Part 38 (1/2)

Just another thing she didn't much care for on Eden.

The last couple of senators had been members of the government. She was now shaking hands with the defense minister, a cordial woman who actually seemed to recognize Kris. But she said little before handing Kris off to the prime minister. He was a jolly short man. With his snow-white beard Kris had to fight thoughts of Father Christmas.

His party must have an evil-looking whip somewhere among its members because the prime minister looked barely able to herd a thirsty pair of sheep to water.

Next in line was the third vice president...and Inspector Johnson stood at his elbow, whispering something in his ear.

So the vice president smiled at Kris and said, ”I'm glad you're enjoying your vacation on Eden.”

”Oh, it's not a vacation,” Kris corrected. ”I'm an active-duty naval officer from Wardhaven, attached to the procurement section of the emba.s.sy. I just arranged for United Sentient planets to buy a huge chunk of software from an Eden company, and build the latest of your computer designs.”

”That's nice,” the man said, as if Kris had agreed with him. ”And I do hope you feel safe here. We do know how to take care of our people.”

”No doubt you do,” Kris managed to say, eyeing Johnson, and noting that he did seem to get the full double meaning. ”Our people” doesn't include this visiting Rim princess.

Kris found herself being urged on to the second vice president by gentle pressure on her wrist. She and the first vice president struck Kris as more zeros. Maybe they were major players in the local political game, but if matters got deadly, they looked only too ready to be first in line for slaughter.

And would die wondering what the noise was all about.

The president didn't impress Kris, either. His smile didn't get past his lips. His eyes were distracted, never meeting her own. And his handshake was little more than a touch.

Was Kris supposed to risk taking a bullet for the likes of these? If Martinez hadn't said these folks were worth fighting for Kris was tempted to signal retreat, get her people out of Dodge, and let the locals settle their own affairs.

Then again, she had yet to meet the compet.i.tion.

Kris headed for the hors d'oeuvres.

Grant von Schrader was near the end of the hors d'oeuvres tables so he could listen in on the next important conversation of the evening.

”Where is the rest of the food, Tony?” the coordinator asked the caterer.

”It's coming, sir. It will be here. Let me check,” the short round man now running ”A Taste of Italy” answered, reaching for his phone.

”There's a new flu bug going around, don't you know?” Tony rambled on. ”Half my crew called in sick. I had to hire all kinds of new people this afternoon. I did get you the first half of the spread here, didn't I?”

”Yes, but there's a galloping herd about two shakes away from here and this is going to vanish like a politician's honor,” the coordinator noted with a sly grin.

”Well, my guys are here, sir. But they're being held up at the gate. Some sergeant insists everything on all eight of my next trucks has to be inspected.”

”Oh G.o.d, give me that. The last thing we need is hungry cops pawing over my fancy food,” the coordinator said, taking the phone from Tony.

”Sergeant, this is d.i.c.k Hamernack, I'm personally coordinating this affair for the president. We need that food.” This was followed by a pause.

”Well, have you inspected the first truck?” The coordinator nodded as he got the answer he expected. ”Good, all the trucks are like the first. Right, Tony?”

Tony nodded, actually believing the truth of what he affirmed. He would not be one of those alive in the morning.

”Well, if you've seen one, you've seen them all. Get them in here. And I mean now. Right now.”

The coordinator handed the phone back. ”Cops! They want to look under every bed. They'd pull up every dress if you'd let them.”

Tony ruefully nodded agreement.

And Grant von Schrader allowed himself a smile.

Around Bronc, the noise of an engine going into gear drew smiles from the two sergeants with rifles. Those were quickly reflected on the faces of the kids with guns.

Bronc kept doing his own searches, just like he'd been told. Nothing new. No surprises.

Had Cara got the message out?

Were they going to kill everyone just like they said?

Bronc worked his jaw, trying to get rid of some of the tension, trying to keep his stomach from revolting at the thought of so much blood. There wasn't much he could do.

Never in his life had he wanted so to live, to grow up. To be with Cara.

His computer completed another search. Nothing had changed.

47.

Kris spotted the CEO of Nuu Enterprises on Eden and homed in on him at the hors d'oeuvre bar. ”An interesting guy you got as a president here.”

”He meets our need,” the CEO said, a man no more presupposing than his planet's government. ”We can't all be Longknifes, and not every planet in s.p.a.ce wants a legend calling the shots. If you don't mind my saying so.”

”I have learned to value diversity,” Kris said. ”By the way, I've also learned about a fellow who's something of a player on Eden. A Grant von Schrader?”

”Him,” the CEO huffed. ”Not exactly what I'd call a good example of our planet, but yes, he's a player. Oh, and he's here. You want to meet him?”

And before Kris could decide how to answer that, she found herself squired down the table into that meeting.

”Grant, have you met Kris Longknife?” was followed by a pause that quickly grew pregnant.

The two eyed each other. Kris schooled her face to gentle neutrality and seemed to see the same in the face of the middle-aged man across from her. The conservative cut of his formal wear did not camouflage his ramrod military bearing-or his eyes.

Those were an icy gray that reflected back a cold calculation of the world...and gave away nothing about what lurked behind them. Someone could drown in the frigid water of those eyes, and the owner would take no notice.

Kris wondered what he saw looking back at him, but he reflected nothing to her.

”No, I have not had the pleasure, Henry. Thanks for bringing her over to my little corner of the world” seemed affable enough, taken word by word. The whole of the content came no where close to measuring up to its parts.

Kris offered him her hand and got a solid shake that seemed to offer to go long and tight, but held back.

Kris suppressed the temptation to tighten her own grip. If Grant was holding back, so would she.

”The sunset was quite red tonight,” Kris said, turning to the weather for her innuendo.