Victory Conditions (13 page)

“Fruitcake?” Justin asked warily. He had been offered fruitcake last holidays and after one large bite refused more.

“No. Pound cake with ice cream on top.”

“Yes, please!” they said.

“Go on into the kitchen,” Grace said. “Through there.” The twins darted off. To Helen, she said, “It’s all right, Helen. They’re looking good—happy, curious, normal children.”

“It’s a lot harder without Stavros,” Helen said. “I thought I did most of the parenting before, but I realize now what a balance he gave.”

Grace led the way to the kitchen. “None of the others have stepped in?”

“We’re all overloaded, trying to keep things going, deal with the legal tangles. I have help, of course, but it’s not the same.”

In the kitchen, MacRobert was scooping out ice cream, and the twins were up on stools, leaning over the counter, watching him.

“You’d think I never fed them,” Helen said. “Once their appetite came back—”

“It’s the age,” MacRobert said. “In a growth spurt, aren’t they?”

“Do you have children?” Helen asked him.

MacRobert pushed the filled bowls over to the children and handed them spoons. “Not of the body, no, sera.” His tone left no room for questions about that, but Grace could feel the pressure of Helen’s curiosity. She had not expected to find a man in Grace’s kitchen…though she should have. They hadn’t hidden anything. MacRobert had been around ever since the shooting.

“Have you heard from Stella?” Helen asked now.

“She’s in Cascadia—”

“I know that,” Helen said. Her mouth tightened.

“And she’s doing a fine job of running Vatta Enterprises there.”

“I know that, too. But she hasn’t contacted me yet, not once.”

MacRobert raised one eyebrow and went out the kitchen door to the back of the house where his office was.

“Is this the time to get into it?” Grace asked, glancing at the twins.

“I just want to know. Is she all right? Is something wrong? Is she upset about…something?”

The two little pitchers at the counter paused, spoons partway to their mouths; their eyes slid sideways to watch the grown-ups. Grace could practically see their ears stretching out sideways.

“She’s upset about finding out at the trial,” Grace said, trying for something the twins wouldn’t understand. “She blames both of us.” Helen most, of course.

“She thinks I should have told her…but you know why I didn’t—”

“I know,” Grace said. She knew the reasons; she had argued, years before, against those reasons and had lost. “And she’ll get over it.”

“You think?”

“She will,” Grace said. “Because she’s your daughter. And because…” She realized she could not explain the whole reason: that Stella was now
in loco parentis
for Toby and Zori, and discovering for herself the difficulties of parenting.

“I just…I love her,” Helen said. She didn’t say
And she’s all I have left,
which they both understood. “If she doesn’t—”

Grace sighed. Except for that one brief period, she had never considered becoming a parent, and Joel, bless him, had understood that when they married. “She will,” she said, and made a mental note to tell Stella to call her mother. Fight with her, yell at her if necessary, but at least call her.

“What about Ky?” Helen asked next. “Do you think she’ll get over this military thing and come back to the family and help Stella run the business?”

“Probably not,” Grace said, as mildly as she could manage. Helen was a nice woman, and a fine mind in her own field, but really…how could anyone not see what Ky was, what Ky had always been?

“We need her. She should marry and settle down,” Helen said. “It would be good for Ky, give her a base…”

MacRobert came back into the kitchen, as if Grace’s wish for an interruption had summoned him. “Ky marry?” he said. “I doubt that. Now she’s not besotted over that good-looking boy—”

“She has a boyfriend?”

“Had. Not anymore.” MacRobert looked grim for a moment, then smiled. “I don’t think she’s the marrying kind, Ky.”

“Well, something has to bring her back. She can’t spend her whole life running around the galaxy having adventures. She’s Gerard’s daughter; she’s his heir; we need her here.”

MacRobert cleared his throat; when Grace glanced at him, he flicked a finger signal that meant
Calm down.
She realized then the back of her neck was hot. “If she lives through this,” he said, politely enough, “she may come back—but I suspect they’ll tap her for work in the new combined fleet. Perhaps the family can buy out her interest.”

“But she’s Vatta,” Helen said. Then she noticed the twins, smeary faces intently watching the grown-ups. “Justin, Shar, go wash those faces.” The twins slid off their stools and headed slowly for the kitchen sink. “In the bathroom,” Helen said. “Down the hall on the right. And your hands. With soap.” When they’d gone she shook her head. “They have so much energy.”

“It’s not going to be the same, Helen,” Grace said. “Ky and Stella won’t be like Stavros and Gerard.”

“I know that,” Helen said. “But—”

“Stella will run Vatta…she’s doing it, she’s good at it, and Ky will give her the votes. You’ll get Stella back, Helen. But Ky is not just a Vatta anymore.”

“There’s no
just
about Vatta,” Helen said.

“I didn’t mean it that way,” Grace said. “Mac, if the children want to play outside, would you take them into the yard?” Water had stopped running in the hall bathroom, and one of the floor-boards had creaked. Not only little pitchers, those two, but sneaky little pitchers.

“I’m sure they’ll want to,” he said with a grin and headed back toward the hall. “Hey, you two,” he said. “Come on outside; your Aunt Grace has put in a whole playspace for you…” It was her own exercise space, but they didn’t have to know that.

When the back-door chime binged, Helen looked at Grace. “Is he yours? Who is he?”

“Master Sergeant MacRobert, retired from Spaceforce. He was at the Academy when Ky was there; he’s been working with me at Defense.”

“That’s not exactly what I meant,” Helen said. “Are you going to marry again? It’s been so long…” Joel had died over twenty years before.

“No,” Grace said. “But I am sometimes going to have friends you don’t know about, Helen, just as I always did.” She took a sip of her coffee. “And it’s really none of your business.”

Helen flushed. “I asked because I care, Grace.”

“Well, then, if you care—Mac and I are very good friends, these days. We don’t intend to marry, and I doubt we’ll move in together. We like our independence. But I don’t necessarily kick him out of the house before bedtime. And yes, we’ve shared a bed.”

Helen’s flush deepened. “You didn’t have to—”

“Tell you everything? I haven’t. But remember, Helen, what I told you last summer. I won’t ever tell you everything, and usually I won’t tell you what I don’t think you need to know. That’s the rule I lived by for decades, working for Vatta, reporting to your—to Stavros. He understood; I hope you will.”

“Is that the reason Stella isn’t calling me? She doesn’t think I need to know something?”

“It may be,” Grace said. “But she was angry with both of us. She has to communicate with me—pure business, relating to deals between the Slotter Key Defense Department and Vatta Enterprises. We don’t chat; sometimes it’s her people talking to my people. She doesn’t have to communicate with you…so any reason not to may seem sufficient to her.”

“I wish I had told her,” Helen said. “You were right, I was wrong—but you know, Grace, people can get very tired of one person always being right. You demand that people trust you; you keep secrets; you taught Stella to be sneaky—”

“Now, that I didn’t do,” Grace said. “I taught her to be skillfully sneaky, but the girl was sneaky before, or she wouldn’t have gotten past you, with those relationships—”

“And there you are, being right again.” Helen’s face twisted. “Dammit, Grace, would you please be wrong once in a while? Just to give me a little comfort?”

Grace shivered; she couldn’t help it. “Helen…I have been wrong more times than I can count. Maxim pointed out that I missed the conspiracy against Vatta…I told him it wasn’t in my brief, and it wasn’t, but it was the biggest mistake I ever made. You can blame me for that, as he does, if you want—your husband dead, all your children but Stella. Don’t think I don’t blame myself—I do. And last summer, this—” She lifted the developing arm. “This is another mistake.”

“You saved the children!”

“Yes. But I didn’t prevent the attack. And that was my job, and I knew it. I stayed up too late; I overslept; I should have been up to notice the perimeter alarms—”

“Or you should have told me how to read them,” Helen said. “You can’t do everything yourself, Grace.”

“For years I had to.” She had learned, was learning, in this past year, how to delegate, how to depend on others more, but it was not easy.

“Well…if you admit you aren’t always right, I guess I can learn to stand it when you are,” Helen said. She shook her head. “Two poor old ladies, you and I…”

“You’re not old!” Helen was still beautiful, now that her grief was slowly healing.

“I feel old sometimes. Especially when the twins are at their most energetic.” Helen shook her head again. “Well, we’ve got that settled, I guess. What’s all this about needing extra security coverage and Maxim? He seemed harmless enough, if not very talented…”

Grace explained in more detail than she had in the earlier contact. “So,” she said, “that’s why Mac wanted more security on you and the children until this is over with. Maybe Maxim’s just putting the same determination into staying on here as he put into his research—maybe the connection with Termanians on Nexus is just coincidence—but there are a few too many coincidences in the situation for me to be complacent. Better safe, and so on.”

“His performance, compared with Stella’s, certainly justifies removing him from consideration as a permanent CEO. But we do need someone in charge of operations here, and Stella can’t do it from there.”

“I don’t suppose, since you’re feeling better, you’d consider hiring more help and doing it yourself?”

“Or Stella could come home,” Helen said.

“Not at present,” Grace said. “There are…things…going on there, and she needs to be where she is.”

“I don’t think I’m suited,” Helen said. “I really don’t know that much about the business, though yes, I do understand the agricultural end. And I don’t want to turn the twins over to staff only at this point.”

“Well, we have to find someone, and I’d hate to go outside the family. Think about it.”

CHAPTER

SEVEN

Cascadia

Immediately after the close of that first meeting, Ky was ushered into another, with the Moscoe Confederation’s Assistant Minister for Military Deployment, Omar Edgerton, and several high-ranking members of their military establishment. Edgerton introduced her to Admiral Fossey, in charge of System Defense, Admiral Handlin, in charge of defense forces near Cascadia, and Admiral Trey, in charge of strategic planning. All were a head taller than Ky, and decades older; she registered the moment of disbelief and then the courteous recovery. She also met Commander Dowitch, head of the military construction and repair yard in orbit around Cascadia, Commander Beliss of Oak Squadron, Commander Corleone of Pine Squadron—Ky wondered how the spacefaring culture that had settled Moscoe System had ever become so fixated on trees. Not that there was anything wrong with trees.

“Admiral Vatta, delighted to meet you!” Commander Dowitch didn’t wait for the meeting to convene. “You’ve been in touch with us about the availability of modular combat command centers—”

“Yes, we have. And received the details shortly before docking here. I have a few questions, but this may not be the time.” Ky glanced up the table at Fossey and Edgerton, who looked a little annoyed.

“Now that the government’s decided to commit to alliance with Slotter Key, and you’re designated to command the Slotter Key ships,” Edgerton began—a subtle hint that she might command nothing more; that decision hadn’t been made—“we must figure out how to work with you.”

“Though our agenda’s fairly fluid and dependent on you,” Fossey added, with a quick glance at Edgerton.

Ky wondered if it would be discourteous to ask if this meant the government was committing actual ships to the cause, and decided it probably would be. After a long moment of silence, she realized they were waiting for her to make a start.

“As you know, I just arrived today,” Ky said. “And just got out of a meeting with your government. So I’d like to hear what ideas and questions you have for me, before we start on mine for you.”

“Do you have any idea where Turek will strike next, or what kinds of targets he’s after?” Commander Beliss asked.

“Our group thinks he’ll go after shipyards manufacturing large warships,” Ky said. “The Bissonet yards, which he captured along with much of their fleet, are tooled for smaller ships—they can build only a few large ones at a time. In several encounters, we’ve seen nothing larger than a Bissonet cruiser—in fact, they were Bissonet cruisers. We’re also concerned that Turek may now have accumulated enough capital to simply order ships built for his force.”

“Surely no one would build ships for a pirate!”

For money, Ky knew, some people would braid a noose for their own necks, but before she could think of a polite way to say that, Commander Dowitch spoke up. “Molly, you should see the things I get in from contractors. Some people have never grasped that if you cheat your protection, you don’t have protection. I’m sure that somewhere in the universe, some profit-mad shipbuilder is quite willing to supply the means of his own destruction.”

“Turek could be ordering ships through governments sympathetic to him in some way,” Ky said.

“Why would anyone be sympathetic to him?”

“Mackensee—the mercenary company—pointed out that there’s been a resurgence of anti-humod sentiment and violence in a number of systems. It’s a minority, but a fervent and sometimes militant minority. The intel you shared with me in the briefings you sent before we landed showed that the man you believe was Turek’s local agent held memberships in several anti-humod organizations. Gretna—where we’re sure Turek had dealings—is a vehemently anti-humod society, to the point that they refused basic assistance to a ship full of refugees—all humods—from one of Turek’s attacks. And though we think he attacked Polson because of its six-vector jump point, he was particularly brutal to the population, killing everyone who could not cram into one of the few ships to escape; Polson’s entire population were high-mod.”

“What does he have against humods?” Admiral Trey asked.

“I have no idea,” Ky said. “I’m not even sure that he personally does—but anti-humods are a minority group that he might have targeted as potential allies. We expect he’s also made contact with, or taken over, some traditional criminal organizations.” She waited for comments; none came. “We started compiling a list of construction yards that build large warships—I’m sure you know there aren’t very many—and the next step, now that we’re here, is to contact those whose ansibles are still working and find out if they’ve had orders for new ships, or have ships in storage.”

Admiral Handlin looked at Commander Dowitch. “Ben, what’s your take on this?”

“Moray’s the nearest big yard to us,” Dowitch said. “Their ansible’s still up, and I have a contact there. What specifically do you want to know?”

“Have they had orders for large warships in the past—oh, say three—years, or orders from governments of systems they know are anti-humod—religious or secular, doesn’t matter.”

“Religious would be like the Miznarii, right? Think even implants are modifications some deity wouldn’t like?”

“That’s one,” Ky said. “My understanding is there’s a range of strictness about it, and different groups have different names. They’re all concerned with the purity of the human race, though. Whatever they mean by that.”

“I’ll call them as soon as we’re done here,” Dowitch said.

“One thing we would like from you is your analysis of the tactical and strategic implications of these new ansibles,” said Admiral Trey. “My staff have worked on that, but we have no experience, and yours would be most helpful.”

Ky handed around the data cubes she’d brought. “We have experience only with the older type, the ones the pirates are using. Those communicate only from unit to unit. The ones my cousin Toby invented also communicate with system ansibles. Here are some post-battle analyses of our two most recent actions.”

“Is there any communication while in FTL flight?”

“No,” Ky said. “But you can communicate immediately after downjump—there’s no waiting, as there is with scan, for the signal to clear.” She paused, but they were waiting for her to say more. “As you’ve probably realized, instantaneous communication ship-to-ship greatly improves command and control before and during combat. Your ships can be more dispersed, and yet fully aware of one another’s position and movement—”

“Is the discrepancy between communication and scan distracting?” Admiral Handlin asked.

“It was until we figured out how to display the scan data from one ship on another.” Ky saw confusion on all their faces. “We don’t have the right setup,” she said. “But it works like this: a ship two light-hours there—” She pointed down the table. “—can load its current scan data for transmission by onboard ansible to a ship here.” She pointed to herself. “So—if I have a spare screen hooked up—I can see that ship’s scan data, in real time, on my ship.”

Astonishment replaced confusion. “So—in effect—you can make scan instantaneous as well?”

“Only if you have a source with minimal lightlag near what you want to scan,” Ky said. “I imagine with a sufficiently large AI and the right software, with enough data sources, you could form a near-real-time integrated model of a battle area.”

“I still see the potential for a lot of confusion,” Admiral Handlin said.

“Turek is using stealthed observer ships,” Ky said. “We captured one with most of its electronics intact. Apparently he’s using something like this, but with only a few data sources—the observer ship itself and one or two of his warships. I’m not sure if the AI is capable of really complex modeling, but it can receive and send scan data from multiple sources, and make at least a crude model. You’ll see the effect of that in the Boxtop battle on those cubes.”

“We had not thought of that approach,” Admiral Fossey said. “I’ll need to speak to R and D right away.” He glanced at Edgerton, who hadn’t said much yet. “I think we could break for an hour—give me a chance to ping R and D, and Ben to send a message to Moray.”

“Fine,” Edgerton said. “And we might also let Admiral Vatta arrange what she needs with Commander Dowitch.”

Ky sensed that some resistance had given way, though she could not tell what had done it.

“I’ve looked at the design data you sent me,” Commander Dowitch said. He lit a display, and
Vanguard
’s schematics came up. “The only place we can put the CCC module—our smallest—is here.” His finger pointed to the aft starboard cargo bay in the original plan, now occupied by the starboard weapons bay and munitions storage and the firing range.

“All that?” Ky said. “It must have room for twenty people—”

“No, Admiral, only a half dozen, and it’s cramped inside. Some of the gear you need in there is bulky, and it’s built with hull-grade bulkheads. It’s completely self-contained, with its own limited life support, so if the ship’s damaged, you’ll still have functionality. Originally, these were designed as command centers for automated insystem supply convoys…one ship would run up to three others, so it was essential that if the ship it was on took damage, the AI could still control the others.”

“But that takes out my aft battery on that side…I was hoping you could fit it into my office and stateroom area—”

“Not a hope, I’m sorry. Even for the forty or so ships you’ll have on your first cruise, you’ll need a lot of gear. You’ll have not only a mirror of the sensor suite on
Vanguard,
but ansible-boosted mirrors of others—direct to you, no waiting. Well, direct to your scan crew: three of them. The command unit—your command seat—is again self-contained. Should something breach the CCC, you’ll have at least twenty-four hours of life support. Full displays mirrored there as HUDs, tunable with your implant once we install the software.”

“I see,” Ky said.

“We can make larger ones, but ideally a CCC for a large fleet would be built in from the beginning, designed in. That may be what Turek would find most useful in a purpose-built warship.”

“How soon can you start, and how long does it take?” Ky asked.

“As soon as you clear whatever you need and find quarters here, we can move her over and get to work. Maybe twenty days, if we’re lucky. Thirty otherwise.”

“Turek’s not going to sit still and do nothing for thirty days,” Ky said. Dowitch started to speak, but stopped himself. “I know,” she said. “It’s not your fault—that is fast. We just have to hope that he doesn’t hit here. I’ll tell my people to pack up—do you need them all off?”

“No, only anyone who bunks in that area and anyone you want here. The yard has basic support, and we can use the extra help as well.”

“Thanks, Commander. I’ll send for my things right away, and I’ll have Hugh Pritang contact you when the ship’s clear.”

Finally Ky was free to meet with the other Slotter Key captains; she had talked to several of them before arriving, but this would be the first time face-to-face. She had their dossiers—though privateers, they had all trained primarily as merchanters, and represented a dozen of Slotter Key’s minor shippers. She’d asked Argelos to meet with them first, along with Hugh Pritang, who would be her flag captain on
Vanguard,
in case she was late—and she was, because she was buttonholed in the corridor by the Slotter Key ambassador, who needed fifteen minutes of her time right that moment.

For this meeting, she had chosen a site closer to the branches where most were docked. The room wasn’t as luxurious as the offices upstation, but the Cascadians had moved in the necessary table and chairs, and installed a good display system.

All were older, and most looked other than delighted to be where they were. Their military advisers had much the same expressions, ranging from politely noncommittal to frankly negative.

From the dossiers Slotter Key Defense had forwarded, Ky had identified five who might cause serious trouble; one had not shown up at all—perhaps delayed in transit, perhaps simply refusing to come.

The military advisers had all stood up quickly, acknowledging her rank, but most of the captains stayed seated. That was not a promising start, Ky thought, but she said nothing, walking instead to the head of the long table where a place had been left for her. Argelos moved to the empty seat on her right, and Yamini, after a quick smile and nod to his fellow military advisers, sat at her left.