Resolute

Chapter 19

Usually, Kris had to wait for a summons from General McMorrison until her ship docked at High Wardhaven. Not this time. She was just finishing breakfast aboard the Resolute with her team when the Comm Chief stepped in with a message flimsy.

''You know anyone named Mac?'' Kris averred she might.

''He wants to see you in his office ASAP after we dock. Message is kind of cryptic. You understand it?''

Kris sighed and put down an apple core. ''We have these little get togethers every time I come back from off-planet. Mac starts by offering me a completed resignation form to sign. I tear it up and things go downhill from there.''

''General McMorrison, the Chief of Wardhaven's General Staff?'' Penny asked, a bit unsure that Kris actually was on a nickname basis with someone of that elevated status.

''The same,'' Jack said. ''I cool my heels in the waiting room. Not sure what I'm supposed to do if he decides to threaten bodily harm. Interfere or cheer.''

''Well, I'm glad it's just you,'' Penny said.

''Maybe, maybe not. Jack, you're with me. Penny, you, too.'' She looked around the room. Abby was eating her breakfast alone at a corner table. ''You, too.''

''Me?'' the maid said in high theatrical shock.

''Can't tell when I might need a report composed.''

''Maybe you can sell the story,'' Jack said.

''Nobody pays for the obvious,'' Abby sniffed. ''Who's going to take charge of your steamer trunks? I've got to get them back to your suite at Nuu House.''

Kris looked around, found Beni munching waffles with Doc. ''Chiefs are the backbone of the Navy. I'm sure our good chief can get some trunks to toddle along after him.''

''What? How? Why me?''

''The what and how,'' Jack said. ''Ask Abby. Why you? That's too philosophical even for me, but I think proximity to greatness or the near great has something to do with it.''

As Kris led her two officers off to change into undress whites, Doc was heard to suggest to Beni that ''you really do need to apply to OCS.''

At the bottom of the space elevator, Harvey, the family retainer and chauffeur was waiting; he already knew his first stop. His oldest grandkid, a girl who claimed to be old enough to drive and waved a license ''with a horrible picture'' to prove it, was there with a track for the luggage.

''There will be a chief down here soon with twelve self-propelled steamer trunks,'' Kris told her. ''No need to be too easy to find, but don't let him get too panicked.''

Young granddaughter was delighted that she could be a pain to a grownup and it was an order. ''Just remember the point about not being too much of a pain,'' her grandfather reminded her.

Main Navy was just where Kris left it, a hulking monstrosity of concrete and glass. The lair of the Chairman of the Joint Staff was buried deep in it. Kris didn't know when she was expected, but the secretary just waved her in.

Jack pointed at the two chairs in the waiting room, signaled the women that they were theirs, then found a chunk of wall to hold up. Kris opened the door, ready to march in, again, as usual—and came to a dead stop.

Mac was behind his desk, but seated in his visitor's chair was King Raymond the First to most, Grampa to Kris. On Mac's other side was Admiral Crossenshield, the head of Wardhaven's black intelligence efforts. Kris eyed them for a moment… and they returned the favor. No one broke the silence until Kris shook her head ruefully, took a step back out of the office, and said, ''You three, in here with me.''

Kris wasn't sure whether the shock and dismay was worse in the general's office or in his waiting room, but under her best Longknife glare, Jack, Penny, and lastly, Abby made their way where she directed them.

Definitely, her team was double-whammied as they walked in the door and found the full extent of this meeting. Jack's nostrils flared. Penny looked panic-struck and ready to flee, but Abby was too close behind her to give the poor woman any running room. Abby took them in, and looked as determined not to disgrace herself as anyone facing a firing squad.

Then again, the consternation across the room was an interesting study as well. King Ray pursed his lips and nodded his head slowly. Mac looked ready to pull out what hair he had left, but kept his hands on the desk at this latest bit of mutiny from his worst subordinate. Only Crossenshield slowly allowed a smile to creep across his face. Why was Kris not surprised.

In the door, Kris's team bunched up, unsure where to go. Kris headed for the chair at the end of the coffee table that put her facing her king and commanders. Seating herself, she said, ''Jack,'' and waved him to the couch on her right, putting him between her and Crossenshield. Probably for the admiral's protection more than hers. She waved Penny and Abby to the couch on the other side, putting them between her and her great-grandfather. Penny got there first and took the end closer to Kris. Abby, her dark complexion strangely pale, looked around for anywhere else to sit. ''Abby,'' Kris said, and pointed. And the maid went where she was told.

The tableaux now set, Kris settled in to wait for whoever had called this meeting to speak up. She was prepared to wait until someone died of dehydration. Grampa Ray broke the long silence. ''Did you have to kill the Peterwald boy?''

Kris shot back her prepared answer. ''Hank was hell bent on shooting us up. Given a choice of him or me, I chose him. But he'd be alive today if someone hadn't jiggered his survival pod. Any idea who did?'' Kris said, locking eyes with Crossenshield.

''As you said. You've finally found someone more people wanted dead than you,'' he said, misquoting Kris.

''You'd have to have read Abby's report to know I said that.''

''Of course I've read her report. We pay enough for it.''

And if Crossenshield was one of the recipients of Abby's reports, that might tell Kris a lot about many things. ''I want a copy of what you got. Now!'' she demanded.

Crossenshield raised an eyebrow at the tenor of Kris's words, or maybe it was the usual reaction of an admiral to getting an order from a lieutenant. He eyed the king who nodded almost imperceptibly, then raised his wrist, and tapped a few keys on his personal unit.

''Jack, you got it?'' Kris snapped.

''Yes.''

''Check it against what Abby gave me.''

''Doing it,'' Jack said.

''I'm helping,'' Nelly added.

Abby sat primly, eyes on the ceiling, her face that of every innocent three-year-old caught with her hands in the cookie jar.

''No mention of aliens,'' Nelly said only a moment later.

''Aliens!'' came from those around the desk in perfect three part harmony. Kris ignored them and eyed Jack.

He finally glanced up from his unit. ''The words in Crossenshield's version have been randomly modified. The style is more stilted. It reads worse than Abby's original, but it's basically what she gave us.''

''I told you,'' Abby sniffed.

''Any chance I could get your originals from now on?'' Crossenshield asked Abby.

''What's this about aliens?'' Grampa Ray demanded.

''That's why Hank and I were having that fight,'' Kris said, and then filled them in on the new jump points Nelly had identified and what they found at the end of three of them.

''Holy Mother of God,'' Crossenshield whispered.

''I'll tell Alnaba to pack up the Santa Maria Institute and move it to a happier hunting ground,'' Grampa Ray concluded.

''You better tell her to move carefully,'' Jack said. ''That place is armed and dangerous and almost killed us—twice.''

''Maybe I could help you out there,'' Kris offered.

''Don't you think you've done quite enough to that section of the Rim,'' Grampa Ray muttered.

''I've got Nelly's chip. It helped us make this find.''

''Alnaba and Tru got tired of waiting for you to report on whatever you and Nelly were doing and installed a chip in Tru's computer. They can handle this very well themselves.''

No they can't!

Don't say a word, Nelly, Kris quickly thought, before her computer could jump in and start an argument. They'll find out soon enough that they need us.

They sure will, Nelly agreed.

Across from Kris, King Ray, Mac, and Crossenshield seemed to be negotiating in silence the fate of worlds. Mac finally shook his head. ''We better bring Chance into your United thing.''

King Ray nodded.

Kris slowly shook her head. ''Not a good idea. Chance doesn't much care for outsiders telling them what to do. Hank found that out the hard way. Can't we learn from his mistake?''

''We can't leave them out there adrift,'' Mac said.

''Who says they're alone? I figure them to cut a deal with the Helvetica Confederacy.''

''We can't afford to have the gateway to all this new alien technology in Peterwald hands. And after that shoot-out you and Hank had, Harry is going to pull out all the stops pressuring them…'' Mac said, frowning at the star map on the wall.

''I thought we didn't do things like that. Pressuring people,'' Kris said, raising an eyebrow to the King.

''Sometimes you have to make exceptions,'' Grampa Ray muttered, but his eyes stayed locked on hers.

''Will you consider trying something else?'' Kris asked.

''What else is there?'' Mac asked back.

''Use the assets you have. Naval District 41 isn't much but it's there and Chance recognizes our right to it. It's our ante into this game. What say you put a senior admiral in that billet. One who knows how to negotiate. Conciliate. And give him a decent force. Some ships to cooperate with the Helvetic fleet. Work together to secure their peace. Do we gain anything by working at cross purposes with the locals?''

Kris shrugged. ''The last time I checked all we wanted was what the people of Chance and the Confederacy want, for them to live in peace and prosper. Why don't we back them in that, rather than insist they do things our way?''

''The gal's an optimist,'' Mac growled.

Grampa Ray chuckled. ''All things considered, after what we put her through, what else could she be?''

''It might work,'' Crossenshield offered. ''Assuming we don't send a Longknife. There's bound to be someone on our promotion list with a reputation for negotiations and peacemaking.''

''Gosh, and I thought that was all I was doing,'' Kris said.

''Sorry, gal, that's just not our general reputation,'' King Ray said.

''I still wish she hadn't killed the Peterwald boy,'' Mac grumbled. ''There'll be hell to pay. Either of you two remember a dust-up in the Twentieth called World War I? Started when someone offed the heir apparent to one of the thrones of Europe. Pretty much wrecked the rest of that century.''

''I didn't kill him,'' Kris pointed out. Again.

''He would have lived if his survival pod had worked,'' Jack put in. ''I know. I looked it over when we got it aboard.''

''Why didn't it?'' King Ray snapped at Jack.

''We couldn't tell from the equipment we had available,'' Jack said, choosing his words carefully. ''And the folks from Greenfeld didn't give us a lot of time to examine the body and the wreckage. The flag captain said he had personally checked the pod before they sailed. It must have been sabotaged during the month or so they were bouncing around Helvetican space. But all that time the bridge was occupied by a watch crew and under observation. How it was done…?'' Jack just shrugged.

''Peterwald's security will get to the bottom of that,'' Ray mutters. ''I wouldn't want to be a survivor of that flagship.''

Suddenly, Crossenshield sat up straight. He raised a finger to his left ear, drawing Kris's attention to a small device lodged there. ''Ray, the survivors of that flagship may have bigger worries at the moment,'' he said. ''Give me a second.''

Everyone in the room watched him in silence as he listened intently, eyes locked on the ceiling. Then he began to talk in a whisper, apparently still listening. ''The ship bearing Hank's body back to Greenfeld, and the survivors of his flagship, was approaching a jump when its lateral thrusters began firing. It lost all communications and suddenly took off at a high g acceleration. It was in that configuration when it entered the jump. The ships escorting it did not find it on the other side of the jump.''

''A bad jump,'' Grampa Ray whispered.

Mac shook his head slowly. ''Harry Peterwald won't have a body to bury. He can't investigate whether this was some palace intrigue or heart-sick relative of someone that died in a survival pod in Wardhaven orbit.'' The general waved a hand. ''Yes, I know their official take is we shot the survivors but there are stories circulating on Greenfeld that the survival pods were death traps, right, Crossie?'' The intel man nodded.

''But Harry will damn well know his son died in a fight with us. And with you, young lady.''

''I didn't have much choice. Somebody hung me out there with no back up. Nothing but my own two hands and what I and a lot of good folks could come up with to resist Hank. Hank's flag captain, Slovo, kept saying things were mighty strange. He hadn't expected to find me there, had no briefing on me. But I wasn't expecting to see them either. No brief on their trip around at all. Right, Crossenshield?''

''We weren't sure he'd stop by Chance,'' the spy master said, holding his face blank and unreadable.

''We,'' Kris spat, and looked hard at Ray.

''We,'' Ray said. ''We're scrambling, Kris. After the attack on Wardhaven, everyone wants a chunk of the fleet. We sent what we could where we could. And Naval District 41 was the bottom of the barrel.''

''And I was the scrapings.'' Kris sighed. ''No back-up. Just little old me and a couple of people too dumb to run when a Longknife wanders next to them. No offense intended, crew.''

''None taken,'' Jack said. Penny just looked sad. Abby was trying to look like she wasn't there.

''But we did provide you back-up,'' Crossenshield said.

''What back-up?''

''The Resolute?'' King Ray said. ''If things got too bad, you had the Resolute to get you out of there. She could have outrun any of those cruisers. Why didn't you run?''

Jack looked at the king, then at Kris as she struggled to get out a reply. ''Excuse me for butting in, but you give this gal a ship named the Resolute and expected her to use it to run away from a fight? I was starting to think you maybe understood your great-granddaughter. I guess I was wrong.''

''Maybe we should have renamed the ship,'' Crossenshield said.

The king was looking hard at Kris. ''There are times when even a Longknife finds discretion is the better part of valor. I thought Chance might be a hard lesson for you.''

Kris snorted. ''But when you add aliens to the mix?''

''Yes,'' Ray agreed. ''We did our calculations assuming that only Chance was in the pot we were gambling for. Then you upped the stakes beyond anything imaginable.''

Kris let her eyes fall to the floor. ''And we had Hank leaving. We'd outplayed him on Chance. Until he found out the size of the pot, we'd won a bloodless victory. Then, suddenly, there was no place to run. He had two cruisers at Jump Point Alpha and Beta led to Greenfeld space.''

''I'm sorry, Kris,'' the king said. ''We thought we had it all worked out. An assignment for you that was just your size, and an out for you if it went south.''

''Only it went north, east, and west,'' Kris said.

On that thought, the meeting seemed to wind down to dusty death. After a long moment of silence, Mac looked at Ray, then at Kris. ''Consider yourself relieved of command of Naval District 41. I don't have a job for you just now, so hold yourself in readiness for orders.''

No doubt, the wait would not be short.

Back on the street, Kris let the traffic roll by for a moment, dappled by the shadows of the leaves in the early morning sun. The air here was city: ripe and full and probably poison even with her father's best efforts. Kris had nothing to do and several million things hanging fire. What she needed was a place to think.

Harvey pulled the car up; she and her team piled in. ''Where to?'' he asked. ''Home?''

''I don't know about you,'' Kris said, ''but I could use a space where I could get my head in some kind of order. Jack, where is that place you took me to awhile back?''

''The Smugglers Roost?''

''Yeah, that place. With Mac and Ray here, we shouldn't have to worry about running into them there.''

''I know the place,'' said Harvey and dialed it into the car.

The Smugglers Roost was in the sunshine this morning, the space elevator casting its shadow the other way. The beat-up industrial area still looked like a prime candidate for one of Father's urban redevelopment projects. Kris thought that would be a shame. Though some of the red bricks were crumbling, and different colored bricks showed where others had been patched, the place looked like it must be two hundred years old, one of the first permanent buildings ever put up on Wardhaven.

Kris led her three companions down the uneven stairs; Harvey had excused himself to run errands for his wife. Kris knew why the old chauffeur had fled the moment she took the last step down. The Roost was almost empty two hours before noon. Almost… but not quite. At a back table sat Grampa Trouble. He raised a beer stein in salute as Kris growled, ''You owe me.''

''And me,'' Jack added.

''So I'll stand you all for a round. Barkeep, whatever your best is for my easily bamboozled friends here. Hi, Abby, I'm glad to see you're joining us. Is your cover totally blown?''

The maid gave an off-handed shrug, that left you to draw your own conclusion. Kris stowed hers away for later review.

''You knew,'' Kris said, in full accusation.

''Of course I knew,'' the old soldier said, unrepentant… and proud of it. Then he frowned. ''I know a lot, young woman, being as old and evil as I am. But you haven't read any sort of charges against me for a plea. I can confess right now to anything and it won't hold up in any court of law.''

Kris sat down, then raised her hand, fist up, one finger out. ''You knew if I drafted Jack, that he'd darn near have a hammer lock on my life.''

Trouble grinned. ''Yep. How's it going young fellow?''

''I'm still alive.'' Jack sighed. ''So is she, despite every effort on her part to the contrary. Tell me, do your offspring ever learn common sense?''

''There's no evidence to support that pipe dream. But then there's little evidence that I have much common sense.''

''We can drink to that,'' Kris said. She looked at her hand and started to raise a second finger.

''Hold your horses, young lady,'' Grampa Trouble said and put his hand over Kris's, folding her fingers back into a fist. ''Barkeep, what's keeping you?''

''I'm hard of hearing. Comes from being yelled at,'' muttered a fellow maybe half of Grampa Trouble's hundred plus years as he hurried across the floor. He produced a cloth to wipe down the table. ''I hear you want my finest. Which finest?''

''Pilsner,'' Trouble said, ''but not for me just now. How about the rest of you. Kris, can I talk you into a beer?''

''Grampa, even when I was drinking myself to sleep at night, I hated the taste of the stuff. I don't think I ever got drunk enough to enjoy it. No, what I'd kill for is a milkshake. Nice, thick, creamy. And fresh made, not one of those thin ice creams trying to fake it.''

''I should warn you,'' Jack told the barkeep, ''from her, the idea of killing for it might not be just a turn of phrase.''

''Then I think the little lady came to the right place,'' the gray-haired fellow said. ''The Smugglers Roost prides itself on the best milkshakes this side of Guernsey Island on old Earth. Only the finest of ingredients. What will you have?

''Chocolate,'' Kris said. ''No, double chocolate.''

''I suspect I could handle a shake, too,'' Abby said. ''You make strawberry shakes, with fresh strawberries?''

''They're in season,'' the barkeep assured them.

''I'll have one like Kris,'' Penny said. ''Double chocolate.''

Jack took in a worried breath. ''Only the best ingredients, you say. Sounds pricey. Don't know if a mere First Lieutenant can afford such frippery. You paying, General?''

''I may have gotten you drafted into your ill-paying job, son, and I may have offered to stand you to a good, healthy beer, but even I tremble at the potential cost of where these women of ill repute are leading you.''

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?''

''Your 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 of 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 and 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.