CHAPTER

TWENTY-FOUR

K y rode the shuttle up to Mac Station One in deepening gloom. Everything Becker said made sense, sense she didn’t want to see. She would ask her own engineering techs about structural stresses, but she was sure Becker had told the truth; she could only hope that the engineers’ examination would not show any flaws likely to kill them in the next few months.

Back on the station, she met the other captains at the Captains’ Guild, where they usually met for a quiet meal.

“So what’s next?” asked Teddy Ransome. He had been asking that every day.

“Mackensee wants to give us all commissions and take us into their organization as a separate unit,” Ky said.

“I gather you didn’t agree,” Pettygrew said.

“I wouldn’t, unless you all wanted to,” Ky said. “But they think of it as a generous offer. They don’t think we’ll get funding from any governments because we’re so small.” She wasn’t going to say anything about the structural problems until the engineers had inspected Vanguard. If it had symptoms of excessive strain, she would have to warn them.

“Small, but effective,” Ransome said. “They can’t deny that!”

“They didn’t,” Ky said. “They said we were far more effective than our size suggested—but I can see the difficulty of saying that to governments. How would they know?”

“So…what kind of commissions?” Pettygrew asked.

“We didn’t get into specifics; I wasn’t ready to sign on the line. But they did say they thought of using us as a single unit within the organization.”

“Doesn’t appeal to me,” Ransome said, leaning back in his seat. “I like working with you, not some mercenary. And it’s not like I need the money.”

“I’m still technically a Slotter Key privateer,” Argelos said. “I don’t think it would be appropriate.”

“Well, I’d do it,” Pettygrew said. “No offense or disrespect to you—” He turned to Ky. “You’re as good a commander as any I’ve served with. But an experienced military organization has a lot to offer…a ready-made staff, supply lines and depots already set up. If you do it, I would, too.”

“I haven’t made up my mind,” Ky said. “I want to strike back at the people who attacked my home world…and I want to do it effectively. Becker’s sure that means joining a larger organization. Think about it, all of you. If one or more decide to sign on with Mackensee, that changes the whole situation.”

“You started with one ship,” Ransome said, with a toss of his head. “I have two.”

Ky was glad to change topics. “By the way, we’re all invited to have dinner with their founder day after tomorrow. That one, I did accept. Civilian business attire.”

“All of us off our ships at once,” Argelos said. “Are you sure that’s wise?”

“Actually, you’ll have to draw straws—someone’s definitely staying up here, just in case,” Ky said. “I don’t think Mackensee’s up to anything, and the system defenses here are on high alert. But it’s just good practice.”

“I’ll volunteer,” Argelos said. “If that’s all right with you.”

“Fine,” Ky said. “Otherwise—the rest of you want to come?”

They all nodded.

The next morning, two Mackensee engineers showed up with a half-dozen assistants and stacks of equipment, only some of which Ky recognized.

“I’m Asil Maturny, and this is Bas Fornit,” one of them said. “We’re from the main repair yard for Mackensee vessels, and I understand you wanted your ship checked for structural problems, is that right?”

“Yes,” Ky said.

“It would be easier if you were in our repair dock, but we brought some equipment with us. I understand you’ve had air-lock damage?”

“Yes, twice.” Ky explained, and handed them the data cube she’d prepared. “I didn’t find the usual repair log when we took over this ship, so the repairs are those I had made.”

“And you’ve fought how many engagements?”

“And have you done any weapons practice outside those engagements?” asked Fornit.

“It’s all in there,” Ky said, nodding at the cube. “Four engagements, but no missiles fired in the second. And yes, weapons practice.”

For most of that day, the assessment team roamed the ship, escorted by Ky’s own crewmembers. They ran tests on everything, it seemed, with special attention to the damaged areas around the emergency air lock and the old cargo bay entry hatch, the mounts for the drives, and the mounts for the beam weapon. By 1700 local time, they had a preliminary report for Ky; she invited Hugh and her own engineering staff to sit in on the presentation.

“You were lucky,” Maturny said. “Or the person who retrofitted the advanced drives and munitions knew what to look out for. As you know, this was built as a standard cargo-hauler—” The schematic for its framing came up on the screen. “Someone did a pretty good job of reinforcing here—and here—” He highlighted the areas. “Just using the more powerful drives and controllers wouldn’t overstress the longitudinal framing. Mounting the beam weapon in the mid-line reduces problems, but we did find evidence of early deterioration in the beam mounts from insufficient heat reduction. To save space, the refitters tried to combine the heat management with the mounts proper, instead of using more appropriate structures. That’s an older design, and suggests the refit was done more than twenty-five years ago. You might find an outlaw repair yard still using it, but no one reputable.”

“Another problem is all these hidden passages someone put in,” Fornit said. “We didn’t explore them, except to note voids that might be problematic. Some of these are.” Another schematic. “This reduces your lateral stability, which counts in maneuvering and firing missiles.”

“Bottom line?” Ky said.

“Bottom line is that your ship is spaceworthy right now, but needs major work in a good yard if she’s to stay that way. I understand you’re interested in buying into Mackensee using ships as capital. I have to say that this ship’s value is reduced at least twenty-three percent because of what it’ll cost to bring it up to our standard.”

“And how long will she be spaceworthy?” Ky asked. “Can you give me an estimate?”

“Well…” Fornit glanced at her engineering team. “That emergency repair you did…um…back at Gretna? That’s not going to be good for many more FTL transitions. But fixing that won’t address the more serious structural problems. I’d say you’ve got…oh, perhaps two hours total of beam use before one of the mounts fractures, and that could be extremely serious. The lateral members showing stress should be good for several engagements, but if we did take this ship in, we’d put it straight into the yard for a complete refit.”

Another blow to her idea of starting her own military force: if her own ship was likely to fall apart, what about the others? And she could not possibly afford a true warship when she couldn’t manage even a minor repair like the air locks.

“We’ll leave the report with you, Captain Vatta,” Fornit said. “If you decide to have this work done yourself—if you don’t join Mackensee—we’ve been instructed to say that our repair yard will do the work at a discount. But it will still be expensive, and your ship will be out of commission for somewhere between one hundred seventy and two hundred days, best estimate.”

“Thank you,” Ky said. “I’ll let you know.”

“Contact information is with the report,” Fornit said.

After they left, and her engineering staff had gone back to their duties, Ky stared at the bulkhead. Now what? She had no funds; her Space Defense Force was mostly smoke and mirrors, and the part that wasn’t, was falling apart. Even if Mackensee bought her remaining shipboard ansibles at Stella’s price, even if that was enough to pay for repairs, it would not be enough, in the long run, to finance a war.

Should she give in and sign up with Mackensee? It was the sensible thing to do, considering all the circumstances. She’d have the advantage of their experience, their staffwork. She could almost imagine herself in a Mackensee uniform, commanding a Mackensee ship.

But…a mercenary? For hire to anyone with the price? That initial vision of herself on the bridge of a Mackensee cruiser shivered and blew away at the thought. Mackensee might be honorable, within the definition of mercenary, but that would not keep them from taking a contract from anyone with enough funds, against anyone—including, for instance, Slotter Key.

For the rest of the day, Ky went about her work and ignored the impulse to call Stella—or even Aunt Grace—and discuss it with them. She didn’t want lectures or arguments; it was her decision to make. She asked Argelos and Pettygrew if they’d heard anything about structural failures due to retrofitting merchant craft with military-grade drives and weapons. Argelos said yes, but on the last yearly inspection, Sharra’s Gift had passed clean. Pettygrew said Bassoon, like all the Bissonet privateers, had been built for military use from the start.

So it was her own ship, apparently the largest and best armed, that had the problem. But that wasn’t the real dilemma. It was not only her ship, but her people…her crew, her family, her planetary government. She was not about to force anyone to join anything they didn’t want to…and decency required that she help them get back to a place where they could find employment they wanted.

She pushed those thoughts aside as she dressed for dinner in her good gray suit, and tried to put herself in the right frame of mind, but the question kept coming back. By the time she met the other captains at the shuttle to go downside to dinner, Ky had still not decided what to do.

Mackensee’s founder had chosen to live within an hour’s ground transport of corporate headquarters, on an estate of rolling hills. His residence, built of local stone and timber, nestled into one of the hills and looked out across a valley patchworked with fields and pastures.

He came out to the terrace to greet them, dressed in a suit that Ky recognized as custom-tailored. Ky knew his nickname was Old John but he looked too young for that, despite his gray hair and UV damage to his skin.

“I’m delighted to meet you, Captain Vatta,” he said. “I’ve been hearing about you the past several years.”

“This is Captain Pettygrew, of Bassoon,” Ky said. “And Captain Ransome of Glorious commanding Ransome’s Rangers, and Captain Baskerville of Courageous.”

“I understand your home world was overrun,” John Mackensee said to Pettygrew. “My deepest sympathies. Did you have family…?”

“Yes,” Pettygrew said. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Of course.” Mackensee turned to Teddy Ransome, whose idea of civilian business attire included a shirt with ruffles at the neck and wrists. Ky would not have been surprised if he’d had a sword at his hip. “And you—are you aware of the history of your ships’ names? I understand that you lost one, the Furious.”

“Back in the days of Old Earth,” Ransome said. “The days of wind and sail…”

Ky saw a telltale twinkle in Mackensee’s eye, a twitch of his lip.

“You are a student of history, Captain Ransome?”

“Call me Teddy,” Ransome said. “And not so much a student of history…serious history. Too many years—eons even—pass with nothing to stir the blood. But some are rich with pageantry, with glory—”

“Indeed,” Mackensee said; the corner of his mouth twitched. Please…do come inside,” Mackensee said. “Meet the others.”

Dark wood, tiled floors, comfortable furniture in rich colors, a fire crackling in a huge fireplace. Men and women who, despite being in civilian dress, were obviously Mackensee officers. Everyone was cordial, but Ky felt that she and her captains were under a social microscope. That could cut both ways—they could examine Mackensee as well as be examined.

Mackensee moved them expertly from pre-dinner drinks and light conversation to a dining room whose proportions reminded Ky painfully of her lost home. Here the tabletop was a slab of polished stone veined in pale shades of gray with a few streaks of white, instead of wood. One difference in culture showed up immediately: no sooner had the first course been served than the man on Ky’s left, who had introduced himself earlier as Colonel Vitanji, said, “So, you had formal military training—I’ve never met anyone from Slotter Key before. Did they include Gauschmann’s Tactical Exercises?”

“Let her eat, Terry,” Mackensee said. “At least three bites before business.”

“Sorry, sir.” He turned to Ky. “Sorry, Captain.”

“Terry’s an instructor these past three years in our command course,” Becker said.

“And he’s convinced that Gauschmann’s is the best source on tactical maneuvers in the past two decades,” said a woman across the table. “I’m Ari Wistrom—didn’t get to meet you before dinner. Anyway, Terry will talk your ear off about tactical theory if you let him.”

“Not theory,” Vitanji said. “Proven, practical—”

“Enough,” Becker said, with a quick glance at Mackensee.

Ky tried a spoonful of the soup in front of her: pale green, translucent, and delicious. While she ate, she listened to conversation among the officers…business, nearly all of it, in short snatches. She liked the tone she was hearing—brisk, good-natured, touches of wit here and there, competent…Mackensee would have picked the best to lure her, she was sure, but these were people she could work with.

After the soup came a delicious main course, medallions of beef, potatoes sliced to make a decorative swirl. Pettygrew, Ransome, and Baskerville were chatting happily with the officers near them; Becker and Mackensee seemed to be discussing gardening. At a nearby lull, Ky spoke to Vitanji.

“Actually, we didn’t have Gauschmann’s Tactical Exercises in our classes. We used Simjuk and Baiye.”

“Not bad at all,” Vitanji said. “But you should take a look at Gauschmann.”

“What I found, once we obtained the shipboard ansibles, is that having instantaneous ship-to-ship communication at significant light-distances both allowed and forced changes.”

“I’d expect so.” Vitanji grinned. “In the last few days, since we heard of the possibility, I’ve been trying to develop some ideas, but since you’ve actually done it—”

“No need for close formations,” Ky said. She took another bite of potato, and noticed that the table had quieted. “There’s still scan lag, of course, but ships can share position information via ansible, so you know exactly where your ships are. If you have small, fast ships—or stealthed ships—you can shadow an enemy and transmit that information to the rest of your group. We lost one of our people that way, Captain St. Cyrien, but the data he provided before they found and destroyed his ship was most valuable.”

Now they were all quiet, listening.

“I’m sure we’d all like to hear what you’ve learned,” John Mackensee said, “if you don’t mind sharing.”

“Not at all,” Ky said. “As long as I don’t have to miss the rest of this excellent dinner. This beef—!”

He smiled at her. “My own herd. Long ago and far away, I believe my ancestors must have been cattle ranchers, because for someone brought up on spaceships, I take entirely too much pleasure in watching my cows eat grass. These are genetically modified to produce meat with specific nutritional components, which, in the origins of the species, weren’t present. For instance—” He stopped himself and chuckled. “Sorry. If you get me started on cattle, no one will hear about your tactical discoveries, and most of these people aren’t anywhere close to retirement. They’d much rather listen to you.”

Through the rest of the meal, Ky and her other captains answered questions and explained what they’d learned, using tableware and dishes to represent ships. It was the kind of intelligent, challenging discussion that Ky had always enjoyed at the Academy, and by the time they adjourned to the living room with its fireplace, to take dessert pastries from a tiered server on a sideboard, she was even more persuaded that she would fit in here.

So might Pettygrew, she thought; he seemed happy and relaxed. Ransome and Baskerville, predictably, stood out like parrots in a flock of doves. She could not imagine them taking to the discipline Mackensee would insist on. She couldn’t tell if they were slightly drunk or just their usual flamboyant selves, but theirs were the loudest voices and most extravagant gestures. Argelos…Argelos would try to get back to Slotter Key, she was sure. He had already said he felt bound by his letter of marque.

Her mood darkened; the conversation had become general again, and she let it pass her by. She would love to have had this, from the house itself to the easy camaraderie of the Mackensee officers. This was the life she had hoped for when she argued her family into letting her enter the Academy. And her father…what would he want? His daughter running around the universe in a ship that might come apart, trying to fight a war on her own, or in a large, experienced organization of competent mercenaries?

She glanced across the room and saw the clock…time to go, but she didn’t want to leave, not really. She felt safe here.

With an effort, she turned to smile at John Mackensee. “Thank you, sir, for a lovely evening, but we must go if we’re going to catch that last evening shuttle.”

“You could stay downside tonight,” he said. “Guest rooms here, or accommodations in town if you prefer.”

Ky shook her head. “No, thank you. I appreciate the offer, and this has been delightful, but my ship’s expecting me.”

He nodded, unsurprised. “Duty and all that, eh? Well, I’m glad you were able to take an evening off. It’s been my pleasure, and I hope to see you again soon.”

When Ky got back to the shuttleport, she had a message from Vanguard. “Stella wants to hear from you as soon as possible,” Hugh said. “She’s really excited about something.”

“Excited? Not alarmed? System ansible, or…the other?”

“System ansible,” Hugh said. “She didn’t sound alarmed to me, just a bit miffed that you hadn’t called in and weren’t on the ship. Gallivanting around the galaxy, is how she put it.”

“Give her a call back and tell her I’m on my way up from the planet,” Ky said. “The shuttle’s leaving in about fifteen minutes…I should be back in a couple of hours.”

“Yes, Captain.”

Ky hoped it was good news about money; she had to admit that Becker was right about the cost of supplying so many ships. So far Teddy Ransome’s purse had seemed bottomless, but she knew all purses did have bottoms eventually. In that musing about money, she realized she had made her decision. Much as she respected Mackensee, much as she respected and admired the officers she’d met, and recognized that they respected her, much as she had enjoyed the evening and wanted that sort of life for herself…she could not join them. She still cared too much about Slotter Key—and she still wanted to make her own decisions. If that meant worrying about money and supplies and repairs…so be it.

When she came onto the bridge, it was nearly local midnight; she felt some change in mood. “What do you know that I don’t?” she said to Hugh.

He was not quite grinning, but he looked very happy. “I don’t know anything…but I suspect from your cousin’s expression that there’s good news. You may not need to take Mackensee’s offer—”

“What do you know about that?” Ky asked, annoyed. “I haven’t said anything to anyone on the ship.”

“Slip of the tongue by someone in a bar,” he said. “I think deliberate slip, but I’m not sure. Anyway, it makes sense they’d want us to join them. We’re the spice; they’re the cake.”

Ky snorted. “I think we’re rather more than that. But let’s see what Stella really has to say.” Under the circumstances, it probably had to do with more progress making or selling onboard ansibles—not a topic she wanted to discuss over ISC’s network. She sat down at the onboard ansible’s console. Stella must have been waiting by her own, because she answered at once.

“Ky, have you sold those other onboard ansibles yet?” Stella asked without preamble.

“No,” Ky said. “I’ve talked to Mackensee about them, and they want them, but it’s not a done deal. I don’t have enough to supply all their ships, anyway. Why? Isn’t their money good?”

“Don’t. And whatever else you do, don’t sign up with them.”

“Stella…what’s going on?”

“It’s Aunt Grace.” Stella’s tense look widened to a grin. “You will not believe—well, you will, because it’s true, but—”

“If you don’t tell me, I’m going to reach right through this ansible and strangle you,” Ky said. “Just say it.”

“Slotter Key’s government has agreed to contact all the outlying privateers and order them to put themselves under your command, as an arm of Slotter Key Spaceforce.” Stella’s grin was even wider now.

Ky’s mind went blank for a moment. “It…what?”

“They’ve already started arriving here, at Cascadia. You need to get back here with those ansibles so they can be mounted in the privateers…we don’t have the advanced versions ready yet, but that should at least give you parity with the pirates, yes?”

“Er…yes. Yes, it will.” Her mind seemed to expand like a balloon with something she realized was joy. “How many privateers?”

“They’ve made contact with thirty-seven so far. All have contacted me to say they’re on the way. The first four have arrived in system here. How many of those ansibles are left?”

“Thirty-two.”

“I’ll see how fast Toby can hand-build another five or six or whatever.”

“What does the local government think about a lot of privateers showing up? Have you asked them?” Ky could imagine serious problems from that.

“Slotter Key contacted them directly; they’ve worked some kind of deal. I think there may be a few ships from here joining up, too, but not until they’re supplied with the ansibles. In the meantime, though, they’ve committed some funds for supply, via Slotter Key. How soon can you leave there? What’s your travel time to here?”

Ky turned to Hugh. “What would be our ETA for Cascadia Station, fastest safe route?”

“For all our ships?” he asked. Ky nodded. “I’ll get to work on it. And if you’re contemplating an early departure, I’d say more like sixty hours—we still have munitions coming up for all ships.”

“Stella, it’s going to be days before we can leave here,” Ky said. “We’re loading munitions coming up from the surface. I’ll have the figures for you as soon as I can.”

“Good. Call me any time; I’ll be in skullphone contact with Toby if I have to be out of range of this ansible, or use the system.” Stella closed the connection.

Ky looked at her bridge crew, who were trying to pretend they had no interest in the messages. “Life’s about to get even more interesting,” she said. “Slotter Key’s sending reinforcements, and they want me to command them.”

“Here?”

“No, at Cascadia, where Stella is.”

“So…you’re not thinking about joining Mackensee?”

“Not now,” Ky said. She realized she was grinning and tried to smother it, but then she saw the expressions of her bridge crew. “You all knew about the offer?” There were nods and murmurs.

“We thought you’d probably do it,” Lee said. “But I said, No, she’s a Slotter Key girl at heart, and they don’t take orders from anybody.”

“I did for four years,” Ky said, but she was too happy to remind him that he was supposed to be more formal. “I don’t suppose you had a pool on it…” At his guilty look, she laughed. “Of course you did. I hope you won, Lee; your faith is touching.” She turned to Hugh. “I’ll want you and Martin to start planning how to bring the mostly civilian crews of the other privateers up to military standards. Resupply is being arranged between Slotter Key and the Moscoe Confederation. Now I need to talk to the other captains, and then let Mackensee know the ansibles aren’t for sale—”

“And neither are you,” Martin said. He and Hugh exchanged glances; Ky could feel their approval.

Ky used the shipboard ansibles to call the other captains.

“What is it?” Ransome asked. He was still flushed from the party. “Have you decided whether or not to take a commission with them? Nice fellows, all, but I think they’re too straitlaced for me.”

“We’re leaving here as soon as we can,” Ky said. “If we didn’t have to make intermediate jumps that put us at risk if the pirates happen to be there, I’d leave tomorrow, but we will complete loading the munitions Mackensee is giving us.”

“So…you know where we’re going next?” Ransome asked.

“Yes. But the destination will not be given to you until we’re near the jump point, and even then in a unique code on a channel we hope is still secure.”

“We’ve found the enemy?” Pettygrew asked.

“No. But we’ve found allies.”

“Really?” Argelos raised his brows. “That’s welcome news.”

“Our allies need to be provided with the onboard ansibles I’m carrying. The concentration of ships necessary for that to happen would be a very attractive target. That’s why secrecy is so important.”

“How many ships are we getting?” Argelos asked. “Ten? Even…fifteen?”

“At least thirty-seven,” Ky said. “Assuming they all get to us safely.”

“Thirty-seven!” Argelos and Pettygrew glanced at each other. “That has to be a government—no one else could mount that many ships unless it’s a big merc company like this one. And I can’t see them giving us that many.”

“It is government,” Ky said. “But I’m not prepared to say which ones.”

“Ones plural? So we really are going to be a multisystem force?”

“Looks that way. My source is reliable for…some of them, and there’s speculation about others. I should’ve ordered more seals.” Ky grinned at them. “So…last chance to bail out. I’ll understand if you’d rather stay with Mackensee—” She looked at Pettygrew. “—or go off on your own.” That look for Ransome and Baskerville.

“I wouldn’t miss this for anything,” Ransome said. “Of course I’m coming with you.” Baskerville nodded enthusiastically, his hair flopping down on his forehead.

“And I,” Pettygrew said. “Mackensee seems to be a decent enough organization, but I want to stay with you.”

“Slotter Key sticks together,” Argelos said. “And my former adviser says you promoted him, so he’s yours.”

Ky felt a wave of emotion—joy and excitement and affection all mixed—washing away the depression and exhaustion of the past few days. She wanted to think of something stirring to say, but nothing came to her. Teddy Ransome, not surprisingly, spoke up.

“I could almost feel sorry for them,” he said. “The pirates, I mean. They won’t know what hit them.”

Ky laughed, the last tension gone for now. “Tomorrow,” she said. “We’ll start on that tomorrow.”