Kris Longknife: Audacious Part 34

No, that wasn't quite right. Her brother or father didn't get folks into a battle line. Kris did.

And she did it by being there, first in line.

"Jack, you have an opinion?"

"It would be better if I could freelance myself tomorrow rather than being tied to your arm." Captain DeVar would lead the external contingent, the Marines in full-battle armor standing ready to charge to the rescue.

"You really want to do this?" Kris asked.

The commander paused, then sucked up his gut and launched himself into his future...or lack of one. "Your Highness, I haven't exactly had a brilliant career in this man's Navy." He snorted. "If things hadn't gotten as tough as they are just now, I would have been shown the door four, five years ago. I've done my job. Good, never great. But then, none of the jobs really needed much doing. Who would send me to do something really important?" he spat out.

"I know who I am. And I can't say that I like it much. Tomorrow, maybe I'll get myself killed doing the job I'm asking for. And I'll just be doing what little bit I can so that better men than me can do what they do best. But you'll be better off with a shooter at your elbow than with a nothing.

"And who knows, maybe someone will take an extra second deciding whether to shoot me rather than you...and give you the second you need to survive."

"Abby, do we have spider-silk underwear we can spare the commander?"

Abby shook her head from where she stood behind Jack. "I'm sorry, sir. Your Highness. I don't have anything in the commander's size."

The man half chuckled. "Why don't I find that surprising? And no, my fancy dress mess uniform isn't armored, like the Marine here," he said, nodding at Jack.

"It's not safe being around a Longknife without body armor," Jack said.

"I didn't ask for safe. I asked for a chance to get a few shots off."

Kris looked at her tray, full and ready to be taken to a table. She picked it up, turned, and found a table just emptying, as if waiting for her and hers.

What should she do with the commander? She pondered that as she made her way to her seat.

She'd sworn she would lead no more children's crusades. Yet everything she was doing today, tomorrow, turned on the curt message Bronc had sent. At what risk?

But the commander was no child. He might sound like some c.o.c.keyed optimist, but it wasn't because he didn't know the odds. He'd served in the uniform that barely fit him for almost twenty years. No, he'd looked the risk in the eye and despite the obviously terrible odds, was asking Kris for a chance to earn his pay. His pay for tomorrow...and for quite a few years when no one had given him credit for earning a dime.

"Commander, why don't you sit with us? I'd be honored to have you escort me to the reception."

And the worried lines on the commander's face were replaced by a happy smile.

Would he still be smiling when they buried him?

The table talk that night at the unsecured wardroom tables was subdued, but seemed to center on how to armor up formal dress uniforms.

Bronc did his best to stand at attention in front of the one they all called the colonel. Still, his knees were shaking, barely holding him up.

"I'm told you have a very fancy and new computer," the colonel told Bronc, then glanced at the sergeant who'd been working with Bronc and Mick and Trang.

"Ya, yes, sir, sir. An old lady gave it to me, sir." Bronc tried not to stammer, and failed miserably.

"And why did she give this nice toy to you?"

"Ah, sir, she asked me, ah, what I wanted and I told her, sir. Then, ah, she, she told me what she wanted, sir." This time he did stammer and hoped he was turning beet red.

The colonel actually smiled. "I hope you had fun, boy."

"I think I did, sir," Bronc answered. That got him a laugh from both soldiers.

Of course, what Abby really did was tell him to stay clear of Longknifes. At the moment, Bronc really wished he had.

"How good is that antique he's got?" the colonel asked.

"Surprisingly good, Colonel, compared with the c.r.a.p those other two dunderheads brought. He still had the receipt from a local computer store in his pocket. His story checks out. No doubt he earned his pay."

Both men chuckled at that. Bronc could feel himself going hot in the face again.

"How old are you, boy?" the commander asked.

"Fourteen, sir. Almost fifteen."

"Do you know how to use that computer?"

"Yes, sir. Ah, no, sir. I mean, I'm learning to use it."

The colonel frowned, but the sergeant stepped in. "The two young fools that have been teaching him don't know how to use half of what they've got. I think the kid's got what it takes. Let me work with him for a day and I'll let you know for sure."

"We may not have a day," the colonel growled. "Young man, these are momentous times for Eden. A new day is coming. Bright people like you will find that the sky is the limit if you play your cards right. Are you a card player?"

"Na, no, sir," Bronc said, then quickly added softly. "I never had the money, sir."

"Stick with us and you'll have that money. Sergeant, do what you need to do, but get me what I have to have."

Bronc followed the sergeant out of the colonel's tiny command center. It was little more than a tent with loads of computers. Real ones, ones like Bronc had only heard about.

Only after he was halfway back to the shelter he shared with Mick and Trang, did Bronc breathe easy. The last couple of guys who had been taken up to see the colonel had not returned. Rumor was their bodies had been dumped behind the rifle range.

Bronc hadn't been trained to use a rifle, so he didn't even know where the range was. And he didn't want to know.

He had managed to get a message off to Cara when he picked up the talk that they were going to kill everyone.

He still didn't know who the everyone was, nor did he know a where for the killing.

From what the colonel said, the when must be getting close. The who that would be do the killing was pretty clear. Scores of men walked around the camp with long rifles or short machine pistols slung in front of them.

Bronc so wanted to get another note off to Cara, but knew better than to even think of it. He was getting music on his new computer in areas he had no idea how to interpret. This place had electronic security like he'd never dreamed of.

No question, Abby and the chief had given him a whole lot more computer than he knew how to use.

Maybe, if he listened to it, he'd manage to stay alive.

41.

Kris slept amazingly well that night, and was halfway through her morning jog with the Marines when Nelly ruined her day.

"Inspector Johnson just took an encrypted call from someone. He is parked in front of the emba.s.sy."

Kris considered dropping out of the morning run, then decided that the good inspector could just wait. In the fullness of time, a Marine company in full-battle rattle, trailed by a platoon of very sweaty sailors, double-timed up to the emba.s.sy's front door.

Kris fell out when Gunny gave the order. While the Marines trotted off to quarters, Kris and her team, with Captain DeVar at their elbow, turned to face the inspector.

"It still looks like you're ready to invade my planet," the inspector started off. So much for small talk.

"My orders are strictly defensive," Captain DeVar said, when Kris tossed him the question with a nod of her head.

"Though you could hardly do worse with his Marines than you're doing by yourself," Penny added.

That drew a frown from the local cop. He fixed Kris with a stare. "What do you know?"

"Good Morning, Inspector, and a fine one your planet is offering us, isn't it," Kris said, insisting on some friendly chitchat before the heavy stuff.

"I wouldn't know about the morning. I didn't sleep much last night."

"Get to the bottom of all your boxes?" Kris asked, cheerily.

"No. And now I have all kinds of people arguing over jurisdiction." He snorted. "Some of them I didn't think were even supposed to know about the boxes. Do I owe you for that?"

Kris shrugged. "Eden is very good about keeping its secrets, Inspector. Very good except when it is very bad. Doesn't seem to be anywhere in the middle."

The inspector turned and walked across the broad driveway of the emba.s.sy. Kris followed, her crew on sniper lookout.

In the middle of the parking lot, he turned on her and whispered. "I need to know what you know."

Kris nodded...and gave him an accurate answer that probably had nothing to do with his question. "Eden is going to have to change. The corruption, the secrecy, the marginalizing of some of your best can't go on."

"Says you, and anyone who isn't a complete fool," snapped the inspector. "You have a penny solution or have you invested a whole dime in the problem of making it happen?"

Kris shrugged, not at all surprised by his reaction. "I'm just a tourist giving you my observation. The status quo on Eden has very little time left. Eden will either change itself or be changed by those who don't care a fig for her."

"Thanks for your helpful advice," the inspector growled and looked ready to storm away.

And Kris chose to gamble that he was as sincere as his voice had been. "They plan to kill everyone," she said.

The inspector stopped before his second stomp and whirled back to face Kris. "Who is going to kill all of who?"

"I don't know."

"Can't you get back to your source?"

"What was sent to us was sent at great personal risk. No, I am not going to demand more."

"You trust this source?"

"I have no reason not to."

"That's an interesting conclusion from someone who's been on the planet less than a month."

"Take it as you will."

"They are going to kill everyone," the inspector repeated.

"Whoever the 'they' are and whoever the 'everyone' are. a.s.suming the 'they' can pull it off."

"When?"

"Your guess is as good as mine, Inspector."

He shook his head and began pacing. "There is no way that any 'they' can kill 'everyone.'"

Kris eyed the inspector. The answer to that question had slapped her in the face only moments after the intel. How could the inspector not see what she saw?

"I've been invited to a reception this evening. I'm told everyone who is anyone will be there," she said slowly.

Inspector Johnson glanced up from his pacing. "Yes, the reception at the National Gallery of the Arts. I know about that."

"Everyone who is anyone?" Kris repeated.

He shook his head forcefully. "Not a chance. Vice President McLyndon had me review security on the place. It will be airtight. That's why we use the Gallery for those things. The actual building is solid stone. The gardens and arboretum around it give us open kill fields. You're as safe there as in your mother's arms."

Did the inspector know just how much Kris did not care for that imagery?

"I can't tell you how glad that makes me feel," Kris said, pouring as much sarcasm as she could manage into "glad."

"Trust me, you don't have anything to worry about tonight."

Kris glanced at Jack and DeVar. Between them they'd come up with dozens of lines of a.s.sault on that big stone hulk. Did Johnson know something they didn't? Or was he totally unable to weigh the power of a modern a.s.sault team against it?

At her father's knee, Kris had learned that there are none so blind as those with eyes but unwilling to see. By high school, Kris had her own way of putting it: There was no way to solve a problem for people who didn't know they had one.

Clearly, Inspector Johnson was a man with a problem that he wanted Kris to help him solve. But the National Gallery was not that problem.

Maybe he was right.

Kris shrugged and said, "Thank you. I feel so much better about tonight already," and almost made it sound sincere.