He grinned. “I was hoping you’d say that. It’s not that I think this is just a Slotter Key problem that has to have a Slotter Key solution, but I don’t want to find myself on the tag end of a gaggle of privateers commanded by someone who has no qualifications other than the number of ships he brought to the party. After all, my authorization is from Slotter Key.”
“How many privateers have fought in groups?” Ky asked.
“Not many,” Argelos said. “I’ve worked with another Slotter Key privateer a few times—we’d set up a trap—but nothing more than that. Sergei Morales, out of the Loma Linda group, he was telling me once about putting all the Loma Linda privateers together for a few operations. But he told me that in a bar on Placitas when he was more than a little drunk.”
“Ideally, we need a commander who’s done multiship combat before,” Ky said. “A merc, in fact. They’re the ones with the experience.”
“Mercs don’t work with privateers,” Argelos reminded her. “At least, the good ones don’t.”
“True,” Ky said. “At least, not often. But they fight each other, and they know what we don’t about full-scale warfare. I had the theory in the Academy, but I haven’t actually done it.”
“Wait—you had mercs with you when you took this ship, didn’t you?”
“Not to take this ship,” Ky said. “They cleaned up Osman’s allies, two other ships.”
“They didn’t capture this ship for you?”
“No. I…er…did that myself.”
He looked at her with a new expression. “Really. So that talk about you killing Osman wasn’t just random rockfall? You actually fought him off and killed him? Yourself?”
“Yes,” Ky said. Tension skewed her voice; she fought it down. “It was…very personal. He wanted this ship; he wanted me dead. I didn’t have experienced soldiers…I had to do it myself. As I did at Sabine. If you heard about that.”
“Only rumors,” Argelos said. “You will forgive me, I hope, if I discounted them as mere rumors. A young woman your age—and you don’t look—”
“Spaceforce-trained,” Ky said.
“Yes, but…forgive me again, but didn’t it bother you?”
“Of course it bothered me!” Ky looked him in the eye. “I threw up; I cried. But it had to be done.”
Argelos shifted in his seat. “Yes. Well. You look so…so young, and Vatta doesn’t have the reputation of breeding soldiers. I should have known, I suppose. When you talked about privateers combining, I assumed…but never mind. You’re tougher than you look, clearly. So what kind of organization did you envision?”
“Like this,” Ky said. She called up the files she’d been working on. “Initially, I don’t expect to get much if any support from system governments. I’d hoped we would—but Sallyon showed that most will be slow to respond. So we have to arrange our own supply and support bases. That’s when I started thinking of ways to incorporate experienced mercs.”
He looked at the charts, then at her. “You’ve really thought this through. My Spaceforce adviser should see this. Would you let him?”
“Only if he agrees to secrecy,” Ky said. “I’m still wondering if he’s the one who tipped off the Sallyon administration that we were discussing joint operations.”
“It’s possible, I suppose,” Argelos said. He looked at the charts again. “I notice you don’t have numbers in some of these boxes.”
“I don’t know the armaments the pirates carry. Do you?”
“Some of them, certainly.”
“Good; you can help me fill in the blanks.” Ky looked up to find Argelos looking alarmed. “You said you’d be with me,” she said. “What’s the problem?”
“It’s my adviser. He thinks we should just head back to Slotter Key—”
“If your adviser is against this, what will you do?”
“I…don’t know. He’s young, as I said. I wouldn’t have gone against Berman’s advice—the adviser I had before—but I’m not sure of this one. If he comes up with what I consider valid objections, then—” He shrugged and spread his hands.
“I can’t tell you more of what I know if you’re not with me—with us,” Ky said.
He looked at her in silence for a long moment, then nodded. “I’m with you. At least as far as contacting other privateers and trying to form a joint force of some kind. I do think you should consider working with the Bissonet privateers. Dan’s solid—like I said, I’ve known him for years. If we decide it’s not a good deal, we can always leave.”
“So where is the meeting place?”
“Corson’s Roads; it’s a smallish place, mostly a repair facility set up a long time ago when FTL engines needed tuning more frequently. We’ve both been there before. He’ll bring the other Bissonets, if they show up at Sallyon.”
“How far?”
“One jump from here, too. It’s relatively convenient to Sallyon, Cascadia, Bissonet, and Bernhardt.”
“The pirates wouldn’t have it staked out?”
“They might, but it’s a dwindling economy since the long haulers took over. Not much to rob.”
Ky considered. Bissonet’s privateers would have a personal and urgent interest in defeating the pirates, which meant they’d probably welcome any assistance, but for the same reasons might want to run the show for Bissonet’s purposes, not the benefit of all.
“I’ll go there,” she said. “Tell me more about the people you think we’ll be meeting.”
_______
On the voyage to Corson’s Roads, she scheduled more weapons drills. Ky didn’t take the time to drop out of FTL and blow up a few rocks, as they had on previous runs, but she and her new weapons officer made up scenarios that gave the batteries practice in loading various munitions and responding to emergency situations. Jessy turned out to be wickedly inventive with such scenarios. On one of Ky’s tours through the ship, she overheard the battery crews commenting on this in one of the servicing compartments.
“Just one drill after another.” Graydon, number three battery, sounded annoyed.
“Better this than no drills.” That was Jon Gannett.
“Not saying it isn’t. But I’ll bet we’re fitter than any of those other crews.”
“Fitter than the pirates, is what we need to be,” Pod Gannett said. “I had a word with that Argelos’ number one gunner, back on Cascadia. They don’t drill but once in ten days, and they know when.”
“Captain’s smarter’n that,” Graydon said. “Can’t say I like having my rest shift busted up, but at least it feels like a real fightin’ ship. She may be young, but she knows what she’s doin’, I’m thinkin’.”
Ky backed up twenty steps and made an intentional noise, When she walked into the compartment, five of them were bent over a missile, apparently calibrating the targeting computer. “Good work on that last drill,” she said. They had, in fact, exceeded the parameters she’d set by 10 percent.
“Thanks, Captain,” Jon Gannett said.
A few days later, they down transitioned into Corson’s Roads System. Corson’s Roads ansibles were nonfunctional; its Traffic Control beacons operated only on request from incoming ships. Only eight ships lay docked there, three with Bissonet registry, one from Ciudad, one from Urgayin, as well as the two Slotter Key ships and a small, slow insystem freight hauler. The station had the bleak, worn look of any depressed business district. The repair docks with their huge derricks and machinery lay empty, unlighted, visible only to scan. Small as the station itself was, its commercial concourse had too many closed-up spaces, too few pedestrians, and most of those had a hard-edged disgruntled expression. The Captains’ Guild had no facility here; Crown & Spears had no branch office, though Ky noticed a blank spot on one storefront that might have held their logo in more prosperous days. The whole place gave Ky an uneasy feeling. Their scans had found no mysterious ships in the system, but what kept the economy going at all, if not some clandestine trade?
Argelos had arranged, through his a
cquaintance, a meeting in what was supposed to be the best of the local restaurants. Ky left her escort at the restaurant entrance; she could see that the place was empty except for those she came to meet, and she was more worried about the criminal element outside.
The three Bissonet captains sat along one side of a table like a row of officers at a court-martial, a formation clearly chosen to intimidate. They stood when Ky approached. All wore gray tunics over blue trousers tucked into low boots. All had long hair worn Bissonet-fashion, the woman’s coiled high on her head, the men’s draped over one shoulder and tied with Bissonet blue and gray.
The hawk-faced woman Argelos had described, Petrea Andreson, stood between the two men; her hair was so pale that Ky couldn’t tell if it was beginning to gray or not. Her hard-boned face was puckered on one side by a scar that she hadn’t bothered to have removed. Ky wondered why. She recognized Dan Pettygrew’s plain, ordinary face from his broadcast interview back on Sallyon; the other man, Simon Battersea, captain of the smallest Bissonet ship, was vid-show handsome with a thick mane of red-gold hair in a loose braid, and intense dark eyes.
“You’re Captain Kylara Vatta?” Andreson said, raising one pale eyebrow.
“Ky Vatta, yes,” Ky said. Surely they would recognize her from the picture she’d sent.
“Let us sit down,” Andreson said. She and her companions sat; Ky slid into a seat across from them.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Andreson said. “We heard about your family.”
“Thanks,” Ky said, surprised at the offer of sympathy.
“I understand you want an alliance with us,” Andreson said.
“More than that,” Ky said. The familiar argument she’d made so often scrolled through her mind. “I think we—privateers loyal to our own governments—need to form an interstellar force to defeat this new threat—”
“Yes, yes,” Andreson said, waving a hand to stop her. “I understand all that. But right now we don’t have an interstellar force, and you need allies to start one, right?”
“Right.” Argelos had said the woman was blunt and pushy; she was living up to her reputation.
“What makes you think you’re the one to do this?” Andreson asked. “Rather than, for instance, someone with actual experience in space warfare?”
“I thought it up,” Ky said. “And as for experience, I’ve been in a few fights—”
“A few fights.” Andreson’s tone was as dismissive as her earlier hand wave. “That’s better than nothing, but not good enough for us, Captain Vatta. I know you were at the Slotter Key Space Academy, but I don’t know how good they are—if their training is comparable to Bissonet’s—and besides, you didn’t graduate. I can’t say that gives me much confidence, and I doubt it will encourage many others to join you.”
“Your point?” Ky said, folding her hands and hoping her eyes didn’t reveal her anger.
“We are more than willing to attack the enemies who attacked Bissonet. I agree that they are not going to stop there; I agree we need to join forces to go after them—though I think all surviving Bissonet and Slotter Key privateers together would not be enough. But you, Captain Vatta, are too young and too inexperienced to hold such an alliance together. It will take someone with maturity, someone with years of deep-space command, to do the job. I hope you can see that.”
Andreson had the votes, if it came to voting. She could always take her ships and go somewhere else. Ky tried for a tone that combined reasonableness with firmness. “My goal is to defeat the enemy and make the spaceways safe for trade again,” she said. “I would hope that is the goal of everyone involved in this.”
Andreson relaxed slightly. “That is my goal as well, though I would include freeing Bissonet from its invaders. But you are from a trading family: what does Vatta expect to get out of this? I’m not going to put my ships at risk to build your family’s wealth.” Her gaze flicked for a moment to Simon Battersea.
“I hope Vatta will prosper again in a safe trading environment, just like any other trading company,” Ky said. “Right now all trade—and all legitimate governments—are at risk.”
“Here is my proposal,” Andreson said. “Your idea certainly has merit, though you aren’t the first to come up with it. But I am not putting myself under your command, nor are any of my captains. We are already used to working together—” Pettygrew stirred, but said nothing. “I have almost thirty years of deep-space command, and while we had no fleet-sized actions in that time, I have commanded in smaller multiship engagements. If you want to come in with us, I’ll be glad to accept your help, but I will expect the same kind of discipline that you would have given to your planetary militia.”
Even though she had already decided to yield command, Ky still felt a pang at this. She liked Andreson’s bluntness; it felt like honesty. The woman probably was a competent commander; just surviving that long as a privateer meant something. But still…she did not look forward to taking orders from someone she hardly knew.
“I’m assuming Argelos will do whatever you decide,” Andreson went on. “If you have any ability to command, he will follow your decisions. And we have two others who might be willing to join us, a fellow from Ciudad and Ernst Muirtagh from Urgayin. That would give us seven ships. Enough to practice maneuvers with, and then we’d have something to show, to encourage more to join us.”
“Have you considered talking to any of the good mercenary companies?” Ky asked. “They have resources the seven of us don’t have.”
“Mercs!” Andreson snorted. “If there are any good mercs, they’d certainly be out of our price range. Unless you’re paying.”
“I’m not going to let some merc tell me what to do,” Simon Battersea put in, with a quick toss of his head. “I’m a patriot, not a gun for hire.”
“Enough, Simon,” Andreson said. Again a quick sideways glance. “I’m sure Captain Vatta was thinking of their resource base. But I for one don’t think they’re needed, and I would regard them as a security risk. Those who will fight for anyone might easily be bribed.”
Ky could not imagine the Mackensee commanders being bribed…certainly not easily…but realized she wouldn’t convince Andreson.
“How many ships do you think we’ll need, ultimately?” she asked instead.
“Unless they’re attacking planetary systems, I don’t expect they’ll show up in more than small groups,” Andreson said. “Three, four, maybe five. They can’t be everywhere in force, and as long as the ansibles are down, they can’t communicate among their scattered forces.”
“You are aware they have shipboard ansibles?”
“There is no such thing,” Andreson said.
“There are,” Ky said. “I found them on Osman’s ship. It’s how they’ve been coordinating their attacks.”
“But—ISC always said it was impossible—” That was Battersea again. Ky wondered about his relationship to Andreson.
“ISC said it was impossible to knock out ansibles systemwide, too. I’m telling you…when I got Osman’s ship, I found these things, and the installation and user instructions.”
“And you have them…how many?” Simon Battersea leaned forward.
“Enough to equip this many ships, at least. And they don’t know we have them.”
“Do you have their codes?” Andreson asked.
“No. The electromagnetic pulse that knocked out Osman’s ship systems—it’s complicated; I’ll have to tell you about that battle sometime—also knocked out the code records in the one he had installed. The uninstalled ones seem never to have had the codes loaded. If I understand the instructions, they’re initialized with the ship chip; they transmit using ship chips as initiator codes. They don’t interface with system ansibles—”
“How do you know that?”
“Says so in the instructions,” Ky said. “I don’t begin to understand it—maybe because ISC didn’t authorize them or something.” She wasn’t going to tell these people about Rafe.
&n
bsp; “So…you’re saying you can offer us instantaneous ship-to-ship communication even if the system ansibles are down?” Andreson looked doubtful.
“Yes. And in systems where there are no ansible stations.”
“And what do you want in return? You aren’t demanding command as the price of that?”
Ky shook her head. “I care more about getting it done than who’s commanding. This should give us equality in communications.”
Battersea snorted, but Andreson nodded. “I appreciate that, Captain Vatta. I misunderstood you, I think. I will try to deserve your trust.”
“I’m concerned that this is not a secure location,” Ky said.
“Quite right. I will hold a captains’ meeting aboard my ship for any serious planning. You will meet the other captains there as well.” She glanced quickly at her companions. “We should eat, I think; it would be the normal thing to do. We have eaten here before, Captain Vatta. I can recommend the baked fish. Or, if you do not eat fish, the curried lamb.”
Ky punched in her order, and the Bissonetans punched in theirs. While they waited for the food, she said, “It struck me that you wanted to discuss business before eating; on my world, we do not usually talk business until after the meal.”
“Ah…” Captain Andreson smiled a little. “On Bissonet, we do not want to share a meal with those whom we do not trust, so we make the deal first. It would be almost impossible to refuse a suggestion, after eating together. Does not the sharing of food create an obligation among your people?”
“Not to agree to a business deal, no,” Ky said. She had never imagined that result of a business lunch. “It does put people in a better mood, usually, but that’s all.” Precepts from Saphiric Cyclan doctrine swam up through her memory…the obligation of host to guest, for instance. Did that apply? Had her father thought it applied? She felt vaguely guilty for not having paid much attention. “I think,” she said, “it’s perceived as a courtesy not to disturb each other’s digestion.”