“You mean—they just expected you to? It wasn’t that you wanted to get away, get out into space, see other planets?”
She did not want to talk to this person about her past, about her dreams. “Pretty much,” Ky said instead. “And for the most part, it’s not all that exciting. Seeing other planets, sure. But the rest of the time it’s just business.”
“Oh.” Favor looked disappointed. “I suppose, if you’re used to it—”
“Right.” Ky was tired of this detour. “If you don’t need anything else, I have other appointments, and it’s getting late—”
“Oh. Of course, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—I was just interested, it sounded so exciting—”
When she had twittered her way out, Ky shook her head. “I’m probably not being fair—”
“To think she’s a fluttery featherhead? Possibly not, but she’s a good imitation.” Quincy had come onto the bridge, and now shook her head.
“And I still have to cope with Captain Furman.” Ky let the resentment come into her voice there. Quincy looked at her.
“Didn’t you apprentice on his ship?”
“Yes. It was not a happy experience.”
“Apprenticeships rarely are. What’s wrong? Is he still treating you like a child?”
“Yes. You saw part of it. He’s going to want to drag me back home like a trophy failure . . .”
“You need something to eat,” Quincy said. “Garlan, go get her something to eat.” Garlan nodded and left the bridge.
Ky started to say You’re not my mother, but her stomach growled and she realized she was feeling hollow.
“All right,” she said, sinking back into the seat. “I am hungry.”
When they were alone, Quincy leaned forward. “Ky—is there more to that message your father sent?”
“Yes,” Ky said. She felt her muscles tense and tried to relax. “Said he was sending a new implant out with a Vatta ship. I suppose that’s Furman.” She could hear the sharpness in her own voice. “I don’t want to go back. I don’t want to let Furman take our cargo to Belinta. It’s my job—my contract—and I’m quite capable of doing it.”
“I agree,” Quincy said.
“And I don’t need the implant,” Ky said.
“I wouldn’t want to do without mine,” Quincy said. “Makes it a lot easier.”
“The implant . . .” Ky stopped, unable to articulate her feelings about it. She tried again. “The implant is Vatta, in a way. The Vatta connection: the codes, the propriety databases, the protocols, all preloaded for me. Yes, it’s easier to have it all available internally. I really like parts of it. But . . . when I rely on it . . . I’m not really thinking for myself. I can miss solutions I might otherwise come up with. We didn’t have them at the Academy. . . . We had to learn to learn, remember, analyze, plan, all with our own brains.”
“You were doing fine before you were shot,” Quincy said.
“Maybe. Maybe not. It was always whispering to me, shaping what I knew . . . and with so much in there, I wasn’t as likely to look outside for more information, was I? And after, without it, did I do that much worse?”
“No,” Quincy said. “I have to admit you seemed just as competent without it. But everyone has one . . .”
“Most people, certainly spacers, yes. If I could have an empty one and choose what to put in it—”
“You could,” Quincy said. “But it seems a waste to me. You need the Vatta protocols.” She paused; Ky said nothing. “By the way, are those mercenaries trying to recruit you?”
“Why?” Ky asked, trying to conceal a guilty start.
“Well, Beeah went dockside, to try to link up with some equipment suppliers, and he told me he ran into one of them who said something about how you’d end up in their pockets.”
“Not likely,” Ky said. “I have a contract to fulfill.”
“What are you going to do if Furman orders you to turn over the ship and give him your cargo?”
“I—don’t know.”
Quincy shook her head. “Now that’s not true. I think you know perfectly well. My real question is, are you going to stop with defying Furman, or are you going to break with Vatta as well? Is that the real reason you don’t want a Vatta-programmed implant?”
“Break with Vatta? I hadn’t even thought of that.” But even as she said it, she knew she had . . . at some level.
“The thing is, if you decide to break with Vatta, you need to let the crew know. Those who want to stay with Vatta would probably rather leave now, and go with Furman.”
Without the Vatta component of her crew, she had only three crew, the ones she’d picked up here. And even they might not want to stay with her. She thought about them. Two experienced environmental techs, one with some bridge experience. One drives maintenance technician. Hard to run a ship with that. Impossible to run a ship with that, with no pilot, no cargomaster, no . . .
“Oh. Well, I hadn’t planned to leave Vatta . . .”
“Can you commit to that beyond Belinta? You don’t want to leave anyone stranded.”
Of course she didn’t want to leave anyone stranded. Her head ached. It was all so blasted complicated. Contracts for this, contracts for that, personnel problems.
“Here, Captain,” Garlan said, bringing in a tray. Ky’s stomach rumbled at the smell of a hearty soup. She ate quickly, aware of Quincy’s worried gaze still resting on her like a heavy weight. When she finished, the problem was still there, and her stomach knotted around the soup.
“I’m not going to abandon my crew anywhere,” Ky said. “But I hear what you’re saying, that some of the Vatta people may want to go back with Furman.”
“As long as you understand . . .”
“What about you?” Ky asked. “Do you want to go back?” Losing an engineering chief would be bad but not impossible, as long as she didn’t take all her supports with her.
“I haven’t decided,” Quincy said. “I’ll stay with you through repairs, anyway. But—I could retire now, and it’s been a . . . a difficult trip.”
“Yes,” Ky said. “It has. And you’ve certainly earned retirement. I’d like it if you stayed, though.”
“We’ll see,” Quincy said. “It all depends . . .”
On what? Ky wanted to ask, but she knew better. “Thanks. I’ll go talk to Furman’s representative now.”
Furman’s representative was his second in command, a cheerful stocky man in Vatta blue with a small lock-case clipped to his wrist and a large briefcase in his hand.
“Captain Vatta, I’m Bantal Korash,” he said. “I have a special package for you from your father. I’m afraid you’ll have to validate and sign this—” He pulled a plasfilm receipt from his pocket.
“And I’ll have to inspect the seals,” Ky said. That was the first, simplest level of validation for both of them.
“Here, then.” He handed it over; she turned it over and around in a specific pattern, observing that each seal was unbroken. Then she thumbprinted the receipt, signed it, and he put it back in his pocket. “And I also have some forwarded mail; your father says it’s nonurgent but wanted you to have it.” He opened his briefcase and handed her a small pile, including one with all too familiar handwriting. Her heart thudded painfully. Hal. What had he said? Had he understood? “Captain Furman would like to get everything straightened out so we can get back to our route. I understand you have cargo for Belinta?”
“Yes. There’s no reason to delay you—Captain Furman can take the Kat back to his route right away.”
He shook his head. “That’s not what Captain Furman says. He says he’s supposed to make sure you’re all right, and in his mind that means making sure you get back to Slotter Key safely.”
“I’m fine,” Ky said. “You can see that.”
“But the ship . . . and didn’t someone die?”
“The ship needs repair; we’re working on that. Gary Tobai, my cargomaster, was killed during the mutiny. His funeral’s day after t
omorrow, station time.”
“Tobai! I worked with him four years ago, on another ship. What happened?”
“Furman didn’t tell you?”
“No.”
“The passengers the mercenaries stashed aboard the ship included some troublemakers—some of them tried to take the ship over. They did manage to degrade the system controls, turn on the insystem drive, and destroy our communications transmitters. They took Gary hostage, threatened to kill him if I didn’t turn over command of the ship.”
“If they’d done that much, why did they need you?” Korash asked.
“I don’t know. I do know that I tried to stop them—and killed the two ringleaders—but Gary died. I couldn’t stop them in time—”
“But if they had Gary hostage, how could you—”
“I had other crew to think of, and the passengers who weren’t involved. That had to come first. He knew it—he told me not to give in.”
Korash stared at her, eyes wide. “You saw him?”
“Yes.” Ky closed her eyes briefly, where one of the rotating scenes of disaster from this trip passed before her eyes. Skeldon’s face, as she just caught sight of him in her cabin before everything went black. Gary Tobai looking her in the eye, and then . . . not.
“How could you—watch—” Now he sounded disgusted, as if she were something contemptible. Anger stirred; Ky pushed it down.
“You’re welcome to come to his memorial service,” Ky said. “Day after tomorrow, the station chapel. A Modulan service.”
“Oh, I couldn’t,” Korash said. “I’ll be back on our ship by then. But how do you feel about it?”
“Horrible,” Ky said. “I keep thinking I should have done more to prevent it—more to keep them from getting systems access, from grabbing Gary. But there were a lot of them and few of us. If I’d known who was behind it, I’d have spaced them to start with and saved us all a lot of trouble.”
“Spaced—you wouldn’t really space anyone—!”
Ky looked at him, a nice decent older man who had never faced what she faced. She tried to soften her voice. “Actually I would, if necessary to save my ship. Mostly it’s not necessary.”
“That’s hard,” he said. His face was two shades paler; she could see the sheen of sweat on him. “That’s really hard.” He swallowed. “I suppose that’s the sort of thing you learned in the Academy.”
“Yes,” Ky said. It saved time trying to explain what couldn’t be explained.
“Things are different in the civilian world, you know,” he said.
“I know that,” Ky said. “But my first responsibility is still to my ship and crew, even under civilian legal codes.”
He had an odd expression, somewhere between curiosity and revulsion. “How did you . . . er . . . I mean . . . do you carry a . . . a weapon?”
“You want to know how I killed them, is that what you’re asking?”
He flushed, then; “I . . . I guess so.”
“I shot them with a pistol bow that one of my crew had—a target bow.”
“You did that before?”
“I practiced, once I realized that we might have trouble with our passengers. My crew member taught me how to use it. I suppose that shocks you . . .”
“I couldn’t shoot anyone,” he said firmly. “I just couldn’t.”
Her patience snapped. “Then I suppose it’s a good thing you’ve never needed to.” Before he could say anything else, she said, “You can tell Captain Furman—or I can contact him myself—I am going to get this ship repaired well enough to take my cargo to Belinta—myself—and he can consider himself free to return to his regular route. I will check and see if any of my crew wish to return with him, and I will prepare a message for my family. I’m assuming you came in by shuttle?”
“Er . . . yes.”
“Well, then. When does it leave or was it a charter?”
“A charter . . .”
“You can spend a couple of hours here?”
“Yes . . . but I have to let them know when I want to leave.”
“I’ll speak to the crew shortly; I’m sure they’ll want to stay for Gary’s memorial service, at least. So Furman can leave after that, if any of them want to go with him, or earlier if they don’t. I can have that answer for you in . . . say . . . three hours. I’m sure you’d enjoy that time more on the station than on a small ship like this . . .”
“Er . . . as you wish . . .”
“You have an implant, yes?”
“Yes.”
“Fine. Give me your number; I’ll contact you.”
At last he left, and gave her a vague sort of salute on his way out. Ky took a deep breath and then tabbed the intercom.
“All crew, come to the rec area, please. I have an announcement.”
A few minutes later, they were all there except for Beeah, still out on the station.
“Captain Furman, of the Katrine Lamont, wants me to agree to sell this ship for scrap here, take all of you and the cargo aboard his ship, and go back to Slotter Key via Belinta. I’m not going to do that; I’m going to repair the ship with the money Mackensee paid me, take my own cargo to Belinta, and pick up our cargo there, and go on our original route to Leonora and Lastway. However—” She paused. “While I don’t have direct orders from Vatta headquarters to do what Captain Furman says, I suspect that his report of my decision will generate some heat. Most of you are long-term Vatta employees. I will understand if you don’t want to be involved in a dispute between me and my family’s business. I will also understand if you don’t trust me as a captain, after the death of a crew member you all knew for a long tme. So I’m giving you the opportunity to transfer to the Kat if you want to. I’ll give you all an exemplary report for your records.”
“If we leave, what will you do for a crew?” Lee said. “We can’t just leave you out here alone . . .”
“There are always transients,” Ky said.
“Have you looked?” Quincy asked.
“Well . . . no. Not yet. But it’s up to you, really. I don’t want you staying out of some guilt thing.” She yawned; she couldn’t help it. “Sorry. I’m going to go get something to drink, give you all a little while to discuss it.”
“What about us?” Li asked. “We’re not Vatta employees, really . . .”
“Furman says he’ll take you at least a lot closer to Slotter Key, a mainline station,” Ky said. “Or you can hire on with me, if you’re willing to learn cargo work as well as your primary specialty. Talk to Quincy—she can tell you about Vatta, and about me.” Ky pushed back her chair and stood. She was seriously tired, the accumulated strain of the past days settling on her shoulders like a sack of wet sand.
CHAPTER TWENTY
She decided another shower would help—after the days of rationed showers, she enjoyed the opportunity for a long one—and stood under the warm spray for several minutes. She felt better, but also even more sleepy. She meant to sit on her bunk only a moment, but suddenly her beeper was sounding, and she opened her eyes . . . She had slept for an hour.
Not a good sign if the crew had needed an hour to decide what to do. She braced herself to hear that they were all leaving.
“Coming,” she said. Even that brief nap had helped; her eyes no longer burned. She finished dressing and returned to the rec area. To her surprise, only Quincy was there. The old woman looked up at her.
“Went to sleep, did you?”
“Sorry . . .”
“You needed it; you were dead on your feet. We would have let you sleep longer, but we heard from Furman’s messenger.”
“Ah. And?”
“I have to tell you I’m not happy about going against your father’s wishes . . . I don’t want to lose my retirement because he blames me for your decisions.” So her father had told Furman to bring her home?
“I’m the captain; they’re my decisions. My father knows me; he should know that I’m stubborn enough to ignore any advice you give me.”
&nbs
p; “Yes. I am taking that into consideration. But are you willing to tell him that and save my reputation as a reliable baby-sitter?”
“Of course,” Ky said.
“It’s been a difficult voyage, Captain. For a moment here, I’d like to talk to you in my role as designated grandma, not as crew.”
“All right.” What was coming now, a lecture about filial duty?
Quincy drew a visible breath and started in. “When your father asked us to crew for you, he told us you were studious, hardworking, smart, and honest. All that sounded good. Then he told us you had a habit of picking up strays and were headstrong as a mule. One of the things he wanted us to do was protect you from the kind of person who’d gotten you in trouble at the Academy. He didn’t say much about that, so I don’t know if it was a love affair or something else. Watch out for the lame puppies, he said. She’ll do something stupid just to help someone.”
Ky felt her ears going hot. There it was again, that same assumption . . . that same wrong assumption.
“And we failed,” Quincy said. Her eyes glistened. “Gary and I—we were supposed to protect you, and we almost let you get killed by that young idiot. We hadn’t kept you from bringing him aboard, and we hadn’t kept an eye on him, and when you were carried past, the medics all looking so grim . . . I felt as if my own granddaughter were dying and I’d killed her. Gary felt just as bad.”
“It wasn’t your fault, either of you,” Ky said quickly, reaching for Quincy’s hand, but Quincy pulled it out of reach.
“Let me finish, please. So then you didn’t die, and you took that contract with the mercenaries . . . doubt you had much choice . . . and you came back just as cool as snow and perfectly professional. I don’t know when I’ve been as proud. You were trying to prevent the trouble you foresaw—and I hadn’t spotted it, except with that fancy-pants from the Rose—and I realized it was some of my engineering modifications, for the passengers, which gave Paison access to the systems, made his takeover possible. When they grabbed Gary, I was terrified; I could not imagine how we’d get out of it alive, any of us. I know he didn’t want to be the reason you didn’t act, if you could find any way to act. I’d have felt the same if they’d grabbed me. I wish they had . . . I’m older. But anyway—you knew what to do, and did it, and saved us. I was . . . useless. Not because I’m old, but because I’ve spent my life on safe ships traveling safe routes; I haven’t been in a fight since I was a child.” Quincy paused, shook her head, and then went on. “So if you were my granddaughter in truth, I’d be so proud of you—and a little scared of you—and yes, I would trust you because you’ve been right so far. What I don’t know is . . . can you trust me? Would you rather I went back, and let Beeah take over as Engineering First? He’s qualified, as far as the engineering goes, and I don’t think you need a baby-sitter anymore.”