Engaging the Enemy (30 page)

“Rafe,” she said. He looked at her. “On the off chance that Furman thinks I'm dead because someone in the conspiracy told him so, I want you to penetrate his security once he docks, and look for anything interesting in his internal files.”

“Scut work,” Rafe said, his lip curling. She stared him down; finally he shrugged. “All right. But it'll take time I could be spending doing something more interesting—”

“You'll manage,” Ky said. She turned to Martin. “Martin, do you consider our current security adequate to frustrate anything Furman comes up with?”

“If his background is what it should be, tradeship, then yes, ma'am. If he's a clandestine agent for Turek, then I'd put the ship on high alert.”

“Do it,” Ky said. “I used to think he was just an arrogant prig, but claiming I'm someone else…that's scary.”

She turned to Hugh. “I'm concerned that he may withdraw substantial funds from Vatta accounts,” Ky said. “While I'm here, and Stella's in the system, he should apply through one of us, as senior family members. But he's denying that I am a senior family member. What if he does the same with Stella? He could then claim to be the only person authorized to have access to those accounts.”

“He is authorized now?” Hugh asked.

“Yes. Senior captains must have access to Vatta corporate accounts, both for deposit and withdrawal. In ordinary times, they report via financial ansible to the accounting department at corporate headquarters on Slotter Key.”

“If he thought that Vatta was destroyed,” Hugh said, “he might have thought he could withdraw Vatta funds without a challenge, and perhaps set up his own business.”

“I can see him doing that,” Ky said. “And in that case discrediting the legitimate heirs who showed up so inconveniently would be a necessary step.”

“You're going to bar him from Vatta corporate accounts?”

“Perhaps. At the very least, I want his transactions monitored and withdrawals limited to those strictly necessary, such as docking fees.” She placed the call at once.

Crown & Spears, now familiar with Ky and her dilemma, put her through to her personal representative at once.

“Is Furman making sense yet?” the woman asked.

“No,” Ky said. “And it finally occurred to me that we may have a problem with the accounts.”

“
We
know who you are,” the woman said. “No matter what the government says, our tests show that you're a close relative of Josephine, and that's what matters to us.”

“And I appreciate that,” Ky said. “But if Furman had been hoping to get those accounts for himself…”

The woman smiled at Ky. “We're ahead of you there, Captain. This wouldn't be the first time someone tried to discredit a legitimate account owner. We have established procedures. Captain Furman will have very limited access to those accounts—none, if you'd prefer.”

“I know he'll have the usual entry fees to pay,” Ky said.

“We can accept a direct charge from the stationmaster's office,” the woman said.

“Does Furman usually set up a separate ship account when he comes in?”

“He's only been here twice before,” the woman said. “Let's see. No, he worked with the corporate accounts both time. He did deposit more than he withdrew. Would you like to see the details?”

“Yes, if that's legal.”

“It's quite legal. You're the senior representative of the account owner, Vatta Transport, Ltd. You have a right to see anything pertaining to Vatta corporate accounts. Just a moment—” She looked down and away. “I've retrieved them…we do recommend, Captain Vatta, that in cases like this we courier the hardcopy to the account owner. Would that be acceptable?”

“Certainly,” Ky said. She looked around. “Martin—would you come here a moment, please?” He came within pickup range of the comunit. “This is Gordon Martin, my security head; he will meet the courier dockside.”

“Excellent,” the woman said. “We'll send this over right away, within the hour. I see that Furman is scheduled to dock early first shift tomorrow. If you could let us know your wishes regarding his access to accounts by mid-third today—”

“I'll do that,” Ky said. “I'd just like to look over those records first.”

Within the hour, as promised, she had the records. The bank had thoughtfully highlighted Furman's transactions, making it easy to compare his expenditures with those of the other Vatta captains using the same accounts. At first look, nothing suspicious showed up. Entry fees, docking fees, supplies for the crew and ship, customs and excise, departure fees…all similar to those of the other captains. He had sold cargo and received delivery payment on both of his previous arrivals…amounts that fit fairly well with the usual income reported by the other captains.

Ky scowled at the report. She hated niggly work like this. She wished Stella were there to go over it instead of—or with—her. But secure link or no, there was always a risk in transmitting information that way. She would just have to wait…no. Martin's experience in inventory control might be useful.

“Of course,” he said when she asked him. “I'll be glad to work on this. Nothing obvious, you say? All the better. That makes it interesting.” Not the word Ky would have chosen, but she was glad Martin thought so. “What's the chance, do you think, that there is something to find?”

“I don't know,” Ky said. “He may be totally honest and just holding a grudge against me because my father transferred him out here. Certainly he's not making the profit here he made on the route he used to have.”

“He's not?” Martin grinned. “That's very interesting, Captain.”

“Well, this one is new. He may not have the contacts yet—”

“Contacts, yes. I'll get right on this, Captain. I may come up with some things Rafe should look for when he goes prying, and I should certainly have some information for you in a few hours.”

“Good,” Ky said. She felt twitchy still. Crown & Spears would protect Vatta accounts. Leary had transmitted her suspicions to the stationmaster, so Furman might not have as much influence there. Stella…Stella was an unknown quantity at the moment, but surely she'd come around and see sense. So why, as the day wore on, was she still so tense?

She'd missed something. She'd missed something important. What was it?

Grace sat by the window of the upstairs sitting room as curtains of rain blew across the slope to the river. Already, summer was past its peak, here in the hills, and the late-summer rains made it seem more autumnal than it was. Her arm-bud itched abominably. She couldn't scratch it, in its sterile hood that made such an awkward lump around the end of her stump. She could see it, what there was of it—a tiny red nub like a blood blister within the inner sleeve that provided its protective cushioning and kept its surface moist. It would not develop skin, useful skin, until later.

MacRobert had gone. He was, she presumed, back at Spaceforce Academy, making the lives of cadets miserable. The President was dead, as she had wanted; she had not told MacRobert how much she had wanted to kill the man herself, to savor again that moment of supreme power. She liked MacRobert; she knew he liked her; there were some secrets not meant to be shared even though she never expected to see him again.

The Assembly and Council, after several shaky days and what was to others a surprising number of resignations, had settled into a more normal—she hoped healthy—pattern of behavior. No more attacks had come. She had been assured no more would, and that the government—the present government—once more considered the Vatta family worthy of protection. Various ministers had expressed themselves in the strongest terms: they were appalled, they were horrified, it should not have happened, it would never happen again. They hoped…each one said this, as part of farewell…that she could find peace, and forgive those who had removed themselves from any possibility of actual punishment.

As she watched the rain, though, she seemed to see the faces of the dead wavering there, as if printed on thin gray silk…those she knew well, Gerry and Stavros and their children, those she hardly knew, the men and women who had worked at headquarters, those on the ships, those in the factories and fields. So many dead. Even that pony face into which she herself had fired the mercy shot. All out there in the rain, all unsatisfied with her…because it wasn't over. Her duty wasn't over.

She turned away, pinching her lips as the protective bulb on her arm bumped the chair and demonstrated that the stump could still hurt worse than the arm-bud could itch.

“Grace—are you all right?” Helen, come to check on her.

“I'm fine,” she said, knowing it was a lie.

“You're green around the mouth again,” Helen said. Helen looked better, Grace noticed. Helen found it easy to believe the successors to a traitor President; she had slept easy, and she was eating well. The children were completely recovered, full of energy; she could hear them now, clattering up the stairs and yelling for Gramma.”

“Just tired,” Grace said. “I think I'll skip dinner, go to bed early.” She pushed herself up with her good arm and walked off toward her room, aware of Helen's concern like a hand on her back. The wrong hand.

Her room was dimmer yet and smelled of wet leaves and sodden grass. Grace shivered. They'd told her that her body might have unpredictable reactions to the arm-bud and its supporting interventions. They'd told her she might feel cold or hot, more tired or hyperactive, as the biochemical cocktails that sustained and accelerated the bud's development coursed through her body. She slid under the covers, still dressed, and hoped that tomorrow's unpredictable reaction would be on the other end of the scale.

She woke in the dark, as heavier rain pounded the roof above. Nothing hurt: no ache, no burn, no itch. Around the bed, just visible, were the faces again, all gazing at her.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered, though she heard no sound.

Then she heard the sound. The faces faded back into darkness, as the footsteps came nearer, nearer. Not Helen's. Not one of the children. She reached out to her bedside table, feeling for the weapon the police had finally returned—with many warnings about its illegality and how lucky she was no charges had been filed. She couldn't find it; she scrabbled a wider arc and one of her rings clinked against the water glass. The footsteps stopped; she held her breath.

She knew the door opened by the change in air; she knew it closed by a faint thud.

They had lied or they had been mistaken; it didn't matter, really. Here was another attack, and she was not ready and could not even find her weapon. She lay rigid, determined not to make a sound, not to shiver.

Then the bedside light came on just as a drop of cold water landed on her arm. MacRobert, his rain hood dripping, with her weapon in his hand.

“You!”

“Shhh. You're whiter than the sheets and shivering. Let me get out of this.”

To her utter astonishment, after putting her weapon well out of her reach he stripped off his wet clothes, revealing just the sort of body she would have expected.

“What do you think you're doing?” It was hard to express the outrage she felt in a whisper, but she did her best.

“Getting into bed with you,” MacRobert said. “Move over.” His hand slid under her back, warm and strong, and eased her to the other side of the bed as he slid under the covers.

“How did you—”

“Helen. She thought you needed me. She doesn't know I'm here yet, of course.”

It was like having a fire in bed with her; she wasn't cold anymore. Her feet weren't cold. The light went out; he lay back with a contented sigh. “I hope you don't snore,” she said, trying to muster the indignation she thought she should feel.

“I wouldn't know. There's been no one to tell me for years. By all means, should I snore, prod me in the ribs and wake me up.” She felt the dip in the mattress as he turned toward her. “Grace…I know what your problem is.”

They always had the same answer; she was disappointed in him. “It's not lack of sex,” she said.

“Good heavens no! I wasn't going to say that.”

“What, then?”

“You wanted to see him die. You wanted to kill him yourself. Am I right?”

Surprise held her rigid for a moment. “Yes,” she said. “I did. I wanted him to know who did it.”

He did not recoil, as she had half expected. “I thought so,” he said. “You have the look.”

“The look?”

“You enjoy killing. You're a decent person, so you don't indulge yourself in that pleasure, but when the occasion arises, you enjoy it.” His voice was calm, as if he were describing the parts of a weapon.

“It doesn't shock you?” Grace said.

“No. And you might like to know that when the Commandant laid out for the President the net that had closed around him, the President's spontaneous response was ‘How did she do this?' So he knew, though your name was never mentioned.”

She was warm. She was safe. She fell asleep lighter of heart than she had been since before the troubles started, and when she woke the rain had stopped and the early sun through her window lit MacRobert's brown eyes.

“Did I snore?” he asked.

“K
atrine Lamont
is approaching dock,” the stationmaster said. “We've assigned docking nearby, but not on the same branch.”

“Thank you,” Ky said.

“Captain Furman remains convinced that you are not Kylara Vatta, daughter of Gerard Vatta, legitimate employee of Vatta Transport. We understand that he has been in communication with Stella Vatta, who now styles herself acting CEO of Vatta Transport. Do you dispute that?”

What was Stella playing at? They had not discussed how to organize the company in the future, and with only the one ship it seemed unnecessary to formalize anything. She'd suggested that Stella act as her financial officer, but CEO? “Dispute that she has been in communication with Captain Furman? No, why would I? I suggested it.”

“That she is acting CEO of Vatta,” the stationmaster said.

“We haven't discussed what our positions may be,” Ky said. “Her father was CEO and mine was CFO. I'd have thought her expertise ran more to financial affairs, but we'll thrash that out later. Why?”

“For our purposes, we must know which of you is senior to the other. Organizationally, I mean; we already know she's older than your stated age. Which of you is in charge?”

The first half dozen answers that raced through Ky's mind were all unsuitable. She hoped her face hadn't revealed them. “I believe that's something Stella and I should settle between ourselves,” she said. “I'll contact her now, if you'll excuse me. Thank you.” Before he could answer, she closed the connection.

Gary Tobai
was now within ten light-minutes, but Ky wasn't going to wait for the signal lag of lightspeed communication; she used the system ansible instead.

Stella answered the hail; she had evidently been expecting a call from someone else, because her expression changed when she saw Ky. Beside her was a man in a captain's uniform; this must be the “Balthazar” she'd spoken of.

“I was going to call you,” Stella began.

“I just heard from the stationmaster that you're the acting CEO of Vatta Transport,” Ky said. She could not keep the edge out of her voice; she knew she sounded angry. She was angry.

Stella waved her hand. “I had to say something,” she said. “I thought it sounded impressive. And after all—”

“I thought we agreed, back on Lastway, to reverse our fathers' roles,” Ky said. “I've been telling people you're my chief financial officer—”

“And you've been claiming the CEO title?” Stella had flushed a little; her eyes sparkled. “Don't you think that's a little presumptuous, with senior Vatta family members alive on Slotter Key?”

“You just did it,” Ky said. “I don't see that's any less presumptuous.”

“I'm older,” Stella said. “And my father was CEO—”

“Not to intrude or anything,” Rafe said. Ky turned to look at him; he had positioned himself so the communications monitor would include him. “But the two of you can argue about this later, surely. The more delay, the more the stationmaster will suspect something's wrong with both your identities.”

Stella opened her mouth but Ky was faster. “Joint,” she said quickly. “We're joint acting CEOs, a necessity in this present emergency. It's so if either ship is destroyed, the company has a clear chain of command.”

“That might work,” Stella said.

“We'll both call the stationmaster,” Ky said. “Hold this link. I'll call him and make it a circuit call.” Stella didn't look enthusiastic, but Ky didn't care. She was not going to put herself under Stella's command. She keyed in the stationmaster's code, identified herself to his assistant, and he came on.

“I thought you'd like to hear this from both of us,” Ky said. “You must understand that the situation is complicated by the fact that we're both ship-based right now, since Vatta headquarters was destroyed, and the ansibles are down most places.”

“The thing is,” Stella put in, “we're both acting as CEO for the time being. It's a safety issue; should one of our ships be lost, the other has a clear line of succession. We've had to operate in different systems, out of contact with each other since the ansibles were down.”

“Co-CEOs?” the stationmaster said. “I don't think I've heard of that.”

“It won't last,” Ky said. “It's an emergency measure.”

“But—who's really in charge? If you're both in the same system, as now, who is senior? I presume you don't always agree—”

Stella chuckled. “No, indeed. But if we need to, we go into closed session and argue it out. Ky's better at some things—she has more ship and actual trade experience—and I'm better at others—I have more experience at headquarters. We are, after all, on the same side.”

“I see,” the stationmaster said. “But Captain Vatta—Kylara Vatta—when I first told you that Stella Vatta was saying she was acting CEO, you seemed surprised and upset.”

“Frankly, I'd assumed that if we were both in the same system, the first to arrive would use the title and the second wouldn't—just to avoid the kind of confusion we have here. But we hadn't discussed it, so we didn't have policy set up.” Ky put on her blandest expression.

“It just didn't occur to me,” Stella said, with equal blandness. “I'd gotten used to using it because we were separated.”

“I see,” the stationmaster said again. Ky was not at all sure he believed them. “So…in this instance, with you, Captain Vatta, being the first to reach the system, would you say that you are in charge?”

“Yes,” Ky said, before Stella could answer. “Though I do consider Stella my partner, not my subordinate.”

“And that's agreeable to you?” the stationmaster asked Stella.

Stella nodded. “Quite agreeable,” she said. Ky detected, in that, the exact opposite meaning and hoped the stationmaster didn't.

“Very well, then,” the stationmaster said. “I must remind both of you that there is a question of identity relating to Kylara Vatta, as Captain Furman has charged that she is not really Kylara Vatta, but an imposter.”

“I don't agree,” Stella said. “Obviously, I think he's wrong. But I would prefer to leave him in doubt of my opinion, since I want to know why he's so sure, and what his motives are.”

“Ah. You haven't told him you're sure he's wrong?”

“I've listened to him,” Stella said.

“Do you think he has committed some offense?”

“I don't know,” Stella said. “I will say I found his attempt to discredit my cousin surprising in someone whose record as a loyal employee is exemplary.”

“So you have no complaints against him at this time?”

“Other than his error, no,” Stella said.

“Do you have any proof, other than your word, that this is in fact your cousin? Any genetic material we could compare, for instance?”

“No. Other than my own, of course. Though I do have, on my ship, an elderly crew member who knows her very well. Would her testimony be pertinent?”

“Yes, but probably not conclusive.” The stationmaster sighed. “Your genetic material will probably serve, since Captain Furman has yet to question your identity. You are now what…fourteen days from docking, I believe?”

“Yes,” Stella said.

“I had hoped for a quicker resolution,” the stationmaster said. “I'm sorry,” he said to Ky, “that you must be under surveillance for so long.”

Ky shrugged. “It's not your fault, and this ship isn't as cramped as Stella's.”

“I'm glad you see it that way,” the stationmaster said. “Excuse me, please: I have other messages coming in.”

“Of course,” Ky said. His link closed; she looked at Stella in the monitor. “Well?”

“He's still suspicious,” Stella said. She sighed. “Ky, I wish you could stay out of trouble in one system, at least.”

“It's not my fault,” Ky said. “It's that idiot Furman.”

“It wasn't Furman at Sallyon. Or Rosvirein or Garth-Lindheimer.”

“You're not blaming me for Garth-Lindheimer, surely! I didn't do anything there but refuse to waste time and money dragging through their court system.”

“You left me to clean up your mess,” Stella said. “Short-crewed and with no clear directions.”

“I didn't think you needed directions—if you recall you told me you didn't. If you're co-acting-CEO—”

Stella glared out of the screen. “I handled it, yes. That doesn't mean I liked being left behind like that. And then I get to Rosvirein and you're already gone and there's a missing person bulletin. Are you going to tell me you had nothing to do with that?”

Crossing mental fingers, Ky said, “Why would you think a missing person was my fault?”

“Why? Because who else would abduct someone like that—the bulletin said he was casual laborer suspected of working with local criminal elements and even pirates. You're the pirate hunter: isn't that just what you'd do?”

It's what she'd done, but telling Stella that she'd let Rafe and Martin question the man and he'd died and she'd spaced his body once she was far enough from the station would only escalate the fight that now seemed inevitable.

“I'm sorry you think that,” Ky said, struggling to sound calm yet serious.

Stella pursed her lips, then her mouth tightened. “You've changed, Ky. You're not being straight with me, I can tell that much. We're going to have a serious talk when I get to the station. I want to know where your priorities are.”

“Where they've always been,” Ky said. She felt tired, as if she were suddenly in a higher gravity field. It was unfair for Stella to distrust her this way, to question her motives and priorities. “I want Vatta to survive and our enemies to fall.”

“I wonder,” Stella said, and cut the connection.

Ky slumped into her seat. She'd thought Stella was over whatever had her upset when she first came into the system. She had backed Ky with the stationmaster. Yet clearly she wasn't satisfied.

“Problem?” Hugh asked.

“Stella,” Ky said. “I suppose it's old family rivalry or something.”

“It would've made sense for her to say she was acting CEO—”

“Yes,” Ky said. “I can understand that. I just wish she'd told me. If we'd had our stories straight…and then she's got this thing about my priorities. You'd think I'd gone off on a vacation or something…”

“Families.” Rafe shook his head. “You can't live—”

“If you say
Can't live with them, can't live without them,
I will—” Ky noticed the bridge crew watching this interaction. “—be extremely displeased,” she finished.

“I wasn't going to,” Rafe said, with a blatantly false expression of innocence. “I was merely going to say that…that—”

“Yes?”

“You can't live with their expectations. Not forever.” He smirked. “Stella's certainly sitting close to that new guy, isn't she?”

“Her shipmaster, she calls him. She's still calling herself captain.”

“Well, she is. Technically.”

“I suppose.” Ky sat up straighter. “Fourteen days until she docks. I think I'll go work out. I don't want to get soft.”

Stella managed to keep her face bland until she was in her cabin. She turned up the soundscreens to full strength and let loose with every blistering oath she could think of. Thanks to Rafe, she could go on for quite a stretch without repeating herself, and she did, ending with “…stupid little
prig
!” Even alone in her cabin, that seemed too tame an ending for what she felt. “Blast you!” she said to the walls. “As if I weren't older than you. More experienced than you. I'm not the one who alienated an entire system…and you have the nerve to humiliate me in front of the stationmaster. And Rafe was there listening, I'm sure, soaking it up, never happier than seeing families quarrel.” She threw the pillow off her bed at the wall. It did no good, but it did no harm. “Maybe in fourteen days I won't want to kill you on sight,” she said, more quietly.

Then her lip curled involuntarily and a ripple of laughter shook her. No. It wasn't funny, or if it was funny, she wasn't ready to see it yet.

She had as much information about Furman as Ky did, barring Ky's two encounters with the man. If she figured out what his game was before Ky did, that would restore her credit—in her own mind at least. Although she did not have the information in her own father's implant, she did have the updates Grace had given her, including financial and personnel data current as of the destruction of headquarters. She pored over it.

Furman had been with the company twenty-nine years. He had been hired away from an insystem carrier in another system, when a Vatta captain died, along with many others, in an epidemic. It had been quicker to hire him and get the ship moving again than to send someone out to take over. He had satisfactory reports, and steady promotions, until he reached senior captain. Stella paused. His personnel record had a mark she didn't recognize, a typographical squiggle with no explanation, one year after his promotion to senior captain. She shrugged and went on reading.