Deserter

by Mike Shepherd

  The woman beside him, blond and in a short blue party dress, chuckled along with her. “I doubt my mother would agree it held a candle to when she soldiered alongside your Grampa Trouble.”

  “When did she know Grampa?” Kris’s eyes lit up. Here was a real conversation.

  “She was a Private, drafted during the Unity War.”

  “Ouch,” Kris said. “I’ve been told I was lucky he lived long enough to have kids. Sounds like we share the same luck.”

  “That was what her mother often told her,” the man said, giving his wife the kind of smile a man does when he knows just how lucky he is.

  Kris glanced around. No convivial attack horde seemed imminent, so she moved to a table, sat, then invited the couple to join her. “How long have you been here on Turantic?” Kris asked.

  “My mom and dad settled here,” the woman said. “I met Mel at the university. His family dates back to the first landing, and he’s insisted I put down solid roots,” she said, resting her hand on her husband’s.

  “My wife is being coy.” The man smiled. “She represents the Twelfth Senatorial District, while I’m a mere accountant with Haywood Industries. We do a lot of heavy fabrication work. Turantic is a very lovely place to raise a child. Our daughter was skiing this afternoon, and she’ll be racing in this weekend’s regatta. How many places have that within a hundred miles of home?”

  “Not many. I’m hoping to see more of your planet, since I can’t seem to arrange a ride home.”

  “Oh, yes, that plague is horrible,” the Senator agreed.

  “Nuu Pharmaceuticals has a vaccine. Isn’t any available?”

  The two exchanged glances; the man looked away. The woman took a deep breath. “I have nothing official on this, but some of the people I know have heard things on the news. You know how you can’t trust half of what you hear from a newsie.” Kris nodded, wondering why the Senator was suddenly dancing around bushes. “Well, I’ve heard there is a Nuu outlet in Heidelburg, but they won’t release the vaccine until the government agrees to pay five thousand dollars, Wardhaven, per shot.”

  “Yes,” Kris agreed, “that is one of Grampa Al’s tax scams. He set that price on the vaccine, then always donates it for the tax write-off.”

  “There’s no talk of donating it this time,” the husband said. “Maybe with communications being down and all that.”

  “The donation is standard policy,” Kris snapped. “Nelly, get me the Nuu Pharm distributor dirtside.”

  “I placed a call to that number when it was first mentioned,” her computer said, sounding rather proud of herself for being a step ahead of her mistress. “No one is answering.”

  “I don’t care if they pick up their phone, Nelly,” Kris said, knowing that her smile had turned anything but pleasant. “Activate the phone and turn up the volume,” Kris said, hoping she wasn’t breaking too many Turantic privacy laws in front of a serving legislator. The Senator was smiling.

  “Done, ma’am,” Nelly said.

  “This is Kris Longknife, one of Nuu Enterprises’ primary shareholders. Who am I talking to?”

  HAROLD WINFORD IS THE MANAGER, Nelly put in.

  THANKS, NELLY, BUT I WANT HIM TO TELL ME.

  “Me,” came a groggy voice, “Harry Winford. Who’d you say you are?”

  “I’m Kris Longknife, and I can have my computer tell you exactly how large my holdings are in Nuu Enterprises if that will help me get your attention.”

  “No, I remember. You’re that Princess Longknife. I heard you were going to some ball or something tonight.”

  “I am at a ball; if it will help you, I can turn up the volume so you can hear the music.”

  “No, no, don’t need to do that.”

  “Well, Harry, the social chitchat turned to this and that, and what should pop out but a mention that someone on Turantic had some of Grandpa Al’s Ebola vaccine and wasn’t releasing it.”

  “I can’t release it.”

  “Harry,” Kris turned up the syrup, “we don’t charge anyone five thousand a shot. We donate it and take the tax break.”

  “I know, ma’am. I’ve read the company policy.”

  “So why isn’t the media full of NuuE giving the stuff away?”

  “Because I don’t have it to give.”

  “What!” The Senator and her husband had been following the conversation. Mel seemed to enjoy the mental image of another manager being in way over his head when the boss called. The Senator nodded at the crackle of political power. Now both frowned in puzzlement, which about summed up Kris, too.

  “Ma’am, my computer told me this morning I had one hundred thousand vials of vaccine, good for maybe five million shots. I went looking for the vials and found a big, gaping hole on my shelves. Not one bottle. Nothing.”

  “When did you last check them?”

  “Last full inventory was four months ago.”

  “You tell the police?” Kris asked, glancing around for Inspector Klaggath. He was busy talking into his wrist unit.

  “I reported it. Three cops showed up, did the usual, had me sign lots of stuff. I’ve told the media, but every damn person I tell I’ve been robbed just looks at me and asks how much.”

  Kris sighed; she was none too sure she believed his story. “Excuse the interruption, Harry; you can go back to sleep.”

  “Yeah, like I can.”

  Now Kris faced the Senator. It had been quite a power rush to be the miracle worker. Right up to the point where she walked off a cliff. She shrugged, an interesting action in the outfit she had on. “Now you know as much as I know.”

  “But who stole it?” Mel said.

  “Inspector Klaggath?” Kris said.

  “Excuse me, ma’am,” he said, coming forward. “That’s not my line of work. I’ve got calls out, and I may be able to tell you something before too long, but I’ll just be passing info. I won’t know anything extra.”

  “But the theft isn’t getting out to the media!” Kris said, mindful of the growing public relations disaster.

  “If theft it is,” the Inspector said.

  Kris had no answer for that. And whatever had given her this momentary respite must have ended, because a milling herd appeared headed her way. “Looks like it’s back to shaking hands and smiling,” she said, standing.

  “Oh, we didn’t even introduce ourselves, Mel,” the Senator said, standing as well. “I’m Kay Krief, this is my husband Mel. Our daughter, Nara, will be racing this weekend. I hope you can come by her boat and wish her luck,” Kay said, offering her hand and an official card.

  “I’d be glad to,” Kris said, taking the card and passing it to Penny. Kris had no idea where to stash a card in her gown.

  “Nara would be delighted,” Mel said.

  “I’ll call you,” Kris said and turned to face what proved to be a mob with a center. Ambassador Middenmite smiled and presented a man of medium height and healthy build, “Izzic Iedinka, the President of Turantic.”

  Kris held out her hand, and the President, instead of shaking it, kissed it, doing it rather well. Returning to his full height, which made him an inch shorter than Kris, he said, “I hope you are enjoying your stay. Did you come here on business?”

  “Initially business,” Kris said, “which was quickly finished. Now I find myself staying here for pleasure.”

  “Ah, yes, the quarantine. I’m afraid that can’t be helped.”

  “I just heard that the supply of Ebola vaccine that Nuu Pharmaceuticals has on the planet has been stolen.”

  “Excuse me, there’s a vaccine for this thing?” A woman at his elbow stepped forward and whispered something to him. “There is? Why wasn’t I told about that?” He turned back to Kris with a wan smile. “Seems like it has kind of been walked off with, I guess. I’m sure my police will have something to tell us by morning. Right?” he said, half over his shoulder.

  “Yes, Mr. President.”

  “It’s sad to see it stolen,” Kris said with the most
sincere smile she could manufacture, “since it is my grandfather’s policy not to make money off of such terrible events. My representative on Turantic has already assured me that he was pulling the vaccine from storage to donate it to the relief effort.”

  “He was? Now that’s mighty fine of him,” the President drawled, “but you’ll pardon an old horse trader if I tell you that you can’t stay in business doing things like that.”

  “I can’t agree with you more.” Kris smiled. “But we find the tax write-off for the donation covers our costs quite well.”

  “Ah, right,” the President said, making a gun out of his finger and shooting Kris. “That’s a businessman I understand.”

  Kris expected he could. “I’ve got a call into Nuu Enterprises to send a fast packet for me. It can bring in more vaccine. I sent the message early this morning, but I haven’t heard that it’s gone out.”

  “Not likely it will, young lady,” the President told her. “Seems the fire in our communications center here on the station did more damage than they thought, even to the stuff that was still working. It’s all down. They tell me they’re scrounging all over Turantic for stuff they can use to get it back up.”

  Which left Kris really and truly stranded here. “Any chance I could buy a ship to take me off planet?”

  “Nope. Until we can certify we’ve got a clean bill of health, I’ve ordered all shipping locked down. If a ship even powers up, there’ll be a passel of guards seeing why, and if one actually managed to get away, our station gunners have orders to shoot any ship making for a jump point. I take my responsibility to the rest of humanity very seriously,” he said, putting a hand to the vest of his tux.

  Time to switch topics. “I’ve been told you have an election coming up soon.” Kris smiled.

  “Yep, one month, twenty-six days. But who’s counting?” He chuckled. “It’s probably the most important election to face us since the first ship landed on Turantic. Things have changed. Humanity has to change with it, and so do we,” he said, launching into what sounded far too much like The Canned Speech. But before Kris could stop him, he stopped himself. “I’ll be talking at a $250,000-a-plate dinner later this evening. You’ll be coming by, won’t you?”

  “My schedule is amazingly light this evening,” Kris told him.

  “I’ll look for you there,” the President said and seemed to be ready to move on. However, a young man had stepped forward to whisper something to him. “It is?” the President said, and the man pointed at Kris’s waist. For a moment the President seemed to really take Kris in, his nostrils flaring a bit at what he saw. “I’m told that is the Earth Order of the Wounded Lion you’re wearing there, girl.”

  “Yes, Mr. President.” Here was something Kris could enjoy.

  “More often than not, that’s only given out posthumously.”

  “As you can see, I’m very much alive.”

  “I’ve heard several different stories about what actually happened between the Earth Battle Fleet and the Wardhaven Fleet at the Paris system a few months ago.”

  “I was there,” Kris said proudly, “and I heard quite a few different stories about what happened, too.” And you’re not going to hear my story from me, Mr. President.

  “Very confusing situation,” the President muttered, glancing over his shoulder at his adviser. “Very confusing.”

  “I’m sure you’ve heard the old saw about the fog of war, Mr. President,” Kris replied, too proud of herself to let it drop but choosing her words carefully. “The farther you get out on the tip of the spear, the foggier it is, sir, and at Paris, I was about as far out on the tip as it got.”

  Tommy, who’d stood quietly through all this, leaned close to Kris’s ear and muttered, “And not have the damn spear jammed up your ass.”

  The President apparently didn’t catch Tom’s words. He shook his head, repeated, “Very confusing,” one more time, and headed off for other hands to shake and contributions to collect. Kris, however, caught at the Ambassador’s elbow.

  “Sir, I’ve got a problem. In my day job, I’m in the Navy. I’m about halfway through a week’s leave, and since I’m not headed back already, it looks like I’m not only going to overstay my leave but not be able to report my situation. Do you have a military attaché that I could at least check in with?”

  “I don’t know, Your Highness. I guess there are some uniform types on my staff.” Penny, at Kris’s other elbow, cleared her throat. The Ambassador glanced at her as if seeing her for the first time this evening. “Ah, yes, I do know you. You work for me, don’t you?”

  “In Military Exchanges and Procurement, sir.”

  “Well, you’ll look after her, won’t you? Try to keep her out of trouble. I’ve heard stories about the Prime Minister’s brat, don’t you think I haven’t, young woman,” the Ambassador said, softening his words with a grandfatherly grin.

  If he chucks me under my chin, I’m going to kick him in the groin, Kris promised herself, but he turned and followed the President toward the political side, leaving Kris with a choice: stay with the sociables or go heel to toe with Turantic’s political power. Apparently, declaring Wardhaven foreign didn’t mean the President didn’t want her money, even royal donations. Kris shook her head; Grampa Ray had made sure she spent a day listening to the things she could not do anymore. Joining the politicians would be throwing herself into the deep end of someone else’s pool, a deep end that probably wanted her on record for things Grampa Ray was still dodging. At least among the socials she hadn’t met a shark she couldn’t out-gnaw.

  She turned back to the party.

  For the next half hour, Kris mingled. More talk of weather, how beautiful Turantic was, how nice it was to be out from under Earth’s thumb, and how great her great-grandparents were back then with about half of them wondering what had gotten into Grampa Ray to let himself be made a King. The other half loved the idea. And, of course, there were the mothers offering Kris their very available bachelor sons for spousal consideration. Fortunately, few were present. Those who were ranged from gawkily awkward to boorishly forward. Kris wondered if it was too late to join a nunnery rather than the Navy.

  Just as Kris was about to declare that she’d suffered enough and had earned the right to retreat back to her hotel suite, Senator Krief showed up again, this time with nearly a dozen other people. They rather deftly cut Kris out from the mob and edged her into a quiet corner with tables and chairs. “You looked like you could use rescuing,” Kay said.

  “I could use something,” Kris agreed.

  “A drink?” Mel asked. Kris mentioned something light and soft; the man stepped away as his wife did introductions.

  “I thought you’d like to meet a few of the folks who won’t be at the President’s fund-raiser. Senator Kui,” a small, white-haired man bowed slightly to Kris, “and his wife,” a woman in a red kimono-type gown smiled. “Senator Showkowski,” a large woman in a bright blue gown nodded, “and her husband,” an even larger man in a poorly tied white tie and tails neither smiled nor nodded but looked at Kris like he might a spider. Senator LaCross was a tall, willowy man who bowed graciously to Kris. “And his spouse,” introduced another man slightly shorter but just as thin. He affected a bow as deep as the Senator’s.

  Mel returned with drinks for all. Kris took a sip and settled herself in place. A glance around showed Jack had her agents in a semicircle that would not only protect her from stray bullets but might just block out any enthusiastic mother.

  The others settled into chairs, glanced around among themselves, and said nothing.

  “So,” Mr. Showkowski growled into the silence, “Wardhaven gunna keep us under its thumb just like Earth?”

  “Dennis,” his senatorial wife said with a frown.

  “Well, that is what you all want to know. Politicians! You’re afraid to ask. Well, Longknife, what’s it gunna be?”

  Now it really was show time. Kris sat forward. “Not being a politician myself, I can giv
e you a straight answer. I don’t know. Why do you ask?”

  “You don’t know?” Senator LaCross said.

  “Hey, folks, my day job is with the Navy. My nights are pretty much full of this Princess gig. Doesn’t leave a lot of time for tracking the media. You may have me confused with my father or great-grandfather,” Kris said, all smile.

  “We kind of assumed you would know what they had up their sleeves,” Kay Krief said.

  Kris raised her very bare arms. “Nothing up mine. And I really think most politicians on Wardhaven are just as much in the dark as you are about what the United Sentients will do.”

  “I find that hard to believe,” said Senator Kui.

  “You’re talking about eighty sovereign planets,” Kris pointed out. “Each has a vote in the legislature. They aren’t even sure if it’s going to be a one-, two-, or three-house legislature, last I heard.”

  “But King Ray is—” Dennis Showkowski began.

  Kris cut him off. “Has no veto power, no authority to propose legislation. He controls nothing but his own words.”

  “But I thought that making him King would mean all of the policies he advocated for the Society of Humanity would be carried over into the United Sapients thing.”

  “Sentients,” Kris corrected and shook her head. “Listen, the only real reason for making Grampa King was to take my family and its money out of U.S. politics. Did my father resign as Prime Minister of Wardhaven? No. Does anyone on Wardhaven call him Prince? Not twice.” Dad had blustered and flustered and gotten the Prince thing dropped. Kris had tried, to no avail. “Truth is, no one knows what any of this stuff means. You pay your money and you take your ride,” she quoted one of her father’s favorite sayings. “And if you want to have a say, you get on board soonest before everything gets settled and bureaucrats are saying, ‘But we’ve always done it that way.’ ”

  That brought a smile from the legislators around her.

  “So you’re saying that King Ray ain’t going to force his Wardhaven Treaty on this United whatever thing,” Dennis said.