''Already in the works,'' Captain DeVar snapped.
''Nelly, get Chief Beni down here. I don't want that auto-gun vanishing without us getting a complete workup on it.''
''Definitely will do. Now, ma'am, I want you out of here,'' the good captain insisted.
''Take me over there on the way out,'' Kris insisted. ''By those women at that table.''
With an exasperated sigh, the captain waved the stretcher bearers in that direction.
Hotel employees were busily rolling out tables and setting up chairs around them for the well-heeled customers who were not bleeding out on the carpet. Kris pointed her bearers at what she suspected was the first table up. What else could explain why both Ms. Broadmore and Marta Whitebread allowed themselves to collapse around the same table.
''Was this another attempt to kill you,'' Ms. Broadmore demanded. Clearly, in her mind, Kris bore full responsibility for this disruption of her art show.
''Probably,'' Kris admitted with a sigh. ''And I didn't get a chance to buy a thing.''
''None of us did.'' Marta scowled.
From the glare both women aimed at Kris she suspected her name was rapidly plunging toward the bottom of the list of people who just must be invited to every little thing.
Hurray!
Kris put a frown on her face and, leveling herself up on one elbow, said in as dumb a voice as she could manage through the pain. ''There's one thing I don't understand.''
''What could that be,'' Ms. Broadmore sniffed.
''Every other time I've arrived on a new planet, by now I'd have met the president and half of the congress. Being Billy Longknife's brat or Ray Longknife's great-granddaughter usually has them coming out in droves to at least pay their respects.''
Both women just eyed Kris, not at all grasping where this rambling was going. Kris would have to paint a very clear picture for these two.
''Didn't you invite any of the political powers that be to this show? Or to either of your soirées this week?''
''Of course I did,'' both women shot back immediately.
Then paused.
Then looked at each other. The lights going off behind their eyes had to be a least forty watts, maybe more.
But neither said a word to Kris.
''Your Highness, can we please get you out of here?'' Captain DeVar said, as if on cue.
Kris let herself be hauled away. But the two women were in rapid conversation before Kris was out of earshot.
It would be interesting to see what came of that little land mine she'd planted.
As they headed for the car park, the captain glanced over his shoulder. ''Ma'am, I'm pretty well schooled in platoon and company tactics, but I'm not quite sure what I just saw.''
Kris relaxed onto her stretcher. That didn't make it hurt less, just hurt different. ''Captain, in social circles, there is an A-list, a B-list, and a C-list. Me, I suspect today I've sunk to some F-or G-list.''
The captain raised an eyebrow at that.
''But two very proud A-list social harpies have just found out that they have been had by the real As. Used as stalking horses. Everyone likes to be in the know. I just told those two biddies that there are people in the know that knew not to show up. And those people didn't let them know.
''How do you think that makes them feel, Captain?''
''Interesting, ma'am, very interesting.''
Kris spotted Inspector Johnson getting out of his car as she was loaded into a transport. The captain now brooked no delay; Kris ended up fighting just to get her and Jack in the same hulking all-terrain rig.
It could have passed for a tank. The only thing missing was a main battery gun. There were plenty of automatic weapons out. All the traffic now headed for the art show; her rig covered the distance to the embassy in no time at all.
The two police cycles driving shotgun, sirens blaring, might have helped. Tomorrow, Kris would have to thank Inspector Johnson for at least one good deed.
Kris's tour of the embassy had not included a stop by the clinic. She had noticed that an Army doctor shared the mess with the troops. Kris, flat on her back on a gurney, did her first assessment of the doc as he did his assessment of her leg.
Well, at least there was no alcohol on his breath.
Captain DeVar had whispered a quiet prayer—that Kris was supposed to not have noticed—that the good doc would not have drank his supper today. The captain had asked for sobriety, what with two of his primaries out in the shooting gallery, and had sent the doc off to supper with Commander Malhoney to help him remember. Since Kris knew the good commander was much taken by the drink, she was grateful that the two of them had held themselves to the captain's high demands.
''Your leg is stitched, but not deeply,'' the doc said. ''We'll need to cut you out of those stockings and dress.''
''I doubt you can,'' Abby said, materializing at Kris's side. ''I see you had a good time tonight.''
''Nope,'' Kris said. ''No one to shoot back at. Auto-gun.''
''Oh, pooh,'' the maid said.
''Why don't you concentrate on Jack, Doc, who I think is in worse shape, while Abby and I get me out of this getup.''
The doc glanced at Kris's vitals, flashed a light in both of her eyes, let her count his fingers, and then went away.
Abby closed the curtains behind him, giving Kris a bit of modesty, put both her hands on her hips, and scowled down at Kris. ''You are a mess.''
''Could you scold me later?'' Kris said. ''The pain is nasty, and I doubt that horse doctor will give me anything until he's had a chance to see all my black-and-blue spots.''
''I heard that and you got it right, Your Highness.'' came from across the partition.
''Let's get you out of that dress,'' Abby said, reaching for scissors. ''I'm not going to tell you how much you paid for it.''
''Somebody will get a bill for this,'' Kris said darkly.
''No doubt. Now hold still. I don't want to cut nothing off you that you can't afford to lose.'' The dress came off in pieces. The darts held it solidly in place, not letting go from where they had dug themselves into the reactive section of the ceramic body girdle. That girdle had done its job; it and all the darts came off together. Only from the inside could Kris see the cracks and spalling. It had held—but just barely.
Peeling off the bodystocking was almost work as usual, except that every time Kris twisted or turned to work the spider silk down her body she wanted to scream.
Her right side was an ugly line of black and blue where the rounds had hit, been stopped, but demanded payment for the energy they gave up from the soft flesh beneath. At least the ceramic armor had done a good job of spreading the energy.
Spider silk stopped a round. As far as its energy went, that was a matter not mentioned in the promotional material.
When the bodystocking was down to just Kris's right leg, Abby wrapped her in a modest blue gown and said. ''Doc, when you can pry yourself away from that hardheaded Marine, this Navy type is ready for a look-see.''
''Sorry, Princess, but you'll have to wait. You aren't nearly as interesting a collection of bruises and contusions as this fellow I've got in my clutches right now.''
''What?'' Kris yelped, and tried to roll off the table. That produced another yelp. A very real one.
Abby made sure that Kris laid back down, then called over the curtain. ''Jack, you decent? Mind if I let this nosey neighbor of yours at least look at your ugly mug?''
''I'm not sure if I'm decent or not. They kind of got me locked down.'' came back in a way-too-shaky voice.
''Abby, open that curtain,'' Kris demanded.
''I could point out that only family are allowed in here,'' came back from the doc.
''I drafted him. He's head of my security team. Doc, open up,'' Kris almost pleaded.
''Well, since you put it that way. Open the curtain. She drafted you, boy, and you're still speaking to her?''
''Seems that way, Doc.''