“How did your family come here, and when?”
“We arrived as indentured workers, our future employers paying our way for seven years of cheap labor. My family was from Mexico, but workers came from all over South America. There are also Indians, Pakistanis, and Filipinos. The Eurolands has Turks, Palestinians, and Russians. The Chinese have, well, Chinese or Taiwanese, or Koreans. Cheap or forced labor.”
“And none of the late arrivals got the vote?” Kris needed to hear this. She knew it all added up to that, but knowing it and hearing it were not the same.
“Not unless you married someone who did, and then only your children got franchise if they came out above 50 percent. Some folks invest a lot in keeping their genealogy straight.”
Could this be why Grampa Ray sent me here? It didn’t make sense. She might have missed the footnote on this part of Eden’s history, but King Ray had lived it. And what could she do about this violation of civil rights, anyway?
It was time to get down to business. “You said you had something you wanted to tell us and didn’t want to say it where the walls might have ears.”
The local cop smiled. “That was a fast turn. Yes, I’ve reviewed the file you sent. I must say I’m amazed that you’re still here to make the request.”
“You’re not the only one,” Jack put in.
“I’ve had a lot of help,” Kris said, smiling at the guards around her. “For which I am truly grateful.”
Most of the guards ignored her, concentrating on their section of her perimeter. Some did acknowledge with a smile.
“Anyway, I have recommended authorization of protective services, including automatic weapons and armored transportation. No crew-served weapons such as mortars and heavy machine guns.”
Kris tried to keep the surprise off her face. When folks here went for security, they went heavy. What were they afraid of?
“That should do for us,” Jack said. “Is there any limit on the number of security personnel she can have at any one event.”
“Social graces govern there,” Martinez said. “Hostesses don’t want their soirees overrun with tight-mouthed men who can’t participate in the chitchat, if you know what I mean.”
Kris suspected she did. They’d come to a place where a multilane road crossed the mall. A long motorcade, official-looking, was speeding toward them. The light still said her group could walk, so Kris did.
“We better get out of their way,” Martinez suggested, and the group of Navy and Marines began to jog.
They were just reaching the other curb when a Marine sang out, “We’ve got explosives nearby.”
“How close?” Jack snapped.
“Don’t know. I think we’re about on top of it.”
Kris glanced down at a spilled box of popcorn. Strange, none of the plentiful pigeons had attacked it.
“Bomb,” Kris shouted, and took off running just as Jack made a grab for her as if to push her.
“Run, Marines,” Gunnery Sergeant Brown ordered, but he was backpeddling up the road, his automatic out. He gave the entire detachment one quick look, determined them gone enough, and started to empty his weapon.
8
Behind Kris, the world exploded.
She went down hard. Jack hit on top of her even harder.
She hoped it was nice for him.
She rolled out from underneath him and was struggling to her feet even as she took command of the situation. “Anybody injured? Let’s hear a report. Sound off.”
One by one five of her six Marines reported their presence. Two shouted as if they might be having a hard time hearing. Beside her, Jack got to his feet, licked his finger, and made a mark in the air. “Missed you again,” he muttered.
“Gunny,” Kris shouted, not interested in Jack’s humor.
The sergeant was slower getting to his feet. “It missed me, ma’am. I think it was aimed for the center of the road.” He pointed at the trees across the street, now denuded of leaves and branches. Two were nothing but shattered stumps. “Those won’t need trimming for a while.”
Her primary duty done, Kris turned to look for the local police officer. He was still down. She offered him a hand.
Martinez took it and stood, but his attention was focused behind her. Kris turned to see the motorcade bumping off the mall to her right, gunning its engines as it used the next road up to head back where it came from. Tracks on the mall’s grass and gravel showed where heavy vehicles had made fast passage.
“I was going to say, another one to add to my file,” Kris said. “But whoever’s in those rigs might dispute that.”
“I suspect they would.”
“On your knees!” a new voice demanded. “Hands behind your heads! Twitch a muscle and I’ll shoot you, you damn terrorists.”
Martinez immediately dropped to his knees, but he shouted out. “I’m a police officer. I have credentials in my pocket.”
Kris made no effort to comply, but slowly turned to face a young man in full armor, assault rifle aimed at her head. “I am Princess Kristine of Wardhaven and a serving officer in my planet’s Navy. These men with me are Marines and part of my security detail. We exploded that damn booby trap. I demand to see one of your officers.”
Kris noted that Jack and Gunny had slowly led their subordinates in complying with the wish of the man with the rifle. Good of them. But Kris had been accused of too many crimes she didn’t commit. She’d waste as little time with this one as possible.
She locked eyes with the armed man and didn’t blink.
“Stand down, Corporal. I’ll take it from here.”
The man who stepped forward to place a gentle hand on the corporal looked a bit older than Jack. The deep tan of his face matched the soft brown of his suit. “I’m Inspector Johnson. You say you are a princess. Can you prove it?”
The corporal may have been told to stand down, but the rifle didn’t waver from Kris…and his finger stayed on the trigger.
“Inspector, I have credentials in my pocket. May I drop this raincoat?”
“Please do so. Slowly.”
Kris did. She got upraised eyebrows from both the inspector and corporal as her uniform emerged.
“The Navy part seems to have some substance,” the inspector said, then glanced around at the rest of her party. “Marines?”
“First Lieutenant Montoya is the chief of my security detail. The others were ‘volunteered,’ when Lieutenant Martinez of your police asked to talk to me.”
Now the inspector glanced at his own officer. “You have credentials handy?”
“In my coat pocket.”
“Produce them slowly.”
Lieutenant Martinez did. The inspector examined them, whispered something to his personal computer, and seemed happy with the answer he got. “You may get up, Lieutenant. Is she what she says she is?”
“I have every reason to believe so.”
“Gentlemen, I’m going to ask you Marines to stay down a moment longer. Your Highness, will you slowly present your ID.”
Kris did.
“Lieutenant Montoya?” the inspector said. Jack answered with a grunt. “May I see your ID card?”
Jack slowly produced his. The inspector looked at all three of them together.
“Can any of you explain why our explosives experts swept this area and found nothing. Our advanced guard had no inkling of anything, but a mine exploded for you?”
“Corporal Singe, report,” Gunny snapped.
“I was using an MK 38, Mod 9 sensor both to search for illegals and to control our own nano-guards, sir. As I approached the curb, I got the first alarm that there were explosives and electronic devices present. They appeared to be well shielded. I announced the problem and followed the princess. That caused the sensors to spike and I concluded it was either in the popcorn box or being covered by it. Gunny then took action, sir!”
“And that action was?”
“I shot it until it exploded, Inspector,” Gunny Brown said.
>
“You have a permit for that weapon, mister?”
“That was what I was talking to your lieutenant about,” Kris put in. “My submitted request for a weapons permit for me and my security detail. I think this proves I need one.”
“Hmm,” said the inspector.
Lieutenant Martinez shook his head eying the direction of the vanished motorcade. “I’m not so sure you get credited with this one.”
“You mean she’s now walking into other people’s assassinations.” Jack shook his head. “That’s really not fair.”
In the road, four people in civilian clothes organized a thorough search of the bomb scene. One of them came over to talk in dark whispers with the inspector. He waved Kris and company toward a tree ten meters away. They went.
A few minutes later Inspector Johnson rejoined them. “Did that bomb sniffer of yours make a record of findings?”
Kris glanced at Corporal Singe.
“Full and complete, Your Highness.”
“I’ll need that record,” the inspector said.
“We’ll make a copy,” Kris said.
“I want the original.”
“You may have the original. We want a copy.”
The inspector nodded. A large, apparently armored, vehicle pulled up. “I will need all of you to accompany me downtown.”
“For what reason?” Kris demanded.
The inspector seemed to recognize the error of his ways and moved to explain. “We need as much residue from this new form of bomb as we can get. Your clothes are potentially peppered now with fragments of the explosive, electronics, what have you. Would you please accompany me downtown where our experts can examine you and your clothing.”
Put that way, Kris could only answer, “We will be glad to. Let me call my embassy and explain why I will be late returning from lunch. Don’t want to be declared a deserter…again.”
Several hours later, Lieutenant Martinez offered Kris a hand in her dismount from the same armored transport, or its sibling. Her hair was stripped clean down to the second layer of cells; Abby would have a fit. The Marines formed a perimeter around her. Even on the embassy doorstep, they were not taking chances.
“I will do my best to speed the process of awarding you a permit,” he said without looking her in the eye.
“Is there a problem?” Kris asked.
“My supervisor did not seem in any rush.”
“You could wave this. It’s bound to make the media.”
The local cop shook his head. “Not in any outlet he’s likely to read.”
“Well, please tell me which media it will make. After last night vanished into some kind of invisible hole, I’m wondering how to fill up my scrapbook.” Or Abby’s.
“You haven’t heard about our alternate press.”
“Is it to be trusted?”
“Some more than others. I read the El Camino Real. You might want to subscribe.”
“I’ll look into it.” NELLY, SEE ABOUT HAVING PENNY SUBSCRIBE. THAT SHOULD KEEP MY NAME OUT OF IT.
DOING, KRIS.
Kris hardly got in the basement door before she was ambushed by the ambassador’s secretary. “Where have you been?”
Kris frowned at Jack. “We reported to the Marine Comm Center where we were,” he said.
“Well, they didn’t tell anyone else. You can’t just vanish, Your Highness. People expect better things of you,” he sniffed.
Kris wondered how big a bribe it would take to have one of the Marines behind her pop this guy one. From the looks on their faces, the fellow was rapidly reaching bargain-basement pricing. A few of them looked willing to pay for the privilege.
“Did you check in with the Marines?” Kris asked softly. Dead softly.
The secretary ignored Kris’s question and went on to the matter of some importance to him. “We have a request for your presence this evening. Ms. Broadmore is throwing a small party at her city residence and would so like you to serve as the centerpiece of her evening.”
“I’ve had a rough afternoon,” Kris bit out.
“Not doing your duties, if I may say so. The negotiations floundered without you. They’ll continue tomorrow. Please try to be there.”
“Last night, I went to one of Eden’s little balls and got shot at.” Kris was rapidly losing what temper she had left.
“So you say. The ambassador wonders about that. I must say, I do, too. Ms. Broadmore is a very important person here on Eden. You really must be there. It will be small, so even you will likely not foul it up. Here’s your invitation. Do be at least fifteen minutes late. Any more is gauche. Any less and, well, you are a princess, aren’t you.”
And apparently, some people figured that made her just the person they could order around.
Before Kris could decide between decking the guy herself or just hanging, drawing, and quartering him, she was interrupted.
“Kris, what have you done to your hair!” And Kris got ready to be ordered around some more.
Unfortunately, the secretary was long gone by the time Kris explained that the condition of her hair was the result of another bomber’s near miss.
“I had planned to go out this evening,” Abby grumbled, “but it looks like I’ll be up to my elbows in princessing you for most of the afternoon. Let’s get started.”
Kris was freed from Abby’s “tender” care just in time to board one of the embassy’s armored battlewagons at 1930. Jack was her escort, in dress red-and-blues. The driver and one other Marine were also in dress uniform. Two men and two women in formal dress were too clean-cut to be anything but Marines.
“I’m glad you could arrange things so quickly,” Kris said.
“Captain DeVar was already on it when we got back. He seems to be better wired into the embassy rumor mill than the ambassador’s secretary.”
“Good man,” Kris offered.
“He also asked if you might want to go jogging with some Marines. They run their three miles at 0515 every morning. Five miles on Saturday.”
“I’d love to join his Marines,” Kris said. It would be good to spend an hour with real line beasts every day. The rest of her day was la-la land; a bit of time sweating with people who got their hands dirty might keep her grounded. Heaven knew, with all the food thrown at a princess, if she didn’t get some exercise, this desk job might be the death of her.
“I told him you would.” Jack grinned. “I am supposed to take care of your security, and if you keep eating like a hog and don’t exercise, I’ll lose you to a heart attack.”
Kris started to swat him, but the limo was already slowing to a stop. A glance at the bright lights showed that now might not be a good time to assault her security chief.
9
If this was Ms. Broadmore’s townhome, Kris wondered what she used for her rural retreat. Something the size of Texas? Of course, Kris had never figured out how large Texas was, but the old saying suited this place.
Ms. Broadmore’s town house might be smaller than the Wardhaven Embassy. Then again, the huge, column-lined facade before Kris could be hiding a dozen wings…or two. Around the grounds, several scores of limos, many larger than Kris’s, were parked on concrete or grass, depending on how heavy the liveried men directing traffic took the rig to be.
“Small get-together my well-armored derriere,” Kris said.
Jack took it in. “You carrying?”
“And you ain’t getting it.” She locked eyes with Jack. He looked away. “Now that that’s all settled,” Kris said, “let’s go see what this is all about.”
Jack handed her out of the limo. A man in white livery and knee britches took the invitation from Jack and escorted them to the main entrance.
He frowned as the four formal-dressed Marines formed two couples and followed.
“Madam has provided refreshments and entertainment for your servants, Your Highness.”
“Good. Then they can rotate, one couple at my elbow, one on break,” Kris said, giving one half her detail
. But only half.
His “As you wish” dripped with disapproval.
Kris had learned to live with disapproval at an early age. Dead was not something she wanted to live with anytime soon.
Through the glass doors was a marble hall that, apparently, served only as a foyer. This was laying it on thick.
KRIS, THIS DESIGN MIMICS A FRENCH PALACE OF THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. EARTH.
THANK YOU, NELLY. LET ME THINK, PLEASE.
They came to a ballroom that was larger than the drill field at OCS. More marble pillars held up a domed ceiling streaked with gold and lit by chandeliers that actually burned candles. The aroma was very striking. A marbled and carpeted staircase led down into the second level of the ballroom.
Beside Kris, her liveried escort handed off her invitation to a man in a coat of gold cloth holding a huge staff.
“Princess Kristine Anne of Wardhaven and Nuu Enterprises” boomed out in a rich baritone.
“Not bad,” Jack whispered.
“And associates” was added a long second later.
“I guess that puts us in our place,” Jack added.
“Just stay close,” Kris said. “This is not what I signed on for tonight. I do not want any more surprises,” she added as she took the steps slowly down into what she could only think of as a gladiator’s arena.
But a bloodless one. Most likely.
Kris had been processing all the surprises of the day as Abby prepared her for the evening. She hadn’t paid much attention until Abby poured her into the red, floor-length ball gown with the tight bust. At the time, Kris had considered it a bit too much for what she thought she was headed into, but didn’t need a fight with her maid to add to all the day’s other battles. Now, a glance around the floor showed that Abby was far more plugged in to the social circuits here.
Dress was formal. Very formal. Some of it was into that outlandish area that can only be attempted by stamping it “formal.” One woman, either very young, or very well preserved was wearing…something. A haze of multicolored lights orbited her, keeping her somewhat modest. And teasing every male eye in range with hopes that the program would fail and leave her, just for a moment, wide open on one side or another.
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