“Already running,” Nelly said. “Everything appears normal.”
“And the chip?” Tru asked.
“No activity,” Nelly replied in a low-tech voice. “Excuse me while I initiate interface with the new gel.”
“Oh, right,” Tru said, biting one fingernail. Kris had never seen her aunt so excited.
“I am developing a project plan that will involve triple checks of buffers at every phase of activation of the wafer,” Nelly said. “I do not expect to begin testing power sources before this time tomorrow.”
“You can go faster than that,” Tru said, almost stomping her foot with impatience.
“And who taught me to take new things slowly and carefully?” Kris shot back.
“Yes, but you never paid me any mind before.”
“Now I’m a mature woman,” Kris said, standing up to her full height. She didn’t exactly tower over Tru, but her three extra centimeters did come in handy once in a while. “And I have a ball tonight, command performance.”
“You could skip it. Tell your mom you were detained.”
“My Skipper is now tracking my social schedule.”
“Your mother didn’t—”
“No, but I suspect my Captain very much wants to avoid a call from Mother. And if it does come, he wants to be as innocent as possible.”
“Coward,” Tru said, but she was ushering Kris from the lab.
“Strange, those Navy types, lions in the face of laser fire, but threaten them with society, and they flee for the door.”
“Like a young woman I know.” Tru chuckled. “Well, bring Nelly by tomorrow so I can check up on her. Sam and I may have some test ideas of our own. You’ll need to check in daily,” she said as Kris slipped out the door.
3
The drive home was quiet. Kris’s efforts to involve Nelly in anything were met with “Is this activity essential?” in that low-tech voice that showed Nelly was otherwise busy.
At Nuu House, Harvey excused himself to park the car. That was strange; he usually left it in the entrance’s wide circular drive. When Jack tried to go with him, Kris knew something was amiss. “Jack, stay with me. If something goes wrong with Nelly’s new installation, I might need a hand.”
NOTHING WILL GO WRONG WITH ME, Nelly shot back.
QUIET, Kris ordered silently.
“I thought you trusted your Aunt Tru,” Jack muttered.
“Never can be too safe.”
“Now I know something is definitely wrong with you,” Jack growled through a smile but followed her into the foyer. The black and white tiled spiral swirled to the center of the room. The large library off to the right was dark and quiet, no longer a military command post for her Grampas Ray and Trouble.
King Ray had taken over a major hotel downtown for his court while the politicians debated how much of a palace he really needed. Grampa Ray would have been happy in a two-bedroom town house, but since the politicians of eighty planets had talked him into some kind of kingship over their cobbled-together United Sentients, he was having fun needling them with a full-court press. Or a press for a full court.
Her Grampa Trouble was offering advice “purely as a consultant” to several planets as they struggled to form their own defense forces and meld them with the new United Sentients’ total force. That left Nuu House so empty it echoed.
Except that standing at the foot of the stairs was a stranger. The woman, in a severe gray dress cut long and buttoned at the neck, stood, hands folded. She was Kris’s height, maybe a bit shorter, but she held herself so rigidly upright it made no difference. “Princess Longknife,” the woman said. “I am your new body servant.”
Kris eyed the woman without slowing. Her face was free of makeup, her jet-black hair coiled in a tight bun. She’s going to give me a makeover? She needs one herself! “It’s Lieutenant Longknife,” Kris shot back, “and I don’t need any servants.”
“Your mother disagrees.”
“Add one more to the myriad things where we differ,” Kris said, adjusting her course for the stairs to be as far from the woman as possible. The woman let Kris pass but followed her up as silently and nearly invisible as Jack, until Kris turned on the second-floor landing to take the stairs to her third-floor room.
Clearing her voice, the woman said, “Your quarters are now on the second floor.”
“I’ve been moved!” Kris said softly, one foot on the stairs up.
“Yes. Your room was too small for your new responsibilities. I have rearranged you in a second-floor suite.”
Kris turned to face this new problem. “You moved me without asking!”
“You have a ball tonight. There is much to do and no time to waste. Harvey suggested this suite.”
“Harvey’s in on this.”
“His wife, Lotty, agreed.”
Which meant everyone living in Nuu House was backing this interloper. Drastic actions were called for. “Jack, shoot this trespasser.”
Her security agent pursed his lips as he scratched his head. “Don’t think I can. They took that paragraph out of my job description last month after your old man freed the slaves.” He offered his hand. “I’m Jack Montoya. I didn’t get your name.”
“Abby Nightengale,” the woman answered, then lowered her voice. “I was hired from an Earth agency. Did this planet just outlaw slavery?”
Kris started to bark a laugh, then realized this poor woman had traveled a hundred light-years to take a job on a world she knew nothing about. Could Kris have even done that?
“Rest assured, we are as modern as Earth in all our conveniences and vices,” Jack told Abby, adding power to his words with one of his gentle smiles.
“They told me that when I signed the contract,” Abby said.
“But you never can tell around the wild Rim of human space,” Jack finished.
“Were you expecting your Princess in a fur bikini?” Kris snapped, feeling less sympathy in the light of all Jack’s concern for this new woman.
Abby looked Kris up and down. “I had hoped her hair might be in better shape. Show me your nails,” Abby ordered, took two quick steps, reached out, and held Kris’s fingers up to the light. “I guess it could be worse. At least you don’t bite them.”
Kris yanked her hands back. “I like me just the way I am. I don’t need someone wasting their day making me who I’m not.”
Abby had no answer for that, or else she let Kris have the last say. Kris started to stomp down the hall to an open doorway on her right. Abby cleared her throat . . . and pointed to the left. Scowling, Kris followed the intruder. The door she opened was to one of the guest suites. A large sitting room opened to two smaller rooms, one a bedroom, the other a study that was in the process of being converted into a dressing room. Already its walls were hung with dresses that Kris did not remember buying. In a small corner hung her uniforms.
“I’ll start your bath,” Abby said.
“I can handle my own shower,” Kris shot back.
The woman paused in the doorway to a very luxurious bath. Turning to Kris she said, “You have pretty much handled things on your own for most of the last ten years, or so I’m told. You have a full schedule as an active duty naval officer and as a political show horse, otherwise known as Princess. I think I can help you if you will give me half a chance.”
Kris shrugged; the woman was stubborn. Maybe the best way out was through. Let the woman do what she was going to do anyway and find out for herself just how little Kris needed a . . . what . . . a mother hen. Mother had never been much of a mother; it might be interesting to see what this Abigail was good for.
While water ran in the next room, Kris disconnected from Nelly and settled her on the dressing table. The computer had been silent through all of this, intent on navel gazing or Aunt Tru’s project, or maybe just too smart to get involved.
“Harvey says he’ll bring up a supper tray in a half hour,” Jack called from the next room. At least someone was giving her what she wante
d. Defiantly naked, Kris strode into the bath. Abby offered her a hand into the tub; Kris ignored it and kept her own balance as she put a foot in. The water was warm. Very nice. As Kris settled in, Abby poured an aromatic liquid into the tub. Once Kris was in place, and a pleasant “Aah” had escaped her, Abby turned on the jets.
Kris’s one experiment with jets and bubble bath had been a disaster. Whatever Abby used just turned into a pleasant, low foam. With gently pulsating water caressing her, scents relaxing her, Kris leaned back, but refused to let the moment waste away. Finding out what made this interloper tick was suddenly high on Kris’s list of things to do today.
“So, what made you want to be . . .” Kris could think of several descriptions of Abby’s duties, all sharp with put-downs. She settled for “this?”
“Have a job, rather than living on Earth welfare?” Abby said through a smile with too much teeth.
“That wasn’t what I said.”
“No, but isn’t that what you Rim people think? Decadent Earth where everyone just parties.”
“Earth couldn’t be the power it is if everyone was just looking for the next party,” Kris snapped. She’d risked her life to keep Earth and the Rim from going to war. If anyone respected Earth’s power, it was her.
“Harvey just brought up the mail,” Jack called. “Where do you want it?”
“Mail, as in snail?” Kris called back.
“Two rather large packages. One weighs about ten kilos. Don’t think even Nelly could handle that in storage.”
“Put them on the dressing table. I’ll look at them later.”
“Okay,” Jack said. “I won’t peek.” He hurried past the bath door, a box under one arm, a large padded envelope held up to block his view through the door. Damn. Kris wouldn’t mind if he took a peek once in a while.
On the way out, Jack did toss an unrepentant smile her way. Unfortunately, all there was for him to see was froth and suds.
“Nice guy,” Abby said, eyeing the door after Jack passed.
“Yep,” Kris agreed. “Hand me a towel. Let’s see what the mail brought.”
Abby did, and didn’t try to interfere with Kris drying herself. As Kris stepped from the tub, Abby wrapped her in a lush terrycloth robe. “Where’d this come from?”
“After your mother’s description, I told her I needed a budget for essentials and for your wardrobe.”
“So you’re spending my money.”
“You really should spend a bit on things that matter rather than frivolous things like your personal computer.”
“Nelly saved my life today, and a boat full of shipmates. Nelly is nothing frivolous.”
“Your mother’s words, not mine.”
“If you want to survive around me, you’ll learn not to quote my mother.”
“So I noticed. Now sit down; your hair needs washing.”
“I washed it this morning.”
“I daresay you got it wet. Have you ever heard of conditioner? You know, that stuff that smells good.” Kris found herself maneuvered into a chair beside an oversize washbasin. Before she could react, Abby had her hair sopping wet and was massaging in something that smelled like strawberries. Hair washing had never been so sensuous when Kris did it herself. By the time Abby was drying Kris’s hair, she was almost willing to admit this Earth woman might be worth whatever Mother was paying.
Settled at the dressing table, Kris eyed her mail. The heavy box was from Grampa Al. Kris ignored it, strongly suspecting it held a first production sample of Uni-plex. The envelope was more intriguing. Its return address was Earth. “This must be for you,” she told Abby.
“It’s addressed to Ensign Longknife,” Jack said from the door where he and Harvey were waiting expectantly.
Kris pulled her robe tighter around herself and swiveled the chair to face them. “So what is it?”
“We don’t know. Will you open it, woman?” Harvey snapped.
So Kris did. But a look inside didn’t tell her that much. She poured the contents out on her dressing table, next to Nelly. The men came to peer over her shoulder.
Harvey was the first to grasp what they saw. He let out a low whistle. “Is that what I think it is?”
Abby picked up a heavy gold and jewel-encrusted pendant. “One of my employers,” she whispered, “was very proud of her ancestor who died in the Iteeche Wars. This hung in her living room beside a portrait of her great-grandmother. It’s the highest award Earth can give, the Order of the Wounded Lion.”
“It’s awfully big for a medal,” Kris said, puzzled.
“You don’t wear the Order like other medals, young woman,” Harvey reproved her. “This sunburst goes on your uniform breast pocket, or for really formal occasions, you wear the sash and use the medal to clasp the sash at the waist. Don’t they teach you junior officers anything these days?” He grinned.
“Nope.” Kris grinned back. “We JOs pretty much waste all our time on engineering, battle tactics, and similar trivia,” she said, examining the gold medallion. The highest award Earth could give. Wow. And when was the last time it was mailed out in a brown wrapper? Damn it, I worked just as hard to earn this bauble as anyone who got it hung on them in a rose garden. Will everything I do good be swept under the rug because I’m one of those Longknifes? But Lordy, if I screw up . . .
“What did you do to earn this?” Abby asked.
“If I told you, then Jack truly would have to shoot you,” Kris deadpanned. To Kris’s surprise, Jack nodded.
Abby frowned briefly at the put-off, but picked up the blue sash and took it to a cream dress hanging against one wall of the dressing room. Unlike the monstrosities Mother chose, this one was of a conservative cut: strapless, pulled tight at the waist before flowing out smoothly to floor length. While the “in” fashion might range from shapeless sacks to damn near naked, this was always appropriate. “You can wear the sash over the shoulder,” Abby said, “and pin it here, under the opposite arm so that it flows smoothly across you. I think that would be best,” the Earth woman told Kris. The men nodded agreement.
Kris sighed. Like a large blue arrow, it would point straight at the empty space in the dress where most women had breasts. “I will be wearing my uniform tonight.”
Abby frowned at the corner that held the items of Navy issue: battle dress, khakis, whites, and the standard formal evening dress of a junior female officer. She pulled the formal from the lineup and held it next to the cream dress. One was appropriate for a fairy Princess. The other was just flat dowdy.
The uniform’s white, floor-length skirt was cut from the same design as a millennia of gunnysacks. Kris had chosen the blue wool blouse that had the tight choker neck, thereby avoiding any hint of décolletage. Miniatures of her few medals were already in place. Abby looked back and forth between Kris and the standard dress uniform. “The colors are not your best,” she said as she chewed on her lower lip.
“The colors are established Navy wide,” Kris answered back.
Abby laid the Wounded Lion’s blue sash across the blouse. The light, watermarked blue of the sash and the dark blue of the blouse could only be said to fit because a thousand years of valor and service said they did. Abby shook her head, opened her mouth.
Kris cut her off. “That is what I am wearing tonight.”
Abby turned to Harvey and Jack. “Do all military uniforms seek to make a woman look so . . .”
“Unappealing?” Jack offered.
“Yes.”
“It seems that way,” Harvey agreed. “Women are there to do a job, not flirt,” the old trooper growled.
“But the men look so dashing in their uniforms,” Abby said.
“A historical anachronism left from days past,” Kris spat. “We women, however, have all the advantages of the modern era.”
“Or error,” Jack put in with one of his patented grins.
“Supper is ready,” Nelly spoke up, still in a low-tech voice, startling Kris. “Harvey, Lotty wants you downstairs to pic
k up a tray. Will you men be eating in the kitchen?”
“Looks that way,” Jack said, and the men left Kris and her new mistress of the wardrobe to dress. Having won on the most important point of debate that afternoon, Kris let Abby do as she pleased. Pampered, made over, and perfumed, her short, blond hair wound around her head in a confection that Kris never would have attempted, she was dressed in less than an hour. Nelly was back around Kris’s shoulders, a second reason to wear the uniform, before she and Abby crossed swords again. Abby returned with the diamond and gold tiara Mother had bought at some overpriced rummage sale. “Perfect for a Princess,” Mother had gushed.
As Kris did then, she said, “I’m not wearing that.”
Abby started to say something, looked at Kris, and seemed to think better of it. “What will you be wearing?”
“Right beside that in my jewelry box was a simple silver circlet, standard issue for any woman junior officer in formal dinner attire.”
“Not that!”
“Yes that.”
Abby glanced at the tiara, then eyed the circlet. “A Princess should wear a tiara.”
“That is a tiara. Says so right in the dress regulations. Tiara, formal, junior officers, female.”
“Do senior officers wear something nicer?” Abby said, trading the diamond concoction for the Navy issue.
“Yep. They get nicer and nicer until Admirals are wearing something pretty fancy.”
“And are very old,” Abby said with a sour frown on her face.
“Horribly old,” Kris agreed.
Tiaraed and sashed, Kris made her way carefully down the stairs in heels twice as high as she normally wore . . . which also were prescribed in regulations. Maybe Abby had a point. Whoever designed this outfit sure hadn’t put her physical comfort or appearance at a very high priority. Was the uniform regulations development bureau the last place in the Navy where a woman hater was allowed free rein? Jack, now in a tux, stood at the bottom of the stairs.
“You going to catch me when I fall?”
“Looks like it.”
“You could come up here and help me stay on these heels.”
Kris Longknife: Deserter Page 4
