Ky wondered where Stella was. If she had resupplied quickly, as Ky suggested, and followed on, she should have appeared in this system about ten days after Ky…should be insystem now. It would take that old ship longer to move in from the downjump radius, but the new FTL drive Ky’d installed at Sabine had cut their jump time considerably. Had something happened to her?
“I doubt they’ll hold her,” Rafe said when she mentioned her concern. “She hasn’t done anything—at worst, they’ll send her off all the sooner, because she’s related to you.”
“Then she should be here. I wish I knew more about that captain she hired.”
“She’ll be fine,” Rafe said, and patted her shoulder.
Ky glared at him. “Do not try to soothe me like a child, Rafe. You know as well as I do that there’s danger, and she doesn’t have any weapons…”
“Those mines,” Rafe said.
“Which she hasn’t a clue how to use,” Ky said.
“You know, she’s not stupid, even if she is beautiful,” Rafe said, hitching a hip onto the table.
“I never said—”
Martin came in with the day’s training report and gave Rafe a dark look. Rafe shrugged. “I’m only trying to calm the captain down, Martin; she’s worried about sweet Stella.”
“With some reason, I’d think,” Martin said. “No word yet, Captain?”
“None.” Ky moved data cubes from one stack to another. “I know she’s upset; that was clear. I can’t blame her; she’s had to trail me around to three different systems, cope with whatever I left behind.”
“It’s not like she’s never traveled,” Rafe said.
“I know that. But it’s different when it’s your ship, when you’re not just a passenger.” She sighed. “I just hope they don’t give her too much trouble on Sallyon.”
“There’s nothing you can do about it even if they do,” Rafe said.
“That’s the problem,” Ky said.
Worrying about Stella was only marginally better than worrying about what was going on back on Slotter Key. She dragged her mind away from both, and onto the dog problem. Should she contact that veterinary clinic onplanet, or not? It was too late to hide the existence of the dog, but she’d insisted that no pictures be posted.
She shrugged and placed the call.
“Eglin Veterinary Clinic, small-animal practice only, canids a specialty. How may we serve you?” The voice-only channel gave scant clues to the speaker, but the high breathy voice suggested young and female.
“This is Captain Vatta; we’re docked at your space station. I need information on reproductive services.”
“Species, please?”
“Canid,” Ky said, crossing mental fingers.
“Oh.” The voice faded, then came back. “You’re the one! You have a dog aboard! Is it for sale? Where did you get it?”
“We rescued a dog at Lastway Station,” Ky said. “It was going to be killed.”
“Killed! They kill dogs?”
“Indeed they do. We intervened. I understand that dogs are a valuable commodity here, but we are not interested in selling the dog. However, it is a male, and I presume gametes are also marketable.”
“You may be unaware of this, Captain Vatta, but we once had plenty of dogs. They were stolen by unscrupulous spacers. That’s why dogs are so valuable here.” The speaker’s tone had shifted quickly from prim to resentful. “We would have to test your dog to see if it’s descended from the dogs that were stolen; in that case, our government would demand its return.”
“Do you know how far away Lastway is?” Ky said. “And they have plenty of dogs; they have no need to steal them.”
“You traveled the distance,” the voice said, “so could someone trafficking in dogs.”
“I’m not trafficking in dogs,” Ky said, “despite the outrageous prices offered by your people. The dog is not for sale and never has been.”
“You could be just holding out for a better price.” That was said in tones of deep suspicion.
Ky managed not to say This is ridiculous and held her temper. “All I wanted to ascertain was whether it was possible for you to obtain sperm from this dog, without pain or distress to the animal, and whether it would have any market value. I understand now that it would be far too expensive and complicated, so I’m sorry to have taken up so much of your time.” She closed the connection.
“That was odd,” Rafe said.
“I should’ve checked my implant before I told them we had a dog aboard,” Ky said. “It didn’t occur to me.”
“Think it will give us trouble?”
“It could. Everything else I’ve done and not done has,” Ky said. “Evidently what seems simple and straightforward to me is all wrong.”
“There’s a Vatta icon insystem, Captain,” Hugh said. “But it’s not Stella.”
“Not Stella…who else could it be?” Ky said. She looked at the plot. “One of our bigger ships…damn. It’s that idiot.”
“Which idiot?” Hugh said, grinning.
“That’s Katrine Lamont,” Ky said. “And if I continue to have a bad day, Furman will still be captain.”
“That’s the one who—”
“Gave me all that trouble at Sabine, yes. My very first captain when I was on my apprentice voyage. Doesn’t like me at all.”
“Ah, but does he have the weapons to blow us away?” Rafe asked.
“No, but we can’t use ours,” Ky said. “I wonder what he’s doing over on this side of the sector. He had that really plush route—remember, he was furious at being pulled away to go to Sabine.”
“You didn’t tell your father to send him to the back of beyond?” Rafe said.
“I wouldn’t do that,” Ky said. Rafe rolled his eyes at her; she shook her head. “I wouldn’t. Besides, being almost next door to Nexus isn’t the back of beyond. Cascadia’s had human settlement longer than Slotter Key.”
“Yes, but it may not be as good a route for him, especially if he had established relationships with customers on the old route.”
Ky quickly accessed the information in her father’s implant. Furman had been in the minority as a senior captain who was not by birth or marriage in the Vatta family. He had earned his promotions on his record: he had the second best on-time record in the fleet, and he had made Vatta dominant in his former route, taking business share away from rival shipping firms. All this was good. His personal fitness reports were marred only by the occasional complaint of his rigidity.
Until the Sabine affair. Apparently he’d been unwilling to be pulled off his lucrative route, and then…Ky felt her brows rising as she accessed the classified file that contained what he had said to her father and her father had said to him. Downgraded from triple-plus to one, transferred to the Virnidia–Moscoe–Nexus–Bondeen route…she wondered that he hadn’t quit. Retirement, probably. Or maybe he really was loyal to Vatta. She was amazed at the depth of her father’s wrath.
She could’ve wished for anyone else but Furman.
“He crossed my father,” Ky said. “It was the Sabine thing, but I didn’t start it. He called me a fool, which was probably fair, and my father didn’t like it.”
“No,” Rafe said, “I suppose he didn’t. What do you think will happen now, when you have no father to throw his considerable weight on the scale?”
“I don’t know. Furman doesn’t like me, but he should know by now he can’t control me.”
“He doesn’t know you have a letter of marque, does he?”
“No. But if he knows about Osman, he may think Osman is here because this is Osman’s ship.”
“And he’ll do what?”
“Tell the authorities it’s an outlaw ship, assuming he knows that. Of course, I told them the truth about it. If we could just get the beacon changed I wouldn’t have these problems—”
“And we’d never have caught that outlaw back on Rosvirein,” Martin said. “There are advantages to a bad name.”
Rafe slanted a glance at him. “Indeed there are. I didn’t expect you to make my argument.”
“Enough,” Ky said. The two of them would bicker all day if she didn’t stop it. “What benefit do you think we’ll get out of Furman thinking this is Osman’s ship?”
“I have no idea,” Rafe said. “But anytime you shake the righteous prigs, bits of information fall out of their pockets. We’ll just have to see.”
Katrine Lamont was on a fast approach; as a familiar unarmed ship on a regular schedule, she was granted priority. Ky wished she knew what Furman was saying to Traffic Control and what they were saying to him.
Meanwhile, she had enough to keep busy. Moscoe Confederation’s Ship Registration Commission was sitting on her request to change the ship’s name and beacon ID. They had agreed that her letter of marque gave her the legal right to claim it as a prize and file ownership papers. She had done that, and they had processed the change in ownership in just a few days, only insisting that it must be registered to her, and not to Vatta Transport. A corporation could not hold a letter of marque, and a prize was the property of the captain holding such a letter of marque. Later, perhaps, she could transfer ownership to Vatta Transport, but that would have to be by sale, not gift. They had agreed that having a ship formerly owned by someone with a bad reputation was an embarrassment. But they had not yet decided whether ownership gained by capture allowed the new owner the privilege of changing the ship’s identity…and when, if it was legal, it could be done. How long should it be delayed awaiting legal challenge?
Another complication was the continuing pressure to sell Rascal. They had been offered a number of substitute pets, from Terran cats of all shapes and sizes to exotics like Tamburine alloes—furry, with black masks like Old Earth raccoons and bright green tongues. They were said to be completely odorless, nonallergenic despite the soft fur, affectionate, and docile; they excreted dry pellets, which they were easily taught to put in receptacles for pickup. Ky had refused all these. She still wasn’t that fond of the pup, but Rascal and the need to care for him had certainly put Toby on an even keel. The boy had blossomed on the voyage, willingly tackling challenging tasks related to the drives as well as continuing his studies and caring for Toby. He was centimeters taller, muscling up as he worked out in the gym under Martin’s guidance. She wasn’t about to upset him by taking away his dog. The more they pressured her, the more she resisted.
“Captain Vatta.” That was the stationmaster’s icon. Ky opened her channel and the stationmaster’s face came up onscreen, looking graver than its wont.
“I’m here,” Ky said.
“I’m sorry to say I have had a disturbing message from the Vatta Transport ship en route to the station. Her captain—”
“Captain Furman,” Ky said.
“Er…yes. Captain Furman insists that you must be an imposter, that the real Kylara Vatta is dead.”
“What?” The other bridge crew in hearing turned to look at her, their visible shock paralleling what she felt.
“He says the Vatta family were attacked—which you told us—but insists that the person whose name and identification you gave must be dead, and that you are not she.”
“I certainly am,” Ky said firmly. “Did you transmit a visual image of me?”
“Not yet,” the stationmaster said. “Do you expect he will recognize it?”
“He certainly should,” Ky said. “I did my apprentice voyage on his ship, and then we…ran into each other last year in the Sabine System, when someone attacked their ansible platforms. I have no idea why he would think I’d died.” Should she mention that it was more confrontation than meeting? Probably not.
“Because he was part of the plot?” murmured Rafe, just out of range of the pickup.
Ky didn’t want to think about that. Furman was a stiff-necked prig, true, but that didn’t make him a traitor.
“So he should be familiar with you; he has seen you recently enough—”
“I would think so,” Ky said. “I was only thirteen on my apprentice voyage, but I’m assuming he had his screen on when we spoke at Sabine. We didn’t meet face-to-face; we weren’t docked at the same time.” Again, the complexities of that whole situation—why she was docked and he wasn’t, why she had not met him face-to-face—were more than she wanted to explain at the moment.
“He says the ship you’re in was stolen by a renegade Vatta—which you also told us—and he says he thinks you must be Osman Vatta’s daughter or granddaughter, pretending to be Kylara, the daughter of Gerard Vatta. That Kylara Vatta, if alive, would be on a ship named Gary Tobai, but he’s sure you’re—she’s—dead.”
“My cousin Stella’s on the Gary; she should be here any day. Send Furman my picture and see what he says,” Ky said. “If he still insists it’s not me, he’s lying and my cousin will vouch for me when she gets here.”
“Captain, not to impugn your honesty in any way…will your cousin have any better identification than you? And will Captain Furman know her?” A moment’s pause, then, “I must remind you, Captain, that even in moments of emotional intensity, using such epithets as lying is against our regulations, as provided in the hardcopy you were given. I am willing to overlook it this once, but such an infringement if repeated must be reported and will reflect on any judgment in this case.”
“My apologies,” Ky said, choking back what she really wanted to say. “I appreciate your leniency to a visitor and regret that my home world’s standards of courtesy were so lax.” It would not help her case, she suspected, to tell the stationmaster that Furman had called her a liar and that’s why her father had sent him out here. The last thing she wanted was a forced implant readout, not with that thing Rafe’s implant had inserted into her head.
“It is understandable, Captain Vatta,” the stationmaster said, in the genial tone he had used with her before. “But you understand that we must strictly enforce our regulations or risk chaos, with so much outlander traffic in the system. Now I will transmit your image to Captain Furman and see what he says.”
“Please do keep me informed,” Ky said, trying to keep the edge out of her voice.
“Certainly,” the stationmaster said.
“He’s out to get you,” Lee said, as soon as she’d cut the connection. “I remember—”
“So do I.” Ky ruffled her hair with both hands. “Mad as a kicked wasps’ nest, he was when he first contacted me, and madder when I didn’t do what he told me. But I didn’t think of him as particularly vindictive, just bossy and stubborn.”
“That was before your father kicked him out of his cushy and very lucrative circuit and sent him out here,” Lee said.
“I suppose. I still can’t believe he’d lie about me. Do you suppose he really thinks I’m dead and Osman had a daughter…granddaughter…whatever? For that matter, did Osman have children?”
“Considering what Quincy told us about his sexual proclivities, he may’ve had dozens,” Rafe said. “Whether he recognized any of them is another question, but Furman may know something we don’t. And it would be interesting to know how he knows, if he does.”
“Nothing in his records,” Ky mused. “At least, I didn’t see anything…”
“Nor I,” Rafe and Martin said together. “But that doesn’t mean much,” Rafe went on. “I doubt he was the type to take care of his offspring, if he even knew they existed.”
“If they exist, I wonder if they know about him,” Ky said. “If they know they’re related to Vatta. To me.”
Rafe raised his brows. “You aren’t thinking of looking for them, are you? Your original plan to rescue Vattas meant legitimate Vattas, didn’t it? Not some renegade’s by-blows.”
“It’s not their fault they’re Osman’s children,” Ky said, feeling a sudden surge of protectiveness. “Probably raped their mothers and left them stranded somewhere…it’s not fair.”
Rafe rolled his eyes and Martin sighed; Lee merely looked amused.
“Stella said you had a rescue complex,” Rafe said. “Now I see it. Odd, really, that combination of killer and rescuer.”
“I’m not—” Ky stopped abruptly, a swirl of emotion almost blanking out her ability to speak for a moment. Another signal from her father’s implant, as something she’d said triggered the opening of a secured file she hadn’t noticed yet. Her father had also suspected that Osman would father children on helpless women; her father had worried about that, he and Stavros both. They had tried to trace Osman’s movements for the first few years, looking in orphanages, paying for genetic screenings of possibles out of their own money. They’d found four, managed to have them adopted into more respectable Vatta families; they’d been sure there were more. She probed further, but her father had erased the names.
For a moment, Ky felt a stab of cold terror. Was she herself one of Osman’s by-blows? Was that what made killing such an intense pleasure, and was that what had led her toward Spaceforce? She could well imagine her father, with his sense of duty and honor, choosing to adopt one of the children himself. And she looked nothing like her mother…
“Captain—what’s wrong?”
She pulled her mind back to the present. “Implant alarm,” she said, keeping her voice level. “Talking about Osman’s possible children triggered a locked file. My father thought there were some.”
“And?” prompted Rafe.
“And he thought he found some, had them adopted into good families. I don’t know who. He erased the names.” She was not ever going to tell Rafe—anyone—about that fear. She was not like Osman. She was not a vicious pirate; she was not a sexual predator; she was not an outlaw. Even if she was his child—and she could not believe that—she was not like him. She was her father’s child, and her father was—had been—Gerard Avondetta Vatta, the respectable, honorable financial wizard at Vatta Transport’s head.
Martin whistled. “I hope whatever made Osman Osman wasn’t genetic,” he said.
“I’m sure it was looked for,” Ky said. “Early therapy might’ve changed Osman; if the children showed any behavioral problems, it would’ve been treated.”
“But back to my point,” Rafe said. “You can’t think of going out to find and rescue Osman’s children, when you have more important priorities. You need to find other family members, other ships.”
“Like Furman’s,” Ky said. “He’s got to realize that I am who I am, and that I’m now in charge.”
“He’s not going to like that,” Lee said. “He’s a senior captain; you were just upgraded from provisional.”
“I’m a Vatta,” Ky said.
“If he can cast doubt on that, I bet he will,” Lee said. “You and Stella are both decades younger than he is.”
“Crown & Spears has Jo’s—Stella’s sister’s—genetic scan on file; they used it to compare with mine and confirm my family identity.” She had forgotten that until now; a wave of warm relief came over her. Surely the comparison of her DNA and Jo’s proved that she was Jo’s first cousin, not Osman’s daughter. Osman hadn’t been her father’s and uncle’s brother, after all. “Besides, while Stella doesn’t look much like a Vatta—she takes after her mother’s family—I fit right in.”
“For that matter, so did Osman,” Lee said. “Like your father and Stavros, anyway. I wonder if his children look more like a Vatta, or their mothers.”
“It doesn’t matter what they look like,” Rafe said, clearly impatient with this. Ky was grateful; it covered her reaction. “They could look like anyone, and the point is you have more important things to worry about right now.”
“Like Furman,” Ky said. “I wish Stella had arrived. She’d be much smoother talking to him than I will.”
The stationmaster’s next call confirmed her worries. “Captain Furman says that the image we sent superficially resembles Kylara Vatta, but he is sure she is dead, and thus you must be an imposter.”
“He is…mistaken,” Ky said, trapping lying scumbucket behind her teeth. “Crown & Spears has a sample of my genetic material and has already compared it to a known sample from my cousin Jo, my father’s brother’s daughter. Did he say where he got this certain knowledge that I was dead?”
“I’m so sorry,” the stationmaster said. “A commercial concern such as Crown & Spears maintains private records to which we are not granted access. I’m afraid that their confirmation of your identity is not valid for official records. While I have no reason to disbelieve their results personally, our regulations are very clear: we need to establish genetic relationships based on samples obtained and maintained by official means before such can be used to establish identity. Would you be willing to give another sample?”
“Yes, of course,” Ky said. “Anytime. But do you have existing records from my family to which to compare it?”
“I do not yet know,” the stationmaster said. “This is an unusual situation, in unusual times. I will have that answer for you in a few hours. Meanwhile—and I regret very much placing such strictures on someone whose dealings with us have so far been amiable and honest—I must request that you personally stay aboard your ship until Furman arrives and a court date can be set for formal procedures, and that you allow one of our monitors to come aboard to ensure that you do not attempt to flee.”
“May I ask why?”
“We take identity fraud very seriously, Captain Vatta. Captain Furman suggested that you had altered biometrics to assume the identity you claim. Altering biometrics is not illegal here, and we have clinics that perform humodification at various levels from superficial surgery to gene altering. But when identity fraud is suspected, we do not allow the person so charged access to these clinics until a full identity scan has been run.”
“That’s—” Ridiculous was hardly tactful and courteous. “—reasonable,” Ky managed. “But couldn’t you use some form of tracking device on my person instead? I’m a trader; I have business to conduct. I know back home that they use such to restrict the movements of criminals.”
“The larger problem is your ship, Captain. We were prepared to accept your account of how you obtained it, but it is a ship with a bad history. We don’t want to be held responsible for setting a criminal loose. I could petition to allow you to be fitted with a tracking device—we have that technology, of course—but we must disable your ship’s ability to depart without warning.”
“I understand that,” Ky said. “As long as your means of doing so cause no permanent damage and we do not incur additional charges, I have no objection.”
“Then I will speak to a judicar about an alternative way of controlling your movements. And your crewmembers, of course, are under no restriction at this time, other than the requirement to obey our rules.”
“Thank you,” Ky said.
“Do you by any chance have another member of the Vatta family aboard? Someone else whose DNA we could compare to yours?”
“Yes, but not a close relative,” Ky said. “A young man whose ship was blown up at Allray; my cousin Stella brought him with her to Lastway.”
“Do you know the exact relationship?”
“No, but I can find out. When will your monitor arrive?”
“She is at dockside now. If you would be so good as to grant her entrance—”
“Right away, Stationmaster.” Ky cut the connection, shaking her head at the expressions of her bridge crew. “Stop that. We have to comply with the law, for now. Not as if we weren’t already, or I’d have said what I really think of Furman.”
“With her aboard, you can’t,” Martin pointed out. “None of us will be able to…”
“If they agree to my being given a tracking device, she may not be here that long. Let me check. Martin, you go let her in.” Ky called the stationmaster. “If I’m reading your regulations correctly, our ship is still considered the territory of its origin, is it not?”
“Yes, Captain. What is it?”
“My crew are concerned that their habitual behavior to one another, their freedom of expression, is not within the bounds of your regulations, and that they may be charged with an offense for something they say here, which they considered private space not subject to your rules.”
“Oh—nothing to worry about there, Captain. We are quite aware that ship crews have their own way of speaking and behaving aboard their own ships, and that is not our concern. It is our concern only when they are dealing with our citizens on our territory. Our monitors are carefully trained, and will ignore everything other than their assignment. In this case, the monitor’s assignment is simply to prevent your ship’s departure from the station without my permission, and to prevent you personally from exiting until a determination is made of your identity or your request for an alternative method is granted. Does that fill your needs?”
“Yes, thank you,” Ky said.
“In fact, if you personally should make statements that would be considered an offense outside the ship or if you were speaking with one of our official personnel, the monitor is instructed to ignore these unless they are directed at herself. Naturally, no discourtesy can be offered to her, as she is indeed one of our citizens.”
“That is quite clear, Stationmaster,” Ky said. “Thank you again.”
“You are most welcome, Captain Vatta,” the stationmaster said.
The woman who appeared on the bridge a few moments later, with Martin a careful two steps behind her, looked nothing like Ky had expected. What is such a beauty doing in police work, was her first thought. She was a match for Stella, only dark instead of blond.
“Captain Vatta? I’m Robinette Leary, monitor first class. I’m sure it’s a bit upsetting, having a stranger forced onto your ship.”
“Er…not at all,” Ky said, floundering for the moment. The woman carried a bulky case.
“Don’t worry; I’m not eager to take offense,” Leary went on. “I’m not here to make trouble, just prevent it. So far we have no local complaints against you at all, but because of the way in which you obtained this ship, we are required to take all precautions to be sure of your identity.”
“I understand,” Ky said.
“I’m glad,” Leary said, smiling. Her smile involved dimples in her perfect cheeks. She glanced around at the bridge crew. Ky could see for herself that her looks had affected the men—except Rafe, whose expression of advanced disdain might be a cover for the same reaction. “Let me reassure you all,” Leary said. “I will take no notice of what you say among yourselves; our rules on courtesy do not apply here unless you deliberately insult me.”
“So…I can call him a terminally stupid idiot”—Rafe nodded at Lee—“and you won’t object?”
“Not at all,” Leary said. “Does he?”
Lee grinned. “From Rafe, that’s a compliment,” he said. “I don’t mind.”
“I will consider it an education, but will refrain from participation,” Leary said. “Captain, as my primary duty is to see that neither you nor the ship departs, I will begin by sealing the bridge controls related to departure. If you would point out the relevant boards, please.”
“Here.” Lee moved aside, pointing to the controls that retracted umbilicals, sealed ports and hatches, and brought the insystem drive to readiness.
From her case, Leary took raised plastic covers that she fitted over those controls, being careful to cover only those Lee pointed out, and sealed the edges with bright orange tape. “This tape will turn green if it is lifted,” she said. “It will not reseal. Tampering with official seals is an offense under our regulations, and will result in severe penalties. If for any reason you feel it necessary to gain access to these controls, you must have authorization from me or the stationmaster. A directional electromagnetic pulse device has been attached to your ship; removing more than four centimeters of tape will cause it to activate, and permanent damage to your control circuits may result. It may also cause temporary damage to persons on the bridge at that time. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Lee said. The monitor glanced around, waiting until everyone, including Ky, had agreed that they understood.
“If you have other crew who come onto the bridge, you must instruct them.”
Ky nodded her understanding. The station com circuit bleeped again; she turned to the screen.
“Captain Vatta, the judicar has authorized use of a tracking device in your case. May I speak to Monitor Leary?”
“Of course,” Ky said. Leary came forward.
“Monitor Leary, when you have secured the ship, you will please accompany Captain Vatta to a security station where she will be fitted with a tracking device.”
“Bridge controls have been sealed, Stationmaster. Will it be necessary to place a guard on dockside?”
“I think not, Monitor. When Captain Vatta has been fitted with the device, be sure she understands all the restrictions, and then you need not accompany her further.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Captain Vatta, the judicar granted this alteration of the original order only because of the time involved until Furman arrives and your need to conduct legitimate business. I trust you will appreciate the courtesy and not abuse it.”
“By no means, Stationmaster,” Ky said. “I am grateful for the consideration shown, and intend to be offship only in the necessary course of business.”