Engaging the Enemy (36 page)

Ky's barrister ushered her, Stella, and Toby out, leaving the technicians fussing with their machine on the courtroom floor.

“That was…very strange,” Ky said, when they were in the passage outside. “I'm still somewhat confused. Would you come aboard my ship and explain further?”

“Certainly,” the barrister said. “But you must understand, at my fixed hourly rate. Now if we were merely to have a meal together—and it is now time for lunch, I believe—then we might have a friendly conversation that would cost you for the meal but nothing else.”

“I—I want to go back to the ship,” Stella said. Tears glittered in her eyes; her hand in Ky's was cold.

“What's wrong, Stella?” Ky asked. She knew the moment it came out of her mouth that it was the wrong thing to say, but she couldn't unsay it.

Stella paled. “Don't be stupid!” she said. “I find out that I'm not who I thought I was, that my father was a renegade, a thief, and…and worse…and you want to know what's wrong?”

“I'm sorry,” Ky said. “I thought…I meant…”

“I'm going back to the ship,” Stella said, yanking her hand out of Ky's grasp. “I'm going to pack. You can have it all…all the ships, all the company. It's yours. You know what you're doing; you're always so sure of yourself.” She whirled and strode off. Toby looked as shocked as Ky felt.

“Excuse me,” Ky said to the barrister. “Family crisis. Come on, Toby.” She hurried after Stella, Toby at her side. “Stella!” she called. “Stella, wait—don't go—” People in the passage turned to look at them, and politely turned away.

Stella slowed, but did not turn. When Ky caught up with her, Stella's face was streaked with tears, her mouth set in a stubborn line.

“Stella, please,” Ky said. “In law you're my cousin, whether it's birth or adoption. It doesn't matter…”

“It matters to me,” Stella said. “To be that man's daughter—no wonder I messed up my life. My father—my
adoptive
father—should have kicked me out then and there. No surprise they didn't think I'd amount to anything.” She walked faster again; Ky stretched to keep up. “And then…and then to lie there, blinded and tied up and waiting for…for a monster to come kill me, I thought, and for it to be my own…my own father. My real father—”

Ky could think of nothing soothing to say. “He's dead now,” she said, hoping that would help.

“Killed by you,” Stella said. “That makes me feel
so
much better.” She took a shaky breath. “I should be grateful, I'm sure. I should be grateful for being rescued from whatever life Osman would have given me—”

That was so true that Ky dared not say anything. Stella in a rage, Stella having a tantrum—she knew that Stella of old.

“And I am grateful,” Stella went on, more calmly. “I had a good childhood. My…the parents I thought I had…were good to me.” Her voice rose again. “But still…they should've told me something. I should have had some warning that I wasn't really Jo's sister, that the differences I felt weren't my fault. That there were things I should be watching out for.”

“You were a child,” Ky said.

“Not for the past ten years,” Stella said. “Were they ever going to tell me? Or was I supposed to go through life not knowing there was an explosive secret hanging over my head?”

In the ordinary life they'd known, not knowing wouldn't have caused her any problems, Ky thought, but Stella was clearly in no mood to hear that now.

“You are a Vatta, though,” Ky said. “And you've been working for Vatta, since—”

“Since Aunt Grace took me on,” Stella said. “And I wonder if she knows, the old harridan. Damn her, for not telling me. She of all people should have known better.”

“But it hasn't stopped you doing your job,” Ky said. “You aren't a thief. You aren't a murderer. You are a competent woman with many talents—”

“Including some I inherited from my father Osman,” Stella said. “No, Ky, I'm not the person I thought I was. I'm not reliable. I proved that once, and it's there in my genome, as well. You don't need me.”

“I do,” Ky said. “I do need you.”

“Right. That's why you kept zipping from system to system, not waiting for me…all you need me for is a place marker. To lie there with a bag over my head pretending to be you, to follow you around in an old tub until you deign to slow down and tell me what to do—”

The abrupt switch caught Ky off guard. “What's that about?” she asked. “I thought this was about Osman being your biological father.”

“It is…it was.” Stella strode past a group of people waiting outside a pastry shop so fast that they all turned and stared.

“Slow down,” Ky said. “Station rules…”

Stella stopped, and Ky almost bumped into her. “Ky, will you please just go…somewhere…and let me get back to my—to the ship? I do not need to be nursemaided.”

Ky was aware of the onlookers and made an effort to keep her voice very low. “Stella, you should have an escort when you're not aboard ship, just as I should. We don't know if Furman had someone watching us, if we're still being hunted. If I send Toby with you, will you promise not to go anywhere alone, or—or do anything, and we can talk later?”

“All right,” Stella said, more softly. “But who's going to guard your back?” She grimaced. “I may be Osman's by-blow, but I don't want you dead.”

“That's good,” Ky said. “I think—I know—we can work this out if we just sit down and talk, but if you want some thinking time—”

“Yes,” Stella said, between her teeth.

“All right. Toby, please make sure that Stella gets back to her dockside safely.”

“Yes, Captain,” Toby said. “I won't let anything happen to her.”

Ky watched as they moved off down the passage, then turned to look at the crowd near the pastry shop. As one, they all turned away.

K
y used the skullphone in her implant to call back to
Fair Kaleen.

“Furman blew his own case,” she told Hugh, who answered. “And there's a complication.”

“Isn't there always? What this time?”

She hesitated a moment, then decided that they would all have to know soon enough. “They did genetic tests on Stella, Toby, me, and Osman's tissue,” she said. “Stella is Osman's natural daughter…found in an orphanage, apparently, and adopted in infancy by my uncle Stavros.”

“She's…oh, my.”

“Yes. Don't tell the others yet, but she's having a rough time right now. I let her go back to her ship with Toby, for the present.”

“You need an escort?”

“I probably should.” Ky didn't want to wait around, but it was just possible that Furman or Osman or someone else had agents on the station.

“You definitely should. Stay where you are—where is that? I'll send a pair. Gannetts, will that do?”

“Fine. I'll be eating lunch at a café right here—the Rainbow Arch, it's called. Smells good.”

“Find a table with—”

“My back to a wall and an exit nearby. I know.” Hugh was as bad—or good—as Martin when it came to security matters.

Her next call was to Quincy, on
Gary Tobai.
Stella hadn't reached the ship yet, so she briefed Quincy on the discovery.

“Well, that explains things,” Quincy said.

“No, it doesn't,” Ky said. “She hasn't changed into a monster just because Osman was.”

“I didn't mean that,” Quincy said. “I meant it explains why she never got ship duty like nearly all you Vatta youngsters. She didn't go offplanet until she was over twenty, did she?”

“Not that I know of,” Ky said. “The thing is, she's very upset—”

“Naturally—”

“And she said she's going to leave Vatta, go off somewhere.”

“Ridiculous. She mustn't. You want me to talk to her?”

“Let her tell you,” Ky said. “But try to keep her from walking out on us.”

“I'll keep her busy,” Quincy said. “I'm not going to tell the crew, though. Not yet, anyway.”

“Right.”

Ky found a seat both Hugh and Martin would approve, and ordered lunch. Maybe this would give her time to think over what to do about the day's revelations. Two of the Gannetts, Arnie and Gus, arrived before she'd finished eating. She nodded and they sat down on either side, refusing food.

“We'd just eaten, ma'am,” Arnie said. “Don't you rush.”

“I won't,” Ky said. But she also couldn't think in the café's bustle.

Back aboard ship, she went into her cabin and resorted to old-fashioned marker and paper to organize her thoughts. With Furman arrested and sentenced to death—she should do something about that, but what?—and her identity as Vatta's heir now accepted, she had three ships at her disposal. Three ships, but did she have three crews? Furman had quietly eliminated Vatta family members from his ship; did that mean the crew were all disloyal? Surely not all of them…but whom could she trust?

The dots and circles and boxes she doodled didn't really help. If she didn't trust Furman's crew, then…she called Quincy.

“If you were a captain up to no good in a Vatta ship, which crewmembers would have to be in on it?”

“What?”

Ky explained.

“Well…your pilot and navigator, if it involved route changes or unscheduled stops. If cargo's unloaded or taken on, at least the cargomaster. Engineering wouldn't have to know, necessarily, or Environmental. They might but they wouldn't have to. My guess is that Furman first eliminated family members who might be nosy, then anyone else with too much initiative.”

“So…what chance is there that those in on it will try to run with the ship?”

“Minimal, I'd think,” Quincy said. “Though you will have informed the stationmaster not to give it clearance—you did, didn't you?”

She hadn't yet. “Not yet, but I will. Thanks, Quincy.” The stationmaster agreed to put a lock on
Katrine Lamont
and also halt cargo clearance.

“You'll want to change the captain of record, I'm thinking,” the stationmaster said.

“Yes, but I haven't hired a new one yet,” Ky said. “I'll have to check at the Captains' Guild.”

The next step, clearly, was to go over and take formal possession of that ship, ideally before the crew realized Furman was under arrest. This might require assistance from the station's law enforcement. She asked about that.

“I can detail a couple of patrol personnel to go with you, if you expect trouble,” the stationmaster said.

“Furman will have told the crew I'm an imposter,” Ky said. “They may not believe me when I say my identity was proved in court and he's in custody.”

“Ah. I see. Well, when do you think you'll go?”

“Immediately,” Ky said. “At least, I'll start immediately. You have my com code.”

“Yes. I'll alert the station nearest that ship's docking slot.”

Ky called Martin and Rafe in. “Rafe, I want you monitoring all your surveillance gear near or in
Katrine Lamont.
I'm sure some of that crew are in on whatever graft Furman was pulling, and it would help to know for sure which ones. Replacing an entire crew here is going to be difficult, if it's possible at all. Martin, I want enough of our weapons-capable crew as necessary to set up a round-the-clock watch on the
Kat;
I'm going to remove the entire crew, and then send them back in small groups.”

“They're not going to like that,” Rafe commented.

“They don't have to like it, but I am not about to leave that ship in the hands of Furman's accomplices. I want a guard on the engines and environmental systems; Quincy thinks these sections are least likely to be in on it, but that's where sabotage could do us the most harm. Martin, gather your team while I go talk to our own bridge crew.”

At
Katrine Lamont
's dockside, a crewman in Vatta shipsuit stood watch, as was proper. His eyes widened as he spotted Ky and her entourage, and she saw his hands move on the dockside comunit.

“I'm Captain Kylara Vatta,” she said, though he must have known that. “Captain Furman will not be returning to this ship; it will be reassigned by Vatta headquarters.”

“It—you—he said you were a fake,” the man blurted.

“As these gentlemen will explain,” Ky said, gesturing to the two local patrolmen with her, “my identity was proven in court. I am Kylara Vatta, daughter of Gerard Avondetta Vatta, and in this jurisdiction acting head of Vatta Transport, Ltd.”

“So you—you're going to take over the ship?”

“I'm going to reassign it, not take it over personally, but there will be an immediate inventory of assets,” Ky said. She nodded to Martin and the squad he had chosen. “The crew will be escorted offship while the inventory proceeds, and then decisions will be made about changes in assignment.”

“But you can't—I mean—”

“Your name and specialty?” Martin stepped forward; the man paled and licked his lips.

“Uh…Demi Pelagros. Cargo handler, class three.”

“Very well. Step over here, please.”

As Martin had recommended on the way over, Ky then called the ship's general intercom. “All personnel aboard
Katrine Lamont,
report to dockside immediately.”

First to appear, as expected, were cargo handlers wearing their reflective mesh vests with the Vatta logo on the front and the ship's name on the back. None was the bald man with the cargomaster's patch, however. They looked uncertainly at Ky, but lined up next to Pelagros as instructed. Then a mix—Engineering and Environmental techs. Again, the heads of these departments didn't appear with their people.

The dockside unit buzzed; Ky picked up the headset. “What's going on?” someone asked. “Is there a problem?”

They would have their own surveillance, Ky knew. This was delaying, nothing more or less. “All personnel report to dockside,” she said. “You will be informed when you arrive.”

“Who are you? I'm Acting Captain Bender, while Captain Furman is ashore. Where is he?”

Ky said nothing. Seconds ticked away; then a group of five appeared in the hatch. Two women, three men, all in Vatta blue with the armbands of senior crew; one was the tall bald man she'd noticed on scan before. Ky kept her expression bland as they stared across the dockside space at her.

“What's going on here?” a hard-faced woman asked. “I'm Bender—who are you people and what are you doing on our dockside?” Her gaze raked the
Katrine Lamont
crew. “What are you doing with our people?”

“You're the senior engineer?” Ky asked.

“Yes, of course,” Bender said. “And you?”

“Kylara Vatta,” Ky said. “Is this all the crew?” She knew it wasn't.

“I suppose,” Bender said, but her gaze wavered. Ky reached over and put her command wand into the dockside unit. Instantly information poured into her implant: three crew were still inside the ship.

“Go on in, Martin,” she said. “There are three—one on the bridge, one in crew quarters.”

“Captain, I have two on surveillance,” Rafe said in her ear; Martin glanced at her; she knew he'd also received Rafe's information. “The other one's disabled the pickups in his area. I can map the pickup failure.”

“Good job, Rafe,” Ky said. She waited where she was. She had wanted to board first, but Martin argued that she must stay outside, under the protection of the police, until he had secured the ship.

It took almost thirty minutes to find and escort out the last crewperson, who had been found hiding in a concealed space similar to that Ky had found in Osman's ship. Martin's team went through the ship carefully, compartment by compartment, searching with every tool they had for anyone else, while Ky addressed the crew.

“Captain Furman claimed that I was not Kylara Vatta—a lie, as he knew me personally. Moreover, I was able to prove my identity to the satisfaction of local authorities. He was found in contempt of court and will be sentenced in the next day or so. He is, of course, no longer a Vatta Transport employee.”

She paused. Most of the crew simply looked stunned, but the senior section heads glowered. “Those of you who did not obey the order to leave the ship have forfeited your employment. Personal items will be retrieved for you from your quarters; evidence of criminal activity will be turned over to local authorities.”

“You can't do that—” This was a man wearing the green armband of Environmental. “We got rights—”

Ky stared him down. “I am Vatta, on this station. This is my ship.”

“It is not—it's the captain's ship—you can't just come in here and—” He lunged toward her, reaching for his hip. Her own shot caught him in the chest, Martin's in the head. He fell; the other senior crew did not move, and the local police merely watched.

“As I was saying,” Ky said, “evidence of criminal activity will be reported to local authorities. Those of you who obeyed may be rehired, if you pass all security investigations. You will need to present applications. When my people are sure the ship is secure, you will be allowed to retrieve personal items, under supervision, one at a time. Is that clear?”

A mutter that might have been a chorus of
yes, ma'ams.

Ky tipped her head to one side. “Is that clear?” she asked again.

This time the answers were louder, except from the senior crew.

“Then you'd best be off. Give your names to these gentlemen—” Ky gestured to the local police. “Find yourself a place to stay. None of you will be staying on the ship for at least three days.”

Slowly, with many backward glances, they moved out the dock entrance, one by one showing their identification to the police.

“If I were you,” the senior police officer said, “I wouldn't hire any of 'em back. But you will have to give them their personal effects.”

“As soon as the ship's secure,” Ky said. “We'll clear out the crew compartments and put their gear in a safe location they can access. I'll probably rent one of the cargo inspection compartments for a day; that will be convenient to the ship, if anyone claims something was left behind, but maintain ship security.”

He nodded. “That makes sense and is legal within our system.”

Four hours later, Ky was back aboard her own ship. Rafe had already reported, via skullphone, on the most important of his discoveries during that period of surveillance, and all three ships were now secure. Martin's crew had begun removing the former crew's personal effects to the cargo inspection area she'd rented. Ky looked forward to a relaxing cup of chocolate in her cabin before tackling the other problems, but even as she walked in, she got a call from her barrister.