Command Decision Read online

  “I kept asking him, when he was fixing those broken ansibles, and finally he said he’d explain if I promised not to tell anyone else about the ansible repair stuff he taught me, because it was an ISC secret. I understood some of it on my own,” Toby went on. “I always thought it must be like FTL drives, but it’s not, really. Well, sort of, in the basic theory of n-dimensions, but not in the practical application, or space travel would be instantaneous, too.” He paused; he seemed to stare into the distance, and then he shook his head. “No…I haven’t figured that part out yet.”

  “No rush,” Stella said, her head whirling. Her own abilities—assuming she had any—lay very far from the things Toby talked about. “You can stick to ansibles for a while, can’t you?”

  “Oh, sure. I just need to figure out why there’s a lockout circuit, what it’s protecting the rest of it from.”

  “Or what it’s protecting,” Stella said.

  Toby looked thoughtful again. “I hadn’t thought of it that way. I thought it must be something to protect the ansible…but that’s not necessarily—thanks, Cousin Stella.” He wandered off to his room, followed by Rascal, without picking up any more of the mess.

  Stella sighed and went back to her work. Standard Vatta trade routes made interconnecting rings rather than emanating from a few hubs; a Vatta ship from the Orleans–Vishwa–Darien–Moscoe route should arrive insystem in the next few days. Ordinarily, Katrine Lamont’s captain—now Balthazar Orem, transferred from Gary Tobai because Stella knew him better—would have offloaded cargo consigned here, sequestered cargo that would be transferred directly to the incoming ship, acquired more cargo to take on from here, and left room for any cargo the incoming ship needed to transfer. But now, with trade down and Vatta’s reputation almost as ruined as its headquarters and coffers, nothing was that simple.

  Still, there was always someone who wanted to ship something somewhere. Stella had put off hiring new crew for Gary Tobai, and Katrine Lamont was still undercrewed, but at least the ship was in perfect shape. Stella had sold off all the cargo that wasn’t consigned elsewhere—about 30 percent was, and of that, a little less than half would need to be shifted to Marcus Selene, the ship due in. The sale of cargo, plus the company share of profits from Toby’s dog’s breeding fees, had kept her balance on the right side of the ledger, and in another thirty-five days she would have access to the late Captain Furman’s accounts. And if Toby could actually build shipboard ansibles…maybe it was Osman’s genes, and not Stavros’, that presented her with an inkling of how profitable that could be, but maybe that didn’t matter. In her imagination, a new corporation rose from the ashes of the old: Vatta once more, trade and profit; for the first time it seemed real, herself in a proper office, giving orders. In the meantime, her business office was the dining room table in the apartment.

  “Cousin Stella! I found it!” Toby burst out of his room a few days later, Rascal scampering around in him in frantic circles.

  “What, Toby?” Stella had just been running the figures again. Marcus Selene had arrived insystem and was making its way in from the jump point. She might afford a real office within the next week.

  “What it was protecting…that thing I told you about. Not the ansible—or not this ansible—it’s what keeps these from interfacing with system ansibles.” He grinned, eyes sparkling. For an instant, Stella saw a ghost of the depressed, scared boy she had found in protective custody at Allray. Whatever else she had done wrong in her life, however vicious her biological father had been, she had changed Toby’s life for the better. Then her brain caught up with his words.

  “You mean they could interface—?”

  “Yes. It’s quite simple, really. Rafe said they couldn’t, they were built so they couldn’t, but he didn’t tell me what they’d done. Maybe he didn’t know; he said he didn’t understand it all. Anyway, it’s this circuit here—” He pushed a printout of a circuit diagram at her; to Stella, it was all lines and symbols, as meaningless as straws in the wind. “If I leave that part out, and change this bit here”—he pointed at something on the diagram—“then it could.”

  “That would be…very useful indeed,” Stella said. Her mind filled instantly with the possibilities for profit—a lot of profit—but surely ISC had all the relevant patents. How could they come up with something on their own, something ISC couldn’t interfere with, using Toby’s ideas? “Brilliant, Toby. And do you think you can build a working model?”

  “I could do it faster if I didn’t have to go to school,” he said, eyeing her sidelong.

  Stella laughed. “Not that, my boy. You’re going to school, and that’s final. Besides, you’ve been enjoying the company; you said so.”

  “Well, yes. Some of the other kids are all right, especially since they moved me up a level. But I want to get this done. It would help us so much…and if ships went out with these, they could relay information from systems where the ansibles aren’t working, until ISC had time to fix them.”

  “I can see that,” Stella said. “But you have to go to school anyway. You can work on this in your spare time.”

  “Can I bring some friends over to help me?” Toby asked. “Some of them are really smart.”

  “No,” Stella said; it came out harsher than she intended, and his expression changed. She tried to soften her tone. “Toby, right now this has to be a secret. You know the original technology belonged to ISC. We have to be sure it’s legal for us to do this, or—”

  “It can’t be illegal to build one for ourselves—if we don’t sell it—”

  “Yes, it could be illegal,” Stella said. “I have to find that out, and in the meantime don’t talk about it. Not to your friends, not to your teachers—”

  “But I don’t see why,” Toby said, with all the persistence of enthusiasm. “If it’s just for us, why would they care?”

  “Profit,” Stella said. “If they own the rights and we make one instead of buying theirs—”

  “But they’re not selling them,” Toby pointed out. “It’s not costing them anything because they’re not selling them.”

  “Just let me talk to someone who knows more about the law than either of us before you talk to anyone else,” Stella said. He frowned, but finally nodded. “And Toby—thanks for all your work. If you’ve really solved that problem, ISC may be paying us. In any event, you’re a real contributor to Vatta’s recovery.” A recovery that she now believed could happen, with or without the input of the Slotter Key Vattas.

  Thirteen days later, Stella looked around Vatta Transport’s new offices, redecorated in Vatta colors and fully furnished. Crown & Spears had been willing to advance the money on the expectation of her receiving Furman’s accounts within fifteen days and the arrival of Marcus Selene. The offices were in an unfashionable quarter of Cascadia Station, toward the tip of one branch, but the rent per square meter was only 65 percent of that near the trunk. Besides, their business was shipping, and dockside was across the way.

  “This is where you’ll be,” she said to the receptionist she’d hired for the front office. “We’re just moving in—it’s a little rough, but I assure you the security measures are first-rate.”

  “It looks lovely,” the girl—young woman—said. Gillian Astin, Stella reminded herself. Native of Cascadia, just out of business school, up on the station for the first time. She looked too young, but her voice was brisk and she seemed to have confidence. “I look forward to serving you…I’m sorry, but I don’t know what terms of address are correct for someone from Slotter Key.”

  “I’m living here now,” Stella said. “Whatever’s appropriate here—Sera, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, Sera Vatta.” Gillian grinned. “This is so exciting. Mum and Dad never thought I’d get a job offplanet; they kidded me when I signed with the agency.”

  “Well, here’s your desk. Let me know if there’s anything else you need,” Stella said. “I’ll be in back—I’ve got a ship on approach and I need to talk with the captain.�
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  “Thank you, Sera,” Gillian said. The comunit on her desk buzzed. Stella paused in the door to see how she handled it. Gillian slipped the earbug in and said, “Good morning, Vatta Transport, Ltd. How may I help you?” She didn’t sound like a child then. Stella slipped through into her own office.

  Her father’s office had been huge in comparison, furnished with antiques and artwork. Hers barely had room for a simple desk, a chair for a visitor, a credenza holding her comunit, cube reader, and—hidden inside—some supplies. The other door led to a narrow corridor, off which were the supply room and the toilets. Across that, a larger room where Toby could work. It had been the workshop of the small electronics repair firm and still had workbenches and shelving.

  “Sera Vatta?” Gillian was at the door. “General Sales’ local supervisor, Ser Sagata, would like to speak with you regarding the cargo coming in on Marcus Selene. May I tell him you will take his call?”

  “Yes, thank you, Gillian,” Stella said. Her stomach tightened. Now it began. Silly of her—it had begun long before—but now, in a real office, she felt a difference.

  “Ser Sagata,” she said, flicking on her comunit. “How may I help you?”

  They exchanged the elaborate courtesies Cascadian custom dictated, and Stella assured him that the ship on its way in did indeed carry cargo consigned to General Sales. She gave him the invoice numbers as well.

  “And our next departure will be three days after Marcus Selene arrives—the route is up on our site. If you have outbound cargo—”

  “You will keep the same schedule?” He sounded surprised, and almost immediately apologized. “I’m sorry, Sera Vatta; that sounds as if I did not trust you, and I intended no insult…”

  “No offense taken,” Stella said. “I quite understand. But yes, I intend to keep the same schedule, and in fact expand it as other Vatta ships come in. Cascadia has ample resources of trained ship crews; it will make a fine hub.”

  “I see.” A long pause, then, “Yes, I believe we will have cargo ready for shipping by then. I’ll get back with you shortly. Thank you for your service, Sera.”

  “Thank you for your custom, Ser Sagata.” That had gone well. Stella let out a breath then went back to the front office. “Gillian, we’re going to have an order for outgoing cargo. I may not be here when it comes in; please route it to my deskcomp, sorted by destination.”

  “Yes, Sera Vatta,” Gillian said. “I was just thinking…do you want me to contact the other recipients of inbound cargo that their shipments are onboard?”

  “Good idea,” Stella said. “I’ll send that file to your deskcomp, with the invoice numbers. Don’t tell them the cargo contents, though. Just the numbers. And let them know that the departure schedule and route are up on our site, for their convenience. Maybe we’ll get some more orders.”

  By the time Toby arrived that afternoon with a float pallet of his supplies, Vatta Transport had contracts pending with five different shippers for Katrine Lamont’s departure. Stella called Captain Orem.

  “We have shippers,” she said. “Do you think we should put up the available cubage on our site?”

  “Absolutely,” Orem said. “The Captains’ Guild will display it for us, as well as the Shipping Combine. I can do that for you, with an automatic update as new cargo comes in.” He paused. “Uh…I haven’t thanked you, really, for the chance you’ve given me…you know, after I lost my own ship, I never thought I’d have a command again. And here I am on one of Vatta’s top ships—better than anything I ever had before—”

  “Please,” Stella said. “Don’t. I needed a captain; you needed a ship. It worked for both of us. I’m sure you can handle the Kat and the trade responsibilities.”

  “I had to say it,” he said. He looked ten years younger now. “But for the moment—trade and profit.”

  “Trade and profit,” Stella agreed.

  From across the corridor, she heard thumps and bangs as Toby settled his things into the shelves. She went to look. “I brought it here, Cousin Stella,” he said. “Under all the other boxes, so no one would see.” In one corner, the plain gray box that Ky had given her, the portable ansible. Next to it, something roughly the same size and shape, but without the gray skin.

  “That’s the…”

  “Yeah. What I’m working on. Not finished yet, though. It’s still going to draw a fair bit of power—can we afford it?”

  “Yes,” Stella said, hoping “a fair bit of power” would fit into the budget. They had to try; this project was too important to fail because of a few credits.

  “Can I sleep here?” Toby asked. “It’d save time going back and forth. And I wouldn’t need a security escort as many hours.”

  “There’s no food here,” Stella pointed out. “And I want you in bed at a decent hour. For school. Don’t worry about the escort charges.”

  “Excuse me, Sera, but there’s an urgent message for you,” Gillian said. Her gaze slid past Stella to linger on Toby.

  That could be a complication. “From whom?” Stella asked.

  “Sorry, Sera. From Crown & Spears.”

  “Your account has been credited with the sums formerly credited to the late Captain Furman,” the Crown & Spears manager said when Stella picked up the call. “Would you prefer to have these funds in hand or pay off the advance at this time? Crown & Spears has no problem with continuing the advance on the same terms.” Exorbitant terms, to Stella.

  “I think not,” she said. “It was an unsecured loan before; now I could secure it, if I chose.”

  “Well, I’m sure something could be arranged,” the manager said. “For a valued customer such as Vatta Transport…”

  After the first few hectic weeks, as she dealt with Marcus Selene’s arrival, the departure of Katrine Lamont, the departure of Marcus Selene, customer inquiries, the sale of unconsigned cargo, and all the other minutiae of running a transport and trade company, Stella realized she had not thought about her own parentage, or Ky’s adventures, for days. Whether Ky was alive or not, she herself was finding her identity as Vatta CEO more comfortable with every passing day. Vatta ships carried full loads of cargo, even Gary Tobai, for which she’d won a contract to carry cargo between Moscoe Confederation orbital stations. Vatta customers stopped by the office to chat and inquire when she would have more frequent departures. Another Vatta ship had reported in via ansible; its captain accepted her authority. Income still lagged behind expenses—not counting the contributions of Toby’s dog Rascal, whose breeding fees kept them solvent—but it trended upward.

  She had found an intellectual property lawyer who agreed to take up a patent search to see how much of the portable ansible technology was already controlled by ISC. Toby’s school had called once, to congratulate her on his behavior (“We usually have much more trouble with students not from our system; he is an exceptionally polite boy, and we are delighted that you chose to have him attend classes instead of home tutoring”), and his marks in the first reporting period had been superb.

  Startling, amusing even, that her family identity as “that idiot Stella” had concealed such abilities, even from her. Nobody here knew about the gardener’s son or the family codes. Nobody here knew that Jo was—had been—the brains of the family, and her brothers had been brilliant in their way, while she was only a pretty face, “that idiot Stella.” Nobody here seemed to care about her parentage, though as the result of a court case, it was in the public records. All that mattered to the Cascadians was her demeanor and her competence. Courtesy had always come easily for her; she found their social rules easy to follow. She’d never fully believed in that competence, but now she saw the proof of it every day, in the respect others gave her, in the contracts and the income. Trade and profit indeed.

  She wished she could tell Aunt Grace, but the Slotter Key ansible remained stubbornly out of order, like so many others. Someday Vatta ships would carry Vatta ansibles, and she could send one back to Slotter Key—she surprised herself agai
n by thinking of the name, and not “home.”

  “Sera Vatta?” Gillian tapped on her door.

  “Yes?” Stella pushed all other thoughts aside. Business first, reveries later. Or never. She felt ready for whatever came through the door.

  CHAPTER

  THREE

  Aboard Vanguard,

  in FTL flight

  Once, a routine transition into FTL space had meant safety to Ky Vatta. That mysterious and undefined continuum in which the ship now existed had meant time to think, time to plan, time to interact with her crew in an untouchable capsule. She could not be interrupted from outside; she did not have to cope with outside.

  What she’d known of earlier civilizations—pre-space and early-expansion—and their obsession with the vastness of space, the smallness of planets, had always amused her. She had grown up in a spacefaring civilization, embedded in a family whose fortunes came from traveling the spaceways; she had been in deep space herself at thirteen. Space was no bigger than the ship you were in. So many days in FTL from here to there, so many days or weeks from a jump point to a station…the rest of it didn’t matter, really.

  Now, for the first time, she felt it, that old awe at the size of the universe. Not days from system to system, but years of light burrowing through endless darkness. Though the ship’s systems held the temperature at a steady setting, varying it slightly, intentionally, as the shifts changed, she herself felt cold, chilled by unwelcome knowledge.

  Out there somewhere, beyond her knowledge as beyond her reach, were the pirates—the more-than-pirates now—who wanted to destroy all the comfortable assumptions of her life. Her life and the lives of everyone she’d known. The lives of billions of men and women and children who went to work, ate meals, went to school, played games, made plans based on the certainty that tomorrow would be like today.