“It is understandable, Captain Vatta,” the stationmaster said, in the genial tone he had used with her before. “But you understand that we must strictly enforce our regulations or risk chaos, with so much outlander traffic in the system. Now I will transmit your image to Captain Furman and see what he says.”
“Please do keep me informed,” Ky said, trying to keep the edge out of her voice.
“Certainly,” the stationmaster said.
“He’s out to get you,” Lee said, as soon as she’d cut the connection. “I remember—”
“So do I.” Ky ruffled her hair with both hands. “Mad as a kicked wasps’ nest, he was when he first contacted me, and madder when I didn’t do what he told me. But I didn’t think of him as particularly vindictive, just bossy and stubborn.”
“That was before your father kicked him out of his cushy and very lucrative circuit and sent him out here,” Lee said.
“I suppose. I still can’t believe he’d lie about me. Do you suppose he really thinks I’m dead and Osman had a daughter…granddaughter…whatever? For that matter, did Osman have children?”
“Considering what Quincy told us about his sexual proclivities, he may’ve had dozens,” Rafe said. “Whether he recognized any of them is another question, but Furman may know something we don’t. And it would be interesting to know how he knows, if he does.”
“Nothing in his records,” Ky mused. “At least, I didn’t see anything…”
“Nor I,” Rafe and Martin said together. “But that doesn’t mean much,” Rafe went on. “I doubt he was the type to take care of his offspring, if he even knew they existed.”
“If they exist, I wonder if they know about him,” Ky said. “If they know they’re related to Vatta. To me.”
Rafe raised his brows. “You aren’t thinking of looking for them, are you? Your original plan to rescue Vattas meant legitimate Vattas, didn’t it? Not some renegade’s by-blows.”
“It’s not their fault they’re Osman’s children,” Ky said, feeling a sudden surge of protectiveness. “Probably raped their mothers and left them stranded somewhere…it’s not fair.”
Rafe rolled his eyes and Martin sighed; Lee merely looked amused.
“Stella said you had a rescue complex,” Rafe said. “Now I see it. Odd, really, that combination of killer and rescuer.”
“I’m not—” Ky stopped abruptly, a swirl of emotion almost blanking out her ability to speak for a moment. Another signal from her father’s implant, as something she’d said triggered the opening of a secured file she hadn’t noticed yet. Her father had also suspected that Osman would father children on helpless women; her father had worried about that, he and Stavros both. They had tried to trace Osman’s movements for the first few years, looking in orphanages, paying for genetic screenings of possibles out of their own money. They’d found four, managed to have them adopted into more respectable Vatta families; they’d been sure there were more. She probed further, but her father had erased the names.
For a moment, Ky felt a stab of cold terror. Was she herself one of Osman’s by-blows? Was that what made killing such an intense pleasure, and was that what had led her toward Spaceforce? She could well imagine her father, with his sense of duty and honor, choosing to adopt one of the children himself. And she looked nothing like her mother…
“Captain—what’s wrong?”
She pulled her mind back to the present. “Implant alarm,” she said, keeping her voice level. “Talking about Osman’s possible children triggered a locked file. My father thought there were some.”
“And?” prompted Rafe.
“And he thought he found some, had them adopted into good families. I don’t know who. He erased the names.” She was not ever going to tell Rafe—anyone—about that fear. She was not like Osman. She was not a vicious pirate; she was not a sexual predator; she was not an outlaw. Even if she was his child—and she could not believe that—she was not like him. She was her father’s child, and her father was—had been—Gerard Avondetta Vatta, the respectable, honorable financial wizard at Vatta Transport’s head.
Martin whistled. “I hope whatever made Osman Osman wasn’t genetic,” he said.
“I’m sure it was looked for,” Ky said. “Early therapy might’ve changed Osman; if the children showed any behavioral problems, it would’ve been treated.”
“But back to my point,” Rafe said. “You can’t think of going out to find and rescue Osman’s children, when you have more important priorities. You need to find other family members, other ships.”
“Like Furman’s,” Ky said. “He’s got to realize that I am who I am, and that I’m now in charge.”
“He’s not going to like that,” Lee said. “He’s a senior captain; you were just upgraded from provisional.”
“I’m a Vatta,” Ky said.
“If he can cast doubt on that, I bet he will,” Lee said. “You and Stella are both decades younger than he is.”
“Crown & Spears has Jo’s—Stella’s sister’s—genetic scan on file; they used it to compare with mine and confirm my family identity.” She had forgotten that until now; a wave of warm relief came over her. Surely the comparison of her DNA and Jo’s proved that she was Jo’s first cousin, not Osman’s daughter. Osman hadn’t been her father’s and uncle’s brother, after all. “Besides, while Stella doesn’t look much like a Vatta—she takes after her mother’s family—I fit right in.”
“For that matter, so did Osman,” Lee said. “Like your father and Stavros, anyway. I wonder if his children look more like a Vatta, or their mothers.”
“It doesn’t matter what they look like,” Rafe said, clearly impatient with this. Ky was grateful; it covered her reaction. “They could look like anyone, and the point is you have more important things to worry about right now.”
“Like Furman,” Ky said. “I wish Stella had arrived. She’d be much smoother talking to him than I will.”
The stationmaster’s next call confirmed her worries. “Captain Furman says that the image we sent superficially resembles Kylara Vatta, but he is sure she is dead, and thus you must be an imposter.”
“He is…mistaken,” Ky said, trapping lying scumbucket behind her teeth. “Crown & Spears has a sample of my genetic material and has already compared it to a known sample from my cousin Jo, my father’s brother’s daughter. Did he say where he got this certain knowledge that I was dead?”
“I’m so sorry,” the stationmaster said. “A commercial concern such as Crown & Spears maintains private records to which we are not granted access. I’m afraid that their confirmation of your identity is not valid for official records. While I have no reason to disbelieve their results personally, our regulations are very clear: we need to establish genetic relationships based on samples obtained and maintained by official means before such can be used to establish identity. Would you be willing to give another sample?”
“Yes, of course,” Ky said. “Anytime. But do you have existing records from my family to which to compare it?”
“I do not yet know,” the stationmaster said. “This is an unusual situation, in unusual times. I will have that answer for you in a few hours. Meanwhile—and I regret very much placing such strictures on someone whose dealings with us have so far been amiable and honest—I must request that you personally stay aboard your ship until Furman arrives and a court date can be set for formal procedures, and that you allow one of our monitors to come aboard to ensure that you do not attempt to flee.”
“May I ask why?”
“We take identity fraud very seriously, Captain Vatta. Captain Furman suggested that you had altered biometrics to assume the identity you claim. Altering biometrics is not illegal here, and we have clinics that perform humodification at various levels from superficial surgery to gene altering. But when identity fraud is suspected, we do not allow the person so charged access to these clinics until a full identity scan has been run.”
“That’s—” Ridiculous was har
dly tactful and courteous. “—reasonable,” Ky managed. “But couldn’t you use some form of tracking device on my person instead? I’m a trader; I have business to conduct. I know back home that they use such to restrict the movements of criminals.”
“The larger problem is your ship, Captain. We were prepared to accept your account of how you obtained it, but it is a ship with a bad history. We don’t want to be held responsible for setting a criminal loose. I could petition to allow you to be fitted with a tracking device—we have that technology, of course—but we must disable your ship’s ability to depart without warning.”
“I understand that,” Ky said. “As long as your means of doing so cause no permanent damage and we do not incur additional charges, I have no objection.”
“Then I will speak to a judicar about an alternative way of controlling your movements. And your crewmembers, of course, are under no restriction at this time, other than the requirement to obey our rules.”
“Thank you,” Ky said.
“Do you by any chance have another member of the Vatta family aboard? Someone else whose DNA we could compare to yours?”
“Yes, but not a close relative,” Ky said. “A young man whose ship was blown up at Allray; my cousin Stella brought him with her to Lastway.”
“Do you know the exact relationship?”
“No, but I can find out. When will your monitor arrive?”
“She is at dockside now. If you would be so good as to grant her entrance—”
“Right away, Stationmaster.” Ky cut the connection, shaking her head at the expressions of her bridge crew. “Stop that. We have to comply with the law, for now. Not as if we weren’t already, or I’d have said what I really think of Furman.”
“With her aboard, you can’t,” Martin pointed out. “None of us will be able to…”
“If they agree to my being given a tracking device, she may not be here that long. Let me check. Martin, you go let her in.” Ky called the stationmaster. “If I’m reading your regulations correctly, our ship is still considered the territory of its origin, is it not?”
“Yes, Captain. What is it?”
“My crew are concerned that their habitual behavior to one another, their freedom of expression, is not within the bounds of your regulations, and that they may be charged with an offense for something they say here, which they considered private space not subject to your rules.”
“Oh—nothing to worry about there, Captain. We are quite aware that ship crews have their own way of speaking and behaving aboard their own ships, and that is not our concern. It is our concern only when they are dealing with our citizens on our territory. Our monitors are carefully trained, and will ignore everything other than their assignment. In this case, the monitor’s assignment is simply to prevent your ship’s departure from the station without my permission, and to prevent you personally from exiting until a determination is made of your identity or your request for an alternative method is granted. Does that fill your needs?”
“Yes, thank you,” Ky said.
“In fact, if you personally should make statements that would be considered an offense outside the ship or if you were speaking with one of our official personnel, the monitor is instructed to ignore these unless they are directed at herself. Naturally, no discourtesy can be offered to her, as she is indeed one of our citizens.”
“That is quite clear, Stationmaster,” Ky said. “Thank you again.”
“You are most welcome, Captain Vatta,” the stationmaster said.
The woman who appeared on the bridge a few moments later, with Martin a careful two steps behind her, looked nothing like Ky had expected. What is such a beauty doing in police work, was her first thought. She was a match for Stella, only dark instead of blond.
“Captain Vatta? I’m Robinette Leary, monitor first class. I’m sure it’s a bit upsetting, having a stranger forced onto your ship.”
“Er…not at all,” Ky said, floundering for the moment. The woman carried a bulky case.
“Don’t worry; I’m not eager to take offense,” Leary went on. “I’m not here to make trouble, just prevent it. So far we have no local complaints against you at all, but because of the way in which you obtained this ship, we are required to take all precautions to be sure of your identity.”
“I understand,” Ky said.
“I’m glad,” Leary said, smiling. Her smile involved dimples in her perfect cheeks. She glanced around at the bridge crew. Ky could see for herself that her looks had affected the men—except Rafe, whose expression of advanced disdain might be a cover for the same reaction. “Let me reassure you all,” Leary said. “I will take no notice of what you say among yourselves; our rules on courtesy do not apply here unless you deliberately insult me.”
“So…I can call him a terminally stupid idiot”—Rafe nodded at Lee—“and you won’t object?”
“Not at all,” Leary said. “Does he?”
Lee grinned. “From Rafe, that’s a compliment,” he said. “I don’t mind.”
“I will consider it an education, but will refrain from participation,” Leary said. “Captain, as my primary duty is to see that neither you nor the ship departs, I will begin by sealing the bridge controls related to departure. If you would point out the relevant boards, please.”
“Here.” Lee moved aside, pointing to the controls that retracted umbilicals, sealed ports and hatches, and brought the insystem drive to readiness.
From her case, Leary took raised plastic covers that she fitted over those controls, being careful to cover only those Lee pointed out, and sealed the edges with bright orange tape. “This tape will turn green if it is lifted,” she said. “It will not reseal. Tampering with official seals is an offense under our regulations, and will result in severe penalties. If for any reason you feel it necessary to gain access to these controls, you must have authorization from me or the stationmaster. A directional electromagnetic pulse device has been attached to your ship; removing more than four centimeters of tape will cause it to activate, and permanent damage to your control circuits may result. It may also cause temporary damage to persons on the bridge at that time. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Lee said. The monitor glanced around, waiting until everyone, including Ky, had agreed that they understood.
“If you have other crew who come onto the bridge, you must instruct them.”
Ky nodded her understanding. The station com circuit bleeped again; she turned to the screen.
“Captain Vatta, the judicar has authorized use of a tracking device in your case. May I speak to Monitor Leary?”
“Of course,” Ky said. Leary came forward.
“Monitor Leary, when you have secured the ship, you will please accompany Captain Vatta to a security station where she will be fitted with a tracking device.”
“Bridge controls have been sealed, Stationmaster. Will it be necessary to place a guard on dockside?”
“I think not, Monitor. When Captain Vatta has been fitted with the device, be sure she understands all the restrictions, and then you need not accompany her further.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Captain Vatta, the judicar granted this alteration of the original order only because of the time involved until Furman arrives and your need to conduct legitimate business. I trust you will appreciate the courtesy and not abuse it.”
“By no means, Stationmaster,” Ky said. “I am grateful for the consideration shown, and intend to be offship only in the necessary course of business.”
Having the tracking device fitted took only a few minutes, and the technician treated Ky with perfect courtesy. Ky restrained herself from any of the witty remarks that occurred to her; she suspected that Cascadian bureaucracy would not take kindly to that kind of wit. Afterward, Monitor Leary handed her a hardcopy list of the establishments she was forbidden to enter.
“And now you are free to go, and I will not trouble you further,” Leary said, smiling.
&
nbsp; “Thank you,” Ky said, adhering to the cultural demand for perfect courtesy.
A few hours later, she was back on the ship when she got the call informing her that there was no official source of Vatta genetic material on the station or in the system. The Cascadian Bureau of Investigation agent explained that no Vatta family member had ever been required to give one; no question of identity had arisen before.
“It’s most inconvenient,” the agent said. “We do have basic bioscan data, fingerprints and retinal scans and so on, but that’s only good for determining if someone matches a single known individual identity. That’s collected from captains on arrival, as you know, and we have data from Josephine Vatta, as well as several others. Ergash Vatta, Melisande Vatta, Bromlan, Asil. But you aren’t claiming to be any of those, and we had no reason to request a sample for genetic identity.”
“So…what do you plan to do?”
“First we will inquire more of Captain Furman, who is already known to us as a legitimate Vatta employee. Do you deny this?”
“No, of course not. Assuming he’s not an imposter, this is the man under whom I trained. He should know me, and identify me, correctly.”
“We do have bioscan data on him, so when he arrives we can determine instantly if he is the same individual with whom we have been dealing. Do you have any identifying data?”
Ky queried her implant. In his personnel file she had both his bioscan and genetic pattern, as well as visual images; she offered to transmit those.
“Nothing external?”
“No. But since we hold opposing opinions, is there any reason for you to doubt the validity of my implant data if it confirms his identity?”
“Well…no. All right. Please transmit visual image first—full-face and profile if you have it—and then the bioscan data. We may not need the genetic data.”
Engaging the Enemy Page 24
