“There is no demand,” the fellow whispered to the table.
“I didn’t quite get that,” Kris said. “Could you repeat it?”
“There is no demand,” came out with a squeak.
“There is no demand,” Louis DuVale shouted at the same time, defiance in every word.
“You mean, you don’t want to meet the demand that exists,” Kris corrected.
“Why should we bother doing what they want us to do?”
“But you want me to somehow make them do what you want them to do. Is that what you want from me?” Kris shot back.
“Why not? You should. They’re crazy with the power they have over us.”
Kris glanced at Bobby. “He really thinks that?”
“I haven’t been able to change his mind. I wouldn’t bet that you can.”
“I wouldn’t take that bet.”
“Smart woman.”
Kris turned to the tableful of movers and shakers, who at the moment were shaking in their shoes. “You have a market, but to spite it, you don’t meet it. There is a simple and easy way for you to resolve the local power issue in your favor, but you won’t make a move to grab it. Are you guys crazy?”
“Do not insult us, young woman,” Louis DuVale snapped.
“I’m not insulting you. I’m asking you a question. Bobby, if you had the money, what would you do?”
“Julie and I would homestead Ft. Louis in two weeks.”
“Nelly, what does it take to establish a bank in this nuthouse?”
“Money, of course, but the actual chartering of a bank is easily enough done. I’ve already drawn up the necessary papers. All I need is names for the president and the six members of the board of directors.”
“Bobby?”
“Mary Hogg has about had it at her old man’s bank. She got her MBA from the University of Geneva in the Helvetican Confederacy.”
“I hear they train the best bankers in human space,” Kris said.
“I’ll drop Mary a message,” Bobby said.
“My daughter would never leave her place in our bank,” one of the younger men at the table said, half standing.
“Don’t wait dinner on her,” Bobby said. “She’ll meet us for coffee, Kris.”
Kris considered her options . . . for about five seconds. She could stay here and listen to Texarkana’s power types cry in their beer, or she could get going on the solution that had been staring them in the face. Talk about not being able to see the future on account of the past!
“Let’s go, Bobby.”
The two of them headed for the door. Jack was caught by surprise but quickly got the Marines following in her tracks.
The doors of an elevator were wide open as a woman exited it; Kris and Bobby had to run to get it. Kris found herself grinning widely at Jack as the doors closed on his scowling face. Finally, she’d put one over on him!
By the time the bell rang on the bottom floor, Kris had the First Bank of Ft. Louis chartered and funded by half a billion Wardhaven dollars. She and Bobby were fast walking for the cars out front when an elevator opened and a squad of Marines hustled out.
Kris glanced over her shoulder, delighted for the first time in months to be a step ahead of Jack.
“Bomb,” Nelly shouted even as BoMB echoed in Kris’s head.
“Where?”
“Above us. Duck, Kris!” Nelly yelled.
Kris did, taking Bobby down beneath her.
The last thing she thought was, I’m not going to let Bobby take my bomb, followed by, Jack’s never going to let me forget this.
The last thing she heard was a roar in her ears before the darkness took her.
30
Captain Jack Montoya was madder than hell. But all he could do was fume as the elevator took forever to drop to the ground floor.
Kris took foolish risks. He knew that when he took the job. But she was being downright childish just now. Not holding the elevator for him and his Marines was stupid, juvenile, and just not professional.
This planet was dangerous. Someone on this ball of mud could be heating up an eighty-year-old vendetta. Even if that old history wasn’t coming back to life, Kris was dropping herself smack-dab into the middle of bad blood between two bunches of nuts who had festered for eighty years. If one of these crazy people thought she was about to side with the other, there was no telling what could blow up.
The elevator car ground to a halt. The doors took their own good time to open. Jack charged out. Looked left, looked right, spotted Kris.
The shout of “Bomb!” came in Nelly’s voice.
“Where?” Kris yelled back.
“Above you,” Jack shouted, spotting two falling objects. “Duck, Kris.”
Kris dove for the deck, but only after taking that kid down with her.
The bombs exploded before hitting the ground. First one, then the other.
Jack flinched as the shock wave hit him. Something else did as well, but he was running, his Marines right behind him, before all the stuff in the air hit the ground.
“Bruce, take the squad and one sniper. Up those escalators.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Medic, second sniper, with me.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
Jack slid to a stop on his knees beside Kris. Most of the Marines pounded past him, but a second later the woman medic was kneeling on the other side of Kris. The sniper took guard, rifle up.
Two things were immediately obvious to Jack. Kris had covered the civilian with her body. Well, she was the Longknife, and he was just the poor damned soul that got too close to her.
And Kris had not put on an armored wig this morning. The spider silk had stopped a lot of sharp crap from slashing into her body. Nothing had protected her skull.
Her head was a bloody mess.
“Sal, call whatever passes for 911 on this godforsaken planet.”
“I have, sir. An ambulance is on its way, ETA ten minutes. A hospital is twelve minutes away. I have alerted the emergency room to prepare for a head-trauma case. In this building, two companies have nurses with emergency equipment. Both are responding. I’ve taken other measures.”
Before Jack could ask what those other measures were, the building’s public announcement system came to life. “A medical doctor is required in the foyer of the DuVale Building. Any medical professional in the area, please respond.”
“I’ve done all I can, sir,” Jack’s new computer said.
“I think we all have. Medic?”
“None of the blood is spurting, sir. I don’t think any of her arteries were hit. I don’t want to move her, sir. If we’ve got more medical responding, I’d rather wait.”
“I hate waiting,” Jack growled.
“So do I, sir.”
Jack stood. “Sergeant Bruce, tell me you’ve got the bastards that did this,” he said.
Sergeant Bruce took the up escalator two or three steps at a time, pushing civilians aside. The noise drew the attention of those higher up. His pistol, held at high port, settled any arguments.
People got out of his way.
On the second floor, he spotted two figures in green coveralls as they ducked left just past the elevator bank. Bruce sprinted after them, the footsteps of Marines coming hard behind him.
“Chesty, give me a layout of this place.”
“Yes, sir,” and a building map sprang to life on his contact lenses. “There’s a wide concourse leading off to the left behind the elevators to a large food court,” his computer added.