Engaging the Enemy (16 page)

His expression changed. “Gammis? Gammis Turek? Nasty fellow, that one. Ten, twelve years ago we almost got him ourselves, but he got away. Left us a message at the next station we came to, threatening all sorts of things. I didn't pay much attention—we'd won, after all—but I started hearing things from other captains. Two years later, one of my crew turned up missing, and four days later station police found the body. Flayed. With a recording of what had been done stuffed in the mouth. Others have had similar experiences after a run-in with him.”

“I think he's behind this,” Ky said. “We had a renegade Vatta—a distant cousin of mine, ousted from the family. He stole one of our ships—”

“Osman Vatta,” Argelos said, nodding. “We knew about him; your family put out a bulletin years ago.”

“He came after me,” Ky said. “Vengeance on my father and uncle; I think he's the source of the attacks on Vatta—the reason for choosing Vatta, I mean. But he wasn't working alone. He was under someone else, and I think that someone else was named Gammis.”

“I suppose that could be,” he said. “What made you suspect Gammis?”

“After Osman died,” Ky said, “I started looking for the person behind him…”

“Osman's dead? How did that happen?”

“I killed him,” Ky said. “Surely you recognized the ship I came in on.”

A slow flush rose to Argelos' cheeks. “Yes, but—”

“And you must have wondered if another Vatta had gone renegade, if I was perhaps his daughter or something—”

“Not after learning you were Gerry's daughter,” he said. “But…yes. That's certainly what my adviser thought.”

“I can't imagine any reason for attacking only Vattas—and attacking them so thoroughly, in so many places—other than personal grudge. At any rate, when Osman and I met up, I was able to kill him and capture his ship.”

He nodded. “Where did you have it adjudicated? Any problems with the courts?”

“I claimed it as a prize,” Ky said. His eyes widened; she grinned, enjoying his shock. “I have a letter of marque, too, Captain Argelos. I don't know why, or how, but it was waiting for me on Lastway.”

“But Vattas have never been privateers—”

“I know. But there it is, so I took over
Fair Kaleen
as my prize.”

“And no one gave you trouble about it?”

She wasn't going to talk about Garth-Lindheimer. “They weren't too happy at Rosvirein, but they agreed it was legal. And business is business.”

“This is a dangerous time, Captain Vatta,” Argelos said. “I don't think business as usual is a good model. I will consult with my adviser and be in contact, but do not expect much, would be my advice. I believe he would have doubts about the validity of your letter of marque, as, quite frankly, do I.” His expression made it clear that was the end of his patience.

“You can come aboard and look at it,” Ky said. “Thank you for your time, Captain Argelos. I hope to hear from you soon.”

A few hours later, Argelos contacted her and asked permission to come to her ship. Ky agreed willingly, hoping this meant a positive response. When he came aboard, his face showed no warmth.

“My Spaceforce adviser thinks you're crazy,” Argelos said. “Just out for revenge for your parents' deaths. I told him what you said, and he swears your letter of marque must be forged. Vattas were never privateers, he says, just as I said.”

Ky nodded to the frame on the wall. “There it is. See for yourself.”

“If you'll pardon me…”

“Of course.”

“Let's see, now…” Argelos was up, peering closely at the letter of marque. He had a small tube in his hand that Ky guessed was some instrument for determining the validity of the document. “Did you study much about the privateer system? How it works in practice?”

“No. Borderline pirates, is what we were told. We certainly were not told that they were an integral part of Slotter Key's defense system. That came as a complete surprise.”

“Um. This reads just like mine. Superficially at least it seems to be the same. Impressions the right depth; ink and paper the right kind. A good forgery, if it's not genuine. I have to wonder, though, if the government was removing protection from your family as you suggest, why it would give you a letter of marque.”

“I wondered that, too, frankly,” Ky said. “I wondered if it might be a fake, intended to get Vattas into even more trouble, but it came from a source I can hardly doubt.”

“Can you tell me what?”

“Spaceforce,” Ky said. “Someone I know personally.”

His brows went up. “Spaceforce? Are you sure?”

“Yes. The source was…unimpeachable.”

“I don't think I understand at all,” he said. “Unless someone's feeling guilty. Are you fully aware of all the law governing privateers?”

“No, no more than I knew about how privateers work. I hoped to find someone from home who could help me out with that. You're the first I've found.”

“Hmmm. I suppose it wouldn't hurt to send you a copy of the pertinent regulations and things. But about working together—”

“Perhaps if I talked to your adviser, I could explain—”

“He wants nothing to do with you. He was quite adamant on that point; apparently he thinks some past contact would…er…contaminate, is the way he put it, any cooperative action.”

“He knew me?” Ky asked. “He was at the Academy?”

“Or on one of the training ships. I'm not sure which; he declined to say. He considers you a loose cannon, that much is certain. Overenthusiastic and not overhonest, he said. He's only been assigned to me within the past year; my former adviser developed health problems and had to take medical leave.”

Ky immediately thought of her nemesis at the Academy, the cadet whose lies to her had caused her expulsion, but he should not have graduated yet. Who could this be?

“I don't see that, myself,” Argelos went on. “And youngsters can mature, grow some sense. I was wild enough, in my young days. Still…I'm not ready to go against his advice.”

Ky tried again. “Sir, I still say we should work together—all the privateers—to take care of these pirates. I think it's essential—”

“That can't possibly work.”

“Why not?”

“Well…as I said, there aren't enough of us. Not from Slotter Key alone, anyway. And we don't have any way to communicate. And privateers from other systems aren't likely to cooperate—”

Ky wondered if this was the right time to play her best card. Surely it couldn't hurt. “We can solve the communications problem.”

His brows went up. “Really? How?”

“Captain Argelos, have you ever heard of shipborne ansibles?”

He scowled at her. “Ansibles on ships? That's not ISC technology. Do you have any idea what kind of trouble we'd be in—?”

“The pirates have them,” Ky said. “How else do you think they coordinated their attacks? Besides, we found a number of them on Osman's ship.”

“But the ISC will interdict our home world if we use non-ISC communications—”

“No, they won't,” Ky said. “They haven't been able to protect the system ansibles. That was the source of their monopoly—they could supply, and protect and maintain—that vital system. Now they've failed—not just in one system, and not just for a short period. It's been over half a standard year, and dozens of systems are still cut off. Systems will have to protect themselves. They won't care what ISC says, if they have another way to communicate.”

“Do…do these work just like system ansibles?” Clearly he was interested, leaning forward, eyes alert.

“Not exactly,” Ky said. “ISC has set things up so that lightspeed communications can interface with only those system ansibles installed by ISC—ansibles manufactured with preset origination codes specific to each customer.”

“Then they're useless—”

“No. What it means is that we can't connect directly to system communications webs with these ansibles, but ship-to-ship communication is quite possible, as is ship-to-system-ansible if the system ansible is functioning. It's a parallel system.”

“How hard is it to install? To operate?”

“Osman's ship had one installed,” Ky said. “We haven't had to do an installation, but I do have a manual for both installation and operation.”

“I would worry about detection,” he said. “How do you know that this device isn't transmitting your whereabouts to the pirates? System ansibles have a locator code.”

“We're still alive,” Ky said. “I imagine that if the pirates knew where my ship was, they'd have attacked me by now.”

“Except that you killed Osman, you say. That might give them pause.”

“Not if they're as strong as you say,” Ky said. “You said they could gather ten or fifteen ships at a time; no one ship would stand a chance against those odds.”

“What's the difference between their protection racket and what you propose?”

“A true interstellar space navy subordinate to civilian governments? Quite a lot. The pirates are saying
Pay us or we'll attack you.
I'm saying
Fund a space navy and they'll attack the pirates or anyone else.
”

“But both cost the citizens directly.”

“Sure they do. But in one case the citizens get to choose who protects them, and how. They agree on price beforehand.”

“You make sense, Captain Vatta, but I still…” His voice trailed away. “I'm still bound to listen to my adviser. I can try to talk to him, but…I don't know.”

Ky sensed that she had pushed him as much as she could; she hoped he would come to agree with her later.

“Thank you for coming, Captain Argelos,” she said. “I understand your concerns, and hope we can continue this conversation another time.”

His face showed relief; he shook her hand before leaving.

A few days later, Ky had just finished her daily inspection of the Environmental section when an alarm called her forward.

“What's happened?” Ky asked, coming onto the bridge.

“Empire Line's
Princess Philomena
just arrived insystem, squalling like a banshee,” Rafe said. “Apparently the pirates hit Bissonet and have taken over the government—blew through the planetary space militia as if they weren't there. Threatened to scorch the cities if the government didn't give in. They're imposing tariffs and blowing up ships that don't cooperate. Just like they did to Vatta, they're saying.”

“As we expected,” Ky said. “Did they have a name for themselves?”

“The Deepspace Benevolent Association. Commanded by—again no surprise—one Gammis Turek.” He nodded at the screen. “This is what he looks like, they think.”

He was tall, dark, and missed handsome by only a small margin.

“He's probably charming,” Ky said. “Rogues often are.”

“Ouch,” Rafe said, glancing at her and away. “Actually, they're saying he's terrifying. Can go from calm to hysterical in a nanosecond, and kills on whim.”

“Ummm.” Ky studied the picture. He looked older than she was, younger than Osman or her father. He wore an outfit that looked like leather or a good synthetic, the deep burgundy jacket decorated with strips of metal. Probably bonded to personal armor. The pants, an even darker shade not quite black, had a burgundy stripe up the outer leg. Black boots, of course. One hand gloved, with metallic strips that were probably useful in a bar fight. The other bare, showing a tattoo, the design half hidden in this view. “He's certainly dressing the part, isn't he? Big bad pirate chief.”

“I suppose. Yes. Only wants a hat with a feather.”

“He'll have it on his helmet,” Ky said. “Flamboyance is useful, of course.”

“Yes. There's only one vid clip of any of his people…” Rafe called up the next image. Turek was standing, arms crossed, while two men in burgundy shipsuits seemed to be searching someone, and a third read from a list.

“Same color, different fabric,” Ky said.

“I never knew you were so interested in clothes,” Rafe said.

“Clothes are data,” Ky said. “He's chosen those clothes for a reason; if we understand that, we know something about him. We can see, for instance, that he prefers a showier material for his outfit than they wear. No problems with privilege, I'd say. The color—that's trickier. If we knew where he was from, what his background was, that would help. Colors mean things to people, but not the same thing to all people.”

“Red without having to flaunt it?” Hugh suggested.

“He's not worried about flaunting,” Ky said. “He's a peacock for vanity, I'd say. No, the burgundy has a reason. Red plus. Fire and smoke? No, he'd go more orange. Red and black, maybe…danger and death. Interesting.”

“I don't see what difference it makes what he wears,” Martin said. “What he does tells us who he is, what he's really like.”

“What he wears tells us who he thinks he is,” Ky said. “Military psych class—understand your enemy's viewpoint.”

“Give me enough weapons and I don't need to understand my enemy,” Martin said. “Just blow 'em away.”

“Understand them, and they'll put themselves in your sights,” Ky said. “Much more efficient.”

“I suppose,” Martin said, grinning.

“I would not have suspected you of subtlety, Captain,” Rafe said. The others gave him a sharp glance, but Ky laughed.

“Hardly that, Rafe. Simple good straightforward military analysis.”

“Be that as it may, what are you going to do about this fellow?”

“Kill him,” Ky said cheerfully. “When we can, at least.”

The Captains' Guild buzzed like a kicked beehive. Insystem captains, long-haul captains, all talking at once by the noise level. Ky signed in with the reception clerk. “Any chance of a table for one in the dining hall?”