Marque and Reprisal

by Elizabeth Moon

  “We need to leave,” he said, “and this ship is leaving. I wouldn’t care if she was going to Slotter Key or Sabine. All right—I’ll book us passage. Stella, if you’ll keep an eye on the external scans . . . and Toby, make a list of anything you need. A little ship like that won’t have much commissary capacity.”

  He opened up his secure line and got to work. Toby, after a look at the back of Rafe’s head, put on the thoughtful look that Stella knew went with accessing an implant database. Stella hoped his apprentice voyage had borne in on him the need for extra underwear, but she wasn’t going to embarrass him by mentioning it.

  “I’ve got the berths, but they’re not taking credit,” Rafe said, after a few minutes. “They’ll accept hard goods, with a current appraisal, and they’re undocking in five hours, sixteen minutes. We have to be aboard in four and a half.”

  “You know an appraiser, of course,” Stella said.

  “Several,” Rafe said. “Let me just check with one of them—” He went back to work.

  Toby glanced at Stella.

  “I have a list—I don’t know if it’s too much.”

  “’Port it over and let’s see . . .” He had remembered underwear, she saw. Three additional shipsuits, another pair of ship boots, underwear, toiletry items.

  “That’s fine,” Stella said. “I think you could use more than that, though. You need your own pressure suit . . . a fleece jacket . . .”

  “We’ve no time for custom-fitting,” Rafe said. “I’ve got our appraisal lined up. A couple of those rocks you had will cover your ticket and Toby’s . . .”

  “And yours?”

  “I pay my own way,” Rafe said. “Partnership.”

  “Fine,” Stella said. She fished out the top pouch and shook out two of the largest. “I’ll get Toby’s kit while you’re doing that. Want me to pack for you?”

  “No. I can do that in fifteen minutes. Will you have to take him out?”

  “No. I was going to work through a chandler’s and order it delivered to the ship. I can draw on the existing Vatta accounts here to cover it. I’d already talked to the bank manager.”

  “Good. I’ll be back shortly. I’ll call before I come in.”

  Left alone, Stella measured Toby, contacted a chandler’s nearest Rose of Bannoth’s dock, and ordered his clothes, pressure suit, and the duffel to carry them charged to the Vatta account number and delivered to the Rose’s dockside. Then she contacted the Rose’s purser to find out if passengers could, or were expected to, contribute to the mess supplies. Optional, she was told, but the Rose carried standard-plus rations, not superior. Stella ordered in four sets of ration upgrades. When Toby’s appetite came back he would probably eat twice as much as she did. In Rafe’s bathroom, she found supplies to dull her hair to a more maternal shade, and tried the cheek pads, which blurred her prominent cheekbones.

  Rafe returned without incident, with jewels and a current appraisal. He packed almost as swiftly as he’d said, then called the police to report his departure “until business improves” and put a large deposit with station management to reserve his space.

  In less than two hours, they were on their way to 3rd Green, where the Rose was docked. Stella felt itchy all over, but nothing happened. No assassins leapt out of doorways, no shots were fired, no one accosted them for being who they were or anyone else. At the docking bay, Toby’s duffel was being inspected by the ship’s sergeant at arms; when they identified themselves by their new ID, he nodded. “Just step over there, please, and see Anson about your ticket; your berths are on hold. If you’ll leave your duffel here, I’ll check it for you.”

  “Restrictions on weapons?” Stella asked.

  “Ship-safe ammunition only,” he said. “No chemstun, no bios. We allow small arms only after inspection.”

  “Here’s mine,” Stella said, pulling out her weapon and handing it over. Rafe said nothing, but handed over three to her one. The sergeant looked at Toby, who shook his head.

  Then they lined up at the ticketing booth, where the agent approved the appraisal, put the diamonds in a lockbox, gave them a receipt, and issued boarding chips and shipboard ID tags with locators on them. “Wear these at all times,” the agent said. “That way we can find you in an emergency, and you’ll be recognized by the ship security systems. You still have a little time before mandatory boarding, if you need to purchase any last-minute items from dockside, or you can go aboard now.”

  “We’ll board,” Stella said.

  “Is all your duffel wanted on the voyage, or do you wish some in deep storage?”

  “All wanted,” Rafe said, before Stella could get it out.

  “Fine. It will be delivered to your cabins before undock. Probably a half hour, not more. If you decide to leave the ship for any reason before undock, you must inform the purser and check with me, here, where you will exchange your shipboard ID tag for a dockside locator/call button.”

  Stella clipped the shipboard ID tag to her lapel.

  The gangway into the Rose had a thin strip of industrial-grade carpet, with a bright yellow reflective strip on either side and the warning STAY ON CARPET. Once inside, the ship’s decor carried out the Roselines theme with soft roses, creams, and touches of red and green. They were met by a steward who checked them off a list, and led them to their cabins down a passage carpeted in rose with a burgundy geometric border. The cabins connected to form a small suite, complete with a small common room. Stella, recently off the courier with its cramped, bare-bones passenger space, was delighted with them.

  “You’re welcome to visit the main passenger lounge and the dining salon,” the steward said. “You’ll find a layout in hardcopy in the desk, or onscreen—just follow the menu directions. Or you can wait here until your duffel arrives. However, when the undock warning sounds, all passengers must return to their cabins, and the sector seals will come down.”

  “Thank you,” Stella said.

  When they were alone, she and Rafe examined the safety features of the cabins and that end of the corridor. Their ship ID tags each opened one of the three cabins; these could be rekeyed, the desk brochure explained, for members of one party traveling together.

  “Or by members of a party that has the right members,” Rafe said.

  Each cabin had its own vacuum seals, and each connecting suite had an additional seal in the passage. Clearly Roselines took safety seriously. So did Rafe. When their luggage arrived a few minutes later, Rafe insisted that they unpack everything and put it away in the cabins. “If we have an emergency, we want our suits out. Toby, did you have suit drill aboard ship?”

  “Yes, of course. I told you already.”

  “Good. We’ll have them here, whether the captain orders them or not.”

  The voyage to Placer B and then Golwaugh was uneventful except that Toby’s appetite returned and he seemed to hit a growth spurt as well. Toby seemed fascinated by Rafe’s chameleon kit and begged to try it; Rafe taught him the rudiments of disguise. The shipsuits that fit Toby at Allway were almost too small by the time they got to Golwaugh. Stella and Toby stayed aboard at these intermediate stops—each of only a couple days’ duration—but Rafe bought Toby some larger clothes at Golwaugh. After Golwaugh they were the only passengers on the way to Lastway. The news was not reassuring; only 20 percent of the ansible platforms were up, so that most systems had a several-week communications lag. Both passenger and cargo shipments were down; investment market reports were all out of date, but expected to worsen. Golwaugh was one of the lucky systems with a functioning ansible, so Stella was able to contact ISC HQ and discover that her report had made it there safely.

  In Lastway’s system, the ship’s crew reported that the Lastway ansibles were also functioning. Stella checked the list of ships docked at Lastway . . . a K. Vatta, with the ship Gary Tobai, was listed. That would be Ky, of course. The local news channel, piped to passengers’ quarters, mentioned sporadic gang attacks on travelers and warned any tourists to keep ale
rt and stay out of danger zones.

  Through the purser, Stella booked onstation quarters for the three of them at a moderately priced hostelry. She could only hope that whoever was after Vattas didn’t have a face-recognition program that included hers and Toby’s. Rafe, she knew, would take care of himself. The purser arranged transport of their duffel, and the three of them made it to the hotel without incident.

  The next job was contacting Ky. Stella considered, and rejected, the onstation communications lines. Too dangerous. She and Rafe and Toby, posing as tourists, climbed on the tram and headed for Gary Tobai.

  Baritom had withdrawn its dockside security personnel after what it continued to call “this unfortunate incident,” but Martin felt that the automated security he had put in place was adequate. Ky was unwilling to hire replacements even if other firms were willing to take a contract with her. How could she trust them? She had ordered some basic torso protection in standard sizes for those of her crew who were outside the ship for any reason, though only Martin and Jim carried firearms. Small deposits kept a hold on the items she most wanted from MilMart, but she had still not figured out what to do next. The three apparent tourists who tripped the perimeter alarms were standing in a row, with Martin and Beeah looming over them, when Ky made it down to the cargo entrance.

  “Hello, Ky,” said the curvaceous but faded blonde in the taupe suit. “I’m your cousin Stella. Remember me?”

  Ky could not believe it. Stella? Here? With a teenaged boy and a man? Surely that wasn’t her son . . . She struggled to remember how old Stella’s child might be. Stella did look older and plainer than she remembered. That Stella had a man, she could believe: he was medium tall, handsome as a vid star in spite of his graying hair, and very aware of it.

  “What are you doing here?” came out of her mouth before she could stop it, and the tone was almost accusatory.

  “Running away,” Stella said. “Or running to you, depending on how you look at it. How much do you know?”

  “Vatta’s been attacked; I don’t know how bad it is.”

  “Not a very big ship, is it?” the man commented, in a tone that made her angry.

  “Big enough,” Ky said shortly.

  “Have there been any attacks on you?” Stella asked.

  “A few,” Ky said. “Unsuccessful, obviously.”

  “Oh, my heavens,” the man said, rolling his eyes. “She’s a total innocent. What are you thinking, Stella? She can’t possibly—”

  “I don’t know what you think is innocent,” Ky said. “I’ve killed—” She had to stop and count . . . appalling that she didn’t know immediately. “—four men.”

  “We heard about one at Sabine,” the man said. “You did it yourself, really?” He looked completely unimpressed.

  “Yes,” Ky said through gritted teeth. “And it was two, there.”

  “My, aren’t we the rough girl,” the man said. He turned again to Stella. “So she can kill. But can she—”

  “Stop it,” Stella said. To Ky’s surprise, the man stopped, arching a brow at Stella, who turned to Ky and went on. “Ky, this is Rafe. We’re partners for the present. He’s under partner bond. He has many talents.”

  “That’s nice,” Ky said, thinking that many talents didn’t equate to much manners.

  “And this is Toby Vatta. He survived the blowout on Allray Two—have you heard about that?—and he’s also a partner for the present.”

  Ky looked at Toby and had an immediate flashback to her own apprentice voyage. She’d thought having Captain Furman on her tail was bad, but she hadn’t been through what he had. “Welcome aboard, Toby,” she said. “I’m sorry for your loss.” She looked back at Stella. “I assume Rafe has a last name?”

  “Yes. Which we will give you when we come aboard, not standing here on a cold dockside. Ky, we had trouble on Allray. Serious trouble.”

  “I can imagine. We’ve had some, too. Come on aboard then.” She stepped aside and let them pass; Stella gave her a look she could not interpret, and Rafe a look she could interpret all too well. If he thought she was like Stella, he would soon learn different, and he could keep those eyes to himself. She nodded at Martin when they had cleared the locks. “Come on, Martin. If anyone comes looking for cargo, let Alene handle it. It’s close of trade anyway.”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  The others had stopped in the rec area; Ky nodded to a table. “Have a seat. Let’s find out what’s up.”

  “It’s a long story,” Stella said.

  “It’s a long shift,” Ky said. “Go ahead.”

  “You know about the attacks back home, on Slotter Key?”

  “Some, not much. They hit corporate headquarters and the family compound both, one report said. I—I expect there were injuries. And for some reason the government is down on us.”

  Stella nodded. “Ky, I’m sorry . . . I have bad news for you. Your parents—your mother died in the attack on the house; your father died of injuries received trying to save her and others.”

  Ky felt her face stiffen. Now that tiny sliver of light, that window of hope, slammed shut. She had been so sure—she had hoped so much—that they had not died, or at least one of them survived—she thought she’d anticipated this, but . . . it was too much.

  “And your brother San. I’m sorry, Ky. My father was killed, too, in the bombing of corporate headquarters. My sister Jo died in a separate attack.”

  Ky felt each name as a separate weight falling on her, pushing her deeper into darkness. Her father, her mother, her brother, her uncle. “Aunt Helen?” she managed to ask.

  “Mother was alive when I left Slotter Key,” Stella said. “So was Aunt Gracie Lane.”

  Gracie Lane and her fruitcakes-with-diamonds were a poor substitute for the rest of the family. The memory of her father’s face, in that last call, the look in his eyes, came to her vividly. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to think, not to see.

  “Aunt Gracie sent me to find you,” Stella said.

  “To find me!” Surprise almost melted the numbness; she opened her eyes. “She thinks I’m an idiot.”

  “She thinks everyone our age is an idiot,” Stella said. “But she thinks you’re the one person who can sort this out, and she thinks I’m capable of helping you. She knew you needed more data and some help.”

  Ky’s mind grabbed for this distraction from the news that her whole family was dead. “Aunt Gracie is—”

  “Pretty smart, actually. Did you know she’d been in the war?”

  “Aunt Gracie?” That seemed as likely as that Aunt Gracie had wings or gills.

  “Yes. I didn’t know, either, until she told me. And showed me. At any rate, she told me to come find you and bring you the Vatta command database, to download into your implant.”

  Ky’s hand went to her head. “I don’t have an implant. It was destroyed.”

  “But I know your father sent you another one—”

  “I haven’t put it in,” Ky said. “I’m not supposed to put one in for six months . . .” When she counted up the weeks in transit to Belinta, from Belinta to here, it was a lot closer to six months than she’d thought.

  “Brain damage?” Stella asked.

  “Possible neural instability,” Ky said. She didn’t even want to think about whether that constituted brain damage. “And how did you get hold of the command database? I mean, if my—your—our fathers were killed in the attacks . . .”

  Stella looked away, and swallowed. “Your father lived a few days, Ky . . . and Aunt Gracie . . . took charge of the implant.”

  Ky stared at her. Her stomach roiled; she did not want to consider what that meant, or how it had been done.

  “At any rate, if you’re going to take over as the offplanet Vatta representative, you’d better find a way to use the implant information.”

  “You could—” Ky began, but Stella shook her head vigorously.

  “You have military training, Ky; I don’t. My expertise is all in another d
irection.”

  Ky hadn’t heard that Stella had any expertise, but then she hadn’t seen Stella for years, what with school, the Academy, and all. “And that is?” she asked, trying to keep her tone light.

  Stella grimaced. “If you access the database you’ll know. I’m not sure I should tell you here.” She glanced aside at Rafe and Toby. Ky felt a cold prickle run up her spine.

  “As if you hadn’t learned half or more of it from me,” Rafe said. “But I suppose we must protect innocent young ears.” Toby turned to glare at him. Ky felt the same way, but didn’t let herself show it.

  “Later, then,” she said. “If I’m the designated whatever, though, I’ll need to know.”

  “Understood,” Stella said.

  The others could be another distraction. Ky turned to the boy. “Toby, how far along in your apprenticeship were you? What kind of ship duties did you learn?”

  The boy flushed, but met her eyes and answered steadily. “I was over half through, and had completed the training modules in all the specialties, so I was working full shifts under supervision. I’d done environmental and engineering, and was working on navigation and piloting. In port, of course, we all worked cargo.”

  “Excellent,” Ky said. “I know you don’t have any of your scores, and unfortunately I need documentation of your training, but we have new crew who are working on their certification exams. Lastway has a complete roster of spacer certification courses, and the sooner you begin the better. What’s your strongest field?”

  “Probably drives, ma’am. I did well in all the engineering subspecialties, but Piers—uh, Chief Barklin—said I had a good feel for space drives.”

  “Good. I could definitely use a good backup drives specialist.” Any Vatta, however young and inexperienced, who had ship service would be better than Jim. “I’m going to assign you to that area; you’ll be informally assessed, and then start formal classes in a couple of days. That suit?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Toby said.

  “I don’t know when we can get you back to a place where you can have regular formal schooling,” Ky said. “What were you planning on, or had you decided?”