''But you can use my trucks?'' he fixed Kris in his gaze for the first time.
''In a flash,'' Kris agreed. ''Nelly, show us a map of a hundred miles around here.'' A holograph appeared before them; Kris concentrating on the map to avoid the intensity of the young man's eyes. She hadn't heard a thing she didn't like in the last hour. What was not to like about a generous young man who took time to come out and see what was needed? She'd joined the Navy to do just that.
From the sounds of the business empire Hank was half bossing with his father, this was about the closest the young man could get to the real world.
''We've got food going to the soup kitchens in town,'' Kris said, waving at the center of the map and getting the boys' attention, ''so no one here goes hungry. It's the hinterland that's the problem. Even with Tom's crews working around the clock, we only have fifteen working trucks. Two out of three are down with something wrong. Local mechanics strip one to get another working, but with the roads in such lousy shape, one gets fixed and two get broke.'' She sighed.
''My thirty trucks should help with that,'' Hank said, following Kris's gaze to the map. ''But up north is going to bring its own set of problems. Lots of hills and river valleys. I don't see many bridges.''
''Aren't any,'' Tom said. Kris quickly filled both of them in on what she'd learned from the Colonel about the goal of minimum government. ''Unless a local farmer built a bridge, there isn't one.'' She overlaid a pre-volcano map on the present situation. There had been four bridges; they were all washed out.
''What you need are boats or portable bridges,'' Hank mused. Then his smile widened. ''Let me tell you what I've got for you,'' he said, sounding like a man ready to sell vacuum to asteroid miners. ''Dad just bought out a company that's making boats out of Smart Metal. Like the stuff your Typhoon is made from. The boats fold into a standard container-size box, a perfect load for any handy truck. Just put it in the water, select a form, and stand back. In five minutes you've got a boat, a barge, or a bridge, ready to load up or drive over. And the price is something you can't beat, little lady; free for you.''
''How much do they weigh?'' Tom cut in, no smile at Hank's snake oil routine. ''Those roads are muddy. And how do you get them off the truck and into the water? They walk, too?''
''No,'' Hank sobered. ''They are heavy. We usually use a crane. Metal may be smart, but no one, even on Santa Maria, has figured out how to make metal light.''
Kris did her best to suppress a grin at this testosterone-powered battle beside her. ''Any of those trucks in orbit happen to have a crane on them?'' she asked.
''Might be a few. I'm hungry. Will you have lunch with me?''
Now Kris did laugh. ''For mobile bridges, I think I can afford to sign for your meal at the mess hall. But I warn you, it's only slightly unfrozen cold cuts. Half our personnel went with today's convoys.''
''I was thinking of something a bit more intimate,'' Hank countered. ''There's this restaurant in town that serves the most delicious steaks.''
Tom looked like someone was stealing his teddy. ''It can't be still in business.''
''My sources assure me it is.''
Kris had serious doubts it still was. She had a dozen other reason to say no, from ‘My boss won't let me go outside the gate,' to ‘Should we be eating steaks when everyone else is starving?' ''Sounds great,'' was what she said. ''You want to come, Tom?''
''Somebody better keep an eye on the fort,'' he said. Kris had never seen the freckled leprechaun in such full defeat.
Checking her side arm, Kris let Hank lead her toward the gate, where a luxurious all-terrain vehicle awaited them with two good-looking men that might be ex-marines standing by. ''Dad won't let me go anywhere without these two mugs. Where's your bodyguard?''
''Military doesn't authorize ‘em to ensigns, no matter how much of a pain in the neck you are,'' Kris answered. ''Back home, my chauffeur was ex-military, but I thought of him more as a friend than anything else. I mean, it's hard to think of a guy who roots for you at your soccer games as anything but a buddy.''
''You got to play soccer! That must have been wild.''
''Didn't you?''
''Nope. Dad didn't think it was healthy, all those other kids out there in an uncontrolled mob. Too risky, he insisted. But then, I was an only child. You're not.''
Kris thought she had had an overprotected childhood, especially after Eddy. She'd never considered that big brother Honovi had been a windbreak against excessive parental concern; she usually just thought of him as a pain.
''No, I was the second kid,'' she said without letting the thought of the third one make her flinch.
''It would have been nice to have a kid sister with freckles,'' Hank said, giving her a sly sideways look. Before Kris had to answer that, they were at their destination.
The restaurant was on a side street off Kris's normal path. No sign announced its presence, though Kris spotted one set of armed men loitering across the street from it, another on the roof. If she needed riflemen around her soup kitchens, she could imagine the protection a really decent place to eat would need.
The door opened before Hank's bodyguard touched it. The portly man in black tie and tails stood in the shadow of the door, menus in hand. He quickly led Kris and Hank to a quiet corner and a table covered with crystal, silver, and linens. Kris had to make an effort to notice where the guards went to ground, taking over separate tables on opposite sides of the dining room, their gray suits somehow merging into the restaurant's motif of wood, crystal lightings, and thick red carpeting. There were three other sets of customers, but tastefully placed plants made it impossible to make out faces. So the Colonel was right; not everyone was starving on Olympia. Where there was money, there was still fancy food to be had. More education for a boot ensign, a prime minister's daughter, and the recipient of Ernie Nuu's multi-trillions.
The menu promised several delicious cuts of steak, even seafood. Ominously, it listed no prices.
''I don't know what to order,'' Kris said after a quick glance down the menu.
''Let me order for you,'' Hank answered.
Kris did not appreciate men who assumed that reading complicated menus were beyond a woman's shallow grasp.
''I know what the menu says, Hank. The Colonel had us turn in our credit cards,'' she didn't quite lie. ''Not sure I can cover the check.''
''I was told that local credit cards were showing up on the black market. Your Colonel is a wise man,'' Hank agreed. ''This is my treat.'' Since their net worth had to be within a decimal place of each other, Kris decided it would be nice to be pampered by a young man of her own age for a change. After the calls she'd made yesterday, why not let this fellow puzzle over the choice of salads?
''So,'' Kris started the dinner conversation, ''you let your dad take you into the family business right out of college.''
''Hardly. Dad's not one to waste time on useless book learning. I started in the business when I was fourteen. If you can believe it, he had me spend my summer in the mail room. I've advanced my career considerably, don't you think?'' he said, waving a hand up the imaginary corporate ladder.
''No college?''
''Well, actually, Dad brought out professors from Earth or wherever to do it on the job. My high school graduation project was a major pharmacy plant start-up, shadowing one of Dad's best men, learning all he knew, and writing it up for Dad and Professor Maxwell. I think that was the guy's name. Maxwell gave me an A. Dad went through the paper point by point, showing me why it deserved no better than a B. I never saw that professor again.''
The wine waiter arrived with a sauvignon whose label would have been expensive on Wardhaven. Hank expertly went through the ritual of sampling the vintage. ''Very good,'' he nodded after a sip. ''You'll enjoy this,'' he assured Kris.