“Thank you,” Ky said. She added his memtip to Jen’s and her implant began matching faces in the room to names, rank or rating, home region. Several were Miznarii, the most numerous and stringent anti-humod group on Slotter Key. No matter; they were not her concern, not in her chain of command.
“With your permission,” one of the pilots said, “we’ll start preflight.” As he spoke, Ky’s implant gave her his name: Commander Tarik Hansen. She glanced at the other pilot: Major Sunyavarta.
“Go right ahead,” the Commandant said to Hansen. “Our steward—there he is. Staff Sergeant Vispersen—”
“Yes, Commandant.” Vispersen, a slender dark man with graying hair and gray eyes, gave Ky a quick glance. “Did you want to board now or wait for the luggage?”
“Now, thank you.”
As she remembered, the shuttle boarding hatch was in the aft compartment; she and the Commandant boarded first. Vispersen led them forward through the aft compartment, with seats three abreast on one side, and two on the other. He directed their aides to the second compartment of four seats only, then waved them into the forward one. Here one side held pairs of seats with a fold-down table between them; across the wider aisle were six rows of two seats each. A far cry from the shuttle Ky had ridden as a cadet, with fold-up seats along the bulkheads and grabons with tethers down the middle.
Only one table was extended, laid with a white cloth and Spaceforce china. Ky was reminded of the Vatta china she had bought at…where was it?…that had been blown to bits with the old Vanguard. She and the Commandant sat down facing each other.
Vispersen went to the rear compartment. When he returned, he held the case with her survival suit. “Admiral, do you want this stowed with the rest of your luggage? We do have a suit sized for you.”
“Stow it up here,” Ky said. He nodded and moved forward past their table, then came back to stand beside it.
“Commandant, Admiral: regulations require me to remind you of emergency procedures—”
The Commandant waved his hand. “I paid attention on the way up, Simon.”
“Yes, Commandant, but the Admiral also needs to know—”
“Very well.” The Commandant gave a slight shrug. “I suppose something might have changed since she was last on a Spaceforce shuttle.”
“Admiral, this peep has all the audio and visual, and will sync to your implant if you’d rather.”
Ky took the sliver of black and silver but said, “I’ll hear it from you, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course.” He rattled off an obviously memorized speech listing the safety features, the kinds of emergencies most commonly encountered, the emergency supplies carried on board the passenger compartment—“which in extreme emergencies can be jettisoned and parachuted down safely, although this feature has been needed only twice in the past twenty-seven years.” Holograms formed in the air to illustrate what he was saying; Ky let her implant record it all for playback if she needed it, as she sealed the peep into one of her uniform pockets.
After that, Vispersen offered refreshments, and then retreated to a niche, closing a thick sound-baffling curtain behind him. She glanced at the platter of sandwiches and fought back the urge to laugh: the sandwiches were exactly the same kind she had been offered the day she’d been expelled from the Academy. She suspected the tea was, too.
The Commandant’s smile broadened. “It must feel very strange,” he said. “Here we are again, in a situation neither of us, I’m sure, anticipated. I had no idea what you would do, after that unfortunate day, though after having watched your excellent performance in the Academy, I trusted you would not be destroyed by it.” He paused; Ky said nothing. He gave a slight nod and went on. “But I did not imagine that within so few years—and after the devastating loss of your family—you would have raised a fleet larger than ours and saved so many worlds. Including ours. In hindsight, forcing you to resign was the best thing I could have done for everyone, not just Slotter Key. But tell me, did you really learn how to do all that in your Academy classes? Or did Rector Vatta give you private instruction?”
“Aunt Grace?” Ky laughed. “No, Commandant. Aunt Grace’s lectures were all about etiquette. I had no idea that she’d been in the Unification War, or run Vatta’s security and intelligence. We kids thought she was just a fussy old lady with a passion for manners.”
“Well, then, I’m even more impressed. We do our best, but we don’t usually have new-hatched cadets who can command ships, let alone a fleet in battle. I’ve seen the vids our ships made of that battle at Nexus Two. Our analysis said it should have been impossible for you to win.”
“I had a lot of help,” Ky said. “And I wasn’t that confident.” Just that desperate. Turek’s armada had defeated one system after another, and his agents had destroyed or sabotaged vital communications and financial ansibles, gaining wealth and ships with every conquest. By the time Turek attacked Nexus II, it was obvious that only Ky’s fleet and the allies she’d made had a chance of defeating him. A slim chance.
“Yes, of course. But by all accounts, you were the one who analyzed Turek’s tactics, grasped the potential of shipboard ansibles, gained the trust of multiple system governments to supply ships and personnel—and commanded in the battle itself. Your Space Defense Force has created a new paradigm for both military actions and political alliances. I hope you’ll consider giving some lectures to the instructors and senior cadets while you’re downside. We’ve cleared space in the schedule if you would.”
Return in triumph to the Academy, wipe out the former humiliation? Visiting scholars had plaques on the wall in the library; she imagined one with her name on it. Despite her desire to stay only as long as necessary, she felt the first temptation to linger and enjoy her fame.
“I can’t answer that immediately, Commandant,” she said. “I have nothing prepared; I was thinking only about the family business.” And since part of the reason for the victory at Nexus II was a secret she shared with Rafe—and had promised to keep—it would be hard to explain how she’d done it.
Vispersen returned. “Commandant, the pilot reports disengage imminent.” As he spoke, safety harnesses emerged from their seats.
“Very well,” the Commandant said, fastening his harness almost as fast as Ky fastened hers. “Any more on the route?”
“An extra orbit or two, sir; the new forecast puts the storm clearing Port Major an hour later than we were told before.”
“Keep me informed,” the Commandant said. He cocked an eye at Ky. “We shall try to keep it as smooth as deep space once we descend, but this is Slotter Key.”
She grinned and shook her head. “I haven’t forgotten that about Slotter Key. A thunderstorm or two isn’t going to bother me, Commandant.”
“Good.” He nodded at Vispersen, who retreated again behind the curtain.
Ky watched the other Spaceforce ship’s gleaming flank as they slid past it. “Most places I’ve been use tugs, even for shuttles. When we broke loose from a station without one, they were upset.” The shuttle cleared the station’s crowded docking space, angling away so that her view was again the planet’s surface, as if the planet, and not the shuttle, had moved.
He chuckled. “I imagine so. But clearly you didn’t hit anything. And here, Spaceforce has clearance to dock and undock smaller vessels without a tug.” He took a few sips of tea. “I’m delighted you turned out as you did, and yet sorry I can’t claim to have had much to do with it.”
Ky couldn’t think of an answer to that; she smiled, instead, and picked up a sandwich They ate in silence for a time. Ky wasn’t really hungry, and wondered whether the invitation to lecture at the Academy had really been his main point. Outside, the view below changed moment by moment as they slotted into a slow descent, several orbits shifting from Main Station’s to more polar. Sunlight on clouds and sea, darkness with flickers from lightning storms and lights outlining shores near the larger cities. She had a better view than she’d had before, eve
n in the pinnace. Finally, the Commandant put down a last sandwich.
“About the lectures, if you choose to do them. Visiting lecturers have the assistance of staff—someone to help with library research, someone to run any visual displays you might want to use. There’s the speakers’ fee, too, and we can put you up in guest quarters—you and your aide both, if you wish.”
“How long were you thinking?” Ky asked. “I do have some issues back at headquarters—I shouldn’t be gone too long.”
“Whatever time you can spare.” He started to say something more and then shook his head. “It’s entirely your decision, of course. One thing I’d like to ask about is your organization—you mixed ships and commanders from several different worlds. Did you use Slotter Key’s tables, or come up with something new?”
“Even though I had another Slotter Key privateer, I thought it would be better to come up with something that fit what we actually had—the ship types, the command and combat experience. I gathered all the seniors around a table and held them there until we had something everyone thought they could work with.”
“That makes good sense.” He nodded. “I wondered how you melded different militaries into one force. We have enough trouble with all of us in one place working under the same organization. Were any mercenaries in on that?”
“Not then. Moscoe Confederation, Moray, Bissonet, a few others including the ships Spaceforce sent, and”—she grinned suddenly—“a group of gentlemen adventurers from somewhere—you would not believe—”
“Gentlemen adventurers?”
“Brave, rash, romance-of-adventure types, rich enough to own their own ships. Storybook characters.” Cannon fodder, though it would be rude to say so, especially since all but one had died with their ships.
“But now you have an organized fleet, and—any action?”
“Since Nexus, only a few minor actions against pirates. Probably some we didn’t get at Nexus, hoping to set up in between systems. That’s one of the reasons we have some issues.”
He opened his mouth as if to speak, then shut it again and sipped his tea.
Ky wondered if he’d been about to ask what the issues were. Probably someone with his experience could guess, but he’d never had to deal with more than one government. “It’s political,” she said. “And since it involves the politics of other governments, I probably shouldn’t gossip about it.”
He nodded. “Money and power. We have that, too, though I’m sure it’s much harder to juggle with multiple governments. I wish you good luck with it. As for the lectures, if not this visit, another time perhaps. I’m sure you’ll be back to visit family.”
Not if she could help it. But she shouldn’t say that. She nibbled one of the lemon-flavored cookies instead.
He changed topics. “Will you stay with the Rector on this visit?”
“No, with my aunt Helen and cousin Stella. That’s why I’m here—the legalities of transferring corporate roles from Helen to Stella, since I’m a major stockholder.”
“Were you close to your cousins?”
“Fairly. We all spent time together every long vacation,” Ky said. It was easier to talk about than she’d expected. “They’d come over to Corleigh for a tenday or so to fish and sail, then we’d go over to the mainland with them—sometimes in the city and sometimes at the country place. Stella was the closest to me in age, just three years older; we were both the youngest of our families.”
“I’ve heard rumors that your cousin Stella was actually adopted…”
“It’s true. Neither of us knew until it all came out in a court in Cascadia. A shock to all of us—except Aunt Helen, of course.” She did not want to talk about Stella’s parentage. She especially did not want to talk about Stella’s birth-father, Osman Vatta, whom she had killed. Whom she suspected had been Gammis Turek’s associate, if not his father, and a reason Vatta had been attacked early in Turek’s campaign. The Commandant did not need to know—or have cause to notice—that she had discovered herself to be a natural killer, and killing Osman in close hand-to-hand had given her a solid jolt of glee. She looked out the viewport again.
They were on the other side of the planet from Port Major, somewhere over the Oklandan, the largest open ocean, with the southernmost continent, Miksland, just coming into view, dawn lightening its eastern end. A shelf of cloud overlaid much of the western end of it, but she could see a bit of the poleward coast, sharp red-brown against the dark-blue ocean, stark white of snow on what must be mountains. No one lived there; its description in Slotter Key geography books was “Terraforming Failure.”
“I’ve never seen Miksland before,” Ky said.
“There’s a weather station and Air-Sea Rescue base on a chain of islands west of it,” the Commandant said. “Too bad it’s under the clouds. Nothing on the continent itself, of course.”
“Why a base near it?” Ky asked. “I thought shipping stayed to the north.”
“It does, but there’s a very long gap between the next base to the east and the next one to the west, pushing the limit for Search and Rescue aircraft when they’re needed. This gives much better coverage for shipping. It’s harsh, though. And something about the continent interferes with communication.”
Vispersen reappeared, offering more tea and removing the plates. “We should start descent into atmosphere on the next orbit, about fifty minutes,” he said. “If you need the toilet, Admiral, that’s forward, across from the galley.”
“Already?” the Commandant said, then nodded. “Pleasant intervals pass quickly,” he said to Ky. “I had no idea we’d been chatting so long.”
“Nor I,” Ky said.
“If you wouldn’t mind—the flight crew were hoping to meet you—actually all the passengers were—”
“Of course, if we have time.”
“Estimating arrival in Port Major at 1530,” Vispersen said. He disappeared once more into the forward galley area, sealing the curtain behind him.
“Please,” the Commandant said, nodding toward the front.
Ky went forward and found herself in a more spacious area than she’d expected—a seat for the steward to starboard, along with luggage storage and a cubby with three orange bundles she recognized as personal survival suits. Her survival suit, in its blue case, lay on top of the luggage. Forward of that was the toilet, and across from it a galley; Vispersen was washing out the teapot. The hatch to the piloting compartment was open; she glanced in, seeing only the backs of the pilots’ heads and banks of half-familiar instruments. They wore full survival gear but for the helmets secured just above and behind them.
When she came out of the toilet, Vispersen wasn’t in the galley, or in his seat. She tapped on the rim of the cockpit hatch. Commander Hansen turned and smiled at her.
“Admiral, thanks for looking in.”
“Glad to meet you—Commander Hansen, isn’t it?”
“Yes. It’s an honor to meet you.”
Ky turned to the copilot, who grinned cheerfully. “I’m Yoshi Sunyavarta, Admiral. Delighted to meet you. My daughter saw you on the newsvids and told me she wants to grow up to be you.” His grin widened. “Though I must admit, last year she wanted to be a mountaineer, and the year before it was a racing jockey.”
“How old is she?”
“Nine.”
“Sounds like me at that age,” Ky said. “Tell her I said good luck.”
“Thank you, Admiral.”
“The Commandant asked me to say something to the troops in back—do we have time?”
The two pilots looked at each other. “Just barely,” Hansen said finally. “We really like passengers to be seated once we start descent.”
“I’ll tell him we’re short on time,” Ky said. “Thank you both for a lovely flight.”
“Thank us again if we don’t have a rough patch coming in behind that front,” Sunyavarta said, grinning.
Ky laughed and turned away. When she went back through the curtain, Vispersen was speaking
with the Commandant, who was stretching his back.
“The pilots said we’re short of time for a full introduction,” Ky said. “Unless you would like me to just say a few words to them as a group.”
“I let time slip up on me,” the Commandant said. “I was thinking mostly of Tech Betange—he’s on compassionate leave after his parents died, and he’s got younger siblings to arrange care for. I’ll make sure everyone has a chance to meet you once we’re down; it never does to upset the pilots.”
Ky slid into her seat and fastened the safety harness as Vispersen and the Commandant moved forward.
Out the port she saw darkness again, flickers of lightning below, then an arrangement of lights that must be a city. She couldn’t tell which by the pattern the lights made. She thought again of the Commandant’s suggestion that she give a lecture—or was it more than one?—at the Academy, and that reminded her again of the ansible in her implant. The Commandant came back to his seat and fastened his own harness. “Won’t be long,” he said.
“I noticed the pilots were in survival suits,” Ky said. “I remember they made us get into them on the way down, on our cadet trips.”
“That was more to be certain you knew how to put them on,” the Commandant said. “If something does happen, the flight crew shouldn’t need to change, but passengers will have time.”
Ky nodded and looked out the port again. She enjoyed this view of Slotter Key as they passed through the night to dawn, then day.
A soft chime rang. “Commencing reentry in three minutes,” said a recorded voice. “Secure all loose items, ensure safety toggles are engaged in case of any situation. Final warning at one minute. All personnel should be seated and in safety webbing at that time, with all loose items secured.”
Vispersen reappeared, glanced at their safety harnesses, and then went behind the curtain. At the one-minute warning, a louder chime, and reentry shields slid closed across the viewports. Ky felt nothing at the moment the shuttle should have been braking for reentry, which meant the artificial gravity was functioning normally. She wished she had the flight plan and knew this shuttle’s rate of descent, but she was a guest here, not a commander. It felt strange, after all the years in which she had always known exactly what was happening.