Kris Longknife: Audacious Part 2

Her Highness weighed the benefits of keeping secrets verses what she'd gain by inviting the whole crew into what lay ahead of her. She tossed a coin mentally and made her choice.

"I was told," Kris said slowly, voice low. The hush now spread from the officers to the enlisted. Even at the steam tables, the clatter seemed to continue on kitten toes. "That I'd made the Rim too dangerous for me. I was told that Eden was about the only place I could walk the streets in peace.

"Then last night it turns out I can't even take a p.i.s.s without someone trying to perforate me." There were soft chuckles at that. Marine Gunnery Sergeant Brown turned to the staff sergeant who'd had the duty last night; they exchanged winks.

"The last time Grampa Ray gave me one set of orders but dumped me into a totally different stew, it turned out that I was supposed to cook that stew and ignore the orders." Around her, there were grins at her family reference to King Raymond I, but the grins were quickly swallowed as Kris finished her thought.

"Since Eden clearly isn't the advertised paradise, I find myself wondering what I'm really supposed to get done here?"

5.

By the time Kris presented herself in undress whites for the amba.s.sador's pleasure, she had spent an hour on the phone with Administrative Lieutenant Martinez. He was as helpful as his cheerful smile promised, but it was clear his job was to see that all the T's were crossed, I's dotted, and no firearms permit issued without a tree sacrificed to the paperwork G.o.d.

"We need full doc.u.mentation of no less than three attempts on your life," he said, apparently reading from policy displayed right beside Kris's face on his old computer screen. Kris had long ago noticed that most bureaucrats found old technology far more to their liking than the new stuff.

"Three a.s.sa.s.sination attempts." Kris tried to sound thoughtful rather than outraged. "I imagine that cuts down on the requests. Those that don't survive the first couple don't trouble your day much do they."

"No, ah, they don't." Lieutenant Martinez had the good sense to at least look apologetic.

"Does last night's shoot-out count as one? Can I just send you two more?"

"Last night?" he said, glancing offscreen. "I don't have any report of an attempt on your life. My morning report says everything was quiet last night."

Which left Kris wondering what it took for the powers that be in this burg to admit there had been a major can of worms crawling around their streets, shooting off automatic weapons. If last night was quiet, did it take the use of a long-forgotten fusion bomb to get noticed. Is this part of why I'm here?

Kris turned to Abby. "I'm sure your reports contain several attempts on my life. Would you be kind enough to forward them to Lieutenant Martinez."

"I usually charge for such releases," Abby primly said.

"Put it on my bill," Kris growled. "Send six of them."

"Six," squeaked from the wall screen Kris was addressing.

"Just six. Abby, have you filled out the basic form?"

"Yes, Your Highness," the maid said as if on cue.

"It would be a shame if you had to explain to King Raymond, formerly President Ray Longknife of the Society of Humanity, how it came that I got killed on Eden because me and my escort couldn't shoot back."

"President Longknife. You're related to him!"

"He's my great-grandfather."

His "Oh" took a minute for Martinez to swallow. "And you want an escort."

"My Chief of Security, First Lieutenant Montoya, and at least four other people on my immediate staff. I will also have six Marines rotating in and out of my protection detail. Maybe more in some instances."

"When you are granted a permit, it covers your bodyguards," Martinez muttered.

"You don't have cause to grant many of these, do you?"

"Most requests are legacies. Your father had a permit, so you are authorized one when you move outside his secured area. Your father or mother was a registered bodyguard and you are accepted into one of the guilds. That sort of thing."

More information that didn't make it into Kris's official briefings. NELLY, REMIND ME TO LOOK INTO THE SERVICES OF SUCH AGENCIES.

I AM ALREADY SEARCHING. THEY ARE NOT LISTED IN THE PUBLIC DATABASE.

Curiouser and curiouser.

The call went long, but it left Kris with only five minutes to cool her heels...and think...in the amba.s.sador's outer office before the staff meeting collapsed and she was invited into the inner holy of holies.

"The amba.s.sador will see you now," his secretary said, a fellow in a three-piece business suit that made him look more like an amba.s.sador than a secretary. But then the entire outer office was overblown in wood desks, expensive wallpaper, and carved filigree.

The amba.s.sador's office was even more palatial. But Kris had seen where the king of a hundred planets lived...and he needed none of this folderol. But he was Ray Longknife-that Ray Longknife-and he needed little display to highlight his power.

Amba.s.sador VanDerFund apparently felt the need for display. Kris wondered how many other people knew it was all borrowed.

The emba.s.sy was known locally as Brown House, not because any streak of brown showed on its facade but because a certain Mr. Brown had built it to display the wealth he'd made on Eden in the first century of its colonization. Several of the first landers had built similar mansions near the center of town before land got so expensive. The great-great-grandkids now preferred to make their show of wealth farther out...some complete with hunting forests. Most in-town places, like Mr. Brown's, were taken over for other uses.

This was not the only one that had become an emba.s.sy. Somewhere across town, Greenfeld had an even bigger white elephant to feed Henry Peterwald the XII's ego.

"Mr. Amba.s.sador," Kris said, with a nod.

"Your Highness," Samuel VanDerFund said with a slight bow that didn't make it past his chin. Dressed in a suit his secretary might have ordered, his aquiline face, graying hair, and other auroras of strength and power were cut short, literally, by his five and a half feet of stature. Kris placed his age at eighty. Back then, there had been an unforseen genetic blunder attached to offspring bioengineered for just such qualities Sammy exuded. Short stature. Oh, and a sensitivity that went with it. No one called him Sammy to his face.

Maybe a princess could, but Kris wasn't interested in finding out.

Today, Sammy was also short-tempered. He went directly from "Your Highness," with no further preamble, to "What were you trying to do, get us all declared persona non grata on this planet. I was warned that you don't seem to care that there are half a dozen planets that you cannot return to, but some of us have the honor of representing Wardhaven and its growing alliance on planets like Eden. And we don't want to leave."

He finished by pulling several purple folders from a drawer and tossing them across his immaculate marble desk. The reports that slid from them duplicated those Penny had shared with Kris and friends over breakfast. One was new. It showed the seal of the prime minister's office. Kris glanced at it. It had the story straight.

"Interesting," Kris said with a frown. "I just finished talking to a police lieutenant about getting a permit for my bodyguards to carry weapons. He said that the police reports from last night show nothing happened."

"Clearly, he is misinformed," the amba.s.sador snorted, dismissing Martinez with a wave of his hand. He then launched into a diatribe on Kris's need to do her job, keep a low profile, and not disturb the tranquility of the emba.s.sy to the second most ancient planet in human s.p.a.ce...and the most important when it came to Wardhaven's growing trade.

Kris nodded in all the right places, made the occasional proper noise of agreement...and put her time to better uses.

NELLY, WHAT IS THE MEDIA SAYING ABOUT LAST NIGHT?.

I WAS WONDERING WHEN YOU WOULD ASK. NOTHING, FOR THE MOST PART.

NOTHING, ZERO, NADA!.

PRETTY MUCH. NO SHOOT-OUT. NO DEAD BODIES. I EVEN CHECKED THE MORGUE. NO ONE ADMITTED WITH GUNSHOT WOUNDS.

SO, NOTHING HAPPENED, Kris said, and barely kept a puzzled frown from her face that wouldn't have been a proper response to where Sammy was in his flow of words, wisdom, and correction.

THERE IS A REPORT IN A SMALL MEDIA OUTLET THAT CONCERNS ITSELF WITH CIVIC MATTERS AND BUSINESS CONTRACTS FOR CITY WORK. IT SAYS A FIRE HYDRANT FAILED, AND POINTS OUT THAT THE SAME HYDRANT FAILED NOT THREE YEARS AGO. IT DEMANDS AN INVESTIGATION INTO SHODDY WORKMANSHIP BY CITY WORKERS AND STRONGLY SUGGESTS SUCH MATTERS SHOULD BE CONTRACTED OUT TO MORE EFFICIENT PRIVATE CONTRACTORS.

THREE YEARS AGO. DID YOU CHECK THAT STORY, NELLY.

YES, KRIS. THAT FLOODING WAS PUT DOWN TO A BAD WELD AT THE FACTORY.

NO WAY TO TELL IF ANYTHING HELPED IT ALONG?.

SORRY, KRIS. I CAN ONLY REPORT THE NEWS THAT SOMEONE WRITES.

AND SOMEONE SEEMS TO HAVE A SOLID LOCK ON WHAT THAT IS, Kris said, then nodded for the amba.s.sador's benefit and said, "Yes sir, I will endeavor to not be attacked by a.s.sa.s.sins in the future."

If Sammy detected the sarcasm, it did not show in his dismissal. "Now, today you have some important negotiations. Thank heavens they are in the emba.s.sy. I shall a.s.sume you can do that without destroying the building."

"Yes, Mr. Amba.s.sador. I'm sure I can."

He made a point of turning his attention to his desk computer. Kris made a point of nodding and leaving. It looked like it was going to be a busy day.

With luck, it would not be fatal for anyone, especially Kris.

6.

Three planets, Lorna Do, Pitts Hope, and Hurtford wanted to build the latest line of business computers coming from IBM loaded with the software that went with them.

The sales rep from IBM was most willing to deal...but at a price that was quite out of line for a similar sale just closed between Yamato, Europa, and Columbia.

Kris knew about that deal. A Nuu Enterprises company on Yamato had been involved. The three reps on Kris's side also knew of the deal from their sources. The sales rep had to know they knew. Still, she smiled cheerfully and set the higher price, and the other planet reps smiled just as cheerfully and began their own long-winded campaign to lower the price.

All Kris could think of was that this was another day she'd never have again.

So, had Grampa Ray sent her here to learn to waste time?

Somehow, Kris doubted that.

She set Nelly to doing a more informed search on this planet, and nodded along with the conversation while Nelly searched. And made reports.

Reports that were as useless as the negotiations.

KRIS, I HAVE TRIED RESEARCHING THE LAST HUNDRED YEARS OF THIS PLANET'S HISTORY BUT I KEEP COMING UP AGAINST BABBLE.

BABBLE?.

YES, MA'AM. I TRIED SEARCHING THE ARCHIVES OF THE THREE MAIN MEDIA SOURCES ON EDEN. HOWEVER, ALL THREE HAVE THEIR DATA STORED IN A DIFFERENT, NONSTANDARD FORMAT AND I CAN ONLY ACCESS THEM IF I APPLY FOR A SUBSCRIPTION AND AM APPROVED. THE COST FOR ANY OF THEM IS UNBELIEVABLY HIGH.

HOW HIGH?.

Nelly quoted a price, and Kris barely suppressed a whistle that didn't fit into the bargaining. News archive subs would set Kris back the price of several of those overpriced dresses Abby occasionally added to her royal wardrobe.

YOU HAVEN'T APPLIED FOR A SUBSCRIPTION?

NO, KRIS, I DO NOT SPEND THAT KIND OF MONEY WITHOUT PERMISSION. I AM NOT ABBY. ALSO, I WAS NOT SURE YOU WANTED IT KNOWN THAT YOU WERE APPLYING FOR SUCH A SUBSCRIPTION.

Which was Kris's second thought. While getting the straight skinny on this planet might not be easy, she somehow doubted keeping anything a secret was all that easy, either.

"Kris, you have a call coming in," Nelly whispered softly.

"I'll take it," Kris said. While the actual conversation would take place in the privacy of Kris's brain, it was common courtesy to let people in business meetings know that one of their members was going to be somewhat distracted for a while.

Around Kris, the conversation did not pause. That only confirmed her suspicion that while she might be in a Navy lieutenant's uniform, she was here to keep up royal appearances.

h.e.l.lO, Kris said, using Nelly's net connection.

THIS IS LIEUTENANT MARTINEZ, CALLING ABOUT YOUR WEAPONS PERMIT.

YES, LIEUTENANT, THANK YOU FOR GETTING BACK TO ME SO QUICKLY.

WHAT MY SPEED MAY BE REMAINS TO BE SEEN. I WOULD LIKE AN OPPORTUNITY TO TALK TO YOU FOR A FEW MINUTES. PREFERABLY ALONE AND SOMEWHERE WE WON'T BE INTERRUPTED. "Or overheard" seemed to be hanging there unsaid.

Of course, anywhere that filled that bill could also be setting her up to be gunned down by any shooter walking by.

COULD YOU MEET ME HERE AT THE EMBa.s.sY?.

I'D PREFER NOT TO, came back very quickly.

WHY DON'T YOU MEET ME IN FRONT OF THE EMBa.s.sY AND WE'LL SETTLE ON A WALK FROM THERE. SAY IN FIFTEEN MINUTES.

I WAS THINKING ABOUT LUNCH.

I WAS THINKING ABOUT NOW. This at least would let her keep control of part of this potential bit of target practice.

As soon as Martinez rung off, Kris informed Jack.

NO SURPRISE OUR WALLS HAVE EARS. Jack agreed. I AMA BIT SURPRISED THAT A LOCAL COP WOULD NOT WANT TO TALK TO THEM.

I'M DISCOVERING LESS AND LESS ABOUT THIS PLANET, JACK. MAYBE I CAN FIND OUT SOMETHING IF THIS FELLOW FEELS FREE TO TALK?