''All good guesses,'' Kris agreed. ''And I suspect we'll have to settle for guesses,'' she said, eyeing Grampa Trouble. He refused to meet her gaze, but kept on studying bubbles. No wonder I don't trust my best friends. How much do I trust you, you old war horse? Is there any reason not to?
And the milkshakes arrived.
The barkeep hung around until all of them had sampled his offering and praised it highly, then retreated at a nod from Grampa Trouble. Kris slowly relished the creamy chocolate shake while reviewing in her head what she knew… not much… and what she suspected… a lot more.
Clearly, Grampa Trouble knew more than he was telling. Do I trust him with my life? He'd brought her back from the walking dead, too drunk to live. No question she owed him her life. But would Grampa feel obliged to correct them if their guesses were wrong, but not deadly wrong at this moment? Mentally, Kris shook her head. She had guesses and nothing that couldn't be denied if it showed up in the noon news.
Life is like that for a Longknife. Get used to it.
''If Kris has all these big bucks out to keep her safe,'' Jack said around the straw in his mouth, ''I'm starting to feel redundant, if not puny.''
Kris measured Jack's words, compared them with the deep lines around his eyes, and tasted fear. Not Jack's. Her own.
Unless she badly misread Jack, he was facing his own doubts. Why should he follow her through fire and hell? Why should he keep placing his life in her hands so she could do what she did, relying totally on him to keep her alive?
Kris swallowed hard and pushed the shake away.
''You really feel that way?''
''Hey, Boss, Abby's the one with the magic hat. She's the one that pulls all the stuff out that we need just about the time that we're desperate for it.'' He shrugged and took a long pull on his shake. ''I'm just here to lug around all that hardware. I'm paid for a mule and I do a mule's job.''
''You really are feeling down in your beer, son,'' Grampa Trouble said. But he didn't say more.
''Would it help if you got the same pay as Abby?'' Penny said.
''No, damn it. I'm not talking about pay. I'm talking about my job. About knowing where I'm going and that I'll have the gear I need to do my job. About being involved in deciding what we take on these wild quests Kris goes charging off on, even if I don't get to veto what rabbit hole she dives into.''
Kris didn't discount the pay issue so quickly, but she did respect the professional pride it must cost Jack every time he had to turn to a maid for armor or an armory… or for medical gear or… The list went on. ''Jack,'' Kris said, ''have you noticed that when we're in trouble, Abby is rarely to be seen.''
''Very rarely,'' Penny said.
''Not that rare,'' Abby insisted.
''Jack, you remember what you told me. ‘I take your bullet.' You will take the bullet aimed for me. For Abby, this is just a job. For you, it's a mission. A sacred trust. That engineer on the Wasp, faced with meeting the clause in his contract about blowing up the ship. What did he say? ‘They hadn't paid him enough.' '' Kris raised an eyebrow. Jack made a wry face.
Kris went on. ''I know money is not why you're here. I think you know better than I what makes you stay. I hope you do. I don't know what'll become of me if you ever forget. I can't believe I'll ever look around and not find you covering my back.''
Jack's breath went out of him in a snort. ''Not unless they got me with the first shot. But, damn it, Kris. This isn't a joke anymore. It was funny, at first. I could laugh with you, about how Abby seemed to always have what we need. Not now. I want to know what's in the trunks, Abby. You're either part of our team, or…''
Kris cut him off. ''You don't have to finish that sentence, Jack. As of today, things are going to change.''
''Now hold it, baby ducks. There ain't no amount of money you can pay me to take your bullet.''
''Nothing I can do to change that,'' Kris said. ''But we can make sure you understand that Jack is number one when it comes to my safety. You're at best number two. You will keep him in the loop. I expect Jack to know what you're packing in those trunks, and I expect him to approve everything.'' Abby's face was a storm ready to break as her glower bounced between Jack and Kris.
''And if you can't agree with what he says, you bring your disagreement to me and I'll ask Grampa Trouble for advice on what will look after me the best,'' she said, turning quickly to take the old soldier in.
''Hold it. I'm no part of this,'' he started, but Kris had his eyes hostage. This time, she didn't look away… and he couldn't. ''Okay, you can count on me for logistical quibbles.''
''And what if I want something that's too expensive?'' Jack said. ''That's not funded by Abby's employer?''
Abby was shaking her head. ''It ain't nearly as easy as you think, baby ducks.''
''Then we'll just take it up with Grampa here.''
''Can't see why you'd do that,'' Grampa Trouble said mildly, but he left it at that, and Kris went back to sucking on her melting milkshake.
Kris waited until she was nearing the bottom of the glass, before she spoke again. ''I sure wish we hadn't killed Hank. I don't think they're gonna let me anywhere near Chance space for a long, long time, and I do want to work on those alien things.''
''Me, too,'' Nelly said dolefully.
''Given enough time, any place will cool off,'' Grampa Trouble said. ''But as far as that spoiled brat, I don't feel at all sorry.'' Kris snapped around to eye her great-grandfather. He of all people knew the unknown problems that lay ahead because of Hank's death.
''Yes, I know. Human space can't afford the death of that poor kid. I've heard it all, and I'll do my bit, stuffing my finger into any dike Ray asks,'' Grampa Trouble said, taking a pull on his beer. ''But what Hank did was plain dumb. You can't loose the hounds of war and expect to know the tree those puppies are gonna bark up. That's why any smart man does his best to keep those sons of bitches on a leash.''
Which was a rather blunt way of putting it, but Kris didn't doubt Grampa Trouble's assessment. She and the others finished their milkshakes in silence. Done, Kris took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. ''So now Henry Peterwald has no heir and the guy who's been trying to kill me for the last couple of years really has it in for me.''
''I can't disagree with your assessment, Kris, except,'' Trouble smiled enigmatically, ''Peterwald still has an heir.''
Kris blinked four times before she could wrestle her thoughts to ground and say, ''Hank was an only child. At least he always left me with that impression.''
''Don't doubt, considering Greenfeld attitude toward girls.''
''He has a sister?'' came from everyone.
''Twin, of sorts,'' Grampa Trouble said, sharing one of his wicked grins with them. ''Seems that the womb they installed the thoroughly engineered and refined Hank in either had or was about to get a totally natural rider as well. Big surprise. Lots of recriminations. Bigger surprise was that the natural survived. Usually, they don't, but that baby girl was feisty from the start. So, nine months later, out comes Hank. And a few minutes later, Vicky makes her appearance as well.''
''Vicky?'' Kris said.
''Mother's joke. She named her Victoria.''
Everyone needed time to let that sink in, take root and have any chance of being considered reality.
''What do we know about Victoria?'' Kris asked.
''Not a lot. She kind of disappeared into some kind of harem on Greenfeld. Hank did a lot of traveling, part of his education. Vicky's pretty much a mystery. But she can't be too much of a problem,'' Grampa said, looking sideways at Kris. ''After all, she's just a Greenfeld girl.''
Kris snorted. ''Yeah, right. And I was just supposed to be Brother's campaign manager.'' Two years ago, given a choice, who would have considered her the deadlier of the two siblings?