“What?”
“Think about what’s on this ship. Those salvaged implants. Those data cubes of readouts from implants. Valuable information.”
That part of Osman’s cargo had given Ky the creeps. Putting together salvaged implants and their files with what she’d found in Osman’s cabin, she could imagine all too easily how his prisoners had “disappeared.”
“What I don’t know,” Rafe continued, “is where the transfer was made. Furman traveled a well-known route through reasonably respectable systems. Osman’s presence there would’ve been noted. And you said Furman had a reputation for early and on-time deliveries, so I don’t see how he’d have had time to meet Osman between systems.”
“Maybe those files will tell us,” Ky said.
“Maybe. But I’ll probably need navigational help if they do. I’m not a pilot or navigator.”
“Just keep after it,” Ky said. “I would love to put Furman in the villain’s seat.” Another idea hit her. “If Furman’s involved, he’d have access to current Vatta schedules…maybe it was Furman who gave the attackers the locations of Vatta ships and crews.”
“I thought you’d decided it was Osman,” Rafe said.
“But if they were working together—wait—wait—” The horrific vision propagated in her mind. “Furman knew,” she said. “Furman has been working with Osman. So Furman tells Osman, gives him all the schedule data, all the call signs, all the passwords. And Osman tells his allies, those pirates. Only Furman’s been transferred to this new route…and what do you want to bet he was supposed to meet Osman here, or in another port of this route, but here is logical…it’s so close to Nexus.”
“Furman was spying on ISC’s defenses,” Rafe said. “Has to be. Hated being sent out here but then found a way to profit even more.”
“You’re not setting foot off this ship until we know who he’s been working with,” Martin said.
“Agreed,” Ky said. “But when this identity thing is settled—”
“It’s not going to be settled,” Martin said. “You’re too dangerous to him. You’ve got Osman’s ship; Furman doesn’t have to know Rafe to know that something incriminating him might be on this ship.”
“It might be still,” Rafe said. “I haven’t had time to go through half the files; I prioritized on things that might kill us quickly—”
“I’m not blaming you,” Martin said. “Just pointing out that Furman must worry that there’s data somewhere on this ship that could point to him…and you, Captain, of all the Vattas, are the one most likely to give him trouble.”
“But why did he turn on us?” Ky wondered aloud. “We have excellent compensation; people want to work for us. He came here of his own accord—”
“Some people are never satisfied,” Rafe said. “Or maybe Osman got to him somehow, twisted him around—”
Ky delved into the personnel section of her implant and was startled to find gaps, obvious erasures, in Furman’s record. They could only come from her father—it was his very personal implant—unless Grace had been able to make changes after Gerard died. She glanced at Rafe; he might well know how to interfere with implants or even recover data that had been erased. But no: he was not Vatta, or sworn to Vatta. It was too dangerous to risk. She would figure Furman out on her own.
_______
As the days passed, Stella’s worry grew, and she finally decided that she could not wait to call Ky about Furman. The man was too dangerous. This business with Furman might even focus Ky’s mind back on the Vatta family and business, make her realize that she needed to concentrate on saving the family first.
To her surprise and annoyance, Rafe answered the comunit instead of Ky. “Stella! What a delightful surprise. You’re as lovely as ever—”
“Haven’t gotten into her bed yet, have you?” Stella asked tartly.
“Stella, dear Stella, don’t tell me you’re jealous because I’m here and you’re there. Ky tells me you have a handsome new shipmaster—isn’t that enough to play with?”
She should have known better than to tackle Rafe; he always had a comeback that stung worse than her attacks. “I need to talk to Ky,” she said.
“Our esteemed captain is busy at the moment, improving her physical skills with Gordon Martin. Her combat skills, I hasten to add; I’m sure she and Martin have nothing on otherwise. Are you sure I can’t help?”
“Quite sure,” Stella said. “Katrine Lamont has docked, hasn’t it?”
“Yes, why?”
She was not going to tell him and let him relay what he chose of it to Ky; she was not going to miss the triumph of having figured out so much, either. “Just call her, please. I do think it’s urgent.”
“Very well. Excuse me a moment.” He vanished from the visual pickup; apparently he was going to go after Ky in person. Stella spotted Toby across the bridge, with Rascal by his side as usual.
“Toby!”
He turned, spotted her image on the screen and came over. He had grown even more since she’d seen him last. “Stella! I’m glad to see you. Have you heard about Rascal?”
“Rascal? No, tell me.”
“They don’t have many dogs here,” Toby said. “And they’re really valuable. We’ve had offers for him up to thirty thousand credits—”
“You’re going to sell him?”
“No! No, I’d never sell Rascal. But Captain Ky thought of using him to breed, for artificial insemination, and she found this vet clinic that’ll do the collection. And she’s giving me ninety percent of the profit, for my education if…if something’s happened to my parents back home.”
“That’s—very generous, Toby.”
“I thought so. I told her it was too much, but she said Toby was my dog, and I should profit from it. They said it won’t hurt Rascal at all, just one needle-stick for the blood test.”
“That’s wonderful,” Stella said. So Ky was thinking about family after all, at least about Toby.
“I was so worried at first; I thought she might make me sell him because the price was so high, but she didn’t.” Toby’s voice broke suddenly, shifting registers; he flushed and shook his head.
“Never mind, Toby,” Stella said. “Happens to all boys.”
“I know,” he said in a croak an octave lower than before. “Rafe told me. Gordon told me. Everyone’s told me. I hate it.”
“Excuse me, Toby,” Ky said, coming up behind him. He flashed her a grin and moved away. “Hello, Stella. Things have been happening here—”
“Toby told me,” Stella said. “But I have news for you. I started looking into the doings of your Captain Furman, and you’ll never guess what he’s been up to. He’s been—”
“Illicitly trading with Osman Vatta,” Ky said, finishing her sentence.
Stella felt a stab of resentment. “How did you figure it out?”
“I didn’t, exactly. Rafe got into his files aboard Katrine Lamont. How did you figure it out?”
“Personnel records,” Stella said. “And I talked to Quincy. And then I worked through the Beulah Road route, checking the timings, and talked to our pilot. I think the trouble probably started with Mellicent.”
The look on Ky’s face was gratifying: clearly she had not figured out that part of the story. “Mellicent,” she said finally. “Harmon’s daughter? What does she have to do with it?”
“Furman courted Mellicent years ago.”
Ky’s brows rose. “Ambitious, wasn’t he?”
“That’s what I said. Quincy said it wasn’t that unusual for daughters to marry successful captains, and he’d already made a name for himself. Anyway, he wasn’t successful; she married someone else without telling him. I think that may’ve set him off, convinced him that he wouldn’t rise to his potential with Vatta.”
“I haven’t figured out how he had time to deal with Osman,” Ky said. “He was always coming in early or on time at least—”
“My pilot figured that out. He was using nonstandard routes to save
time, building a reputation for efficiency.”
“He took our ships on yellow routes?” Ky looked as if someone had hit her over the head. Stella had not expected that level of shock.
“Yes. That’s what my pilot says, that there’s no way he could have been that short on those routes on the—the green routes. She thinks he rendezvoused with Osman in one of the uninhabited systems, a transfer jump point, I think she called it.”
Ky nodded. “That makes sense. I hadn’t checked his routes yet. We do know he was meeting Osman regularly and money flowed between them. And he had accounts under other names.”
“Do you have any idea what he was trading?” Stella asked. “I haven’t been able to think of anything.”
“Data, mostly,” Ky said. “We didn’t have a chance to talk about that, but there are indications on this ship that Osman took prisoners and acquired their…um…knowledge, the kind of thing that’s readily salable. Rafe’s still stripping the files, looking for details. I haven’t reported any of this to law enforcement here, because we don’t have it all collated yet, but I think Captain Furman may also be responsible for telling Osman just how to set up the simultaneous attacks on Vatta.”
Stella felt her stomach turning to ice. “He killed my father? Your parents?”
“Not himself, but he made it possible. I’d bet on it.” Ky’s face was as grim as Stella herself felt. “And now he wants this ship, and probably your ship, and thinks he can set himself up as his own trading company.”
“That’s in his files?”
“That’s obvious, from everything he’s been doing. Why else try to discredit me?” Ky shook her head. “He’s not going to get away with it. With what you’ve got, and Rafe’s getting from his own files, we should be able to take care of Captain Furman, permanently.”
Ky half expected Furman to come to her ship in the tedious days before Stella brought in Gary Tobai, but he didn’t. He made no protest to the limits she’d put on his use of the Vatta corporate account. He did not even call. Instead, he filed formal charges against her with the local government, charges relayed by the authorities along with the date she must appear before a judicar in formal proceedings. Martin continued to monitor the activity on dockside, but everything looked normal. Shippers’ agents came, inspected cargo shipping labels, and the cargo bins moved into Cascadia’s automated cargo-handling facility to be loaded onto short-haul carriers.
Rafe continued to analyze the data he obtained from Furman’s ship files. Much of it was encrypted; though Vatta had its own encryption formats, Furman had used something else. Ky, prompted by Stella’s discoveries about Furman’s Beulah Road route, looked for anything resembling a jump-point designation, but so far they hadn’t found it. What they had found were yet more indicators of financial irregularity. Furman had never diverted Vatta funds directly; he had not embezzled, in the usual sense. He had, however, maintained noncorporate accounts at every port, often under an alias.
“I suppose other banks aren’t as good about checking identity as Crown & Spears,” Ky said. She’d used Crown & Spears because her family did; she knew little about why it had been chosen. Furman had accounts with First Travelers, Allsystems Bancorp, Geneva Bank & Trust. Only one account was in his own name.
“He may have provided his real identity and asked to open the account in another name,” Rafe said. “That’s legal in some jurisdictions. All three of those banks do it where they can. Allsystems Bancorp, in fact, is a fairly shady enterprise.”
“But don’t they have to be licensed? Why would a system government license them if they’re dishonest?”
“I didn’t say they were dishonest, exactly. As to why—banking can be a very profitable business for the government, too. A little tax on transfers can help pay for a lot of infrastructure.”
When Ky compared the data from her ship’s autolog with the information Stella had provided, she found that Osman’s ship had indeed been at all three of the jump points she mentioned in the past twelve years, apparently alternating them. This still did not prove that anything had passed between them.
“We need the autolog of Furman’s ship,” Rafe said. “But I can’t get into it. Not yet, anyway.”
_______
Stella arrived before Rafe could break the access codes. She came at once to meet with Ky, bringing along a legal professional recommended by Crown & Spears. Ky had hoped for a private chat, a chance to mend familial fences, but Stella’s perfect jaw was set in a way that offered no hope of that, at least not until the legal matter of Ky’s identity was settled.
“We don’t have time,” Stella said. “You have to appear tomorrow, first shift.” Ky went back over what she’d already told the authorities, reassured that at least Stella didn’t think she was a changeling. The judicar had submitted questions for her to answer on official record.
Ky had never been to court on Slotter Key, or for that matter anywhere else. Her legal representative, here called a barrister, gave her another list: Rules of Conduct in Court. Some of it made obvious sense: speaking in turn, not interrupting, avoiding the use of inflammatory language. The rule requiring barristers and judicars to wear a wreath of fresh green—pine for barristers, fir for judicars—seemed as bizarre as the shape of the space station itself. Pledents—“those who plead,” her barrister explained—must wear green as well: a stole over the right shoulder if the accuser, and over the left shoulder if the defender. If the defender made a counteraccusation, the defender then wore green stoles crossed on the chest, secured by a plain green belt.
“Appropriate court stoles may be rented or purchased,” her barrister said. “As you are not a citizen, yours must have a single stripe of orange one centimeter wide, which must be centered in the stole when it’s worn. It is extremely rude to appear with an uncentered stripe.”
The courtroom itself was a room narrow for its height, slightly wedge-shaped, with a plain dark wood bench on a raised platform along either side and across the narrow end. At equal intervals on both sides were half columns that appeared to be replicas of tree trunks with coarsely textured bark; the entire narrow end looked like one massive trunk, and Ky realized, glancing up, that the ceiling was higher there. The floor was covered in a resilient, dark, textured material that dampened sound. Between the “trees,” the walls were dark green, subtly patterned with darker tones as if by layers of leaves in a shady forest. Overhead seemed to be a mix of lighter greens and golds, again patterned subtly. Brilliant spotlights stabbed down here and there, and the effect was much like walking through such a forest, especially because of the pine smell from her barrister’s wreath.
As defender and counteraccuser, Ky was assigned the bench on the left as they entered, and Furman was assigned the right. Guided by her barrister, she and Stella filed in between their bench and the narrow, slant-topped table in front of it. As they sat down, the tabletop lit and displayed the case number, her name, her barrister’s name, and asked for her thumbprint to verify that she was in fact the person seated there. Ky complied.
Down the room, the door opened again and Furman came in, scowling. He wore only the one stole, its orange stripe correctly centered, and his barrister, like her own, wore a wreath of pine. They worked their way into their own space across from her. Ky watched as Furman pressed his thumb to his own tabletop, presumably for the same reason she had.
A dark opening appeared in the narrow end of the room, and a light shone on it. Ky’s barrister nudged her and she nudged Stella; they all stood. The judicar seemed to climb up from below the opening; they saw his fir wreath first, like a bushy green bird’s nest, then his face, and finally his body. Ky felt an almost uncontrollable urge to giggle, which she knew was merely anxiety, and tightened her lips. Laughing in court was a grave offense.
“As trees contend with trees for light, so do persons contend with persons for the truth, which is the mind’s light,” the judicar said solemnly. His face, under the fir wreath, was broad, sun-marked, with laugh
wrinkles at the corners of the gray eyes. In his gray-streaked beard, he had tied the lengths of green silk with which he would bind his verdict.
“Barristers!” That came out in a rough bark that made Ky jump. Her barrister and Furman’s bowed. “Can you not bring your clients to agreement without troubling the Tree?”
“No, Forest Lord,” they said in unison.
“Pledents!” Ky understood that he was now speaking directly to her and to Furman. “Can you not share the light as trees do, without contention?”
“No, Forest Lord,” Ky said; Furman echoed a moment after her.
“Very well. Be seated.”
The bench was hard. Her barrister had explained that the Cascadians did not approve of lengthy legal wrangles, so the benches had no cushions, backs, or armrests. No one was allowed to lean against the wall, either…the walls were wired, and leaners got a sharp shock. Her back twinged already.
“The pledent Furman has alleged that the defendant Vatta is not in fact the individual Kylara Vatta as identified on entry to the Moscoe Confederation,” the judicar said. “The pledent Furman has alleged that this individual is instead another member of the Vatta family. This court finds no reason why that should matter to the Moscoe Confederation.”
“That’s ridiculous!” Furman said, standing up. His face had gone red. His barrister grabbed his arm and pulled him back
“The pledent will be seated,” the judicar said. “The pledent will recall the rules of this court and this Confederation, in which rudeness is not tolerated, and refrain from gratuitous insults to the bench.” He cleared his throat. “The pledent’s barrister will remind his client that pledents are not to speak without direct address from the court. The pledent’s barrister may now explain why this court should care which member of a foreign family is here.”
Engaging the Enemy Page 31
