Victory Conditions (11 page)

“And you?”

Stella laughed, with an edge to it. “I’m hard to kill,” she said. “So, it turns out, is Toby. Now: you need to know that Vatta products are in high demand—you
did
bring all of them with you, didn’t you?”

“All but one,” Ky said. “I left one with Mackensee, so we can have direct contact with them.”

“And I’m sure you know the Slotter Key privateers are here, being outfitted with theirs, and eager to meet you. They brought along some personal messages from Aunt Grace for both of us—”

“No fruitcakes?” Ky asked, grinning.

“Not fruitcakes,” Stella said. She wasn’t smiling. “But you will need to pick them up in person.”

“I won’t have much time,” she said, hoping Stella would understand.

“Of course,” Stella said. “You have important meetings—and so do I. There’s a sort of summit going on here—Nexus, ISC, Moscoe Confederation, Slotter Key. Vatta Enterprises is in it because of our product. And because of you. There’s a problem—”

“Excuse me,” Hugh said. “Captain, Traffic Control has given us a priority route in and we have our docking assignment. And the Defense Minister needs to speak with you urgently.”

“Stella, the Defense Minister’s calling me on standard ansible—I should go.”

“Call me later,” Stella said. “I’ll send you the transcript of those pirate transmissions in the meantime.”

Ky moved over to take the call from the Defense Minister, a thin dark man who didn’t seem to fit what she thought of as the Cascadian type. He wore an immaculately tailored dark suit with a broad green ribbon across his chest. “Polmar Gorikan, Minister of Defense,” he said. “As soon as you’ve got a docking schedule, Admiral, we’d like to set up a meeting to discuss our strategy; we have representatives here from the governments of Nexus and Slotter Key as well as our own, and Mackensee Military Assistance Corporation tells me that you have aboard a liaison officer from them—he will represent them at this meeting—”

“We have a docking assignment, but no ETA yet,” Ky said. A representative from Slotter Key? Surely Stella would’ve mentioned if Aunt Grace herself had come.

“As soon as possible after your arrival,” Gorikan said. His gaze moved across her. “And…er…perhaps a dress uniform?”

More braid, that must mean. Something that looked admiralish. She had nothing like that; she had a Vatta captain’s uniform with some additional patches sewn on. “Of course,” she said.

“If it’s not too flamboyant,” Gorikan went on, as if doubtful of her fashion sense. Ky felt a momentary urge to do a Teddy Ransome on him, ruffles, silk cape, and all, but she knew better.

“I’ll let you know our ETA when we have it firmed up,” she said. He nodded, tight-lipped, and closed the connection.

“‘Not too flamboyant’?” Hugh said, eyebrow raised. “What kind of idiot wears a shiny green ribbon across his chest and accuses someone else of intent to be flamboyant?”

“I don’t have a dress uniform,” Ky said. “And I don’t think I’d better borrow one from Ransome.”

“If I may make a suggestion,” Douglas said. Ky nodded, and he went on. “Military outfitters are good at putting things together fast, for just such emergencies. Your cousin is there; she could arrange it.”

“Stella would love to get me properly dressed,” Ky said with a touch of bitterness, and then realized how silly that was. It had been her mother and her aunt, not Stella herself, who had extolled Stella’s fashion sense and urged Ky to copy her. “But you’re right,” she said. “I’ll call her.”

Stella readily agreed to find an outfitter and take care of ordering a dress uniform; she was more interested in explaining to Ky the unexpected complications arising from the resistance to Vatta influence from the Nexus government and ISC.

“It’s not Rafe himself,” she said. “He says he thinks it started with Parmina—”

“I still have trouble believing Parmina was the villain,” Ky said. “I met him; he was nice.”

“I met him, too,” Stella said. “But clearly he was bent, and for whatever reason he poisoned a lot of minds about Vattas, in different levels of ISC and, through Rafe’s father, in the Nexus government. Everything we’ve done to recover our position, they see as sinister plotting.”

“I can’t change now,” Ky said.

“Nor I,” Stella said. “Just letting you know—this conference isn’t likely to be smooth sailing. A sharp new uniform is a very good idea.”

When
Vanguard
docked at Cascadia Station, the first delivery was not the manual on manners that had marked their first visit, but Ky’s new uniforms, complete with a team of three from the outfitter’s to check and adjust the fit if needed. Not just one uniform—a set of them, for shipboard and stationside use, a range from everyday working to full formal. Stella had even researched insignia from all four sources—three governments and Mackensee—and from that the outfitter had designed and cast rank insignia for the entire officer corps of the Space Defense Force, as well as buttons with the SDF logo.

Maybe she should have paid more attention to Stella’s fashion sense, Ky thought as she fastened the last button and glanced at the mirror the outfitter’s staff had set up in her office. It fit, and more than that, it was comfortable. Nothing pinched; nothing felt awkward. And yet, in the mirror, it looked—it made her look—totally professional and competent. Older, more formidable.

“This is the semi-formal,” the outfitter’s senior representative said. “Full formal, evening formal, has a white tunic. But we consider this one ideal for the kind of conference you’re attending today.” She pulled open a carrier bag. “And here—I believe these boots should fit you.”

Ky had completely forgotten about shoes or boots—hers were, when she looked at them, decidedly worn, though clean and polished as always. The new ones, styled with a subtle difference, slipped onto her feet as easily as the uniform had slipped onto her body, and felt as comfortable. And looked as good.

“Your cousin didn’t know your preference in head coverings, if any; we prepared a variety.” The other outfitter’s rep opened another carrier bag. “The Moscoe Confederation uses a soft cap, like this. Slotter Key, we understand, uses a cap with a hard, polished bill. Mackensee tells us they use both that kind of cap and one that folds flat, like a child’s paper party hat.”

Ky had no opinion at all except that head coverings you had to yank off to stick your head in a pressure helmet were silly. “What do you think looks best with this uniform?” she asked. It would be her policy, she decided in that instant, that crews on ships would go bareheaded except for protective gear.

“The soft cap, don’t you think?” asked the older one.

“Oh, yes,” the young one said. “The soft cap with this uniform.”

“Fine, then,” Ky said, putting it on her head. “And thank you.” And she would have to thank Stella. In person.

Major Douglas and Master Sergeant Pitt waited near the hatch, in their own impeccable Mackensee semi-dress uniforms. None of the other Slotter Key captains had been invited, but Captain Pettygrew, as a representative of Bissonet’s military, was on the list. Captain Ransome had declined to attend; he’d told Ky he wasn’t representing his government and didn’t think a long boring conference would suit him. She hoped he wouldn’t get in trouble with local customs.

At dockside, they met a Station Security escort and, after an exchange of identification, headed to a part of Cascadia Station she had never seen.

Instead of the annoying little map tagger she’d used last time, she found herself in a closed vehicle that slid up one wall of the passage, locked into a track on the overhead, and slid smoothly past a few pedestrians before rotating on its axis, passing through a double air lock, and then—still on a track of some kind—rising on an arc to aim for the far end of the tree-shaped station.

“I didn’t see this last time,” Ky said.

“Reserved for official business,” one of the escort said. “We didn’t want any delays getting from the root to the tip.” He handed her a data cube and indicated the cube reader in the seat armrest. “A briefing, mostly names and faces.” Ky settled in to watch, shunting data to her implant faster than she could really absorb it herself.

The tip, when they arrived, was a series of meeting rooms and offices, all with spectacular views of space. In the room set up for the first of the day’s meetings, Ky found the usual long table flanked by heavy chairs—and to one side a large viewscreen, with the blinking lights of ready-ansible signals. Waiting for her was a group of men and women in Cascadian business dress, including—to her complete surprise—Stella.

“Captain—or should I say Admiral?—Vatta,” said a tall man, stepping forward with outstretched hand.

“Council Chair Petros Moscoe-Silva,” murmured one of her escort. She knew already, her implant cueing her with the few facts she had about him.

“Captain will do,” Ky said, shaking hands. “Chairman Moscoe-Silva—”

“Silva, please. Or just Chairman. It’s true I’m descended from the colony founder, but the tree needs all its leaves. We welcome you, Captain, despite the grave news you bring, news which—I must say—we find more truth in every day. Let’s sit down, shall we?”

He ushered her to a chair at one end of the long table, and took the other end himself. Along the sides, others sat. On the table in front of her, Ky saw an agenda; beside it was a neat stack of data cubes.

When all were seated, Silva nodded. “Let’s be at it. I will outline what I know—some of which, since she has been traveling in FTL, Captain Vatta may not yet have learned.” His summary began with the familiar: the increasing interruptions in ansible communications several years before and increased piracy that damaged trade and travel. “The attacks on the Vatta family and their home world—and on some other home worlds we have learned about only recently—signaled a more dangerous turn of events. What we did not know at the time was that the same conspiracy putting ansibles out of service and attacking planets had connections inside InterStellar Communications. A mole high up in that company…we still don’t know how or why that connection was made, but we do know it existed.”

Someone stirred along the inboard side of the table. Silva paused and glanced at the woman, who wore a sash of office over her suit. Subregent of Enforcement Katerina Fois, Ky’s implant informed her. “With permission, Chairman, may I ask if the recent arrests here of a prominent trader had anything to do with the conspiracy at ISC?”

“That will be part of the briefing, Katerina. If I may—”

“My pardon, Chairman; no disrespect or insult intended.”

“And none assumed. I am aware of your special interest.”

That sounded…ominous. Ky smiled when Silva looked at her again. “Excuse, please,” he said. “It is only the pressure of the moment.”

“Of course,” Ky said.

“Well, then. Recently—it was after you had left the Mackensee home world—a threat was broadcast by ansible from someone calling himself Gammis Turek. You would not have heard—”

“Excuse me,” Ky said. “We did pick up such a broadcast from a jump-point ansible on the way.”

“Ah. Then you’re aware of the nature of the threat. We have had queries from other governments, including that of Nexus. You should know that the Moscoe Confederation and Nexus System government have been allies a long time, cooperating on regional defense, regional control of piracy, and sharing many of the same standards in commercial dealings. We have long had good relations with ISC as well. Vatta Transport—” He now glanced at Stella, who nodded. “—has had a trading route here for a long time as well. We knew we were only on the fringes of your company’s routes, but we had no reason to surmise that you were other than honorable.”

Ky felt her stomach clench. That did not sound good, and from the expression on Stella’s face, quickly masked to a neutral mild curiosity, Stella felt the same.

“Stella Vatta’s business dealings here have all been lawful and correct; we have no complaints. Her new venture, into the manufacture of small ship-mounted ansibles, has already shown enormous potential for profit and has been formally validated by ISC.”

Another pause; Silva looked like someone trying to find a polite way to say that there was a rotten egg on the platter. “The problem is,” he said finally, “that although the CEO of ISC has nothing against you—or Stella Vatta—or the Vatta family—others do. He feels—Ser Dunbarger, whom I believe you know—” Another pause; Ky nodded, and Silva went on. “He has found resistance,” Silva said finally. “His father, who was CEO before him, and who recently suffered a grave injury, is convinced that the Vatta family is to blame for the mole in ISC. He is totally opposed to any dealings with Vattas, and the current CEO feels that he has pushed his Board as far as he can. The government of Nexus, as well, is concerned at the predominance of Vatta influence here, as they see it.” He glanced down the table at a man who also wore a sash of office. Abram Veniers, Ky’s implant told her, a high-ranking officer in the Diplomatic Corps.

“We don’t want a break with Nexus,” Veniers said. “We don’t want to offend their government. Their government has begun distancing itself from the views of the current ISC head. His father had friends, you see, old friends. His father, though apparently still impaired by the injuries he received, still communicates with them. His father thinks the boy—he calls his son the boy—is besotted with you.”