Deserter Read online

  PLEASE GET YOUR BERET FROM LAST NIGHT. I NEED ITS ANTENNA.

  Kris started to say something to her maid, thought better of it, and ordered Nelly to open a window on the wall.

  ABBY, GET ME LAST NIGHT’S BERET. THERE IS A ROVING NANO GUARD IN THE ROOM, appeared in a small window. Kris waved her maid to it.

  With one eye on the screen, Jack began a full briefing. Abby returned, adjusted the beret on Kris, and merged its lead into Nelly’s wire. While Jack continued, leading them through a map of the facilities, the location of all the security sensors, and even the remotely controlled weapons, Kris waited for Nelly to report. Jack finished and glanced around the room, not at his listeners, but at the air above their heads. “That’s what we found, Kris. Things should be fine.”

  NELLY, IT WOULD BE NICE TO HEAR FROM YOU.

  I THINK I HAVE SEIZED CONTROL OF THE NANO. A MOMENT MORE.

  Kris smiled at Jack. “It sounds like you had a very successful afternoon.”

  “I’m glad you like that,” Jack said, sounding like a bad actor reading from an even worse script.

  “I’ve got it,” Nelly said. “It’s doing what I tell it and sending what I want it to hear.”

  “Land it on the table so I can have a look at it,” Jack said, producing all three bug chasers. He waited a moment, activated them . . . and got no response. “Nelly?”

  “It is down. Your gear is not rigged for its signal.”

  “I’ve got full frequency range.” Jack almost pouted.

  “Yes, but this is hopping bands faster than you can follow,” Nelly said. “Trudy designed something like this, so she included programs to look out for it in my last exchange with Sam, but she didn’t expect to see them for at least another six months. I must tell Sam about this as soon as I can get a message out.”

  “Sandfire is full of surprises. Nelly, keep some kind of news flowing. I don’t want him to know we’ve turned his rover.”

  “He’s listening to a debate about what you will wear.”

  “Thank you, Nelly. Draw up a full schematic on this thing for Aunt Tru. Jack, you’re sure I’ll be safe tonight?”

  “No, but if Sandfire wanted you dead, you would be already.”

  “Thanks for reminding me. Penny, if you don’t mind, I’d like you at my elbow tonight. You want some time to get ready?”

  “I also need to scare up a uniform for Tommy, here.”

  “Then I guess we all had better be busy.”

  9

  By nine, Abby had outdone herself. Kris relaxed through sinful pampering and finished in a bright red gown that would have left Mother drooling, and did leave Jack asking where to put the bull’s-eye. Kris made a face. “You’d have to paint it on me.” She was showing more skin than she had since Father caught a picture of her as she bounced around the beach on a hot summer day in bottoms only. Of course, then, she’d only been four.

  Kris swished the skirt and discovered she liked the feel of this new self. She still wasn’t sure how Abby had gotten her into a backless, strapless push-up bra, but it seemed to involve glue, and Kris did not look forward to taking it off. The front looped over her neck, spread just enough to cover the essentials, then dropped to her waist. Kris was proud of that narrow asset; it was something she owned all by herself. From there hung several gauzy skirts, ready to go their separate ways as she walked. If Kris moved quickly, bare skin flashed openly. Most of the time, there was at least one thin layer of flaming red between her and the world. The most substantial material in the entire rig was the sash of the Order of the Wounded Lion cutting across from the right breast to the left hip.

  The only thing more interesting than seeing how this planet’s fashion police would respond to her dress tomorrow would be to see Sandfire’s face tonight when he saw what she’d earned blowing his last plot out of space.

  “And to top it all off,” Abby said, presenting the golden confection of a tiara Mother had bought. Kris frowned at it. Several thin strands circled among a finely beaten wisp of webbing. The patina showed the actual hammer marks . . . or claimed to. Kris’s eyes detected a repetitive pattern; she studied the rear of the crown. Yes, there it was; the tiny data entry port. Not only was the dang thing smart metal, but its maker had been too cheap to use a radio hookup! So much for Mother’s claim it was from Earth’s dark ages, twentieth century or earlier. Abby settled the tiara on her head, then returned once more with an automatic and Nelly.

  “And here’s where we put these,” Abby said, settling both weapon and computer into place around Kris’s hips. A thin wire, cosmetically covered, connected Nelly to Kris’s implant.

  “If I’d known I was going to be decked out like this regularly, I’d have had a backup jack put in my belly button.”

  “Not a good place,” Abby said with a knowing frown. “One of my employers tried that. Too much tummy rumbling. And when a guy danced too close, or got on top, reception went all to hell.”

  “One of your former employers,” Kris said.

  “I don’t stay around the dumb ones long.”

  “So, is my idea of walking right up to Sandfire dumb?”

  The maid stopped her fussing about Kris, eyed her a moment, then gave a quick shake of her head. “We won’t know until we’re done. Besides, he pretty much has you where he wants you, and there’s not a lot you can do.” Abby chuckled. “Mr. Sandfire may rue the day he left you with nothing much to do.”

  “Empty hands being the devil’s workshop and all that,” Kris agreed. She did not like being in anyone’s trap. Sooner or later, she would get out. Kris took several steps, testing the three-inch heels Abby insisted were perfect for this getup. The many-layered gown shimmered and flashed, and Kris stayed upright.

  She paused at the door to her room to take in her friends. Tommy and Penny stood waiting in dress uniforms, his dashing, hers frumpy. Jack looked dapper in formal tails. “Well, crew, let’s see what Turantic nightlife has to offer at the Top.”

  “Yeah,” said Tom, offering Kris an arm, “we saw the bottom last night.”

  At the door, Kris faced four unsmiling men in white ties, tails, and earplug comm devices, as well as two women in black gowns. “Six,” she said over her shoulder to Jack.

  “That’s just a start. I’d have had more if I could.”

  Kris swallowed a question about who was paying; that had to be the least of her worries. With a smile and a nod to her new security, Kris crossed the threshold. Down the hall were two more agents. Mr. Klaggath held a spacious and richly apportioned slide car for them. “Everything is cleared,” he told Jack.

  “Is all this necessary?” Kris asked, entering the car.

  “Princess, you play your part. I’ll do mine,” Jack said as he took station ahead of her, four or five agents to his right and left. Penny stepped back to stand beside Kris.

  Like a good Princess, Kris settled comfortably onto the couch at the rear of the car and prepared for a long ride up to the Top of Turantic. The car accelerated sideways smoothly and rapidly. WE ARE UNDER OBSERVATION, Nelly advised Kris. THERE ARE SEVERAL BUGS IN THE ELEVATOR’S CHANDELIER.

  I EXPECT WE WILL BE FOR THE REST OF THE NIGHT.

  “No stops,” Kris said, inviting Penny to join her on the couch for what looked to be a long ride.

  “No. The yard has its own bank of elevators, they told us. We’ve got an express from the old station to the Top.”

  Kris mulled that over. “The Nuu yards share the ferry with High Wardhaven,” she said slowly.

  “Well, High Turantic is proud that its yards have their own totally secure lifts from planet straight to the yard,” Penny said, apparently quoting someone’s advertising cover.

  Kris let that roll around for a moment, then swallowed an “interesting” before it got out. Instead, Kris raised an eyebrow at Penny. The woman returned just the hint of a smile as if she, too, was finding that bit of data suddenly more interesting than before. NELLY, REMIND ME TO LOOK INTO WHY A SPACE DOCK NEEDS ITS OWN FER
RY.

  YES, KRIS.

  Much sooner than Kris expected, the slide car came to a gentle halt, and she walked into her first surprise of the night. She had expected a ballroom, probably larger than any she’d frequented on Wardhaven, but still a ballroom. What she found as the elevator opened was not so much a room as a place.

  Thirty thousand kilometers above the surface of the planet, the cylinder of the station rotated, giving Kris a sense that the floor was down. The ceilings above usually kept her from gasping at the reality. There was no ceiling here. The void reached out above her head. On one side was glass, letting in the vast dark of space and pinprick stars. Opposite that was one huge mirror, echoing, and, if possible, enlarging space. And in a ring between them, going out in both directions and meeting above her head, was a place of places.

  Kris needed a whole new meaning for extravagant. Mother had, on occasion, reminded a younger Kris that a lady does not let her mouth hang open. “She might swallow a fly.” Tonight, only the fear of swallowing a surveillance bug kept Kris’s mouth shut as she took in the breathtaking view.

  The slide cars opened on a marble stage with a daunting view. By carefully applying pressure to Tommy’s arm, she steered him in a walk around the entire panorama. Three broad stairways curved lazily around, taking people down some twenty meters into different venues.

  “Wow,” Tommy finally whispered.

  “Here’s a place Grampa could use as a palace,” Kris said.

  “Looks like it was made with that in mind,” Jack observed dryly, which raised an eyebrow from Penny. Maybe empire building was no longer a metaphor.

  “And here comes the Emperor now,” Tommy whispered.

  Disgorging from a newly arrived car was a bevy of sparkling but scarcely clad women. Almost lost in their glitter was a single man attired soberly in black. Black tie, black shirt, black tails and pants. His waist and neck alone gleamed gold: one was girded by a cummerbund; from the other hung a sign of office appropriate for a Royal Chamberlain of yore.

  Kris aimed Tommy at him, approaching the dark man much as a smiling matador might have done the most dangerous of horned bulls in the now-banned sport of bullfighting.

  “Interesting choice of jewelry,” Kris said as she came to a stop before her host.

  Apparently too lost in chatter with his harem to notice her, he glanced around at her words. He might have gone back to ignoring her for longer, but he blinked as his eyes passed over Kris’s own jewelry. Maybe the merest shadow of a frown creased his lips, but it was gone in a moment. “I might say the same of yours,” he said softly.

  “Mine had to be earned,” Kris said, fingering the medallion at her waist.

  He ran his hand lazily over his golden breastplate. “This, a minor bauble. I’m told it has some historical significance. I just like how it impresses the girls,” he said patting one of his collection on her bare rump. Kris did not blink but held his eyes with her own. She didn’t miss the hint of commotion behind him among two of his women. One stared at Tom on Kris’s elbow, then, with slight eye flicks and nods, drew the notice of her associates to him. Very interesting.

  Sandfire broke from her gaze with a diffident wave at their surroundings. “Let me introduce you to what some are calling my Pleasure Dome.” Sandfire stepped forward, offering Kris his elbow. With a slight bow to Kris, Tom stepped back to join Penny and Jack. The two entourages re-formed in half circles around their primaries, Kris with her security detail to her right, Sandfire with his herd of lovelies to his left.

  Now Kris let her eyes wander up to the star-studded wall and marveled. “It certainly is a lovely dome.”

  “Yes, but as in so much of life, it depends on what you fill it with. I was so glad that you were in town, and, shall we say, caught between flights. But I do not restrict the pleasures of this place to the likes of us,” Sandfire said, leading Kris in a circle of the platform. “What kind of worlds would the Rim become if such a view as this was reserved for only the elite?”

  Sandfire did not pause long enough in his monologue for Kris to mention the people of Katyville. “We have restaurants with cuisine drawn from every corner of human space.” The middle staircase sent people into a market setting filled with sidewalk cafés, pushcart merchants, and small alcoves. The right stairs led down to a dancing fountain with its own merchants and eateries. “The water is not just for show. There is a hippodrome for all kinds of water sports and diversions,” he said, pointing above their heads. “We have the best in sound control technology so people enjoying one part here do not trouble those around them.”

  At the foot of the left staircase was a garden, full of flower-beds, hedges, and small tables. In the distance above Kris, scores of couples swirled to what must have been an ancient waltz, but she heard nothing.

  Behind Kris, a car opened to squeals of delight. Children, ranging in ages from four to maybe twelve, hurried from the lift under the watchful eyes of parents or primly dressed nannies. They raced down the first staircase, oblivious to calls of “No running,” “Hold on to the rail,” and “Hold your sister’s hand,” that trailed behind them.

  Sandfire smiled at the children. The smile was twisted, like a snake might give a bird before it snapped it up. “The Rim worlds are young and growing. How could we have a fun place for people without a place for their children as well?”

  “Seems a bit past their bedtime,” Kris said with a shiver.

  “But people work on very many schedules. Our population is growing so fast, many of the schools are on two and three shifts. It works out well for parents who are on swing or night shift to have their children on a similar schedule. I suspect our Youth Fun Park is busy twenty-four hours a day. It’s quite a scene. If you stay long, do drop by and enjoy it.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Kris said, her back suddenly crawling. So this is how the bird feels.

  “I believe we are late for the ball.” Sandfire smiled.

  “Then let me return to Tom, and I will return you to your lady,” Kris said, intentionally using the singular.

  Sandfire handed Kris off to Tom without a missed step. “Do I know you, young man?” he asked the man he’d kidnapped.

  “I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced,” Tom said, not missing a beat . . . or choking on the words. “I’m Lieutenant Tom Lien, Wardhaven Navy.” He did not offer his hand.

  “I’m Calvin Sandfire, entrepreneur of some success. If you ever need a job, look me up.”

  “I doubt I’ll ever have such a need,” Tom said, taking Kris’s arm and leading her toward the broad staircase that would take them to the garden of dancing couples.

  “Oh, I almost forgot,” Sandfire said after them. “We’ve had an infestation of nanos of undetermined ability and origin. Our security nanos are, of course, doing their best to control them, but you might want to avoid saying anything you don’t want to see splashed over some newsie tomorrow. You know how they are.”

  “Thank you,” Kris said with well-oiled grace. “We’ve had the same problem in my suite. I’m told by my security people,” she said with a shallow bow in Jack’s direction, “that they’ve had to destroy a major plague of the little beasties. I can only assume there is no limit to what some news channels will do to get a few embarrassing pictures of a Princess?”

  “Disgusting behavior,” Sandfire agreed as he and his women headed away from the ball. “The price we pay for democracy.”

  “Hating that man is easy,” Tom said as he led Kris down the thickly carpeted marble staircase.

  “No talk of classified items,” Kris said through her smile.

  “Well, he has to know I hate his guts,” Tom answered without disturbing his smile.

  “Tom has a point,” Jack said from behind them.

  “Yes, he does, but let’s keep it cool and light tonight,” Kris said. At the foot of the stairs stood a man in knee britches and a cloth-of-gold waistcoat. He held a richly carved wood staff topped by a silver ball. As Kris
reached the last step, he pounded his staff on the floor for attention.

  “May I present Her Royal Highness, Princess Kristine of Wardhaven, and her escort.

  “Show time, crew. Let’s make sure the paying customers get their money’s worth,” Kris ordered glibly.

  The next moment, Kris was drowning in society. She used her best survival skills to keep a smile on her face and her hand attached to her arm. That, as usual, proved to be more difficult than it should have, some men viewing any handshake weaker than a bear claw as somehow beneath their masculinity.

  Then there were those who felt familiar enough to kiss, peck, or slobber all over her cheek. NELLY, NOTE TO ABBY: FIND A FACE CREAM THAT’S SLIGHTLY BITTER. MAYBE DERIVED FROM POISON IVY.

  IF YOU SAY SO, KRIS.

  I SAY SO.

  One of her socially empowered assailants let drop that they had been waiting for her arrival since she boarded her elevator. “What delayed you?”

  Kris dodged the cross-examination with a smile and a turn to face another open mouth. That brought her into the inane conversations. “Are you enjoying your visit?” “Have you had a chance to visit our hunting reserves on North Continent?” “You really must take in our beaches along South Coast. Some of them don’t even require bathing suits,” came with either a leer or titter not always depending on the sex of the speaker. Kris managed safe replies to all, danced with several young men who seemed reasonably likely to stay off her feet. She guessed wrong a few times. What was missing from the bubble around her was any mention of politics or the quarantine. Kris breasted the flow of talk, feeling much like a salmon swimming upstream. Her one prayer was that if she ever found relief, spawning would not be required.

  Quite suddenly, when she doubted there was another “Hello,” “So glad to see you,” or “What a lovely evening” in her, she did stumble into a quiet pool. As the lull descended, Kris found herself in the company of a single couple. They were, thanks to some gracious god, either at a loss for words or of that rare human subspecies that faced silence without fear.

  Kris allowed her smile to wilt. “I never thought this Princess thing could be such hard work,” she half laughed to the thin, balding man in a white dinner jacket.