if you plan to come the enraged Princess . . . in something more than a fur bikini . . . you will need me. I will take care of your needs, and, trust me, I can take care of myself.”
“How good are you at dodging short-range rockets?” Jack drawled. Abby frowned at that.
“I didn’t know you’d learned of that attack,” Kris said, heading for her dressing room, Abby right behind her.
“I may be slow, but I’m not inept. Harvey,” Jack called after the retreating chauffeur, “bring up both of my bags.”
“Bags?” Kris echoed.
“Yep. I knew sooner or later you’d rush off planet for something, and I’d get dragged along. I packed one bag for a cold planet, one for a hot. Which is Turantic?”
“Who said you’re going? This is just me taking a vacation.”
“Yeah, right,” Jack said, turning away and starting to talk to either himself or his communications center. At the moment, Kris would not have bet an Earth dollar which.
“It would be easier to maneuver through stations and customs,” Abby offered, “if all our luggage, his two bags and mine, were in trunks bearing your diplomatic immunity.”
“Didn’t know I had any, but that sounds reasonable. Nelly, tell Harvey we’ll need two more trunks,” Kris said, feeling very much in command of a very muddy situation.
Abby busied herself around the dressing room until Harvey returned, leading a parade of self-propelled steamer trunks, each big enough to carry Kris comfortably. Abby crammed them full of every kind of dress, gown, suit, and accessory Kris’d ever heard of or even heard intimated. Kris had never worn foundation garments, but Abby packed several. She held up two Kris took for girdles. “These are fully armored with the latest Super Spider Silk. You can bow, bend, stoop, even breathe in them . . . and they’ll stop a four-millimeter slug.”
“Get them at an estate sale from your last employer?” Kris asked, then realized the question could be taken wrong.
“No.” Abby seemed unfazed. “She was six sizes up from you.”
“Oh, you could protect us both in one.”
“Sorry, Princess, but I won’t be that close when someone starts shooting. That’s what that good-looking guy is for.”
Kris took the conversation away from that good-looking guy. “Pack the Order of the Wounded Lion. It’ll impress the locals.”
“Don’t count on the hicks recognizing it, but it’s big and shiny and ought to dazzle a few,” Abby said, folding it into a trunk bin. Kris checked Grampa Al’s package. It did hold ten kilos of virgin Uni-plex. Kris hefted it. What could I use this for? She had no idea, but the fact that she asked the question seemed a solid argument for taking it. Abby said nothing when Kris handed it to her, just tied it to the bottom of one trunk.
An hour later they were packed; Abby had even produced one fur bikini, without explanation. Harvey handed over the wands controlling the trunks. “I’ll get a car.”
Jack reappeared to escort them downstairs. Normally light on his feet, he seemed a bit heavy. He’d probably visited the house armory and was packing enough to demolish a small army. “Abby, how did you get your little friend through security?” he asked. “We thought we had Nuu House as tight as a brick.”
“Santa Maria has a flourishing business in ceramic air rifles, guns, and similar protective devices,” Abby said without looking back. “Most shoot a metal dart. However, for a bit more, you can buy very effective ceramic ammunition.”
“Thought so. Kris, you might want to put this in your pocket.” Jack handed her a small automatic, either the same or a twin of the one Abby had produced. Kris held it up to examine.
“That’s the safety,” Abby pointed out. “Well protected so you won’t accidentally knock it off. I have a spare holster.”
“Where were you carrying yours?” Jack asked.
“No man’s business,” Abby shot back and produced a new copy of the weapon Jack had
“How good are you at dodging short-range rockets?” Jack drawled. Abby frowned at that.
“I didn’t know you’d learned of that attack,” Kris said, heading for her dressing room, Abby right behind her.
“I may be slow, but I’m not inept. Harvey,” Jack called after the retreating chauffeur, “bring up both of my bags.”
“Bags?” Kris echoed.
“Yep. I knew sooner or later you’d rush off planet for something, and I’d get dragged along. I packed one bag for a cold planet, one for a hot. Which is Turantic?”
“Who said you’re going? This is just me taking a vacation.”
“Yeah, right,” Jack said, turning away and starting to talk to either himself or his communications center. At the moment, Kris would not have bet an Earth dollar which.
“It would be easier to maneuver through stations and customs,” Abby offered, “if all our luggage, his two bags and mine, were in trunks bearing your diplomatic immunity.”
“Didn’t know I had any, but that sounds reasonable. Nelly, tell Harvey we’ll need two more trunks,” Kris said, feeling very much in command of a very muddy situation.
Abby busied herself around the dressing room until Harvey returned, leading a parade of self-propelled steamer trunks, each big enough to carry Kris comfortably. Abby crammed them full of every kind of dress, gown, suit, and accessory Kris’d ever heard of or even heard intimated. Kris had never worn foundation garments, but Abby packed several. She held up two Kris took for girdles. “These are fully armored with the latest Super Spider Silk. You can bow, bend, stoop, even breathe in them . . . and they’ll stop a four-millimeter slug.”
“Get them at an estate sale from your last employer?” Kris asked, then realized the question could be taken wrong.
“No.” Abby seemed unfazed. “She was six sizes up from you.”
“Oh, you could protect us both in one.”
“Sorry, Princess, but I won’t be that close when someone starts shooting. That’s what that good-looking guy is for.”
Kris took the conversation away from that good-looking guy. “Pack the Order of the Wounded Lion. It’ll impress the locals.”
“Don’t count on the hicks recognizing it, but it’s big and shiny and ought to dazzle a few,” Abby said, folding it into a trunk bin. Kris checked Grampa Al’s package. It did hold ten kilos of virgin Uni-plex. Kris hefted it. What could I use this for? She had no idea, but the fact that she asked the question seemed a solid argument for taking it. Abby said nothing when Kris handed it to her, just tied it to the bottom of one trunk.
An hour later they were packed; Abby had even produced one fur bikini, without explanation. Harvey handed over the wands controlling the trunks. “I’ll get a car.”
Jack reappeared to escort them downstairs. Normally light on his feet, he seemed a bit heavy. He’d probably visited the house armory and was packing enough to demolish a small army. “Abby, how did you get your little friend through security?” he asked. “We thought we had Nuu House as tight as a brick.”
“Santa Maria has a flourishing business in ceramic air rifles, guns, and similar protective devices,” Abby said without looking back. “Most shoot a metal dart. However, for a bit more, you can buy very effective ceramic ammunition.”
“Thought so. Kris, you might want to put this in your pocket.” Jack handed her a small automatic, either the same or a twin of the one Abby had produced. Kris held it up to examine.
“That’s the safety,” Abby pointed out. “Well protected so you won’t accidentally knock it off. I have a spare holster.”
“Where were you carrying yours?” Jack asked.
“No man’s business,” Abby shot back and produced a new copy of the weapon Jack had
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