“We use a two-step daisy chain. First, one explosion to get everyone headed for the ground. Then, once anyone with good sense has got themselves gone, a second explosion for the kill. Nelly, calculate the time needed to evacuate the yard.”
“Twenty-eight minutes and a few seconds,” Nelly said. If a computer could sound reluctant, Nelly had the act down solid. “Kris, maybe Jack is right. Maybe we should move faster.”
Kris glanced down to where Nelly hung on her hips and raised her eyebrows. Another one to report to Auntie Tru if they got out alive. “Jack, if we blow the yard without warning, we kill four to six thousand workers. That’s what terrorists do. I didn’t put on the uniform to do that kind of shit. I’m a sailor. When we fight, it’s on the up-and-up. I say we pull off the first blow and start running. If we’re being chased by the likes of those grays, we can stay a step ahead of them from now till doomsday. After thirty minutes, we do the big blow and run like hell. Any problems?” she said, facing her team.
“Putting it that way . . .” Jack shrugged. “I guess not.”
“I do hate running with you Longknifes.” Tom paused. “You come up with such good excuses to get everyone around you killed.” But his smile was lopsided and about a klick wide.
“I think I know how you got that ship to dump its Captain and follow you,” Penny said. “Why don’t I think my boss will believe my report . . . assuming I’m alive to write it.” But she, too, was grinning like she’d taken leave of any claim to good sense. Now she truly was perfect for Naval Intelligence.
“You’ll need to dress for the part,” Abby said with a sniff and turned for Kris’s room.
“We’re ten minutes into the evacuation of Top of Turantic. Let’s give them a full hour to get the kids down. There’s some risk that Sandfire could react, but even he has to close down what he’s doing now before he can launch anything new against us. Let’s get dressed, as Abby said. We’ve got new parts to play.”
There was a ring at the door. Jack glanced at his wrist. “Ten minutes. Not bad, considering the confusion.”
“You handle them. I’m taking a bath to relax after the stress of being so close to a bomb,” Kris said.
Closing the door behind her, Kris turned to Abby. “What does the well-dressed bomber wear?”
“I thought this little number might come in handy,” Abby said, turning from Kris’s wardrobe with a dark blue watermarked silk dress held across herself. The tight waist was marked off with silver filagree before petticoats swished out to a short skirt. That would leave a lot of leg to distract male eyes. But only if they pried them away from what little of the bodice there was. Deep scooped, it revealed enough cleavage to make Kris gulp. “Can I wear that?”
“Honey, this only makes it easy to get at your explosives.”
“What is it with you and booby bombs?”
“Young woman, how can you expect Hollywood to make a spectacle of your life if you don’t have lots of explosions?”
“And boobs.”
“As someone nature failed to properly endow, I make it my mission in life to correct such shortcomings. Now strip, Miss Princess. Full body stocking is suggested with this getup.”
Kris stripped but didn’t stop arguing. It kept her mind off of what she was getting into. “How can I wear full armor with this and still get at those booby bombs of yours?”
“They have sticky backs to go on the outside of the suit.”
“Why didn’t you do that with the first batch tonight?”
“Because I had no idea how close you’d let that Hank Peterwald get.”
“It was dinner, Abby. Dinner and dancing, maybe. Turned out not to even be dinner.”
“Ah, the confidence of youth. You honestly believe you know exactly what you’ll do from moment to moment, don’t you?”
“Of course,” Kris said, down to nothing and starting to pull on the body stocking. Like everything made of Super Spider Silk, it had no give; Abby talced Kris; the pain was almost bearable.
“Well, Baby Cakes, someday you’re going to find that passion or hormones or just the raging fates can blow your plans away. When it does, remember Mamma Abby warned you. Oh, and don’t forget to enjoy it.”
“Aren’t we here because of the raging fates?” Kris said.
“No, honey child, we are here because you still harbor the illusion you can snap your fingers and make anything happen.”
“Am I that bad?” Kris said, feeling the pressure of what she’d gotten these people into closing in on her. Suddenly it was hard to breathe.
Abby glanced up from where she was working the suit up Kris’s narrow hips, sighed, and let the hint of a smile cross her lower lip. “In case you haven’t noticed, there’s a whole lot of stuff going on around here. You’re part of it. I, may the gods and goddesses have mercy on my misspent youth, am part of it. Even that poor Hank kid has his part. I believe you’re trying to make it better for a whole lot of people who have a part in this, but no control over it. You, however, young woman, have the illusion that you can control it, and having that illusion, may very well gain control.”
Kris shook her head and made a sour face at her maid. “Well, then, who do you think has control here? Sandfire?”
“Sandfire walks in the illusion of control, just as you do. Just as your Captain did on the Typhoon. But you grabbed the imagination of the rest of the crew so powerfully they were dragged right into your illusion. Look what happened. I can’t wait to see whose illusion is the most powerful here.”
Kris frowned as she worked her arms into the suit. Abby had just shown she knew a whale of a lot more about Kris’s life than she should. Another thing to grill this woman on later. Right now, Abby had piqued Kris’s curiosity. “If Sandfire and I only have the illusion of control, then who is running this lash-up? Tell me, oh suddenly wise and ancient monk of the mountain.”
Abby actually laughed, a chuckle that shook her body from belly to hairline. “And what makes you so sure someone is in control? You put a single person in a room, and maybe they control themselves. Maybe, assuming they don’t get in an argument with their father or mother and let someone not there control them. You put two, three, a dozen, a million people into a room, onto a planet, and Great Hera herself can’t tell you who’s running things. Does your dad run Wardhaven?”
“Heavens no. Wardhaven’s a democracy. Father’s only—”
“Got you there. Let’s see how this dress falls.” And Abby brought it, and Kris lifted her arms and let it settle around her. The waist was tight. The skirt swished, which Kris was finding delightful, and the bodice was a scandal. Or would have been if Kris filled it out. Abby did with two bombs that jiggled nicely for any male type suffering from testosterone poisoning.
“No bra?”
“Why spoil the view? Distracting a male eye could be half the battle tonight. Now, let’s load you up.” Kris’s ten kilos of dumb metal went into a strap that rode high on her rump. The short, flounced skirt covered it nicely. Abby produced a laser.
“Where’d that come from?”
“That nice Jack brought it through security. You were planning on using the metal to drill, but why don’t we avoid turning that hunk of not-so-smart metal into one thing, then another.”
“Agreed,” and Kris developed a pouch of a tummy.
“You’re filling out nicely,” Abby said. “You really should put on some weight. All bones and angles can’t help but scare the guys away.”
“And I always thought it was being able to buy and sell them from my petty change purse,” Kris drawled.
“Can’t really tell until you try it, can you?”
“Why don’t we get out of this mess, then discuss my diet.”
“Good idea,” Abby said, settling Kris’s Navy tiara on her piled-up hair, then running a wire down to Nelly at Kris’s waist. “I’ve included the antennas in the tiara,” the maid said.
“Too bad I don’t have the fancy one tonight.”
�
��I’ll have backup crowns for you next time we go adventuring,” Abby said, turning back to Kris with four small cylinders in hand. “Here are more nice booms. There’re pockets for them just under the waist of your skirt. These are nice whizbangs, guaranteed to make anyone near them lose all interest in chasing you for a whole minute, maybe two.”
Kris pocketed the four, noting their green strips. A close look at her skirt showed a dozen pockets. Abby presented four more. “These are sleepy bombs. Let us know when you use them, unless you want us to sleep along with the bad guys. Sorry, no masks, a slight oversight on my part.”
“Has to be the first. I’ve got four empty pockets.”
“These are deadly. Fragmentation bombs. Use them when you want a whole lot of people to quit bothering you.” Kris handled them respectfully and made special note of where she put them and their red strips. Finally Abby handed Kris a small automatic and three clips. “Use them sparingly. That’s all you have.”
Kris checked the works. One clip of sleepy darts was already loaded. She clicked in a lethal load next to it. Switch the safety off, and it was sleepy darts. Move the switch another click, it was lethal. Kris left it at sleepy darts for a start.
It would not stay that way. Tonight she would kill someone—or be killed. Kris let the thought roll around in her head. Her stomach went sour; her heart took on a chill. She’d never been in a him-or-me situation before. Sandfire wanted her dead in the worst way. She liked breathing. Someday she might even want a family. If I do things right tonight, the option stays open. Blow it, let Sandfire win, and I die.
Kris holstered the small automatic on her right thigh, adjusted the fall of her skirt, and stood tall. “Let’s go.”
“Let me clean up a few things. I’ll be right with you.”
Kris opened the door of her suite. Outside, Tom was still in formal dress uniform. With a grin, he made two service automatics appear. Beside him, Penny was in like drill, white dress pants in place of the long skirt otherwise required. The cut of her tunic was loose enough to hide exactly where she produced a machine pistol from. Jack simply stood beside them, looking his usual friendly, deadly self.
“Are we ready?” Kris asked.
“Looks like it,” “Ready as we’ll ever be,” was followed by Jack’s simple “Yes.”
“What do our guards look like out there?”
“I told the Sergeant we were in for the night. He dismissed half of them.”
“We’ve evacuated the top of this thing. Nelly, order the nanos in the yard to link up and short out transformers.”
“We can take out four and still have our command units and a few defenders left over for when the dust cloud arrives.”
“Do it, Nelly, and call in your security nanos here. Don’t leave any behind. They may come in handy.”
Jack looked at his wrist unit. “Five minutes?”
“Probably sooner. Sandfire reacts fast,” Kris said.
Abby joined them; twelve trunks rolled after her.
“Do we need those?” Jack growled.
“If we lose them, I won’t weep, but why abandon what we don’t have to?” Abby said with simple logic.
A minute crawled by. Kris settled into her chair. The others found seats of their own. The next minute took longer. Kris was committed. Somewhere in this station an alarm was blinking or clanging, screaming that a major message stream had been shot into the yard from Kris’s suite. There was no benefit to second thoughts. Either she or Sandfire would get what they wanted tonight. No political compromise, no splitting the difference. That was why Kris chose the Navy over Father and his politics. Then, the clarity of alive or dead seemed better than settling for half a loaf. Half of what you wanted.
Maybe Father had a point.
If I get out of here, I’ll have a sit-down talk with the man, Kris promised herself.
“Kris, there is major traffic on the security net.”
Kris rose to her feet. “Jack, please invite in our guards.” Jack quickly stepped off the distance to the door, then paused. “It might be better if we really had a fire,” he said.
“Right,” Kris said. “Abby, get those crates into Jack’s room.” While the maid did, Kris took the four steps to her door and pulled a cylinder from her pocket. One red band. Big boom. Take this, you screenwriter. “Fire in the hole,” she called, tossed it at her bathtub, and ducked back against the wall.
Three very noticeable seconds later, the bathroom exploded.
Jack waited a further second, then yanked open the door. Across the hall, two men were propped back in chairs, one snoring. Jack yelled “Fire!” and both came awake with a start. One fell out of his chair sideways; the other landed on his feet. The Sergeant appeared in the door, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He raced past Jack, followed by three others. Kris pointed them at the bathroom as alarms began pulsating in the room and the hall, drowning out even Kris’s bellow of “Fire! In there!”
They charged into her bedroom, then came to a halt, gaping at the wreckage . . . and maybe realizing they had nothing to fight the fire. Kris waved Tom forward, automatic in hand. “Nonlethal,” she whispered in his ear between bleats of the alarm.
Tom didn’t change his ammunition selection. He shot; four grays crumpled. Kris examined the bath. The bomb had shattered the tub. Spray from the faucets was putting out most of what had caught fire. “Leave them,” she ordered.
Penny and Tom took the lead for the door. Abby was already halfway down the hall, trunks rolling along behind her. As she punched for an elevator, one opened.
Trouble in spandex.
Eight of Sandfire’s girls stood in red, form-fitting body suits. Utility belts showed wicked looking bulges. Most held machine pistols at the ready; one had only a long black staff. Another held a crossbow slung across her arm.
For a startled moment, the two groups stared at each other. As weapons came up, the adjacent elevator door opened for Abby. She led her boxes in as if she knew nothing of what was about to happen. However, the maid had not given Kris all her small and impressive packages. As Abby crossed the threshold of the elevator, she casually tossed a small cylinder into the next car.
It gave a loud pop, knocking the red beauties off their combat rhythm for a fraction of a second, and gave Kris’s crew time to grab their weapons and dive for the floor.
Suddenly, the elevator was filled with swirling smoke lit by blinding flashes of light. If eyes weren’t dazzled, ears were shattered by a high-pitched screech that warbled as it went up and down the scale.
Behind Kris, Penny’s automatic pistol rattled from the doorway, hardly noticeable among the racket. Its slugs gouged plastic and plaster from the elevator wall where rounds missed the car and its load. Jack produced a machine pistol and emptied the magazine. Kris felt a moment’s compassion for the reds until a slug ripped plaster from the wall beside her.
Kris wasn’t the only one wearing body armor.
She spun on her belly and snaked herself down the hall toward an exit light just as a gray figure emerged from the elevator’s smoke at a low crouch, weapon on full automatic. A stream of rounds shot over Kris’s head before the woman spun and fell back into the smoke. Six hits on her body only knocked her back. The one that exploded her face killed her.
Kris reached up to unlatch the stairwell door, then pushed it open by rolling through it. Now with her pistol out, she worked herself up to her knees, took aim, and sent single rounds at anything in the smoke that looked like a face or bare flesh.
She didn’t have many good shots, but she fired some of her limited ammunition every few seconds to encourage heads to stay down.
Weapons in both hands, Tom wiggled his way backwards to the stairwell and joined Kris. “Those red outfits turn gray in the smoke. Anybody notice an explosion in the yard?” he said as he took station above Kris and sent a stream of slugs down the hall.
“The red outfits are also bulletproof. Nelly, anything?”
“Three of the task units
reported just before they self-destructed,” the computer reported. “There are alarms on all levels of the station and verbal instructions to evacuate as quickly as possible. I assume the same is going on in the yard.”
“Good assumption. Tommy, me boy, the show is on.”
“And did I ever doubt it for a second,” he said, brogue showing. “Now, how do we get the hell out of here?”
The smoke hung in the elevator. Normally, there should have been a draft going into the stairwell. Not today. “Somebody’s closed down the airflow.”
“Only way to fight a fire,” the spacer pointed out.
Penny was now on her belly, snaking her way toward Kris. Jack kept up his fire even as he began a backward crawl. Someone in gray edged out of the elevator, but their face turned into a messy pulp, and motion stopped.
Fire was slow and sporadic as Penny backed into the exit door. Tom kept shooting, sending rounds into the smoke from on high. Encouraged, most fire from the elevator was equally high.
Jack rolled himself into the stairwell just as something flew by Kris’s head to explode at the far end of the hall. The back blast flashed toward Kris as she slammed the door shut.
“What was that?” Tom asked breathlessly.
“I don’t think that crossbow is for friendly games of darts,” Kris said as she opened the door a crack. Two gray figures came through the smoke at a crouch, machine pistols at the ready. “I’ll take the one on the right.”
“I got the left one,” Tom said.
“On three. One, two, three,” Kris said and squeezed off a burst directly at her target’s face. She collapsed, to be covered by Tom’s target. There was no more movement in the smoke.
Kris wasn’t waiting for any, either. “Let’s get upstairs.”
Kris Longknife: Deserter Page 33
