Engaging the Enemy (26 page)

“So he should be familiar with you; he has seen you recently enough—”

“I would think so,” Ky said. “I was only thirteen on my apprentice voyage, but I'm assuming he had his screen on when we spoke at Sabine. We didn't meet face-to-face; we weren't docked at the same time.” Again, the complexities of that whole situation—why she was docked and he wasn't, why she had not met him face-to-face—were more than she wanted to explain at the moment.

“He says the ship you're in was stolen by a renegade Vatta—which you also told us—and he says he thinks you must be Osman Vatta's daughter or granddaughter, pretending to be Kylara, the daughter of Gerard Vatta. That Kylara Vatta, if alive, would be on a ship named
Gary Tobai,
but he's sure you're—she's—dead.”

“My cousin Stella's on the
Gary;
she should be here any day. Send Furman my picture and see what he says,” Ky said. “If he still insists it's not me, he's lying and my cousin will vouch for me when she gets here.”

“Captain, not to impugn your honesty in any way…will your cousin have any better identification than you? And will Captain Furman know her?” A moment's pause, then, “I must remind you, Captain, that even in moments of emotional intensity, using such epithets as
lying
is against our regulations, as provided in the hardcopy you were given. I am willing to overlook it this once, but such an infringement if repeated must be reported and will reflect on any judgment in this case.”

“My apologies,” Ky said, choking back what she really wanted to say. “I appreciate your leniency to a visitor and regret that my home world's standards of courtesy were so lax.” It would not help her case, she suspected, to tell the stationmaster that Furman had called
her
a liar and that's why her father had sent him out here. The last thing she wanted was a forced implant readout, not with that
thing
Rafe's implant had inserted into her head.

“It is understandable, Captain Vatta,” the stationmaster said, in the genial tone he had used with her before. “But you understand that we must strictly enforce our regulations or risk chaos, with so much outlander traffic in the system. Now I will transmit your image to Captain Furman and see what he says.”

“Please do keep me informed,” Ky said, trying to keep the edge out of her voice.

“Certainly,” the stationmaster said.

“He's out to get you,” Lee said, as soon as she'd cut the connection. “I remember—”

“So do I.” Ky ruffled her hair with both hands. “Mad as a kicked wasps' nest, he was when he first contacted me, and madder when I didn't do what he told me. But I didn't think of him as particularly vindictive, just bossy and stubborn.”

“That was before your father kicked him out of his cushy and very lucrative circuit and sent him out here,” Lee said.

“I suppose. I still can't believe he'd lie about me. Do you suppose he really thinks I'm dead and Osman had a daughter…granddaughter…whatever? For that matter,
did
Osman have children?”

“Considering what Quincy told us about his sexual proclivities, he may've had dozens,” Rafe said. “Whether he recognized any of them is another question, but Furman may know something we don't. And it would be interesting to know how he knows, if he does.”

“Nothing in his records,” Ky mused. “At least, I didn't see anything…”

“Nor I,” Rafe and Martin said together. “But that doesn't mean much,” Rafe went on. “I doubt he was the type to take care of his offspring, if he even knew they existed.”

“If they exist, I wonder if they know about him,” Ky said. “If they know they're related to Vatta. To me.”

Rafe raised his brows. “You aren't thinking of looking for them, are you? Your original plan to rescue Vattas meant legitimate Vattas, didn't it? Not some renegade's by-blows.”

“It's not their fault they're Osman's children,” Ky said, feeling a sudden surge of protectiveness. “Probably raped their mothers and left them stranded somewhere…it's not fair.”

Rafe rolled his eyes and Martin sighed; Lee merely looked amused.

“Stella said you had a rescue complex,” Rafe said. “Now I see it. Odd, really, that combination of killer and rescuer.”

“I'm not—” Ky stopped abruptly, a swirl of emotion almost blanking out her ability to speak for a moment. Another signal from her father's implant, as something she'd said triggered the opening of a secured file she hadn't noticed yet. Her father had also suspected that Osman would father children on helpless women; her father had worried about that, he and Stavros both. They had tried to trace Osman's movements for the first few years, looking in orphanages, paying for genetic screenings of possibles out of their own money. They'd found four, managed to have them adopted into more respectable Vatta families; they'd been sure there were more. She probed further, but her father had erased the names.

For a moment, Ky felt a stab of cold terror. Was she herself one of Osman's by-blows? Was that what made killing such an intense pleasure, and was that what had led her toward Spaceforce? She could well imagine her father, with his sense of duty and honor, choosing to adopt one of the children himself. And she looked nothing like her mother…

“Captain—what's wrong?”

She pulled her mind back to the present. “Implant alarm,” she said, keeping her voice level. “Talking about Osman's possible children triggered a locked file. My father thought there were some.”

“And?” prompted Rafe.

“And he thought he found some, had them adopted into good families. I don't know who. He erased the names.” She was not ever going to tell Rafe—anyone—about that fear. She was not like Osman. She was not a vicious pirate; she was not a sexual predator; she was not an outlaw. Even if she was his child—and she could not believe that—she was not like him. She was her father's child, and her father was—had been—Gerard Avondetta Vatta, the respectable, honorable financial wizard at Vatta Transport's head.

Martin whistled. “I hope whatever made Osman Osman wasn't genetic,” he said.

“I'm sure it was looked for,” Ky said. “Early therapy might've changed Osman; if the children showed any behavioral problems, it would've been treated.”

“But back to my point,” Rafe said. “You can't think of going out to find and rescue Osman's children, when you have more important priorities. You need to find other family members, other ships.”

“Like Furman's,” Ky said. “He's got to realize that I am who I am, and that I'm now in charge.”

“He's not going to like that,” Lee said. “He's a senior captain; you were just upgraded from provisional.”

“I'm a Vatta,” Ky said.

“If he can cast doubt on that, I bet he will,” Lee said. “You and Stella are both decades younger than he is.”

“Crown & Spears has Jo's—Stella's sister's—genetic scan on file; they used it to compare with mine and confirm my family identity.” She had forgotten that until now; a wave of warm relief came over her. Surely the comparison of her DNA and Jo's proved that she was Jo's first cousin, not Osman's daughter. Osman hadn't been her father's and uncle's brother, after all. “Besides, while Stella doesn't look much like a Vatta—she takes after her mother's family—I fit right in.”

“For that matter, so did Osman,” Lee said. “Like your father and Stavros, anyway. I wonder if his children look more like a Vatta, or their mothers.”

“It doesn't matter what they look like,” Rafe said, clearly impatient with this. Ky was grateful; it covered her reaction. “They could look like anyone, and the point is you have more important things to worry about right now.”

“Like Furman,” Ky said. “I wish Stella had arrived. She'd be much smoother talking to him than I will.”

The stationmaster's next call confirmed her worries. “Captain Furman says that the image we sent superficially resembles Kylara Vatta, but he is sure she is dead, and thus you must be an imposter.”

“He is…mistaken,” Ky said, trapping
lying scumbucket
behind her teeth. “Crown & Spears has a sample of my genetic material and has already compared it to a known sample from my cousin Jo, my father's brother's daughter. Did he say where he got this certain knowledge that I was dead?”

“I'm so sorry,” the stationmaster said. “A commercial concern such as Crown & Spears maintains private records to which we are not granted access. I'm afraid that their confirmation of your identity is not valid for official records. While I have no reason to disbelieve their results personally, our regulations are very clear: we need to establish genetic relationships based on samples obtained and maintained by official means before such can be used to establish identity. Would you be willing to give another sample?”

“Yes, of course,” Ky said. “Anytime. But do you have existing records from my family to which to compare it?”

“I do not yet know,” the stationmaster said. “This is an unusual situation, in unusual times. I will have that answer for you in a few hours. Meanwhile—and I regret very much placing such strictures on someone whose dealings with us have so far been amiable and honest—I must request that you personally stay aboard your ship until Furman arrives and a court date can be set for formal procedures, and that you allow one of our monitors to come aboard to ensure that you do not attempt to flee.”

“May I ask why?”

“We take identity fraud very seriously, Captain Vatta. Captain Furman suggested that you had altered biometrics to assume the identity you claim. Altering biometrics is not illegal here, and we have clinics that perform humodification at various levels from superficial surgery to gene altering. But when identity fraud is suspected, we do not allow the person so charged access to these clinics until a full identity scan has been run.”

“That's—”
Ridiculous
was hardly tactful and courteous. “—reasonable,” Ky managed. “But couldn't you use some form of tracking device on my person instead? I'm a trader; I have business to conduct. I know back home that they use such to restrict the movements of criminals.”

“The larger problem is your ship, Captain. We were prepared to accept your account of how you obtained it, but it is a ship with a bad history. We don't want to be held responsible for setting a criminal loose. I could petition to allow you to be fitted with a tracking device—we have that technology, of course—but we must disable your ship's ability to depart without warning.”

“I understand that,” Ky said. “As long as your means of doing so cause no permanent damage and we do not incur additional charges, I have no objection.”

“Then I will speak to a judicar about an alternative way of controlling your movements. And your crewmembers, of course, are under no restriction at this time, other than the requirement to obey our rules.”

“Thank you,” Ky said.

“Do you by any chance have another member of the Vatta family aboard? Someone else whose DNA we could compare to yours?”

“Yes, but not a close relative,” Ky said. “A young man whose ship was blown up at Allray; my cousin Stella brought him with her to Lastway.”

“Do you know the exact relationship?”

“No, but I can find out. When will your monitor arrive?”

“She is at dockside now. If you would be so good as to grant her entrance—”

“Right away, Stationmaster.” Ky cut the connection, shaking her head at the expressions of her bridge crew. “Stop that. We have to comply with the law, for now. Not as if we weren't already, or I'd have said what I really think of Furman.”

“With her aboard, you can't,” Martin pointed out. “None of us will be able to…”

“If they agree to my being given a tracking device, she may not be here that long. Let me check. Martin, you go let her in.” Ky called the stationmaster. “If I'm reading your regulations correctly, our ship is still considered the territory of its origin, is it not?”

“Yes, Captain. What is it?”

“My crew are concerned that their habitual behavior to one another, their freedom of expression, is not within the bounds of your regulations, and that they may be charged with an offense for something they say here, which they considered private space not subject to your rules.”

“Oh—nothing to worry about there, Captain. We are quite aware that ship crews have their own way of speaking and behaving aboard their own ships, and that is not our concern. It is our concern only when they are dealing with our citizens on our territory. Our monitors are carefully trained, and will ignore everything other than their assignment. In this case, the monitor's assignment is simply to prevent your ship's departure from the station without my permission, and to prevent you personally from exiting until a determination is made of your identity or your request for an alternative method is granted. Does that fill your needs?”

“Yes, thank you,” Ky said.

“In fact, if you personally should make statements that would be considered an offense outside the ship or if you were speaking with one of our official personnel, the monitor is instructed to ignore these unless they are directed at herself. Naturally, no discourtesy can be offered to her, as she is indeed one of our citizens.”

“That is quite clear, Stationmaster,” Ky said. “Thank you again.”

“You are most welcome, Captain Vatta,” the stationmaster said.

The woman who appeared on the bridge a few moments later, with Martin a careful two steps behind her, looked nothing like Ky had expected.
What is such a beauty doing in police work,
was her first thought. She was a match for Stella, only dark instead of blond.

“Captain Vatta? I'm Robinette Leary, monitor first class. I'm sure it's a bit upsetting, having a stranger forced onto your ship.”