breasts, allowing nipples to raise their distracting heads.
Grant swore softly to himself and praised the common sense that came with age and lower hormone levels.
“I believe he also mentioned something about helping you develop enough common sense so that you’d survive a bit longer than your brother.”
That got a raised eyebrow from the young woman. Was she wondering if Pater had passed along coverage of that meeting… or if Dad’s security wasn’t as tight as he boasted.
But she said nothing… and Grant left her unenlightened.
Grant let his student fully measure that thought through a long pause. “It was foolish to confront the Longknife brat.”
“And why should it be?” came back without a second for reflection. “She murdered my brother. I can’t let her live. She knows that as well as I do.”
Grant sighed… soundlessly. Thirteen generations and the Peterwalds had come to this. He’d met the thirteenth of that name twice and been unimpressed. His sister was not coming across any better. He warily drew in a deep breath and began— again— the education of this gorgeous pig seated beside him.
“Your brother is dead. There is no doubt about that. However, just how he ended up dead is subject to some conjecture. What there is no doubt about is that he crossed swords with Miss Longknife— frequently. A neutral observer might consider that a bad habit you might want to break.”
“She killed my brother. She will pay,” Victoria hissed.
So much for lesson one. With little expectation of greater success, Grant went on to lesson two. “No more men will be spending an hour alone with you in your bedroom.”
“Oh, and Vennie was so pleasant a companion,” the young woman said, licking her lips. “I haven’t seen him around recently. Where is the boy?”
On a slow starship back to Greenfeld where he would explain himself personally to Henry Smythe-Peterwald, XII. Grant hoped Harry would be very interested in what he did with his daughter for an hour… and why he put at risk a project that had been fifteen years in development. Grant would not want to be in Vitali Gruschka’s fashionable shoes for that meeting.
“He has been called to a meeting with your father,” was all Grant said.
The young woman smiled as if she knew something Grant did not. Or maybe did not care about a man who’d worked hard and well for Grant for ten years.
“You do not kill a Peterwald and live,” was all she said.
“Then kill her someplace else. We have business here on Eden. Profitable business. And I do not care for you washing your dirty linens in my backyard. Your father sent you here to learn about making a profit. You can kill this Longknife troublemaker anywhere else you want. Just not here.”
The young woman seemed to mull that over for a while, then smiled. “Yes, Uncle Grant. I most certainly can.”
Von Schrader wasn’t totally sure what that meant, but he’d done about as much as he could for one evening. He’d learned long ago that Peterwald heads were very dense.
One of the reasons he was here on Eden, about as far as he could comfortably get from Henry.
But if the first package Henry Peterwald dropped on Grant was a pain, the second package was a delight.
Later that evening, when Miss Vicky was hopefully well and solidly put to bed, a door opened in Grant’s study that most visitors thought was just his “I-love-me wall,” full of pictures of Grant with movers and shakers.
To Grant, it was his target wall.
And an experienced target was the ramrod-straight warrior who came from the secret passage that led to the wall.
“Eginhard Petrovich Müller,” Grant said, hugging the man. “I thought you’d be dead by now.”
“Who in the old team would have believed that Lucky Grant would live to grow a paunch,” the younger man said, patting Grant’s flat belly.
“When they told me you would be leading the team, I had it run through the decoding gear twice. But no. It was you.
Grant swore softly to himself and praised the common sense that came with age and lower hormone levels.
“I believe he also mentioned something about helping you develop enough common sense so that you’d survive a bit longer than your brother.”
That got a raised eyebrow from the young woman. Was she wondering if Pater had passed along coverage of that meeting… or if Dad’s security wasn’t as tight as he boasted.
But she said nothing… and Grant left her unenlightened.
Grant let his student fully measure that thought through a long pause. “It was foolish to confront the Longknife brat.”
“And why should it be?” came back without a second for reflection. “She murdered my brother. I can’t let her live. She knows that as well as I do.”
Grant sighed… soundlessly. Thirteen generations and the Peterwalds had come to this. He’d met the thirteenth of that name twice and been unimpressed. His sister was not coming across any better. He warily drew in a deep breath and began— again— the education of this gorgeous pig seated beside him.
“Your brother is dead. There is no doubt about that. However, just how he ended up dead is subject to some conjecture. What there is no doubt about is that he crossed swords with Miss Longknife— frequently. A neutral observer might consider that a bad habit you might want to break.”
“She killed my brother. She will pay,” Victoria hissed.
So much for lesson one. With little expectation of greater success, Grant went on to lesson two. “No more men will be spending an hour alone with you in your bedroom.”
“Oh, and Vennie was so pleasant a companion,” the young woman said, licking her lips. “I haven’t seen him around recently. Where is the boy?”
On a slow starship back to Greenfeld where he would explain himself personally to Henry Smythe-Peterwald, XII. Grant hoped Harry would be very interested in what he did with his daughter for an hour… and why he put at risk a project that had been fifteen years in development. Grant would not want to be in Vitali Gruschka’s fashionable shoes for that meeting.
“He has been called to a meeting with your father,” was all Grant said.
The young woman smiled as if she knew something Grant did not. Or maybe did not care about a man who’d worked hard and well for Grant for ten years.
“You do not kill a Peterwald and live,” was all she said.
“Then kill her someplace else. We have business here on Eden. Profitable business. And I do not care for you washing your dirty linens in my backyard. Your father sent you here to learn about making a profit. You can kill this Longknife troublemaker anywhere else you want. Just not here.”
The young woman seemed to mull that over for a while, then smiled. “Yes, Uncle Grant. I most certainly can.”
Von Schrader wasn’t totally sure what that meant, but he’d done about as much as he could for one evening. He’d learned long ago that Peterwald heads were very dense.
One of the reasons he was here on Eden, about as far as he could comfortably get from Henry.
But if the first package Henry Peterwald dropped on Grant was a pain, the second package was a delight.
Later that evening, when Miss Vicky was hopefully well and solidly put to bed, a door opened in Grant’s study that most visitors thought was just his “I-love-me wall,” full of pictures of Grant with movers and shakers.
To Grant, it was his target wall.
And an experienced target was the ramrod-straight warrior who came from the secret passage that led to the wall.
“Eginhard Petrovich Müller,” Grant said, hugging the man. “I thought you’d be dead by now.”
“Who in the old team would have believed that Lucky Grant would live to grow a paunch,” the younger man said, patting Grant’s flat belly.
“When they told me you would be leading the team, I had it run through the decoding gear twice. But no. It was you.
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