Cold Welcome

^{CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX}

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 coming 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.

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, checking 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?

“When you’ve got Inyatta settled,” she said to Lundin, “send someone to Stores, see if they can find something to wrap Marek and the commander in.” She looked at Gossin. “Can we agree they both died of gunshot wounds?”

“Yes,” Gossin and Lundin said together.

“Then we need to move the bodies, and get this space cleaned when you, Staff, are through with your examination.”

“Yes, sir,” Lundin said, and stood up just as the two she’d sent for a litter returned with one.

Gossin gave Ky a look mixing doubt and curiosity. “Admiral, you—I know you have killed before, in the war. But that was blowing up ships. This is different, isn’t it?”

“Very,” Ky said. She closed her eyes a moment, then looked directly at Gossin. “I have been in close fights before, Staff. Remember, my whole family was attacked wherever they were; I was on a Vatta ship.” The incidents raced through her mind, like a fast slideshow on a travel site, one image for each fight. “Shot at, poisoned, shot at again…”

“And that’s why you’re so calm?”

“I suppose.” Ky stood up. “Betange, have you recorded the commander’s body? Then it’s time to record the weapons, close-ups as well as locations.”

“How did you know I didn’t have a firearm, too?” Gossin asked. “You—when you came to the door unarmed—that surprised me.”

“I didn’t know. But I didn’t want to scare you more.”

“It was risky.”

“Yes.” She nodded at the change in Gossin’s expression. “And it was necessary. Would you have trusted me enough to come in here and examine the scene with me if I’d had a pistol in my hand? Or even in a holster?”

“No, Admiral,” Gossin said. “I’d have—I don’t know what I’d have done exactly, but I wouldn’t have trusted you.” After a moment she said, “You trusted me not to shoot you even if Marek had armed me.”

“It was a risk I had to take. You’ve been solid before now; I thought you would be. Still—this would shock anyone. Everyone. Scare some of you, and with reason. I’ll tell everyone what I know, once we’ve finished with this room. It’s time to look at the weapons.”

Marek’s, now that she looked at it closely, was not the same model Gordon 421 9mm she had used in target practice as a cadet at the Academy, but the 421-R model with doubled magazine and full automatic, usually an officer’s weapon. It lacked the familiar Spaceforce logo stamped into the metal. Marek could not have concealed that on the shuttle or in the raft. Where had he found it here? The butt had the usual palm-lock plate, but the blood and brain tissue it had skittered through, still firing after Marek dropped it, obscured it. Ky cleaned the blood off and put her hand there. Nothing. So it was palm-locked to him. Owned by him, or assigned to him… could have been either. He had to have been here, at this base, before.

Betange approached. “Ready for another recording?”

“Yes. You’ll notice that this weapon has no Spaceforce markings, but it’s a model Spaceforce uses.”

“Palm-locked?”

“Yes. Would’ve been ideal to get a palm print off it, but he had it on double-auto, and it had… organics all over it.” In a serious lab, it might’ve been recoverable, but not here and now. “If you scan this, right here, you can see the rate-of-fire setting.”

Betange scanned the weapon, the workbench, the rags she’d used to clean it. “Done, Admiral.”

“You’ll need to scan my weapon as well.” Ky nodded toward her pistol. “Personal, purchased at a weapons shop on Lastway years ago.” She released the clip, then removed the last round from the chamber. “As you can see, the clip was full, and I fired two rounds, both of which struck Master Sergeant Marek.”

“I’m not a firearms expert, Admiral—”

“I think my recorded testimony that this is my weapon and I did shoot the master sergeant should suffice, but if not the court can have the weapon tested once we’re back in Port Major. Meanwhile, I’m going to clean it. You should watch, so you can record that I’m not boring out the barrel or doing anything else that will alter the evidence. Be sure to collect the two cartridges.” In a few minutes she had the pistol clean, and turned to Gossin. “Do you want to keep this as evidence, Staff, or shall I keep it?”

Gossin hesitated, then nodded. “It’s yours; you keep it. I trust you’re not planning to kill anyone else.”

“I’m not. Now I need to check on Riyahn and see how involved he’s been in all this. When you’ve got the bodies wrapped up, we’ll take them up to the surface where it’s cold. I’d like to take Marek’s weapon with me; it may help Riyahn keep his facts straight. But it’s your call; you’re in charge of this investigation.”

Doubt returned to Gossin’s expression. “It’s a mess, and it’s—”

“Ugly, dirty, smelly… and, most important, unloaded. Psychological effect only.”

“Go ahead, then.”

“Let me know when the bodies are ready for transport. See if there are enough spare boards or litters in the clinic; it’ll be easier to carry them that way.”

“Just leave them outside?”

“No, in one of the huts where they’ll be safe from animals and just as cold. Then all this mess needs to be cleaned up; Lundin will probably want it disinfected as well. She’ll tell you how.”

“Yes, sir.”

Sergeant Cosper had Riyahn tied to a chair in the little office at the end of the barracks passage. “He’s not talking, Admiral Vatta.”

She hadn’t told him to interrogate Riyahn. She hadn’t told him to pick the least suitable place—a room they would still need to use, a room full of things a dangerous person might use dangerously. Yes, the restraints were stored here, but he was supposed to have put Riyahn across the passage, in NCO quarters.

Riyahn did not look dangerous now, but he had tried to grab Marek’s weapon. She laid the pistol, gory as it was, on the desk; Riyahn stared at it and said nothing.

“Sergeant, wait outside. I will speak with Corporal Riyahn myself.”

“Admiral—”

“Thank you, Sergeant.” Cosper gave a minute shrug and edged past her to the door.

“He’s your size, Admiral. I wouldn’t untie him if I were you.”

“No fear.” With Cosper out of the room, it seemed larger: the man had a talent for looming, seeming to take up more space than he actually did. She looked at Riyahn; he looked down.

“Y-you killed him and now you’re going to kill me.” Riyahn’s voice trembled. “And Sergeant Cosper hurt me and yelled at me. My hands hurt.”

“Did he hit you?” Ky pulled a pad of paper off the shelf, a stylus off the desk, and scribbled Riyahn and Cosper on it.

“N-no. He grabbed my arm too tight and twisted it behind me, and then he tied me too tight. My nose itches and I can’t scratch it.”

“You threatened an officer,” Ky said. “What did you think would happen?”

“I thought you were going to kill everybody. I was going to protect—”

“By snatching up an empty weapon and trying to kill me?”

“No—I mean—it was there, I thought I could—”

“Kill me with it.” Ky shook her head. “Marek tried to kill me and only managed to kill Commander Bentik.”

“No! He didn’t want to kill her; he wanted to kill—” Riyahn’s mouth fell open and stayed open a moment. “I mean—”

“You knew Marek wanted to kill me?” Ky nodded and noted that on paper. “And you did not report it?” She underlined what she’d written.

“Well… no… I couldn’t. He said you were a traitor to Slotter Key, and you had seen classified things and had to be stopped—”

“Killed, you mean.”

“I suppose. I didn’t want to—I tried to talk him out of it—What are you doing?” That last in a squeak, as Ky picked up Marek’s weapon.

“It’s evidence,” she said, tapping the barrel against her other hand. “I think you knew he had it, and possibly where he hid it. I’m going to lock it away safely—you will not know where—and then lock you up.”

“You’re not going to kill me?”

“Not… now.” She drew that out, watching him. “If I don’t find a reason to kill you, you will be remanded to Spaceforce Security to stand trial for attempted murder of a senior officer and conspiracy to commit murder of Spaceforce personnel. If I remember correctly—” The relevant passages from the Spaceforce Code came to mind, even though she had a different implant now. “—Section five, paragraphs 3.14 through 3.23 list the punishments for those and several other crimes I suspect you committed, and I imagine you will spend most, if not all, the rest of your life in a Spaceforce prison. I hope to see to it that you do.”

He said nothing, staring at her with the same terrified expression he’d had on the raft that first day and several times since.

“Now. Until a relief force arrives”—a relief force she suspected might be intent not on rescue but on cover-up—“you will be confined away from the others; you will obey the orders of those I assign to guard you, and if you disobey you will be killed. We do not have the resources to waste on you if you are not cooperative. So: will you be cooperative, or should we end this now?” She nudged Marek’s weapon. Would he realize that she could not use it, that he himself could not have used it?

“No—please! Don’t… I’ll do anything.”

“Excellent.” Ky reached back and opened the door. “Sergeant Cosper?”

“Admiral.”

“You will find a small room suitable for a cell and see that it’s cleared out, provided with a couple of blankets and whatever else a prisoner should have. When it’s ready, take this man to the head, give him a bottle of water, and lock him up.”

“His clothes, Admiral?”

“We don’t have any prison uniforms here that I know of, Sergeant. Make him secure, whatever that is, within human decency.”

“Right.”

“And I’m sure you realize we’ll need to have a guard on the door at all times.”

“Yes, sir—uh, Admiral. Right away.”

“I’ll be meeting with the others. Call if you need me. You will bring Riyahn to the general meeting later this evening.”

Ky detoured by her quarters to get her outdoor gear. When she got back to the armory, she found Staff Sergeant Gossin directing the cleanup. Marek’s and Jen’s bodies were already in bags, and two long backboards, bright red with EMERGENCY USE ONLY stenciled on them, stood by the wall.

“Found the bags on a bottom shelf in the back of Stores,” Gossin said. “We’d inventoried only the food and water supplies. Lundin gave us the boards.”

“Right. Glad you found them. Let’s get them up to the surface.”

It was already dark topside. Eerie blue-green light danced in the sky, and vague shapes moved beyond the huts. The deerlike things, she decided after a few moments, not predators. They lugged the bodies over to the nearer of the two huts, and Ky unlocked the door. Inside, it was as cold as outside, cold as any freezer.

“Where do we put them?”

“On the floor there. We’ll lock them in; the animals can’t get at them and they’ll keep.”

Once the bodies were down, Ky stooped to touch each one and let herself remember them as people she had known, then named them aloud. “Jenaaris Bentik. Ildan Marek. May you have rest.”

“Even though—” began Droshinski.

“Punishing the dead brings me no joy, whatever they did,” Ky said. Poor Marek, a decent man caught in someone else’s machinations. Poor Jen, dropped into a situation for which she was unqualified. “Yes, he tried to kill me; he conspired against me and possibly against us all, but—I cannot find it in me to hate him.”

Outside once more, the hut locked, they stood a few moments in the bitter cold, watching the play of light over the snow and the buildings. “Well,” Ky said finally. “The day’s not over yet. Let’s get back down and call everyone together.”

By the time she was back down the ramps, Sergeant Cosper had transferred Riyahn to a locked room. “I took out everything in it but blankets and a pillow for him, and he’s wearing only pajamas and socks. He’s been to the head; he’s got a bottle of water and a bar of concentrate. What about feeding him long-term?”

“We’re not going to starve him. He’ll get rations same as the rest. Right now we need him in the mess hall. Do you have a guard on his door?”

“It’s locked and I’m away just to report to you.”

“And he may be desperate. We can’t risk his escaping. Put a telltale on the door, with the alarm set to loud, when you take him back after this meeting.”

Gathered around one of the big tables in the mess hall, they seemed a much smaller group than the day before. Two dead. One injured, now in the medbox, one under guard. They looked tense, worried, and no wonder, Ky thought. They had much to worry about.

“You’ve had a shock,” Ky began. “I’m sure you’re wondering what happened, why Commander Bentik and I were in the armory, why Master Sergeant Marek had a firearm, and what exactly led up to what happened. Here’s what I know.” Ky outlined it all, everything she knew for certain. Everyone looked at Riyahn for a moment; he didn’t look up. “Some of you,” she said, “were told by Marek that I was a traitor, or unfit to command because of my age. Some of you probably believed him. He was an experienced senior NCO, and you didn’t know me. You may still wonder about me, distrust me. If enough of you believe I’m a danger to all of you, you can manage to overwhelm and kill me—I have to sleep and eat and use the facilities sometime, after all. But I’m convinced that your best chance of survival—of getting home—is if we all band together and I continue as your commander.”

“I’m with you, sir,” Kurin said, glancing at Gossin.

“I am, too,” Cosper said.

“With you,” McLenard said.

“Thank you,” Ky said. All those who’d been in the life raft with her were nodding, leaning forward. Some of those who’d been in the other raft looked frightened still.

“The admiral’s right,” Gossin said with a slap on the table. “I’m with her. I didn’t understand before, but when I put it all together, from the shuttle crash to here, she’s made good decisions and we’re alive now because of them.”

“And,” Ky said, “there will be a legal investigation after we get back to Port Major. Staff Sergeant Gossin and Tech Betange have a record of the investigation they performed in the armory, and my testimony. So, questions?”

“You didn’t notice anything wrong before?” Droshinski asked.

“I noticed some things that troubled me,” Ky said. “But I attributed them to the stress of the crash and the difficulties we faced. No one is perfect; the struggle to survive exposes everyone. Looking back, I can certainly see things I might—in another context—have identified more clearly.”

“You never let Master Sergeant Marek borrow your pistol to go hunting,” Kurin said. “Was that one of them?”

“Yes. It seemed off that he kept asking. But even more, from my own experience, I’m not likely to hand over my only weapon to anyone.” She looked around the group. “I’ll be re-interviewing each of you individually. From the evidence, Master Sergeant Marek was part of a larger conspiracy, the kind of thing someone could be caught up in without knowing it, and the kind that might threaten the life of everyone here.” Should she drop the final bombshell? Yes. “We must prepare for the arrival of troops that may not be intent on rescue but on protecting a secret.”

“You really think that—?”

“It’s possible; I think it’s likely. I know this base was kept secret; people who keep secrets generally want them kept, and it would have taken a lot of power and money to keep this one.” When no one said anything or raised a hand, she went on. “It will be necessary to change duty assignments and rotations since we have fewer personnel. Staff Sergeant Gossin will prepare preliminary profiles for me that highlight combat and communications skills. We may be able to circumvent the communications lockout that we’ve experienced—” A hand went up. She nodded at Tech Hazarika.

“Admiral, won’t that just bring down the—whoever they are—on us faster?”

“Not if we can link directly to Rector Vatta without it being detected,” Ky said. “If I can contact Rector Vatta, so she knows we’re alive and where we are, I believe she will mount a rescue as soon as the weather allows. But the others might get here first. We need to be ready.”

The faces ranged from blank to worried again. That wasn’t good. She replayed her last words in her mind. She knew better: just facts weren’t what they needed now. She made herself relax. Smile.

“I’m convinced we can survive anything,” she said. “That’s what we are—survivors.” She paused. Two of the blank faces relaxed into an expression—not of confidence, not yet, but no longer frozen. “We’ve proved it, since the shuttle ditched. If we’d been easy to kill, if we’d been weak or stupid, we’d be dead.” A few grins now.

“When Simon and Lazy stole rations and ate the puffer fish and died—” Corporal Barash scowled.

“They were stupid. You lot—you were smart and tough when it was hard, when you were seasick, cold, hungry, scared.” She waited, letting them remember it. “And we’re still here. In spite of everything, you all—every one of you—did the right thing time after time. You never gave up. Minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day. And I know you will keep at it, one task at a time, one day at a time, until we’re home.”

“But if they—the ones coming—”

“Whatever they do, whoever they are, we will make it,” Ky said. “We have time. We’re not going to sit here and make it easy for them. So: what I’m asking you all, right now, is this.” She saw them stiffen again, bracing for something near-impossible. “Who’s hungry? I missed breakfast; we all missed lunch. I could use a snack, and I’m sure you could, too. Who’re today’s cooks?”

Droshinski raised her hand. “Inyatta was with me, but she’s—”

“She’s going to be fine, Tech Lundin says. A few days in the medbox. Spec Gurton, I know it was your day off, but you’re our senior cook. Can you fix us something quickly?”

“Right away, Admiral,” Gurton said. She got up and headed for the kitchen. “Ennisay, get the oven going.”

Ky could feel the relaxation, the rising level of confidence, as Ennisay, Droshinski, and Gurton headed for the kitchen. “We’ll spend the rest of the day reorganizing schedules, seeing what mix of expertise we have now, doing routine maintenance, and then after dinner we’ll have another meeting to exchange ideas. The memorial service for Commander Bentik and Master Sergeant Marek will be tomorrow morning at 1000, here in the mess. That should allow time for you all to make sure you have a suitable uniform—”

“You’re giving Marek a memorial service? After he tried to kill you?” Barash again.

Ky felt her brows rising. “Certainly. I have praise for him; he worked hard to make things work for you.” She turned to Sergeant Cosper. “You may return Riyahn to confinement now, Sergeant.”

“Does he get what they’re making?”

“No,” Ky said. “He hasn’t earned it; the rest of you have. Basic rations only.” Riyahn looked ready to cry.