Kris Longknife's Assassin
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Kris Longknife’s Assassin
A novella
by
Mike Shepherd
Published by GCU Press at Amazon.com
Copyright 2014 Mike Moscoe
This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting my hard work.
Cover art by Mark Ferrari at www.markferrari.com
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
An early look at Vicky Peterwald – Target
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter 1
“Kris Longknife, you are so dead,” Vicky Peterwald told the mirror. She liked the finality of the words rolling off her tongue . . . and the look on her face.
“You killed my brother, prepare to die,” was a kick.
“No Longknife bitch kills a Peterwald and lives to brag of it,” sounded even better.
Vicky realized she was scowling. That put lines on her carefully sculptured face. She hadn’t gotten the genetic job her brother had; hers had come later.
She smoothed her face to beautiful. She had to work at it; Hank never did.
But Hank was dead.
Vicky sighed; the words were just words. She didn’t know that Kris Longknife had ever bragged about killing her brother. Worse, she didn’t know for sure that Kris Longknife would die this evening.
There was a knock at the door.
Vicky tightened her robe; it had come loose as she declaimed death to Longknifes. Normally, she had maids to answer doors, but this evening she’d sent them away. She didn’t know if she could trust them. After all, this was Grant von Schrader’s house and he hired them.
She sidled to the door, working her hips for practice. Whoever was out there was smart enough not to knock twice.
She opened the door . . . and grinned. Quickly, she let Kiefer in.
“Is it done?” she asked breathlessly. Boys liked breathless in a girl’s voice.
“As good as,” he said with a huge grin. “I got connections. The hit team got half their money when they took the contract, the rest tomorrow when she’s dead. You do have the rest of the money?” he said, suddenly looking a bit petrified. He gulped real hard.
Vicky grinned, letting him twist a bit. “Of course I have the money,” she finally said, and watched the relief her words brought. Was the underground really that bad here on New Eden? True, they had a more or less elected government, and it wasn’t under the thumb of anyone as smart as Daddy. Still, could a criminal underground really be a problem?
Well, if they can kill Kris Longknife, I guess they aren’t all fluffy bunnies.
“And you’ll get it right after I see a picture of Kris Longknife’s riddled body under huge headlines tomorrow.”
“The papers here don’t show lurid pictures,” Kiefer reminded her for about the twentieth time. “Most likely, the papers will report some sort of car accident. Maybe a heart attack.”
“A 6-mm heart attack,” Vicky grinned.
“So, now that that’s done, we’ve got plenty of time, tonight,” Kiefer said, and she could almost hear the young man panting.
Men were so easy to manipulate. Vicky let the dressing gown fall from her shoulder. It caught on her breast.
He stared.
She shrugged a bit and it fell lower.
He stooped to kiss her soft roundness. He wasn’t so bad at it.
She felt a thrill run through her that was more than just his tongue making circles around her nipples.
So this is power. I could really get used to this.
Chapter 2
Vicky Peterwald padded down to the buttery for breakfast early next morning. Grant was already there, eating a plate of weisswurst with the local scrambled eggs. Vicky sniffed and selected a white roll with butter and marmalade.
She pulled out her reader and scanned the headlines.
Kris Longknife was not featured.
Vicky intensified her search on that despicable name.
Kris Longknife did not turn up. The article that had given Vicky the idea of hiring a hit squad had even been taken down.
“Interesting,” Grant said, not looking up from his own reader. “Someone tried to kill Princess Kris Longknife last night.”
“Tried,” Vicky said. “There’s nothing about that in the media.”
“Those things never do make it into the popular press,” Grant said. “I thought I’d explained that to you.”
“Yes, I do recall that you have,” Vicky admitted. He most definitely had told her at length not to trust the media’s reporting of anything important.
Still, the assassination of Kris Longknife!
No, the attempted assassination.
“What happened?” she finally said, hating to have to beg.
“Some hired guns got themselves killed. That Kris Longknife is one lucky bitch,” Grant said. He glanced up. “You wouldn’t happen to know who hired them?”
“Of course not, Uncle Grant,” she said, turning on sincerity like a high powered beacon light. “You told me to stay out of local matters. I’m here to observe and learn.”
Butter could melt in my mouth.
“Yes, please remember that,” he said, and went back to his reader.
“I think I’ll eat in my room.”
“I’ll have the maid take you up a plate.”
“I’m not very hungry. This will do.”
“Don’t be late for your plant visit,” he muttered, already lost in his news.
Vicky walked oh so gracefully from the buttery. Did she hear “stupid bitch,” as the doors swung close behind her?
Chapter 3
Victoria Peterwald spent a long and boring morning visiting three plants, one was a computer fab, the others were pharmaceutical foundries. If she saw another computer controlled robo-fab she was going to scream.
How did Hank put up with this?
But then, Hank had been Daddy’s heir. He’d been started on this stuff early. Very likely, he understood what he was looking at.
Vicky didn’t understand thing one about what she was shown.
She did, however, understand lunch. At one they broke for a very nice dinner at one of the best restaurants New Eden had to offer. Called the Bank Vault, it was high atop one of the tallest buildings in the city.
However, it was a place for all the old men who worked for Daddy to parade their unmarried sons for Vicky’s attention and approval. No doubt, Hank had gotten a similar parade of female pulchritude, and had tasted all he could slip away with.
&
nbsp; Vicky, however, was not given the same chance. It was as if the preening fathers took her for some pristine virgin perched high atop a pedestal.
Given the slightest chance, Vicky would have been delighted to give them a naked eyeful with one or all of their young offspring. Sadly, von Schrader had sent along a prune faced duenna, so Vicky’s dreams of an orgy would have to wait for some other business luncheon.
Some smiling god in a forgiving heaven must have found her forbearance worthy of reward. Ms. Rotterdame announced as lunch ended that the afternoon’s business would have to be postponed to another day.
“A last minute invitation to Madame Broadmore’s evening soiree just arrived and I fear that Miss Peterwald will be needing time to prepare herself properly for the evening.”
Vicky suppressed a sigh. Being paraded around at social affairs ranked just one step up from trailing some technically astute automaton through his harem of robotic slaves. However, given a choice, she’d take something that allowed her a nice warm bath with maids seeing to the perfection of her fingers and toes.
So, back to von Schrader’s it was and a luxurious bath as Vicky considered her assault on New Eden’s social life.
“I wonder if Kris Longknife will be there,” she muttered. “Have any of you managed to find the guest lists?”
Her maids, chosen by Grant for Grant’s own purposes, stared blankly at Vicky.
She swallowed her frown before it got her slapped with a mud facial and said, “Computer, get me Kiefer.”
His voice answered quickly, “How may I help you, Miss Peterwald?” He was all business today after last night’s unearned rewards.
“I am told I am going to Madame Broadmore’s soiree. Will you access the invitation list and tell me if,” here Vicky paused to add a that bitch, “Kris Longknife also has an invitation?”
“I’m sorry, Miss Peterwald, but I can’t acquire that information,” was not what Vicky wanted to hear.
She risked that mud facial to scowl, “What do you mean you can’t get a guest list? On Greenfeld, I always know who’s coming to anything I’m going to.”
“I know, Miss Peterwald, but it doesn’t work that way on New Eden.” Kiefer sounded like he was actually groveling on the floor.
No more night visits for you.
“Explain yourself,” Vicky said, smoothing her face out to satisfy a maid who might be getting that urge to sling mud at her.
“Here on New Eden the laws are very strict about unauthorized access to private information. Very strict and with heavy penalties. They executed some hackers just last week. Anyway, you don’t go peeking in private databases. Biddies like Ms. Broadmore like to keep their guest list a secret so they can pop a surprise on this or that person. That’s just the way it works here.”
Vicky kept her face smooth and placid while she chewed over that bit of information.
So, you can’t find out what’s coming at you, and old maids like Broadmore like to play games with their guests.
Vicky smiled as she connected the dots. A late invitation just after Kris Longknife arrives in town. No access to the rest of the invitation list, per established local laws. Oh, and an old bitch who loves to entertain her guests by throwing this or that invitee at each other.
“I do believe this will be fun tonight,” Vicky said as she rose from the tub and allowed her maids to pat her dry.
Vicky dressed carefully. Her best assets would have to be well contained. She chose her newest bra, one she’d only bought during a shopping excursion this week. It was silk that was hardly there, but silk that was reinforced enough to hold her puppies in place by something new called spider silk. The bra supported rather than covered. Should a light breeze raise her rose buds, they’d be out there to distract every male in sight.
Her dress was also carefully chosen. The top would see that her breasts were there to heave if she chose that route. Below her bust it came in tight to show all there was to see before sweeping wide at her knees to flutter around her ankles with a flurry of white ermine.
She’d had dresses like that on Greenfeld. Daddy insisted she shouldn’t wear things like that in public, but what little attention she’d gotten from him before Hank was killed had been glances at her in such confections.
This dress was also a recent acquisition on New Eden. The dress could change colors, or, should she chose to if she got some hunk alone in the back of her limo, it could turn completely transparent. Vicky had tested it with her computer and it worked quite well. Any color or none, just speak a word and it was so.
“Isn’t technology wonderful?” Vicky said, looking at herself in the mirror. She’d chosen red for the moment. It went perfect with her milk white skin and golden hair. Red was only starting to peek out at the roots.
For a moment Vicky considered taking her blue eye lenses out and letting her green eyes add to tonight’s fashion statement, but she kept them in place. She could still hear echoes of Hank’s teasing, “Cat’s eyes. I ought to take them out and use them for marbles.”
She’d cried when he teased her and gotten the lenses as soon as she saw them in a girls’ magazine. Blue lenses and hair dyed blond. Growing up in the shadow of blue eyed, blond Hank had become only slightly easier when she colored herself in his image.
“You are ready early, Miss Peterwald,” her senior maid said.
“Yes. Have the car brought around front. I would not miss this evening.
Chapter 4
Vicky waited while the four men of her security team established their perimeter around the limo. She spent the time glorying in what this night would hold.
I’m going to see Kris Longknife. I may actually touch her. I can tell her myself that you don’t kill Peterwalds and live to brag about it.
When the bodyguards were happy, the head of the team opened her door and offered her an arm. She let him hand her out, smoothed her dress and eyed where she would spend tonight. It looked like some sort of palace. Very fancy. Daddy often said that he should build a palace on Greenfeld to showcase the glory of the Peterwalds. She ought to take some pictures and send them to Daddy.
“Computer, record what this place looks like tonight.”
“A picture will be archived every minute,” her computer replied.
A man in white livery and knee britches relieved Vicky of her invitation and led her up a long flight of stairs which ended before tall doors filigreed with silver and gold. Once there, he tried to separate Vicky from her security team.
That did not go well . . . for him.
Since she could remember, Vicky had been shadowed by a security team. If the head bodyguard said go right, she went right. If he said to stand on her head, well, that had never happened. It was interesting to see that she wasn’t the only one who did what she was told when a big, hulking guy with a bulging coat said hop.
Through glass doors was a marble hall that, apparently, served only as a foyer.
I hope Daddy likes these pictures.
Through that set of golden doors was a long staircase leading down into a ballroom that was vast compared to the one back at Daddy’s mansion on Greenfeld. Marble pillars held up a domed ceiling streaked with gold and lit by chandeliers that actually burned candles. The aroma was striking. Daddy would turn green with envy, no doubt.
Standing at the head of the stairs was a man in a cloth of gold coat holding a huge staff.
“Miss Victoria Smythe-Peterwald of Smythe-Peterwald LLC,” boomed out in a rich baritone.
Vicky wondered where he’d gotten all that information in a information starved society. Then she remembered; she was transmitting said information so any store she was shopping at could debit her account.
“Computer, turn off my data transmitting for tonight.”
“Off,” was her response as the announcer added, “And associates.”
Vicky glanced around. The sparse crowd of early arrivals didn’t come close to filling the ballroom at the foot of the stairs. No one below had sh
adows standing back but in easy reach. For a moment, Vicky considered sending her guards off to enjoy themselves. After all, this was an unarmed society.
Then she remembered how easy it had been to get a contract on Kris Longknife for last night, even if it had been an overpaid clown act.
Vicky stepped slowly down into what she could only hope would be a fit arena for her and Kris Longknife to come face to face.
Hardly had Vicky made her way down the steps than a small, plump woman was waddling toward her. “Victoria, I’m so glad to meet you.”
Vicky didn’t have to ask her computer for the name of her social assailant, she’d looked up Madame Broadmore’s face on the way over.
“I’m so glad you invited me,” Vicky said, as she got pecks planted on both her cheeks. The woman’s hold on Vicky pulled her close.
Did she actually rest her palms on my boobs? Vicky thought, but kept her face social bland.
Without removing her palms, the madame pushed Vicky out to arm’s length. “My, my, won’t all the young men be looking at you.”
And apparently all the old biddies, Vicky said only to herself.
The woman finally took her hands off Vicky. “Well, you go have fun for now. I have a surprise for you.” She added in a low whisper, “Only she’s not here yet.”
Vicky tried, and maybe succeeded in keeping a feral grin off her face. There was only one surprise Vicky wanted to give and it was to Kris Longknife.
Chapter 5
“Princess Kristine Anne of Wardhaven and Nuu Enterprises” boomed out in that rich baritone.
“And associates,” was added a long second later.
Vicky raised her eyes from the handsome young man who had been bending her ear and watched as a woman in a formal gown that matched the red and blue of her escort stood at the top of the stairs for all to gaze upon.
Kris Longknife was tall; she had at least two inches on Vicky. Tall as one of these marble columns and with fewer curves; Vicky enjoyed a smile at that. While Vicky had been distracting boys since her curves came in, Kris Longknife could easily pass as one of them. Still, someone had put her in a nice gown that flowed from neck to floor.