Victory Conditions

by Elizabeth Moon

  Ky just managed not to blurt out You have children? in a tone that would have been insulting.

  “But you aren’t, and you outrank me, anyway. I do not know exactly what Major Douglas’ orders were, as Mac’s liaison. Of course I never saw them, and my orders were to assist him as required. But from what he did say, I gathered that he was to assist you, without giving up any of Mac’s secrets. Though we were not, then, officially in alliance with you—and I don’t yet know the terms of our alliance, because they were in the files that were destroyed with Vanguard—I considered it my duty to be of assistance as well. Especially after he died. I did overstep my authority, ma’am, both by contacting Master Sergeant MacRobert and by urging you into treatment, but…I did so thinking it was in the best interests of my command.”

  “What you aren’t saying,” Ky said, “but I’m hearing, is that I can’t really expect you to be loyal to me, and neither is, or was, MacRobert.”

  Pitt looked thoughtful, not worried. “It’s not exactly that, ma’am. As I understand my duties, my loyalty to Mackensee—which is of course primary—requires that I assist you, and your endeavors here, in any way I can. That is what I have tried to do. As a matter of fact, not that it should make any difference, I happen to like and respect you personally. But if you were a sothead idiot, I would still have the same duty to assist you. And though I like and respect you personally, I cannot allow that to affect my duty.”

  “And your understanding of MacRobert?”

  “He has his duty, to Slotter Key, as I have mine to Mackensee,” Pitt said. “He will do what he thinks is best for Slotter Key, despite what he feels for you…though, like me, he respects your ability and character.”

  “Do you know if he has told Grace Vatta about his contact with you?”

  “Oh, yes,” Pitt said. “He told me that he told her, and that she had been amused. She is quite a woman, he says.”

  “She is indeed,” Ky said. “And she also doesn’t give much away. But my question now is, how much can I trust you?”

  Pitt frowned. “Ma’am, I will not lie to you. I will not divulge anything I think might be harmful to Mackensee, now or in the future, without specific authorization from my own command structure. When we can, I would like you to contact them, in my presence, and I need clarification of my orders. However, I know from Major Douglas, and the articles of alliance you showed me, that my orders will, at the least, be to assist you—and that means being straight with you. If you ask my advice, it will be the best I can give—though I’m only a master sergeant.”

  Ky snorted, humor having overtaken indignation. “You are not ‘only a master sergeant,’ and if you’re not going to lie to me, let’s start there.” Pitt gave a short nod but said nothing. “Well, then. I suppose my lesson learned is that all intelligence personnel are tricky at best. Including MacRobert and my very unsainted Aunt Grace. You have my permission to continue your contact with MacRobert—since I suspect you’d find a way to do it anyway—but please keep in mind the advantages to secrecy.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “You’re no longer confined to quarters; you’ve already been all over the ship, so there’s no reason to cause us both inconvenience that way. I’ll want you at the staff conference at 1330 hours. If we can arrange a secure link to Mackensee before that, I’ll contact you so that you can speak to your command.”

  The Mackensee officer who appeared on the screen introduced herself as Colonel Watkins. Pitt saluted, assumed parade rest, and gave a succinct report of events since her last official report, without mentioning that Ky was alive.

  “You were on the orbital station, then?” Colonel Watkins asked.

  “No, ma’am. With respect, ma’am, is this a secure connection? Entirely with the Vatta-type ansibles?”

  “Yes,” Colonel Watkins said. “Why?”

  “Ma’am, what I need to say is extremely sensitive and should be shared only with Section Four.”

  Watkins’ brows lifted. “Would you prefer to speak to the senior Section Four officer aboard?” From the tone it was a request Pitt should not make.

  “That might be best, ma’am. There are…strategic implications.”

  “I see. Can you hold the connection at your end?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  A pause, a flicker at the edge of the screen that cleared, and another officer appeared, also a woman. Ky, watching from out of range of the video pickup, saw a flick of hand signal, which Pitt acknowledged with a twitch of her own.

  “Master Sergeant Pitt, I’m Colonel Paraits. I understand you have sensitive data for us?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “But you’re not alone.” It was not a question. Ky wondered if the finger flick had conveyed that.

  “No, ma’am, but the officer here already knows it, and has reason to mistrust me.”

  “Ah. Go on, then. I was monitoring your transmission before; I’m caught up.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I was in Vanguard when it blew—but in the CCC, which survived, though not without casualties. The most critical information to protect is that Admiral Vatta also survived. We know from local transmissions and remote reports that the enemy believe her dead, since her ship was destroyed.”

  “I see. And you are now…where?”

  “Moray System, ma’am. And in the past days, after Major Douglas was killed, I’ve been operating on my own—but I could do with some orders, frankly.”

  “I’m sure, Master Sergeant.” The colonel looked thoughtful. “The problem is…we don’t have anyone to send out your way right now. I can have some orders cut, but as for sending an officer—” She paused again. “And—what was that about an officer there having reason to mistrust you?”

  “If the colonel will refer to my report history, under the code name Foxbat-Victor,” Pitt said, “the colonel will find that I have a contact on Slotter Key—”

  A few moments later, the colonel nodded. “I see that, yes.”

  “Well, ma’am, the officer did not know I had a contact on Slotter Key and considered it a breach of security. As it happens the officer was acquainted with my contact and was concerned about his loyalty as well.”

  “Um. I can think of only one officer that might be,” Paraits said. “The subject perhaps—?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Who is also here with me, observing this transmission.” Pitt radiated caution.

  “I see. Actually I don’t see, as it were, but I do understand. Let me assure this officer that, as Mackensee is now contracted to both Nexus and Cascadia, to augment their defense forces, any prior surveillance on…this officer…will certainly not be used in her detriment. And I am confident that, should I confirm Master Sergeant Pitt in her present role as temporary liaison between the…commander in your present location…and Mackensee, the master sergeant will obey all your orders and conform to your needs.” Paraits paused, then went on. “It might be easier if I could talk to this officer directly, though I understand that this might present an unacceptable security risk.”

  “I’ll talk to your people,” Ky said, waving Pitt away, and moving into pickup range. “Colonel Paraits, I see that you recognize me.”

  “Yes.”

  Ky explained the circumstances that had led to Turek thinking she had died with her ship.

  “So you think that if Turek thinks you’re dead it will give your fleet a sufficient advantage?” Paraits asked.

  “An advantage, certainly. Sufficient…we can’t know that. He won’t expect us to respond as quickly, and perhaps he will not expect the same level of tactical control,” Ky said. “Not that there aren’t other competent officers, but I’m the one he’s seemed to worry about.”

  “With reason,” Paraits said. “But won’t he be suspicious of a continued communications blackout from Moray?”

  “No—he’ll think it’s my death that’s being concealed. And it is, in a way. We know that Turek had agents here, and at least one of his pirated ansibles…but those can comm
unicate only with others like them. So if word of my death gets out, it’s almost certainly through a network of his agents, and it might be possible to backtrack and locate them by those leaks.”

  “Ah,” Paraits said. “Very ingenious and quite possibly workable. I doubt you’ll smoke them all out, but you should get quite a few. Do you have your strategy for attacking Turek planned yet?”

  “No. It depends on where his supply base is and how long he’ll need to be there. Moray tells us that the ships he made off with will need at least another six to seven days in dock, with competent workers, to do the final weapons fitting, the stocking up, and so on. Longer without a skilled crew and the facilities they have here. If he wants to calibrate the weapons and fine-tune the navigation computers, to maximize his control in combat, he’ll need still another seven to ten days. Moray has given us the ships he didn’t take, and they’re now very close to fully operational.” Miracle, that was, considering the number of expert riggers who’d died, but the Moray government had gone all-out.

  “If he thinks you’re dead, if he thinks that will make a real delay, he could move either faster or slower. And have you considered the effect word of your death may have on your other allies?”

  “It should stiffen their spines,” Ky said. “If it doesn’t—well, they wouldn’t stick it out if they knew I was alive.”

  “I think you underestimate your effect, Admiral Vatta, but I won’t argue.”

  “You’re not going to believe this.” The Moray senior scan tech handed over a data cube. “We have all the details of Ransome’s departure untangled from the rest of the scan data that day. The ship identified as Glorious accelerated toward the enemy as the enemy fled, and appears to have gone into jumpspace at the same relative distance from the scan station, as if they thought they could pursue through FTL space. The other Ranger ship was behind by some minutes, but went into jump within ten thousand klicks of that location.”

  “Idiots!” Ky said. “And no transmissions at all?”

  “Not to the fleet and not to Moray. They just took off. Do you think they were actually associated with the enemy all along?” Moray’s suspicions were still active, Ky realized.

  “No,” Ky said. She glanced at Pitt.

  “I agree with the admiral,” Pitt said. “These young men were impulsive and extravagant, but they weren’t traitors.”

  “Well, what did they think they were doing? Nobody can follow in FTL flight…they wouldn’t have the coordinates or anything.”

  “And a blind jump can dump you out anywhere,” Ky said. “But…could they have had the coordinates? Could they have been monitoring the enemy transmissions? We have a record of those, don’t we?”

  “Yes, and the translations—but he couldn’t have had the translations that fast—”

  “Do the translations give any numerical data?”

  “Er…yes…I suppose those could be vector and duration—if you knew which was which…”

  “So he could’ve swung over to get on the same course, which gives him vector…and duration…and he might come out at the same place.”

  “Might. Unless it was multiple jumps.”

  “But he might have thought he had enough data—”

  “Then he’s crazy.”

  “Right now, he’s gone,” Ky said. “And since we don’t know where, or when—if ever—he’ll be back with us, we might as well go on to the next item.”

  The next item, crewing the Moray-built ships, took much longer.

  “You’ll have to take one of them as your flagship,” Argelos pointed out. “And none of us knows diddly about them; you should use Moray crew for Moray ships.”

  “Moray’s own space navy doesn’t use this model,” Ky said. “You could learn. Sharra’s Gift shouldn’t go into another combat—you’ve seen the stress charts.”

  “Um. We could be second-tier…”

  “You could also be dead. We need to replace the ships with the worst stress levels, and you know it. You’re not the only one who’s being shifted.”

  Argelos looked grim. “Sharra’s Gift has been my ship since I got into the business. She’s like my other arm—”

  “I understand. But this is war, not privateering. If you’re to be with me, you’re going to have to move to a ship that’s capable of sustained combat.”

  “Can I at least name it Sharra’s Gift II?”

  “I don’t see why not,” Ky said. “None of them have names yet…all their ship-chips are just numbers at this point.”

  “What about Dan? Are you going to make him change ships, too?”

  “Bassoon isn’t showing the same damage. We have worse in the fleet. Tangeld, for instance, and Sapphire Radiance. Captain Peters and Captain Tardin will both take over cruisers.”

  “What will happen to my—to the original Sharra’s Gift?”

  “You owned her outright, didn’t you?”

  “Yes…”

  “Then you could sell her, or let Moray do the refit, either to military grade or back to a merchanter. For that matter, if Moray pulled her armament, she could run as a merchanter now.”

  “I won’t have time to do that—to run her, I mean. I suppose I could sell…but I don’t know…I feel I’m losing my connection…”

  Ky noted his expression. “You’re not happy with all this, are you?”

  “Who would be?” Argelos asked. “I don’t mean you—you’ve been a good commander—”

  “Look…do you want to quit and go back to being a merchanter? A letter of marque doesn’t force you to be a privateer—it’s permission. If Sharra’s Gift were unarmed…you’ve earned a rest.”

  “It’s a commission,” Argelos said. “I said I’d take on Slotter Key’s enemies.”

  “Yes, but not in the same way it was when there were kings and things. Legally, I think you’d have no problem, if that’s what you want. I’d back you.”

  “I don’t want to get blown away by Turek’s bunch—and I would, unarmed and alone. I guess…I never really thought of myself as a Spaceforce captain. Being a privateer, I could be mostly a trader and only sometimes have to worry…” He scrubbed at his head. “And now I’ve been in…is it only three battles? Four, counting that mess at Gretna, if that qualified as a battle, and I guess it did. Should, with some of my people dead. I don’t know, it’s just…I think I’m not good enough.”

  “You’re good enough,” Ky said. “But you need some of the same treatment I got. I should’ve thought of that.”

  “No…if you think I can command a Moray-built warship, then I guess I can command a Moray-built warship. But I’m going to miss old Sharra’s Gift.”

  “You’ll get her back someday,” Ky said, and then wondered if it was an empty promise.

  “It won’t be the same,” Argelos said. “But it’ll be nice to have this over with. So—where’s the book for my new ship? I know the first rule: RTFM hasn’t changed since before the Dispersion.”

  One by one, Ky found captains for her ships, some transferred from aging privateer vessels, and some from Moray’s own space service. Since Moray didn’t use heavy cruisers in its home defense fleet, none of the captains had prior experience with that model, but the Moray officers were familiar with much of the software. Ky set up classes. Crews for the new ships would come mostly from Moray—she did not have the people, in her other ships—to fill out the necessary positions, nor would she have even if Vanguard had not been lost.

  CHAPTER

  SEVENTEEN

  O n the seventh day in FTL flight, Teddy Ransome experienced the kind of internal change known in his culture as “brain-bend.” Some people planned their progress through their various intelligences: so many months in each. Others waited on whatever biochemical signal switched off one and turned on another…and something turned the switch.

  It felt mentally just like falling out of bed felt physically—that moment of blissful weightlessness, followed by a hard thump when he hit the floor. He had been a Romant
ic; he had enjoyed being a Romantic; he had secretly planned to die as a Romantic, never completing the cycle of modalities that was supposed to prepare one for full maturity.

  Only he wasn’t a Romantic anymore. Safe in the cocoon of uncertainty that defined FTL flight, he stared at the banks of instruments visible from his command chair and wondered how he’d ever convinced himself this was a good idea.

  Even his uniform disgusted him. Sky blue, gold braid, white facings? He looked around the bridge. More light blue, more braid…brightly polished metal in decorative shapes. Had he really thought that was practical? It looked theatrical, not at all workmanlike…

  He reached mentally for the mantle—no, the flamboyant swirling cloak—of his Romantic period, but it was gone. He couldn’t be Teddy Ransome, pirate hunter…Teddy Ransome, noble, gallant, daring…he shivered. Who was he now? Theodore, not Teddy? It sounded stuffy; it felt…much less stuffy than it would have even a few hours before. Which intelligence would come to the fore, and would it be one he could stand?

  A cool, severe voice rose from his brainstem to point out that he had put himself in harm’s way repeatedly—including now—in hopes of impressing a woman who was, when you came down to it, nothing but a merchant’s daughter with a perfectly ordinary face. A merchant’s daughter with considerable military skill, yes, but far from the glamorous figure he had created in his imagination.

  And now here he was, with his ship, in FTL flight, not knowing where he was going, when the enemy would drop out into normal space…he had gone blindly, without thinking, assuming she was dead, and she probably was dead, but that was no reason to do what he’d done.

  Seven days on an uncharted jump. They could be anywhere. They could downjump into a star, into a planet, into a stupid chunk of rock. He’d been an idiot; he wouldn’t be an idiot one moment longer.