The waiter pointed them at a menu. Jack scanned it, then whistled. “You could pay for a round of beers for one of these.”
“I’m paying for Jack’s,” Kris said. “What flavor, oh chief of my security. After all, you kept me alive.”
“Banana,” he answered quickly.
“Hold it, I’ve helped keep you from ending up very quickly dead,” Abby said. “Why aren’t you paying for my milkshake. I am just a poor working girl.”
Kris waived the barkeep away. “And speaking of which, just how many people do you work for?”
Abby grew very interested in a fly buzzing the next table.
“Let me count the cost centers if I can,” Kris said, her fingers once more coming up. “And you, oh troublesome grampa are not off the hook yet. But right now, let’s look at you, my maid of many surprises. Mother pays you.”
“A mere pittance. Hardly keeps body and soul together.”
Kris didn’t argue that, but went on, raising a second finger. “Then there is some information broker who’s soaking Crossenshield and who knows how many others for the privilege of reading the idle rumors passing through your head.”
Abby gave the group one of her patented sniffs. “And not passing nearly enough of his vast profits on my labors along to me. What with me taking all the risks to life and limb keeping my distance from your targeted person.”
“Which brings us to the steamer trunks,” Kris said, raising her third finger.
“I was waiting for that,” Jack said, grin wide, all teeth.
Kris continued. “While I’m sure your reports are fun reads to many people from Crossie to even Henry Peterwald the perverted twelfth himself, I don’t think information brokers usually invest in keeping the subjects of their purulent interest alive. Course, I don’t watch that much media.”
“Not an Earth dime,” Jack said.
“Certainly. Each messy death is a separate fortune. And there’s always another hot item coming along. Who cares about yesterday’s big name?” Penny said.
“So Abby, who’s buying all those lifesaving goodies in the steamer trunks,” Kris demanded.
“I don’t know,” Abby said. Then, in the face of four incredulous faces . . . no, three, Grampa Trouble was scrupulously studying the bubbles in his beer . . . Abby went on. “Really, I don’t know. Someone contacted me when I was on my way to take this job. Someone that said my broker had referred his client to me, and asked if I’d be willing to provide some extra services to this Kris Longknife kid I was going to primp and pamper. I asked what he had in mind, me not being interested in anything dangerous, and you know the rest.”
“No,” Kris said, “but I doubt you’ll be more forthcoming.”
Abby locked eyes with Kris and did not blink. Kris chose not to see who would break first, suspecting any victory would be pyrrhic. “Do you have any hunch who is behind this contract?”
Abby shook her head. “Ain’t something I need to know. What I can tell you is that it’s my largest source of income and its first clause is that I don’t ever do anything that could cause you any kind of harm.” The maid shrugged. “Kind of crimps my style on the other two contracts. When you brought home those tar-filthy hands, I couldn’t do half of what I wanted to.”
Kris waved her hands to shake off the recollected pain of that manicure. Grampa Trouble had a twinkle in his eye as he said. “That’s something I want to hear about.”
“What, it wasn’t in any of her reports?”
“I don’t read the scandal sheets on my great-granddaughter. She deserves some privacy.”
“Painfully little.”
“I hope the second clause in that contract,” Jack said, “is to protect Kris.”
“So long as it doesn’t put my sensitive skin at risk.”
“But you don’t have any idea who?” Kris repeated.
“I might have suspicions as to how many,” Abby admitted under Kris’s intense gaze. “I got a raise awhile back, just after we got back from Turantic. Pay went up 50 percent.”
“As if a new interest had joined a two-party consortium. Or two had joined a four,” Penny said, quickly doing the numbers.
“You were only hired a bit before the Turantic dustup,” Jack pointed out.
“Let’s assume there are now three groups that want me to keep breathing,” Kris said slowly. “Who?”
“You’re father?” Jack said.
“He’s doing all he can legally, under Wardhaven law, by tying you down here,” Kris said, glancing at her protective service agent/Marine guard. “If he wanted more . . .”
“He’d have to have Crossie pay it out of black funds,” Penny said. “If it ever got into the papers, it would . . .”
Kris eyed Grampa Trouble. Again, he seemed fascinated by the pattern the bubbles were making in the dark brew before him. Just how much did her Grampas Ray and Trouble talk about her? Worry about her?
“Crossie tried to get me to work for him just before Turantic,” Kris said. “Maybe he figured that would make it legal for him to spend money on me if I was one of his lost souls . . .” Kris weighed that and labeled it Kris’s Protection 1.
“What about your Grampa Al?” Jack asked.
“He might be slipping a bit of cash that way. God knows he’s got enough money. Though after Turantic was when I slapped him up for being a slumlord.”
“Yeah, that sounds more like the time he’d cut you loose,” Penny agreed.
“You came from Earth,” Kris said slowly to Abby.
“That’s where I was when your mom hired me.”
“Could someone there be interested in keeping you alive?” Jack said.
“We know we’re in a mess because we offed Hank,” Penny whispered. “Could someone there have looked at the enmity between the Longknifes and the Peterwalds and be investing a few bucks to keep the heat at a low boil, below what it might get to if you ended up suddenly dead.”
“All good guesses,” Kris agreed. “And I suspect we’ll have to settle for guesses,” she said, eyeing Grampa Trouble. He refused to meet her gaze, but kept on studying bubbles. No wonder I don’t trust my best friends. How much do I trust you, you old war horse? Is there any reason not to?
And the milkshakes arrived.
The barkeep hung around until all of them had sampled his offering and praised it highly, then retreated at a nod from Grampa Trouble. Kris slowly relished the creamy chocolate shake while reviewing in her head what she knew . . . not much . . . and what she suspected . . . a lot more.
Clearly, Grampa Trouble knew more than he was telling. Do I trust him with my life? He’d brought her back from the walking dead, too drunk to live. No question she owed him her life. But would Grampa feel obliged to correct them if their guesses were wrong, but not deadly wrong at this moment? Mentally, Kris shook her head. She had guesses and nothing that couldn’t be denied if it showed up in the noon news.
Life is like that for a Longknife. Get used to it.
“If Kris has all these big bucks out to keep her safe,” Jack said around the straw in his mouth, “I’m starting to feel redundant, if not puny.”
Kris measured Jack’s words, compared them with the deep lines around his eyes, and tasted fear. Not Jack’s. Her own.
Unless she badly misread Jack, he was facing his own doubts. Why should he follow her through fire and hell? Why should he keep placing his life in her hands so she could do what she did, relying totally on him to keep her alive?
Kris swallowed hard and pushed the shake away.
“You really feel that way?”
“Hey, Boss, Abby’s the one with the magic hat. She’s the one that pulls all the stuff out that we need just about the time that we’re desperate for it.” He shrugged and took a long pull on his shake. “I’m just here to lug around all that hardware. I’m paid for a mule and I do a mule’s job.”
“You really are feeling down in your beer, son,” Grampa Trouble said. But he didn’t say more.
�
��Would it help if you got the same pay as Abby?” Penny said.
“No, damn it. I’m not talking about pay. I’m talking about my job. About knowing where I’m going and that I’ll have the gear I need to do my job. About being involved in deciding what we take on these wild quests Kris goes charging off on, even if I don’t get to veto what rabbit hole she dives into.”
Kris didn’t discount the pay issue so quickly, but she did respect the professional pride it must cost Jack every time he had to turn to a maid for armor or an armory . . . or for medical gear or . . . The list went on. “Jack,” Kris said, “have you noticed that when we’re in trouble, Abby is rarely to be seen.”
“Very rarely,” Penny said.
“Not that rare,” Abby insisted.
“Jack, you remember what you told me. ‘I take your bullet. ’ You will take the bullet aimed for me. For Abby, this is just a job. For you, it’s a mission. A sacred trust. That engineer on the Wasp, faced with meeting the clause in his contract about blowing up the ship. What did he say? ‘They hadn’t paid him enough.’” Kris raised an eyebrow. Jack made a wry face.
Kris went on. “I know money is not why you’re here. I think you know better than I what makes you stay. I hope you do. I don’t know what’ll become of me if you ever forget. I can’t believe I’ll ever look around and not find you covering my back.”
Jack’s breath went out of him in a snort. “Not unless they got me with the first shot. But, damn it, Kris. This isn’t a joke anymore. It was funny, at first. I could laugh with you, about how Abby seemed to always have what we need. Not now. I want to know what’s in the trunks, Abby. You’re either part of our team, or . . .”
Kris cut him off. “You don’t have to finish that sentence, Jack. As of today, things are going to change.”
“Now hold it, baby ducks. There ain’t no amount of money you can pay me to take your bullet.”
“Nothing I can do to change that,” Kris said. “But we can make sure you understand that Jack is number one when it comes to my safety. You’re at best number two. You will keep him in the loop. I expect Jack to know what you’re packing in those trunks, and I expect him to approve everything.” Abby’s face was a storm ready to break as her glower bounced between Jack and Kris.
“And if you can’t agree with what he says, you bring your disagreement to me and I’ll ask Grampa Trouble for advice on what will look after me the best,” she said, turning quickly to take the old soldier in.
“Hold it. I’m no part of this,” he started, but Kris had his eyes hostage. This time, she didn’t look away . . . and he couldn’t. “Okay, you can count on me for logistical quibbles.”
“And what if I want something that’s too expensive?” Jack said. “That’s not funded by Abby’s employer?”
Abby was shaking her head. “It ain’t nearly as easy as you think, baby ducks.”
“Then we’ll just take it up with Grampa here.”
“Can’t see why you’d do that,” Grampa Trouble said mildly, but he left it at that, and Kris went back to sucking on her melting milkshake.
Kris waited until she was nearing the bottom of the glass, before she spoke again. “I sure wish we hadn’t killed Hank. I don’t think they’re gonna let me anywhere near Chance space for a long, long time, and I do want to work on those alien things.”
“Me, too,” Nelly said dolefully.
“Given enough time, any place will cool off,” Grampa Trouble said. “But as far as that spoiled brat, I don’t feel at all sorry.” Kris snapped around to eye her great-grandfather. He of all people knew the unknown problems that lay ahead because of Hank’s death.
“Yes, I know. Human space can’t afford the death of that poor kid. I’ve heard it all, and I’ll do my bit, stuffing my finger into any dike Ray asks,” Grampa Trouble said, taking a pull on his beer. “But what Hank did was plain dumb. You can’t loose the hounds of war and expect to know the tree those puppies are gonna bark up. That’s why any smart man does his best to keep those sons ah bitches on a leash.”
Which was a rather blunt way of putting it, but Kris didn’t doubt Grampa Trouble’s assessment. She and the others finished their milkshakes in silence. Done, Kris took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “So now Henry Peterwald has no heir and the guy who’s been trying to kill me for the last couple of years really has it in for me.”
“I can’t disagree with your assessment, Kris, except,” Trouble smiled enigmatically, “Peterwald still has an heir.”
Kris blinked four times before she could wrestle her thoughts to ground and say, “Hank was an only child. At least he always left me with that impression.”
“Don’t doubt, considering Greenfeld attitude toward girls.”
“He has a sister?” came from everyone.
“Twin, of sorts,” Grampa Trouble said, sharing one of his wicked grins with them. “Seems that the womb they installed the thoroughly engineered and refined Hank in either had or was about to get a totally natural rider as well. Big surprise. Lots of recriminations. Bigger surprise was that the natural survived. Usually, they don’t, but that baby girl was feisty from the start. So, nine months later, out comes Hank. And a few minutes later, Vicky makes her appearance as well.”
“Vicky?” Kris said.
“Mother’s joke. She named her Victoria.”
Everyone needed time to let that sink in, take root and have any chance of being considered reality.
“What do we know about Victoria?” Kris asked.
“Not a lot. She kind of disappeared into some kind of harem on Greenfeld. Hank did a lot of traveling, part of his education. Vicky’s pretty much a mystery. But she can’t be too much of a problem,” Grampa said, looking sideways at Kris. “After all, she’s just a Greenfeld girl.”
Kris snorted. “Yeah, right. And I was just supposed to be Brother’s campaign manager.” Two years ago, given a choice, who would have considered her the deadlier of the two siblings.
A beep came from Trouble’s pocket. He pulled out a reader, scanned it, and shook his head. “Don’t these folks know that you don’t cause Trouble trouble unless you want big trouble.”
“Trouble?” Kris asked.
“Seems they’ve settled on a job for you and they’re too cowardly to say it to your face . . . so they’ve deputized me for the job. They’re going to pay for that.”
“Where to now?” Kris asked, keeping her expectations low.
“You like shopping?”
That was not one Kris expected. “I hate shopping.”
“You’ll love this. They’ve got a job for you about as far from the Rim as they can go. Your next assignment is to the Wardhaven Naval Purchasing detachment on New Eden.”
“The first colony ever!” Jack frowned at Kris.
“The very same. With all it’s industry, gun control laws, police, and, oh, decadence and wild parties.”
“I’ll be buying laser cannons and electronic gizmos?” Kris said, insisting that hope spring eternal.
Grampa shook his head. “Nope, paperclips, general office supplies, that sort of stuff.”
Kris pushed back from the table. “They’re joking.”
“Nope. Jack, you go along as her personal liaison with embassy security and the local cops. Penny, you’re tagged to work with intel. I’ll let you guess where all of you fit into keeping Kris safe from Peterwald’s vengeance.”
Kris pulled herself back up to the table and picked up her glass. It was truly empty; she watched the last drip roll around in the bottom. They had her. Trapped and worthless as the dregs of this shake. Or maybe not. “Tell them I’ll go if they throw in Chief Beni for product quality control.”
“For paper clips?” Penny asked, giving Kris a raised eyebrow that says volumes without a word.
“Or whatever,” Kris said, wrapping herself in all the injured innocence she could find handy. It wasn’t much.
“You folks have fun,” Abby said. “New Eden is one place I have been an
d one place in human space I am not going back to.”
“Oh,” said Kris. “But you are. You have a new employer. One you can’t refuse. Salary to be negotiated, but you are most definitely working for me now, lady. You’ve shown that you have a price. You’re mine for as much of you as money will buy.”
“This I want to see,” said Jack.
About the Author
Mike Shepherd grew up Navy. It taught him early about change and the chain of command. He’s worked as a bar-tender and cab driver, personnel advisor and labor negotiator. Now retired from building databases about the endangered critters of the Pacific Northwest, he’s looking forward to some serious writing.
Mike lives in Vancouver, Washington, with his wife, Ellen, and her mother. He enjoys reading, writing, watching grandchildren for story ideas, and upgrading his computer—all are never ending.
Oh, and working on Kris’s next book, Kris Longknife: Audacious.
You may reach him at [email protected].
Kris Longknife: Resolute Page 39