Cold Welcome

by Elizabeth Moon

  Then she opened the nearest ammunition cabinet, shut and locked it, and opened the next. Jen stiffened and gasped. “Are you going to shoot—?”

  “If I wanted to shoot you, I’d have done so already,” Ky said. “I have plenty of rounds for that. I’m checking inventory.”

  “But nobody can use any of these—”

  “So we were told. If I find a brick missing I’ll be fairly sure someone else is armed.”

  Jen stared at her. “You think someone stole a weapon?”

  “It’s possible. Did you?”

  “Me? Why would I—I don’t even know how to use one.”

  Ky shrugged. “When I first saw these open, there were thirteen bricks—cartons—of 10mm rounds in this cabinet. Seven cartons of solid slugs, three of flechettes, three with chemstun rounds. Now there are none. 10mm wasn’t a standard Slotter Key military caliber when I was in training here, and none of the weapons in these racks use that caliber ammunition. But I have a pistol that takes 10mm rounds, and Marek knows that. Someone took—or hid—the ammunition that fits my weapon. I need to know if I can trust you—so answer the question: did you take any ammunition out of any of these cabinets?”

  “No! Of course not! Why would you doubt my—”

  “Because of what you’ve said. It’s clear you are being influenced by Marek; you and he have discussed me behind my back; you or he or both assumed a sexual relationship. That is disloyal, and not something I expected from any Cascadian. So I do doubt you, and on good grounds. Your behavior would warrant disciplinary action in a Slotter Key unit. Explain to me how you convinced yourself that your actions have been appropriate.”

  Jen blinked. “You think I was disloyal? What about you?”

  “Right now, we’re talking about you. What part of military courtesy includes gossiping about your commander with an enlisted man?” Ky kept her voice level.

  “I didn’t—it wasn’t like that.”

  “Explain it to me. What was it like?”

  “You don’t have to be so harsh—you’re scaring me.” Jen’s voice rose.

  “Commander Bentik,” Ky said, “answer the question.”

  “It wasn’t gossip. It was—I was concerned. He was concerned. We were discussing legitimate concerns—”

  “Secretly,” Ky pointed out. “Even if they were legitimate concerns, you were conspiring against a commanding officer—”

  “No!” After a moment, Jen went on. “We weren’t—but he was concerned. He came to me as an officer—he said you were…” She reddened again. “…too casual with him. With everyone, really, but especially him, and he didn’t know how to handle it. That you were too young to have such high rank, and clearly you were a genius with space combat, but he’d seen brilliant young women officers before and they mostly had this weakness when it came to relationships with men. They…they didn’t know how…he hoped I would be able to help you, he said, because I was more mature, more stable…” Her voice trailed away; her gaze shifted from Ky.

  “And you believed him,” Ky said, making it almost an accusation.

  “Well…yes. You said yourself he was a good senior NCO; I could see that you liked him, trusted him. He was always respectful, serious, concerned about everyone. Very conscientious.”

  “And flattering to you,” Ky said.

  “He never said anything like that!”

  “He flattered your age and experience. I can imagine it felt natural. Deserved.”

  “Well…yes. I am older. In my military, I would be the commander. I come from a good family, with a good reputation. I do have more experience—”

  “In some things, certainly. In others perhaps not.” Ky struggled to find words Jen could understand and then accept. Her anger had cooled; she felt a twinge of pity for this woman, so upright, so convinced of her own virtue. Marek would have noticed by now they weren’t at breakfast. Would he panic and come after them? Did he have a weapon? “My problem now—as the senior officer, as the officer presently in charge of this unit, irregular as that may be—is that you, who should be my second in command, have no experience in either our present tactical situation or commanding non-administrative troops. Worse, you do not respect my experience in those areas.”

  “I—I do respect you—”

  “Really? Because what you’ve said this morning—and your behavior with Master Sergeant Marek—certainly doesn’t sound like it to me. It sounds much more like someone who has completely lost respect for her commander, both as a competent officer and as a person of character.”

  Jen said nothing, looking as if she was about to cry. Did she finally grasp how far out of line she had been? For the sake of them all, Ky could not afford to pity her, not now. “We are still in a dangerous situation,” Ky said. “Not merely being marooned far from any aid during the worst of winter, dependent on this facility and what it holds—which at least seems to be sufficient, with care, to last until spring. But also the fact that we are occupying a facility that is not supposed to exist. Has it not occurred to you that those who have such secrets want them kept? That a change in seasons may bring us not rescue but those intent on protecting their investment here and killing us?”

  “Of course they wouldn’t—even Slotter Key is civilized—Marek said—”

  “What?”

  “He said whoever used that landing strip would not mind that we used this in an emergency—they would be glad we’d survived; they’d take us back to the capital.”

  “Marek said.” Ky shook her head. “Marek is not in your chain of command. Neither Cascadian nor SDF. You have no reason to trust what he says except that you prefer him to me.”

  “That’s—that’s paranoia—”

  “Master Sergeant Marek,” Ky said, biting off each word, “tried to kill me. He changed the voltage in the outlets in my quarters—he was probably doing that when you heard those noises you were so sure were a sexual escapade.”

  Jen’s mouth fell open. Ky went on, not pausing.

  “That is not the first thing he has done. He argued against landing in the bay, and then against exploring inland, even though it was obvious we could not survive at the shore without more supplies. After we found this base, he thought we should stay in the huts topside—you must have heard that—when it was clear the food stores there were not enough to last out the winter. Several times he tried to talk me out of my sidearm, claiming he was a better shot and might bring down one of those animals.”

  “But he cares for the troops—”

  “Yes, I believe he does. But not as much as he wanted all this”—Ky waved at the room—“to remain a secret. I suspect he thinks he can convince his allies—the ones who built the place—not to kill them all. I think he’s wrong about that. Someone who’s kept a secret like this as long as it’s been kept—while using regular military to work in it—will have killed before without a qualm.”

  Ky opened a third cabinet, and then a fourth, rummaging through to check every container of ammunition. “Ahhh…”

  “What?”

  “Simple misdirection. Here are the 10mm rounds.” She set the boxes on one of the worktables, took out her spare clip, and changed out the chemstun rounds in it for more flechettes. “I can’t use chemstun rounds here until we locate some gas filters. Haven’t seen any yet. Slightly suspicious. They’re standard emergency stock for all Slotter Key military installations. Or were. It has been a few years.”

  “You think someone took them—like they hid the ammunition?”

  “Could be. Could be they weren’t supplied here for some reason.” Ky slid the last round home in that clip and considered the one in her pistol. All spudders now, the solid rounds that could punch through vital equipment in a spaceship or station. Did she want a mix with flechettes? She decided against it, not wanting her weapon unloaded for even an instant. She pocketed the remaining rounds, put her five chemstun rounds in the box that had held flechettes. She moved all the boxes to the first cabinet she’d opened, chec
king this one more carefully, and found five of the boxes of 10mm spudders behind the front stacks.

  She wished she knew what weapon he had and what his proficiency really was. Though he had tried an indirect, clandestine method first, she was certain he had a firearm by now and would use it if nothing else worked to quietly remove her. Was it something that used 10mm ammunition? She did not want to face chemical rounds without protection.

  The alarm she’d put on the door pinged. She looked at Jen, motioned to her to get down, out of sight from the door behind one of the worktables. She had her own weapon out, and eased over to the near wall. The door opened. Corporal Inyatta’s voice: “Admiral? Are you in here? Master Sergeant Marek is looking for you or Commander Bentik…we all are.” Inyatta’s hand was on the doorframe; her head poked in, but she was looking across the room, toward the door to the firing range.

  “What made you look here?” Ky asked. Inyatta startled, then looked along the wall at her, wide-eyed.

  “Admiral? Uh—Master Sergeant said—” Inyatta’s focus shifted to the firearm pointed at her. “You aren’t—please—”

  “Just answer my questions,” Ky said. “Where is the master sergeant?”

  “Uh—behind me—and he’s—” Inyatta staggered forward, obviously pushed hard by someone behind her. Marek lunged through the door, swung around and fired at Ky but missed, his first shots ricocheting off the reinforced walls while her first shot took him square in the chest and the second in the head as he slumped. His pistol fell, skittering on the floor still firing until the magazine emptied. One of the ricochets thumped into her back; she felt a flare of heat from her armor. Even as shouts and screams broke out in the passage, it was over.

  She was alive, with no more than a bruise; Marek lay in a pool of blood, spattered blood and brain from the head shot beyond; Inyatta was down on the floor a few feet from Marek, also bleeding. The now-familiar surge of triumph faded this time into regret. She had liked Marek. She had wished—even after being sure of his treachery—that she would find some way to spare him that would also save the rest.

  Ky glanced aside and did not see Jen. “Jen! Are you all right?” No answer. “Corporal Inyatta?”

  “I’m hit,” Inyatta said. “I don’t know—”

  Corporal Riyahn burst into the room, wild-eyed and screaming. “You murderer! You killed him!” He scarcely looked at Ky as he stooped over Marek’s body, reaching for Marek’s firearm.

  Someone from outside yelled “Stop! No! Don’t!”

  “Stand back, or I’ll shoot,” Ky said. Riyahn looked at her; his eyes widened as he took in her weapon pointed at him. His hand pulled back from Marek’s pistol as if he’d had an electric shock.

  “No—don’t shoot me!”

  Ky walked forward, next to the wall, keeping her weapon trained on him. “Hands on your head. Now!” He stood up, raised his hands. “Walk to the opposite wall. Stay there until I tell you differently. If you do not, I will shoot.” He moved jerkily, slipped on the blood, recovered, kept moving toward the wall.

  The voices outside had quieted to soft murmurs Ky could not quite distinguish. They sounded scared, which they would be. All that blood. The smell of blood and death. Familiar to her, by now, but most of them, she knew, had never seen combat.

  “Staff Sergeant!” Surely one of the staff sergeants would be with that group, but which? Kurin, she hoped. Kurin knew her best. Silence outside now, a long moment.

  “Staff Sergeant Gossin, Admiral, now senior NCO.” Gossin’s voice expressed distrust and resistance.

  Gossin had been in the lifeboat with Marek. What stories had he spun for her? “We have at least one injured person, Staff. Find Tech Lundin and send her in.”

  “Here, sir. I’m coming in—” Lundin, sounding more composed than Ky expected. But as a medic, perhaps she’d seen accident victims, even murder victims, before.

  “Wait! She’s still armed; it’s not safe.” Gossin’s voice.

  “Staff, stand down. I’m not going to shoot a medtech. Corporal Inyatta needs her.”

  “She’s not going to shoot me,” Lundin said, still calm. “Let go of me.”

  “She better not,” Gossin said. “Admiral, I wish to express my disapproval of your illegal behavior.”

  Lundin came in and went immediately to Inyatta. She had brought her kit with her.

  “We can discuss that later, Staff. Right now, I need two people to take Corporal Riyahn into custody and keep him there until we can sort this out. He attempted to grab Marek’s firearm when he first came in. It’s evidence.”

  “Evidence?”

  “Yes. No one should touch it, or mine, until they’ve been recorded for any future court.”

  “You’re…you would submit to a court?”

  “Of course,” Ky said, as if she had never in her life evaded a court procedure. “Now—I suggest Sergeant Cosper, if he’s handy, and anyone else you choose.”

  Gossin gave the orders, and Cosper and Barash came in. Ky lowered her weapon; Cosper and Barash took Riyahn out. Ky heard Gossin say, “Take him to the senior NCO quarters; you’ll find restraints in the watch office.”

  Ky laid her pistol on the nearer worktable and walked to the door where she could be seen, and see the others. It was possible Marek had armed someone else; she doubted it, but it was a risk she had to take. The greater risk was spooking already-frightened people into attacking her. A ring of frightened faces stared at her, Gossin slightly to the fore. Gossin looked first for the gun that wasn’t there, then at Ky’s face.

  “You all have questions,” Ky said, her voice steady. “But right now we have things to do. Staff, I’d like you to come in and witness the scene. Have you ever been part of an investigation before?”

  “No, Admiral.” Gossin’s tone was less hostile.

  “You will need a recorder, as well. There were some in that room up the passage—”

  “I’ll get one,” Betange said, and set off without further orders.

  “Where’s your weapon?” Gossin said. “Do you have a second one—?”

  “My pistol’s on one of the worktables; no one should touch it until it’s been examined.” Ky looked past Gossin at the others. “Anyone else have experience with an investigation?”

  A soft chorus of nos and head shakes. Betange returned with a recorder. “I know this model, sir.”

  “Then he’s your recorder, Staff. Come on in and let’s get started.”

  Ky could feel Gossin’s reluctance, but Gossin followed her into the armory and looked around, her face stiff. “Who shot first?” she asked.

  “Master Sergeant Marek. Staff, I’m going to move to where I was standing when Marek came in, so you can get an idea what happened. Were you with the group when he came in?” Ky walked back and turned around to face Gossin and Betange.

  “No…”

  “Sir! There are holes in your jacket!” Betange pointed.

  “Probably from ricochets. I was facing this way and felt something hit me in the back.”

  “But—you’re wounded.”

  “No, I’m wearing personal armor,” Ky said. “I always do. And you, Betange, need to record the position of every person and item in the room, as well as what the staff sergeant and I say. It’s very important.” He nodded and pointed the vid attachment at Marek’s body, then his weapon, then at Inyatta and Lundin kneeling beside her, and finally at Ky. He had paled, but his hands were steady on the vid.

  Gossin looked around again, this time with a more thoughtful expression. “I heard the first shots as I was maybe ten meters down the passage, coming this way,” she said. “There were six or seven people nearer; I couldn’t see exactly what he did. And he had just come in the door when he fired?”

  “He had Inyatta look in first, probably because she’d show which part of the room I was in. Then he pushed her in, came through the door, and pivoted. I was not sure he had a firearm until I saw it; I made sure he was a lethal threat before I fired.”

/>   “And he missed you?”

  “Yes. Probably his arm was still moving when he pulled the trigger. He had it locked on full auto; he dropped it after I shot him and it went on firing from the floor, recoil moving it. That’s why it’s as far from him as it is.”

  “Why did you shoot Inyatta?”

  “I didn’t.” Ky kept her voice level, informational. “I fired two shots at Marek; both hit, chest and head. Inyatta was hit by a round from Marek’s dropped weapon.”

  “Can you prove that?”

  “When Betange records the details of my weapon, yes: the clip was full, and two rounds will be missing from the clip. And you can see that Marek has entrance wounds in chest and head.”

  Gossin glanced back at Marek’s body. From her expression, she might never have seen a violent death before. “I…see.” She swallowed. “And Commander Bentik?”

  “I don’t know. She was hiding behind that table. I haven’t looked yet, but she could also have been hit, either by a ricochet or one of the stray rounds after Marek dropped his weapon.”

  “Sir, I want to get Inyatta down to the medbox in the clinic—I’ll need helpers.” Lundin sounded as calm as ever.

  “Of course, Lundin,” Ky said. “Just make sure they don’t touch Marek’s body or anything else in the room. We want to give Staff Sergeant Gossin and Betange time to record everything in here.”

  “Yes, sir.” Lundin went to the door, carefully not stepping in any of the blood, and sent someone to bring a litter from the clinic.

  “I could walk,” Inyatta said from the floor. “Just a little help.”

  “No,” Lundin said. “Just wait.”

  “Admiral,” Betange said. He nodded toward the far table. “It’s the commander. I think she’s hurt. There’s blood under her head.”

  “I’ll check,” Lundin said, moving that way. “And you should come, too, as witnesses.” Gossin and Ky followed her.

  Jen was clearly dead; at least one round had taken her in the head as she hid, and Ky felt a stab of guilt at this death she had not intended but for which she was surely responsible. She had brought Jen to this planet; she had not recognized in time what Marek had done, and she had brought Jen to this room. Why hadn’t she told Jen to hide in the interior firing range instead of this room?