Torch of Freedom

length, with Winton-Serisburg and Freeman, the day before they left. They'd promised they'd do what they could when they got back to the Star Kingdom to see if some treecat-partnered Manticorans with the needed security experience and training could be freed up to serve for a time on Torch.

'But don't get your hopes too high,' Freeman had said. 'There just aren't that many of us anywhere, much less with the skills you need . . . and, to be honest, we have to use the ones we've got to keep an eye out for whatever the hell they're using for these assassinations closer to home.' He'd looked almost apologetically at Winton-Serisburg. 'Her Majesty, Baron Grantville, Earl White Haven, Baroness Mourncreek  . . . there are still a lot of people someone with this kind of capability'—like most of the Queen's Own who'd been to Torch, he didn't seem quite as sold as the Star Kingdom's official intelligence analysts on the notion that the someone in question spoke with a Havenite accent—'would like to see dead. And keeping them alive is going to use up a a huge chunk of our available supply of 'cats.'

'Barry's right about that, and the pairings we do have are most likely to be found on Sphinx, probably working for the Forest Service,' Michael had added. 'But I'll raise it with my sister, Hugh, and we'll do what we can.'

* * *

'Oh, good lord,' said Berry, staring with dismay at her security guards. What would be upsetting her the most, Hugh knew, was not so much their presence as the fact that each and every one of them was armed with a pulse rifle—which they carried ready to fire. Lara's Own was making it as crystal clear as possible that they were prepared to shoot anyone instantly, on the slightest suspicion.

True, the crowd itself didn't seem to mind. In fact, an even bigger roar of approval went up the moment the security guards closed in around the queen. But from the expression on Berry's face and the added pallor of her complexion, she was aghast.

'Hugh . . .'

He set his jaws. 'Your Majesty, this is how it is. This is how it'll stay, at least until Manpower goes down for the count. If you can't stand it, then you'll need to get a new security chief.'

He wouldn't have been surprised if she fired him on the spot. He'd long since come to realize that while Berry always tried to accommodate people, she was very far removed from being meek or easily intimidated. But, instead, after a few seconds a little smile came to her face.

'Is this as hard for you as it is for me?' she asked quietly. 'The truth is, I really would like to fire you—but for a way better reason than this.' A little accompanying gesture indicated not only the guards around them but also, in some indefinable manner, the whole panoply of security measures Hugh had erected. 'Way, way better.'

He managed to keep his expression stern and alert. 'Yes. It is. But there's nothing we can do about it now, so . . .'

He decided that insisting on keeping both his hands free, given that he was the only guard around who wasn't openly carrying a weapon, was just plain silly.

So, he extended his elbow. 'May I offer you an arm, Your Majesty.'

'Why, yes. Thank you.'

'And now, your ice cream awaits.'

* * *

From the look on her face when they arrived at J. Quesenberry's Ice Cream and Pastries, Berry found those arrangements even more appalling than the ferocious security contingent that surrounded her. The whole place was vacant, except for the employees.

'Hugh . . .'

'Your Majesty, this is how—'

'Oh, shut up,' she said crossly.

'I will point out'—he swept his hand around—'that the management is hardly complaining.'

That was . . . true enough, obviously. Since the whole city block had been closed off anyway, by other security guards, Quesenberry's staff had placed tables up and down the street. In the middle of the street as well as both sidewalks—anywhere they could find enough room to squeeze in another small round table and some chairs. They must have rented most of them. Apparently, they were expecting ten times as many customers as they'd gotten in the past, even on those days when Berry had shown up at the ice cream parlor.

'Well . . .' She heaved a sigh. 'Okay, then. I guess.'

She took his arm and more or less marched him inside. 'But since you insist on getting rid of any other company, Mr. Arai, you'll have to provide me with all the scintillating conversation I need. And I warn you! If I catch your eyes roving about looking for Manpower agents hidden in the pastry bins, there'll be hell to pay.'

* * *

Berry only had to scold him twice. With the interior of the parlor completely deserted except for the two of them and one employee, and with Lara's Own standing guard at the entrance, Hugh found he could relax a bit.

Of the two times she caught him lapsing, one of them did indeed happen to be an excessive scrutiny of one of the pastry bins.

(You never knew. A small bomb might be buried under those fruit rolls.)

The other, and longer, lapse came when his suspicions fell on the one employee present. There were no good reasons for that suspicion, true. Not only was the employee slaving away at some new concoction Berry had decided to try; not only was she beaming her obvious approval of the queen's new security arrangements; not only was she probably the smallest and least threatening person in the employ of J. Quesenberry's Ice Cream and Pastries—the young woman stood less than one hundred and fifty centimeters and couldn't have weighed more than forty kilos—but she had one of Lara's Own watching her at all times, gun pointed almost right at her.

(You never knew. She might be one of the ninjas of legend and fable, even if she did seem to be basking in the unusual attention.)

Whether his conversation was scintillating or not, he did not know and never would. Mostly, he listened to Berry. He could do that for hours. She was one of those rare people who, in some uncanny way, made the phrase 'idle conversation' something that denoted real pleasure rather than tedium. Maybe it was the way she was so obviously paying attention to the person she was talking to, even when she was doing most of the talking.

When they were readying to leave, she said: 'This wasn't so bad, to my surprise. But I have to say I liked our first date better.'

'This was not a date,' Hugh said firmly. Sternly. With granite resolve. 'For you, it was an outing. For me, a security assignment.'

Berry smiled. There was something about that smile that Hugh decided he didn't dare think about it too much.

'How could I have missed that?' she murmured.

Damn the girl. Better still, damn Jeremy.

* * *

Before they made their exit, Hugh gave the detachment from Lara's Own a five minute warning to get the street cleared. Then he had to extend it to ten minutes, and then to fifteen. The crowd that filled every seat at every table out there—just as Quesenberry's owners had figured they would—was friendly and co-operative. But they saw no good reason not to finish their dishes in a leisurely manner, and even in the best of circumstances it takes time to get that many people to move. What could he do? Order Lara's Own to open fire? Berry damn well would have him skinned alive.

When they were finally able to leave, he extended his arm once again.

'If I may, Your Majesty.'

Berry nodded, placed her hand in the crook of his elbow, and they went out onto the street beyond.

On the way back to the palace, a few minutes later, Berry got that peculiar little smile back on her face. 'Did I mention that I have the ability—not always, sure, but more often than sheer chance can allow—to foretell the future?'

'Ah . . . no, Your Majesty. You didn't.'