Kris Longknife: Deserter Page 7

  “You got your degree, in what, marketing?” Jack said. Kris was busy doing basic math. Abby was thirty-six. That made her a good eight years older than Jack, who would stay six years older than Kris until next month’s birthday. Hmm, even if Jack likes older women, Abby is way too old! Isn’t she?

  “I worked my way through college baby-sitting elderly folks, wiping their noses, and their butts if necessary. I thought the height of job elegance was standing at a counter all day, helping women find their true colors and accessorizing.” Abby made a face. “My first client hired me after her grandmother died.”

  “Your last client died,” Jack said. Kris ducked back into her bedroom, realizing this had become a private conversation.

  “I believe the police decided it was a shareholder’s revolt that got personal.” Abby undid one of her long sleeves and pulled it up to display entry and exit wound scars. “Way too personal. This was verified by your service when I was hired.”

  Jack turned to Abby, fixed her with an unblinking gaze. “Earth flatfoots did the full field. All we got was their report. My bosses accepted it. I’m still thinking about it.”

  “Think about it all you want, but I’ve got a job to do, and I’m going to earn my pay.”

  “The pay’s good around Longknifes, but it can present you fascinating challenges way beyond what they told you when you took the job. Where will you be when the rockets fly?”

  “Where any smart person would be, going in the opposite direction. I’m a body servant. If it gets to that, I intend to be around to identify the body. That what you wanted to know?”

  “No problem, ma’am. I’ll call for backup elsewhere.”

  “You got that right.”

  Kris cleared her throat as she entered the room. “Nelly says I have dinner with the Captain tonight. Abby, you have any suggestions for what to wear?”

  “How about that outfit you skipped last night? You won’t have mother issues this time. Why not dazzle the ship with a real Princess.”

  “Go for it,” Kris said. Why not let her cruise mates take her for all that glitter. Could come in handy, and who knows, I might understand more about why Mother is the way she is.

  Two hours turned out to be just enough time for Abby to put a Princess together, and the experience did give Kris a few thoughts on why her mother was always late. The surprise was that Kris enjoyed it; her life had held few such sensuous experiences. Abby told Kris to just relax in the bath. Kris did, losing herself in warm water, jets, aromas, and all, drifting into a place with no pain and fewer worries.

  Then Abby introduced Kris to a facial. Lieutenant Kris Longknife refused to believe there could be any tension left in her after the bath. Ten minutes later, after Abby finished on Kris’s face, whatever dour worry lines the Navy wants a good Lieutenant to display had vanished from the Princess’s visage.

  Before Kris could mar the miracle with worry lines for the strapless gown, Abby introduced her to a push-up bra. “You’ve never had one of these,” the Earth woman said, eyeing Kris like a certified alien.

  “No.”

  “Your mother didn’t show you?”

  “No.”

  “You didn’t read about them in a women’s magazine when you were, like, fifteen?”

  Kris thought back to those days of first being dry after years of being lost in the bottle. “No. I read histories and political commentary, studied soccer and orbital skiff racing, and don’t remember having any time for trashy stuff.”

  Abby shook her head. “And your girlfriends didn’t let you in on the secret?”

  Kris refused to say, “What friends?”

  “Woman . . .” Abby whistled. “You have grown up on an alien planet. But don’t worry, honey, you’ve got your Mamma Abby to see that you get home safely.”

  Ten minutes before dinner, a young officer knocked respectfully at the suite door just as Abby announced Kris fit for public viewing. Kris had never had a man take her in with quite the stunned awe of the ship’s officer. His stuttering and sputtering came under control only when Jack, now in tux and tails, cleared his throat and asked if Kris wished him to escort her to dinner. That helped the ship’s officer find his tongue.

  “The Captain sent me to escort you, ma’am. We understood that you are traveling alone.” Which established the proper invisibility for her security guard and servant, as far as ship’s company. Taking the young man’s arm, Kris swept out onto the wide ship’s corridors, Jack an invisible three paces behind her.

  Dinner at the Captain’s table was an artful study in vanity . . . and passing time without noticeable product. By Kris’s catty measure, she was the only woman under forty at the table, and the only one with bare shoulders. Not having Nelly to rely on turned out the “no problem” Abby assured her it would be. The men paid court to her, the women said nice things to her face, though Kris would not have bet an Earth dollar that their comments later that night would be anything short of pure feline. Kris passed on the wine; still, she found herself intoxicated by the high-proof attention. Mother, am I tasting your addiction?

  The Captain seemed to truly enjoy her company. His eyes did focus on the sash of the Order of the Wounded Lion that Abby had fastened just below Kris’s breast. The medallion was on the side away from him. Kris made a mental note to fake, buy, or otherwise acquire some other way of keeping the sash in place. The Wounded Lion did not fit her present persona.

  “And what brings you aboard?” the Captain asked as the table talk sought to develop.

  “Oh, Wardhaven is a beautiful planet, but a girl really needs to see the galaxy, don’t you think? Besides, if Grampa Ray is really going to be the King of forty planets, don’t you think a Princess should see more of them?” The Captain didn’t blink as Kris undershot Ray’s present alliance by half. Had she started a good or bad rumor?

  “I’m sorry we will have you for so little of your travels.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes, the Turantic Pride will be going into dockyard hands for a brief period once we reach home. I am sure you can arrange passage on another ship.”

  “I doubt it will be nearly as finely appointed as yours.”

  “We of the Turantic Pride would like to think so.”

  “Oh dear, is there anything wrong with the ship, Captain?” One of the other women passengers took this opportunity to insinuate herself into the Captain’s attentions. She had a lot more to show the Captain when she leaned forward than Kris did, even with Abby’s miraculous undergarment.

  “Oh no, nothing to bother about. I am told Turantic has again raised the safety standards for its fleet, and some minor installations will be made. You are sailing on the safest ship in space, ma’am. Next month, it will be even safer.”

  The woman seemed satisfied, or maybe she was more interested in having her wine goblet refilled. Kris made a mental note to have Nelly check out this story. It had the ring of something intended to satisfy civilians. It sounded thin to a Wardhaven Navy Lieutenant on active duty.

  There was dancing after dinner, and none of the junior officers that lined up to keep Kris moving around the dance floor complained a bit about her lack of skill. One or two even offered to show her the steps she admired in passing other couples. Not a bad way to spend an evening . . . if you had nothing better to do with your life.

  Kris was returned to her door at eleven sharp by the ship’s Purser, who was also escorting his wife back to their cabin. “If there’s anything, absolutely anything you need,” the woman assured Kris, “you have only to ask. A starship is quite capable of providing everything from a needle and thread to what those fussy Engineers call a major sub assembly.”

  “Thank you so much,” Kris gushed and entered the door Jack stepped forward to open. It was quite a rush to be pampered, flattered, and stroked all evening.

  If only her feet weren’t killing her.

  As Kris was about to collapse on the couch, Abby shouted from the dressing room. “Don’t you dare do that
to that dress.”

  Kris immediately snapped to attention. “But I sat all evening at the dinner table.”

  “That’s different. Come on in here and let me get you out of that before you destroy something valuable.”

  “It couldn’t cost that much.” Kris defended herself. Abby quoted a price that was two months’ pay for a Lieutenant.

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Kid, whatever made you think beauty and glamour came cheap?”

  “Never paying for it,” Kris said as she stepped out of the suddenly respectable dress. Mother had provided Kris’s wardrobe for most of her growing up. Kris slipped out of Abby’s glamour rig, put Nelly around her neck but didn’t jack in, and pulled on a robe. “Nelly, did Mother make withdrawals from my trust to cover the cost of my wardrobe?”

  “She did before you began managing it yourself in college. Do you want a full historical report?

  “No. Not right now. This ship is going into the yard once it reaches Turantic. Has Turantic 4 recently changed the safety regulations for its flag shipping?”

  There was a brief pause. “Yes, Turantic is requiring all ships be fitted with additional capacitors to assure that the fusion containment fields in the engines do not fail. They are also requiring additional and improved life pods.”

  “Are many ships breaking their voyages?”

  “The law has a very short deadline. There is an unusually high number of Turantic ships presently in the yards and more scheduled for dock work in the immediate future.”

  With a thoughtful “Hmm,” Kris returned to the sitting room.

  Jack had put away his monkey suit and was in slacks and a shirt. “You enjoy yourself this evening?”

  “Beats a poke in the eye with a sharp stick,” Kris said, quoting one of her great-grandfathers. “Nelly, show us what you’ve found out about the Turantic flag merchant fleet.”

  The screen across from the couch converted a portion of itself from scenic waterfalls to work area. Ships by tonnage were arranged by At Turantic, In the Yards, and Scheduled for Yard Work in 30 Days or Less. It amounted to half of the fleet.

  “Remind me to buy shares in Turantic ship repair docks,” Abby said, coming to take a seat in a straight-backed chair.

  “Nelly, show the rest of Turantic’s fleet by thickening up the shipping lanes they are presently using.”

  The lovely waterfalls vanished as the whole screen switched to show human space, a three-hundred-light-year-across ball. No surprise, the part farthest from Turantic was bare. Bigger surprise, there were major blank spots close in as well.

  “Nelly, show United Sentients space in red.” Lanes went red. They were also very light on Turantic shipping.

  “Show other developing alliances,” Jack said.

  “They warned me you guys were kind of paranoid,” Abby said.

  “Sometimes a well-developed sense of paranoia can keep you alive,” Kris answered without glancing away from the screen. Turantic shipping had disappeared from three others of the budding alliances. There was no lack of shipping around Greenfeld. “Damn, am I walking into another Peterwald thing?”

  Jack studied the map for a moment, looked like he might say something, then shrugged and glanced at his wrist unit. “You want to spend some gym time now while the gear isn’t mobbed?

  Kris eyed the map a moment longer, then headed for her room. She found workout clothes without help and dropped off Nelly. As she met Jack at the door, Abby joined them, a workout bag over one shoulder. “I gotta be in shape to run if they start shooting at you, dear.”

  The gym was all the pampered set could whim for. There was every sort of way to work off supper. Before Kris said anything, Jack managed to challenge Abby to a handball game or maybe it was the other way around. With a frown, Kris decided to hold to her persona. The gym had three Pleasure Pods. On the outside, it looked like a black box. Opened, it might pass for a mother’s womb. Once closed, it could gently massage any muscle you asked, or give you a thorough yet painless workout.

  “How may I service you?” a pleasantly male voice asked, leaving Kris wondering what the usual use of this machine was.

  “I need to work off supper,” Kris gushed, pure Princess.

  “Let me see what I might suggest,” the voice said, and Kris felt an electric tingle start at her toes and quickly pass up her legs to her back, and exit through her fingers. “You are in very fine tone, miss. May I suggest a gentle workout and warm massage.”

  “I’m in your capable hands.” After a few minutes of the machine gently stroking her legs and arms, Kris was about ready to say something like, “Show me what you got.” But the pulling and pushing on her body suddenly picked up, and the real exercise program kicked in. A few minutes into some serious work on her arms, legs, abs, and several other muscle groups Kris never knew she had, she was struggling to keep her breath as bad as at OCS. Twenty minutes later, the cool-down phase began. The machine released Kris just as Jack led Abby from the handball court.

  “Your prior employer taught you a few moves I’ve never seen,” Jack said, a bit breathless as he reached for a towel.

  “You know those decadent Earth folks, nothing better to do with their time than make an art out of what real working folks would call just clean fun.” If there was sarcasm there, Abby hid it behind a pleasant smile for Jack. Too damn pleasant for Kris’s taste. “You had some good moves, yourself,” Abby said, hiding her face behind a towel.

  “Passable. Enjoy your massage?” Jack asked Kris.

  Kris wanted to know the score. Jack was good; Abby couldn’t have beaten him. Both busied themselves with towels. No way would Kris ask what they did not offer. Instead, Kris rotated her shoulders. “Very relaxing. We ought to get a box like that at Nuu House. I think I shall sleep like a babe.”

  And she did.

  Operating on ship routine, Kris slept in. Abby brought her breakfast only moments before noon. How the ship’s company knew to serve her left Kris wondering just how much privacy such slavish luxury left her, but she kept her curiosity to herself. A different officer showed up to escort her to dinner. Most of the people at the Captain’s table were new; the chair at his left hand was reserved for her tonight.

  Her efforts to direct the topic of conversation toward tidbits of shipping information somehow got lost in the shuffle of table conversation. One of the men had just come from Finlandia. The other men wanted to know if there would be war between Xyris and Finlandia. That traveler shrugged. “The rhetoric is there. Both have got good cause, or so they say. Who knows?” he said, patting his lips with his napkin. “Whatever they do, it won’t be good for business.”

  Tom was not forgotten. Since Grampa Ray sent no message, Kris sent her own to the new Wardhaven Ambassador on Turantic about Tommy’s possible involuntary status. She got no reply.

  Next day she sent another message, waited another day, and repeated it. Silence. The ship was closing on its last jump when Kris repeated her message . . . and got an immediate reply.

  TO: LIEUTENANT JG LONGKNIFE

  FROM: LIEUTENANT PASLEY

  WE HEARD YOU THE FIRST TIME. NOW SHUT UP AND

  LET ME WORK.

  “Lieutenant Pasley?” Kris muttered, letting the name roll around in her mouth. It sounded familiar.

  “Wasn’t she the woman who Tommy got to know?” Nelly said slowly. “The woman who reported him missing? Or maybe she is just someone with the same name?”

  Kris found her mind going in two totally different directions. Since when did a computer use a question when it damn well knew the answer? Was Nelly learning tact?

  “Pasley,” Jack frowned. “She was headed for Itsahfine.

  What’s she doing answering the Ambassador’s mail on Turantic?”

  And signing her name full Lieutenant, Kris thought. She was just beginning to like the way a Princess outranked all present. Was she going to have to get used to working with a Navy type who outranked her . . . again?

  6
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  Kris studied the space station that was High Turantic through the view port in the dinning room as the liner approached its dock. From the looks of the stretched cylinder, a good three-quarters of it was brand-new. SMART METAL, Nelly answered when Kris asked. Definitely a rush job.

  Below, Abby was in charge of the four pursers who had appeared to repack Kris’s baggage train. Kris had almost turned them away; Abby moved quickly to put them to work. Apparently, a Princess could accept no less. Kris wondered what might be added to her luggage. Jack had muttered something about checking things thoroughly once they got to their hotel. Kris wasn’t the only paranoid around.

  In the few minutes between docking and the gangway opening, the Captain appeared at Kris’s elbow and ushered her personally the short distance from first-class dining to the gangway. “I hope we meet again when I can show you more of space,” he said, bowing over her hand and kissing it.

  “Has the Captain gotten rather too smooth the last few days?” Jack said as he followed Kris into the gangway’s elevator.

  “Smooth, yes,” Kris agreed. “Too smooth? No. Maybe it’s a girl thing, but I could get used to that.”

  “Yes, Your Princessship,” Jack drawled.

  Abby, with Kris’s luggage, was waiting for them as the elevator disgorged them into the customs area. There was no line, and the agent only seemed interested in waving them through. Abby produced an Earth passport that got a frown and a stamp. Just beyond customs was a slightly familiar face in Wardhaven Navy blues sporting the two broad stripes of a Lieutenant.

  “Good afternoon, I’m Lieutenant Pasley. The Ambassador regrets he cannot be here himself. I am at your disposal. I have reserved rooms for you at the station Hilton.” Kris had to admire the amount of words the woman got out in one breath.

  “I was planning on going planetside immediately.”

  “Yes, Princess,” Lieutenant Pasley went on without reflection. “You will find the Hilton fully meets your needs.”

  “And the matter of Tommy Lien?”

  “I can brief you on all we know as soon as you are comfortable in your rooms at the Hilton.”