Victory Conditions

by Elizabeth Moon

  “Captain Ransome!” Ky spoke a little louder, and Teddy whirled, his cape swirling out. “Come meet my cousin Stella.”

  “Good…heavens,” Stella said. She had no chance to say more, because Teddy had already produced an elaborate bow that caught everyone’s attention. Nor did he spill either of the glasses he carried.

  “Stella, this is Captain Theodore Albert Driscoll Ransome, commander of Ransome’s Rangers, who has gallantly attached himself to our force. You may recall I told you about him, when I was at Adelaide. Captain Ransome, my cousin Stella Vatta, currently CEO of Vatta Enterprises.”

  He was looking at Stella in the way men often did—and women, too, Ky had to admit—but the shock of her beauty did not impair his speech. “My utmost admiration, Sera Vatta,” he said. “May I offer you this?” He held out one glass.

  “Thank you,” Stella said, taking it, whereupon he immediately seized her hand and kissed it. Ky felt a bubble of laughter for the first time that day; Stella looked dumbfounded.

  “And you, Admiral, here is your favorite.” Ky took the glass he offered, and watched with mounting amusement as Stella reacted to Teddy Ransome’s effusive praise…she had never seen that particular expression on Stella’s face.

  “Excuse me, Admiral Vatta—” That was one of the diplomats from Nexus; her implant gave her his name and title.

  “Of course, Ser Tallal.”

  “You do not, pardon me, look much like your cousin…”

  Ky smiled. She was familiar with this one. “You’re right, Ser Tallal. My family were all darker; she takes after her mother’s family, the Stamarkos family, who are mostly blond. And of course, she is beautiful.”

  “Ah. I meant no insult—”

  “And no insult was taken, I assure you.” If they thought Vattas were villains, she could at least be a courteous, smooth villain.

  “I was…I know you must have heard that on my planet there is concern about your influence on the young Ser Dunbarger.”

  “I have no influence,” Ky said. “We are acquaintances, merely; I’m sure he has told you the same.”

  “Yes, but…his family history…he did not have a good reputation as a young man. I would not bring up any details now, considering his present position, but…it is thought that perhaps he might…shade the truth.”

  If only that were the case. If only she could believe that. Ky shook her head. “By happenstance, we traveled on the same ship for a while, and in his capacity as an agent of ISC he repaired some system ansibles. When we arrived here, he chose to leave the ship and return home.”

  Tallal looked at her long and hard, then glanced aside at Teddy Ransome, still chatting with Stella. “Is that young man…a friend?”

  “Captain Ransome,” Ky said carefully, “commands Ransome’s Rangers, and joined our force in Adelaide. His unit is quite effective for certain special assignments.”

  “He is actually a ship captain? He seems so…”

  “Colorful may be the word you’re looking for,” Ky said.

  “Yes…and you find him…attractive, perhaps?”

  Ky looked at him. “Ser Tallal, one cannot help noticing that he is decorative, but I am a military officer, and he is in my chain of command.”

  He scowled, but dropped that topic. “It struck many of us that quite a few Vattas survived and seem to be involved in our affairs—” His glance slid past her and fastened on Stella. “You, your cousin, your aunt on Slotter Key—and these…privateers…”

  “It bothers you that they’re privateers?” Ky said. She hadn’t heard that before.

  “Well, they’re really just pirates, aren’t they? Given license to attack any ship they suspect of being an enemy?”

  Ky wondered if any answer would change his mind, but she had to try. “Letters of marque and reprisal specify what types of ships a privateer can lawfully engage,” she said. “They are legal under the code that your government and many others signed.”

  “Lawfully…but who is to say they stay lawful. Osman Vatta didn’t.”

  “Osman was never a privateer,” Ky said. “He was an outlaw from early on; the family threw him out—”

  “They gave him a ship, a ship with weapons—”

  “No, he stole the ship. And armed it himself—it was an ordinary tradeship before.”

  “You say that now—” He stopped short as two Cascadian government officials within earshot turned to watch, their expressions disapproving.

  Ky softened hers intentionally. “I’m sure you didn’t mean to imply that I am less than truthful, Ser Tallal.”

  “Er…no, not that, but you’re young; you might not know—”

  “The Slotter Key ambassador can, I’m sure, furnish you with the data you require,” Ky said. “Vatta filed a report with law enforcement and with the insurance company when the ship was stolen.”

  He looked unconvinced, but the Cascadian officials had come closer. One was the minister Ky had met in that morning’s first meeting.

  “Admiral Vatta,” he said. “I wanted to ask you about that very decorative young man chatting with your cousin.”

  “Captain Ransome,” Ky said. “Of Ransome’s Rangers.”

  “A privateer company?”

  “No. I’m not sure what you’d call them. Gentleman adventurers, perhaps. They come from a society with a very unusual—to me anyway—approach to identity. Right now, Captain Ransome is exercising his Romantic intelligence, he will tell you.”

  “Romantic, as in chatting up pretty women?” Ser Tallal said. His tone would have peeled paint.

  “Romantic as in heroic,” Ky said. “He believes in honor, gallantry, heroism, and style. Whatever you think of his present costume, he has shown himself courageous and able in combat, which is after all the measure of a warrior.”

  Tallal looked at her as if she’d sprouted horns. Clearly, nothing was going to change his negative opinion.

  “It is said that some of our founders had a Romantic streak,” the Deputy Minister said. “We always considered it something the young grew out of, with experience.”

  “The same on Slotter Key,” Ky said. “But on Ransome’s home world, people apparently cycle through extremes of personality, or attitude—I’m not sure which. His parents, he says, are ‘being Irrationalists’ he’s being a Romantic, as is his friend Captain Baskerville. It led them to seek adventure, first against pirates in their own system, and then to venture afar. We met them on Adelaide, where they asked to join us.”

  “How very interesting,” said the Deputy Minister as a chime sounded. “But I believe they’re now signaling it is time to go in, and if I recall correctly, the ambassador from your home world—yes, here he is.”

  “Admiral Vatta,” Estro Rajani said. “May I take you in?”

  “Thank you,” Ky said, with considerable relief. She left the Deputy Minister to sort out the Nexus representative. From her seat far up the table, she saw Rafe being perfectly polite beside Tallal, hardly looking at anyone else, and certainly not at her. He looked, in fact, like the embodiment of a stuffy, somewhat glum senior executive. Probably for the best, she told herself. She herself chatted with Ambassador Rajani about conditions back on Slotter Key and with the Moscoe Confederation Defense Minister on her other side about the education of young officers in both systems.

  “They will be sorry not to claim you as a graduate,” the Defense Minister said toward the end of dessert.

  “If I’d graduated,” Ky said, “I’d be a very junior officer on a ship somewhere.”

  “And we would be lacking your experience,” he said, nodding. “So their loss is our gain.”

  CHAPTER

  NINE

  O ver the next few days, Ky gathered data on the privateers’ combat history and repairs, and began to organize maintenance and training schedules for them. Every ship needed an ansible installed, and crews needed training in their use. Some also required repairs; others, resupply. Minor repairs and supply ate up the first ten days
of Vanguard’s refit, but in addition to shepherding the Slotter Key fleet, Ky now had Cascadian ships. Commander Dowitch’s contact at Moray’s Tobados Yards reported that Moray had indeed taken on a contract to build sixty to ninety of their largest design, a contract made two years before.

  “It got them out of a depression,” Dowitch reported. “They’re delighted; there was an upfront payment, another a year ago when they were on schedule with the job, and they expect to deliver the first ships in about forty days.”

  “How far away is Moray?” Ky asked. “And did you warn them?”

  “I let the Minister do that,” Dowitch said. “Government-to-government. But it’s going to be tight, if that is indeed the target. We’re pushing flat-out on your ship, Admiral, but you won’t have time for practice runs. Moray’s a solid twenty-day run.”

  “I’ll need to talk to their defense people,” Ky said. “I can warn them what they’re up against, and suggest a few tactical things to make up for what Turek can throw at them.”

  “I expect Admiral Trey will help you with that,” Dowitch said. “But what if it’s somewhere else?”

  Ky shrugged. “We don’t know of any other large-ship yard that’s gotten an order in the right time frame. Piccolo’s only got one on order and it’s eight months from completion. Defornis doesn’t have anything but light cruisers, and only four of those. I’m betting on Moray, especially as they said the government was Stepparn, and we know they’re anti-humod.”

  Time blurred over the next days as she consulted with Moray Defense, Moscoe Defense, the privateer captains, Cascadian captains. She managed only one hurried meal with Stella, in the apartment with Toby and Zori. “Rafe’s gone back to Nexus,” Stella said, halfway through the meal. “Nexus has pulled out, the idiots.”

  “I was afraid they would.” Ky ate hungrily; she hadn’t had a regular meal in days, just grabbing a bite whenever she could. “That Nexus ambassador or whatever, Tallal, seemed to think I was a monster.”

  “It’s Rafe’s father,” Stella said. “That and our fathers being friends with Lew Parmina. They didn’t know—but the Nexus idiots don’t know they didn’t know.”

  Ky put that aside—nothing she could do about another system’s government—and turned to Toby. “I hear you had quite an adventure,” she said.

  He glanced sideways at Zori. “It was, kind of.”

  “And you, Zori,” Ky said. “You translated all those things I sent—you must be really good at languages.”

  She looked at Toby, then down at her plate. “Only because my father is—was—a criminal.”

  “That doesn’t matter,” Ky said. “You aren’t.”

  “How can you be sure?” she asked, flashing a glance at Stella then looking straight at Ky. “I thought I knew what my parents were, but I didn’t. He was horrible all along, and I didn’t see it.”

  Ky had only the bare-bones story from Stella, nothing to suggest the level of distress Zori was showing. Stella gave Ky a look that meant something, but she didn’t know what. Deal with this? Fix this? Then she got up and started clearing the table. When Zori offered to help, Stella told her it wasn’t her turn. Nobody could have missed the obvious signals that left Ky and Zori alone. It was ridiculous. Why would Stella think Ky could help Zori? But she had to try something.

  “Tell me,” Ky said. Maybe directness would work. Zori looked at her, eyes already shiny with tears.

  “I love Toby,” she started. “But I loved my father once, and now I hate him, and I didn’t understand about my mother.”

  Ky tried not to sigh obviously. “Go on,” she said, trying for a voice somewhere between commander and friend.

  “I can’t tell Stella. She’s been so good to me. She wants to help me. She thinks she understands because of her—because of Osman—but she doesn’t. It’s not the same. She never loved Osman.”

  Stella had misplaced trust, too, Ky thought, but perhaps there was a reason having fallen for the gardener’s son wouldn’t work. She nodded, saying nothing.

  “It started—I mean, I realized it started—when I was in the kitchen at O’Keefe’s, the night Toby was taken, and I had fallen on the floor, and there was this little girl…” Tears were flowing now, but Zori’s voice shook only a little. This was a story she’d rehearsed to herself.

  Ky knew—everyone knew—that some marriages were unhappy, that some were even violent, but the story Zori told still shocked her. It linked in her mind with the violence done to her class ring; she wondered if Hal would have been that kind of spouse.

  “And I ran right to him,” Zori said. “My mother was hurt and I didn’t even see it; I just let him hold me and pet me and feed me cookies…I liked being his favorite. And all the time he was hurting her, I believed what he said…believed it was her fault, that I was better—” Her head drooped. “I feel so guilty—I am so guilty—she should never forgive me—”

  “Have you talked to her since?” Ky asked. “Do you know she’s angry with you?”

  “No. Stella has. I—I can’t. It’s all my fault.”

  “It’s not,” Ky said. “You were a child…”

  “That’s what Stella says, but I’m not a child now and I still didn’t see it.”

  “Are you more afraid she’ll hate you, or more afraid she won’t?” Ky asked. She had finally realized that her own fear of telling her parents about her reaction to killing had both components.

  Zori looked up, surprised. “I—I don’t know.”

  “Stella has her own issues with her mother,” Ky said. “Did she tell you?”

  “No…”

  “You might ask her sometime. But here’s what I see. You were a child; your father used you against your mother, and you could not possibly have understood that—”

  “I’m supposed to be smart,” Zori said, glowering.

  “So part of what you’re upset about is that you weren’t as smart as you thought you were?” Ky said. That she understood. She herself had been so smug about not making the mistakes “that idiot Stella” made—then she’d missed the cues that her Miznarii protégé was using her and that Hal’s affection was really ambition. She’d hated feeling stupid more than anything.

  “I…guess so,” Zori said. “I didn’t think of that.”

  “I’ve been fooled,” Ky said. “And that was the worst of it for me. Stella and I grew up together, you know, and I always thought I was smarter than she was, even though I was younger. Then I went and fell for a sob story and got myself kicked out of the Academy.”

  “Really?”

  “Really,” Ky said. “Look—I’m not a therapist, and maybe a therapist would help you more. But I do know it’s not your fault your father fooled you. By what you said, he may have used drugs as well—and possibly programming in your implant—to shape your perceptions. You made the right deduction at the right time, to save Toby, and you’ve now realized what the truth is. See your mother. Talk to her. If she’s hostile, then you have to deal with that. If she’s not…you’ll have a chance to rebuild your relationship. At least she’s not dead.” Like mine, she thought but did not say. This was about Zori, not herself.

  “The cookie,” Zori said. “I did get sleepy.”

  “Yeah. You said that. I’ll bet he used treats more than once. Not a nice man, your father.”

  Zori straightened up. “I know she wants to see me. She’s asked Stella. Stella won’t make me…but now…all right.”

  Ky reminded herself that adolescents could change moods in moments—she had, Stella had, Toby’d been the same. Then her comunit chimed. “Drat.” She pulled it out. “Zori, I’m sorry. I have to leave.”

  “That’s all right—I mean, you’ve helped.” Zori seemed to sparkle with renewed energy.

  “Stella—I have to go,” Ky called. Stella and Toby came out of the kitchen.

  “Already?”

  “Unfortunately, yes. I’ll try to call you later.” Ky noticed that Zori was murmuring something to Toby. Stella glanced
that way and gave Ky a finger-flick: Good.

  Ky caught the shuttle over to the yard where the newly installed CCC was ready for calibration runs. Vanguard was shrouded in the vast bulk of a repair dock capable of handling a ship twice her size. Riggers were now rebuilding the hull around the inserted CCC; the interior of the ship was mostly aired up, and Ky could enter from the normal hatch.

  The ship looked different even on the route from the personnel hatch to the CCC. Ky had known that her former spacious cabin and office would be cut into quarters for more crew, but it felt strange to see hatches where none had been before. Where she had fought Gretna’s intruders along the aft weapons-deck passage, she now faced a bulkhead with a single hatch that looked much thicker than usual.

  “Remember I told you the CCC has hull-thick construction,” Dowitch said. “Go on in.”

  “Where are the connections to the ship’s systems?” Ky asked.

  “Already covered,” Dowitch said. “The breakfrees are on the ship side—I can show you later, if you want.”

  Inside, the CCC was every bit as cramped as they’d said and smelled of freshly molded plastics and resins, machine oil, and an acrid bite from soldering just finished. Protective film still covered some of the screens and control boards. It looked too fresh, too clean, but that would not last the first tenday’s use, Ky knew. Soon there would be smudges, stains, the paths humans left behind them wherever they worked and lived.

  Ky wove between the lumpy shapes of the armored stations for Scan and Communications and the intrusive bulk of the onboard ansible to the command seat. It looked much like the one on Vanguard’s bridge, except the shield that would close her in was opaque, a peculiar blue-gray.

  “I thought it would be translucent,” she said.

  “It will be,” Dowitch said. “When you turn it on and choose that option. But it will respond to certain kinds of shock by going opaque. Doesn’t matter; you’ll still get the data. What you’re seeing there are the laminae for the displays.” He nodded toward the chair. “Go on—sit in it. I want to calibrate it for your size and weight.”

  “Shouldn’t I have my suit on?”