Moon, Elizabeth - Vatta 2 - Marque and Reprisal_v5.txt

by Marque

  “Easier if the pollies don’t know you’re around,” he said. “They have such . . . traditional attitudes toward identity.”

  “That’s a yes,” Stella said to Toby, who was wide-eyed. At least he wasn’t interrupting.

  “We’d better feed the boy something here, then,” Rafe said.

  CHAPTER

  TEN

  While Toby spooned down a bowl of flavored mush larded with restorative additives, Rafe sat at his desk manipulating his security scanners. Stella lounged on the cot, uncomfortably aware of its other use.

  “Station’s in an uproar,” Rafe said over his shoulder. “Casual muggings dockside, nothing unusual. Vendettas, brawls, even wholesale gang fights in dockside bars—we’re used to that, same as any station is. But blowing a docked ship—that shook everyone. Killed not just the crew, but about half the people in that sector, including the emergency response team there. Half the ships here pulled out, right then, and no one blamed ’em, though it meant we’re short of some supplies. Nothing critical, but a nuisance. Pollies’re overstretched; you know how station militia are . . .”

  “Yes,” Stella said. She did not want his lecture on police and militia organization; she’d had it before.

  “So stationers organized block defenses. Everyone knew the perps were still here, most likely, on the hunt for the boy, or for any more Vatta ships that showed up. Or ships that might be friendly to Vatta. Technically, it’s illegal, but practically speaking the pollies were glad of our help and so was station management. Longtime stationers were even able to access police armories. I’m not in that group.”

  He couldn’t be, since five years before he had been somewhere else. With her, one way and another. Stella said nothing, and he went on.

  “You came in on an ISC courier, I hear. You know anything about the ansible problem?”

  “Only that they’re down almost everywhere, and ISC is trying to get them back up. Apparently some are fried, and others just trashed.”

  “Mmm. Frying suggests sabotage to me, someone internal. What do they think?”

  “I was encouraged not to ask,” Stella said. “Condition of transport. But they’d take Toby and me, if we got to them and wanted to go where they’re going next.”

  “Which is?”

  “I don’t know. Another thing I was encouraged not to ask. Eventually, I have a message for their headquarters, but I have no idea how many transfers that would be.”

  “I see.” Rafe turned his chair around. “I don’t see you having any advantage to me, at the moment. What do you have to trade?”

  “Sufficient hard goods,” Stella said. Of course he wouldn’t help them for nothing; this was Rafe, after all.

  “I’m moderately concerned for the welfare of this station,” Rafe said. “It has been a profitable connection. However, additional security measures and lower levels of trade may cut into my profits. Seeing as how Vatta seems to be involved in causing me inconvenience, perhaps I should find another source of income.”

  “Such as?”

  “Perhaps we should consider a partnership,” Rafe said, studying his fingernails. “Your family is in disarray; you must need allies. I have . . . certain . . . expertise, and certain connections. You have, as you said, hard goods, and your family’s legendary expertise in trade and profit . . . and a trade network second to none, I understand.”

  “But if we are in disarray, how can that help you?” Stella asked. “I fear you suggest a partnership in which we cannot provide a fair balance of advantage—”

  “Disarray, perhaps, but I’ve no doubt—however they’ve kept you sequestered—that you have access where a . . . where someone like me might not. And vice versa. As I said before, Stella, we would make good partners.”

  “Possibly, for a limited time. But you know, Rafe, I have other loyalties.”

  “I know. So you said.” He glanced at Toby, who was now staring into an empty bowl, studiously ignoring them both. “And I can see that the survival and welfare of this boy must be a priority. What is he to you, anyway?”

  “A cousin,” Stella said.

  “Ah.” Rafe stretched out his legs. “Well, let’s start with keeping him safe. Does he have living family anywhere, or is this a lifelong commitment?”

  “I have ears,” Toby said, not looking up. Stella grinned at this proof of Vatta spirit.

  “Sorry, boy,” Rafe said. “But you were so quiet—”

  “I don’t know!” Toby burst out. His eyes glittered dangerously. “I know my uncle’s dead, and everyone on the ship, but I don’t know about others—my parents—” He looked at Stella. “Do you?”

  “No,” Stella said. “I know Vatta ships and holdings have been attacked in many places, but with the ansible shut down, I don’t know about your parents specifically. Still, you’re alive.”

  “And we want to keep you that way,” Rafe said. The smile he turned on the boy was full of his rakish charm. “If that sat well enough with you, dial another bowl of it. We need you strong and fit for whatever comes next.”

  “How do you know Stella?” Toby asked instead.

  Rafe’s grin widened. “Let me count the ways . . . no, that’s not nice. At least you have enough blood to blush. Stella and I met some years back, and nothing more, is the truth of it. I asked her to partner me, and she refused. She wanted to get back to her family.”

  “Are you the one—er, sorry . . .” Toby’s blush deepened with the swift embarrassment of the adolescent who has just put his foot in it.

  “No,” Stella said firmly. “No, he’s not. He was after . . . after that.” Her heart thundered and she took a deep breath. Damn Rafe! This wasn’t anything she wanted to discuss with a youngster, even if they’d had time to explain it all. “He’s right, though. You should eat a little more, if you can.”

  “And you, Stella,” Rafe said. Stella shook her head. “Suit yourself, but you need a clear head, and hunger isn’t.”

  “I’m fine,” Stella said. “Good breakfast and all that.”

  “So . . . partners?”

  “You’d just close up your shop and leave?”

  “Not much market for antiquities and books without a certain number of travelers coming through,” Rafe said. “Hard to get new stock, too, and the stationers have bought all they’re going to until trade picks up.”

  “Rafe—what were you really selling?”

  His face hardened. “My business, isn’t it?”

  “Not if we’re going to partner. I have enough wolves on my tail already; I want to know what other hazards you’re bringing into this.”

  He spread his hands. “None I know of. Some of the packages may have contained . . . additions . . . to the objects on the manifest, but you saw how friendly the pollies were.” He glanced again at Toby. “Perhaps this discussion could take place another time?”

  “Perhaps,” Stella said. She felt exhausted; after-action letdown. “I will have something to eat, I think.”

  “Good,” Rafe said. “I don’t want you to regret a decision made by low blood sugar.”

  “You’re so thoughtful,” Stella murmured, and smiled when he glared at her.

  “What do you need from your base?” he asked. “And are you still based on the courier or do you have a rental?”

  “Everything I actually need is with me,” Stella said. “I have a duffel aboard ship, though. And I’d have to let them know, if I take another route out.”

  “They have room for three?”

  “Probably not.” Her cabin had been cramped for one; she suspected the life support on couriers was less flexible than on tradeships.

  “We’ll need to find out. Do you trust them?”

  “Of course,” Stella said. He said nothing, just looked at her. She remembered what he’d said about the implications of the ansible problems. “Oh. You mean do I trust this particular courier crew?” He nodded. She thought about it. Scrupulously polite, uninquisitive just as they had been uninformative. “If th
ey’d wanted to kill me, it would’ve been easy.”

  “Yes . . .” That in a long drawl. “But you’re not traveling as Vatta, are you? Vatta representative, the police said.”

  “They surely know,” Stella said.

  “Um. Probably. And probably safe enough. But you’ll need a secure way to communicate. Something better than station lines, which are . . . possible to compromise.”

  “Meaning you have,” Stella said. She was not surprised.

  “I could,” Rafe corrected gently. “And so could anyone else with my expertise. For the boy’s sake I suggest extreme caution. And—forgive my suspicions—I would like some assurance that you actually do have those items of value you spoke of.”

  Stella slipped her weapon out; Rafe did not move, but she felt his attention sharpen. She handed it to Toby, who hastily put down his second bowl of food. “Toby, this is a model you may not be familiar with. Safety’s that red knob. Pull it out now. It’s off safety now. Keep it pointed at Rafe, whom I trust absolutely to be Rafe . . .”

  Rafe smiled, this time with what looked like genuine appreciation.

  “And do not hesitate to shoot if he makes a move, or if I suddenly fall over.”

  “Yes . . . ,” Toby said. His hand, she noticed, did not shake.

  “Now,” Stella said. She reached into her bodice and fished into the top pocket of the safe, pulling out the little suede container. She shook the stones out on her hand; they flashed brilliance around the room. Rafe caught his breath. “Yes,” Stella said. “Genuine. Natural.” She rolled them back into the suede pouch, and tucked it away again.

  “I gather there are more?” Rafe said. His pulse had quickened, visible in his neck.

  “Oh, yes,” Stella said. “But not all in the same place.”

  “Of course,” he said. “I am satisfied, then, that you have sufficient stock of value to enter into an equal partnership. I suppose I should show you mine—” He turned the chair.

  “Toby,” Stella said. Rafe froze. “I suppose you should sit perfectly still,” she said, “until our agreement is finalized.”

  “You don’t want to see my accounts?” Rafe said, too lightly.

  “I don’t want to see the business end of any of the weapons you have in your desk or on your person,” Stella said.

  “My, you have learned,” Rafe said. He spread his hands. “All right. Terms?”

  “Recording,” Stella said. She indicated her implant with one finger. “I know your scans are on, at least in here, so you’ll have your own record as well.” She took a deep breath and went on. “Partnership, limited, sixty days to start with, renewable by agreement of both parties. Can be unaffiliated by either party, with due notice of not less than twenty-four hours onstation, or twenty-four hours after arrival if on shipboard. Absolute for personal protection from physical, chemical, or biological attack by the partner or partner’s agent for the duration of the partnership and for a minimum of three standard days following its ending. Usual for sharing of information: all information relevant to the partnership shared, other information optional. Do you agree to these terms, Rafael Stoner Madestan?”

  His expression was rueful. “I should never have taught you so well, Stella. Yes, I, Rafael Stoner Madestan, agree to these terms as offered by Stella Maria Celeste Vatta—sorry, I don’t know your married name. I swear to abide faithfully by my partner in . . . in this enterprise, and to consider paramount the welfare of all partners. Does the boy enter into this?”

  Stella carefully did not look at Toby. “He is of age, just. Toby, do you agree to these terms as full partner, or do you wish the protection of a minor?”

  “You’re asking me?” His voice squeaked, then firmed. “As a member of Vatta family . . . Yes, I agree to these terms as a partner, accepting both Stella Maria Celeste Vatta Constantin and Rafael Stoner Madestan as partners for this enterprise.”

  “Good,” Stella said. “And I, Stella Maria Celeste Vatta Constantin, accept you, Toby Lee Vatta, and Rafael Stoner Madestan as my partners in this enterprise, according to the terms as recorded in my implant and in Ser Madestan’s office security recorders.”

  “Fine,” Rafe said. “Now can the boy—sorry, Toby—quit threatening me with a live weapon?”

  “Of course,” Stella said. “Toby, point that weapon at the floor and push in the red knob.”

  “You’re sure we can trust him?” Toby said.

  “At this point, we have to find out,” Stella said. “But yes, Rafe has his own code of honor and I believe we can trust him.”

  Toby nodded and complied; Rafe sat very still until the weapon was back in Stella’s hands and hidden away once more in her holster. Then he heaved a sigh.

  “Stella, dearest, you nearly made me create a mess. I do believe Toby would have shot me.”

  “Indeed he would,” Stella said. “But he didn’t, so you have no complaints now, right?”

  “Right,” Rafe said. “To work, then. When I realized trade was going right out the air locks, after the explosion, I began converting some of my assets to the same kind of portable hard goods you have. Of course, it was difficult because others on the station were trying to do the same thing, and antiquities are not necessities.”

  “And you always have your run money,” Stella said. Rafe shook his head.

  “I am well reproved for earlier misdeeds,” he said. “Yes, of a sufficiency. What I propose to do now is put my stock in storage, explain to the authorities that without trade there’s not sufficient profit, and depart. If you are known to have employed me, perhaps as a bodyguard, that would explain—”

  “That an antiquities dealer has bodyguard capabilities?”

  “No, simply my departure. Perhaps you engaged me as the best you could find, all the regular bodyguards being unwilling?”

  “Would they be unwilling?” Stella asked.

  “They could be . . . dissuaded,” Rafe said.

  She could not stop the chuckle that emerged. “I see. So you have far more deals going on this station than selling books and things and . . . whatever comes in the parcels.”

  He spread his hands. “You know me too well, Stella.”

  Alas, she did. But after the first appalling realization that she had put herself and her emotions in danger, she had also realized that Rafe was the one person who might, just might, help her get to Lastway and find Ky. Especially since she had Toby along.

  “So my thought is first to tell ISC that we need more berths, if they’ve got ’em . . .”

  “A secure line. You need a secure line. Do you have the courier’s contact number?”

  “Yes. What do you have, optical spider hooks all over the place?”

  “Not exactly all over.” Rafe pulled out a number of thin, stiff fibers from beneath a book and ran them into a standard-configuration plug, which he then plugged into the side of his desk unit. “Berth number . . . got that. All right. Since I’m sure you don’t trust me, you enter the contact code with your own lily-white hands.”

  Stella came over to the desk and entered the code. Of course his system would capture it, but it wasn’t the hidden one. When the linkage icon went green she looked at Rafe. “Do you want me to stick to text?”

  “Better,” he said.

  “Fine.” Stella keyed in the pertinent data, as she saw things, and waited until the answer came back, demanding a visual. Rafe shrugged and moved over to take the blanket off the bunk while Stella sat at the desk.

  “Vid hookup’s on your left, third row,” Rafe said. Stella found it and plugged in.

  The courier’s com officer stared out of Rafe’s desk monitor, in the crisp brilliant color she’d have expected from one of Rafe’s hookups. “Are you all right?” he asked. “Something’s got the station police stirred up—captain wants to leave as soon as we can.”

  “I’m fine. Jos, what they didn’t tell us is that there was a survivor of the Vatta attack—an apprentice who was offship at the time. They’ve had him in prote
ctive custody. I was signing him out when there was . . . a bit of trouble. Thing is, I need to get him offstation and somewhere safe, but I’m betting you don’t have room.”

  “Er . . . I can ask the captain. How big is he?”

  “And a third party,” Stella said without answering that. “I’m bringing an escort, from here—I can’t take care of the kid alone.”

  “I’m sure we can’t do that,” the com officer said. “I’ll ask the captain, but—we’re only a courier.”

  “I know. And I’m very grateful, but that’s how it is.”

  “Understood. But you still have gear aboard, and you had urgent messages for the Chair . . . and where are you calling from, anyway?”

  “Secure line,” Stella said. “I know; I’m hoping you can offload my gear and take a burst message.”

  “That we can do, but if you’re in danger—”

  “I’ll be all right,” Stella said, “if I keep the boy and myself out of sight for a bit.”

  Toby did not want to stay alone in the upper office, but Rafe insisted that Stella not go to the dock alone. “Chances are they’re all dead, but if they’re not, Stella needs an escort, and I can’t guard both of you at once.”

  “What if someone comes here?” Toby asked. “I’m not even supposed to be here.” He looked better; the enriched mush had made a big difference, Stella noticed.

  “I just asked Maintenance when they might get around to repairs, and they said a minimum of two days—they’re still coping with the blast damage on the docks. And I’ve told the block protection group that I’m closed until I get the repairs done. No one should come, and if they do, you ignore them. Just in case—” Rafe opened one of the file drawers in the cabinet: whatever was inside wasn’t files in the usual sense, and he came out with a bell-barreled weapon. “—this is a crowd control weapon, Toby. It will take out a substantial number with each shot, because it’s loaded with shrapnel—and no, Stella, it’s not legal, but it’s dead easy to use. What you do, Toby, is point this at the bad guys and pull this lever. It kicks like dingdong, so brace it on your hip or a desk or something. It will make a horrible mess, including of the wall behind your target, so be sure it’s necessary. Otherwise, don’t hesitate. For chem protection, I can do better than those membrane masks Stella had—good for out and around and being inconspicuous, but this—” He hauled out a standard Pittsdon protective suit. “—is your best bet. Ever worn one?”