Engaging the Enemy (41 page)

“Thanks, Captain,” Jon Gannett said.

A few days later, they down transitioned into Corson's Roads System. Corson's Roads ansibles were nonfunctional; its Traffic Control beacons operated only on request from incoming ships. Only eight ships lay docked there, three with Bissonet registry, one from Ciudad, one from Urgayin, as well as the two Slotter Key ships and a small, slow insystem freight hauler. The station had the bleak, worn look of any depressed business district. The repair docks with their huge derricks and machinery lay empty, unlighted, visible only to scan. Small as the station itself was, its commercial concourse had too many closed-up spaces, too few pedestrians, and most of those had a hard-edged disgruntled expression. The Captains' Guild had no facility here; Crown & Spears had no branch office, though Ky noticed a blank spot on one storefront that might have held their logo in more prosperous days. The whole place gave Ky an uneasy feeling. Their scans had found no mysterious ships in the system, but what kept the economy going at all, if not some clandestine trade?

Argelos had arranged, through his acquaintance, a meeting in what was supposed to be the best of the local restaurants. Ky left her escort at the restaurant entrance; she could see that the place was empty except for those she came to meet, and she was more worried about the criminal element outside.

The three Bissonet captains sat along one side of a table like a row of officers at a court-martial, a formation clearly chosen to intimidate. They stood when Ky approached. All wore gray tunics over blue trousers tucked into low boots. All had long hair worn Bissonet-fashion, the woman's coiled high on her head, the men's draped over one shoulder and tied with Bissonet blue and gray.

The hawk-faced woman Argelos had described, Petrea Andreson, stood between the two men; her hair was so pale that Ky couldn't tell if it was beginning to gray or not. Her hard-boned face was puckered on one side by a scar that she hadn't bothered to have removed. Ky wondered why. She recognized Dan Pettygrew's plain, ordinary face from his broadcast interview back on Sallyon; the other man, Simon Battersea, captain of the smallest Bissonet ship, was vid-show handsome with a thick mane of red-gold hair in a loose braid, and intense dark eyes.

“You're Captain Kylara Vatta?” Andreson said, raising one pale eyebrow.

“Ky Vatta, yes,” Ky said. Surely they would recognize her from the picture she'd sent.

“Let us sit down,” Andreson said. She and her companions sat; Ky slid into a seat across from them.

“I'm sorry for your loss,” Andreson said. “We heard about your family.”

“Thanks,” Ky said, surprised at the offer of sympathy.

“I understand you want an alliance with us,” Andreson said.

“More than that,” Ky said. The familiar argument she'd made so often scrolled through her mind. “I think we—privateers loyal to our own governments—need to form an interstellar force to defeat this new threat—”

“Yes, yes,” Andreson said, waving a hand to stop her. “I understand all that. But right now we don't have an interstellar force, and you need allies to start one, right?”

“Right.” Argelos had said the woman was blunt and pushy; she was living up to her reputation.

“What makes you think you're the one to do this?” Andreson asked. “Rather than, for instance, someone with actual experience in space warfare?”

“I thought it up,” Ky said. “And as for experience, I've been in a few fights—”

“A few fights.” Andreson's tone was as dismissive as her earlier hand wave. “That's better than nothing, but not good enough for us, Captain Vatta. I know you were at the Slotter Key Space Academy, but I don't know how good they are—if their training is comparable to Bissonet's—and besides, you didn't graduate. I can't say that gives me much confidence, and I doubt it will encourage many others to join you.”

“Your point?” Ky said, folding her hands and hoping her eyes didn't reveal her anger.

“We are more than willing to attack the enemies who attacked Bissonet. I agree that they are not going to stop there; I agree we need to join forces to go after them—though I think all surviving Bissonet and Slotter Key privateers together would not be enough. But you, Captain Vatta, are too young and too inexperienced to hold such an alliance together. It will take someone with maturity, someone with years of deep-space command, to do the job. I hope you can see that.”

Andreson had the votes, if it came to voting. She could always take her ships and go somewhere else. Ky tried for a tone that combined reasonableness with firmness. “My goal is to defeat the enemy and make the spaceways safe for trade again,” she said. “I would hope that is the goal of everyone involved in this.”

Andreson relaxed slightly. “That is my goal as well, though I would include freeing Bissonet from its invaders. But you are from a trading family: what does Vatta expect to get out of this? I'm not going to put my ships at risk to build your family's wealth.” Her gaze flicked for a moment to Simon Battersea.

“I hope Vatta will prosper again in a safe trading environment, just like any other trading company,” Ky said. “Right now all trade—and all legitimate governments—are at risk.”

“Here is my proposal,” Andreson said. “Your idea certainly has merit, though you aren't the first to come up with it. But I am not putting myself under your command, nor are any of my captains. We are already used to working together—” Pettygrew stirred, but said nothing. “I have almost thirty years of deep-space command, and while we had no fleet-sized actions in that time, I have commanded in smaller multiship engagements. If you want to come in with us, I'll be glad to accept your help, but I will expect the same kind of discipline that you would have given to your planetary militia.”

Even though she had already decided to yield command, Ky still felt a pang at this. She liked Andreson's bluntness; it felt like honesty. The woman probably was a competent commander; just surviving that long as a privateer meant something. But still…she did not look forward to taking orders from someone she hardly knew.

“I'm assuming Argelos will do whatever you decide,” Andreson went on. “If you have any ability to command, he will follow your decisions. And we have two others who might be willing to join us, a fellow from Ciudad and Ernst Muirtagh from Urgayin. That would give us seven ships. Enough to practice maneuvers with, and then we'd have something to show, to encourage more to join us.”

“Have you considered talking to any of the good mercenary companies?” Ky asked. “They have resources the seven of us don't have.”

“Mercs!” Andreson snorted. “If there are any good mercs, they'd certainly be out of our price range. Unless you're paying.”

“I'm not going to let some merc tell me what to do,” Simon Battersea put in, with a quick toss of his head. “I'm a patriot, not a gun for hire.”

“Enough, Simon,” Andreson said. Again a quick sideways glance. “I'm sure Captain Vatta was thinking of their resource base. But I for one don't think they're needed, and I would regard them as a security risk. Those who will fight for anyone might easily be bribed.”

Ky could not imagine the Mackensee commanders being bribed…certainly not easily…but realized she wouldn't convince Andreson.

“How many ships do you think we'll need, ultimately?” she asked instead.

“Unless they're attacking planetary systems, I don't expect they'll show up in more than small groups,” Andreson said. “Three, four, maybe five. They can't be everywhere in force, and as long as the ansibles are down, they can't communicate among their scattered forces.”

“You are aware they have shipboard ansibles?”

“There is no such thing,” Andreson said.

“There are,” Ky said. “I found them on Osman's ship. It's how they've been coordinating their attacks.”

“But—ISC always said it was impossible—” That was Battersea again. Ky wondered about his relationship to Andreson.

“ISC said it was impossible to knock out ansibles systemwide, too. I'm telling you…when I got Osman's ship, I found these things, and the installation and user instructions.”

“And you have them…how many?” Simon Battersea leaned forward.

“Enough to equip this many ships, at least. And they don't know we have them.”

“Do you have their codes?” Andreson asked.

“No. The electromagnetic pulse that knocked out Osman's ship systems—it's complicated; I'll have to tell you about that battle sometime—also knocked out the code records in the one he had installed. The uninstalled ones seem never to have had the codes loaded. If I understand the instructions, they're initialized with the ship chip; they transmit using ship chips as initiator codes. They don't interface with system ansibles—”

“How do you know that?”

“Says so in the instructions,” Ky said. “I don't begin to understand it—maybe because ISC didn't authorize them or something.” She wasn't going to tell these people about Rafe.

“So…you're saying you can offer us instantaneous ship-to-ship communication even if the system ansibles are down?” Andreson looked doubtful.

“Yes. And in systems where there are no ansible stations.”

“And what do you want in return? You aren't demanding command as the price of that?”

Ky shook her head. “I care more about getting it done than who's commanding. This should give us equality in communications.”

Battersea snorted, but Andreson nodded. “I appreciate that, Captain Vatta. I misunderstood you, I think. I will try to deserve your trust.”

“I'm concerned that this is not a secure location,” Ky said.

“Quite right. I will hold a captains' meeting aboard my ship for any serious planning. You will meet the other captains there as well.” She glanced quickly at her companions. “We should eat, I think; it would be the normal thing to do. We have eaten here before, Captain Vatta. I can recommend the baked fish. Or, if you do not eat fish, the curried lamb.”

Ky punched in her order, and the Bissonetans punched in theirs. While they waited for the food, she said, “It struck me that you wanted to discuss business before eating; on my world, we do not usually talk business until after the meal.”

“Ah…” Captain Andreson smiled a little. “On Bissonet, we do not want to share a meal with those whom we do not trust, so we make the deal first. It would be almost impossible to refuse a suggestion, after eating together. Does not the sharing of food create an obligation among your people?”

“Not to agree to a business deal, no,” Ky said. She had never imagined that result of a business lunch. “It does put people in a better mood, usually, but that's all.” Precepts from Saphiric Cyclan doctrine swam up through her memory…the obligation of host to guest, for instance. Did that apply? Had her father thought it applied? She felt vaguely guilty for not having paid much attention. “I think,” she said, “it's perceived as a courtesy not to disturb each other's digestion.”

The other three looked at her with an expression that made her uneasy. “Your people worry about digestion over business ethics?” Battersea said finally.

“Not instead of, but in addition to,” Ky said. She could tell they were not convinced.

“Simon,” Andreson said, this time without looking at him. He shrugged. Ky realized that he reminded her somewhat of Rafe, but without Rafe's hard edge of experience.

A constrained silence lasted until their food orders arrived.

“What did you think?” Martin asked when Ky got back to the ship.

“I don't know,” Ky said. She had tried to sort out her thoughts, but they were still jumbled. “They've worked together before—that's a plus. They have more experience than I have, that's certain.”

“Is it the right kind of experience?”

“I don't know.” Ky ran her hands through her hair. “I certainly hope so, because there's no chance the Bissonet contingent will accept anyone else as commander. The problem is, we don't have anyone else who even claims to have experience in multiship engagements. My instructors said the difference between one-on-one and small-group engagements was greater than that between small groups and large groups until you got up to dozens. I don't see how I can put my theoretical knowledge up against her practical experience, at least not until I see how she organizes training. You might prefer it, but the other Bissonet captains won't, and I haven't met the others.” That was another concern: she wished she had a way of meeting the other captains before the joint conference, but Andreson would resent that, she was sure. “I'll be meeting with Andreson—that's their senior captain—on her ship tomorrow morning. I'll find out more there, meet the other captains. When I get back, I'll meet with our senior staff.”

“What are your criteria, Captain?”

That was the problem. She didn't know how to assess the competence of someone that much older, someone who claimed experience she didn't have. “It has to make sense,” she said finally. “If she wants to rush into a fight without training us as a unit—that's not going to work. I want to see a plan, first for training and then for engagement.”

Andreson had a plan, and laid it out for them. They would leave Corson's Roads and make two jumps to an uninhabited system—she had the coordinates—where they would train in maneuvers and gunnery until she was satisfied that they could fight an engagement together.

“How long do you think that will take?” Isak Zavala of Ciudad, captain of
Dona Florenzia,
asked. His wavy red hair was tied back with a black ribbon; his uniform had a high collar, and he sat very stiffly upright. Ky had noticed his formality of speech, and his distinct accent.