DONE, Nelly reported.
Kris felt around, careful of the dress, and lifted out the left bomb, activated it, and let Nelly set its timer. She stretched it lengthwise until it was a good twenty centimeters, then slid it quietly into the water and flushed. A minute later, the second bomb was on its way. Kris took a moment to do what she'd come for—nothing like being scared spitless to fill a bladder—flushed again, and adjusted her dress. Abby waited outside to put the finishing touches on both the skirt and the top as well as help Kris wash her hands without getting water on the fabric. Done, Abby gave her a full once-over, then nodded. ''I do damn good work.''
''What, nothing about how easy it is to make someone like me beautiful?''
Abby fixed Kris with a puzzled eye. ''You really need assurances from someone like me that you are beautiful?''
''Abby, I know I'm not.'' Kris sighed.
''Where were your mother and father, little girl, when you needed them?''
''Busy campaigning, or just busy,'' Kris said. ''You going to open the door?'' Abby did. Kris returned to her table, Hank rising as she sat down. ''You're such a gentleman,'' she told him.
''What? I was just heading for the hostess. I figured you'd run off with the waiter.''
Kris tapped a crystal goblet of water that hadn't been there when she left. ''Someone's been working while I was gone.''
''Water server. Cute little thing. Doesn't bother with that filmy sarong stuff. Eliminates all questions.''
''You know, if I didn't know you better, I'd think you were some sort of rich spoiled brat who was afraid of commitment.''
Hank said nothing for a long moment. ''Boy, ain't that the truth.'' He sighed, then he glanced around, caught the eye of his chief security guard, and waved him close. ''Nobody's going to kill me tonight. Her either. I need space. Back your people up to the walls. Wipe out bugs, then lie low.''
''What about those gray fumble bums?''
''If you can't get them out of the way, I'll have somebody working your job tomorrow morning who can.''
''No problem, Hank.'' The boss made quick, curt hand signals, and black-clad agents began quick-walking grays for the door. Where someone argued, money changed hands, and silence fell.
''Jack,'' Kris said over her shoulder.
''I don't like this,'' he said.
''I'm not asking you to. But I figure if you keep Hank's honcho company and Tom covers the other side, Abby can take a nap at the table next to the ladies' room.''
''Kris, I'm dead serious. I can't be working my heart out trying to keep you alive and biting my nails every time you cheerfully ignore me. I don't want to be the one holding you while you die.'' He spoke as if he were watching her bleed out.
Almost Kris could see him, kneeling over her, feel his arms around her. Feel the blood draining from her. She shivered but would not change her mind. The rest of tonight was hers, hers and Hank's. ''Go with Hank's man.''
Jack did, his face a chiseled mask. Tom found a seat by the kitchen entrance at a table with another of Hank's men. That covered the three exits Kris had spotted as they entered.
''So, you do this often?'' she asked cheerily.
Hank leaned back in his chair, seemed to sluff off a half ton of worry, and shook his head. ''When Bertie was assigned to me, I told him I wanted to do this twice a year. He said he'd let me do it once a year. That was three years ago, and this is the first time I've actually done it.''
''Hurray for you,'' Kris cheered.
''Yes, it is somehow maturing. Or selfish or risky. You think anyone will try to assassinate you tonight? You seem to get one of those as often as most people come down with colds.''
''Now you're plum wrong on that,'' Kris said airily. ''Why, that last brouhaha was really an attempt to kidnap that Senator's cute little daughter.''
''Somebody had to be really stupid to try a snatch out from under you, of all people.''
''Well, I don't think they were expecting to run into me.'' Kris shrugged. ''Me, I was just trying to stay out of range of anyone who might be looking for me.''
''And you walked into that. Dad's right. You Longknifes live wrong or something.'' That left Kris wondering what files the Peterwalds kept on the Longknifes and what they reported as the cause of death for a few of Kris's ancestors. Somehow she doubted she'd ever read those files.
''And you Peterwalds lead such laid-back lives,'' Kris said.
Hank scrubbed at his eyes, his beautiful face showing exhaustion. ''Not this week. Cal wants me at his elbow every waking moment. Not as if he asks my opinion on anything. Just wants me there. I think he enjoys having me for an audience.''
''Why would he want that?'' Kris said. Maybe she would get some gossip for Abby.
''If I didn't know better, I'd say he wanted to impress me. Or intimidate me. ‘Look at all the strings I can pull. Look at all the things I can make happen.' ''
'' ‘You really want me running your show,' '' Kris supplied.
''Maybe that's it. I'm not sure all he's doing is that impressive.''
''Such as…?''
Hank leaned back, eyed Kris up and down slowly, then shook his head. ''Your dad has a few things he wouldn't share with his friendly opposition. You wouldn't talk about that, and I wouldn't push you. Don't push me.'' He almost sounded pleading.
''You're right; there's stuff I know about my father that I'd never want to see in the papers, but there's nothing he's ever done that I'd be ashamed to read, either.''
''Nothing that you know of.''
Now it was Kris's turn to shrug. ''We are talking about what you and I know, aren't we?''
''Yes, but is everything done in your pop's name necessarily what he wants? With the message center hashed, I can't get a question off to my old man. Damn,'' Hank said, looking up into the void above and its star-covered night, eyes pleading as if the stars might answer the questions gnawing at him.
Might Hank be an ally? Could he help her bring this planet off its war boil? Dare she risk popping the question? She almost smiled at that. Girl meets boy, girl invites boy into world-shaking conspiracy. What follows from that?
The table trembled under her hands.
''What was that?'' Hank asked the air around them.
How time flies when you're trying to have fun. Kris sighed. ''Haven't felt anything like that since I got here. Think the spin stabilization is having problems? One of our embassy staff told me they slapped this station together pretty fast. Maybe they missed something?''
''Whatever it was, it wasn't good. Here come Bertie and Jack. Why do I think your dance card just got filled up again?''
''Not if you say it hasn't,'' Kris said with what she hoped was a coy smile.
''I can only go so far against my security folks, then they invoke Dad.''
''Bertie'd have a tough time phoning home tonight.'' Now her smile was pure imp.
''You are dangerous, Miss Longknife.''
''Not nearly so bad since they made me Princess Kristine.''
''And you expect me to believe that. So what is it, Bertie? The natives restless? That didn't sound like jungle drums.''
''No, sir. There seems to have been a methane explosion in the waste treatment plant. The extent of the damage isn't clear, but I must suggest that you retire to your ship.''
''You're not going to leave?'' Kris said.
''Not likely,'' Hank told her, ''but when there's any question of hull integrity, Dad wants me safe in the Barbarossa. You care to join us? It may be a while before they sound the all clear.''
''I think Jack would have an epileptic fit if I did that,'' Kris said, eyeing her agent. He coughed gently into his fist.
''Right. Your man doesn't trust my men any more than… Tell me, Kris, have you ever seen an ancient play about two star-crossed lovers from families that hate each other?''
''Romeo and Juliet, isn't it?''