Cold Welcome

^{CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE}

“More oddities,” MacRobert said. “Personnel assignments mostly in the planetary units. Enlisted Miznarii, early career, in Enforcement, assigned in small groups—no more than three at a time, over the past half year—to something called Training Group Foxtrot.”

“Someone doesn’t like Miznarii?” Grace looked up from her work.

“Someone wants Miznarii for something clandestine,” MacRobert said. “Some of our best operatives have been Miznarii. They have no implants, so their implants can’t be salvaged and queried.”

“Of course—so they’re to be used and—blamed and discarded?”

“Plausible deniability. Suicide implants, even.” MacRobert took a sip of his drink and went on. “Interestingly, Training Group Foxtrot, its personnel and weaponry, would fit comfortably on the craft that’s been assigned to carry spare parts down to Pingat Islands Base.”

“They’re after Ky—”

“Because she’s seen their secret base. They’ll kill everyone there and try to remove all traces. They know we have surveillance capability now; that’s why they blew up that bank of equipment and the unfortunate night clerk. They may be wondering who exactly fixed the scan satellites—”

“Someone would know a Vatta ship was up there—”

“Very likely. And a tech from ISC. Put those together, and they will assume you know something. I’m doubling your security.”

“Damn it—” Grace glared at him.

“No. We cannot afford to lose the Rector of Defense in the aftermath of losing the Commandant. I want to talk to Rafe and ensure he keeps Ky informed of what she’s facing.”

“We can’t let them get to her. I can rescind the orders, send loyal troops—”

“Assuming we have any. And we can’t move troops or matériel any faster than the other side—it’s still deep winter down there. We have the advantage that they don’t know what we know—or all of what we know. I want to talk to Rafe and get his assessment of what’s up there in Ky’s flagship.”

“You could call—”

“I could. But until I’m more sure the communications link is really secure, I don’t want to.”

Rafe came back in with a sheaf of hardcopy. “I did a little analysis on this, Mac; hope you don’t mind.”

Mac shook his head. “Just tell me.”

“One thing I learned from ISC’s military errors is that items of equal mass may be substituted in a list, giving a correct standard weight, but being something else entirely. One of ISC’s sector commanders was actually smuggling large amounts of high-value contraband in packets weighing the same as small-arms ammunition or in insulated containers weighing the same as food for the crew. Which is why we had a fleet that wasn’t even paper, but mostly hot air and thought bubbles.”

“And you’re saying we’ve got that?”

“No. But I took your standard average weight for a fully equipped military police soldier—and found that it was exactly the same as this item here: SKSF-4381B-1596572, Rotor, Replacement, et cetera and so forth. They requisitioned one hundred ten of those. And the boxes of ‘Fasteners, screw, hex, count 24’ just happen to weigh the same as a box of ammunition, count 20, for the standard small-arms weapon you use. Quite a lot of fasteners. And though I don’t know anything about Slotter Key riot control and air-to-surface and surface-to-air missiles, I can’t help but wonder about those things whose labels are all in code, or that I don’t recognize. Canisters always suggest some kind of gas weapon to me.” Rafe raised an eyebrow. “I really don’t think your whatsit islands base commander is trying to be fuel-efficient with repair supplies.”

“Training Group Foxtrot,” Grace said.

“Indeed,” Rafe said. He handed the hardcopy to MacRobert. “You’ll know better than I what all of those are. Trouble for Ky, I would think. We need to get down there.”

“We can’t yet. Weather’s too bad. And if they know we’re coming, they might just bomb everything to slag.”

“Not if they have enough invested in using it,” Rafe said. “They wouldn’t keep a secret that long if it didn’t have value for them—same as with ISC and ansible technology.”

“Speaking of ansibles.” MacRobert leaned back. “I need to have a talk with you, Rafe, about communications security. I’ve been wanting to talk to Ky’s flagship, but I don’t know if it’s a secure link. The guys I know and still trust aren’t sure, because it’s not our system. You say you’ve got an absolutely secure method, but I understand it’s proprietary ISC tech.”

“I’m going to the kitchen,” Grace said. “I feel an overwhelming urge to start making fruitcakes again. And yes, Mac, my arm is up to it.”

“You know,” Mac said, when the kitchen door had swung shut. “Just because the Rector is out of the room—”

“Doesn’t mean she’s not listening.” Rafe nodded and pulled a privacy cylinder from his pocket and thumbed it on. “And she may even be listening past this, since you’re up to date in your surveillance equipment.”

“Are we?”

“Oh, yes. If I didn’t know better, I might think you’d imported some particular instruments from the mercs—from Mackensee. Little bird told me you and their Master Sergeant Pitt got friendly back at Cascadia.”

“Competent woman, Master Sergeant Pitt,” Mac said. “But that relates to what I want to ask you. We’re not that far away from a likely window to make a flight down to Miksland. Neither the Rector nor I—both too well known and too high up—can move troops around and gather a team larger than maybe a dozen, two at the most. And we both think the opposition might be mustering as many as a hundred.”

“Or more. I’d think they might use their own, as well—civilian corporate security.”

“I’m wondering what resources are up there, in that flagship, but I don’t want to risk asking her captain. Yes, we have tight-beam, but any group that can mask a continent from surveillance for over a century—”

“Might break a tight-beam’s security. It actually can be done; ISC figured it out but hid the tech. So you would like me to secretly contact Ky’s flag captain and see what fighting resources they have?”

“Yes. As soon as possible.”

“Unfortunately, my special tech does not mesh with her flagship’s, but I do know ways to overprotect tight-beams. I’ll get busy on that.” He stood up. Mac held up his hand.

“Just a moment. I had considered asking if the flagship could communicate with Mackensee, get us some contracted troops—”

“You’d bring mercs onto your own planet?”

“How do we know they haven’t?” At Rafe’s startled look, Mac nodded. “How do we know that tinkering with the surveillance satellites wasn’t done by an outsider? Even a renegade ISC employee on the take? Mackensee won’t take both sides in a conflict, so the quickest way to find out if the opfor hired them is to see if they can be hired here for someone else—us. If they can, they’ll also know if any other company is already here, and tell us.”

Rafe cocked his head. “I believe, Master Sergeant, I did not fully appreciate your talents before now.”

Mac chuckled. “You young fellas rarely do until a pinch comes. Specially the smart ones, like you.”

“So first thing is to give the tight-beam from here some extra protection and then—?”

“I want to talk to that captain. I don’t know him, but I’m sure the admiral briefed him on what she knew of the situation here, whom she trusted.”

Rafe nodded. “I’ll get to it now, if that’s all.”

“All for now.”

Mac watched him go. For all that he wasn’t Ky Vatta’s blood relative, he felt a familial connection through Grace, and he had not been at all sure that young man was a fit partner for the woman Ky had become. He was older, skilled in ways Mac hoped Ky hadn’t picked up, as smooth a liar as Mac had ever met, and he’d met plenty. A killer, too. Admitted it… but then, Ky wasn’t the naïve young cadet he’d known. Blood on her hands, too, some of it up close and personal.

“You’ve got that look,” Grace said. She stood in the kitchen door, apron on and a large wooden spoon in one hand. He could smell molasses and spices. She looked exactly like someone’s grandmother or great-aunt, traditional and harmless. Except for the eyes, and the bulge of something hard in the apron pocket.

“What look?”

“That If he harms her I’ll pull out his guts one centimeter at a time look. You’re not still feeling protective about Ky, are you?”

He shrugged. “It wouldn’t do any good if I were.”

“They’re well matched, those two,” Grace said. “Like us, though we’re older and more sedate—”

Mac snorted. “You? Me?”

“Well, you have that correct military demeanor. Expressionless face, when you want it; no overt emotional cues.”

“I used to. Being around you has roughed up the edges a little. But if that’s all it takes for sedateness, your sweet-old-lady act is overkill.”

Grace shrugged, both shoulders rising the same amount now, he noticed. “So what can you tell me, you and Rafe?”

“Some things we can’t.”

“Of course. Those at the top are the last to know and the first to die.”

“Not always the first,” Mac said. He took her hand. “There may be consequences. You may not be happy about it.”

“There are always consequences,” Grace said. “And if something exciting happens and saves me from terminal boredom in a job you pushed me into—”

“It could happen,” Mac said, watching her closely. “It could end badly, or it could end with the need for a sudden departure.”

“I’d like to get the Vatta situation nailed down before that.”

“Um. How long after we retrieve Ky do you think that will take?”

“That bad, eh? Fine, then I’ll put the family on alert, get Stella back onplanet—”

“Will she be safe? Never mind, sweet old lady dear, I know you can handle that.”

“I wonder if we should contract some outside muscle,” Grace said, looking away from him into a distance greater than the other side of the room. “Didn’t you say you’d met a nice senior NCO in some merc outfit that Ky knew?”

There was no outflanking Grace Lane Vatta; he knew that by now. “It’s something to think about,” he said mildly, patting her hand.

She yanked it away. “Mac—”

“Without bothering your pretty little head,” he said, ducking ahead of her swipe with the spoon. He was out of his chair before she made it out of hers, but the end of the spoon got him anyway. She was that fast. “Plausible deniability,” he said from a distance he knew was not safe if she wanted to hurt him. “You’re still in the government. Needed.”

“True.” She sat back down, tapped the spoon handle on the table. “So don’t tell me what you think would get me in trouble, but I’m glad to see that our crooked minds still wander in the same directions.”

“You have corrupted me,” Mac said, with a little bow, not taking his eyes off that spoon. “You are the elder—”

“Oh, stop it. We have other games to play now.”

“Which you like. Yes. Rafe’s working on making our tight-beam more secure. I’ll be talking to Ky’s flag captain when he’s ready.”

“Good. Tell me, is there any way to get a few kilos of edibles down to Pingat Base?”

“Now?”

“Not quite now. A few tendays.”

“Why?”

“It occurs to me that the base commander there had reason to be angry with me. Perhaps a special treat would… soften his attitude.”

“Fruitcakes?” Mac said. “You forget, I’ve heard about your fruitcakes.”

“There are fruitcakes and fruitcakes,” Grace said. “Some you want to last a very long time and some you want to be eaten rather sooner.” She grinned at him. “No diamonds in these; it would not do for a Rector of Defense to bribe a base commander so openly.”

“Let me taste one.”

“They need to soak in brandy,” Grace said. “And none of this batch is for you. Not one bite. I’ll make you something else.”

Something in the seriousness of her tone rang a tiny bell. “Grace?”

“Don’t worry, dear Mac.” Now she patted his hand, knowing he hated that as much as she did. “All will be well.”

“In the end,” he said. His stomach clenched for a moment. Surely… best not even think of what she might do. Or had done. Joining a Vatta, as she had explained several years ago, was a perilous choice.

Rafe reappeared from the hall. “Link’s ready,” he said. “I do have a pick on it, so I can monitor from another set to detect any interference, but it should hold and I will be studiously ignoring the conversation.”

“Of course you will,” Grace said. She patted his shoulder as she went back to the kitchen. Rafe looked startled, then lifted an eyebrow to Mac.

“She’s making fruitcake,” Mac said, as if that explained everything. Maybe it did. “We are warned not to steal the smallest nibble; she will make something for us later.”

“Who’s she poisoning?” Rafe asked, going straight for the obvious.

“I hope I’m wrong in my surmises,” Mac said. “It may be a simple gesture of friendship. Come, let us go persuade that no-doubt-very-upright flagship captain to do doubtful deeds.”

“You’ve both been reading real literature,” Rafe said. “Stop it.”

Vanguard II’s captain, initially chilly and formal, warmed up as Mac explained why communications previously had been so limited. “I’ve got an ISC tech monitoring this line to be sure it’s clean and stays so. If I break off suddenly, someone tried to put a ferret down the hole.”

“What’s the word on the admiral? All I know is that you told me you’re sure she’s alive. Surely not still in a life raft?”

“She is alive; she’s on that continent that you can see bare-eyed near our south pole but that we haven’t been able to get a scan of until recently.”

“We noticed that. What happened?”

“We think the same people who sabotaged the shuttle have a secret installation there. The admiral is inside it, with the survivors from the life rafts. For the moment, they’re safe: they have supplies, they’re underground, and she thinks the power source is geothermal. They can’t go anywhere else; the weather’s too severe. We can’t go there for the same reason.”

He went on to tell the captain what Ky had told Rafe—what she had found out, and what she suspected. “So,” he finished, “when the weather moderates, come the austral spring, we expect the bad guys to show up to kill them all and try to keep the place secret.”

“But you can mount a mission as well, can’t you? And why doesn’t she contact us?”

“We’re afraid any communications from there might be compromised. She has a… a device she can use for secure contact to the ISC tech, but it’s nonstandard and doesn’t interface with anything else. At least, that’s what he told us. The installation has com equipment, she said, but she suspects it’s all being monitored by the enemy. So what we’ve come up with—”

“We who? You and the admiral?” Suspicion colored Pordre’s voice again.

“The Rector of Defense and I. We’re trying to keep communications with the admiral to a minimum, on her suggestion.”

“Did she say to call me?”

“Yes, if we were sure the tight-beam wasn’t compromised. She also said she appreciated your steadfast support, and if worse came to worst, and her death was confirmed, she knew you would take care of everything properly. Commander Bentik was killed in a firefight with a traitor among the survivors. Sorry, sir, I should have reported that earlier.”

“A firefight… was the admiral wounded?”

“No, sir.” Mac stopped there. Would the captain ask for details? A longish pause suggested the captain was considering doing just that, but he did not. Well, then, now came the ticklish bit. “Captain, there’s a… an unusual request. It’s not directly from the admiral, because—since she hasn’t contacted us for several days, not an unusual gap—she is unaware of some of the Rector’s staff’s discoveries about the probable saboteurs.”

“So—this is from the Rector? You’re in her residence, aren’t you? Why doesn’t she talk to me herself?”

A very reasonable question. He wished he knew more about this Captain Anton Pordre. But surely Ky would have picked someone with political acumen for this particular trip. “Plausible deniability, Captain. She would like this to be known as your initiative.”

“Would she?” Another long pause. “Well, then, tell me.”

“She suspects that her office’s communications with subordinate commands may not be secure—and thus gathering a ground combat force large enough to handle the force being assembled by the saboteurs without alerting them is not likely. And starting a civil war is… unhealthy.”

“We don’t have ground troops aboard.” Pordre sounded both annoyed and stubborn now. “We have only ship security; they’re not infantry.”

“That’s not what the Rector was going to ask,” Mac said, keeping his own voice calm.

“Well?”

“You might consider hopping out of the system—out of range of local eavesdropping, if there is any—and contacting Mackensee to see if they would take a contract here. Short-term, and very soon.”

“You—the Rector wants me to bring mercs onto her own planet?”

“I can’t say what the Rector wants. Personally, however, given what we don’t have and what we’re facing, I think some good mercs to put down an insurrection would be a fine idea.”

“Do you happen to have any contact data? A particular individual?”

“I believe, Captain, that going through their main portal and mentioning the admiral’s name should get a quick response, but if you want someone who knows me—your local contact—there’s a Master Sergeant Pitt. We had some productive conversations back on Cascadia after the Battle of Nexus Two.”

“Thank you, Master Sergeant MacRobert.”

From the tone of the captain’s voice, he was making, or had just made, a decision. Mac crossed mental fingers and said nothing, waiting what seemed like far too long before the captain spoke again.

“I believe that we need to take Vanguard out of local contact for a few days,” he said. “I will be contacting you on the usual schedule, in the hope that any ticks infesting us do in fact overhear the conversation. I will express concerns about the due diligence of Slotter Key’s Defense Department and also concerns about security, and admit that I’m under pressure from SDF and must consult them. That I expect to return. I find, having just looked it up, that the admiral did indeed leave information on Mackensee in my emergency file. Will that do?”

“Thank you, Captain; that will do very well.”

“Your estimate of the opposition’s task force?”

“One to two hundred combat troops; we haven’t been able to define it more tightly. Some of the equipment is worrisome, including chemical.”

“Funds—”

“Will be available via the Rector’s discretionary fund.”

“Expect a call in about… two standard hours. Time enough, if someone knows of this call, but not its contents, for me to lose my temper and start readying the ship for emergency departure. And you to inform the Rector of whatever you need to.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

“I want her back as much as you do,” Pordre said, and cut the connection before Mac could reply.