Engaging the Enemy (6 page)

“She's changed, Quincy,” Stella said. “Before she got that ship, she was all Vatta; she cared about the family and the company above all. She didn't care about the letter of marque; I believe she had no interest in using it. Now that she's got a ship like that, with weapons and all, she's changed.”

“You think she doesn't care about the family? After the way she protected you and Toby?”

“After she put us in danger,” Stella said, but this time without heat. “I'm afraid she'll go after the pirates by herself, in some crazy attempt to get revenge. And Toby's with her. She'll get them both killed.”

“I don't think so,” Quincy said. “I've been with her longer than you have. She's not going to take on something she knows she can't handle, and she's not going to think a single ship can fight off a lot of 'em.”

“I hope you're right,” Stella said. With the outburst, she felt exhausted and on the edge of tears. She was not going to cry in front of the old woman. Quincy would, she was sure, take it as an attempt to manipulate her. “I'd better go tell the others—”

“The ones that didn't overhear you yelling,” Quincy said, with some tartness.

“Yes. Well, I need to talk to Mackensee and the convoy captains, and of course the station, as well as the crew.”

Stella looked at her tiny crew gathered in the rec area and shrugged as she told them what Ky had said. “We don't have much choice,” she said. “Ky can't come to the station without being tied up in legalities for a long time; they think she's a pirate.”

“That's ridiculous,” Alene said.

“It may be ridiculous, but to them it's prudence. For our sakes, we have to be as bland and uninteresting as we can possibly be. Businesslike, of course. Professional, but cool. We don't know, for instance, if anyone is still stalking Vatta ships and family members, so we have to be careful. But we're not looking for trouble.” Before anyone could ask awkward questions, she went on. “We need a pilot to get to dock; I'll see about taking one on. We'll be hiring additional crew at this station, including a permanent pilot. If any of you want to leave the ship here, please let me know at least a standard day before we dock, so I can get the paperwork ready. Alene, start scanning the local listings to see what we have that might be marketable.”

“What about those things in cargo?” Alene asked.

“What things?” They weren't carrying any contraband that Stella could think of.

“Those mines,” Alene said. “The ones that came in with the cleaning supplies. We can't let some Customs clerk see those, or we'll be locked up tighter than tight.”

Stella had almost forgotten the remaining mines. Just the thought of them made her feel sick to her stomach. Ugly things, menacing even when just sitting there on the deck.

“Lock them back into their carrying containers and put them in the number two hold, along with anything else consigned to a specific destination. We can then trade out of the others.”

“The captain—Captain Ky—did something to them, remember, after she unpacked them. Do you think it's safe to move them?”

Another loose end Ky had left for her to take care of. Stella wondered how she was going to ask Ky about the mines without revealing to any listening ears that there
were
mines. “I'll check with Ky,” she said. “Unless, Quincy, you know—?” But Quincy shook her head. “Well, then,” Stella went on, “is there anything else we need to ask Ky about? Because she's changed course and this will be difficult in a few more hours.”

It was impossible, Stella found, to ask whether mines needed to be deactivated and, if so, how, without making it clear that something was being concealed, if not what.

“I needed to ask you about those cargo items that were involved in the…er…attack. As you recall, some crates were opened when we were…trying to make some barriers and things…and some of those items may have been rendered unsafe…”

“You mean the…oh,” Ky said. Her face expressed some emotion that might have been consternation or just concentration. “Er…nobody's moved them, have they?”

“No. My question is…”

“Well, yes, you'd want to inspect and remove anything…er…damaged in Osman's attack and clear a space for repairs. I understand that.”

“With the reminder that no one in my present crew is experienced in this particular kind of—”

“Yes, yes,” Ky said, cutting her off. “Quincy is probably your best choice for this, as some of it is technical. Is she available?”

“She's down in cargo. I'll transfer your call,” Stella said. Typical of Ky not to let her finish her sentences. She called Quincy to the relay screen and listened in.

“Quincy,” Ky said, “Are you concerned about the items we took onboard at Lastway, from that supply company—the cleaning supplies, deodorants, and things?”

Quincy's brows rose; then she smoothed her expression. “Yes, Captain. If you recall, Environmental thought some of the canisters might be useful in defending the ship. But I'm wondering about corrosives that might cause leaks or impair air quality.”

“Yes. And you don't have Mitt over there anymore; I think he was in charge of that. I'll just ask him.” She cut the sound, but Stella could see Ky turning away, talking into another device, presumably connected to
Fair Kaleen
's Environmental section. Would anyone really believe that they'd tried to use canisters of deodorant for weapons?

Ky's voice came back on. “Mitt says it's just a matter of making sure the lids are fastened tightly. There's a snap-on part—the actual locking device is on the side.”

“I saw that,” Quincy said. “There's some kind of status marker or something?”

“Yes—the instructions are in there somewhere. You'd want it to be dark or green, not orange.”

“Do you think Mitt took the instructions with him by accident? Or what would I look for?”

“If you can find the original crate, there's a readable version…”

Stella listened without comment. Surely anyone listening in would immediately recognize what was being talked about.

Quincy and Ky went on, until Quincy gave a little grunt of satisfaction. “Ah. Now I see it. Thanks, Captain—I've got it and it's clear that none of the…uh…canisters has leaked. The contents appear stable.”

“Then if the container is still in one piece, just repack them.” Ky looked as calm as if they'd been discussing tubes of sealant. “Stella, I'd suggest you put that crate and the other items that were on consignment into one of the holds and move items you might want to trade to another—”

“I already thought of that,” Stella said.

“Good,” Ky said. “Now is there anything else?”

There was, but not something Stella wanted to get into over an open channel. “I would like to know where you're headed next,” Stella said. “So I can rejoin you later.”

“Oh. Of course.” But Ky said nothing more for a moment, instead staring at nothing, with the slightly blank expression of someone accessing complicated implant information. Then she focused on Stella again. “Stella, do you have Vatta route information in your implant?”

“Only the main routes,” Stella said. “Maybe Quincy has it in hers.”

“I do,” Quincy said.

“Good, then. Section six, standard route, alternate three's second stop alternate. Don't say it.”

“I have it,” Quincy said. “Not recommended, right?”

“Right. The Vatta code should begin with VXR—”

“That's it,” Quincy said.

“Let Stella know, but no one should reveal it here,” Ky said.

Stella wanted to say
ridiculous,
but maybe it wasn't. “I am authorized to hire crew here, am I not?” she asked instead.

“Of course,” Ky said. “You're the CFO; you know what we can afford and can't.”

“See you in a few weeks,” Stella said, hoping that would be true.

“You'll be fine,” Ky said, and signed off.

Stella glared at the blank screen for a few seconds before putting in a call to the Mackensee ship. She would have sent a string of curses after Ky if she'd had a way to do it. Here she was, stuck without a real captain or a pilot, short-crewed otherwise, and Ky was off somewhere doing something—probably getting herself in trouble, as she usually did. How was she supposed to hire reliable crew in this situation?

She fell back on older experiences and tried her best smile on Lieutenant Colonel Johannson. Men in authority usually liked being asked for advice. “How can I find reliable crew?” she asked. “My cousin's left me in a difficult situation…”

His answering smile was a bit grim. “You Vattas have a talent for getting in difficult situations. I'd be tempted to do a subsidiary contract with you, except for my experience with your cousin. However, for a fee I can lend the services of our intelligence unit to check out candidates for employment, if you wish.”

“That would be most helpful,” Stella said. “I'm sorry Ky was such a problem to you.”

“She didn't intend to be,” Johannson admitted. “But I suspect she's one of those drawn to trouble—or trouble's drawn to her. You may be one of the peaceful Vattas—if there are any.”

“We thought we were,” Stella said. “Most of my family are—were—ordinary business people. Wore suits, went to the office, came home and in their off hours followed individual hobbies. Or, for those on ship duty, did whatever duty they were assigned.”

“Hmmm. Sounds peaceful enough.”

“Except for competition between companies,” Stella said. “My father could be pretty cutthroat in doing deals, but personally I never saw him as anything but a respectable businessman. Even boring, I thought when I was a youngster, but I had grown out of that.” Her only comfort, after her father's death, was that she had, after all the turmoil earlier, gained her father's trust and respect as an adult.

“It's odd that such a massive attack was aimed at your corporation,” Johannson said. “I know—at least your cousin said—that she had no idea who had done it, or why; she was convinced it was connected to the attacks on ansibles, but I couldn't think of a plausible connection.”

“I can't, either, really. I'm hoping that Osman was behind it somehow—certainly he intended harm to us, and his connections at MilMart suggest a wider-ranging capability—”

“Wait—I hadn't heard about that. What connections at MilMart?”

“He taunted us—said our defensive suite wouldn't work against actual missiles—”

“But we checked it out—our techs said it was fine—”

“Well, it wasn't,” Stella said. “I don't understand how it was done, but somehow it showed up fine on scans, but there were bad components. Osman bragged that he had an agent in MilMart, that he'd told them to sell us a compromised system. Ky didn't tell you this?”

“No, she didn't. I suppose it could have slipped her mind—”

“We fixed it,” Stella said. “Or rather, Quincy and the Engineering crew did. Replaced the defective parts.”

“We buy from MilMart,” Johannson said; his tone was now grim. “They have a good reputation, but if they've got someone in their organization who's cheating customers, that's something our headquarters has to know. Fair trade—that pays for our help in screening potential crew for you.”

“Thanks,” Stella said, astonished.

He didn't explain further, but went on. “Send us a list of the crew you want to find, and we'll check with hiring agencies.”

Stella had considered at length what appearance would best suit her needs, studying local broadcasts and newsfeeds. Few visible humods and a human population skewed to the short and dark. Their broadcast entertainment, however, featured one tall blonde after another. For once her beauty might work for her; if she couldn't be one of them, she could be what they admired.

“Aren't you worried about security?” Quincy asked as Stella prepared to go onto the station and arrange financing options.

“Not a great deal,” Stella said. “I really think the impetus for attacking Vatta came from Osman. I don't think he was the whole show—he could hardly have managed to damage all those ansibles himself—but I don't think I'm in that much danger.”

“I hope you're right,” Quincy said.

“I also,” Stella said. She put on a smoke-blue dress suit, arranged her hair carefully, and went to meet the Customs and Immigration team at dockside. All male, all fairly short and dark. Their eyes widened as she stepped out onto the dock.

“Er…Captain Vatta?”

“I'm Stella Vatta, yes,” Stella said. She could see in their expressions that she was having the desired effect. “I don't have a uniform,” she said, putting on her most wistful smile. “My cousin was the captain, but when she left, she appointed me.”

“And your experience—” That was a stocky older man with a little gray in his dark hair. His name tag read
NIMON KNAE
.

Stella looked down and allowed her cheeks to flush. “Actually—I'm more of an accountant than a ship officer. But she left me a very capable crew.”

“She turned a spaceship over to someone who isn't even a ship officer?” His eyebrows had shot up, almost comically.

Stella nodded. “But I'm a family member, you see. She said a Vatta ship had to have a Vatta captain.”

“That's hardly fair to you. How are you supposed to know what to do? What if something goes wrong?” He had taken on the protective tone she knew so well from her father; her eyes filled without her intent even as she recognized that she had found a point of contact.

“I do worry about that,” Stella said, blinking back the tears. “But I've been reading the manuals, and I do have a very capable senior engineer. Of course, I plan to hire more crew here—and maybe one of the Vatta ships on this circuit will come in while I'm here.”