Victory Conditions

by Elizabeth Moon

  More braid, that must mean. Something that looked admiralish. She had nothing like that; she had a Vatta captain’s uniform with some additional patches sewn on. “Of course,” she said.

  “If it’s not too flamboyant,” Gorikan went on, as if doubtful of her fashion sense. Ky felt a momentary urge to do a Teddy Ransome on him, ruffles, silk cape, and all, but she knew better.

  “I’ll let you know our ETA when we have it firmed up,” she said. He nodded, tight-lipped, and closed the connection.

  “‘Not too flamboyant’?” Hugh said, eyebrow raised. “What kind of idiot wears a shiny green ribbon across his chest and accuses someone else of intent to be flamboyant?”

  “I don’t have a dress uniform,” Ky said. “And I don’t think I’d better borrow one from Ransome.”

  “If I may make a suggestion,” Douglas said. Ky nodded, and he went on. “Military outfitters are good at putting things together fast, for just such emergencies. Your cousin is there; she could arrange it.”

  “Stella would love to get me properly dressed,” Ky said with a touch of bitterness, and then realized how silly that was. It had been her mother and her aunt, not Stella herself, who had extolled Stella’s fashion sense and urged Ky to copy her. “But you’re right,” she said. “I’ll call her.”

  Stella readily agreed to find an outfitter and take care of ordering a dress uniform; she was more interested in explaining to Ky the unexpected complications arising from the resistance to Vatta influence from the Nexus government and ISC.

  “It’s not Rafe himself,” she said. “He says he thinks it started with Parmina—”

  “I still have trouble believing Parmina was the villain,” Ky said. “I met him; he was nice.”

  “I met him, too,” Stella said. “But clearly he was bent, and for whatever reason he poisoned a lot of minds about Vattas, in different levels of ISC and, through Rafe’s father, in the Nexus government. Everything we’ve done to recover our position, they see as sinister plotting.”

  “I can’t change now,” Ky said.

  “Nor I,” Stella said. “Just letting you know—this conference isn’t likely to be smooth sailing. A sharp new uniform is a very good idea.”

  When Vanguard docked at Cascadia Station, the first delivery was not the manual on manners that had marked their first visit, but Ky’s new uniforms, complete with a team of three from the outfitter’s to check and adjust the fit if needed. Not just one uniform—a set of them, for shipboard and stationside use, a range from everyday working to full formal. Stella had even researched insignia from all four sources—three governments and Mackensee—and from that the outfitter had designed and cast rank insignia for the entire officer corps of the Space Defense Force, as well as buttons with the SDF logo.

  Maybe she should have paid more attention to Stella’s fashion sense, Ky thought as she fastened the last button and glanced at the mirror the outfitter’s staff had set up in her office. It fit, and more than that, it was comfortable. Nothing pinched; nothing felt awkward. And yet, in the mirror, it looked—it made her look—totally professional and competent. Older, more formidable.

  “This is the semi-formal,” the outfitter’s senior representative said. “Full formal, evening formal, has a white tunic. But we consider this one ideal for the kind of conference you’re attending today.” She pulled open a carrier bag. “And here—I believe these boots should fit you.”

  Ky had completely forgotten about shoes or boots—hers were, when she looked at them, decidedly worn, though clean and polished as always. The new ones, styled with a subtle difference, slipped onto her feet as easily as the uniform had slipped onto her body, and felt as comfortable. And looked as good.

  “Your cousin didn’t know your preference in head coverings, if any; we prepared a variety.” The other outfitter’s rep opened another carrier bag. “The Moscoe Confederation uses a soft cap, like this. Slotter Key, we understand, uses a cap with a hard, polished bill. Mackensee tells us they use both that kind of cap and one that folds flat, like a child’s paper party hat.”

  Ky had no opinion at all except that head coverings you had to yank off to stick your head in a pressure helmet were silly. “What do you think looks best with this uniform?” she asked. It would be her policy, she decided in that instant, that crews on ships would go bareheaded except for protective gear.

  “The soft cap, don’t you think?” asked the older one.

  “Oh, yes,” the young one said. “The soft cap with this uniform.”

  “Fine, then,” Ky said, putting it on her head. “And thank you.” And she would have to thank Stella. In person.

  Major Douglas and Master Sergeant Pitt waited near the hatch, in their own impeccable Mackensee semi-dress uniforms. None of the other Slotter Key captains had been invited, but Captain Pettygrew, as a representative of Bissonet’s military, was on the list. Captain Ransome had declined to attend; he’d told Ky he wasn’t representing his government and didn’t think a long boring conference would suit him. She hoped he wouldn’t get in trouble with local customs.

  At dockside, they met a Station Security escort and, after an exchange of identification, headed to a part of Cascadia Station she had never seen.

  Instead of the annoying little map tagger she’d used last time, she found herself in a closed vehicle that slid up one wall of the passage, locked into a track on the overhead, and slid smoothly past a few pedestrians before rotating on its axis, passing through a double air lock, and then—still on a track of some kind—rising on an arc to aim for the far end of the tree-shaped station.

  “I didn’t see this last time,” Ky said.

  “Reserved for official business,” one of the escort said. “We didn’t want any delays getting from the root to the tip.” He handed her a data cube and indicated the cube reader in the seat armrest. “A briefing, mostly names and faces.” Ky settled in to watch, shunting data to her implant faster than she could really absorb it herself.

  The tip, when they arrived, was a series of meeting rooms and offices, all with spectacular views of space. In the room set up for the first of the day’s meetings, Ky found the usual long table flanked by heavy chairs—and to one side a large viewscreen, with the blinking lights of ready-ansible signals. Waiting for her was a group of men and women in Cascadian business dress, including—to her complete surprise—Stella.

  “Captain—or should I say Admiral?—Vatta,” said a tall man, stepping forward with outstretched hand.

  “Council Chair Petros Moscoe-Silva,” murmured one of her escort. She knew already, her implant cueing her with the few facts she had about him.

  “Captain will do,” Ky said, shaking hands. “Chairman Moscoe-Silva—”

  “Silva, please. Or just Chairman. It’s true I’m descended from the colony founder, but the tree needs all its leaves. We welcome you, Captain, despite the grave news you bring, news which—I must say—we find more truth in every day. Let’s sit down, shall we?”

  He ushered her to a chair at one end of the long table, and took the other end himself. Along the sides, others sat. On the table in front of her, Ky saw an agenda; beside it was a neat stack of data cubes.

  When all were seated, Silva nodded. “Let’s be at it. I will outline what I know—some of which, since she has been traveling in FTL, Captain Vatta may not yet have learned.” His summary began with the familiar: the increasing interruptions in ansible communications several years before and increased piracy that damaged trade and travel. “The attacks on the Vatta family and their home world—and on some other home worlds we have learned about only recently—signaled a more dangerous turn of events. What we did not know at the time was that the same conspiracy putting ansibles out of service and attacking planets had connections inside InterStellar Communications. A mole high up in that company…we still don’t know how or why that connection was made, but we do know it existed.”

  Someone stirred along the inboard side of the table. Silva paused and g
lanced at the woman, who wore a sash of office over her suit. Subregent of Enforcement Katerina Fois, Ky’s implant informed her. “With permission, Chairman, may I ask if the recent arrests here of a prominent trader had anything to do with the conspiracy at ISC?”

  “That will be part of the briefing, Katerina. If I may—”

  “My pardon, Chairman; no disrespect or insult intended.”

  “And none assumed. I am aware of your special interest.”

  That sounded…ominous. Ky smiled when Silva looked at her again. “Excuse, please,” he said. “It is only the pressure of the moment.”

  “Of course,” Ky said.

  “Well, then. Recently—it was after you had left the Mackensee home world—a threat was broadcast by ansible from someone calling himself Gammis Turek. You would not have heard—”

  “Excuse me,” Ky said. “We did pick up such a broadcast from a jump-point ansible on the way.”

  “Ah. Then you’re aware of the nature of the threat. We have had queries from other governments, including that of Nexus. You should know that the Moscoe Confederation and Nexus System government have been allies a long time, cooperating on regional defense, regional control of piracy, and sharing many of the same standards in commercial dealings. We have long had good relations with ISC as well. Vatta Transport—” He now glanced at Stella, who nodded. “—has had a trading route here for a long time as well. We knew we were only on the fringes of your company’s routes, but we had no reason to surmise that you were other than honorable.”

  Ky felt her stomach clench. That did not sound good, and from the expression on Stella’s face, quickly masked to a neutral mild curiosity, Stella felt the same.

  “Stella Vatta’s business dealings here have all been lawful and correct; we have no complaints. Her new venture, into the manufacture of small ship-mounted ansibles, has already shown enormous potential for profit and has been formally validated by ISC.”

  Another pause; Silva looked like someone trying to find a polite way to say that there was a rotten egg on the platter. “The problem is,” he said finally, “that although the CEO of ISC has nothing against you—or Stella Vatta—or the Vatta family—others do. He feels—Ser Dunbarger, whom I believe you know—” Another pause; Ky nodded, and Silva went on. “He has found resistance,” Silva said finally. “His father, who was CEO before him, and who recently suffered a grave injury, is convinced that the Vatta family is to blame for the mole in ISC. He is totally opposed to any dealings with Vattas, and the current CEO feels that he has pushed his Board as far as he can. The government of Nexus, as well, is concerned at the predominance of Vatta influence here, as they see it.” He glanced down the table at a man who also wore a sash of office. Abram Veniers, Ky’s implant told her, a high-ranking officer in the Diplomatic Corps.

  “We don’t want a break with Nexus,” Veniers said. “We don’t want to offend their government. Their government has begun distancing itself from the views of the current ISC head. His father had friends, you see, old friends. His father, though apparently still impaired by the injuries he received, still communicates with them. His father thinks the boy—he calls his son the boy—is besotted with you.”

  “What!” That got out before Ky could stop it. “I’m sorry,” she said at once. “I did not mean to interrupt.”

  “No offense taken,” Veniers said. “The father thinks the young man’s judgment is clouded by an infatuation, and this has blinded him to the evils committed by your family. We—our government, that is—do not see it the same way, and yet we would not force a breach. The current CEO himself denies the charge publicly, claims to have respect for you but nothing more. But before we go further in any kind of…understanding…with you, we do feel it important to clarify the relationship you have with Rafael Dunbarger.”

  Ky managed to hold her temper in check, partly because it was so ridiculous. They were threatened with annihilation or invasion; they needed to be focused on that very real threat and ways to prevent it. Yet they were fixated on the notion that young people must always be in a ferment of lust or something? But she couldn’t put it that way. “You all know that Rafe was on a ship with me for some time, from Lastway to here. So yes, I know him. But the fact that we were on the same ship does not mean we had a relationship.” Just a shared cranial ansible, but that was still a secret.

  “So you have no emotional attachment?”

  “If you mean, am I in a romantic entanglement with him, the answer is no,” Ky said. “As Ser Dunbarger told you. As he told a Mackensee officer in my presence.” She felt her face warming at that memory. “We were in a crisis situation together, more than once. That creates a very different kind of…” She stumbled over the word. “Relationship.”

  “Ah.” A glance passed from person to person, notably skipping past Stella, who stared at the table. “But it is not uncommon…I do not mean to be discourteous, sera—Captain—but in this case your private feelings, should you have any, have political implications.”

  “I don’t have any,” Ky said quickly. Firmly. Ignoring the treacherous little voice inside that told her she certainly did, that she had spent more time imagining what it would be like to see Rafe again than someone with no feelings would.

  “If I might,” Major Douglas said.

  “You are the Mackensee liaison, are you not? Go ahead, please.”

  “Brilliant young officers, such as Captain Vatta, are often expected to have corresponding emotional weaknesses. For what it’s worth, our professional assessment—made prior to an attempt to recruit her to MMAC—is that this is not the case with Captain Vatta.”

  “Thank you,” Ky said, with an edge to her voice that she could not suppress.

  “You’re welcome,” he said blandly. “It seemed relevant.”

  “It is,” the Chairman said. “An independent, professional assessment like that is completely relevant.” He sighed. “To be honest, if somewhat less than flattering, I was almost hoping you did have such an infatuation, Captain Vatta. It would then have been easy to insist that however valid your thinking about the military situation, you personally must be distanced from any response we make. We have been close allies to Nexus for…well, almost since the first Moscoe and other shareholders set up a colony that later became this…” He waved to indicate the entire system. “They will be angry with us, I fear.”

  No one spoke for a long moment. The Chairman shook his head sharply. “Facts are facts, whatever we might wish. The material you shared with us, on the weakness of ISC’s fleet, is…shocking. I won’t insult you by asking if you’re sure, and anyway, Mackensee corroborates your account of the battle. I have spoken personally to the current CEO of ISC, Ser Dunbarger, and he tells me that we cannot expect much aid from Nexus, as ISC has always served as their external force, and ISC’s resources are no longer sufficient. That being so, we must consider our own welfare, and choose the stronger ally. We must consider how you and we can work together, seeking for some way that will allow Nexus to accept the situation.”

  “I understand that you have tried to hire some of our resources,” Major Douglas said.

  “Yes, we have, and so has Nexus. Ordinarily, we would coordinate those requests, giving you, the professionals, the choice of assigning assets as a unified command saw fit. Unfortunately, if Nexus remains obdurate about the Vatta connection, we will have no access to whatever force they hire, and I imagine we will retain ours nearby.”

  CHAPTER

  SIX

  Slotter Key

  Grace Vatta, now Rector of Defense for Slotter Key but always a Vatta at heart, looked at the background report on Vatta’s new senior staff. All of the most promising successors to Stavros and Gerard had been killed in the initial attack on Vatta, and two in the next tier had been assassinated while she herself had been busy protecting Helen and the children, setting up the demise of those who had been in on the attack, and managing the day-to-day affairs of Vatta. But she had spotted the few likely
candidates early on. With the change in government, with no new assassination attempts in the past half year, they were now running Vatta’s much-reduced business: the tik orchards and the onplanet transport services—surface, sea, and air—that moved the tik harvest to market.

  For some reason—Grace could not be sure because the ones who knew or might have known were now dead—the attackers had missed Vatta’s newer installations at the air-and spaceports, as well as the two Vatta Transport ships docked at the planet’s commercial orbital station when the attack occurred. One of those had been lost later, on its arrival in another port. Only one Vatta Transport ship remained in contact with Slotter Key, traveling a restricted circuit.

  Now a new problem had arisen. Vatta Transport had one corporate headquarters here, on Slotter Key, where its registered legal presence had been for the past several hundred years. And it had another corporate headquarters on the Moscoe Confederation, on Cascadia Station, where Stella had set up her offices. With the system ansibles out, that had made sense—had been, in fact, the only way to keep going. But now, with ansible service restored—at least temporarily—it meant that two head offices were a confusion instead of a godsend.

  Maxim Vatta-Termanian, running the local office, seemed to be honest, hardworking, and just barely capable of handling his new job. He was Vatta by marriage, had taken the Vatta name only after the disaster in which his wife—an accountant at corporate headquarters—was killed. Maxim, a botanist, had been halfway through a ninety-day internship at a remote research lab on the far side of the planet that day, working on a project to make tik trees more resistant to follicle rust. When first appointed, he’d expressed doubt that he could do the job, citing his lack of training and his love of research. So Grace would have expected Maxim to be happy for a chance to get back to a lab somewhere, and turn over leadership of the company to Stella…but that wasn’t proving the case.