasing every male eye in range with hopes that the program would fail and leave her, just for a moment, wide open on one side or another.
“That’s an interesting use of nanos,” Jack murmured.
“Whoever is in charge of our nano-scouts, please keep them away from her,” Kris said. “I don’t want to be accused of causing the most exciting social blunder of the evening. Some of the men here don’t look more than one heart attack away from a coffin.”
“I’ll see that it doesn’t happen,” one of the female Marines said, elbowing her escort and deftly removing a small console from his inner coat pocket.
“You don’t trust me, Doris.”
“Never saw any cause to cut the Marine off at the knees.”
“Let’s pay attention folks,” Kris said as she approached the bottom of the stairs.
T
HE WOMAN AT THE FOOT OF THE STEPS IN SHIMMERING BLUE AND BLACK IS
M
S.
B
ROADMORE,
Nelly said in Kris’s brain
.
S
HE OWNS AND OPERATES ABOUT FIVE PERCENT OF
E
DEN’S CAPITAL.
T
HERE IS NO
M
R.
B
ROADMORE AT THE MOMENT.
W
HAT SHE OWNS SHE OPERATES.
W
HO ARE THE REST AROUND HER
?
Nelly started to identify several men and women, then paused. T
HE WOMAN IN THE WHITE GOWN IS NOT TRANSMITTING
.
Kris glanced at the woman, but at just that moment, she disappeared behind a tall man in formal black. Social graces usually required people in public meetings to broadcast their minimum bio. It was similar to the IFF that warcraft had used for centuries. And often the topic of battle jokes. It was not unforgivable for someone to “throttle their squawker.” Some people were shy, others just preferred their privacy. Still, in an evening intended for meet and greet, going quiet was… interesting.
Ms. Broadmore offered Kris her hand. “So glad you could come. I understand they have this and that to keep you busy at the embassy during the day. I’m so happy you could make it.”
“This isn’t my first social event,” Kris pointed out.
“Yes, I heard you had to leave Marta’s little get-together early yesterday. Don’t you just hate events thrown at a rented hall. It’s so easy for them to go to pieces at the slightest happenstance.”
Kris allowed a slight nod. Apparently Ms. Broadmore didn’t know what had happened last night or didn’t care. Several muscular young men in easy orbit of her looked like they would apply all the caring their patron did not.
Ms. Broadmore introduced Kris to others that stood eagerly about. Since their names and offered bios matched what Nelly knew, Kris left it to her computer to remind her if and when she needed them.
It was the redhead in the white gown that kept snagging Kris’s attention. Never center stage, she was always there in the corner of Kris’s eye. She would turn or move a hand at just the right moment to draw Kris attention away from whomever she was talking to. It was… bothersome.
Finally, Ms. Broadmore took two quick steps and reached for the hand of the unidentified woman. “And have you met my other special guest of the evening. You must know her. Your family and hers are a pair, are you not? But I understand that you have been a bit of a cosmopolitan, and she’s been given a sheltered upbringing. This is her first trip into civilized space.”
Ms. Broadmore inserted a theatrical pause, and Kris could feel every collar or lapel camera in range clicking away. Kris gritted her teeth and hoped this would not go on much longer.
Apparently their hostess had had fun enough, with a predatory smile she finished. “Kristine Longknife, have you met Victoria Smythe-Peterwald?”