Deserter (17 page)

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 FERRY.

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.

The woman beside him, blond and in a short blue party dress, chuckled along with her. “I doubt my mother would agree it held a candle to when she soldiered alongside your Grampa Trouble.”

“When did she know Grampa?” Kris’s eyes lit up. Here was a real conversation.

“She was a Private, drafted during the Unity War.”

“Ouch,” Kris said. “I’ve been told I was lucky he lived long enough to have kids. Sounds like we share the same luck.”

“That was what her mother often told her,” the man said, giving his wife the kind of smile a man does when he knows just how lucky he is.

Kris glanced around. No convivial attack horde seemed imminent, so she moved to a table, sat, then invited the couple to join her. “How long have you been here on Turantic?” Kris asked.

“My mom and dad settled here,” the woman said. “I met Mel at the university. His family dates back to the first landing, and he’s insisted I put down solid roots,” she said, resting her hand on her husband’s.

“My wife is being coy.” The man smiled. “She represents the Twelfth Senatorial District, while I’m a mere accountant with Haywood Industries. We do a lot of heavy fabrication work. Turantic is a very lovely place to raise a child. Our daughter was skiing this afternoon, and she’ll be racing in this weekend’s regatta. How many places have that within a hundred miles of home?”

“Not many. I’m hoping to see more of your planet, since I can’t seem to arrange a ride home.”

“Oh, yes, that plague is horrible,” the Senator agreed.

“Nuu Pharmaceuticals has a vaccine. Isn’t any available?”

The two exchanged glances; the man looked away. The woman took a deep breath. “I have nothing official on this, but some of the people I know have heard things on the news. You know how you can’t trust half of what you hear from a newsie.” Kris nodded, wondering why the Senator was suddenly dancing around bushes. “Well, I’ve heard there is a Nuu outlet in Heidelburg, but they won’t release the vaccine until the government agrees to pay five thousand dollars, Wardhaven, per shot.”

“Yes,” Kris agreed, “that is one of Grampa Al’s tax scams. He set that price on the vaccine, then always donates it for the tax write-off.”

“There’s no talk of donating it this time,” the husband said. “Maybe with communications being down and all that.”

“The donation is standard policy,” Kris snapped. “Nelly, get me the Nuu Pharm distributor dirtside.”

“I placed a call to that number when it was first mentioned,” her computer said, sounding rather proud of herself for being a step ahead of her mistress. “No one is answering.”