Kris hardly got in the basement door before she was ambushed by the ambassador's secretary. ''Where have you been?''
Kris frowned at Jack. ''We reported to the Marine Comm Center where we were,'' he said.
''Well, they didn't tell anyone else. You can't just vanish, Your Highness. People expect better things of you,'' he sniffed.
Kris wondered how big a bribe it would take to have one of the Marines behind her pop this guy one. From the looks on their faces, the fellow was rapidly reaching bargain-basement pricing. A few of them looked willing to pay for the privilege.
''Did you check in with the Marines?'' Kris asked softly. Dead softly.
The secretary ignored Kris's question and went on to the matter of some importance to him. ''We have a request for your presence this evening. Ms. Broadmore is throwing a small party at her city residence and would so like you to serve as the centerpiece of her evening.''
''I've had a rough afternoon,'' Kris bit out.
''Not doing your duties, if I may say so. The negotiations floundered without you. They'll continue tomorrow. Please try to be there.''
''Last night, I went to one of Eden's little balls and got shot at.'' Kris was rapidly losing what temper she had left.
''So you say. The ambassador wonders about that. I must say, I do, too. Ms. Broadmore is a very important person here on Eden. You really must be there. It will be small, so even you will likely not foul it up. Here's your invitation. Do be at least fifteen minutes late. Any more is gauche. Any less and, well, you are a princess, aren't you.''
And apparently, some people figured that made her just the person they could order around.
Before Kris could decide between decking the guy herself or just hanging, drawing, and quartering him, she was interrupted.
''Kris, what have you done to your hair!'' And Kris got ready to be ordered around some more.
Unfortunately, the secretary was long gone by the time Kris explained that the condition of her hair was the result of another bomber's near miss.
''I had planned to go out this evening,'' Abby grumbled, ''but it looks like I'll be up to my elbows in princessing you for most of the afternoon. Let's get started.''
Kris was freed from Abby's ''tender'' care just in time to board one of the embassy's armored battlewagons at 1930. Jack was her escort, in dress red-and-blues. The driver and one other Marine were also in dress uniform. Two men and two women in formal dress were too clean-cut to be anything but Marines.
''I'm glad you could arrange things so quickly,'' Kris said.
''Captain DeVar was already on it when we got back. He seems to be better wired into the embassy rumor mill than the ambassador's secretary.''
''Good man,'' Kris offered.
''He also asked if you might want to go jogging with some Marines. They run their three miles at 0515 every morning. Five miles on Saturday.''
''I'd love to join his Marines,'' Kris said. It would be good to spend an hour with real line beasts every day. The rest of her day was la-la land; a bit of time sweating with people who got their hands dirty might keep her grounded. Heaven knew, with all the food thrown at a princess, if she didn't get some exercise, this desk job might be the death of her.
''I told him you would.'' Jack grinned. ''I am supposed to take care of your security, and if you keep eating like a hog and don't exercise, I'll lose you to a heart attack.''
Kris started to swat him, but the limo was already slowing to a stop. A glance at the bright lights showed that now might not be a good time to assault her security chief.
9
If this was Ms. Broadmore's townhome, Kris wondered what she used for her rural retreat. Something the size of Texas? Of course, Kris had never figured out how large Texas was, but the old saying suited this place.
Ms. Broadmore's town house might be smaller than the Wardhaven Embassy. Then again, the huge, column-lined façade before Kris could be hiding a dozen wings…or two. Around the grounds, several scores of limos, many larger than Kris's, were parked on concrete or grass, depending on how heavy the liveried men directing traffic took the rig to be.
''Small get-together my well-armored derriere,'' Kris said.
Jack took it in. ''You carrying?''
''And you ain't getting it.'' She locked eyes with Jack. He looked away. ''Now that that's all settled,'' Kris said, ''let's go see what this is all about.''
Jack handed her out of the limo. A man in white livery and knee britches took the invitation from Jack and escorted them to the main entrance.
He frowned as the four formal-dressed Marines formed two couples and followed.
''Madam has provided refreshments and entertainment for your servants, Your Highness.''
''Good. Then they can rotate, one couple at my elbow, one on break,'' Kris said, giving one half her detail. But only half.
His ''As you wish'' dripped with disapproval.
Kris had learned to live with disapproval at an early age. Dead was not something she wanted to live with anytime soon.
Through the glass doors was a marble hall that, apparently, served only as a foyer. This was laying it on thick.
KRIS, THIS DESIGN MIMICS A FRENCH PALACE OF THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. EARTH.
THANK YOU, NELLY. LET ME THINK, PLEASE.
They came to a ballroom that was larger than the drill field at OCS. More marble pillars held up a domed ceiling streaked with gold and lit by chandeliers that actually burned candles. The aroma was very striking. A marbled and carpeted staircase led down into the second level of the ballroom.
Beside Kris, her liveried escort handed off her invitation to a man in a coat of gold cloth holding a huge staff.
''Princess Kristine Anne of Wardhaven and Nuu Enterprises'' boomed out in a rich baritone.
''Not bad,'' Jack whispered.
''And associates'' was added a long second later.
''I guess that puts us in our place,'' Jack added.
''Just stay close,'' Kris said. ''This is not what I signed on for tonight. I do not want any more surprises,'' she added as she took the steps slowly down into what she could only think of as a gladiator's arena.
But a bloodless one. Most likely.
Kris had been processing all the surprises of the day as Abby prepared her for the evening. She hadn't paid much attention until Abby poured her into the red, floor-length ball gown with the tight bust. At the time, Kris had considered it a bit too much for what she thought she was headed into, but didn't need a fight with her maid to add to all the day's other battles. Now, a glance around the floor showed that Abby was far more plugged in to the social circuits here.
Dress was formal. Very formal. Some of it was into that outlandish area that can only be attempted by stamping it ''formal.'' One woman, either very young, or very well preserved was wearing…something. A haze of multicolored lights orbited her, keeping her somewhat modest. And teasing every male eye in range with hopes that the program would fail and leave her, just for a moment, wide open on one side or another.
''That's an interesting use of nanos,'' Jack murmured.
''Whoever is in charge of our nano-scouts, please keep them away from her,'' Kris said. ''I don't want to be accused of causing the most exciting social blunder of the evening. Some of the men here don't look more than one heart attack away from a coffin.''
''I'll see that it doesn't happen,'' one of the female Marines said, elbowing her escort and deftly removing a small console from his inner coat pocket.
''You don't trust me, Doris.''
''Never saw any cause to.'' cut the Marine off at the knees.
''Let's pay attention folks,'' Kris said as she approached the bottom of the stairs.
THE WOMAN AT THE FOOT OF THE STEPS IN SHIMMERING BLUE AND BLACK IS MS. BROADMORE, Nelly said in Kris's brain. SHE OWNS AND OPERATES ABOUT FIVE PERCENT OF EDEN'S CAPITAL. THERE IS NO MR. BROADMORE AT THE MOMENT. WHAT SHE OWNS SHE OPERATES.