''This will solve it as well as anything can,'' the prime minister said, turning his back on them. Tru strode for the door Mother had used just as the prime minister's personal driver poked his head through it.
Kris, eager to beat a quick retreat, used the door she had come in, Tom on her heels. Halfway to the door, Kris stopped, causing a minor collision with Tom. ''Father, I really need to know how you arranged for Eddy's ransom money.''
He was adjusting his coat, putting on his formal face as he turned to the main entrance to his office. ''Since you insist, I will tell you. I went to my father, your grandfather, for the money. He didn't ask me for a damn thing. Now get out.''
Kris scooted out a split second before Father opened the door to admit his next appointment.
CHAPTER EIGHT
''Is your da always like that?'' Tommy asked.
The drive home had been full of poisoned silence. Kris was grateful for any break, even if there was no answer to his question. Kris had had a lifetime to get used to her family. Tommy had been dumped in the deep end…and if Kris was honest, he had asked to be left out of the entire thing. ''What about my father's way of doing things are you curious about?''
Tommy shrugged. ''I don't know. Is he always so legalistic. I mean, if I told my folks someone was out to kill me, they wouldn't ask me if I had proof that would stand up in court.''
''My father would.'' Kris answered easily.
''Then your da really would assign you to HellFrozeOver.''
''Oh yes,'' she answered without a moment's reflection.
''His own daughter. You're kidding.''
''I need a drink,'' she announced, glancing out the car window and seeing her surroundings for the first time since she left her father's office. They were cutting through a corner of the university district ''Harvey, let's stop at the Scriptorum.''
Harvey didn't touch the car's controls. ''Miss Kristine, I don't think that would be wise.''
''And what have I done so far today that was? Will you tell the car to head for the Scriptorum, or shall I have Nelly override you?''
''I've had the car's security upgraded since you graduated from college.'' Harvey growled at her.
''And I've had Nelly upgraded. Want to see who bought the better upgrade?''
Harvey gave the car new instructions. Even though traffic in the university district was its usual mad scramble, the city computer found them a parking spot less than half a block from the Scriptorum; there are advantages to having personal plates bearing PM-4. The Scriptorum hadn't changed in the four or five months since Kris graduated. A new crop of freshmen had taken over the tables near the door. There was the inevitable bull session going at the seniors-only table; Kris heard ''devolution'' and was tempted to join. But she wasn't a senior anymore. And besides, it was one thing to argue for or against Earth when it was just a game. Now it was for real, and she was a serving officer who would have to face what the hard changes brought. Somehow the fun was gone.
Kris settled for a table in the professors' section.
Relaxing into her chair, Kris tried to see the place as she had for the four years of her college education. The diffuse lighting showed every crack and flaw in the fake-brick, wattle-and-daub walls. Despite the aroma of pizza and beer, the overriding smell was of students: sweat, readers, and hormones, more like a library than a bar. The thick wooden tables were scarred by students' carved graffiti. Across the room was the table Kris and her entire Twenty-fourth Century Problems class had carved their initials in on the last Saturday they met here; old Doc Meade had refused to talk about the problems of 600 planets without a beer in his hand, so they eschewed their classroom and met here every Saturday for a semester. That table was occupied; a dozen students had it covered with readers, flimsies, and keypads. Some were actually concentrating on the work, while several couples among them concentrated on each other. Kris smiled at the familiar scene.
''Whaddaya want?'' a waiter/student demanded with the usual lack of concern typical of service at the Scriptorum.
Tom passed the question to Kris with a glance. Harvey sat in his chair, back ramrod straight, his face a study in Topkick disapproval. He'd driven Kris to school enough times, twelve years old and hungover as a deacon. Most likely, he'd turned her in to Grampa Trouble. Now he eyed Kris with all the silent disapproval that any Gunny Sergeant ever put into a blank face.
That answered the question of why Kris took so easily to the Chiefs and Gunnies at OCS. Hell, she'd grown up with one of them at her elbow. Of course, she knew what they were thinking behind those blank, formal faces they wore when they addressed the future officers.
''I'll have tonic water, straight up with a twist of lime,'' Kris said. And Harvey relaxed just that smidge that was all the approval he would ever give her. And it was all Kris ever needed.
''I'll have a soda, caffeinated, whatever they have on this planet,'' Tom ordered.
''Same for me,'' Harvey said.
''Right, Navy,'' the waiter said, and added as he turned back to the bar, ''Aren't you burrheads out of bounds?''
Kris blinked twice at the snide remark. Of course they were in civilian clothes, but Tom and Harvey both sported the usual crew cut of the uniform services, and Kris's hair was a good two feet shorter and a lot more organized than it had been when she sat at Doc Meade's elbow arguing for this or against that. Kris almost stood, called the kid back, and gave him a dressing-down. That was what ensigns did to undisciplined ratings.
But the waiter was no spacer, and as Kris took in the Scriptorum with opening eyes, she was out of bounds for her kind. This room was chock-full of cloud dreamers who had no idea of the cost of their wild plans or responsibility for paying for them. Now that Kris had put her life on the line for a plan of her own making, this place seemed rather cheap, unreal, a waste of space. Almost, she got to her feet and marched out.
Still, Tom had asked a question, and he deserved an answer. ''Yes, if I crossed my father, he would get me assigned to HellFrozeOver, and I'd spend the rest of my Navy career there.''
Tom looked blank for a moment, then connected her statement to his question of five minutes ago. ''I can't believe that.''
Kris noted that Harvey said nothing. Again, that silence was all the verification she needed. She was reading her old man right. ''My father is a politician,'' she told Tom. ''I once heard him say that a good politician is one who stays bought. Loyalty is about the only virtue I've ever heard him praise. If you're loyal to him, he'll move heaven and earth for you. Break faith, and he'll damn you to hell without a backward glance. You haven't seen the way he locked up when an ally of twenty years changed sides. He didn't even blink, but that ex-friend never got the time of day from Billy Longknife again.''
Kris leaned back in her chair, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. ''The pressures on my father must be hellacious.'' A quick glance in Harvey's direction showed the merest hint of a nod. ''His threat is real, but to hell with that. I don't want to add to the burden he's lugging.''
Tom pulled out his reader, began flipping through screens. ''Maybe I can hitch a ride back to Santa Maria from here. Ensign Longknife, I'm beginning to think that knowing you could be a career-ending relationship.''
''If it isn't life threatening,'' Harvey growled.
Kris reached over and flipped Tom's reader closed. ''Get ready to march, crew,'' she ordered as the waiter approached with their drinks. As the kid slapped them down, slopping sticky liquid on the table, Kris stood. Tom and Harvey were on their feet with her. Scared he was about to be stiffed for the drinks, the waiter opened his mouth in protest, but Kris slapped down a bill equal to twice the cost of three sodas. That silenced him.
''My marines pried a six-year-old girl from terrorists last week,'' she said in a voice she'd learned at her father's knee and that carried through the place. ''But apparently, people who work for a living aren't good enough for this place.'' As the tables fell silent, she glanced at the one she'd sat at last year. ''You might add that to your problems of the twenty-fourth century.''