Command Decision (8 page)

“And I still have a little cargo to sell off,” Argelos said. “That may help, and it clears out a hold for military supplies.”

“Excellent,” Ky said. “Now, since neither of you has beam weapons and I have two, I thought I’d assign each of you more than a third of the missiles we can afford. That still won’t fill your racks—well, not unless your cargo sells very high—but it should give you something to work with.”

“That’s very generous,” Pettygrew said. “Thank you.”

“Yes, thanks,” Argelos said. “But don’t leave yourself too short.”

Ky went back to Crown & Spears after lunch to give the manager her limits for the indentured auction and explain what she was looking for.

“I’ll do my best,” he said. “Most bidders are agents for someone; in fact, you aren’t my only client this time. With any luck, they won’t figure it out. I think the prices won’t be too high at this auction; the hospitals and clinics here and down on the planet are fully staffed, so medical personnel have been selling as general labor. Especially if they’re…um…more like you.”

“Yes. Well, I appreciate your service,” Ky said. Back at the ship, she told Hugh how she had allocated the munitions purchases.

“We could fight an engagement,” Hugh said, shaking his head at the total. “I’d have to hope we weren’t outnumbered.”

“We have to have docking fees, and we need more supplies than just munitions,” Ky said. “And I’m hoping to get some medical personnel. At…er…auction.” She explained about the indenture policy.

Hugh grimaced. “That’s disgusting. I hadn’t heard that about them before. What about that ship we passed? Hear anything more about it?”

“The Crown & Spears manager knew about Polson,” Ky said. “Legitimate small colony, he said. Apparently the Gretnans want to run them through some additional—and no doubt expensive—inspection procedure because they’re genetic humods. So they’re keeping them at a distance.”

“They don’t like us; they don’t like humods…I’m coming to agree with Lee about these people. Fairly nasty lot, aren’t they? Are you going to try selling these Fishies anything?”

“Nothing…interesting,” Ky said. “If you find anything innocuous on inventory, I’d be glad to make a little more. We’re going to be tight, and we don’t want to be caught short.”

“Quite so. I’ll see what I can find and check with you before listing it.”

By the middle of the next shift, deliveries started arriving at dockside.

Ky could not help noticing that the Gretna workers—all as pale as the Port Security personnel—avoided looking at her and her crew when she faced them and spoke only when spoken to…but behind her back, as the security monitors proved, they stared and muttered to one another. The mutters, amplified and recorded by the monitors, did nothing to improve the crew’s attitude toward the locals.

“I told you they were Fishbellies,” Lee said. “All right: I have blue eyes and light hair, too, but I’m not like they are. I don’t care what color someone’s skin and eyes are, as long as they’re decent; these idiots seem to think color’s what makes ’em decent.”

“You call them Fishbellies,” Ky pointed out. “That’s as bad as their calling some of us Mudders.”

“It’s not,” Lee said, “because I’m not calling them that because of their color. It’s their attitude that makes ’em Fishies.”

“Well, stay in the ship, then,” Ky said. “It’s hard enough dealing with them without having to keep a lid on you, too.” She did not mention that his recent training in military etiquette seemed to have vanished under the first real stressor. That would come later.

She had left Hugh supervising the unloading dockside; now she took a call from him.

“Better get out here, Captain; we’ve got a complaint from Port Security. They don’t like our monitors.”

“There’s nothing wrong with our monitors,” Ky said. “We aren’t spying on anyone else.”

“They want to see the captain,” Hugh said, without answering her comment. Ky sighed and headed for dockside, glancing at the bridge display from those monitors as she went. A man in Port Security uniform stood next to Hugh; the Gretna workers who should have been moving pallets into
Vanguard
’s cargo holds were clustered, heads together, near the dock entrance. She reached out and increased magnification on one image. Yes, they were smirking. Ky introduced herself to the Port Security officer in a neutral voice.

“Private security monitors are illegal,” the man said, not quite meeting her eyes. “Only law enforcement is authorized to place monitoring devices. Such devices must be removed at once.”

“I’m sorry,” Ky said. “Everywhere else I’ve been, dockside security is the responsibility of the shipowner.”

“This isn’t everywhere else,” the man said. “This is Gretna, a place for
honest
people. People who don’t need to steal.”

Ky managed not to raise her eyebrows. No one proclaims honesty as much as the liar.

“If you don’t trust our honesty,” he went on, “how can we trust yours? Only the dishonest are suspicious.”

“We’ll remove the monitors,” Ky said. And replace them with less detectable ones or human eyes…She had the weapons crews free to stand watches outside the ship, if that’s what it was going to take.

“Very well,” the man said. “No more cargo will be loaded until you do.”

“Hugh,” Ky said, struggling to keep all traces of anger out of her voice. “See that our equipment is removed from dockside. I will wait here while you arrange it.” Very shortly, the Gannetts came out and detached the monitors from the dockside bulkheads. Ky followed them back into the ship without another word to the officer, leaving Hugh to supervise loading once more.

“They’re up to something, Captain,” Jon Gannett said as soon as they were well inside the ship.

“I could just figure that out,” Ky said tartly. She was suddenly angry, so angry that she felt the back of her neck burning.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “Reckon you’ll want some special surveillance?”

“Yes,” Ky said, struggling to hold down the anger enough to think clearly. “Inspect every missile and its control system—make sure they’re not sabotaged in some way, and that they are what the invoice says. Check the other supplies, too: I wouldn’t put it past these people to sell us contaminated food. Internal surveillance, in case they get the notion to wander out of the cargo holds or stick their own little devices somewhere…and I’d better go talk with the other captains.” She called them and suggested meeting at the Captains’ Guild again.

The others, she found, had had the same annoying experience. “It’s our dock space,” Pettygrew said. “They charge enough and they don’t even provide surveillance; I don’t see why they object to us having it. It’s an insult.”

“They’ve got to be up to something,” Argelos said.

“I know,” Ky said. “But we need the munitions and other supplies. I’m sure you’ve already thought of this, but have your people check—”

“—everything,” Pettygrew said. “I am, believe me. Do you have external video monitors on your ship?

“Like nearscan?”

“No—actual video. We have external monitors that retract in flight, but in dock we can bring them up to see most of the hull. I’ve got mine out now, just in case.”

Ky, remembering the near-attack at Lastway, felt a cold chill down her back. She had not thought of that. If the Gretnans were up to something like that—but surely, if they attacked ships in dock, it would be in her father’s files. “All we have are the docking cams fore and aft,” she said. “They don’t begin to cover the whole hull.” Though they could be useful, she thought; the Gretnans couldn’t keep her from using equipment on the ship itself.

“I don’t think they’ll attack us,” Argelos said. “I think they’re more likely to cheat us some way, or try to. I’ve put two of my crew on watch at the cargo bay, just keeping an eye out.”

“Pilferage we can handle,” Ky said. “But I’ve been on a ship attacked from the outside near a station—so everyone keep an eye on the traffic around us. We can do that with nearscan, even though we don’t have true video. I have to say I’m surprised at Osman on this one—I’d have thought he’d be more careful.”

Second-shift the next day, the Crown & Spears manager called her. “I’ve got your personnel,” he said. “Do you want them all to report to your ship? They’re all right here in the office, with the guards.”

“I’m on my way,” Ky said.

“They’re…um…listed as general labor,” he said. “You said you needed more cargo handlers, right?” The warning in that was clear: he didn’t want the Gretnans to know that she had specifically asked for medical personnel.

“That’s right,” she said. “We have a lot of stuff to shift; so does
Sharra’s Gift
. We’ll share them back and forth for a while. I’ll be there shortly, with Captain Argelos.”

She called Argelos and told him that they now had “enough cargo handlers.”

“But—” he said.

“Cargo handlers,” Ky said. “That’s what we needed.” Even over a com line she could hear the gears clicking in his head.

“Right,” he said. “I’m just hoping you got strong ones. We have some heavy loads over here.”

“Meet me at Crown & Spears,” Ky said. “We’ll divide them up—better bring some guards along; I’m sure the Gretnans won’t want these people wandering around unguarded.”

“Right,” Argelos said.

At Crown & Spears, she found the manager’s office and the corridor outside crowded with men and women in skimpy gray tunics and short pants, their feet in what looked like cardboard sandals. They all looked undernourished and hopeless; they were all darker than the typical Gretnan. The Gretnan guards, pink and fleshy, smirked over them; they held weapons.

“You may go,” Ky said to them. “I have my own guards.”

“But—”

“Under your law, the indenture owner is responsible for security; I checked on that. These people are mine now; I will use my own guards.”

They looked at each other; then the one with a couple of stripes on his sleeve shrugged, and the Gretnan guards shuffled out.

“Well, let’s see what we have here,” Ky said to the manager, who handed her a list; a stack of ID folders was on his desk. Her eyes widened. He had bought eighteen people for the amount she’d stated. Everyone she’d marked as especially interesting, plus an assortment of others.

“Please—” said one of the women. “I’m really not general labor; I’m a trained—”

Ky held up her hand; the woman stopped, almost flinching. “I am aware of your listed qualifications,” she said. “At the moment, it is in everyone’s best interests to concentrate on our immediate need for cargo handlers.” She glanced from corner to corner of the office, hoping they’d understand. She saw dawning awareness. “Now, Captain Argelos, from this list I’m prepared to
lend
you numbers five, seven, nine, and eleven, along with fifteen, sixteen, and seventeen.” She handed him the list. “Those numbers, stand forward.”

Those numbers included one of the trauma surgeons, two surgical nurses, and four general nurses, two of them certified for advanced practice. Argelos nodded, handing the list back. “That’s fine—they look capable enough. Stenson, take these workers back to our ship; make sure they don’t stray.”

“Sergeant Gannett, take the rest back to
Vanguard
while I settle up with the manager here. Captain Argelos, you’ll want their ID packets.”

A half hour later, she was back aboard
Vanguard.
As she came aboard, she felt the tension in her crew. “Where are they?” she asked Hugh.

“In the mess, eating the first decent meal they’ve had since they were taken,” he said. “These people—!” She knew he didn’t mean the new ones.

“I’m going down to explain to them,” Ky said. “Here are their ID packets. Look them over when you get a chance, just in case there’s a problem we need to know about.” The ten were already changed, wearing a variety of clothes her crew had donated, mostly civilian but a few military knit shirts. The feet she could see had warm ship socks instead of the flimsy sandals. They were eating as if they were half starved. She didn’t doubt they were.

“Captain on deck,” one of the Gannetts said. They looked up, spoons and forks halfway to their mouths, apprehensive.

“Take it easy,” Ky said. “First, I want to welcome you aboard
Vanguard
. I’m Captain Vatta.
Vanguard
is, as you probably figured out, a military ship, and you were chosen specifically for your medical backgrounds.” No one said anything; Ky went on after waiting a moment. “Though it was necessary to purchase your indentures at auction, pretending we wanted general labor, in fact I wanted to hire—not buy—medical personnel. I apologize for continuing that pretense in the Crown & Spears office, but I deemed it necessary. From the moment you crossed into our ship space, I consider you free persons. If any of you do not want to ship with us, you are free to leave, though I cannot guarantee what the Gretnans will do.”

“I can,” said the same woman who had spoken up in the manager’s office. “They’ll put us back in the rack again. I’d do anything to get out of here.”

“Then here’s what I propose,” Ky said. She hitched a hip on one corner of a table. “We’ll take you with us; you’ll do whatever medical duties come up. Right now I don’t have enough resources to pay you a salary, but if we aren’t blown up in some battle, I will when we get to a system with a working financial ansible. In the meantime, you’ll have clothes, decent food, and good treatment. How does that suit?”

“You have medical work for us?” That was a man…the neuropsych specialist, her implant informed her.

“We have had, and we may well have more. We just purchased additional medical supplies. I’m afraid you’ll have to make do with what we have, but I’ll certainly take advice on how they should be employed. I suggest you finish your meal, sort yourselves into your assigned quarters, and then let me know what your other needs are. If you take a survey of the medical supplies and equipment we have aboard, and tell me of anything particularly urgent, I might be able to fit it in—or not. Our accounts are low right now.”

“Thank you,” the woman said; the others nodded. She sounded near tears. “I can’t—we can’t thank you enough. You don’t know—”