Victory Conditions (23 page)

“If we knew his total force, we could guess if he’ll have to pull people off Bissonet to take Nexus.”

“If he takes every ship there, destroys the shuttles and the ansible, the downside population won’t be able to do anything. All the shipyards are up in space. He could pull his occupying force, if he left one, and it wouldn’t help.”

When they arrived at the Tobados Yards station, Moray’s senior military commander had already set up meetings with shipyard and military personnel, and Tobados itself had already decided (perhaps with help from the Moray government) that the best use of its remaining heavy cruisers would be under Ky’s command.

“I have too much on my plate to spend time lounging around a clinic,” Ky said. She had accepted an initial evaluation to satisfy Pettygrew, but she was not going to check in. “Yes, I have a headache. Yes, I’m sore. I’ll get over it. We have a war to fight; we’ve got to stop Turek.” This was her first conference with her captains since the battle. “Much more critical than my very minor injuries is recognizing your very important actions—you saved not just some warships from Turek’s control, but these people from certain death. And you proved that a multisource force can fight together and be effective.”

“With the right commander,” Argelos muttered. Others nodded, even Merced.

“Most of you had never fought with me before—or with each other—or with onboard ansibles—and yet in a short time you were able to learn how to do it and remember it in the stress of combat. Every one of you—” She made eye contact with each one in person for those at Tobados or on screen for those on patrol, and named them, one by one. “Each of you played an essential part in this victory, and I commend you all.”

“But he ran,” Merced said. “He took his ships away; it wasn’t a complete victory.”

The collective sigh from the others made it clear that Merced had been saying the same thing before. Vassli, Merced’s military adviser on
Termagant,
looked particularly pained. Ky chuckled. “Captain Merced, driving the enemy to retreat is usually considered victory. But you’re right, one rout does not make a victory. It will be victory when we have destroyed Turek’s fleet, and killed Turek—and that will come. You will have plenty of fighting in your future, Captain Merced.”

“As long as you don’t stop now and think the job’s done,” Merced said.

“Turek killed my entire family,” Ky said. “I’m not likely to stop now.”

Merced subsided, and Ky led the discussion where she intended, to the next steps to be taken.

Teddy Ransome suspected that Admiral Vatta would not have approved of what he was doing. But that gallant officer had surely died with her ship, and he was not going to let her death go un-avenged.

It was risky in the extreme to tuck little
Glorious
into the tail of the formation Turek led. Everyone knew it was impossible to tail ships in FTL space. Undetermined location and all that. But…
but,
he told himself, no one had ever tried it the way he was trying it. He knew the science was vague, even vaguer in that science had never been his favorite subject. But he could do nothing more for Admiral Vatta in Moray System, and if he could avenge her—it was worth any risk. Moreover, the discovery that his comtech could tune their shipboard ansible with that of a pirate vessel suggested to him that the space-folding of ansible physics and the indeterminate space of FTL might have something in common. Was it enough? He would find out.

His ship had gone into jump on the heels of Turek’s fleet, and they had been in FTL space for six days now. Not a long jump, as jumps go, but he might be jumping in the wrong direction, for all he knew.

His mind replayed the death of
Vanguard
over and over. It was one thing for his friends to die, as Dennis had done. He knew this was the death they had wanted to die. But Ky Vatta was—had been—different. He suspected she did not believe everything he said, thinking him the soppier sort of Romantic, but she had been the one true thing, the one ideal woman—beautiful and exotic and brilliant and brave—and he had seen himself protecting her, fighting alongside her, finally winning her regard and—in the rosiest of his visions—joining him in partnership forever.

And now she was dead. Blown apart, not even fragments to rejoin and mourn in a funeral service, to be laid in a proper mausoleum where he could come with wreaths and mourning scrolls, and water the stone with his tears.

Just dead. Worse, he had not protected her. He had not been between her and danger; she had outstripped his honor and taken danger on herself, and if this made her even more a hero, even more his soul mate, it was too late.

He would make up for it as much as he could. Turek would die by his hand.

After the meeting with her captains—only the first of many, she assured them—Ky met with local officials of Tobados Yards and the station government.

“Right before the alarm,” Kendelmann, the station’s security chief, said, “we had some anomalous deaths way outside the statistical norms. All were healthy professionals working for subcontractors at the shipyard. No prior health flags on their records, completely unexpected. But when we looked, they’d all had opportunities to do something, get in at least second-degree contact with the ships in production. We dug deeper, turned up some interesting details: gambling debts, embezzlement, scandals of one kind or another. Aside from that idiot Lozar, whose friends are sure he was duped by his religious leader, they were all blackmailable, every one of them. If they were killed to prevent their talking later—”

“Then someone higher up in Turek’s organization is still here.”

“Yes. We halted all civilian traffic as well as blocking ansible access. But we don’t know who—we haven’t found anything else. It’s difficult here. Moray’s older than you younger worlds, closer to the Central Alliance. We get people from all over, and always have. With travel and trade down, our economy tanked, but I don’t know why anyone would think pirates were the right answer.”

“Hungry people will listen to any promise of food,” Ky said. “They were promised business, profit. You had new contracts for ships enough to restart your economy…that would make a lot of people happy.”

“We need to find their agent,” he said, scowling. “Or agents.”

“If they’re using Turek’s private language,” Ky said, “I can help with that. We have a lot of transmissions, a lot of text, and at least partial translation. I think you should monitor the ansible traffic out of here, as well as look for one of the small portable ansibles we use on our ships. Turek has them, too, as we told your government before we left Cascadia. Someone here might have one.”

“So…someone here might have told him that you’re alive?”

“If they had such an ansible, yes. Even if not, they’ll probably pass a coded message through the system ansible. Thing is, if they use one of the pirates’ ansibles, they can communicate only with Turek’s people—so any rumors of my death will have come through his network, his agents.”

“We haven’t opened ansible service for private communication yet,” he said. “We’ve said we’re still working on damage repair.”

“I’d keep it that way,” Ky said. “In the meantime, if you want, I’ll bring you a file of code phrases to watch for. I won’t ping it to you—I don’t know how secure your communications are.”

For an instant, he looked offended, then he shook his head. “Too long a peace, too little suspicion,” he said. “I was acting like a police chief, dealing with ordinary crime, when I should—”

Ky shook her head. “Don’t start that. Guilt’s a luxury sometimes. You know more about the station and its people than anyone else—we need you.”

He stared, then laughed. “I can see how someone your age got to be a fleet commander. Sorry. Yes, of course. Please let me see just as much of that as you think I need to keep an eye out. Meanwhile, since there very well may be one of Turek’s people here, I assume you’re taking precautions yourself?”

“Indeed yes,” Ky said. “But I would prefer not to tell even you what all of them are.” Though Master Sergant Pitt could not look like anything but what she was, a combat veteran, she passed well enough as a civilian security escort, and between her and the others on the team, Ky felt as secure as any logical target of assassination could.

Nonetheless, walking down the concourse later that day, on the way to a conference with Moray’s senior military command, she was on full alert. The concourse looked normal—as normal as any business area shortly after an enemy attack, at least. Stores were open; pushcarts to either side sold flowers, trinkets, small electronics. People moved in and out, no longer looking grim and frightened as they had the day she arrived. Some turned to look at her; some smiled.

Ahead, at a cross-corridor, someone looked, then shifted back. Ky stopped abruptly; her rear escort bumped into her; the one to the right stumbled. Ky dropped, rolling left, as she said “Scatter!” She heard a click as something struck the tiles near her, and slapped a mask on her face before she stopped rolling or took a breath. Yells came from up the corridor, sudden noises of things crashing, breaking—and Pitt’s voice over all.

“Got one!”

“’M all right,” her escort on the right mumbled. “Vest stopped it…” He, too, had put on a temporary mask, slapping it on so hard that it had pulled one side of his mouth awry.

Ky looked at the object on the tiles…a glassy blob that disappeared as she watched, sublimating and leaving behind a colorless residue. Her escort reached out a gloved finger.

“No!” Ky said sharply. “That’s for forensics, and they’ll need a hazardous materials team. My guess is it will go through ordinary fabrics.”

“My armor—?”

“We’ll get you to a secure medical facility, just in case.” Ky queried Pitt as Station Security arrived.

“There were two,” Pitt reported. “One’s dead; I got a telltag on the other and I’m following but with caution. I don’t know what they’re using.”

“The round I saw was clear; it disappeared and left a liquid residue,” Ky said.

“Typical assassin’s round, then. Anyone hit had better go to med, and have it cleaned off very carefully before disrobing. If they’re alive.”

“He’s alive,” Ky said. “How long will ordinary armor hold up?”

“Maybe an hour. If Station Security’s there, can you send me backup? Tsongo and Eklund for preference.”

“Right away.” Ky told Tsongo to link with Pitt, and pointed out the residue location to Station Security. They’d brought a medic, who immediately called in transport for Evans and a hazmat team to clear up the residue. She checked in with Argelos.

“You should come back aboard—we can keep you safe—”

“I still need to make that meeting with the Moray military,” Ky said. “Station Security’s got an escort for me.”

“Are they as good as Pitt?” he asked. “Or my people?”

Ky smiled at the worried-looking senior security officer in Moray green. “I’m on their turf; I’m sure they’ll take care of me.”

“We can’t afford to lose you,” Argelos said. “Seriously.”

“I understand,” Ky said. “Though I don’t necessarily agree. I’ll report in when I’m in the meeting.” She closed the connection and turned to the officer. “What’s bothering you, besides having an assassin running around your station?”

“Your people chasing the assassin,” he answered. “How are we supposed to know which is which?”

“Your database has all our people. Master Sergeant Pitt says she has a tagger on one assassin, and Tsongo and Eklund are with her or close behind.”

“Ah. I’ll tell the boss—he’ll send out those IDs. We don’t want to get your people by mistake. And now, Admiral, we need to get you to that meeting. A vehicle?”

“Not unless you think it’s necessary,” Ky said. “A vehicle’s a bigger target.”

On the way, two more of her own people showed up to augment the escort, and Pitt called in to report that the assassin had gone through a hatch she couldn’t open without breaking regulations as well as the locks.

“This station’s as secure as church cheese,” she said. “The bad guys apparently have at least some of the security codes. Best tell your meeting that, and hope nobody drops anything in the ventilation…”

“I have a mask,” Ky said. “The important thing is to keep whoever it is from using an ansible and letting Turek know I’m still alive.”

“If you get killed, then it doesn’t matter,” Pitt said. “You know, you’re a stubborn woman, and I couldn’t say that to just any officer.”

Ky snorted. “Certainly not one in your chain of command.”

She could almost see Pitt shaking her head, from the tone. “Ma’am, I begin to be glad I
couldn’t
recruit you.”

Ky’s staff and Argelos were already there when she arrived at the meeting. Moray’s senior military command stood when Ky came in. “We heard what happened.” Admiral-major Hetherson, stocky and gray-haired, shook his head. “What is it coming to, with assassins roaming our concourses?”

“Nasty kind of war,” Argelos said. “If they’d gotten you—”

“I’d be dead,” Ky said. “Pitt says she got one; pursuit continues…I hope whoever it is doesn’t get to their ansible.”