CHAPTER

ELEVEN

Pete hunched behind the service counter, weapons in hand. An alarm whooped. Stella couldn’t see what was going on without unhooking the burst message headset; she reviewed what she’d recorded already, decided it was enough, coded it “interrupted/trouble,” and detached herself. The recording booth would already have transmitted the message to the courier’s shielded com center. At the ship’s access, two armored ISC security personnel were firing at something in the middle distance—near the dockside entrance, she guessed. Prudence suggested that down on the deck would be a good idea; the recording booth wasn’t armored. Stella slid down and eeled her way to Pete’s side.

He turned and tapped his implant; Stella nodded.

“That guard of yours . . . told us he spotted . . . some trouble.” Pete’s transmission was punctuated with little bursts of white sound when he fired. “He was right . . . dunno if . . . it was you or us . . . they were after.”

“I’m armed,” Stella said into her skullphone.

“Figured,” Pete said. “Just stay down.”

Always listen to the professionals, Stella had been told often enough. She pulled out her weapon anyway, and waited. Return fire ceased; the alarms silenced. Stella stayed down, not needing Pete’s reminder.

“Police are arriving,” he said, relaying information from the ISC guards at the ship access. This time he spoke into the air, and Stella answered the same way.

“Good. Safe to get up?”

“Probably, but I’d stay down another tick or so if I were you. Just in case. Oh—here comes your guard . . .”

Rafe came around the end of the counter. “You have interesting friends,” he said. “Persistent, too, if not very bright.”

“Good job you spotted them,” Pete said.

“Thank you,” Rafe said, with demureness alien to his nature. “I was lucky—they didn’t see me, and they were talking openly.”

“Ah. I’ll be glad to get off this place, and I wish you were coming with us,” Pete said to Stella.

“I’ll be all right,” Stella said, with confidence she didn’t feel.

“Hope so,” Pete said, with another glance at Rafe, this one slightly edged.

“I’ll take care of her,” Rafe said. His smile appeared entirely genuine, even to Stella.

“We’ll get your burst to HQ soonest,” Pete said to Stella.

“Anyone hurt?” came a hail from the other side of dock space.

“Not here,” Pete called back. “Just being careful.”

On the way back to 4th Blue, Rafe took every opportunity to check for followers. They dodged through restaurants, clothing stores, even a weapons shop—Rafe seemed to know everyone. Finally they took a drop tube to 2nd, and worked their way back up through Blue Sector, stopping at 3rd to pick up the new ID from Tommy.

“Don’t be surprised,” Rafe said before they entered. “Tommy’s been a bad boy and I have to do a little cleanup.”

Cleanup, where Rafe was concerned, had many variant meanings, including sudden death. Stella shrugged. If Tommy had set pursuers on them, she didn’t care what Rafe did to him. Inside, Tommy was talking to two—no, three—people who seemed to share the dominant decorating style of the place. He didn’t notice them until Rafe picked up the bald man and deposited him on an odd-shaped couch. The skinny one whirled, but Stella had her weapon out.

“Don’t,” she suggested mildly. He backed away, almost falling over a low table. That left the woman with the low-cut silver snugsuit, who walked over and sat on the bald man.

“Tommy,” Rafe said. Tommy shook his head, eyes wide, even before Rafe said, “Have you been a bad boy, Tommy?”

“Not me!” Tommy said. “I didn’t—it was—”

“I think you have, Tommy,” Rafe said. “I think you’ve been a very bad boy . . .”

Stella realized, with a lurch of disgust, that Tommy’s former customers were watching this avidly, and that Rafe was playing to them as well as to Tommy.

“I asked you to do one simple thing,” Rafe said. “One simple thing, and you couldn’t even get that right . . . went whining off to somebody for sympathy, didn’t you, Tommy?”

“I—I told you it’d take longer . . . I couldn’t . . .”

“Excuses, Tommy. Excuses are worth . . . nothing. You know there will be consequences . . .”

“No . . .”

“Oh, yes,” Rafe said. He glanced at the erstwhile customers, who were sitting in a row now, flushed and excited, and then watched Tommy as he ticked off points on his fingers. “First, disobedience . . . then disloyalty, in running off to someone else . . . and then . . . I don’t suppose you have completed the assignment?”

“I . . . I did . . . it’s ready, but . . .”

“Well, that’s something,” Rafe said, as if sorry to hear it. “But the fact remains, Tommy, that you’ve been a bad boy and bad boys must be punished. Sally, check in Tommy’s office and see if he’s telling the truth about the assignment, or if he lied . . .”

Stella, in the persona she’d been assigned, wove her way quickly through the furniture and into Tommy’s office. A folder on his desk with RAFE on the cover . . . she looked inside. Three sets of alternate ID that looked reasonably good to her less practiced eye. A stack of credits, which probably came from betraying them, with a call number, lay beside the folder. She scooped it all up, stuffed it in another folder, and went back to the front, where Rafe’s rather disgusting banter had Tommy trembling and the watchers bright-eyed.

“The assignment was complete,” Stella said. “But he had a stack of money and a call number with it.”

“Tsk, tsk,” Rafe said. “Naughty Tommy . . . and what shall we do with a naughty boy, mmm?” He glanced again at his audience. “Should I tell them who else you’ve been playing with, perhaps?”

“No!” Tommy jumped as if he’d been touched with a live wire.

“He has very special tastes,” Rafe said to the audience. “You would be surprised.” Then to Tommy, “But I think there’s a punishment to fit this crime. One particularly suitable to someone of your . . . type. Over here . . .”

Stella pretended disdain, while Rafe attached Tommy to some of his merchandise, explaining to the audience that of course Tommy would forfeit the reward he’d been promised for doing a tedious chore, but that he, Rafe, had matters awaiting and perhaps they would like to amuse themselves in the store until Tommy managed to get himself loose. If he could.

“And don’t pay any attention to his protests, of course. When Tommy’s been bad he likes to pretend he’s better than all this.” They nodded. “I’ll just shut the door on my way out, and turn the sign . . . everybody knows Tommy’s hours are irregular . . . along with other parts of his life . . . I am in your debt.” He put his hands together and bowed.

“We’ll . . . we’ll be glad to help . . . we . . . haven’t seen you before.”

“Few see me,” Rafe said. “But all remember me.”

Stella nearly choked on that one, but maintained her calm until they were outside and Tommy’s store had a big CLOSED sign facing the passage. “What were you doing in there?”

“Having fun,” Rafe said. “Surely you’ve noticed how easy it is to get people to join the right party . . . all you have to do is make whatever’s going on the right party. I’m assuming you got the cash and the number.”

“Of course,” Stella said.

“Then it’s back home in a hurry, and hope that our boy Toby hasn’t had to use that blunderbuss I left him with, or there won’t be much left of the shop.”

But Scurry Lane was peaceful and normally busy. Stella called Toby by implant, and he said nothing had happened.

“We’re coming in the back, Toby. Rafe’s going to pick up some food—” And some gossip, she was sure.

Ten minutes later, they were all in the upper office. Rafe peered at the new ID. “Functional, not perfect. But it should do. Stella, you’ll want to dull your hair a bit, maybe use a cheek pad. Toby will do as he is. Now to find transport . . .”

“There is one ship leaving today and two tomorrow,” Toby offered. “I checked while you were out. Thought you’d need to know.”

“Did I tell you to open a com line?” Rafe said.

“Good thinking, Toby,” Stella said, with a glare at Rafe. “What ID did you use?”

“None,” Toby said. “Straight open inquiry, by implant, ID hidden.” He did not quite stick out his tongue at Rafe, but his tone was sufficient. Rafe rolled his eyes.

“Two of a kind, I see. All right, Toby, who’s off today and what capacity?”

Rose of Bannoth, Roselines Limited. Dex said Roselines were small but pretty good, just not as fancy as the Empress Lines. Mostly passenger, light cargo. She has ten berths available to Placer B, then eight to Golwaugh, and then she’s going to Lastway.”

“That’s handy,” Stella said. “Rafe?”

“We need to leave,” he said, “and this ship is leaving. I wouldn’t care if she was going to Slotter Key or Sabine. All right—I’ll book us passage. Stella, if you’ll keep an eye on the external scans . . . and Toby, make a list of anything you need. A little ship like that won’t have much commissary capacity.”

He opened up his secure line and got to work. Toby, after a look at the back of Rafe’s head, put on the thoughtful look that Stella knew went with accessing an implant database. Stella hoped his apprentice voyage had borne in on him the need for extra underwear, but she wasn’t going to embarrass him by mentioning it.

“I’ve got the berths, but they’re not taking credit,” Rafe said, after a few minutes. “They’ll accept hard goods, with a current appraisal, and they’re undocking in five hours, sixteen minutes. We have to be aboard in four and a half.”

“You know an appraiser, of course,” Stella said.

“Several,” Rafe said. “Let me just check with one of them—” He went back to work.

Toby glanced at Stella.

“I have a list—I don’t know if it’s too much.”

“’Port it over and let’s see . . .” He had remembered underwear, she saw. Three additional shipsuits, another pair of ship boots, underwear, toiletry items.

“That’s fine,” Stella said. “I think you could use more than that, though. You need your own pressure suit . . . a fleece jacket . . .”

“We’ve no time for custom-fitting,” Rafe said. “I’ve got our appraisal lined up. A couple of those rocks you had will cover your ticket and Toby’s . . .”

“And yours?”

“I pay my own way,” Rafe said. “Partnership.”

“Fine,” Stella said. She fished out the top pouch and shook out two of the largest. “I’ll get Toby’s kit while you’re doing that. Want me to pack for you?”

“No. I can do that in fifteen minutes. Will you have to take him out?”

“No. I was going to work through a chandler’s and order it delivered to the ship. I can draw on the existing Vatta accounts here to cover it. I’d already talked to the bank manager.”

“Good. I’ll be back shortly. I’ll call before I come in.”

Left alone, Stella measured Toby, contacted a chandler’s nearest Rose of Bannoth’s dock, and ordered his clothes, pressure suit, and the duffel to carry them charged to the Vatta account number and delivered to the Rose’s dockside. Then she contacted the Rose’s purser to find out if passengers could, or were expected to, contribute to the mess supplies. Optional, she was told, but the Rose carried standard-plus rations, not superior. Stella ordered in four sets of ration upgrades. When Toby’s appetite came back he would probably eat twice as much as she did. In Rafe’s bathroom, she found supplies to dull her hair to a more maternal shade, and tried the cheek pads, which blurred her prominent cheekbones.

Rafe returned without incident, with jewels and a current appraisal. He packed almost as swiftly as he’d said, then called the police to report his departure “until business improves” and put a large deposit with station management to reserve his space.

In less than two hours, they were on their way to 3rd Green, where the Rose was docked. Stella felt itchy all over, but nothing happened. No assassins leapt out of doorways, no shots were fired, no one accosted them for being who they were or anyone else. At the docking bay, Toby’s duffel was being inspected by the ship’s sergeant at arms; when they identified themselves by their new ID, he nodded. “Just step over there, please, and see Anson about your ticket; your berths are on hold. If you’ll leave your duffel here, I’ll check it for you.”

“Restrictions on weapons?” Stella asked.

“Ship-safe ammunition only,” he said. “No chemstun, no bios. We allow small arms only after inspection.”

“Here’s mine,” Stella said, pulling out her weapon and handing it over. Rafe said nothing, but handed over three to her one. The sergeant looked at Toby, who shook his head.

Then they lined up at the ticketing booth, where the agent approved the appraisal, put the diamonds in a lockbox, gave them a receipt, and issued boarding chips and shipboard ID tags with locators on them. “Wear these at all times,” the agent said. “That way we can find you in an emergency, and you’ll be recognized by the ship security systems. You still have a little time before mandatory boarding, if you need to purchase any last-minute items from dockside, or you can go aboard now.”

“We’ll board,” Stella said.

“Is all your duffel wanted on the voyage, or do you wish some in deep storage?”

“All wanted,” Rafe said, before Stella could get it out.

“Fine. It will be delivered to your cabins before undock. Probably a half hour, not more. If you decide to leave the ship for any reason before undock, you must inform the purser and check with me, here, where you will exchange your shipboard ID tag for a dockside locator/call button.”

Stella clipped the shipboard ID tag to her lapel.

The gangway into the Rose had a thin strip of industrial-grade carpet, with a bright yellow reflective strip on either side and the warning STAY ON CARPET. Once inside, the ship’s decor carried out the Roselines theme with soft roses, creams, and touches of red and green. They were met by a steward who checked them off a list, and led them to their cabins down a passage carpeted in rose with a burgundy geometric border. The cabins connected to form a small suite, complete with a small common room. Stella, recently off the courier with its cramped, bare-bones passenger space, was delighted with them.

“You’re welcome to visit the main passenger lounge and the dining salon,” the steward said. “You’ll find a layout in hardcopy in the desk, or onscreen—just follow the menu directions. Or you can wait here until your duffel arrives. However, when the undock warning sounds, all passengers must return to their cabins, and the sector seals will come down.”

“Thank you,” Stella said.

When they were alone, she and Rafe examined the safety features of the cabins and that end of the corridor. Their ship ID tags each opened one of the three cabins; these could be rekeyed, the desk brochure explained, for members of one party traveling together.

“Or by members of a party that has the right members,” Rafe said.

Each cabin had its own vacuum seals, and each connecting suite had an additional seal in the passage. Clearly Roselines took safety seriously. So did Rafe. When their luggage arrived a few minutes later, Rafe insisted that they unpack everything and put it away in the cabins. “If we have an emergency, we want our suits out. Toby, did you have suit drill aboard ship?”

“Yes, of course. I told you already.”

“Good. We’ll have them here, whether the captain orders them or not.”

 

The voyage to Placer B and then Golwaugh was uneventful except that Toby’s appetite returned and he seemed to hit a growth spurt as well. Toby seemed fascinated by Rafe’s chameleon kit and begged to try it; Rafe taught him the rudiments of disguise. The shipsuits that fit Toby at Allway were almost too small by the time they got to Golwaugh. Stella and Toby stayed aboard at these intermediate stops—each of only a couple days’ duration—but Rafe bought Toby some larger clothes at Golwaugh. After Golwaugh they were the only passengers on the way to Lastway. The news was not reassuring; only 20 percent of the ansible platforms were up, so that most systems had a several-week communications lag. Both passenger and cargo shipments were down; investment market reports were all out of date, but expected to worsen. Golwaugh was one of the lucky systems with a functioning ansible, so Stella was able to contact ISC HQ and discover that her report had made it there safely.

In Lastway’s system, the ship’s crew reported that the Lastway ansibles were also functioning. Stella checked the list of ships docked at Lastway . . . a K. Vatta, with the ship Gary Tobai, was listed. That would be Ky, of course. The local news channel, piped to passengers’ quarters, mentioned sporadic gang attacks on travelers and warned any tourists to keep alert and stay out of danger zones.

Through the purser, Stella booked onstation quarters for the three of them at a moderately priced hostelry. She could only hope that whoever was after Vattas didn’t have a face-recognition program that included hers and Toby’s. Rafe, she knew, would take care of himself. The purser arranged transport of their duffel, and the three of them made it to the hotel without incident.

The next job was contacting Ky. Stella considered, and rejected, the onstation communications lines. Too dangerous. She and Rafe and Toby, posing as tourists, climbed on the tram and headed for Gary Tobai.

 

Baritom had withdrawn its dockside security personnel after what it continued to call “this unfortunate incident,” but Martin felt that the automated security he had put in place was adequate. Ky was unwilling to hire replacements even if other firms were willing to take a contract with her. How could she trust them? She had ordered some basic torso protection in standard sizes for those of her crew who were outside the ship for any reason, though only Martin and Jim carried firearms. Small deposits kept a hold on the items she most wanted from MilMart, but she had still not figured out what to do next. The three apparent tourists who tripped the perimeter alarms were standing in a row, with Martin and Beeah looming over them, when Ky made it down to the cargo entrance.

“Hello, Ky,” said the curvaceous but faded blonde in the taupe suit. “I’m your cousin Stella. Remember me?”

Ky could not believe it. Stella? Here? With a teenaged boy and a man? Surely that wasn’t her son . . . She struggled to remember how old Stella’s child might be. Stella did look older and plainer than she remembered. That Stella had a man, she could believe: he was medium tall, handsome as a vid star in spite of his graying hair, and very aware of it.

“What are you doing here?” came out of her mouth before she could stop it, and the tone was almost accusatory.

“Running away,” Stella said. “Or running to you, depending on how you look at it. How much do you know?”

“Vatta’s been attacked; I don’t know how bad it is.”

“Not a very big ship, is it?” the man commented, in a tone that made her angry.

“Big enough,” Ky said shortly.

“Have there been any attacks on you?” Stella asked.

“A few,” Ky said. “Unsuccessful, obviously.”

“Oh, my heavens,” the man said, rolling his eyes. “She’s a total innocent. What are you thinking, Stella? She can’t possibly—”

“I don’t know what you think is innocent,” Ky said. “I’ve killed—” She had to stop and count . . . appalling that she didn’t know immediately. “—four men.”

“We heard about one at Sabine,” the man said. “You did it yourself, really?” He looked completely unimpressed.

“Yes,” Ky said through gritted teeth. “And it was two, there.”

“My, aren’t we the rough girl,” the man said. He turned again to Stella. “So she can kill. But can she—”

“Stop it,” Stella said. To Ky’s surprise, the man stopped, arching a brow at Stella, who turned to Ky and went on. “Ky, this is Rafe. We’re partners for the present. He’s under partner bond. He has many talents.”

“That’s nice,” Ky said, thinking that many talents didn’t equate to much manners.

“And this is Toby Vatta. He survived the blowout on Allray Two—have you heard about that?—and he’s also a partner for the present.”

Ky looked at Toby and had an immediate flashback to her own apprentice voyage. She’d thought having Captain Furman on her tail was bad, but she hadn’t been through what he had. “Welcome aboard, Toby,” she said. “I’m sorry for your loss.” She looked back at Stella. “I assume Rafe has a last name?”

“Yes. Which we will give you when we come aboard, not standing here on a cold dockside. Ky, we had trouble on Allray. Serious trouble.”

“I can imagine. We’ve had some, too. Come on aboard then.” She stepped aside and let them pass; Stella gave her a look she could not interpret, and Rafe a look she could interpret all too well. If he thought she was like Stella, he would soon learn different, and he could keep those eyes to himself. She nodded at Martin when they had cleared the locks. “Come on, Martin. If anyone comes looking for cargo, let Alene handle it. It’s close of trade anyway.”

“Yes, Captain.”

The others had stopped in the rec area; Ky nodded to a table. “Have a seat. Let’s find out what’s up.”

“It’s a long story,” Stella said.

“It’s a long shift,” Ky said. “Go ahead.”

“You know about the attacks back home, on Slotter Key?”

“Some, not much. They hit corporate headquarters and the family compound both, one report said. I—I expect there were injuries. And for some reason the government is down on us.”

Stella nodded. “Ky, I’m sorry . . . I have bad news for you. Your parents—your mother died in the attack on the house; your father died of injuries received trying to save her and others.”

Ky felt her face stiffen. Now that tiny sliver of light, that window of hope, slammed shut. She had been so sure—she had hoped so much—that they had not died, or at least one of them survived—she thought she’d anticipated this, but . . . it was too much.

“And your brother San. I’m sorry, Ky. My father was killed, too, in the bombing of corporate headquarters. My sister Jo died in a separate attack.”

Ky felt each name as a separate weight falling on her, pushing her deeper into darkness. Her father, her mother, her brother, her uncle. “Aunt Helen?” she managed to ask.

“Mother was alive when I left Slotter Key,” Stella said. “So was Aunt Gracie Lane.”

Gracie Lane and her fruitcakes-with-diamonds were a poor substitute for the rest of the family. The memory of her father’s face, in that last call, the look in his eyes, came to her vividly. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to think, not to see.

“Aunt Gracie sent me to find you,” Stella said.

“To find me!” Surprise almost melted the numbness; she opened her eyes. “She thinks I’m an idiot.”

“She thinks everyone our age is an idiot,” Stella said. “But she thinks you’re the one person who can sort this out, and she thinks I’m capable of helping you. She knew you needed more data and some help.”

Ky’s mind grabbed for this distraction from the news that her whole family was dead. “Aunt Gracie is—”

“Pretty smart, actually. Did you know she’d been in the war?”

“Aunt Gracie?” That seemed as likely as that Aunt Gracie had wings or gills.

“Yes. I didn’t know, either, until she told me. And showed me. At any rate, she told me to come find you and bring you the Vatta command database, to download into your implant.”

Ky’s hand went to her head. “I don’t have an implant. It was destroyed.”

“But I know your father sent you another one—”

“I haven’t put it in,” Ky said. “I’m not supposed to put one in for six months . . .” When she counted up the weeks in transit to Belinta, from Belinta to here, it was a lot closer to six months than she’d thought.

“Brain damage?” Stella asked.

“Possible neural instability,” Ky said. She didn’t even want to think about whether that constituted brain damage. “And how did you get hold of the command database? I mean, if my—your—our fathers were killed in the attacks . . .”

Stella looked away, and swallowed. “Your father lived a few days, Ky . . . and Aunt Gracie . . . took charge of the implant.”

Ky stared at her. Her stomach roiled; she did not want to consider what that meant, or how it had been done.

“At any rate, if you’re going to take over as the offplanet Vatta representative, you’d better find a way to use the implant information.”

“You could—” Ky began, but Stella shook her head vigorously.

“You have military training, Ky; I don’t. My expertise is all in another direction.”

Ky hadn’t heard that Stella had any expertise, but then she hadn’t seen Stella for years, what with school, the Academy, and all. “And that is?” she asked, trying to keep her tone light.

Stella grimaced. “If you access the database you’ll know. I’m not sure I should tell you here.” She glanced aside at Rafe and Toby. Ky felt a cold prickle run up her spine.

“As if you hadn’t learned half or more of it from me,” Rafe said. “But I suppose we must protect innocent young ears.” Toby turned to glare at him. Ky felt the same way, but didn’t let herself show it.

“Later, then,” she said. “If I’m the designated whatever, though, I’ll need to know.”

“Understood,” Stella said.

The others could be another distraction. Ky turned to the boy. “Toby, how far along in your apprenticeship were you? What kind of ship duties did you learn?”

The boy flushed, but met her eyes and answered steadily. “I was over half through, and had completed the training modules in all the specialties, so I was working full shifts under supervision. I’d done environmental and engineering, and was working on navigation and piloting. In port, of course, we all worked cargo.”

“Excellent,” Ky said. “I know you don’t have any of your scores, and unfortunately I need documentation of your training, but we have new crew who are working on their certification exams. Lastway has a complete roster of spacer certification courses, and the sooner you begin the better. What’s your strongest field?”

“Probably drives, ma’am. I did well in all the engineering subspecialties, but Piers—uh, Chief Barklin—said I had a good feel for space drives.”

“Good. I could definitely use a good backup drives specialist.” Any Vatta, however young and inexperienced, who had ship service would be better than Jim. “I’m going to assign you to that area; you’ll be informally assessed, and then start formal classes in a couple of days. That suit?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Toby said.

“I don’t know when we can get you back to a place where you can have regular formal schooling,” Ky said. “What were you planning on, or had you decided?”

“I was supposed to go to Terqua—the main engineering prep school on my home planet, ma’am—and then I hoped to get into Davisi Tech for advanced work, and then back to the fleet.”

“Um. I’ll download additional course work for you, for when we’re enroute. No sense in having you lose more educational time than necessary.” Ky turned to Rafe, who was watching this with a condescending expression. “Now you, sir. Your last name, if I may be so bold . . .”

“Of course, Captain,” he said, leaning forward, meeting her eye, and putting on what Ky assessed as a pseudo-honest expression. “Though you may as well know that I have several last names, by which I’m known on different worlds. I was born with Dunbarger, but haven’t used it for years. Stella first met me as Rafael Stoner Madestan.”

“Dunbarger!” Stella said.

“I said I haven’t used it for a long time,” Rafe said. “It’s not . . . euphonious. It is, however, my birth name if anyone were to track it down.”

“Dunbarger . . . ,” Ky said. Where had she heard that name before? Somewhere that had meaning to this whole situation?

That Dunbarger,” Rafe said. “The one you’re so obviously trying to remember. ISC senior officer. Very senior, at the moment.”

Into Ky’s mind popped the memory of ISC’s command structure: Dunbarger stood right at the top.

“You might consider me a remittance man,” Rafe said. “If you know what that is.”

“You’re Garston Dunbarger’s son?” Stella said. “You?”

“I had to learn company manners somewhere,” Rafe said. “The knowledge of which fork to use and how to tie a cravat is easiest learned in the kind of home my . . . parents . . . kept.” He kept his gaze on Ky, nonetheless.

“Very interesting, if true,” Ky said.

“Oh, it’s true. I can even prove it, though I would prefer not to call down the kind of trouble that would bring on Lastway. At any rate, I was sent away, for cause I might add—no bad feelings on my side—and strongly encouraged to choose another name, or fifty. And later—here’s another new tidbit for you, Stella—later I was hired back, as it were, after a bit of good behavior, which somewhat softened my father’s attitude.”

“Hired back how?” Ky asked.

Rafe’s gaze dropped to his fingernails, which he appeared to study with great interest. “There are things that a supposedly disaffected, disinherited former member of a powerful family can find out—can elicit—that almost no one else can. If you know where both ends of the string are, as it were, untangling the mess someone’s made of it is far easier. By birth I know one end . . . by experience I discover the other.”

“You’re a company spy,” Ky said.

He gave her a straight look and shrugged. “That’s a bald word for a very . . . fluffy . . . concept. Let’s just say that I have been put in the way of finding out things ISC needs to know and have been well paid to transfer that knowledge to ISC. I’m still not welcome at home, but relations are, as it were, softening with time. None of my sisters has produced an heir, and Father would like a grandchild—well, actually it’s Mother who wants one worst, I suspect, but Father is putty in her hands.”

“You—you!” Stella sputtered, clearly outraged about something. Ky looked at her. “You contemptible toad!”

“Now, Stella, sweetling, no need to blow a jet.”

“Don’t sweetling me, you—you—” She turned to Ky. “This . . . this miserable excuse spent two whole days lecturing me on the evils of my past, my luxurious and pampered past, convincing me that I was to blame for the inequalities of the universe because I’d never questioned where Vatta money came from, and all that time—”

“How do you suppose I knew what leverage would work, my dear?” Rafe asked coolly. “It takes one to know one; I knew what would sting me, and thus that it would sting you. And besides, you are so sweet when you feel guilty. As opposed to the way you are when you don’t.” He held up a finger. “And don’t say you’ll hate me forever, because you know you won’t.”

Toby, Ky noticed, was watching this with eyes wide.

“I still don’t have a last name,” she said to Rafe. “Not the one on your current ID, at least.”

“Oh. Yes.” For an instant, a patch of color appeared on his cheeks. He fished out the ID packet and handed it over. “It’s fake, of course, and only of moderate quality. I had it done in a rush before we left, to throw off pursuit, we hoped. Stella’s is fake, too, at the moment. It seems to have worked.”

“Ralph San Volan,” Ky said, reading it off.

Rafe shrugged. “I was using Murchison back on Allray, and running a shop selling antiquities and books.”

“And other things,” Stella put in. Ky could tell that she was still furious.

“And other things as necessary to keep my lines of contact open with the kinds of people ordinary ISC personnel cannot know,” Rafe said, glancing at Stella and then back to Ky. “You must realize that those people do not trust straight arrows.”

“I know that,” Ky said.

“Good. Because if I’m to be any use to you, I need to establish my lines of communication here.”

Ky ignored the presumption in that for the moment. She wasn’t sure she wanted him to try to be of use to her. “You’ve been here before?”

“Oh, yes. Some years back.”

“Just as a matter of curiosity, when does your partnership contract with Stella and Toby expire?”

“Um . . . not too long now, I think,” Rafe said.

Ky let her teeth show. “I suspect you know to the minute, Rafe. Let’s not play games.”

“But games are such fun. All right, in about twenty-three hours. Why? Are you going to ask me to extend?”

“I’m thinking about it. It seems to me that Vatta and ISC interests run together lately.”

“They may do. But my interests intersect ISC’s only in particular areas. Perhaps we should both think about it.”

“And discuss it in, say, four hours?” Ky said.

“As the captain wishes,” he said, all courtliness. Whoever he really was, someone had taught him manners, and more than one kind. Ky looked again at his gray hair. “How old are you really?”

“You want all my realities revealed?” he asked. “Very well—” And he scrubbed at his face with his hands. When he brought them down, a much younger man grinned at her, his face subtly reshaped, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “The hair’s not this gray or this thin, either, but I’d prefer to deal with that in a proper bathroom, if this ship has a proper bathroom. I’m only a year older than Stella in true biological time, but I’m much, much older in experience.”

Ky caught a movement of Stella’s hands, and glanced over to find the perfect cheekbones restored to the breathtaking beauty she remembered. Stella opened her hand. “Cheekpads,” she said. “And my hair’s not really this color. Rafe’s got black hair, if you want to know.”

Ky looked at Toby, who shook his head. “Rafe wouldn’t let me,” he said. “He says as fast as I’m growing, I’m not the same two days in a row anyway.”

“That’s a relief,” Ky said.