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 they’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 protective 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?”
“We did drill in them aboard the ship,” Toby said.
“Good. Now. I’ve set all the external systems on full alarm. You have an implant—let’s see—you should have channel fourteen open, right?”
“Right,” Toby said, looking more enthusiastic.
“I’ll program the alarms to ping your implant. First ping—anything, no matter how minor—suit up. Second ping, get the weapon and back into the toilet space. You have a clear line of fire, and they have to find you. Don’t, please, shoot us when we come back.”
“I won’t,” Toby said.
“And dial yourself some high protein now, about a hundred grams. We’ll be back in a couple of hours, I expect.”
Toby looked at Stella, and she made herself smile at him. “Don’t fret, Toby, we’ll be back for you.”
Not surprisingly, Rafe had covert exits from his shop, and he and Stella finally emerged two passages over. They looked, she thought, like any young businesswoman and her older male escort—his gray hair and conservative clothes were, she knew, a disguise—but she was too aware of the potential danger. The attackers would certainly have vidscan of her from dockside, and possibly a line into Customs and Immigration.
“We need to stop by here,” Rafe said, as they neared a small café.
“We do?” Stella said, but followed his lead. She was certain he wasn’t after a quick snack, but he sat down in an empty booth, facing the door. Stella sat opposite him, and her back itched. Facing the door was her choice.
“Rafe—heard you had some problems over at your place.” That was a brisk-looking man with a long apron and a pot of something in his hand.
“Idiots tried to burn in my front door,” Rafe said. “I tell you, Lars, this about does me in. Trade’s been down, and I’ve foisted off all the old books and prints and statuettes you longtime stationers can absorb—”
The man laughed. “You’re right there. We still haven’t finished The Longway Saga, and Myths of Ancient Rome may never make it off the shelf.”
“They don’t know when they’ll get to my security grille, let alone the door, and I don’t know if I can afford it anyway. Can’t do business until it’s fixed, not without going out with a box and obstructing the common walkway.”
“Which is against the fire code. Right. Coffee?”
“No . . . I was wondering if you’d seen Joey.”
“Ah, Joey. Well, I heard he was assisting the police with their inquiries . . . I told you, Rafe, Joey could get you into trouble.”
“He’s not bad,” Rafe said. “Want you to meet my friend Sally here.”
“Sally,” the man said. “Any friend of Rafe’s . . .” His voice trailed away; he looked past them, his gaze sharpening.
“Be right with you,” he said; then, to Rafe, “Strangers. Trouble?”
“Maybe,” Rafe said. “I’d hate to cause a problem—”
“No problem.” The man moved in the direction of his gaze; Stella fought the urge to turn around.
“We might have to leave,” Rafe said to her. “I’m sorry—I thought a snack would do you good.”
Stella kept her own voice low. “Very interesting girl, Sally.”
“Oh yes. Known her a long time, I have. Once had a thing for her. She teaches primary.”
“Teaches?”
“Quite firm with the little lads, I understand. A bit of a softy with the girls, especially the pretty ones.”
Stella felt her face heating. “You are a wicked man, you know that?”
“Oh, darlin’, I know that very well. You look pretty when you’re mad, Sally dear.”
“You do realize I don’t have to be mad to move fast?”
“That’s good because—come on!” He was out of the booth, walking toward the back entrance, as someone behind her let out a yowl of pain. Stella slid out of the booth and followed, not looking around. She could hear the proprietor’s apologies, profuse and urgent, and the angry voices of at least two men, and then they were through the swinging door in a cramped kitchen, where a gray-haired woman kneaded a pile of dough on a counter and a skinny girl had her head in an oven, an array of tools spread on its open door.
“Oh, Rafe,” the older woman said. “I’ve been meaning to tell you—I’m really enjoying The Longway Saga.”
“I’m glad, Tulie. Catch you later, maybe?”
“Sure. Ginny, get your head out of that oven and say hello to Rafe and—”
“Sally,” Rafe said firmly. “Never mind, Ginny, we’re just passing through.”
“Some idiot put a number six cone in here instead of a number eight.” The girl’s voice sounded strange, coming from inside the oven. “Hi Rafe, ’bye Rafe.”
The back door let them out into a passage much like that behind Rafe’s shop. “So all the bad guys aren’t gone,” Stella said.
“Apparently not. We’ll have to go to Tommy’s. I was hoping to avoid that. Joey’s a leetle more reliable, for this kind of thing.”
“Picking up my gear at the dock?” Stella said.
He looked at her. This time her insides did nothing. “No,” he said, after that long look. “And we have to go to Tommy’s first.”
Tommy’s appeared to be a home furnishings store, complete with new and used items and an instore fabricator for custom orders. DESIGN YOUR OWN BED, the poster read. The illustration was nothing Stella would want to sleep in, but she supposed there were people of certain persuasions who would find it . . . useful. Certainly not restful. As she looked around, more and more of the items seemed suitable for a particular clientele.
“Don’t worry,” Rafe said. “Tommy’s staked out a market niche, but it’s not the one he lives in.”
Before Stella could ask, Tommy himself appeared. He dressed to appeal to the market niche, Stella assumed, and since it wasn’t the one she lived in, either, she felt uncomfortable.
Rafe wasted no time in pleasantries. “Alternate IDs, Tommy. How much, how fast?”
Tommy’s full red lips pursed. “You have a problem, Rafe? I don’t want trouble with the police. In my line of business, you know, I can’t afford—”
“To have them know that you’re playing with the stationmaster’s daughter? I suppose not.”
Tommy paled. “How’d you—what makes you think I—”
“She told me,” Rafe said. “I’m her father confessor or something like that . . . you really shouldn’t, Tommy. Young girls are not reliable about keeping secrets. You know that.”
“I know you’re a pain in the—” Tommy looked at Stella. “And who’s this, some female agent?”
“A friend,” Rafe said. “To return to my first question: how fast, how much?”
“Two hours each. Five thousand each. Hard goods.”
“Fine. We need three. Me, her, and a fourteen-year-old kid, male, shorter than her, dark hair, dark eyes—”
“I need the data.”
“Tommy . . . these are alternate IDs. You make the data up. And you don’t screw around. We’ll be back in two hours, with the goods. Squeal, and the deal’s off.”
“But I—I said two hours each.”
“And I said we’d be back in two hours. Get busy.”
“But if I—”
“If you don’t,” Rafe said, rounding on him, “then the stationmaster’s daughter will have a very unpleasant discussion with her mother, and her mother will have an even more unpleasant discussion with you. You did know the father’s one of Bruno’s men?”
Tommy’s skin paled even more and acquired a green undercast.
“So you will have them ready, and we will pick them up, and you will have some trade goods and all will be calm and bright . . . won’t it?”
“Y-yes, Rafe. Ma’am.”
“Come on, Sal. Time to make tracks and drive a train on them.”
From Tommy’s, they traveled a fast, direct route to the docks, and Rafe stayed back as Stella walked up to the ISC dock warden, who waved to her. “Glad you’re here, Sera, because the captain is ready to break loose. Your duffel’s here; they said something about a burst message?”
“No recording where I was. Can I use your set?”
“Of course, Sera. I hear one of the crew lived?”
“A boy. Apprentice. I’ve got to take him somewhere. Nobody’s going to Slotter Key, I know that . . . I’ve hired a guard.”
“Yeah. I see him. Looks kinda old.”
“Age and treachery over youth and beauty, Pete,” Stella said. She put on the headpiece, tapping the connection to be sure it was seated against her implant’s external pickup, and closed her eyes. Composing a burst message required total concentration. She had thought through what she needed to send, and was almost finished when her concentration broke at the sound of weapons fire.