Defiant

2

''You Print-cess Longa-knife?'' the guard asked.

Kris blinked away exhaustion as she took inventory of her three-by-four-meter brig cell. It was cold, gray on gray, concrete floor and walls, unpadded slab for a bed, toilet without the courtesy of a seat. It stank of old vomit, but nobody was here but her.

She let go of her knees; she'd pulled them up to her chin for warmth and the feel of something human. She allowed herself a sleepless stretch. Her blue shipsuit identified her as a Navy Lieutenant; it properly displayed the name Longknife over her right breast. She swallowed several cutting replies that she doubted the guard had the good sense of humor to take and settled for, ''I am Kris Longknife.''

''Somebody finally showed up to sign for you.'' The Corporal snickered and signaled to a security camera. With a buzz, the cell door opened.

Kris reminded herself that whatever that camera recorded would show up in the media to the worst reflection on her, her father the Prime Minister, and, more importantly, Grampa Ray, the king. Hungry, tired, madder than she'd ever been in her life, Kris stood with as much grace as her aching muscles allowed and carefully paced the distance to the door. ''Thank you,'' she told the man as if he had done her royal person a great service.

''You're welcome,'' he said, then glanced up at the camera and made a sour face as if he might somehow take back those words. There was more than one way to get even, Kris reminded herself.

He made up for that mistake by grabbing her elbow and trying to rush her along. Kris was too tired, ached too much, and had too many other problems for that to end up well. ''Could we please slow down?'' she asked. ''My shoes don't have any laces, and if I walk too fast, I'll walk out of them.''

''Oh.'' The guard looked down, slowed. ''Sorry.''

Kris doubted that was what his superiors wanted on the record, but she'd often found that a bit of human kindness in the worst situation encouraged human kindness in return. Today, it had worked. She wouldn't take it personal if tomorrow it didn't.

The prison maze she'd been led through last night was now done in reverse. It coughed her up in the booking room. A new desk sergeant was looking at his monitors and camera feeds; he studiously ignored her.

NELLY, YOU GOT THE BADGE NUMBERS?

YOU BET.

Kris was a naval officer, but she'd been raised a politician's daughter. There would be payback for this night.

From flimsy plastic chairs across from the desk sergeant's cage, two familiar figures rose. Jack was no surprise.

Special Agent Montoya, the head of her security detail, should have been able to arrange her release by a quick flash of his badge. No badge was in evidence.

Rising to his feet beside Jack was Great-grampa Trouble. He had another name, but he'd been Trouble to so many people, not all of them enemies, during his long Marine career, that now he was Trouble even to Kris's mother. In name and fact. Former chair of several different planetary general staffs, he was now semiretired. Today he wore slacks and a three-button shirt. And if someone mistook his ramrod back and burr cut for just any retired officer, they deserved what they got.

Kris had several million questions, but a glance at Jack and Grampa showed that they had no intention of saying a word under the watchful eyes of the security cameras around the rooms.

NELLY. WHAT'S THE NEWS?

KRIS, I STILL CANNOT ACCESS THE NET. NO MAIL, NO NEWS, NOT SO MUCH AS A RADIO WAVE. THERE'S A SHORT RANGE, ALL-FREQUENCY NOISE JAMMER THAT HAS BEEN FOLLOWING US AROUND SINCE YOU WERE ARRESTED. I CANNOT CUT THROUGH. I DO NOT HAVE THE POWER FOR IT. DO YOU WANT ME TO MAKE A TRY? If I FAIL, I COULD BE LEFT SURVIVING ON JUST A TRICKLE.

NO. WE'LL BE OUT SOON ENOUGH. THEN WE'LL FIND OUT WHAT THIS IS ALL ABOUT. Kris held her tongue while the sergeant ran Grampa Trouble's IDent through his machine, glanced at the results he got… and blanched.

He fled to the other side of his cage and turned Kris's processing over to a cheerful woman sporting Spec 4 strips. She actually gave Kris a wan smile as she produced Kris's personal effects. ''I'm sorry about this. We got very explicit orders from the Chief of Staff on how to handle your case.''

''From Mac?'' Kris knew she had caused General McMorrison one or two problems, but this!

''No, ma'am. Admiral Pennypacker, the new Chief of Staff.''

Kris thought she knew most of the senior serving officers by name; Pennypacker was a blank. She glanced at Grampa Trouble.

''Please finish clearing the Lieutenant,'' he ordered. ''Mr. Montoya and I do not have all day.''

''Yes, sir.''

Mr. Montoya! Not agent!

The Spec 4 went through Kris's wallet. ''You are ordered to surrender your diplomatic passport within twenty-four hours.''

''I'm not going anywhere. You have my ship,'' Kris snapped.

''Ma'am, I'm just following orders. There will be a pre-trial hearing a week from tomorrow. You will be notified of its exact time and location when we send you the charges against you. If you cannot afford counsel, the Navy will appoint counsel for you,'' the woman said, then looked at the file and added, ''Oh, right, you're one of those Longknifes.''

''Tell the Navy I want them to appoint me counsel.'' Kris would hire a lawyer, too, but the quality of counsel the Navy provided would tell her as much about the outcome of the court-martial as the verdict.

Five more minutes of this agony, before Jack stepped aside to open the door for Kris … and she found herself facing the last person in the world she wanted to see. Adorable Dora, host of The Real Talk of the Town—at Two, blocked Kris's way.

Surgeons had repaired that perfect nose from the last time an interviewee had broken it. Two men, both sporting several tiny cameras about their hunky frames, backed Dora up. Kris really didn't feel like decking the woman; she was way too tired for that. She just wanted to get home and find a quiet corner where she could dig a hole and crawl into it for an hour or two.

But if the woman stayed between Kris and that quiet hole, Kris might reassess her priorities.

''What do you think about your dad selling out the farmers?''

''I didn't know he had,'' Kris said, smiling like she'd been taught, while sidestepping to the left. Grampa Trouble imposed himself between Dora and Kris. Kris took two steps forward before she found herself stopped by one of the hunks and the realization that she didn't know where she was going. None of the cars in the lot were any of the limos or armored town cars normally assigned to Nuu House.

''That rental over there is ours,'' Jack said, rolling past Kris and blocking camera one while pointing at a five-year-old baby blue town car. Kris took the opening provided and quickly walked for the car. But Dora was coming up on the outside.

''How do you feel about being charged with misappropriation of government funds by your former commanding officer?''

That caused Kris to miss a step, giving Dora and her two cameramen a chance to gain position. Kris took a breath, glanced at Jack, who was rolling his eyes heavenward, and risked a question. ''Does this former commander of mine have a name?''

Kris had a number of former commanders. Some were actually still alive. A few were still serving honorably.

''Lieutenant Pearson, your commander on Olympia. She says you pocketed large sums of money from the emergency funds provided to feed the starving farmers and townspeople there.''

Kris missed two steps this time. That allowed Jack to catch up, muscle one cameraman aside and away from the car. Grampa opened the door for Kris. She positioned herself to finish the interview and vanish into the car. Taking a breath, Kris organized thoughts that were at once both exhausted and spinning.

''I served with Pearson, never under her. She was more concerned with writing policies that I don't believe she ever finished. I saw to it that people got food to eat… and they did.'' Kris started to duck into the car.

Dora would not call it quits. ''She says she has proof that money was missing from many accounts.''

Kris held herself erect by holding onto the door. ''No doubt money disappeared from her unit. She stayed holed up in her office for days on end and never went out to see what was actually happening. She did love her policy. Me, I donated money out of my own pocket to get people off their backs, out of the mud, on their feet, and back to work. Check my tax returns. They're part of the official record. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm tired, and this interview is done.''

''Do you think your dad will win the election?''

That required no thought. ''Of course. His party best represents the hopes and aspirations of the people of Wardhaven,'' Kris said and pulled the door closed.

''Sorry about that,'' Jack said as he settled into the driver's seat. He waved at the car. ''And this. It was the only one we could get on short notice that had the armor and security we needed. Your dad and brother took the new ones.''

''If someone doesn't start talking to me,'' Kris said between clenched teeth, ''I'm going to break my promise to my big brother not to kill anyone this month.''

''Hold your horses a moment,'' Jack said—and produced a bug locator and burner.

''I am tracking three bugs,'' Nelly said. ''Two are standard newsies, but the other is more expensive. Kris, I have a full news download from the net. Would you like me to brief you?''

Two sparklings in midair showed where Jack had nailed all but one of the problems. Kris gritted her teeth and waited. Nelly was good for news, but Jack knew what interested Kris. He'd tell her what she wanted to know before she had to ask.

A third nano finally went down in flames, trailing wispy smoke toward the carpeted floor.

''Jack, Grampa, what happened?'' Kris said in what she considered an amazingly restrained voice.

''At ten thirty yesterday morning,'' Jack said quickly. ''Your father's government lost a Vote of Confidence over the farm subsidy program cutbacks that he was pushing through to reduce the level of deficit brought on by the increased defense spending.''

''That's impossible. Father had a solid understanding with the farm wing of his party to support the cutbacks.'' Kris might spend most of her time Navy, but she couldn't hold down a princess's social calendar and not have her ear bent by things as politically hot as the budget and farm wing.

''Apparently, the family farmers weren't as solidly in my grandson's pocket as they told him,'' Grampa said. ''For what it's worth, it came as a really big surprise to your dad.''

''So the opposition forms a caretaker government until elections,'' Kris said, leaning back in her seat. She knew how these things went. Politics 101. She'd learned it along with how to eat her porridge back before she was out of diapers, though for all her life, her father or grandfather had been the Prime Minister, and the opposition had been little more than a voice crying in the wilderness of the back benches.

Kris reviewed what she knew. ''But a Pro Tem government isn't supposed to change policy … or appoint a new Chief of the General Staff like Pennypacker…''

Jack came in right on the downbeat. ''But this caretaker government got a solid majority to vote it full powers, things being what they are in human space at the moment, and with that vote behind them, they got King Ray to sanction them.''

''How'd Father take this?''

''Rather poorly,'' Jack said.

''I'll say,'' Grampa chuckled. ''My, but the old boy was spewing venom. Quite a sight. It will be the classic text for how not to lose a vote of confidence in the future.''

''Well, we Longknifes aren't all that practiced at losing,'' Kris observed dryly.

Jack ignored her quip and went on. ''And the opposition had a good point. With all the wars and rumor of wars, this is not a good time to have the government of Wardhaven treading water. A lot of your father's allies sided with them. They promised to vote with your old man again if and when he's got the warrant to form a new government, but just now, they felt they had to vote to juice up the Pro Tem government. I think that's why King Raymond supported their claim and need to appoint a cabinet and take the full reins of government. Anyway, what's done is done.''

''And what is done, Mr. Montoya?''

''Oh, that.'' Jack actually seemed embarrassed. ''Since you are no longer the Prime Minister's daughter, you don't rate protection. Therefore, I was recalled and reassigned to the new Prime Minister's youngest daughter.''

Kris glanced at her watch, something she could do faster than asking Nelly what time it was. ''When's your next shift?''

''I declined the reassignment and am on terminal leave,'' Jack said briskly. ''I'll rescind my resignation when your father is reelected, Princess, but Tilly Pandori is a real snot, and I'll be damned if I'll take a bullet for her.''

Having spent too many hours listening to the daughter of the opposition leader drone on and on at parties, Kris couldn't object to Jack's tastes. But it was the first evidence she'd had that his professionalism had its limits.

It also left her wondering if there wasn't more to Jack being at her side than, well, Jack being ordered to be there.

Time to change that topic.

''Am I really being charged with misappropriation of government property?'' Kris struggled to keep her voice calm … and almost succeeded. ''That bloody mission to that swamp cost me a small fortune.'' Not to mention her life … almost… twice.

''Must be true,'' Jack said. ''Pearson was on all the talk shows saying so. She has printouts to prove it. Was waving them, though she didn't let anyone get a close look at them.''

All Kris could do was shake her head. ''No good deed goes unpunished. Yes, I took a solid tax deduction for the money I donated, but the idea that I'd stooped to stealing the rice, beans, and survival biscuits we shipped to those starving farmers… While getting shot at for the privilege… Nelly, how's the Ruth Edris Fund for Displaced Farmers doing on Olympia? Are we still sending them money each month?''

''No, Kris. There are now more local donations coming in than money going out. I asked the board of directors to consider either closing it or coming up with proposals for investing the money in low-interest loans to help folks start up small businesses or homestead on abandoned farmland. They like that idea and will get back to you with a business proposal that may involve rechartering the fund as a credit union.''

''Well, if Pearson plans to try this thing in the court of public opinion while my father is in a run for his political life, Nelly, you better drop a note to Ester or Jeb and ask them to arrange some interviews with their local Olympia media. Maybe some with the ministers, priests, and rabbis we worked with, too.''

Grampa Trouble shook his head. ''Girl, a nice canned interview in some podunk place fifty light-years away won't count for much when the other side's got people running from talk show to talk show right here.''

''Hold it, Nelly,'' Kris said, knowing that Grampa was right, and she'd never have needed a reminder if she wasn't so tired. ''Send a check to cover four or five tickets and per diem for folks, and ask Ester if she could get some volunteers to come.''

''You paying their way won't look all that good,'' Jack said.

''So, if I don't, I look bad. If I do, I look lousy. Give me a break. Some breakfast, a nap, a shower, not necessarily in that order. This is about the worst morning I've ever had.''

''If that Pearson woman wasn't your boss on that rain-sodden planet, maybe you could have who was speak for you,'' Grampa said.

''Colonel Hancock was my CO, and I reported directly to him. He had as few people as possible report to Pearson.''

''Sounds like a smart man,'' was high praise from Grampa.

''Colonel Hancock,'' Jack said slowly.

''Yes,'' Kris said with a nod. ''Lieutenant Colonel James T. Hancock, SHMC.''

''Oh, him!'' Grampa Trouble shook his head. ''The opposition's talk show hosts will be foaming at the mouth to get him on as your character witness.''

''Am I missing something?'' Jack said, looking away from where the car was taking them. ''I should think a Marine Colonel would be a perfect character witness.

''Not a Colonel found not guilty, but not innocent either, of using machine guns for crowd control,'' Trouble said.

''Oh, that Colonel Hancock,'' Jack said and looked away. ''Maybe you could arrange for him to praise Pearson.''

Grampa Trouble's silence said all Kris needed to hear.

''I think there's a good reason why he's still on Olympia and probably will remain there until he sinks into the swamp. There are other folks who were on Olympia with me. There's Tom. He was with me at the warehouse. He saw what was going on.''

''The Tom who's getting married at the house?'' Jack asked. ''Kitchen crew is real excited about baking the wedding cake.''

Hmm, maybe Tom didn't look all that unbiased at the moment.

''Well, we've got a week,'' Kris concluded.

''Maybe not,'' Nelly said. ''I have been examining the news, Kris, and I think the media is engaging in what is called a ‘feeding frenzy.' Would you like to sample some of the news?''

Now it was Kris's turn to glance at Grampa and raise a quizzical eyebrow. ''Is it that bad?''

''I believe the opposition intends to try you in the media and hang your father from your highest yardarm. Or something equally nautical.''

Kris said a word princesses aren't supposed to know and settled back into her seat

They dropped Grampa Trouble off at his town house, which was good, because the entrance to Nuu House was a media circus. News trucks and cameras besieged the entrance to the compound. Only the locking gate and eight-foot-tall brick wall… and the not-so-visible security systems above it kept the media outside. Kris faced straight ahead as she rode through the barrage, trusting the car's armor to stop anything really dangerous.

It was only as Jack drove the short distance to the mansion's front entrance that she remembered Penny and Tom were supposed to drop by this morning to talk about their wedding plans. Poor Tommy, having to make it through that rabble. She hoped he hadn't cut and run. She wanted to know how the rest of the squadron was taking her arrest.

The doors to Nuu House opened automatically at her approach, leaving her facing the last person in the world she wanted to bother with at this moment.

Father!

William Longknife, Billy to his millions of intimates, stormed toward Kris, a hurricane in full blow, his face redder than Kris remembered it this early in the morning. Had he already been at the wine cabinet?

Trailing Father across the spiraling black and white tiles of the foyer was his political shadow, Honovi. Kris pitied her older brother his chosen fate, though he seemed to be succeeding fairly well at following in their father's political footsteps.

For her part, Kris had run off to space to avoid the family's business. If she could, she would have fled farther. At the moment, it looked like she hadn't run nearly far enough.

''What do you think you're doing, young woman?'' Father shouted, halting directly in front of Kris, unblinking eyes demanding an answer. He leaned into her, nose to nose, violating her personal space. Yep, he's been into the wine supply already. Things are bad and headed for worse.

Kris denied the urge to take a step back. Five years ago she would have. A year ago she might have. Not today. She'd faced battleships and assassins. What was a merely angry politician compared to that? But she didn't want a fight. Not now. She weighed her options and chose a non-confrontational one.

''I think I'm looking for breakfast,'' Kris said with as much good cheer as she could muster. ''They didn't finish booking me until after supper last night. I got sprung before breakfast. And, Father, you must look into the temperatures of your prisons. I almost froze last night.''

''I'll do that, Sis, when we get back in office.''

''Don't let her change the subject, Honovi. Kris, what are you doing to my reelection campaign?''

''Nothing, Father. Remember,'' Kris pointed at her shoulder tabs. ''I'm Navy. We stay out of politics.''

''Like hell they do. These charges leveled against you—''

''Will be handled quickly and promptly.''

''No they won't, Sis.''

''Why not?'' Her brother had Kris's undivided attention. Well, almost. From the open door to the Rose Parlor on Kris's left she was catching snatches of conversation. The word wedding kept coming up. Mother was doing most of the talking, but Kris thought she heard Tommy or Penny's voice occasionally trying to get a syllable in edgewise.

''You have a message,'' her brother said, ''from the Navy Judge Advocate General listing the charges and telling you that your initial hearing has been delayed two weeks.''

''What!'' Tired, hungry, mad, Kris barely suppressed a shout. But then she didn't know who to shout at: her brother for opening her mail or the Navy for slowing down her tribulations.

Or Mother insisting Penny must have eight bridesmaids. ''Nothing less will do. It simply will not do,'' Mother said with a theatrical flair that would grate chalk off a board.

''I'm sorry,'' Honovi said. ''The letter came to the house, and I felt I'd better open it.''

''You see,'' Father said, talking over his son, ''they're playing you into the election news cycle. They'll hang you out there, day after day, attacking me through you. There's nothing for you to do but resign from the Navy and come work for us.''

''No!'' And this time Kris did shout. She used the voice her DIs had taught her at OCS. Her ''no'' carried through the house, reverberating off walls that still echoed with years of history.

Then Kris took the two extra steps that put her in the door of the Rose Parlor and repeated, ''No.''

''Mother, you are not taking over Penny and Tom's wedding.'' She spun back to face her father. ''And Father, I am not one of your political hangers-on that you can order about. I've got my own career, and I will do what I have to do to keep it.''

Having made her position clear, Kris listened for a very long minute while Mother and Father told her how wrong she was. Kris had little argument with her father. No doubt, this was probably the most important election since Wardhaven freed itself from the yoke of the Unity thugs eighty years ago with the help of Grampa Ray's assassination of President Urm.

Oh yes, that lie again.

However, she failed to see that she had any role in this massive political theater of his. As for Mother, even when she attempted to tie a major spring wedding ''in the garden where King Ray and Rita wed'' to the election as worth a hundred thousand votes, Kris still refused to budge. Then Mother played what she thought was her trump.

''How can you expect me to stand idle while there are preparations to be made for a wedding in my own home.''

''Your. Home.'' Kris spat. Kris had had Nuu House to herself since she moved out of the Prime Minister's official residency to go to college. Father had immediately converted her bedroom to office space for two new deputy under assistants for something or other. Mother hadn't seemed to notice at all.

''Yes, Sis. We kind of had to leave the residency in a hurry last night. The Pandoris insisted on moving in this morning. We didn't bother your suites, but we did move back in.''

The idea of living under the same roof with Mother, Father, and God bless her poor brother and his new wife was not something Kris needed to think about.

''I'm moving out.''

''You can't,'' Father and Mother said together.

''Where to?'' Abby, Kris's maid of four months, asked. Kris hadn't noticed the tall, severely dressed woman at the foot of the stairs. Jack, who might take a bullet for her but wouldn't get between her and her father, had gravitated over to stand beside her.

''I can and I will move out. I am a grown woman and a commissioned Naval officer. I can afford my own apartment.''

Father just snorted at the idea. Mother raised her nose in the air. ''Where would you find anything appropriate to your station on such short notice?''

Wrong question, Kris thought.

Kris had gotten an education when she recently rescued Tom from kidnappers on Turantic. It wasn't Tommy's fault; he'd been taken as bait to trap Kris. But busting him loose had involved a walk down the seamier underside of Turantic, leaving Kris with questions about whether Wardhaven had some places just as ugly … just as empty of hope. Home, she did a search. It was easy; she just looked for the places where Father never sent her to campaign.

Yes, Wardhaven had its slums, and a diligent search by Nelly through ownership records, and records of who owned those who owned the ones who owned the ones who… Anyway, several layers of deniability up from the poor sods who collected the rent, Kris found Grampa Al and her own trust fund getting wealthy on way too many of them. She fired off a letter, with plenty of attachments, to Grampa Al, asking him to look into this. And got no reply.

What better time than now to do something about it.

''I'm sure there are several vacant apartments in Edgertown that I could rent today.''

''Edgertown,'' Mother huffed.

''Why would you rent something there?'' Father asked, his eyebrows coming together like two woolly caterpillars, unsure whether to fight or mate.

''Because we own them, Father. Or rather, your father owns them, through the necessary intermediaries to avoid embarrassing questions.''

''Kris, this is not a good time to think about doing something like that,'' Brother said.

''Who's thinking? As soon as I can call a cab, I'm out of here.''

Jack stepped forward. ''I'll drive you, Kris.''

''Young man, I forbid it,'' said Father.

''Sir, I don't work for you. Even when you are Prime Minister, I'm under civil service rules.''

Kris would not bet her career that such rules would hold when the full cyclone of her father's anger stormed down on them.

''Besides,'' the vacationing agent said, ''your daughter seems quite intent on going apartment hunting on the wrong side of town. Wouldn't you want someone with my credentials''—here he opened his coat, giving everyone a flash of his service automatic—''seeing that she gets out okay?''

''We are not finished, young woman,'' her father stormed, but Kris had done a fast about-face and was headed for the door, Jack and Abby hurrying to catch up.

Outside, Kris took two quick steps and found that her knees were again filing for nonsupport. She collapsed on the stone steps she'd sat on after school so many years ago. Then, she'd used them as an excuse not to go in, not to face her mother and father. Now she sat there recovering from them. No difference.

''You hungry?'' Jack asked.

''Starved.''

''Let's get some decent food into you while I find a well-armored car that doesn't look the part.''

Kris glanced down at herself. Her shipsuit looked like she'd sweated through an attack on a battleship, slept through a bad night in a brig, and survived a family get-together of the worst kind. ''You don't mind being near me?''

''Wasn't planning on getting closer than ten feet, and that upwind,'' Jack said. ''Remember, I'm on vacation. Any bullets that have a date with you today, it's just you and them, kid.''

''Thanks for the reminder,'' Kris said and looked up at Abby. ''And why are you going with me?''

''You're headed into hoods like where I grew up, girl, and you gonna need someone who knows the way things hang. If you don't want to end up hanging upside down. You get my meaning?''

As usual where her maid was concerned, Kris was none too sure exactly what the woman's meaning was. That it usually worked out for the best was the sole reason Kris shrugged and said, ''Fine.''

''Which also explains why Momma Abby took a few moments when she heard you were coming home to put together a survival kit for her chick.'' With a flourish, Abby opened what for her was a purse totally out of character, huge … with multicolored stripes. A glance in showed Kris a powder blue sweater and brown slacks … and a body stocking.

''Armored?''

''Why wear one if it ain't, baby ducks.''

''Do you wear armored underwear?'' Jack asked.

''I do better than that, love. I lead a nice quiet life of desperation, one that no one would want to end violently.'' Her smile for Jack almost looked honest.

Jack's personal car got them to the Scriptorum, one of Kris's old college haunts. By the time they'd eaten and Abby had helped her do a quick cleanup and change, Jack had wrestled up a car.

Abby got wide-eyed as she took in the wreck. ''You're driving a beater into my hood. You're risking the princess here having to thumb her way out when this thing goes white belly up in the middle of the road.''

''Abby, you're not the only one who wears your camouflage well. Get in. By the way, Miss Nightengale, my latest request to redo the background check on you just came back from Earth.''

Jack took the driver's seat, Abby the backseat across from him, leaving Kris to open her own door. Kris was used to her princess status going less than far where these two were concerned. After all, she'd been promoted from Prime Minister's brat to princess less than a year ago, and it was more often a nuisance than a help. Well, it had helped a bit on Turantic.

But Abby's background. That tickled Kris's curiosity. ''What did it say?''

''Nothing. Perfect support for what she said about herself. Not even the tiniest hole in her résumé.''

''Well, I should expect so,'' Abby sniffed, arranging the fall of her severe gray skirt just so. Kris wondered how much heavy weaponry it hid today.

''Perfect match. Too perfect for even the guys doing the background search. They say they'll do more checking. I got the impression that you intrigue them. You want to be their hobby?''

''No,'' Abby huffed. ''I am what I am. Doesn't a poor working girl have the right to some privacy?''

''Yes,'' Jack said, ''once you tell me who you're working for.''

''Kris's mother hired me.''

''And I suspect she's firing you as we talk,'' Kris said. ''Mother was probably so looking forward to having me around to torture for the next six weeks. She will not be happy if you help me get out from under her thumb, knee, and elbow.''

''Well, honey, getting you dressed to go apartment shopping is a long way from seeing you sign on the dotted line. No offense, Your Princessship, but you aren't serious about moving into a slum, are you?''

''She's serious,'' Jack said. ''You want to have Nelly pass me some addresses for places to look at?''

''Nelly, do what Jack asked.''

''All of them. I'm not sure this bomb can handle the half of them.'' Kris took in her ride; it looked bad. The seat covers were slashed where they weren't worn through. She fingered a cut place in the leather. Nope, not cut. Painted on. She eyed the dashboard; under all that dust was solid-looking electronics.

''Nelly, interrogate the car's computer.''

''Interro… wow. Now that is one smart computer. Jack, where did you get this car?'' Nelly asked.

Which left Kris out of the loop and a bit annoyed that her pet computer was going straight from finding out what they were riding in to asking Jack all kinds of questions. Questions Kris would much rather be asking herself.

''Friend of mine, retired from the force, runs a jack-up service to up-gun, up-armor, up-tight the usual suspects. But he keeps a few ringers for special folks. Stakeouts, other stuff.''

''Nice to have decent wheels,'' Abby said, unimpressed. ''Baby cakes, you better tell Nelly to sort the vacant apartments by pairs. Your maid's gonna have to live next door to you.''

''She does not.''

''She does, too, Princess, for at least two reasons. One, I don't want to have to walk the streets after staying up late to undress you after you come back from some fine ball all gussied up. Two, you're going to need someone close by to pull your hind end out of the trouble you're going to get it into when you're lost and doing everything wrong in my side of town.''

''Jack,'' Kris said, for what she immediately realized was no good reason. Still, he ought to give her some support.

''Nelly, do a search for triple vacancies.''

''Triple!'' came from both women in the back.

''I do not need to be nursemaided. I've been shot at. I know how to shoot back,'' Kris snapped.

''Wrong attitude,'' Abby said. ''You expecting to be shot at, you gonna be shot at. You smile, make friends with the folks down the hall, on the floor below, then you got folks to help you out, young woman.''

''It looks like the folks down the hall and down the stairs are going to be folks I know. Jack, what are you trying to do? You don't have to be next door to me. You don't work for me.''

''I should say not,'' he snapped.

''In fact, Jack, you're not going to have a job for too much longer if Father doesn't win. Maybe even if he does.''

''So a cheap flat becomes kind of appealing,'' he said. ''Nelly, what have you got?''

''Well, here are some triple vacancies. I don't know that they are all that good of an idea, but they should do while you people sort out all these human issues. Kris, you will make sure that I am not stolen or damaged.'' Nelly sounded worried.

''Maybe, maybe not,'' Kris said. Nelly said nothing back.

The first place was a fourth-floor walk-up in need of cleaning, painting, plumbing repairs, and the services of several kinds of exterminators. The second place was worse. Jack parked in front of the third; it looked no better from the outside. He turned to Kris; she could read in his eyes, You ready to call it quits yet? She glanced at Abby. How long you gonna keep up this harebrained stunt? was all over the woman's face.

''Kris, you have a message from King Raymond,'' Nelly said as Jack's wrist computer buzzed softly. Kris raised a quizzical eyebrow at him.

Jack glanced at his wrist. ''I am requested and required to present myself to King Raymond at my earliest convenience.''

''This happen to you folks often?'' Abby asked. ''I mean, balls is something I can handle. Being yanked around on some fancy electronic chain, having to drop everything and go see the king. You do it every day?''

''Grampa Ray's just a huggy bear,'' Kris said, suspecting whatever her great-grandfather was up to at the moment probably had more in common with the annihilation of Iteeche fleets and policy for the human race than what dessert to serve at tomorrow's charity auction. First a leading General, then the President of the Society of Humanity during the worst of the Iteeche Wars, he'd hammered together the policies that had guided humanity for eighty years afterwards. There were shelves of books full of his exploits … his and Great-grampa Trouble's. Kris had grown up in the shadow of that distant, legendary man.

Only recently had she come to know the man of flesh and blood behind the legend. And she'd helped talk her great-grandfather into taking a crown. Talked him into trying to lasso together Wardhaven and a growing number of planets into an alliance when it seemed like the six hundred planets of human space were intent only on flying apart.

''Wonder what he could be wanting from a disgraced Naval officer who's been relieved of her command,'' Abby asked.

''You have such a wonderful way with words.'' Kris sighed.

''Well, do we look at this next place, or do I head for the palace?'' Jack asked.

''It's just a hotel,'' Kris pointed out.

''Honey,'' Abby sighed, ''if a king lives there, it's a palace, be it ever so hovel. Child, you have to get past this family thing and start seeing the world the way us poor folks do.''

''The palace, Sir John,'' Kris said.

''Jack,'' her driver corrected.

''Listen, if I can still be stuck being a princess after they've hijacked my ship and hauled me off to the brig, shouldn't any unemployed hired gun wandering around with me be at least a knight in shining armor? Remember, Jack, you gave up being an honest working man.''

''She has a certain logic, Jack,'' Abby agreed.

''Tilly's twerp factor is getting lower and lower on my baloney meter,'' Jack said, glancing at his watch. ''Maybe it's not too late for me to make my first shift.''

''Let's find out what Grampa Ray wants first. Never can tell, it might cover room and board.''