Trading in Danger (15 page)

“Riel,” Ky said. “We have a problem.”

“Naw… Lee can clear that shuttle easily, doesn’t even need insystem…”

“Deep scan. Warships. Get us away from the station, Riel. I’ll look for cover. Sheryl, you concentrate on avoiding collisions.”

She had the nav charts up on her board now and tried to think like a cadet with a tac problem in class, and not a cargo captain in an unarmed ship in a war zone. What did the enemy know, and what did she know? The warships had no downjump haze around their icons; they had been in the system—she checked the backtrace—four hours. Jumped in at low relative vee above the ecliptic. Two small jumps to place them where they were, in the classic “attack and blockade a planet” configuration. They would have had time to locate and identify all the ships at the station, which meant that just putting a planet between them and
Glennys Jones
wouldn’t accomplish anything.

The thing was… it wasn’t a tactical problem in class, it was real life. And she was a captain, with all a captain’s responsibilities… just not the kind of ship she’d ever thought of having. No weapons. Commercial-grade shielding only. A cloud of “if only” hovered over her: if only she’d just done the expected thing… if only she’d had the ship repaired at Belinta before coming here… if only she’d called home before the ansibles were blown…

No time for that. Riel, after one startled glance at the deep scan, reached over and switched the insystem drive from standby to engage.

“Lee, I’ll take over now. I can’t push the old lady up fast,” he said toKy.“She’ll gut-choke on us. I’ll have to ease into it.”

“Do what you can,” Ky said. Had those warships blown the ansibles? Her scan data weren’t good enough to backtrack the ships’ movements, but it was a reasonable guess. The station should be able to figure it out, if that did any good. Whose warships were they? Not Prime’s, and not Slotter Key’s… and anyone else probably wasn’t a friend.

She had the comdesk open wide, ready to pick up anyone’s transmission… Something squealed, and a spike ran up the visual display.

“What was that?” Lee asked.

“Batch-pod,” Ky said. Military used them, to send messages out of a system with no ansible. Their endim transition produced a characteristic squeal and blip. So someone—probably the warships—had sent information to someone outside the system. More warships? Invaders? Not pirates; pirates didn’t have this kind of resource base. At least not near Slotter Key. Someone hired by Secundus, was the most likely answer. So—who were they talking to, with a batch-pod?

She should have read up more on Sabine’s history and political setup. Hadn’t she heard the stories? Hadn’t she grown up knowing that a trader captain must know what was going on, or else?

And now she was here and it wasn’t a story.

Glennys Jones
, easing up to her insystem cruising velocity at the modest acceleration her aging frame would endure, moved far more slowly than Ky wanted, opening distance from the station. Ky called up the supplementary military/mercenary database, searching for the icons the warships projected. There it was. Mackensee Military Assistance Corporation. The listing described it as “a consultancy service,” but farther in Ky found a paragraph describing “additional services which may extend to the provision of personnel and matériel when employer resources are insufficient to the accomplishment of specific goals outlined in the contract…”

Mercenaries indeed. It was heartening to notice that the mercenaries stated as policy that they did not take contracts involving “actions defined as piracy under the Interstellar Uniform Commercial Code” but less heartening to note the exceptions from that code permitted “in time of war or insurrection.” Those exceptions permitted civilian ships to be boarded and inspected, though no personnel were supposed to be harmed and no cargo taken… though again with exceptions. “Except in cases where the civilian ships are deemed to be carrying matériel of military significance…”

Matériel of military significance could be anything from medicine to weapons…

But probably not tractors, disk cultivators, spring-tooth harrows, harvesting combines, Ky hoped.

Readingfurther: the listing ended with a pious statement of belief in a deity Ky had never heard of, and the advice to potential customers to consider carefully whether they really had anything worth fighting over. “War is not a game,” the last paragraph read. “War is nasty, dirty, brutal; we hope that potential customers will find a way other than war to solve their problems. But if conflict is inevitable, then the least destructive approach is that which leads to a quick, decisive conclusion. In that case, our expertise may be of service.”

As a Saphiric Cyclan trained in logic, Ky found this disclaimer both dishonest and funny. She could just imagine the up-rolled eyes and folded hands… with a third invisible hand held out for the payoff.

She hoped that some of the listing was correct, though, because if these mercenaries really didn’t want trouble with all the commercial shipping concerns, they might well leave a Vatta ship alone. In that case… why had they blown the ansibles? Surely they would know that would bring the ISC after them?

Unless… someone else had blown the ansibles? Someone who detected their approach and wanted to send an alarm message—but then, why not just send it, via ansible? Someone—perhaps their employers—who had the bright idea to interdict ansible communication in the simplest way.

If Secundus had hired mercenaries to advise them or fight for them…

“Attention all ships…” Her comdesk informed her that this was a recorded message, origin one of the warships. “All ships in Sabine system. For your own safety, it is imperative that you reply on receipt of this message, using standard UCC channel seventeen, with the following information: ship name, ship registry, ship owner, ship captain. In that order. This is Colonel John Calvin Tessan, Mackensee Military Assistance Corporation, in command of the Mackensee Engineer Battalion and Expeditionary Force.”

The message repeated, clearly a recorded loop, and Ky stared across at Riel.

“What’re you going to do, Captain?” he asked. She noticed, with a clarity that bothered her, that he looked scared.

“What I’m told,” she said. “We have two very large warships insystem, and more possibly coming in. They could bat us into pieces without even trying. I don’t want them to try.” She set the com to channel seventeen, checked the setting once more, and transmitted, without comment,
Glennys Jones
, Slotter Key, Vatta Transport Limited, K. Vatta.

A lightlag later, her board lit again and an unrecorded voice came out. “Vatta Transport ship
Glennys Jones
continue on present course; do not change course without direction.” The voice waited for no answer; the light went off.

“Are we going to hit anything?” Ky asked. Sheryl shook her head. “No, Captain. We could do this for several days—maybe longer, I’ll have to look—as long as nobody runs into us.”

“Then we’ll just keep on keeping on,” Ky said. For the time being,
Glennys Jones
had been dismissed as too little to matter, a nonproblem. She watched on deepscan, aware that other ships would have received that message at different times, thanks to their different distance from the warships. If they obeyed, they also would get orders—the same orders? Maybe, maybe not. At any rate, some of those ships would not get the first message for another hour or so, during which time nothing exciting should happen—she hoped.

But in any event, time to address her crew. Ky took a deep breath, then another, and yawned once to open her throat. Never sound scared, never sound worried: that had been the advice of their second-year rhetoric instructor. Always prepare what you have to say. Have a point to make, and make it. Don’t ramble, don’t waffle.

“I’m going to let the others know what’s going on,” she said to the bridge crew. They nodded. She turned the ship’s intercom back on. “This is the captain,” she said. “Here’s the situation. There are two warships insystem, mercenaries. I don’t know who hired them, but probably Secundus. They’ve asked all civilian ships to identify themselves; we have done so. We have been told to stay on our present course, which is what we’re doing. According to what I found in the database, their stated policy is not to confiscate commercial ships or their nonmilitary cargoes, or harm their crews.” Explaining the exceptions to this policy would only alarm them, Ky thought, so she didn’t.

Civilian ships, small merchanters, did not have the clear rank structure Ky had been taught in the Academy. It had bothered her, the first few days, and then she had grown used to it. Now that lack bothered her again. She wanted to leave the bridge and walk around the ship, speaking reassuringly to her crew the way she was supposed to. But she had no exec to leave in charge even for a few minutes, and from the expression on Riel’s face, he wasn’t up to it.

“Section firsts, to the bridge, please,” Ky said.

Gary Tobin arrived first, thenQuincy, then Mitt. They all looked worried; Ky did her best to project calm confidence.

“Here’s what I think happened,” she said. “Secundus hired some mercenaries. They call themselves the Mackensee Military Assistance Corporation, and the communication I got listed an Engineer Battalion and Expeditionary Force. The onboard database doesn’t have much, but I remember from the Academy that many mercenary units provide technical assistance and training as well as weaponry and troops. They often call their training cadres engineers, whether or not they do any engineering.”

“So this would be both instructors and soldiers, you think?”

“I think so, yes. Secundus managed to come up with the down payment—these people don’t come fight on spec—but didn’t have enough to finance more than a short stay. That’s why they needed to have the ansibles out.”

“But is this company… reliable?”Quincyasked.

“I don’t have enough data. At the Academy, they taught us about the history of mercenary forces in space, and those that had once operated in our own system, and the theoretical limits of mercenary activity, but they didn’t tell us which currently active units abided by which conventions, if any, with regard to civilian spacecraft.” Ky paused for a sip of water. “We weren’t expected to be on civilian spacecraft.”

“So what do we do now?”Garyasked.

“What they tell us,” Ky said. “We have no weapons and only moderate shielding—nothing that can stand a hit from their kind of weapons. If we’re lucky, they’ll decide we’re no threat, not worth impounding, and after some delay the ansibles will be back up and we can get through to Vatta, let them know we’re all right—and by the way, send money because we need some repairs.”

“And if we’re unlucky?”

“They impound the cargo. Or they impound the cargo and the crew. Or, worst case, they use us for target practice. But since we can’t do anything about it right now, our job is to keep the ship operating as smoothly as possible.” She paused; no one said anything. Always give your people something to do, she’d been taught. “Mitt, I want an analysis of environmental right down to the eighth place: we have four additional crew on board, what does that do to our cruising range? Every factor you can think of—atmosphere, water, nutrition—everything. What will attempted repairs do to that analysis? Heat output, higher respiratory rate of exchange, whatever.Quincy, I need to know everything—everything—about the repairs we need. Nothing’s too trivial.Gary, since the load’s secured at this point, I’d like you to do a personnel survey. The crew records tell me what people’s listed expertise is, but I never heard of a spacer yet who didn’t have at least one unlisted specialty known to a friend. Find it all out, and route it to my desk. If we have someone who used to cobble together ansibles out of paper clips and moly wire, or counterfeit some currency, I want to know it.”

“You have an idea, Captain?”Quincyasked. Ky could hear the tension in her voice. She felt queasy.Quincywas her senior by decades;Quincyhad the experience she needed; she did not wantQuincyto be worried.

“Of course she has an idea,”Garysaid with just a bit too much emphasis. “She’s the captain.”

Ky winced inwardly. She was the captain who had landed them in this mess. They were still looking at her expectantly, as if the idea they assumed she had would emerge in glowing letters on her forehead. So… she had best be the captain who got them out of this mess. If she could. “I have several ideas,” she said. Never mind that they ranged from useless to gruesome at the moment. “I need more data about our capabilities, before I can be sure how to use them.”

“Makes sense,” Mitt said. “I’ll get to it then. And an estimate of range under different management, as well. Whether it would do any good to conserve food supplies, things like that.”

“Exactly what I need, Mitt,” Ky said. “Good thinking.” She smiled at him; and he smiled back. The other two blinked, then managed their own smiles.

“I’ve got some data now, from the repair planning before we left the station,”Quincysaid. “Do you want it now, or when I have the whole thing—?”

“When you have it all,” Ky said. “In case something you found before changes in the light of the new situation.”

“Oh—yeah—it probably will,”Quincysaid. Her next smile was more natural. “I should’ve thought of that. I must be getting old, Captain.”

“Old age and treachery,” Ky said. “Not a bad combination.”

“I’m on it, Captain,”Garysaid when she glanced at him. “If anyone has a hidden talent, I’ll find it.”

“Good,” she said to them all. “Now—we also need to be sure we’re fresh and ready to deal with whatever happens. How long have you been up, ship’s time?”

They looked blank for a moment. “But you need the data now,”Quincysaid, without answering the question.

“Probably not for hours,” Ky said. “They’re talking to the other ships—look at the plots. I need you all rested, fed, alert, and the same for the rest of the crew. We pulled out in a hurry, but now we need to get on a schedule that keeps us fit.” Dock schedule put the whole crew on the same shift except for the standing watch. On insystem drive, they needed rotating shifts. “Quincy,Gary—make up your section schedules, then go off; Mitt and Lee will have to stay up another six, then work into the rotation. Clear?”