“No, that’s all right,” Ky said. “I’m sure one of the other methods will do very well. But you’ll have to excuse me—I have other commitments to meet here. If you’ll collect his body, I can get back with you later.”
“It’s a good idea to go on and make arrangements early,” Bahandar said. “There are still a lot of casualties coming in—”
She hadn’t considered that. “What is the schedule then?”
“With a holographic chaplain, or the recorded or AI version of the service, we can fit you in . . . let me see . . . at 1330 hours the day after tomorrow. That includes a one-hour slot in the . . . that’s the Modulan basic-plan chapel, with provision for either the recording or the interactive audio service. If you wanted the half hour of grief counseling in the chapel, the first open slot is 0730 three days from now.”
“The recorded version,” Ky said. “We won’t require the grief counseling.” If the crew needed grief counseling—she didn’t let herself think about whether she did—Vatta Transport could provide it somewhere else, as part of their health coverage. Not from a smarmy little man who was annoying her more by the second.
“Very well. You’re entered for 1330, day after tomorrow, that’s Senket, in local calendars. Please be sure that you vacate the chapel on time, as there is a service scheduled after yours. The actual recording begins when you press START and takes thirty-four minutes.”
“We will be out on time,” Ky said.
“And to what account should this be charged?” Bahandar asked.
“Vatta Transport, Ltd.,” Ky said. She had no qualms about that; their insurance would cover it.
“Very well. Now—where is the . . . er . . .”
“In the cooler,” Ky said. “One of my crew will show your personnel.”
“Within the hour,” Bahandar said.
She switched off, feeling slightly ill and not sure why. It seemed wrong to treat the end of Gary’s life as a series of practical choices such as whether or not to have a hologram or a recording as the chaplain . . . but she’d just done it. In the military, they handled these things better. Tradition took over. If he had been military, his funeral would have fit that final heroism better; she could imagine the draped coffin, the slow march. There would have been no smarmy little man. She rubbed her head hard, trying to stave off tears and think clearly.
What next? Mackensee or ISC? Mackensee—she was fairly sure she knew what they wanted.
Their contact was a fresh-faced young officer, Lieutenant Sanders, as he introduced himself. He seemed inordinately cheerful, and fully familiar with Ky and the situation.
“Captain, we can send a crew over to remove our equipment, starting at 0900 tomorrow.”
“That sounds good. I’ll need to talk to someone about our contract—”
“That’ll be Major Harris; I’ll patch you through in a moment. Colonel Kalin would like to see you at 1400—”
It was 1100 local time now. Her eyes felt gritty. “I can’t leave the ship,” she said.
“Of course. The Colonel knows that. If 1400 is open . . .”
It was open. That was not how she wanted to spend the afternoon which felt like midnight, but she might as well get it over with. “Fourteen hundred is fine,” Ky said.
“I’ll switch you now to Major Harris,” the lieutenant said.
Major Harris, when he answered, smiled less brightly than the lieutenant, but it was a smile.
“I understand you had some problems with a few of the passengers,” he said. “Good job, only losing three. Under the circumstances, we’re amending the contract, if you agree, to compensate for the extra days, without reference to the smaller number of passengers. We took the liberty of consulting Vatta, Ltd., while we were outsystem, and their legal staff approved the amended contract, pending your agreement. Have you had a chance to confer with them yet?”
“No,” Ky said, feeling grumpier than before. “I haven’t had access to ansible communication yet.”
“Ah. That’s right, the system’s not completely up yet. Well, we can defer this matter until you have had a chance to talk to them, or I can transfer funds into an account for you now, if you’re willing to take my word for it.”
The last time she’d taken his word for something, the ten days and docile passengers had turned into several weeks and a mutiny that cost the life of her crewman. “Let me see the amended contract,” Ky said. “What’s the compensation rate?”
The contract came up onscreen, and the printer hummed—soon she’d have hardcopy. “You’ll notice, when you get to the bottom, that there is a Vatta Transport approval seal from their—your—legal department. There’s also a release from liability, protecting Vatta from suits referencing experiences aboard your ship, and Mackensee from suits by Vatta against us . . .”
“I . . . see.” Ky had scrolled quickly past the familiar paragraphs of the original contract, to the amendments and the compensation. She struggled to keep a straight face. That was a lot of money . . . and the Vatta Transport, Ltd., seal had the right date codes for this quarter. She wanted that money. She wanted every credit of it, in her accounts, right now. Surely if the company’s legal department had approved, it was all right . . .
“Of course, your company didn’t know all that happened while we were outsystem, and they would probably insist on additional compensation if they knew . . .”
“Ummm.” Ky was deep in the fine print: per diem per passenger, damages to ship, delay of delivery of cargo, damages to cargo if proven by independent appraiser, interest to be paid per day for delay of payment . . .
“So I am authorized to offer a two hundred fifty thousand credit additional compensation, but in return would require a statement that this satisfies all debt between us.”
Two hundred fifty thousand? They must really want Vatta Transport off their backs. Ky wondered what Vatta had said—what her father had said.
“With all due respect,” she said, trying to keep her voice from revealing how much she wanted that money, “you do realize I will have to validate the seal on the original, before I can give you a final answer . . .”
“Of course,” he said. “But it would help us to know whether you are inclining that way or not.”
“With confirmation of my company’s approval, and the additional compensation, I feel sure we can come to an agreement,” Ky said. And she would have her communications board back, and her beacon, and her FTL unit . . .
“There is one complication,” Major Harris said. “Captain Furman, of the Vatta Transport Katrine Lamont, insists that he has the right to negotiate in your name, make binding decisions on your behalf, and that any funds should be deposited to the account he names. We were not told of his involvement when we were outsystem. Is he, in fact, acting as your agent?”
“He is not,” Ky said. She could hear the anger in her own voice and tried to damp it down. “I believe he was sent here to check on my welfare, but he is neither my boss nor my agent.”
“Good. Since you personally negotiated and signed the original contract, the laws we operate under require us to complete it with you, and involving him would mean a whole new round of legal finagling. Which I, for one, would rather avoid.”
“I also, Major Harris,” Ky said.
“Well, then. Colonel Kalin can bring the amended contract to you when he visits, and if you sign it, we can transfer the funds immediately into—what account did you want to use?”
Not Vatta Transport’s general Sabine account . . . Furman would seize on that, she knew, and he was the senior Vatta captain in the system.
“I’ll have that for you before then,” Ky said. “I’m not sure of the status of all accounts.” The accounts she did not yet have, but hoped to acquire.
“Very well. Just let us know.”
Ky cut the connection and leaned back with a sigh. She was still tired, and that was only two down, with one coming at 1400—and it was now 1120.
Food would help. And a show
er. But first she needed to contact one of the banks and set up an account to receive the transfer. Luckily Sabine Station had a branch of the venerable Crown & Spears Commercial Bank, and it was only too willing to set up an account for Captain Vatta of Vatta Transport, Ltd., so that she could receive a funds transfer later in the day. Could she come in and validate identity, or should they send a technician to the ship?
“Send someone, please,” Ky said. “I need to stay aboard right now; I’m expecting visitors, both civil and military.”
“Very well. We can have someone there with an ID reader in about half an hour. Say 1200?”
“Perfect,” Ky said.
She pushed back from the board, then, and said, “I’m going to shower and eat something. Call me if there’s an emergency, but otherwise . . .”
“We’ll take care of it,” Lee said. “Don’t worry.”
After a shower and change of clothes, Ky wolfed down a quick lunch. Then the bank ID tech announced himself at the dockside.
Validating her ID took fifteen minutes: the retinal scan, the gene scan, the fingerprints, all compared to the data she had left on file with the station in her earlier visit. When the tech reported in, the bank replied with her new account number. Ky sent that on to Major Harris. She looked at her list . . . Could she squeeze in someone else before Colonel Kalin arrived? ISC, it would have to be.
The pleasant-looking older woman who came onto the bridge did not look like Ky’s notion of an investigator; she looked more like someone’s mother. Not her own mother, but someone’s. She wore a blue-gray suit, not a uniform; her silvery hair was piled high on her head.
“I’m Sara Illis,” she said. “You must be Captain Vatta. I’ve reviewed the information you were able to send—amazing how much you were able to do with your communications out. A clever idea, using your beacon like that.”
“Thank you,” Ky said. She felt buffeted by the woman’s approval; that made her feel wary.
“Obviously, we’re interested in anything more you can tell us about the attack on the ansibles. You were here when it happened, I understand?”
“Yes,” Ky said. “But all I know is what was on the newsfeeds.”
“Of course. But we are asking everyone—had you heard anything which, in retrospect, might indicate such an attack was coming?”
“No,” Ky said. “That trouble was coming, yes. In fact, the Slotter Key embassy asked me to evacuate some crewmen who’d been stranded here. But other than war, nothing specific.”
“Right. And once the officers of the other ships came aboard, when did you first become aware of the involvement of this Captain Paison?”
“Not fast enough,” Ky said. A wave of guilt almost blacked out her vision. Gullible, susceptible, an easy mark for an experienced manipulator like Paison. Not so easy, she reminded herself: he was dead and she wasn’t. She forced her attention back to the conversation. “The captain of the passenger liner was being so difficult that Paison seemed reasonable by comparison. I actually trusted him, until the mutiny. In fact, Paison himself never told me he was involved in the war, or in the attack on the ansibles. That was one of his communications personnel—I gave you his name—”
“Yes, and he’s in protective custody.” Illis’ smile conveyed no amusement. “He is quite concerned that Paison’s other associates might come after him. Unfortunately, he does not strike us as particularly trustworthy either, and we wanted to be sure that what he’s telling us is the same thing he was telling you.”
“Ah. Well, I have that logged. I’ll be glad to make a copy for you.” She called in Sheryl and asked her to make the copy.
“Exactly what we hoped.” The ISC representative smiled at Ky. “Now, about the Mackensee involvement. In your own mind, do you have any feeling, however vague, that they were involved?”
“Not anymore,” Ky said. “If you’ve talked to them, you undoubtedly know that I was injured when they came aboard my ship—not their fault. One of the people I picked up at Sabine Prime was stupid and got himself shot. I spent some time aboard their command ship, being patched up. Everyone—top to bottom—seemed shocked by the attack on the ansibles, and they denied being part of it. Said it would be stupid for them.”
“It’s stupid for anyone,” Illis said, and for an instant her blue eyes chilled to glacial temperature. “That’s why we need to find out who doesn’t realize that. Was it someone so ignorant or stupid that they thought it would be a good idea to tweak our tail, or was the target actually someone else? Is this an attempt to frame someone?”
“I don’t know,” Ky said. “But I’d bet on stupid. There’s a lot of it going around.”
Illis laughed, a throaty chuckle. “So there is. But we are bound to look at more than the simple answer, Captain Vatta. Oh—and while I’m here, I was asked to deliver a message to you, by hand, from your family. You will have realized that they were quite concerned when they learned that you were in this system when the ansibles went out.” She passed a data cube across to Ky.
“I was hoping they wouldn’t know,” Ky said. Her stomach churned.
Illis shook her head. “We provided a list of ships known to be in this system to appropriate authorities on the planets concerned. I suppose they notified your family. At any rate, your family contacted us, and it was agreed that I could deliver this message, since we didn’t know . . . how long it would be before ansible service could be restored. There’s also a line of credit arranged for you, via ISC, in your family’s name. It’s direct for you, so if you need anything, just contact us.”
They had not known whether she was alive or not when they compiled this message . . . but they had thought to provide for her.
“Thank you,” Ky said, past the lump in her throat.
“That other Vatta ship that’s in the system,” the woman said. “Captain Furman, I believe his name is. He’s told us he’ll be taking you away as soon as possible . . .”
“Captain Furman and I will have another discussion or two before I decide what to do,” Ky said, with a slight emphasis on “I.”
“I see.” Her smile widened. “Well, in that case, we would like to talk to you again—my boss, the Incident Inspector, in particular—and thank you for your contribution to the solution of this situation.”
“I haven’t really done anything,” Ky said.
“On the contrary. We really had no idea what was going on, until your transmissions started coming in. You gave us a valuable lead, Captain, and we’re grateful. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must get back to my boss. He’s waiting for my report.” She took the copy of the recording Ky gave her, and left. Ky glanced at the chronometer: 1340. Definitely not time enough to see anyone else before Colonel Kalin showed up. With, she hoped, the contract and the money. Time enough, though, to look at the message.
She put it in the cube reader. There on the screen was her father, with the expression she had seen only a few times.
“Kylara . . .” He swallowed. “Ky, I don’t know at this time if you will ever receive this, and I’m finding it hard to record knowing that you might . . . might not. But assuming that ISC can find you in time, I wanted you to know that your family is behind you. We understand why you took a contract from Belinta; we are not angry that you went to Sabine. Gary and Quincy may have told you by now that most Vatta captains do go a bit wild with their first commands. We trust you, we love you. Please come back soon, though, because we . . . I . . . really would like to see you in one piece and soon. I understand that something happened to your implant. As soon as possible, I’ll be shipping a replacement to you by secure carrier—probably a Vatta ship, hand-carried. It will have all the current codes preloaded. It might be better to let that ship take over your Belinta contract, but that’s up to you. And Ky, I’m really sorry to have sent you off ill-prepared, and into such danger . . .”
He hadn’t sent her into danger; he’d sent her on what should have been, and probably was, a perfectly safe route, a boring milk r
un. She herself had made it dangerous by changing plans, by stepping outside his definitions. It wasn’t his fault, any more than her trouble at the Academy had been his fault; she hadn’t blamed him for that, either.
She knew he had meant this message to be warm, loving, consoling, encouraging. So why was she feeling like a cat with its fur rubbed backward? That was obvious . . . He was still treating her like a feckless girl, who needed protection and guidance and consolation. He was patting her head, putting an arm around her shoulders, as if she had fallen and scraped a knee instead of having faced real danger, death in several forms, and survived by her own abilities.
What had happened to her—to her ship, to her crew—could not be consoled by a father’s love and care. Even though a small part of her wanted to run back to his protection, back to Slotter Key to fall weeping in his arms and rest in his understanding . . . she was beyond that. There would be no easy answers, no easy comfort.
This must be the message Captain Furman had had—go rescue my poor helpless daughter. He might have his own reasons for thinking she was a spoiled darling—she had been pretty rotten at thirteen, she admitted to herself, and probably deserved what he thought of her—but she had grown up.
She looked up to find Quincy watching her. “It’s from Dad,” she said. “There was a lot he didn’t know when he recorded this. He’s being comforting and protective . . . He wants me to let Furman take my cargo to Belinta and bring me home. He’s apologized for letting me get into such a dangerous situation.”
Quincy shook her head. “Wasn’t his fault. Do you want to go home?”
“No. I mean, I accept that he meant well. But the Belinta contract is my contract, not Furman’s. Not even Vatta’s, when it comes to that. Mine. And we have cargo there that’s due at Leonora and Lastway. All we have to do is repair the ship . . .”
“All?” Quincy’s eyebrow quirked. “It’s more than just changing a controller board. But what next?” Clearly, she meant more than after the repairs, or even after Belinta.
“After that run? Depends on what we make from it. If we could bring this ship up to code—”