''I take it your father doesn't want you meeting this Tru person. You intend to, come hell or high water, and you consider meeting him or her more important than me keeping you safe.''
''I consider me meeting her a damn sight more likely to keep me safe than you hanging around and telling the PM what I do.''
''I'm a big girl now, so buzz off and leave me alone,'' he translated for her.
''Gosh, they actually assigned one that understands plain English,'' Kris marveled in pure sarcasm.
''Listen, my report only has to say you went out, you came back, I was with you. That's a Navy uniform you're wearing. You give orders and expect obedience. How much trouble do you want to make between me and the guy issuing my orders?''
Tommy snorted at that. ''Nice try, Jack, but you haven't been around Longknifes long, have you? They don't care a whit for the problems they cause us lesser humans.''
Kris shot Tommy a scowl. Then again, she guessed she did deserve it. With a sigh, she gave in. ''I'll see what I can do to help you and your boss stay happy. What would you call it, Tommy, penance for how I treated Colonel Hancock?''
''More like how you treated me. And I'll believe it when I see it,'' he said, settling deep into his seat and folding his arms across his chest.
Ten minutes later, Kris muttered, ''I may need a little help breaking out of this place,'' to herself as the car drove into Nuu House. Marines stood at the gate, checking IDs; others walked the perimeter wall. They had to. There were five news trucks parked across the street. All sported satellite transmitters up and sending any and all feed from around the house. Kris spotted at least six news types following the progress of the car.
''They also have airborne cameras,'' Jack said before, Kris asked. ''But if you really want out of here unseen, I might be able to lend you a hand. You scratch my back, etcetera.''
''I think I'll take you up on the etcetera. You got any running clothes?''
''I do, if you're willing to wear the Wardhaven U sweatshirt I give you,'' Jack said with a conspiratorial smile at Harvey.
''Uncle Harvey, have you been telling stories on me?''
''If it will get you a sweatshirt that will stop a three-millimeter dart at twenty paces, you're damn right I'll tell stories.''
''You wouldn't happen to have an extra one of those?'' Tommy gulped.
''From good old Santa Maria U.'' Jack smiled.
An hour later, Kris was wearing gym shorts and a sweatshirt with a bulletproof lining. She, Tommy, and Jack were jogging their second lap of the ivy-covered wall, approaching Kris's special section when Jack muttered, ''Okay, guys, close them down,'' and led Kris through her very own private escape hole.
''How long have you guys known?'' she demanded a minute later as they walked nonchalantly away from the stone perimeter wall.
''Probably before your great-grandmother paid to have it installed when she was a girl.''
''The Nuus weren't political then,'' Kris shot back.
''They had money, and there's no such thing as money not being in politics,'' Jack reminded her, sounding very much like her Political Science 101 professor. Kris knew a losing argument when she stepped in one.
''Nelly, hail a cab.''
Two minutes later, they were headed for the Scriptorum, the one place Kris had been able to tell Tru to meet them without actually saying the name. Tru seemed just as reluctant to trust the public net as Kris. Jack headed them for a dimly lit corner, usually reserved for the young and restless and in love types; it was early in the day and unoccupied. Kris and Jack got their backs to a wall. Tommy scowled and settled into the chair between Kris and the front door; ''Don't like it?'' she asked.
''Don't like having my back to whoever might be shooting at you,'' Tommy said with a glance over his shoulder.
''Don't fidget, and don't look around,'' Jack told Tom sharply. ''Don't worry, I'll keep a lookout. Our biggest worry is a newsie shooting her with a camera. Heaven knows why.
''Heaven knows why they're not using a gun?'' Kris asked.
''I doubt you have to worry about a shooter today. The prime minister's politics are not that divisive.'' Jack told her, apparently unaware that Kris had not been joking about three attempts on her life. Well, the prime minister had overseen Jack's briefing. Kris started to bring Jack up to date, but he was still talking background and he was interesting to listen to.
''Right now, folks aren't sure what's going to happen. Some big people with lots of money in the betting pool don't take well to that. They want to know which way to jump well before the time comes. But you learned that at your father's knee.''
''And some of them like to get a thumb on the scales that decide which way we all will jump,'' Kris finished the statement.
''You're the expert on these things.'' The agent shrugged.
Kris ordered soft drinks all around when the waiter came. It was the same one who'd served them before, but with them in the student spring uniform of the day, he paid them no mind. Tru arrived when the drinks did and slipped into the vacant chair, backing it up against the wall so Jack's view was unhindered. In slacks and a sweatshirt that bore a university logo that was twenty years out of date, she looked the perfect old professor.
''Good to see you,'' she said. ''You having an interesting break?''
''Travel is a very broadening experience,'' Kris offered. ''Good to be back where the sun shines.''
''Right, I've been rather busy with local matters to keep my thumb on what you've been up to. Just why do we need to meet?''
Kris wanted to scream at Tru that Olympia and Willie's death and all the civilians she'd killed were worth people's time. Still, the fair part of her had to admit her personal struggle on that sodden planet hardly held a candle to all humanity choosing up sides and deciding whether to go their separate ways in peace or settle it with a long, bloody war. Kris pulled two vaccine bottles from her belly pouch and handed them across the table. Tru took them, held them up to the light, and frowned.
''What is it?'' Kris asked Tru.
''Obviously not what the label claims.''
''No. Fifty thousand liquid metal convertible boats have come off the assembly line. The six that ended up in my little sideshow are the only ones to date that developed a peculiar tendency to turn into liquid mercury the third time you change them. Those are small samples of what was a thousand-pound boat one moment, a bunch of metal droplets in puddles the next.''
''Kind of leaves you up the river without a paddle or a boat,'' Tru said, unashamed at not passing up the opening.
''In the worst way at the worst time,'' Kris agreed dryly.
''Assassination attempt number two,'' Tru said, and Jack's head jerked around to look at Kris. Yep, dear Father had only told him what met the prime minister's elevated burden of proof.
''Nope, probably number three. A rocket took apart my desk the day before. I wasn't there, being at a long lunch with a friend of yours, Hank Smythe-Peterwald. Thirteenth of that name. He saved my life, Tru.''
Tru raised a doubting eyebrow at that. ''Any idea what earned you a rocket?''
''I took down some local warlords the day before.''
''So the rocket was probably a local response to a local stimuli.'' Kris nodded. ''And what was Hank doing on Olympia?''
''Delivering aid. Food supplies we needed. Thirty trucks we were desperate for.''
''Any boats in the delivery?'' Tru asked, rolling the vials between her hands.
''Six of them. Three went poof. Three will spend their lives permanently as bridges.''
Tru pocketed the bottles. ''Most labs probably couldn't tell you anything from these. I know a few that might. Would be nice to get a look at one that still thinks it's a bridge.''
''Nelly,'' Kris said out loud, ''buy a dozen liquid boats from different retail sources on Wardhaven. Ship them to Olympia. Ask Colonel Hancock to accept them as a trade for the three defective bridges. We want them for further analysis.'' Kris paused for a moment. ''Want to bet the three somehow get activated for the third time before we can get them to a lab?''