Kris Longknife's Assassin

by Mike Shepherd

  The murderer stepped gracefully down the stairs, not falling and breaking her neck no matter how much Vicky wished. Behind her were two men and two women in formal black attire. They looked cut from the same cloth as Vicky’s own security detail. Apparently Kris Longknife’s security had not been shunted off to drinks and hors d’oeuvres.

  Vicky excused herself from the young man dancing attendance on her, and began to meander her way toward Madame Broadmore. It wouldn’t do to keep the woman waiting. Vicky’s four bodyguards followed at an alert but comfortable distance.

  Halfway there, Vicky made a fashion decision. Everyone knew this was her first trip out from Greenfeld; why not put her supposed naivete to good use. “Computer, change my dress to white. Maybe with a few sparkles.”

  Her dress did.

  There was a cluster of people around Madame Broadmore and Kris Longknife. Apparently, a lot of people wanted to be introduced to a real rim princess. Vicky found the Longknifes’ pretensions disgusting and the people who fawned over them even worse.

  Vicky made her way into the crowd carefully, turning now here, now there, keeping someone between her and the damn woman about half the time. Moving, she drew Kris Longknife’s eye only to disappear behind someone.

  With her social signal dead for the evening, Vicky was a woman of mystery.

  Then Madame Broadmore played her card. She took two quick steps toward Vicky and reached out to rest a hand on her elbow before running it down her arm to her hand. That hand she then placed in Kris’s.

  “And have you met my other special quest of the evening. You must know her. Your family and hers are a pair, are you not? But I understand that you have been a bit of a cosmopolitan and she’s been given a sheltered upbringing. This is her first trip into civilized space.”

  Ms. Broadmore allowed for a pregnant pause there. Kris Longknife gritted her teeth. She clearly cared nothing for theatrics.

  Only when their hostess had had her fun did she finish with smile that would have looked comfortable on a hyena.

  “Kristine Longknife, have you met Victoria Smythe-Peterwald?”

  Chapter 6

  Kris Longknife shook Vicky’s hand as calmly as if she’d never murdered Vicky’s brother. “I am glad to make your acquaintance.”

  Vicky tightened her grip on Kris’s hand like a vice. Then she began to twist it. She’d learned growing up around Daddy that the truly superior men showed it by keeping their hands on top, the supplicants’ hand beneath.

  Kris Longknife refused the ploy; her hand stayed put, thumb up, little finger down. Her knuckles went white; Vicky’s dainty, pale hand went pink.

  Finally Vicky broke from the grip only to spit at the murdering bitch, “You killed my brother.”

  The Longknife woman didn’t even blink.

  “I really don’t think I did,” came out as if she answered for murder daily. “His brand new cruiser was blasting away at my ship. I admit I returned the favor as well as my eighty-year-old command could. It was his choice to start shooting.”

  Vicky would have none of that. She knew the true story. She laid it out for everyone listening . . . and everyone in the ballroom was listening.

  “What? And leave you with all that alien technology you’d stumbled upon? Let you Longknifes make a fortune and cut the rest of us out?”

  “I told Hank before he started shooting that he was rattling off a pipe dream,” the Longknife girl said, again with maddening calm. “No way could my family hog all that. Nor would we want to. Look at what’s going on as we speak. Half the universities in human space have staff in those two systems. Almost every major and a whole lot of minor corporations are trying to figure out what they have. ‘Trying,’ being the operative word. Last I heard, they don’t know swat. You heard differently?”

  The damn Longknife bitch was actually winning people over. Around Vicky, people were nodding along. She heard one person say. “I’ve got a college professor friend out there and in her latest message she said just that.”

  But that wasn’t what mattered. Not at all.

  “That doesn’t change the fact,” Vicky spat. “You shot up a Greenfeld ship and my brother died.”

  Even before Vicky finished speaking, Kris Longknife was shaking her head. “He should have lived through that battle,” then added. “I did.”

  “Count your days, Longknife,” Vicky snapped, firm as a stone closing on a sepulcher. “Count your days.”

  And the bitch snapped back, “They’ll be long and happy if you don’t send anyone better than the ones you hired last night.”

  That knocked Vicky back a half step and she knew she was going red. That red hair might be dyed, but it didn’t keep her from flushing at the worst times.

  “That was none of my doing.”

  Kris Longknife took Vicky’s lie in with a shrug.

  “I suspect I’ll be seeing you around,” she said, off handedly, and turned her back on Vicky.

  Vicky wanted to follow her, but her senior security guard stepped in. Her own security team was matching scowls with that Longknife bitch’s team and there was little room between them.

  One of von Schrader’s subordinates stepped in and edged Vicky toward a small clump of middle aged men who had sons in tow. The seniors exchanged chat about the weather ... it was going to get hotter as spring turned into summer . . . or about business deals that were in the works. One by one, the young men offered their arms to Vicky and squired her out onto the dance floor.

  They kept to one side of the floor and Kris Longknife kept to the other. Between them was a strange arrangement. Some women had shown up not so much in a gown as in an assembly of sparkling nanos swirling about her. As the orchestra played, she, and the men waiting to dance with her always seemed between Vicky and Kris Longknife.

  Vicky wondered if the dutiful sons been briefed on this or did they figure it out themselves. Anyway, if Vicky had secreted a dagger or pistol about her person, she was given no second chance to use it on Kris Longknife.

  When it became clear that Vicky would get no second chance to spit her venom at Kris Longknife, she chose to call it a night.

  Unfortunately, that turned out to be harder to say than do.

  Chapter 7

  Vicky’s security team did not lead her to the same limo that brought her. This one was larger. Vicky knew even before the door opened that Grant von Schrader had come to pick her up.

  So she posed for a picture when one of the men lurking around the exit called, and then for several more. She could hear Grant drumming his fingers on the door across from hers, so she added a couple more to show him he could not boss around a Peterwald.

  Finally, she had done enough and settled into the soft leather seat. The chief of the security detail firmly closed her door and the driver put the limo motion. Still, Grant continued drumming his fingers. No doubt his personal computer was checking for any bugs that had come in on Vicky’s dress.

  When he spoke, he began softly. “Remind me again why your father sent you to Eden?” It didn’t matter how soft his words, Vicky knew when a man was mad. Daddy had given her lots of examples.

  “I believe he said something vague, like you were to show me the ropes,” Vicky said, as innocently as possible as she arranged her dress so that it fell tightly across her breasts, allowing nipples to raise their distracting heads.

  “I believe he also mentioned something about helping you develop enough common sense so that you’d survive a bit longer than your brother,” were bitten out through tightly drawn lips.

  Vicky raised an eyebrow at that, then tightly smoothed it down. Had Daddy passed along coverage of that meeting? Or was it possible his security was not as tight as he boasted.

  Vicky said nothing, waiting for him to go on, but he didn’t. She hated it when men hinted at what they might know and then left it hanging.

  Instead, Grant changed the topic. “It was foolish to confront the Longknife brat.”

  “And why should it be
?” Vicky shot back without a moment of reflection. “She murdered my brother. I can’t let her live. She knows that as well as I do.”

  Grant said not a sound, but turned to stare out his side of the limo.

  “Your brother is dead,” he finally said . . . to the streetlights. “There is no doubt about that. However, just how he ended up dead is subject to some conjecture. What there is no doubt about is that he crossed swords with Miss Longknife – frequently. A neutral observer might consider that a bad habit that you might want to avoid.”

  “She killed my brother. She will pay,” Victoria hissed.

  Grant turned back to her. “Vennie will be spending no more hours alone with you in your bedroom.”

  “Oh, but Vennie was such a pleasant a companion,” Vicky said, licking her lips. “I haven’t seen him around recently. Where is the dear boy?”

  “He has been called to a meeting with your father,” was all Grant said.

  Vicky smiled; Vennie had been Kiefer’s stalking horse. It was he who made first contact with the gangs. He’d also spent time with Vicky where her maids could notice. So Grant had plucked him up and missed her main man. There was a reason why Grant worked for the Peterwalds and not the other way around.

  “You do not kill a Peterwald and live,” she repeated.

  “Then kill her someplace else,” Grant snapped. “We have business here on Eden. Profitable business and I do not care for you washing your dirty linens in my backyard. Your father sent you here to learn to make a profit. You can kill this Longknife troublemaker anywhere else you want. Just not here.”

  Vicky was growing tired of this conversation. She’d learned early how to get men to quit talking to her. Agree with them. “Yes, Uncle Grant,” she said in her most agreeable voice. “I most certainly can.”

  Chapter 8

  Vicky allowed her maids to undress her and put her to bed like a nice girl. If her computer was to be believed, the senior maid waited outside her door for a good hour before tiptoeing away.

  Vicky put some of the time to good use, having her own computer suborn all the listening and recording devices in the room. It recorded their take of Vicky sleeping innocently. They had plenty recorded before Kiefer slipped in around two o’clock.

  Vicky invited him under her sheets and together they began to explore what pleased them. When they were done the first time, and Kiefer lying sated beside her, Vicky brought up the topic that interested her, even more than what Kiefer had between his legs.

  “Have you gotten matters arranged for tomorrow?”

  “It’s laid on solid as a rock,” he said, chuckling. “These guys are real artists, if you know what I mean.”

  “They better be better than that last bunch or you’ll be on the next slow starship following after Vennie.

  “Don’t worry, they won’t be chasing that Longknife dame. She’ll be coming to them. She’ll put herself right where it kills her.”

  “That’s nice,” Vicky said, liking what he’d said, and what she’d found that was ready for another go.

  “One thing,” Kiefer said before she distracted him. “You sure you want to go there too?”

  “If it lets me see Kris Longknife bleeding out in a pool of blood, you bet I’ll be there. Don’t worry, I’ll still be here tomorrow night when we celebrate her dead.”

  So they celebrated a bit early.

  Chapter 9

  Vicky arrived early for the Spring Charity Art Extravaganza or whatever these people called it. She’d gotten Grant’s white whale for transport and a six man, two woman security team. Kiefer was the advance man at the show and greeted her when the limo stopped at the doors to the exhibition center.

  “You’re really going to enjoy this,” he assured her. “You might want to buy some of these pieces of art and ship them home to your father. It would show him how you’re spending your time.”

  Vicky raised an eyebrow. “All he wants to see me spending my time on is plants and fabrication centers. If I see another one, I swear I’ll vomit.”

  “Then this will be a nice break.”

  “Is she here yet?” Vicky whispered to Kiefer when all her security people were spread out and growling at people or security teams getting out of their own limos.

  “Not yet. She’s traveling with Marines. If you see someone in red and blue or battle armor, she can’t be far away.”

  “Just so long as she’s not in armor.”

  “This is an art show,” Kiefer pointed out.

  Inside, there was the usual flock of had been socialites, clucking away. Vicky turned the other way and made her way into the exhibitions by a side entrance that Kiefer pointed out. Vicky was halfway through the show, and had spotted several really weird bits of art that might intrigue Daddy, when Kiefer nudged her.

  “Is she here?” Vicky asked.

  “Just blew in, surrounded by Marines.”

  “Where do I go?”

  “The lady’s room is this way.”

  There, she primped and preened until her computer softly said “Now.” Then Vicky headed for the stall farthest from the exhibition hall. Someone was in it.

  Vicky took the next stall in and sat. When the automatic weapons fire started, she pulled up her feet and rested them on the door in front of her.

  Outside, she could hear women exclaiming about the noise. Several empty heads raced out only to be shot before the door swung shut.

  Some people don’t have the sense it takes to stay alive.

  Vicky, however, kept her feet up and waited until the firing stopped and her computer announced all was clear. She put her feet down, flushed the toilet and went to wash her hands.

  There were several darts buried halfway through the wall between the hall and the lady’s room. The wall had stopped most. However, a woman stood, arm bleeding into the sink, just watching the crimson trickle slowly into the running water.

  “You might want to have that looked at,” Vicky said as she tried to dry her hands and found that all the dryers had taken hits and were no longer working.

  The one female bodyguard stood by while Vicky finished.

  Vicky exited to find her security team waiting for her.

  “Where is she?” Vicky demanded.

  Kiefer nodded over to where a small cluster of Marines in green and gray armor stood. There, standing with them, was Kris Longknife.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Vicky growled. They stalked through the wreckage and bleeding humanity to where the limo waited.

  In the limo, on the drive back, Vicky starred daggers at Kiefer. He spent the drive staring out the window.

  “I have an idea,” he said as they drew up to the von Schrader mansion.

  Vicky eyed the man; was he just fishing for an invitation to her bed tonight? Before she could even raise an encouraging eyebrow, the limo came to a halt. One of Grant’s own security men opened the door and soon two of them were hustling her inside, up the stairs and into Grant’s own office.

  One look at the scowl on Grant’s face and she knew he knew.

  Vicky gave him a smug smile.

  “I see you missed that Longknife bitch again,” Grant said.

  Vicky shrugged. “It was close. Very close. She has to know that next time it will be closer. And sooner or later, she dies. Kris Longknife will die. Let her think of that in her hospital bed tonight”

  “There will not be another time,” Grant snarled. “Not on my planet.”

  Victoria plopped herself into one of the overstuffed guest chairs around his discussion table. “Oh, Uncle Grantie, you sound upset. Is something bothering you?”

  Vicky knew he detested her calling him Uncle Grantie. That took the wind out of his sails for a bit. That kept him quiet for almost a whole minute.

  His voice had changed when he went on. It was low, almost soft.

  “The initial news reports blamed the incident at the Spring Charity Art Extravaganza on a gas line explosion.”

  “Good. Some newsie used his
imagination,” Victoria purred.

  “Unfortunately,” he went on, “whoever you hired for this hit didn’t use his imagination,” Grant shot back. “A nice bomb would have left little to challenge that bit of creative reporting.”

  Vicky couldn’t see where this was going. He did have her curiosity up. Maybe she might just learn something.

  Grant went on. “Your man used an auto-gun that left plenty of bullets in victims and pieces of the gun in the wreckage.”

  “Your police can handle a little problem like that,” Vicky said, shaking her head. He’d always told her that everything on New Eden was up for sale. This should hardly be a problem for him.

  Maybe not. Grant had a twitch under his left eye when he was really mad. She’d only seen it jerk a few times. Right now, it was twitching with every breath he took.

  “Reporters can get the scoops we lay out for them. Police reports can be ‘corrected.’ Unfortunately, Ms. Broadmore and Mrs. Whitebread say they saw the gun and all the shooting. They are talking a lot and it’s all off story.”

  Vicky shrugged. “Can’t you have them popped?”

  “They are major players on Eden. They die later,” Grant snapped back at her.

  “Heart attacks?” Vicky said, arching an eyebrow.

  “Not fast enough today. And all of your solutions involve risk for minor gains when fifteen years of work is my main concern. Hasn’t your father mentioned the benefit of staying focused on the prize and not being distracted by mere glitter?”

  Vicky shook that off. “Longknife’s death is not mere glitter.”

  “It is right now.”

  “Well, if you hadn’t sent poor Vennie packing, he might have done a better job for me.”

  Grant got out from behind his desk and walked over to tower over Vicky. He rested his hands firmly on his hips as if to keep them away from her neck. That, more than anything made her pay attention.