Kris Longknife Audacious

by Mike Shepherd

  It would be interesting to see if Bronc was better than all the money Abby had paid.

  Surprise, surprise, the kid had a bit to learn. A map was projected onto the car’s front screen. A green dot moved along the trolley line toward Five Corners.

  “She’s on her way home. Please tell me why.”

  The sergeant offered no explanation. After a bit of silence he did change the subject.

  “So you’re a first lieutenant?” he said, not taking his eyes off the road.

  “I guess so.” Abby sniffed. “It’s not like I own a uniform or would know how to put one on. Someone…who shall remain unnamed…suggested that my job of looking after a certain princess might be easier if I had the protection of the Geneva Convention to fall back on.

  “Possibly I made a mistake,” Abby shrugged, then did a longer review of the last few minutes, trying to get to the bottom of the strange reaction she was getting from this, until now, friendly man who was driving like a maniac.

  “I thought you and yours would be less embarrassed about being out-shot by a Longknife maid if she had a commission.”

  “Being out-shot by an Army puck, and an intel weenie to boot. Nope, sorry, sister. Color me embarrassed. Just who did teach you to shoot?”

  “One of my former employers on Earth. Nicest little old lady. Who would have thought she had so many enemies gunning for her? Anyway, she sent me to a range to learn. Two old sergeants, one Army, one Gunny, did their best to show me how.”

  “And you didn’t learn?”

  “Not at first. Kept closing my eyes against the noise. Then my lady’s security guards went down and my gun and the pistol she had hid in her long johns were all that stood between us and a future as a widening pool of blood.

  “I kept my eyes open. Plugged two of them. The sergeants said my shooting was much improved after that.”

  “I would imagine,” Sergeant Bruce said as the car took a corner on two wheels.

  Captain DeVar was in the forefront of his two platoons as he waved them to a pause on their way downriver. On both sides of him, the troops halted and braced against the current.

  Captain DeVar had realized very quickly that every approach to the Gallery was a dead giveaway, with dead being the operative word.

  The river looked to be the only way in that might not be fully covered.

  Actually, the river was very well covered. He had to wonder if the couples paddling canoes and sailing small boats up river on lazy weekends knew the amount of heavy weapons sighted in on them. Some might if their personal electronics were designed to isolate the radars that tracked them.

  But that likely wasn’t very many.

  A Marine couple outfitted with a picnic basket and full electronic countermeasures suite had verified expectations this morning.

  So, DeVar was walking his Marines downriver.

  The difference between full combat gear for a submerged entry and the same for space or worse wasn’t all that different. His Marines were breathing canned air and lugging enough weights to settle them onto the bottom of the Patowmack River.

  Of course, just because the boaters this morning hadn’t found any evidence of underwater defenses didn’t mean there weren’t any.

  And if this looked like the best approach for the Marines, the other side just might be using it for their own approach. Now wouldn’t that be an interesting coincidence.

  Captain DeVar looked at the heads-up display on the face of his helmet, found it acceptable, and blinked his right eye once.

  The display changed to what Gabby was getting on her sensor display. He eyed it for a long minute and found it also good.

  He rose to his feet and motioned the platoons to advance.

  Bronc huddled among the other young men. They had assault rifles. He had his computer.

  He kept it going up and down the electromagnetic spectrum, doing searches. It kept coming back with nothing.

  Actually, it was coming back with a lot of stuff, but none of it was in the area the sensor sergeant had told him was not supposed to be there.

  So long as there was nothing there, he was supposed to keep quiet.

  Around him, some of the riflemen would start to whisper among themselves. A moment later, one of the gun-toting sergeants would scowl at the talkers, and they’d shut up.

  Bronc kept his silence.

  If he could manage it, he’d keep his silence as long as he could even after his fabulous computer started to report something these people were interested in.

  Cara’s life might depend on it.

  46

  Kris didn’t like being tied to this reception line. She kept thinking about how a sitting duck must feel in a shooting gallery. But just because handcuffs were golden didn’t make them any easier to break.

  She’d met the leader of the opposition, Shirley Chisel, early in the line. A short woman in a conservative suit, she’d given Kris’s hand a firm shake. “I understand you and I almost met a few days ago.”

  Kris raised an eyebrow.

  “On the mall,” the woman continued. “Was that one aimed at you or me?”

  “I shouldn’t have been there,” Kris pointed out. “Just luck. What about you?”

  The woman scowled. “It was on my schedule for two days.”

  Kris left it at that.

  “I hope we get a chance to talk again,” the woman said as she passed Kris to the next senator.

  There’d been a lot of handshaking since then, but nothing of interest. Kris hoped that was about to change, she was finally reaching the government.

  The Americans on Eden had adopted a parliamentary government with a strong executive. Kris could never figure out why anyone would have an elected president from one party and then risk having the prime minister and his majority in parliament be from the other party.

  Just another thing she didn’t much care for on Eden.

  The last couple of senators had been members of the government. She was now shaking hands with the defense minister, a cordial woman who actually seemed to recognize Kris. But she said little before handing Kris off to the prime minister. He was a jolly short man. With his snow-white beard Kris had to fight thoughts of Father Christmas.

  His party must have an evil-looking whip somewhere among its members because the prime minister looked barely able to herd a thirsty pair of sheep to water.

  Next in line was the third vice president…and Inspector Johnson stood at his elbow, whispering something in his ear.

  So the vice president smiled at Kris and said, “I’m glad you’re enjoying your vacation on Eden.”

  “Oh, it’s not a vacation,” Kris corrected. “I’m an active-duty naval officer from Wardhaven, attached to the procurement section of the embassy. I just arranged for United Sentient planets to buy a huge chunk of software from an Eden company, and build the latest of your computer designs.”

  “That’s nice,” the man said, as if Kris had agreed with him. “And I do hope you feel safe here. We do know how to take care of our people.”

  “No doubt you do,” Kris managed to say, eyeing Johnson, and noting that he did seem to get the full double meaning. “Our people” doesn’t include this visiting Rim princess.

  Kris found herself being urged on to the second vice president by gentle pressure on her wrist. She and the first vice president struck Kris as more zeros. Maybe they were major players in the local political game, but if matters got deadly, they looked only too ready to be first in line for slaughter.

  And would die wondering what the noise was all about.

  The president didn’t impress Kris, either. His smile didn’t get past his lips. His eyes were distracted, never meeting her own. And his handshake was little more than a touch.

  Was Kris supposed to risk taking a bullet for the likes of these? If Martinez hadn’t said these folks were worth fighting for Kris was tempted to signal retreat, get her people out of Dodge, and let the locals settle their own affairs.

  Then
again, she had yet to meet the competition.

  Kris headed for the hors d’oeuvres.

  Grant von Schrader was near the end of the hors d’oeuvres tables so he could listen in on the next important conversation of the evening.

  “Where is the rest of the food, Tony?” the coordinator asked the caterer.

  “It’s coming, sir. It will be here. Let me check,” the short round man now running “A Taste of Italy” answered, reaching for his phone.

  “There’s a new flu bug going around, don’t you know?” Tony rambled on. “Half my crew called in sick. I had to hire all kinds of new people this afternoon. I did get you the first half of the spread here, didn’t I?”

  “Yes, but there’s a galloping herd about two shakes away from here and this is going to vanish like a politician’s honor,” the coordinator noted with a sly grin.

  “Well, my guys are here, sir. But they’re being held up at the gate. Some sergeant insists everything on all eight of my next trucks has to be inspected.”

  “Oh God, give me that. The last thing we need is hungry cops pawing over my fancy food,” the coordinator said, taking the phone from Tony.

  “Sergeant, this is Dick Hamernack, I’m personally coordinating this affair for the president. We need that food.” This was followed by a pause.

  “Well, have you inspected the first truck?” The coordinator nodded as he got the answer he expected. “Good, all the trucks are like the first. Right, Tony?”

  Tony nodded, actually believing the truth of what he affirmed. He would not be one of those alive in the morning.

  “Well, if you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all. Get them in here. And I mean now. Right now.”

  The coordinator handed the phone back. “Cops! They want to look under every bed. They’d pull up every dress if you’d let them.”

  Tony ruefully nodded agreement.

  And Grant von Schrader allowed himself a smile.

  Around Bronc, the noise of an engine going into gear drew smiles from the two sergeants with rifles. Those were quickly reflected on the faces of the kids with guns.

  Bronc kept doing his own searches, just like he’d been told. Nothing new. No surprises.

  Had Cara got the message out?

  Were they going to kill everyone just like they said?

  Bronc worked his jaw, trying to get rid of some of the tension, trying to keep his stomach from revolting at the thought of so much blood. There wasn’t much he could do.

  Never in his life had he wanted so to live, to grow up. To be with Cara.

  His computer completed another search. Nothing had changed.

  47

  Kris spotted the CEO of Nuu Enterprises on Eden and homed in on him at the hors d’oeuvre bar. “An interesting guy you got as a president here.”

  “He meets our need,” the CEO said, a man no more presupposing than his planet’s government. “We can’t all be Longknifes, and not every planet in space wants a legend calling the shots. If you don’t mind my saying so.”

  “I have learned to value diversity,” Kris said. “By the way, I’ve also learned about a fellow who’s something of a player on Eden. A Grant von Schrader?”

  “Him,” the CEO huffed. “Not exactly what I’d call a good example of our planet, but yes, he’s a player. Oh, and he’s here. You want to meet him?”

  And before Kris could decide how to answer that, she found herself squired down the table into that meeting.

  “Grant, have you met Kris Longknife?” was followed by a pause that quickly grew pregnant.

  The two eyed each other. Kris schooled her face to gentle neutrality and seemed to see the same in the face of the middle-aged man across from her. The conservative cut of his formal wear did not camouflage his ramrod military bearing—or his eyes.

  Those were an icy gray that reflected back a cold calculation of the world…and gave away nothing about what lurked behind them. Someone could drown in the frigid water of those eyes, and the owner would take no notice.

  Kris wondered what he saw looking back at him, but he reflected nothing to her.

  “No, I have not had the pleasure, Henry. Thanks for bringing her over to my little corner of the world” seemed affable enough, taken word by word. The whole of the content came no where close to measuring up to its parts.

  Kris offered him her hand and got a solid shake that seemed to offer to go long and tight, but held back.

  Kris suppressed the temptation to tighten her own grip. If Grant was holding back, so would she.

  “The sunset was quite red tonight,” Kris said, turning to the weather for her innuendo.

  “I noticed the river was running red in return. It can be very lovely at those times,” he answered back.

  And for a moment, just a split second, Kris saw the heart of a man who would delight in a river running red with the blood of the bodies it floated.

  This was no man to leave the future of a planet to.

  And in that moment, Kris made her decision.

  There would be no retreat tonight. She and hers would fight this man. Fight him for the hopes and dreams of a world of people like Cara and Bronc, Uncle Joe and Auntie Mong and all the store owners like themselves struggling to make a living and hold the line for some minimum of civilization.

  And certainly for a cop like Martinez. He who tried.

  For them, Kris would risk flesh and blood to stop whatever monster lurked in the heart of the man before her.

  “You have lost security,” Kris said, doing her bit to dent the confidence of the man she faced. “Some of us know what is going down tonight. You will not succeed.”

  Grant von Schrader might have raised an eyebrow at that. Or not. Instead he turned to the woman beside him. A lovely dusky-eyed woman. “Have you met Topaz.”

  “No,” Kris said, offering her hand again. The woman took it gently in a gloved hand.

  KRIS, THAT IS ABBY’S MOTHER.

  I KNOW, NELLY. CAN YOU TELL ME ANYTHING ABOUT HER?

  SHE IS NOT SQUAWKING. BUT I THINK THAT’S BECAUSE SHE IS NOT CARRYING. I DETECT NO HUM OF ANY ELECTRONICS.

  That would certainly be unusual for anyone.

  Kris waited to see how this would develop, but it was Grant who said. “I think I see someone I should talk to. Henry, if you and this lovely lady will excuse me.” And with a half bow, the man was gone and the woman with him.

  The Nuu CEO watched him go. “Would you mind telling me what that was about? ‘You will not succeed.’”

  “It’s a Longknife thing. And here’s another Longknife thing. Leave. Do not look back. Do not hesitate. If you want to live a long life, be somewhere else as quickly as you can.”

  The CEO shook his head ruefully. “My contacts warned me that you were strange. If you will excuse me, I see some folks I need to spend time with,” he said, and headed off in a direction that did not have any door close by.

  “Some people are just too dumb to live,” Jack said softly.

  “No,” Penny disagreed. “They are comfortable living in the normal and cannot believe that there is any other way.”

  “Wouldn’t it be nice if their way was the only way?” Commander Malhoney offered.

  “Well, I don’t think tonight has any chance of going that way. Jack, did you get a good look at our Grant von Schrader?”

  “And I didn’t like what I saw. That guy’s been in uniform. If he’s been here for fifteen years and still has that look of sharp steel about him, I think we would be wise not to underestimate him.”

  “Nelly, send out the code word. Play ball.”

  “Sent, Kris.”

  And that settled the matter. Any chance that Kris might cancel tonight was now gone.

  In the car park, grim Marines would be swapping out of dress uniforms for camouflage sniper kits. Others would be wandering off from the close patrol around Kris’s limo and the two Marine rigs to set up their own observation points, reverting to the oldest warrior skill set, checking out the deve
loping situation with the Mark I eyeball.

  Captain DeVar got the code word, as he had expected. His reading of the history books was that Ray Longknife was hard on subordinates. As in, he lost a lot of them.

  He had been none too excited about putting his Marines into the tender hands of another such legend on the make.

  But this young woman surprised him.

  This Longknife noticed the people around her and took them in as more than cannon fodder. And she actually seemed worried about kicking butt and taking names here on Eden.

  When she’d let on that she just might call tonight off, he’d been happily surprised.

  So her decision not to call it off told him that something up there settled her final reservations. And there was no doubt that here was a good cause for knocking heads and taking names.

  The call came at a good time for the captain. He had his two platoons lined up below the water’s edge. Two squads spread out on each side of him. One squad in reserve on his right and on his left. Technical support behind the reserve.

  The Marines were ready.

  “Gabby, show me something I don’t know,” he ordered.

  The tech let a small float loose on a thin wire. It would have looked funny if he’d thought about it. Here was a big fish sending up a hook to that upper world. Only here, the hook was a camera.

  Now Captain DeVar saw his target up close. The building was big, stone, and ugly. Several trucks, from a caterer if you could believe the signs on them, were backing into the service entrance to the left. Lights were still showing bright in the Gallery from every window. Several balconies showed people holding drinks and party plates.

  Well, it was party time.

  The Marine transferred his attention higher up. The roof of the place was festooned with antennae. Most were the usual communication clutter. He concentrated on the others.