''So you're a first lieutenant?'' he said, not taking his eyes off the road.
''I guess so.'' Abby sniffed. ''It's not like I own a uniform or would know how to put one on. Someone…who shall remain unnamed…suggested that my job of looking after a certain princess might be easier if I had the protection of the Geneva Convention to fall back on.
''Possibly I made a mistake,'' Abby shrugged, then did a longer review of the last few minutes, trying to get to the bottom of the strange reaction she was getting from this, until now, friendly man who was driving like a maniac.
''I thought you and yours would be less embarrassed about being out-shot by a Longknife maid if she had a commission.''
''Being out-shot by an Army puck, and an intel weenie to boot. Nope, sorry, sister. Color me embarrassed. Just who did teach you to shoot?''
''One of my former employers on Earth. Nicest little old lady. Who would have thought she had so many enemies gunning for her? Anyway, she sent me to a range to learn. Two old sergeants, one Army, one Gunny, did their best to show me how.''
''And you didn't learn?''
''Not at first. Kept closing my eyes against the noise. Then my lady's security guards went down and my gun and the pistol she had hid in her long johns were all that stood between us and a future as a widening pool of blood.
''I kept my eyes open. Plugged two of them. The sergeants said my shooting was much improved after that.''
''I would imagine,'' Sergeant Bruce said as the car took a corner on two wheels.
Captain DeVar was in the forefront of his two platoons as he waved them to a pause on their way downriver. On both sides of him, the troops halted and braced against the current.
Captain DeVar had realized very quickly that every approach to the Gallery was a dead giveaway, with dead being the operative word.
The river looked to be the only way in that might not be fully covered.
Actually, the river was very well covered. He had to wonder if the couples paddling canoes and sailing small boats up river on lazy weekends knew the amount of heavy weapons sighted in on them. Some might if their personal electronics were designed to isolate the radars that tracked them.
But that likely wasn't very many.
A Marine couple outfitted with a picnic basket and full electronic countermeasures suite had verified expectations this morning.
So, DeVar was walking his Marines downriver.
The difference between full combat gear for a submerged entry and the same for space or worse wasn't all that different. His Marines were breathing canned air and lugging enough weights to settle them onto the bottom of the Patowmack River.
Of course, just because the boaters this morning hadn't found any evidence of underwater defenses didn't mean there weren't any.
And if this looked like the best approach for the Marines, the other side just might be using it for their own approach. Now wouldn't that be an interesting coincidence.
Captain DeVar looked at the heads-up display on the face of his helmet, found it acceptable, and blinked his right eye once.
The display changed to what Gabby was getting on her sensor display. He eyed it for a long minute and found it also good.
He rose to his feet and motioned the platoons to advance.
Bronc huddled among the other young men. They had assault rifles. He had his computer.
He kept it going up and down the electromagnetic spectrum, doing searches. It kept coming back with nothing.
Actually, it was coming back with a lot of stuff, but none of it was in the area the sensor sergeant had told him was not supposed to be there.
So long as there was nothing there, he was supposed to keep quiet.
Around him, some of the riflemen would start to whisper among themselves. A moment later, one of the gun-toting sergeants would scowl at the talkers, and they'd shut up.
Bronc kept his silence.
If he could manage it, he'd keep his silence as long as he could even after his fabulous computer started to report something these people were interested in.
Cara's life might depend on it.
46
Kris didn't like being tied to this reception line. She kept thinking about how a sitting duck must feel in a shooting gallery. But just because handcuffs were golden didn't make them any easier to break.
She'd met the leader of the opposition, Shirley Chisel, early in the line. A short woman in a conservative suit, she'd given Kris's hand a firm shake. ''I understand you and I almost met a few days ago.''
Kris raised an eyebrow.
''On the mall,'' the woman continued. ''Was that one aimed at you or me?''
''I shouldn't have been there,'' Kris pointed out. ''Just luck. What about you?''
The woman scowled. ''It was on my schedule for two days.''
Kris left it at that.
''I hope we get a chance to talk again,'' the woman said as she passed Kris to the next senator.
There'd been a lot of handshaking since then, but nothing of interest. Kris hoped that was about to change, she was finally reaching the government.
The Americans on Eden had adopted a parliamentary government with a strong executive. Kris could never figure out why anyone would have an elected president from one party and then risk having the prime minister and his majority in parliament be from the other party.
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 embassy. 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 competition.
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.