Rafe nodded slowly. “Then I suppose I must agree that the interests of ISC now march with yours, Captain, and my duty to ISC is no longer in possible conflict. Though I don’t think we should go charging off to Nexus Two, especially not if we’re trailing a ragtag assembly of privateers. The ISC defense force is likely to shoot first and ask questions later.”
“So where can we go to communicate with them and not be shot to pieces?”
“I’m sure they’ve repaired the Nexus system ansibles, if those ever went down,” Rafe said. “Next over hubward would be Maricana.” He pointed it out on the graphic. “Four jumps from here. It’s pretty much a dead-end system; its only mapped routes are to Moscoe Confederation, which is how we’ll have to go in, and Nexus.”
“And Moscoe Confederation, you said, is one of the likely targets for the pirates. If they got that, then…it looks like Nexus is somewhat cut off.”
“No, the Nexus jump points—there are two, though one is a very long way out—have five or six mapped routes.”
Ky eyed the chart again. “We’ll go to Moscoe,” she said. “I’m not so sure about Maricana. Maybe the Moscoe ansibles will be working. Post the destination, Lee. It’s far enough away that it ought to make these idiots happy.”
In the next four hours, two captains called to offer cargo bound for Moscoe Confederation. Ky accepted both consignments, insisting that the shipper waive insurance coverage. As she’d expected, the station police insisted on inspecting the shipments.
“I’m already an armed vessel,” Ky said. “What are you worried about?” But she told her crew to open the containers; she wanted to be sure what was in them, herself. One was full of implantable prostheses, each extremity or limb in its own sealed pouch of nutrient liquid. The consignee was the West Cascadia Rehabilitation Centre. Another was full of bioelectronic components going to the same customer. “I had no idea you had that level of expertise here,” Ky said to the shipping agent.
“We don’t,” he said. “That’s been waiting here for seventy standard days; the ship we were supposed to transfer to never came in. Yours is the first chance.”
_______
Ky was about six hours from undocking, well ahead of the deadline, when Gary Tobai appeared on longscan. Much as she had worried about Stella and the ship, this was a very inconvenient time to have them appear. She needed to talk to Stella, and she cursed herself for not having installed a shipboard ansible on the little ship. How would Stella deal with the suspicion she herself had raised?
The stationmaster called her. “That is your confederate?”
“That’s my cousin,” Ky said. “The ship is an unarmed trader, as you can tell.”
“But she is related to you. She must not pursue the same ends.”
“I’m sure she won’t,” Ky said. “How could she? Gary Tobai has no weapons.”
She had to undock long before Stella would arrive. This would not, she was sure, make Stella happy. Two days after undock, she was close enough to use short-range secure com to contact her. A strange man’s face appeared on the screen, but he nodded and quickly fetched Stella.
“You’re leaving again,” Stella said before Ky could speak. She looked very composed, which with the younger Stella could mean either calm or anger.
“There’s a situation,” Ky said. “Stella, do you have the resources for another jump?”
“Afraid not.” Stella sounded uncharacteristically curt. Ky winced inwardly. She did not need an angry Stella to cope with. “I’ve got new crew; it cuts our range somewhat. Why?”
“This system’s not entirely friendly. If you can load what you need and leave, that would be a good idea. I’m headed for Moscoe Confederation. I have more information on the people we’re interested in. That system may be dangerous, so come in carefully.”
“Every system you’ve been in seems to be dangerous; Rosvirein wasn’t exactly a vacation spot.”
“I’m sorry—I tried to wait for you but they insisted I leave—”
“Apparently you know how to make yourself unwelcome,” Stella said. “Some ships were still docked there when we arrived; they said undocking was optional.”
Stella had not been with her at Sabine; she could not understand the compulsion to get back into space, to have maneuverability. “I’m sorry,” Ky said again.
“We made a good profit anyway,” Stella said. “I sold over half the toilets.” Toilets? What was she talking about? “I don’t suppose you’ve had time to do any actual trading…”
“I did,” Ky said, stung. “Didn’t you see the balance in the accounts on Rosvirein? I left them for you.”
“And I suppose that appalling woman who showed up to ask if I had any data for sale is where it came from?” Stella’s expression was that of someone finding cat vomit in her shoe.
“Appalling woman?” For a moment Ky couldn’t imagine what Stella was talking about. Then she remembered Rafe’s contact. “Oh…Amy? Why did she come to you?”
“Because, she said, it might run in the family. I don’t know what you sold her and I don’t want to know, but…she said there someone went missing right after you left. She was sure that’s why you’d run out before I got there.”
“I didn’t run out, Stella! I left because I didn’t want to be locked on to the station if you arrived in the middle of some row, and you needed me—”
“So—if I needed you, you’d be here in Sallyon, instead of where I was. Just like now, when I might need you in Sallyon, you’re leaving for somewhere—where was it again?”
“The Moscoe Confederation.” Ky took a breath. “And before you say anything more, you need to know what’s happened.” Stella opened her mouth; Ky held up a hand. “No, just listen. The pirates took over Bissonet System.”
“What!”
“One of the Empire Line’s fast passenger ships got away and brought the tale. We think they may hit the busier trade routes next.”
“How many pirate ships?”
Maybe Stella was thinking again. Ky went on. “The passenger ship thought fourteen were at Bissonet, but Rafe thinks from the serial numbers that sixty shipboard ansibles are out there somewhere, and I don’t know how accurate that ship’s scan is.”
“Oh, good,” Stella said in a tight voice. “I’m glad we’re still outnumbered enough to make it sporting.”
Ky couldn’t think of anything to say for a moment. Then Stella said, “I have a message for you from Quincy.”
“What’s that?”
“She said to tell you that I’m a lot more restful as a captain than you were, and so is the captain I hired, so she may not retire after all.”
“I’m sure,” Ky said.
“How’s Rafe?” Stella asked with a tone so colorless it almost shrieked tension.
“Rafe’s fine,” Ky said. “Plotting, of course.”
“Are you and he…uh…?”
“No,” Ky said firmly. “Why don’t you tell me what happened with you?”
Stella gave a concise, organized report that Ky could tell had been thought out well in advance. Moneys received from the convoy captains, moneys paid to the Mackensee escort, trade goods sold, cargo purchased, new crew hired.
“Sounds good, Stella. Could you tell how the Mackensee commanders were, at the end?”
“How angry they were with you, you mean? I think it was somewhere between angry and admiring. They were nice to me. Helped me vet the new crew, for instance.”
“That’s good. Look, Stella, I’d rather you didn’t go to one of the obvious high-risk systems. Either follow me to Moscoe, or you could go back to Slotter Key.”
“No,” Stella said. “I’m not going back until we have more to show. Aunt Grace would have my hide. I’ll go with you to the Moscoe Confederation, but I still need to resupply here.”
“All right. Be meek and mild; they think anyone associated with me is a dangerous rabble-rouser.”
“You? What have you been up to?”
“Nothing b
ut a little common sense. Didn’t suit. If I were you I’d get in and get out. Don’t talk to other captains much.”
“Fine. See you there, then.” Stella signed off. Ky couldn’t tell if Stella was still as angry as she’d seemed at first, or if the exchange of information at the end had calmed her down.
_______
The intermediate jumps and transits between Sallyon and the Moscoe Confederation passed without incident. None of the system ansibles was functional, and Ky did not pause to let Rafe work his magic on them. There was an ISC ship in one of the unpopulated systems; it seemed to pay no attention as they translated in and out again.
“At least they’re trying,” Rafe said.
“Yes, but service has been interrupted a long time now. People will be ready for alternatives, who never thought of it before.”
“Well, they shouldn’t. We—ISC—has a huge network and has delivered reliable service for a very long time. It would cost far too much for anyone else to duplicate that.” For a rebel, Rafe could be remarkably conventional, Ky thought, watching his face. He flushed suddenly. “Showing my roots, I suppose.”
“A little, yes. The thing is…who are your potential competitors? You mentioned the research division inside ISC, the ones who wanted to spread the newer technology. Would they be capable of getting a competing system in place?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. Not sectorwide, but for a few systems…” He sighed. “I just don’t like any of this.”
“No one in their right mind would,” Ky said, thinking of her family dead and scattered.
_______
Their transition to Moscoe Confederation space went smoothly; the communications boards lit instantly. “Ansible’s up,” Rafe said. “Local authorities are demanding identification and want to speak to you.”
“Interesting,” Ky said. “Hook me up, then.” When he had made the connection, she entered the ship data, her name, and waited for an answer. It came so quickly she knew there must be a deep-system watchpost as at Sallyon; the face on the screen was a balding, bearded man in a forest-green-and-blue uniform.
“On our records, the ship identified as Fair Kaleen is captained by Osman Vatta, not Kylara Vatta. Explain.” No please, Ky noticed.
“Osman Vatta stole this ship decades ago from Vatta Transport,” Ky said. She found it easier to tell the story each time, and ended with, “So I claimed the ship as a prize under UCC regulations, and by right as a representative of the original owners.”
“Only privateers can claim prizes,” came the reply. “Legitimate Vatta ships have never been privateers.”
“I have a letter of marque from Slotter Key,” Ky said. She transmitted an image of it. “It will of course be available for inspection by your Immigration people.”
“And it will be inspected,” he said. “Do you carry any cargo, or are you here just to bounty-hunt?”
“I have cargo consigned to a rehab facility here,” Ky said. “Originally shipped from Goskone, with transfer at Sallyon, but there were no ships bound this way until mine.”
“Ah…” He looked down for a moment, then nodded. “Yes. There’s an overdue shipment of prosthetics and bioelectronics.” His voice warmed slightly. “You may proceed on your present course; you will obey Traffic Control for an approach lane; you will lock down all weapons systems on their command. Do you agree?”
“Yes,” Ky said. “I noticed your system ansible is functional; do you have a list of live nodes?”
“Yes, but it may not be up to date. Slotter Key is still down, if you were thinking of reporting to your headquarters.”
“You have heard about Bissonet…” Ky said.
“Yes. We are on full alert,” he said. “If those scum try anything here, they’ll be sorry. How did you hear?”
“An Empire Line passenger ship escaped the carnage and came screaming into my last port, Sallyon.”
“Escaped or was sent?” he asked.
“Excuse me?” That was something Ky hadn’t thought of.
“Wasn’t there an Empire Line ship implicated in that mess at Sabine awhile back?”
“Yes, but—”
“And—wait a moment—weren’t you there? A Vatta was, I know that, something starting with K—?”
“That was me,” Ky said. “Yes. And the captain and a few officers of that Empire Line ship were apparently in league with a pirate. But I can’t believe the Empire Line itself—”
“Fast ships, good reputation. Almost as good as Vatta Transport, before this started. I’m not saying management has anything to do with it, but a few captains suborned…”
“But why?”
“Figure it out, Captain Vatta. I have work to do.” With that he cut off the contact.
Ky looked around the bridge. “Well, anyone else think that’s simply paranoia, or does he have a point?”
Martin pursed his lips. “Anytime someone’s supposedly above suspicion, it’s time to get suspicious, or that’s what I learned working security for Spaceforce. Those are the ones that can really hurt you. The scallawags you’re always keeping an eye on and have on a short leash. If there are enough Empire Line officers working with the pirates, that’s as good as a secure courier service.”
“So…maybe Bissonet wasn’t actually attacked and taken over?”
“Or it was and the idea was to spread fear as widely as possible. Or maybe there were more ships there…the other ones we are pretty sure they have. Or maybe it all happened just as the man said, and it was an honest lucky escape.”
Ky shook her head. “I need reliable data. I heard about the fog of war, but this is ridiculous. How long has it been since I started looking for answers, and all I have so far is Osman, who’s dead, and the name of someone who might be the pirate leader. It’s not enough!”
“Actually,” Martin said, “we have a bit more than that, begging the captain’s pardon. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go do what I should’ve done already and pull some things together for you.”
“Do that,” Ky said. “While I try to figure out where to go next and what to do when ten thousand pirates show up on my tail.”
Her father’s implant gave her all the information Vatta Transport had on the Moscoe Confederation. Three inhabited worlds, one of them the second largest moon of a gas giant. Traffic Control directed her to the approach lane for Cascadia, the most populous, where the rehabilitation center was located. It was a long insystem run, as Cascadia was on the far side of its primary.
By the time they came to final approach, Ky was familiar with all the Traffic Control officers on the Cascadia lane. All had a family resemblance though they didn’t look like clones. Tall, big-boned, muscular, fair-skinned, eyes from light brown through hazel to blue, hair from brown to reddish to blond, attractive in an outdoors sort of way, even though some of them clearly spent their careers on a space station. Her father’s implant offered no clues to the consistency.
“Small gene pool to start with,” Rafe suggested. “Amazing they aren’t all idiots.”
“Not with half-decent medical facilities,” Ky said. “You know it’s not that hard to select for specific characteristics. But why’d they pick this, I wonder. With their sun’s spectrum, you’d think they’d have gone for higher skin melanin.”
“They’re not ugly,” Rafe said.
“No…just wondering,” Ky said. “Maybe it’s a hereditary position, running Traffic Control. Stranger things have been done.”
The screen lit again. “Hi, Captain,” said the current duty officer, who had told Ky to call her Terri. “You’re right on course, thanks. Six hours to dock. Please confirm weapons lockdown.”
“Weapons locked down,” Ky said. “Here’s the visual.” She had recorded a visual of the weapons racks with seals in place.
“Very good,” Terri said. “Now eight seconds of reverse on your insystem, please, on my mark…three, two, one, mark.”
Lee had complied with this, and Terri nodded as the numbers came up.
“That’s great,” she said. Ky began to feel like a child whose teacher is trying to coax her past some childish fear. “I’ll be calling for three more reverses—in about forty-five minutes, then in another several hours, then the final one to match our station for docking. In case you’re wondering, these early ones are to clear other traffic.”
Ky wondered whether to say she knew that already; her own nearscan showed the other ships. But best let Traffic Control do its thing, she decided.
The six hours seemed to last twelve, but the planet grew steadily larger on scan, its readouts showing the usual human-habitable world with plenty of open water and an oxygen-nitrogen atmosphere. Its continents were bigger than Slotter Key’s; its oceans speckled with fewer island chains; its ice caps were substantially larger. At last they were close enough to see the main orbital station on external visuals. Ky blinked. Though many small orbital stations had unusual geometry, usually for some specific commercial purpose, most main stations, where interstellar trade came in, followed a standard design: they looked like giant wheels or disks rolling slowly through space. Large stations simply “stacked” the disks on their central axis.
“Ummm…Terri?” Ky said.
The woman laughed. “You saw it, did you? Know what it is?”
“Not really,” Ky said.
“It’s a tree. An Old Earth conifer: our emblem. Old Mick, our founder, said now that everyone had artificial gravity generators, there was no reason why stations had to look like wheels. He got the design from a holiday ornament, he said.”
Ky looked again. Two isosceles triangles intersected at right angles, bisecting each other: the tree itself, she supposed. Their bases were toward the planet; the tip pointed away, toward deep space. A cylindrical section stuck out from the base of the triangles, and now that she looked closely, she could see that the cylinder continued at least partway to the apex of the triangles. Its axis lay across her flight path, the wider base gradually obscuring her view. As she neared it, she could see that the jagged “branches” were docking slots—this unlikely shape provided docking slots for a hundred ships, and they could access their slots without interference with other traffic.
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