She lay down on the floor on the off side of her bed, her pistol under the pillow she took from the bed. When she woke again, two hours later, nothing had triggered her implant alarm, and she felt remarkably rested…and even more convinced she was right. It was nearly time for the morning buzzer. What would Marek have come up with? She fastened her uniform jacket, and—pistol comfortably nestled in its holster—opened the door. The next door, Jen’s, was ajar.
Her heart thudded. Had Marek killed Jen? But he knew she herself was the more dangerous one. Why would he attack Jen? She stood still, listening. Not a sound from the passage; then the sound of the morning buzzer. Time for the next shift to get up for the watch change. Creaking of beds, thumps of feet hitting the floor. Ky stepped out, closed her door behind her, locked it. Whatever Marek was doing, soon the others would be out and about. He would probably avoid a confrontation in front of others.
She walked down the passage toward the toilets and showers. She saw McLenard and Kamat come out of the barracks, headed for the mess. They were today’s kitchen helpers, she remembered. She heard Marek’s voice from up the passage to the ramp upstairs and the sound of boots—someone else coming down. Everything seemed normal, but what about Jen? How was she going to tell Jen and when?
Just then Jen emerged from the bathrooms, her uniform perfect as always. “Good morning, Admiral Vatta,” she said as usual. “I trust you slept well?”
“A touch of headache overnight, so I went in the kitchen and made tea,” Ky said. “Better now.”
“I need to speak to you privately,” Jen said, in a much quieter tone. “The staff office?”
“What is it?” Ky asked, not moving. She didn’t have time for another of Jen’s complaints about someone out of uniform or failing in Cascadian standards of courtesy.
“It’s a personnel problem. We really should be private.”
The staff office would not do, nor would her own quarters. Marek had been in both and might—probably did—have surveillance running. “Let’s take another look at the T,” Ky said. “Nobody goes down that way.”
She led the way. The T was, as nearly always, completely empty. Down at the end, the pressure door’s locks and wheel looked just the same as always, and Ky was uneasily aware that they were now at the end of a perfect firing range, next to the target. She looked back down the passage and stepped into the laundry.
“Now—what’s the problem?” Ky asked.
Jen pursed her lips in exactly the way Ky’s mother had years ago. “The problem is a personnel matter. Surely you are aware of the way your over-familiarity has eroded proper military discipline.”
“My over-familiarity? What are you talking about?” This was the last thing Ky had expected.
“You chat casually with enlisted personnel about non-task topics; you allow far too much free time; you even—and it pains me to have to say this to a fellow officer—you even spend idle time alone, with…with Master Sergeant Marek.”
Ky felt a flash of anger, but her implant flushed the hormones down to normal levels. “I had a headache last night and went to the kitchen to make tea. Master Sergeant Marek was on duty, and found me there. You can ask him.”
“You weren’t back in your quarters for over an hour! That’s more than tea!” Red patches stood out on Jen’s cheeks. She looked as tense as if she were about to spring at Ky.
Ky stared back, confused. What was this about? “What do you think I was doing besides drinking tea and then going to the toilet?”
“You’re always spending time with Master Sergeant Marek. What do you think I’m thinking? What everyone’s thinking?”
It was so ludicrous Ky nearly burst out laughing; the last of her anger vanished. “Sex?” she asked, trying to keep the laughter out of her voice. “With him?”
“He’s a very attractive man,” Jen said in a prim tone. “He’s older, mature, perhaps reminds you of your father…”
“What?”
“And that’s why you’re becoming too familiar—”
“Jen. Commander. Stop right there.” Ky held up her hand as she took a deep breath. “Master Sergeant Marek is the ranking enlisted in this group, and the ranking member of the Slotter Key personnel. When I took command—”
“Which you had no legal right to do, I hope you realize!”
“Who do you—” No. Never ask a question to which the answer can be something you don’t want to know. “I was the senior surviving officer and I do have a Slotter Key Spaceforce background.”
“But—”
Ky held up her hand again; Jen looked angry, but didn’t interrupt. “And I asked Master Sergeant Marek if he would have a problem if I took over. He did not.”
“What could he have said, with you the returning hero? Using your prestige to overwhelm—”
“He could have cited military law—I’m sure he knows it—and so could I. Slotter Key military law allows for transfer of command to any commissioned officer in an emergency when the usual chain of command is broken. That’s why Major Yamini—a Slotter Key Spaceforce adviser aboard Captain Argelos’ ship—agreed to operate under my command at the Battle of Boxtop. I’m sorry you weren’t there; it would have saved you concern about the legality of my taking command here.”
“That may be true,” Jen said in a tone that conveyed doubt, “but I’m talking about more than your taking command. It’s your demeanor with Master Sergeant Marek—and with the others as well. You are not maintaining appropriate discipline. It’s not like it was down on the shore—it’s not an emergency anymore. We’re in a safe place, warm, dry, with plenty of food—but you allow undue familiarity, and indeed you practice it yourself.”
Clearly Jen had a load of grievances, but time was passing and Ky could not let this go on all day. How could Jen think the emergency was over? They were still unable to communicate, except by a cranial ansible she dared not use now, still isolated, still in danger the moment they went outside into the frigid winter. Ten or twenty days of comfort did not mean they were safe forever.
Jen went on. “I know about you and Marek…I saw him come out of your quarters at 1400 three days ago. It wasn’t his shift—”
“Where were you?” Ky asked. So Jen had been spying on her—bad enough, but why?
“In my quarters. I heard voices in yours, and then—”
“You looked out your door—”
“Yes. And Master Sergeant Marek came out and when he saw me he looked…well…embarrassed. And he made a sign with his hand and shut the door behind him. He greeted me politely enough. I asked what he was doing in your quarters, and he said he’d been checking on an anomaly in the electrical circuits, which I did not believe for a moment. When he’d gone down the passage, I knocked on your door and you didn’t answer. I suppose you were pulling on your clothes.” That in a tone of prudish outrage.
Ky fought down her own anger, struggling for a cool, level tone. “I didn’t answer because I wasn’t there, Jen. At 1400 three days ago I was topside doing a weather check. Did you not think of checking the signout roster?”
“You could have had someone add your name.”
Worse and worse. “You think I’d alter a roster?”
“If you were trying to hide—that.”
“I’m not trying to hide anything. I spoke to Tech Lundin on the way up the passage, and Ennisay and Kamat had the top guard. Ask them, if you think I’m a liar—but if you do, then we need to have a serious talk about your behavior. If Marek was in my quarters and you heard voices, then someone else was in there, too. I was not.”
Jen still looked angry. “And you just did it again.”
“What?”
“You just call them by their names. You almost never use proper address. It’s Medtech Lundin and Private Ennisay and Specialist Kamat—”
Ky’s patience snapped. “I’ve told you before: this is Slotter Key. We have our own usage. Last names without rank or grade are the way we say it when it’s clear who’s meant. What
’s not acceptable is you—my aide.”
“It’s my duty—”
“No. It’s not. Apparently you decided some time back that I was wrong in taking command here and instead of asking me about the legalities—which I would have explained, and so could Master Sergeant Marek—you went on from there to imagine that I was guilty of other inappropriate behavior, including having sex with an enlisted man, without ever checking to see what I was actually doing.”
“But—”
“And that is no part of an aide’s duties, or any military officer’s duties. You owed me the basic courtesy of coming to me as soon as you had such concerns, and of ascertaining that you had the facts right before making such accusations.”
“I did come to you—about spending so much time with Master Sergeant Marek—and I know it bothered him—”
Ky registered the change in Jen’s tone. The meaning came a moment later. “You know—how?”
“He said—I could tell he was distressed—I asked if I could help—he said he was worried about you. Being so young and so inexperienced.”
This could not go on, not here, not now, and not after what Ky had discovered the night before. She let her voice harden. “Commander, we have spent enough time here; we will continue this discussion in a more suitable place. Come with me.”
Jen had gone from flushed to pale. “What do you mean—?”
“What I said.” Ky pushed away from the wall and headed back to the main corridor. “Come along.” As she walked, she thought about Jen’s story of seeing Marek come out of her room. That certainly fit with her suspicions, but why another person in the room? Surely he hadn’t used her room for an assignation with one of the female enlisted. One of the storerooms would have been safer. And who had it been? If Jen hadn’t been so convinced it was Ky, she might have found out who the other saboteur was.
She could not afford anger right now: now was the time for very clear thinking. Most of the things she might have done in other circumstances would not work here and now. She could not have Marek arrested: they had no security force equivalent. She could not call for a trial: she had no legal jurisdiction and she knew that the rest of the Slotter Key survivors would not go along with that even if none of the others were co-conspirators. Just killing Marek without warning would break the bond between her and the others, and they all needed to cooperate to survive. Even with the supplies and shelter they’d found, only a coherent group would make it through the time until thaw. If in fact it thawed here.
And what then? Every indication was that this station was in use regularly. At some point, those who had built it, maintained it, used it—and kept it secret—would come back. They would not be pleased to find survivors in their facility. Most likely they’d kill the others. She had to prevent that, and that meant keeping the entire group together, healthy, fit, prepared for whatever might happen.
Which also meant dealing with Jen, and Marek, and whoever else Marek had been working with, because all of those were undermining her, dividing the group into opposing segments. Jen first—Jen had no attachment to the Slotter Key survivors, except perhaps to Marek, and could not take over if Ky fell.
“What about breakfast?” Jen said, pausing at the juncture that led to the mess hall.
“We’re not done,” Ky said. “We can eat later. This way.” Jen scowled but followed her up the main corridor.
Where could they go and be alone, unheard, and yet not too vulnerable if Marek had spooked and thought of killing the two officers at once? She dismissed the restrooms, the storage rooms. The armory—that could work. And she could change the ammunition in her magazines to what she preferred for an indoor firefight.
Where was Marek? Voices from the mess suggested that most of the others were eating breakfast. She had to hope he was there, too.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
MIKSLAND
DAY 49
Marek watched the others eat their breakfast; his own bowl of porridge was untouched. He wasn’t hungry; his stomach was tight with anxiety. Why had Admiral Vatta been fumbling around in the darkened kitchen? Her story about a headache might be true, but he hadn’t found her in the clinic with a packet of pills—and she hadn’t been near the cooktop or the sink. What if she suspected something? What if she’d realized—but how?—that the power supply in her quarters had been sabotaged? If she had plugged in, she should be dead. He felt sweat gathering on him, a reaction he could not control.
“What’s the matter, Master Sergeant? Are you sick?” McLenard sounded genuinely concerned.
Marek shook his head. “No, just thinking. Don’t worry; I’m not going to waste food.” He had to eat. Others were watching him now. He had to act normal, as if nothing at all bothered him. Everything was fine. His stomach still felt tight, but he forced down a spoonful of porridge, then another. Surely he could finish a bowl of porridge. Each spoonful seemed to swell in his mouth, harder to swallow than the one before. He kept on, with no more interruptions, until his bowl was almost empty. When he looked up, the others were snatching hot sweet rolls off a tray; he got up quickly, took his bowl to the hatch for dirty dishes, and swiped out the remainder of his porridge with a rag, shaking it into the trash.
“You all right?” Kamat, one of the kitchen scrubs that day, peered through the hatch at him.
“Fine,” Marek said. “But I thought of something I need to do.” He made it to the closed stalls in sanitation and threw up tidily, then flushed it away, washed his face, and looked at himself in the mirror. He looked as he felt, hollow-eyed, off color, sweating. No wonder they’d asked him if he was sick. Would a shower help? Would anything? He had hoped Admiral Vatta would plug in that abomination in her head and die instantly, painlessly, to be found the next day. She didn’t deserve to die, really; he admired her as much as any officer he’d served. She was smart, brave, and a good commander. She’d saved his life. Maybe he should have let go of that rescue ring, died that first day.
But his employers might have killed his family even though he was dead, because he had not kept strangers from the secret base. It was his fault they had made it to land, his fault they had left the beach, all of it his fault, they would say. So she had to die, but he’d hoped it would be quick and he wouldn’t have to see it.
All because she knew this place existed. Had been inside it. And would not keep its secret. Commander Bentik had seen her one night in the second hut, a power cable plugged into that abomination in her head, talking softly. She had already told someone where she was. Sometime in the next months she would open that next door—he wasn’t sure why she hadn’t already done it, except they’d been busy and he’d argued that it might be dangerous. She would find proof that this base was clandestine—she already suspected that. She would find the commander’s office, explore the desk, find the empty gun case…and all too easily figure out who might have taken it.
When warm weather came, when his employers came back with the seasonal crew, she would confront them—he knew that—and then they would kill everyone. The only way to save the others from his employers—the only way to keep them alive—to save his own family—was to ensure that they all agreed to keep the secret of this place’s existence, and limit the secrets they knew about. He swallowed hard against another rise of burning liquid. Perhaps she hadn’t found out about the power…but his gut was sure she had.
He had seen her talking to Commander Bentik on his way to the mess hall; neither of them looked happy. And he had not seen either when he hurried out, nauseated, after he ate. Bentik was on his side, he knew. She had accepted his comments about the admiral’s immaturity almost eagerly; she was someone of his generation and that meant…he was not sure what, with a Cascadian. But she had already been cold toward the admiral, critical of her command style, and she had warmed to his attention. Had she told Admiral Vatta about their conversations? That, he knew, would not go over well, if she had.
He washed his face again, took deep breaths. His color was co
ming back to normal, but he still looked far too troubled and grim, and his attempt at a smile looked clownish. He heard other toilets flushing, flushed his again, another handwash, and then out into the main room, where five people were brushing their teeth at the row of sinks. Without speaking to them he went to his own quarters and retrieved the pistol he’d taken from the armory and concealed under his mattress. Riyahn had known how to disable the palm lock, and he had a full clip in it. Now to find out where the admiral and her aide were.
—
The armory door was closed, as it should be. Ky tapped the code onto the pad. Jen stopped an arm’s length away as the door opened.
“What are you doing? Why do you want me in there?”
“Because it’s quiet and out of the way and the door locks from the inside as well as outside,” Ky said. “Come on.”
“You—you’re going to shoot me!”
Ky let contempt edge her voice. “No. Don’t be ridiculous. We have nowhere else in this complex as secure, and when officers have a disagreement they do not argue in front of enlisted. I know Cascadia has that rule as well.”
Jen reddened but came into the armory quickly. “It was rude to call me ridiculous.”
“Yes, it was.” Ky locked the door. “And it was rude for you to claim I was sleeping with Master Sergeant Marek. Tit for tat. I remind you again that you are on Slotter Key, not Cascadia Station.” Ky put an acoustic tab on the inside of the lock. If anyone tried to key in, she’d hear it. Jen, she saw, had moved to the other side of the room, back against the wall near the ammunition cabinets. Ky glanced around at the weapons racked behind transparent covers, organized by type. No gaps in the displays—but was that really all? Some weapons racks stored more than were apparent.
She pulled out her personal security set and scanned the room. Sure enough, there were pickups in three places; she reset the controls and hoped her set’s output was accurate in reporting that they had been scrambled.
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