Marque and Reprisal

by Elizabeth Moon

  “We’ll give them worse than that if we blow up this close,” Ky said. “I want the drive up . . . we’ll engage as late as we can, but no later.”

  The tiny dots crawled nearer . . . they couldn’t go far, but they were faster than the ship.

  “Minimum coming up,” Lee said.

  “Rotate the ship parallel to the entire station axis,” Ky said. “We’ll do less damage that way . . .”

  That took precious seconds, and the two tiny craft were within what Ky considered throwing distance when she said “Engage, one-quarter power.”

  Gary Tobai’s rotation and the shove of the insystem drive sent them off at a solid ten-meters-per-second acceleration; in the scan, the two dots crossed paths and curled around, trying to chase them, but they’d already opened a distance. Repair scooters, Ky knew, couldn’t top a ten-meters-per acceleration, and quickly used up fuel at that rate. One of them, though, closed distance. Not just your ordinary repair scooter, then.

  “You’re being pursued,” the station duty officer said in a surprised tone.

  “I noticed,” Ky said. “Half power,” she told Quincy. The ship opened the gap again. Something flashed in the scan behind them . . . the first dot vanished and the second boosted back toward the station. “You might want to intercept that one,” she said to the duty officer. “You might learn something to your advantage.”

  “Uh . . . right.”

  “Where do you want to go?” Lee asked.

  “Right now, I just want enough distance to be safe,” Ky said. “Maybe ten kilometers—”

  “Gloucester to Gary Tobai.”

  “Gary Tobai,” Ky said. The screen flicked twice, then steadied on Captain Pensig’s face.

  “Our scans report an explosion near your position. Any damage?”

  “No—we’re fine.”

  “We recommend you continue on present course for six hours, Captain Vatta.”

  “But we—” Ky swallowed the rest of that. “Six hours, right.”

  His face relaxed. “We’ll be in touch on a secured link, Captain. Gloucester will cover your retreat; Scapa Flow will remain onstation for the present.”

  On her nearscans, the Mackensee ship’s trace edged out, carefully staying between them and the station.

  “Station’s not mad at us,” Lee said. “Who do they think might take a potshot?”

  “There’s a lot of spare armament,” Ky said. “Someone else could’ve made a critical purchase from MilMart, after all.”

  “Mmm. So we’re not really safe until we clear the system, is that it?”

  Ky thought about pointing out that they weren’t going to be safe anywhere, and decided against it. “Well . . . the farther away we are, the safer. It takes a lot of power to run one of the big beam weapons. Missiles, though . . . we’d better get our defensive suite up and running.” Ky turned to her com again and called Quincy. “How’s the installation coming?”

  “Installation! I just got the last carton unclipped!”

  “Well, chances are we’ll need it now or we won’t need it at all,” Ky said.

  A silence on the other end, a mutter she couldn’t quite hear, then, “I am definitely retiring after this trip, Ky—Captain. I am too old for this. I’m supposed to fit these things in one-meter intervals—do you have any idea how much climbing that involves?” Quincy didn’t sound scared, just annoyed.

  “Toby’s young and agile; so is Jim. Martin probably knows how to install that kind of thing. And maybe Rafe can help.”

  “Rafe! You’d trust him with our defenses?”

  “We need the suite installed and running, Quincy. Whatever it takes.”

  “Right.”

  Ky sat back, fingers drumming on the arm of her seat. They were alive, by the margin of a few seconds. They were back in space, where spacers belonged, and she had an ally now. Maybe more than one, if Rafe had been honest about his family name. She thought he was. But . . . alone, with two Mackensee ships, and a hole in the bottom of the budget . . . so they had provisions, but troops ate provisions as locusts ate grain fields. She would have to have money at the next place they stopped . . . she needed to spread the cost of all this . . . but how?

  “Ky, have you eaten?” Stella, sandwich in hand, peered around the entrance to the bridge.

  “Since when?” Ky asked.

  “That’s an answer of sorts. I’ve made sandwiches; here’s one.” She handed in a plate piled with neatly cut triangles.

  “You cook?” Ky said. She had not suspected Stella of any domestic skills.

  Stella grimaced. “Sandwiches aren’t cooking, and I told you I could scramble eggs. I’ll just send some down to the others.”

  “Good idea,” Ky said. Now that they were—well, not safe, but definitely safer—she was hungry. That snack intended for the visiting officers had never been delivered. She put the plate between herself and Lee; both of them ate in silence for several minutes.

  Then Lee looked at her. “Do you think we’ll be attacked now?”

  “I hope not,” Ky said. She put down the sandwich she was eating. “It’s all happened so fast . . . at least we have help this time. We can actually do something.”

  He picked up another triangle of sandwich. “You have a plan, then.”

  “I will soon,” Ky said. “Actually I have a plan now, and we’re succeeding in the first objective, which is staying alive, with mobility unimpaired.”

  “And next?”

  “Find and aid any family members we can, before they’re all killed. Figure out who’s doing this, and how to strike back. Same as I said in the first place.”

  “And you trust the mercs?”

  “They hold to contracts, the same as we do,” Ky said. “What happened last time wasn’t their fault, and we were paid well for our trouble.”

  “Yes, but . . .” He chewed a moment in silence, then swallowed and went on. “Is there any chance we’ll get back to regular trading?”

  “I don’t know,” Ky said. “Nobody’s going to be doing regular trading as long as the ansibles are down. If that’s taken care of, and as long as our enemies aren’t attacking us directly, we ought to be able to go back. It won’t be the same, of course, with all the damage Vatta’s sustained. We’ll have to rebuild the business.” Even as she said it, she wondered if it could be done at all. It had taken generations to build Vatta from that first ship to the shipping empire it had become. She cocked her head at Lee. “Why? Are you ready to go find another ship? Is adventure looking less attractive than a few days ago?”

  He shook his head. “No, Captain. I’m just considering the ironies.”

  “The ironies?”

  “Yes. Your father picked me as junior pilot to Riel, as you know, on the basis of my safety record. My reputation in the trade was as a solid, serious young pilot with no wild tendencies. He didn’t know—because it would have done my application no good—that I had always wanted something more exciting than piloting a trader. But when my parents were killed, I needed to find a job quickly, and I was a year too young to qualify for military training. I thought it was a tragedy at the time and was prepared to be miserably bored for the next fifty or sixty years. I realized soon enough that even civilian piloting had some adventure in it, but it was still . . . missing something.”

  “You still crave adventure?” Ky asked.

  “Even after seeing it close up. Yes, Captain. If you decide not to go back to ordinary trading . . . don’t worry about me quitting, is what I mean. If you want me, that is.”

  “You’re a good pilot, Lee; of course I want you on the ship. Let’s just not have too much adventure, all right?”

  “It’s your call, Captain.” He grinned and finished another sandwich.

  Ky was still thinking about the next step and the five beyond that. She needed money. Traders got money by trading or by providing a service. They’d sold all they had to sell. What service could she provide, as the target of malicious attack? What resources did she
have? What she had to sell, Ky realized suddenly, was protection. As long as she had Mackensee, she had something other traders might want.

  “Captain Vatta, this is Lt. Commander Johannson.”

  “Captain Vatta here.”

  “Our sources confirm destruction of one stolen repair bug, and the other has been taken into custody. I understand you may have some information on the ansible problems?”

  “Yes,” she said. “We have an individual with considerable expertise in ISC internal affairs. At the moment he’s helping install the defensive suite we just loaded.”

  “That takes precedence,” Johannson said. “But we’d like to talk to him.”

  “I’ll let him know,” Ky said. “He’s not actually part of my crew; we have a partnership agreement at the moment. He helped my cousins get off Allray in one piece.”

  “Ah.”

  “Another thing,” Ky said. “If I’m reading our contract correctly, there’s nothing to prevent your escorting a few more trading ships, is there?”

  “In convoy, you mean? We’d usually have more ships for that, but . . . you’re thinking of spreading the cost?”

  “Yes, of course, but also establishing the legitimacy of Vatta Transport again. Right now the other trader captains don’t want to speak to me in case our problems are contagious. To get shipping contracts, we have to get some of that cleared off our reputation. If I can offer safe, or at least safer, transportation somewhere—anywhere—it should help.”

  “Good point. We’d want to vet potential participants, though, and we’d be limited.”

  “Make up a list of those you’d approve, and give me a target number,” Ky said. “As word gets around Lastway about the attempt to blow us at the dock, captains should be getting nervous and anxious to leave. They may be more willing to listen to me now.”

  “Will do, Captain Vatta,” he said.

  When he signed off, Ky went down to see how the installation was coming along.

  “We’re working on it,” Quincy said. She had the installation routine set up on the screen. All the telltales still read PENDING. “It’s a good thing the holds aren’t stuffed with ag machinery; we have to have these sensor units in every ship space, just about. I’ve got Jim on that job; he’s got good manual dexterity, at least.”

  “Rafe?”

  “With Jim, at the moment. I don’t know how much help he is.”

  “Mmm. If he’s not essential here, there’s something else he can do. We need to deal with the ansible problems.”

  Quincy gave her a sharp look. “You trust him that much?”

  Ky shrugged. “He’s the only one who might know what we need to know.” She considered telling Quincy all she knew—or thought she knew—about Rafe and decided against it. “He and Stella worked together in the past.”

  Quincy snorted. “That’s a recommendation? I mean . . . Stella. Everyone knows about her.”

  “Not really,” Ky said. “Everyone knows she screwed up years ago, just as everyone knows I was kicked out of the Academy—a different kind of screwup. Does that tell you all about me?”

  “Well . . . no. But Stella—”

  “Grew out of it, Quincy. And she’s the family I’ve got left. Vattas stick together.”

  “I suppose.” Quincy shook her head. “It’s a new world, and I don’t much like it.”

  “None of us does. So we’ll make a better one, that we do like,” Ky said with more confidence than she felt. “That’s what great-grandfather did, and we can do it, too.”

  “I hope so,” Quincy said. “So much lost, so many dead . . .”

  “Quincy . . . are you getting enough sleep? This doesn’t sound like you.”

  “I . . . can’t sleep, Ky. Not enough. I keep seeing Gary’s face . . . your father . . .”

  Nothing Ky had ever read discussed what captains were supposed to do when elderly crew came apart. She found herself cradling Quincy, holding her gently, until the old woman stiffened.

  “Role reversal,” Ky said. “But it’s reversible again . . .”

  Quincy sniffed. “I’m sorry. I’m supposed to be comforting you.”

  “You’d known Gary longer than I had. Same with the other elders of the tribe. You’ve lost a lot of friends; I’ve lost a lot of acquaintances. Neither’s easy.” She watched Quincy’s face relax gradually as she kept talking.

  “I’m all right now,” Quincy said finally, as she straightened up.

  “Good,” Ky said. “Let me know when Rafe’s free, or if you need more help with this. I can use a socket wrench myself, you know.”

  “Oh, I know. But captains have other things to do.”

  “True enough. My next move is to spread the cost of our military assistance among the ships I hope will convoy with us to wherever we’re going, when we figure that out.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Quincy said. “But do you think they’ll come? What you said before—”

  “Situation’s changed,” Ky said. “We were almost blown in dock; others have to be feeling anxious—that’s what I told Mackensee anyway. I’ll bet some of the smaller independents will sign up.”

  Rafe ambled in from the far reaches of the #3 hold. “Quincy, Jim says he’s ready for the next set of attachment pins . . .”

  “Ah, Rafe,” Ky said. “Can Jim get along with Toby’s help, d’you think?”

  “Easily,” Rafe said. “Why? Do you have something else for me to do?” He put an edge on it that made Ky’s teeth itch.

  “Yes,” she said crisply. “Quincy, let me know when the installation’s complete, so I can let our escort know. Rafe, come on with me, please.”

  They settled in the rec area; Ky stepped into the galley, noting that Stella had left it spotless, and brought out a pitcher of water and two glasses. Rafe got up and came back with a lime and a small knife. Before Ky could say anything, Rafe spoke.

  “You were much on Stella’s mind, a few years past,” Rafe said. He did not look at Ky directly, concentrating instead on taking the peel off a lime in one smooth, even curl. She had no idea why he wanted a peeled lime.

  “Oh?” Ky waited.

  “Yes. She spoke of you quite a bit. Apparently you were being held up as an example of a properly brought up young Vatta daughter. Courteous, cool—butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth, is how she put it, not at noon in midsummer. Straight arrow, never makes mistakes.” He glanced up; Ky said nothing. “You annoyed her quite a bit. Stuck-up young prig, I believe, is what she called you. Born to be a military martinet, all rules and rigidity. Is that how you remember it?”

  “Not quite,” Ky said. He would be getting at something, but she couldn’t yet tell what; she wasn’t going to let him drive a wedge between her and Stella. “I don’t know who in the family was telling her that, but I was getting the lectures on how good girls didn’t want to be spacers or soldiers, and what made me think I had the qualities necessary anyway, and why wouldn’t I settle down with a nice boy from one of the other good families.”

  “And why didn’t you?” Rafe asked. This time the look from those bright eyes pinned her, as neatly as ever her brothers had pinned the bugs they studied. “You’re good looking enough, and Stella managed to find a boy she liked—”

  “Who caused her a lot of grief,” Ky said. “I heard about that. Besides, you ought to know about family ambitions—you went rogue, too.”

  Rafe winced dramatically. “Ah—a palpable hit. So you claim that you went rogue by going military? Or was it by being kicked out that you went rogue? What did happen?”

  “Nothing that concerns you,” Ky said. She didn’t need to talk about that with this man, whom even Stella did not seem to trust completely.

  “Oh, but it might,” Rafe said. “Things like that last awhile, when you’re young. It hasn’t been even a year yet, has it? Seeing as you’re the one in charge of this affair, I’d like to know how stable you are.”

  “Stable enough,” Ky said. “Stable enough not to worry about what y
ou think of my stability.”

  “Ouch.” He mimed sucking a pricked finger. “Sharp as a tack, you are. Stella said that, too. Don’t you ever wonder what else she said?”

  “Not really.” Ky gave him look for look. “Stella’s probably said a lot of things, as I have, that she wouldn’t say today. Makes no difference.”

  “Mmph. Maybe.” The last of the lime peel came free. Rafe arranged it back into the shape of a lime. The lime itself, held in his left hand, he dropped into his water. “Do they grow these where you came from, on Slotter Key?”

  “Limes? Yes, in the garden. We don’t have a citrus orchard.”

  “Tik, as I recall, is your family’s main cash crop. Valuable. Mild euphoric and stimulant, various fractions also useful in pharmaceutical manufacturing.”

  “Yes.”

  “Ever taken tik tea and added lime?”

  “No,” Ky said, wondering where this was leading.

  “Don’t. Not a good idea. Chemical reactions make it taste bad and give a headache like being slugged with a rock.” He sipped his lime water, shook his head, and dropped in the peel. “The thing is, people are always mixing things they shouldn’t mix. Limes and tik. Guns and butter. Morality and—”

  “Not that lecture,” Stella said, coming into the compartment. She had changed into a one-piece garment that looked like brown plush, and her gold hair shone against it. “Rafe, you ought to be ashamed of yourself.”

  “It’s true,” Rafe said.

  “It’s trite,” Stella said. “You peeled that lime for her, didn’t you?” She grinned at Ky. “It’s leading up to why you and he should get into bed together, even if it doesn’t work out, because mixing unlikes is inevitable or something. The lime peel trick is supposed to demonstrate his manual dexterity and fascinate you with inchoate possibilities.”

  “Worked with you,” Rafe said in what was almost a growl.

  “Not really,” Stella said. “I already wanted to try it; you almost put me off with the professorial bit. I admit being impressed by the lime peeling.”

  Ky looked at Stella. “I thought you said—”

  “We weren’t involved,” Stella said. “I just slept with him and that was it.”