She hoped it didn’t. She hoped very much her father didn’t know that she was a long way from where she was supposed to be, in a developing war zone, and out of ansible contact.

The board meeting opened on time, for a wonder. The media ruckus downstairs had almost delayed the arrival of Ky’s father, but he had time for a half cup of coffee before strolling, elaborately casual, down to the boardroom with his brother.

“Any news?” Stavros asked.

“Not yet,” Gerard Vatta, Ky’s father, said. “We shouldn’t hear anything now until the first stop.” He raked his hand through his thinning hair. He didn’t need to say more; Stavros knew the plan.

“It’s a shame,” Stavros said. “She was doing so well.”

“Yes. And thanks again, by the way, for being available for a pickup.”

“Of course.”

“And don’t think I don’t know you’re biting your tongue not to mention Stella.”

“Much as I love Stella, I’m not having to bite my tongue, Gerry. She and Ky are nothing alike. Stella is eighty-seven percent feeling. We should’ve tweaked that in the embryo, but you know how it is…”

“I do indeed. Thanks anyway, and for handling the press so far.” Gerard clapped his brother on the shoulder, and let him enter the boardroom first. Almost everyone there was family but, even in the family, etiquette demanded that the CEO enter before the CFO.

“How much is all this going to cost us?” one of the nonfamily asked. Stavros paused, on his way to his chair, and glanced at the man, and then at Gerard.

“No reason it should cost us anything,” Gerard said. “People aren’t going to give their cargo shipments to someone else because my daughter blundered with another military cadet.”

“But our military support contracts?”

“I have been assured that they are not in jeopardy. Ky wasn’t pilfering from cargo locks, after all; she just fell for a pitiful story from a handsome lad, as girls have done for thousands of years. The military understand that. Now if we tried to send classified cargo by a ship she commanded right now, they might raise their brows. But we aren’t, so there’s no problem.”

“All that publicity—”

“Is focused on a possible love affair… It will die down.”

“But if your daughter talks to the press—”

Gerard cocked his head at the man. “Jas, do you really think we haven’t thought of all that in the past five days? I assure you, Kylara is not about to talk to any press, and they are unlikely to locate her.” It was bad luck to claim an absolute, but by now she should be well out of reach of any Slotter Key news agency. Even within the company, only a few knew which Vatta was aboard the Glennys Jones.

Eventually, the news agencies figured that out, too, and the press of eager reporters at the Vatta offices dwindled, finally disappearing after juicier game. Gerard no longer saw even mid-news “updates” on the mess. He congratulated himself—by the time Ky got back, the whole thing would have died down completely.

When the arrival report came from Belinta, he breathed a sigh of relief. Just as planned, nothing had happened. That wouldn’t last, if he knew his daughter, but she had weathered the first voyage. Gary Tobai’s report suggested she had done all the predictable things, and made the right adjustments. After all, what did Vatta really need with a military connection in the family? They were all basically traders, not warriors. Ky was cut out to be a trader captain, and now she was on the right path.

A few days later, the next message fromGarybrought a grin to his face, and he called Stavros’ office.

“Well, she took the bait,” Stavros said.

“Vatta to the core,” Gerard said. “I take it you got the tightbeam from Quincy or Gary.”

“Both. You can practically hear their gleeful cackling.”

“What kind of scheme has she cooked up? They didn’t send me the details.”

“I’ll send it to you, but it’s classic trader. A bit risky financially—she’s agreed to go on spec, buy the cargo, and trust the buyer to pay up on delivery. On the other hand, the customer’s a government bureau, the parameters of acceptable cargo are clearly defined, and the Slotter Key consul told her they were good for it. The profit from this will cover some of the repairs… If she scraps that ship, I’ll be very surprised.”

“I hope we gave her a big enough letter of credit,” Gerard said.

“It never hurts to have to scrimp a bit,” Stavros said. “Remember our first venture?”

“Of course…” It had been wilder than this, and they’d nearly lost the ship, playing tag with a planetary militia they hadn’t known about, but it had, in the end, paid for the repairs on Matilda C.

“She’ll do fine. The ship’s sound enough for that much, anyway. If something major doesn’t go wrong—and if it does, I’m sure she’ll have the sense to get in contact.”

“I hope so.”

“And if she doesn’t, the others will.”

“I wonder when she’ll break out the fruitcake,” Gerard said. Theirs hadn’t been fruitcake by Auntie Grace, but sausage by Uncle Evers. Hard as a rock—they’d actually bashed one would-be sneak thief with it—and deemed inedible by all but the starving.

“I’d like a picture when she does,” Stavros said. “She really hates that stuff.”

“It is vile,” Gerard said. He shook his head. “The things we do to our younglings.”

Time passed. Gerard tried not to fret. Ky would be making a sensible, reasonable passage to Sabine, which was the closest source of ag equipment. Or she had chosen another place, for a good reason. She would not report in when she arrived, because she would not want to tell headquarters she was playing a lone game. He remembered what that felt like—going out of bounds for the first time, being alone—with a ship full of crew—where no one in the family knew the location. Heady excitement, stomach-churning responsibility. And he’d had Stavros along.

She had good crew along. He knew that. They would take care of her, and she was not an idiot anyway. She might make a profit or not, but she would be fine. He would not, absolutely not, spy on her via the Sabine ansible. He could of course ask someone to get the list of ships in system, but that was… not fair. You gave the young ones rope to see how far they could swing… You did not hover, or it wasn’t a real test. They needed to know later that they really had been out there on their own.

“Gerry, have you seen this?” That was Stavros, leaning on the doorframe, waving a printout of something.

“Probably not,” Gerard said. “Though I’m not sure what it is…”

“News bulletin from Sabine system,” Stavros said.

Gerard’s heart stopped; his vision blurred. “Ky—”

“Gerry! No! I’m sorry—there’s nothing—but there’s political trouble. I’m wondering if we should break cover and order her out.”

Vision came back, red-hazed, and Gerard drew a shuddering breath. “She’s… not…?”

“No. But Prime and Secundus are moving toward war this time, apparently. It’s a slice off the WarWatch page, and they’re pretty solid…”

He knew that. But now he had to know more.

“Who’s on watch?” he asked.

“I already checked. The ship’s there, at the station. Captain Vatta is planetside, has been several days. She’ll be at the Captains’ Guild, no doubt. I haven’t made a call yet, but I was wondering…”

“Let’s see.” Gerard could focus his eyes now, and he scanned the news item quickly. Probability high, with an analysis of forces on both sides sufficient to worry about. “Secundus is crazy,” he said. “If this is all they’ve got.”

“They’ve got those shipkillers,” Stavros pointed out. “And speculation that at least four of them could take out an orbital station.”

“Um. What’s the projected timeline… Yes, I think we should get her out of there. How can we… oh, I know. Ky knows we have an ansible watch, and a news item like this would be reason to check and see if any Vatta ships are in the area. If we send it to the Captains’ Guild for ‘Any Vatta Transport, Ltd., captain’ she won’t know we know where she is.”