Deserter (21 page)

“Bribes?” Kris echoed.

“Well, not exactly,” the woman said, still going through her orders. “More like consulting fees. Or quality testing. One company insisted we send ten percent of our order off to some lab to ‘destructive’ test it. It wasn’t for testing. It was a kickback right off the top. Mr. Winford checked with corporate, and they told him no way.” The woman shook her head, resting her eyes out the window. “That’s not the way it was when I started work. Turantic was as square as you could ask. But the last five years have been bad, and getting worse.”

Mrs. Zacharias turned to look at Kris. “You know, Mr. Winford told me to move my retirement account off Turantic five years ago. Said things were going to get crazy. I didn’t believe him. Glad it only took me two years to realize he was right. All of us,” she waved a hand to include the entire shop, “moved our accounts to Wardhaven. We’re in better shape than lots. Better shape than your cops. Ask them what happened to the Fire and Protective Services Retirement System.”

“I will,” Kris said. Klaggath had dodged her general question about Turantic last night. Maybe tonight she’d have a more specific question. Done at her computer, Mrs. Zacharias took Kris to see where the vaccine should have been.

“Aisle eight, row A, about as far back and out of the way as you can get and still be cool,” she told Kris. The space was out of the way, cool, dark . . . and empty.

Kris stepped across the “crime scene” tape to stand in the vacant spot. Slowly turning, she looked for anything yesterday’s investigation might have missed.

Inspector Marta came up as Kris was finishing empty-handed. “Report says there was nothing unusual yesterday,” he said.

“And there’s nothing today. Any fingerprints?”

“Cardboard boxes don’t take prints.”

“Any hole in security?”

“Three weeks ago there was a major failure in the security system. Our inspection thinks there was a hole dug under the back fence. Doesn’t explain how the door was opened, though. Or why no one noticed the missing boxes. Strange.”

“And now you don’t have Mr. Winford to question further.”

“Nope,” Marta agreed.

Kris turned to Mrs. Zacharias. “When I was on Olympia, we got all kinds of flu, new one every month. Doc would cook up a new vaccine in about a week from feedstock. Do we have the feedstock to bake up a vaccine for the anaerobic Ebola?”

“Mr. Winford had me look into that yesterday,” his assistant said. “I called our best three pharmaceutical labs. There is a vaccine, but it’s even more expensive than the ready-made. That’s why we store the stuff. And no, we don’t have the feedstock for it on planet. No one does.” The woman shrugged. “We had that problem covered. No profit in covering it twice.”

“At least the plague isn’t spreading,” Marta said in a half prayer.

“But until we can innoculate people, they can’t go off planet.” Kris headed back to her car. She hadn’t had the social encounter she’d wanted with Grampa’s local rep. Still, she’d learned more about this planet that held her like a fly in amber. Her talk with Mrs. Zacharias had been very informative. Very.

The embassy was nowhere near as interesting. Kris waited over an hour while she and her party were fingerprinted, retina-scanned, and validated that they were indeed who they said they were. Neither Kris’s ID card nor Jack’s credentials could save her from that hassle. Once approved, passports were quickly generated, Kris’s in a regal bright red and Jack’s and Tom’s in an official blue. “Now, who does a Navy Lieutenant check in with to see that she’s in no more hot water than she has to be?”

That got Kris ushered deep into the gray-walled rat maze of cubbyholes that seemed to be where the real work happened. An overweight man in a Major’s uniform was finishing a bagel as Penny led Kris in. “Princess,” the man said, trying to stand, brush crumbs from his coat, and button it all at the same time. Kris let him fuss over her as she settled into his one visitor’s chair, then explained her problem of taking one week’s leave for what was proving to be a much longer stay on Turantic.

“You know we are out of communications?” he said. Kris avowed she was aware of that condition. He assured her he would document her reporting and forward a letter to her commanding officer as soon as communications reopened. “It should be any hour now. The Ambassador assured us at the staff meeting this morning that the Minister of Communications promised they are on the verge of solving the problem.” Kris nodded, thanked him for his fine work, and left. Penny was waiting for her just outside the cubicle.

“The car, please, if you can find your way out of here.”

“On our way,” Penny assured her.

“That isn’t your real boss,” Kris said as soon as they were well down the hall.

“It says so on my orders.” Penny didn’t even try to suppress a grin.

“All the gods in heaven and space can’t help Wardhaven now.”

“Strange, I felt the same way when I first met him. But he gets along with the business types that provide our supplies and material. And he knows contracting like the back of his tongue.”

“I’m glad he found his place. Maybe someday I’ll find mine.”

“May we all live that long.”

Kris almost made it to the car, but the Ambassador caught her in the foyer. “I heard you were in the embassy,” he said. “Sorry I wasn’t here when you came in. A breakfast with some local businessmen and then our morning staff meeting. I understand you will make it to the regatta. I know a dozen party boats that will be dying to have you join them.”

Penny flinched at his choice of words, but maybe he hadn’t heard about the late-night live-fire exercise at the ball. He had already left for the fund-raiser elsewhere. Kris kept a smile on her face and agreed that maybe the Ambassador would accept the best-placed offers for her and arrange for a boat to move her about the party fleet as the races went on. The Ambassador was in awe of such a brilliant idea, one that Father would have considered so routine as not to need mentioning.

Kris escaped to the car and was back to the beanstalk before noon. “Done a lot sooner than I expected,” Kris said, resting her eyes on the busy station across the parking lot from the regular port. A massive truck was backing up to the loading docks. “What would that be?” Kris asked Penny.

Penny took a long look, then reached in her purse and removed a pair of binoculars. “Truck is from Tong and Tong Transport,” she said slowly. “We use them for the largest and most unwieldy stuff: reactors, generators, the massive capacitors a new battleship needs.”

“That big enough for a reactor?”

“I handled the set we ordered for the
Wilson
and
Geronamo,
” Penny said. “I think they came in about that size.”

“With all shipping closed down, that can’t be going up to the yard for transshipment, but I thought you said Turantic wasn’t building warships.”

“The last intelligence report said it wasn’t. Maybe that report needs an update.”

“Any major liners under construction?” Kris asked. Penny shook her head.

“No ships are under construction,” Nelly supplied. “I just ran the check. The yard is full, with overhauls and safety improvements recently ordered by the Turantic government.”

“Did any of those safety upgrades need major jumps in power?” Kris asked. Again, Penny shook her head.

“No,” Nelly said.

“Nelly, can you access the view on Penny’s binoculars?”

“Yes, I’ve acquired it and done a comparison against all shipments of naval stores from Turantic to Wardhaven in the last five years. That matches the shipping container of one of the electrical generators for a President-class battleship. It can produce one hundred gigawatts of electricity.”

Penny whistled. “Not many ships need power like that.”

“Not any that aren’t a battleship,” Kris agreed. “Nelly, Penny, Tom, I’ve just decided how to spend our free afternoon. It’s time we had a study day. What makes this planet tick? Who’s paying for what and how? What’s showing at the movies, and what’s getting attention? It’s time I know what I’m dealing with, since it looks like I’m going to be here for a while.”

“If we all can stay alive that long,” Tommy added.

They rode the ferry lost in their own thoughts.

11

Next morning, Abby laid out baggy white shorts for Kris as well as a royal blue sweatshirt with a prominent seal and crown.

“Full armored body stocking?” Kris asked.

“Not today,” Abby answered, pulling out a pair of nude panty hose instead. “The sweatshirt and these are spun silk.”

Kris dressed quickly, then added a holster for her automatic in the small of her back.

Abby shook her head. “Jack will not be pleased. You are the primary. You should be concentrating on not getting hit.”

Kris considered several answers, then settled for Harvey’s best comeback. “You tend to your knitting. I’ll tend to mine.”

Jack was waiting in the living room, wearing slacks and a striped shirt. Penny and Tom were both decked out in white slacks and blue shirts. As Kris headed for the door, Jack slipped a protective arm around her and patted the small of her back. “You shouldn’t be carrying,” he grumbled.

“Abby said you’d say that,” Kris said to change the subject.

“That woman knows too damn much,” was all Jack said.

Klaggath headed the security detail today: a dozen men and women dressed for boating. Three cars stood by at the curb outside the elevator station, one a fully stretched limo. “We going first class today?” Kris asked.

“It was either that or split you four up,” Klaggath answered. “I figured you wouldn’t want that.”

“What’s the day look like?” Jack asked. Klaggath filled them in on Ambassador Middenmite’s schedule. Kris would start on the presidential yacht, then switch to several corporate yachts during the day before finishing up on
The Pride of Turantic,
an ocean liner-size yacht owned by Cal Sandfire.

“You’re kidding,” came from everyone in the backseat.

“Nope, that’s what the embassy gave us,” Klaggath said.

“Kris, we can’t end up on his ship. I won’t,” Tommy said, a catch in his voice.

“It’s a long day,” Kris said slowly, an impish grin slipping across her face. “Who knows how our schedule will go? Lots of things could slow us down.”

“Right,” Penny drawled.

“Just keep us informed,” Klaggath said, tapping something on the dashboard of the limo that made a map appear in the air between the front and backseat. “The regatta’s on Long Lake. The yachts are leaving from the new Yacht Club pier here.”

“Where’s the racecourse?”

“Out here in the lake,” he said, a racetrack appearing in the middle of the blue. “The party fleet will be anchored off to the right; that’s leeward today.”

“The race boats?” Kris asked. “Where do they launch from?”

“The old boat basin is where most of the smaller sailboats are,” Klaggath said. “The big sailors in the unlimited class are also at the Yacht Club.”

“So, if I wanted to wish Senator Krief’s daughter good luck in her race . . .”

“I’d be telling the driver to take us to the small boat basin. I’ll inform the presidential yacht that they may have to sail without you if they want to make the first race,” Klaggath said, smiling. “We’ve leased a boat to move you from ship to ship. I’ll have it pick us up at the small boat basin.”

“Darn.” Kris smiled. “We’re already behind schedule.”

The small boat basin was a forest of masts, but the driver took them right to the foot of pier H, a small wooden affair with dozens of white, single-masted boats bobbing alongside in the gentle wind. Kris spotted Senator Krief and her husband beside one boat and headed down the pier to them. Kris’s approach went unnoticed, so intent were the couple in conversation with a dark-haired girl, already at the tiller of the boat.

“Well,” the father exclaimed, “what’ll you do, Nara?”

“I’m going to win this race!” the girl shot back.

“But you have to have a second person in the boat,” the Senator said, glancing around and seeing Kris for the first time. “Oh, hello, Your Highness. That is how you’re supposed to address a Princess, isn’t it? Your Highness and curtsy.”

“I’m Kris today,” Kris said, “and I don’t think anyone on Turantic knows how to curtsy.”

“I do,” the young voice from the boat pitched in. The girl in tan shorts and a blue tank top hopped up and promptly did a fair rendition of one in a rocking boat.

“Be careful,” her father said. “You’ll fall overboard.”

“I haven’t fallen overboard for years, Father,” the girl said, settling back down to her place at the tiller. “And I’ll win this race if we can just find someone to replace Ann.”

“What happened?” Kris asked.

“Nara’s partner in these races is Ann Earlic,” Mel said. “Her dad’s also a Senator, of the Conservative Party, but that means nothing to Nara and Ann.”

“Yes it does. Her dad’s a stick in the mud,” came from the bobbing boat.

“And your parents aren’t?” her father answered back.

“At least not this week,” his daughter assured him.

“When did that change?” The Senator sighed.

“Anyway,” her husband went on, “the President called a barbecue at his ranch for today, so all his party is headed up there, and missing the regatta.”

“I thought the President would be on the presidential yacht?” Kris said.

“As late as Thursday he was. Last night, everything changed,” Senator Krief said with a shrug of her shoulders. “President Iedinka doesn’t much care for crowds, at least those that might not be voting for him. I was surprised that he was coming, to be truthful. I just didn’t expect his invite to the ranch to be for kids as well as parents.

“So the Vice President will be on the yacht?” Jack asked.

“Nope, she gets seasick real easy,” Mel said, breaking from his debate with his daughter. “Never goes out. Hates to even go up the beanstalk. A real solid-earth type.”