Kris sat down, then raised her hand, fist up, one finger out. ''You knew if I drafted Jack, that he'd darn near have a hammer lock on my life.''
Trouble grinned. ''Yep. How's it going young fellow?''
''I'm still alive.'' Jack sighed. ''So is she, despite every effort on her part to the contrary. Tell me, do your offspring ever learn common sense?''
''There's no evidence to support that pipe dream. But then there's little evidence that I have much common sense.''
''We can drink to that,'' Kris said. She looked at her hand and started to raise a second finger.
''Hold your horses, young lady,'' Grampa Trouble said and put his hand over Kris's, folding her fingers back into a fist. ''Barkeep, what's keeping you?''
''I'm hard of hearing. Comes from being yelled at,'' muttered a fellow maybe half of Grampa Trouble's hundred plus years as he hurried across the floor. He produced a cloth to wipe down the table. ''I hear you want my finest. Which finest?''
''Pilsner,'' Trouble said, ''but not for me just now. How about the rest of you. Kris, can I talk you into a beer?''
''Grampa, even when I was drinking myself to sleep at night, I hated the taste of the stuff. I don't think I ever got drunk enough to enjoy it. No, what I'd kill for is a milkshake. Nice, thick, creamy. And fresh made, not one of those thin ice creams trying to fake it.''
''I should warn you,'' Jack told the barkeep, ''from her, the idea of killing for it might not be just a turn of phrase.''
''Then I think the little lady came to the right place,'' the gray-haired fellow said. ''The Smugglers Roost prides itself on the best milkshakes this side of Guernsey Island on old Earth. Only the finest of ingredients. What will you have?
''Chocolate,'' Kris said. ''No, double chocolate.''
''I suspect I could handle a shake, too,'' Abby said. ''You make strawberry shakes, with fresh strawberries?''
''They're in season,'' the barkeep assured them.
''I'll have one like Kris,'' Penny said. ''Double chocolate.''
Jack took in a worried breath. ''Only the best ingredients, you say. Sounds pricey. Don't know if a mere First Lieutenant can afford such frippery. You paying, General?''
''I may have gotten you drafted into your ill-paying job, son, and I may have offered to stand you to a good, healthy beer, but even I tremble at the potential cost of where these women of ill repute are leading you.''
The waiter pointed them at a menu. Jack scanned it, then whistled. ''You could pay for a round of beers for one of these.''
''I'm paying for Jack's,'' Kris said. ''What flavor, oh chief of my security. After all, you kept me alive.''
''Banana,'' he answered quickly.
''Hold it, I've helped keep you from ending up very quickly dead,'' Abby said. ''Why aren't you paying for my milkshake? I am just a poor working girl.''
Kris waived the barkeep away. ''And speaking of which, just how many people do you work for?''
Abby grew very interested in a fly buzzing the next table.
''Let me count the cost centers if I can,'' Kris said, her fingers once more coming up. ''And you, oh troublesome grampa are not off the hook yet. But right now, let's look at you, my maid of many surprises. Mother pays you.''
''A mere pittance. Hardly keeps body and soul together.''
Kris didn't argue that, but went on, raising a second finger. ''Then there is some information broker who's soaking Crossenshield and who knows how many others for the privilege of reading the idle rumors passing through your head.''
Abby gave the group one of her patented sniffs. ''And not passing nearly enough of his vast profits on my labors along to me. What with me taking all the risks to life and limb keeping my distance from your targeted person.''
''Which brings us to the steamer trunks,'' Kris said, raising her third finger.
''I was waiting for that,'' Jack said, grin wide, all teeth.
Kris continued. ''While I'm sure your reports are fun reads to many people from Crossie to even Henry Peterwald the perverted twelfth himself, I don't think information brokers usually invest in keeping the subjects of their purulent interest alive. Course, I don't watch that much media.''
''Not an Earth dime,'' Jack said.
''Certainly. Each messy death is a separate fortune. And there's always another hot item coming along. Who cares about yesterday's big name?'' Penny said.
''So Abby, who's buying all those lifesaving goodies in the steamer trunks?'' Kris demanded.
''I don't know,'' Abby said. Then, in the face of four incredulous faces… no, three, Grampa Trouble was scrupulously studying the bubbles in his beer… Abby went on. ''Really, I don't know. Someone contacted me when I was on my way to take this job. Someone that said my broker had referred his client to me, and asked if I'd be willing to provide some extra services to this Kris Longknife kid I was going to primp and pamper. I asked what he had in mind, me not being interested in anything dangerous, and you know the rest.''
''No,'' Kris said, ''but I doubt you'll be more forthcoming.''
Abby locked eyes with Kris and did not blink. Kris chose not to see who would break first, suspecting any victory would be pyrrhic. ''Do you have any hunch who is behind this contract?''
Abby shook her head. ''Ain't something I need to know. What I can tell you is that it's my largest source of income and its first clause is that I don't ever do anything that could cause you any kind of harm.'' The maid shrugged. ''Kind of crimps my style on the other two contracts. When you brought home those tar-filthy hands, I couldn't do half of what I wanted to.''
Kris waved her hands to shake off the recollected pain of that manicure. Grampa Trouble had a twinkle in his eye as he said. ''That's something I want to hear about.''
''What, it wasn't in any of her reports?''
''I don't read the scandal sheets on my great-granddaughter. She deserves some privacy.''
''Painfully little.''
''I hope the second clause in that contract,'' Jack said, ''is to protect Kris.''
''So long as it doesn't put my sensitive skin at risk.''
''But you don't have any idea who?'' Kris repeated.
''I might have suspicions as to how many,'' Abby admitted under Kris's intense gaze. ''I got a raise awhile back, just after we got back from Turantic. Pay went up 50 percent.''
''As if a new interest had joined a two-party consortium. Or two had joined a four,'' Penny said, quickly doing the numbers.
''You were only hired a bit before the Turantic dustup,'' Jack pointed out.
''Let's assume there are now three groups that want me to keep breathing,'' Kris said slowly. ''Who?''
''Your father?'' Jack said.
''He's doing all he can legally, under Wardhaven law, by tying you down here,'' Kris said, glancing at her protective service agent/Marine guard. ''If he wanted more…''
''He'd have to have Crossie pay it out of black funds,'' Penny said. ''If it ever got into the papers, it would…''
Kris eyed Grampa Trouble. Again, he seemed fascinated by the pattern the bubbles were making in the dark brew before him. Just how much did her Grampas Ray and Trouble talk about her? Worry about her?
''Crossie tried to get me to work for him just before Turantic,'' Kris said. ''Maybe he figured that would make it legal for him to spend money on me if I was one of his lost souls…'' Kris weighed that and labeled it Kris's Protection 1.
''What about your Grampa Al?'' Jack asked.
''He might be slipping a bit of cash that way. God knows he's got enough money. Though after Turantic was when I slapped him up for being a slumlord.''
''Yeah, that sounds more like the time he'd cut you loose,'' Penny agreed.
''You came from Earth,'' Kris said slowly to Abby.
''That's where I was when your mom hired me.''
''Could someone there be interested in keeping you alive?'' Jack said.
''We know we're in a mess because we offed Hank,'' Penny whispered. ''Could someone there have looked at the enmity between the Longknifes and the Peterwalds and be investing a few bucks to keep the heat at a low boil, below what it might get to if you ended up suddenly dead.''