Roth looked worried. “You didn’t have it at Sabine, did you?”

“No. I just said—”

“Because that would screw everything, ma’am. You’re—you’re a privateer?”

“No,” Ky said firmly. “I’m not. I never—I didn’t ask for it, it was here when I got here, and I’m not sure it’s valid anyway, because the government—”

“Ma’am, I’m sorry, but this is a serious problem. I’m going to have to call Captain Pensig.”

“Can you explain?”

“We don’t do contracts with privateers. Legal problems; it’s against regs. There’ve been a few cases, but—you say you haven’t used it?”

“No, I haven’t used it. It was here when I got here, and I’ve been sitting in dock—”

“That’s something…,” he said, but he didn’t sound convinced. “The thing is, ma’am, the term is possession of a letter of marque. Not proof that you’ve operated using it. Can you prove that you didn’t have it before you arrived here?”

“I’ve got the delivery receipt somewhere,” Ky said. Quincy would know, probably.

“I’ll just go back to dockside and call Captain Pensig,” Roth said. Ky started to ask why he wasn’t calling Lt. Mason, but refrained… she didn’t want to deal with Mason anyway. She hoped someone would straighten out the legal angles; it would be the worst sort of irony if a letter of marque that Slotter Key undoubtedly didn’t want her to have kept her from getting the help she needed now.

In a very few minutes, Lee spoke up. “Captain, you’ve got another call from Captain Pensig.”

Pensig looked grim. “So—Roth tells me you weren’t a privateer at Sabine, but now you are. Was that some kind of reward from the Slotter Key government?”

“No,” Ky said. “This is what happened.” She went over it all again, finishing with “So I don’t even know if the letter is valid now. There’s no way to contact them; the ansibles are down.”

“Hmph. The problem is, Captain Vatta, that under the law relating to privateering, possession of a valid letter is construed as sufficient proof that the holder is in fact a privateer.”

Ky hadn’t known that.

“And we don’t contract with privateers, since that blurs the lines of responsibility should anyone question the legality of proceedings.”

“I’m not following that,” Ky said. Pensig sighed.

“I could explain it, but better if our legal staff did. Look here, Captain—we’re both in a cleft stick. You need our protection; we need your money. I believe you when you say you have not committed any acts based on the authority of that letter. Under these circumstances, I think a limited contract might be possible, but you would have to agree not to use that letter of marque while we’re in contract, and I must warn you that the contract will likely be rescinded as soon as we’re back in contact with our headquarters. As you say the letter itself may be. Is that acceptable?”

Ky hadn’t ever planned to use the letter of marque while with the mercenaries anyway. “Yes, that’s acceptable,” she said.

“For our own protection, I’ll have to have that clause added to the contract,” Pensig said. He sighed again. “I’ll have our legal staff transmit the changes. Any other surprises?”

“Not that I know of, but I didn’t know about this one,” Ky said.

Shortly after that, Master Sergeant Roth reappeared with a revised contract; Ky signed it, and Roth transmitted the details of the contract to the Mackensee station and the ship captains. The lieutenant, predictably enough, thought the Mackensee contingent should get more money, but within the hour they had an agreement. Ky called the bank and had five thousand credits transferred to the Mackensee account.

“The men’ll be pleased with this,” Roth said. “They were not looking forward to survival rations or being put in cold storage.”

Ky had not realized that last was a possibility—frozen soldiers? She repressed a shudder. “One favor,” she said. “Could you find me someone other than the lieutenant for a liaison?”

Roth grinned. “Yes, ma’am, I think we can do that.”

Chapter Fourteen

She was finally getting somewhere, Ky thought. Whoever was attacking Vatta, it wasn’t her fault for having killed Paison at Sabine. Stella’s contribution increased her resources considerably, and hiring the Mackensee local force at least ensured that they were on her side, and couldn’t be hired against her. That had to help with her first priority, survival. Rafe… she wasn’t sure of Rafe, but factions within ISC causing the breakdown in ansible communication made a certain sort of sense.

She stretched. It had already been a long, long day. Perhaps a nap… The exterior com line lit, and Lee answered. “Yes—yes, the captain’s on the bridge. Just a moment.” He turned to her. “It’s Captain Pensig again.”

No rest for the wicked was the ancient expression, but it seemed to apply to the virtuous just as well.

Ky sat up in her command chair and flicked on the screen.

“Now that you’ve hired us,” Captain Pensig said without preamble, “what exactly do you want us to do? I assume not sit here like a target for your enemies and eat up all your credits…” The habit of command, well honed by conflicts, conveyed the impression that she should have an entire plan of action laid out already. Roth had only been gone a half hour.

“Er… no.”

“We need a situation report as soon as possible,” Pensig said. “Our intelligence considers the threat level to Vatta ships and personnel extremely high—”

“Too high to come aboard for a conference?” Ky asked, interrupting what looked to be a lengthy harangue.

“No,” he said. “When?”

“At your earliest convenience,” Ky said, hoping that would be at least enough time to eat something. And if not, what could she feed them? What courtesies did mercenary ship captains expect from employers?

“Half an hour, then,” Pensig said. “Expect three of us: myself, Captain Garner’s Exec—we can’t both leave our ships—and Master Sergeant Dolan. Oh, and an escort, of course, but they’ll remain in your docking area.”

“Fine,” Ky said. “I’ll expect you then.” Drat, drat, drat. She was hungry, she was tired, she was not in the mood for a strategy conference right now. But they were coming, and she was the host.

They’d been eating stationside food, as Ky had been saving space for shields or weaponry, so she called down and told Quincy to organize some refreshments for the coming conference. “Fresh nibbling stuff, nothing that needs cooking. At least two, wearing protection, one of them armed,” she said. “And make it quick. They’re coming in a half hour, and I want to get cleaned up. And don’t let that miserable puppy get loose.”

“Right, Captain,” Quincy said, though she sounded as if she was laughing. “The pup’s all right, in his way.”

“He’s in everyone’s way,” Ky said.

Stella, in Ky’s cabin, was deep into computation; Ky hoped it was their financial status being brought up to date. “I’m showering; we have company coming,” Ky said, on her way into the head.

“Who?” Stella asked.

“Our new employees. Strategy conference. You’ll want to be there. Martin, too. Let him know.” Then she was into the shower, twisting the knob for a hard pulsing spray. She toweled off quickly, pulled on her bathrobe, and went back into her cabin. Stella turned around from the desk.

“That was fast.”

“Fast showers are a specialty at the Academy,” Ky said, yanking underwear out of a drawer. Vatta dress blue, she decided, dressing in one swift flow of movement while Stella stared.

“Ky, it takes me that long to get my clothes off the hanger, even if I know what I’m going to wear.”

Ky buttoned the jacket. “So?”

“I’m impressed, that’s all. Why do you want me at this conference? I don’t have any background in strategy.”

“There are three of them and one of me,” Ky said. “Yes, I’m the employer, but I still want better numbers.”