Matériel of military significance could be anything from medicine to weapons…

But probably not tractors, disk cultivators, spring-tooth harrows, harvesting combines, Ky hoped.

Readingfurther: the listing ended with a pious statement of belief in a deity Ky had never heard of, and the advice to potential customers to consider carefully whether they really had anything worth fighting over. “War is not a game,” the last paragraph read. “War is nasty, dirty, brutal; we hope that potential customers will find a way other than war to solve their problems. But if conflict is inevitable, then the least destructive approach is that which leads to a quick, decisive conclusion. In that case, our expertise may be of service.”

As a Saphiric Cyclan trained in logic, Ky found this disclaimer both dishonest and funny. She could just imagine the up-rolled eyes and folded hands… with a third invisible hand held out for the payoff.

She hoped that some of the listing was correct, though, because if these mercenaries really didn’t want trouble with all the commercial shipping concerns, they might well leave a Vatta ship alone. In that case… why had they blown the ansibles? Surely they would know that would bring the ISC after them?

Unless… someone else had blown the ansibles? Someone who detected their approach and wanted to send an alarm message—but then, why not just send it, via ansible? Someone—perhaps their employers—who had the bright idea to interdict ansible communication in the simplest way.

If Secundus had hired mercenaries to advise them or fight for them…

“Attention all ships…” Her comdesk informed her that this was a recorded message, origin one of the warships. “All ships in Sabine system. For your own safety, it is imperative that you reply on receipt of this message, using standard UCC channel seventeen, with the following information: ship name, ship registry, ship owner, ship captain. In that order. This is Colonel John Calvin Tessan, Mackensee Military Assistance Corporation, in command of the Mackensee Engineer Battalion and Expeditionary Force.”

The message repeated, clearly a recorded loop, and Ky stared across at Riel.

“What’re you going to do, Captain?” he asked. She noticed, with a clarity that bothered her, that he looked scared.

“What I’m told,” she said. “We have two very large warships insystem, and more possibly coming in. They could bat us into pieces without even trying. I don’t want them to try.” She set the com to channel seventeen, checked the setting once more, and transmitted, without comment, Glennys Jones, Slotter Key, Vatta Transport Limited, K. Vatta.

A lightlag later, her board lit again and an unrecorded voice came out. “Vatta Transport ship Glennys Jones continue on present course; do not change course without direction.” The voice waited for no answer; the light went off.

“Are we going to hit anything?” Ky asked. Sheryl shook her head. “No, Captain. We could do this for several days—maybe longer, I’ll have to look—as long as nobody runs into us.”

“Then we’ll just keep on keeping on,” Ky said. For the time being, Glennys Jones had been dismissed as too little to matter, a nonproblem. She watched on deepscan, aware that other ships would have received that message at different times, thanks to their different distance from the warships. If they obeyed, they also would get orders—the same orders? Maybe, maybe not. At any rate, some of those ships would not get the first message for another hour or so, during which time nothing exciting should happen—she hoped.

But in any event, time to address her crew. Ky took a deep breath, then another, and yawned once to open her throat. Never sound scared, never sound worried: that had been the advice of their second-year rhetoric instructor. Always prepare what you have to say. Have a point to make, and make it. Don’t ramble, don’t waffle.

“I’m going to let the others know what’s going on,” she said to the bridge crew. They nodded. She turned the ship’s intercom back on. “This is the captain,” she said. “Here’s the situation. There are two warships insystem, mercenaries. I don’t know who hired them, but probably Secundus. They’ve asked all civilian ships to identify themselves; we have done so. We have been told to stay on our present course, which is what we’re doing. According to what I found in the database, their stated policy is not to confiscate commercial ships or their nonmilitary cargoes, or harm their crews.” Explaining the exceptions to this policy would only alarm them, Ky thought, so she didn’t.

Civilian ships, small merchanters, did not have the clear rank structure Ky had been taught in the Academy. It had bothered her, the first few days, and then she had grown used to it. Now that lack bothered her again. She wanted to leave the bridge and walk around the ship, speaking reassuringly to her crew the way she was supposed to. But she had no exec to leave in charge even for a few minutes, and from the expression on Riel’s face, he wasn’t up to it.

“Section firsts, to the bridge, please,” Ky said.

Gary Tobin arrived first, thenQuincy, then Mitt. They all looked worried; Ky did her best to project calm confidence.

“Here’s what I think happened,” she said. “Secundus hired some mercenaries. They call themselves the Mackensee Military Assistance Corporation, and the communication I got listed an Engineer Battalion and Expeditionary Force. The onboard database doesn’t have much, but I remember from the Academy that many mercenary units provide technical assistance and training as well as weaponry and troops. They often call their training cadres engineers, whether or not they do any engineering.”

“So this would be both instructors and soldiers, you think?”

“I think so, yes. Secundus managed to come up with the down payment—these people don’t come fight on spec—but didn’t have enough to finance more than a short stay. That’s why they needed to have the ansibles out.”

“But is this company… reliable?”Quincyasked.

“I don’t have enough data. At the Academy, they taught us about the history of mercenary forces in space, and those that had once operated in our own system, and the theoretical limits of mercenary activity, but they didn’t tell us which currently active units abided by which conventions, if any, with regard to civilian spacecraft.” Ky paused for a sip of water. “We weren’t expected to be on civilian spacecraft.”

“So what do we do now?”Garyasked.

“What they tell us,” Ky said. “We have no weapons and only moderate shielding—nothing that can stand a hit from their kind of weapons. If we’re lucky, they’ll decide we’re no threat, not worth impounding, and after some delay the ansibles will be back up and we can get through to Vatta, let them know we’re all right—and by the way, send money because we need some repairs.”

“And if we’re unlucky?”

“They impound the cargo. Or they impound the cargo and the crew. Or, worst case, they use us for target practice. But since we can’t do anything about it right now, our job is to keep the ship operating as smoothly as possible.” She paused; no one said anything. Always give your people something to do, she’d been taught. “Mitt, I want an analysis of environmental right down to the eighth place: we have four additional crew on board, what does that do to our cruising range? Every factor you can think of—atmosphere, water, nutrition—everything. What will attempted repairs do to that analysis? Heat output, higher respiratory rate of exchange, whatever.Quincy, I need to know everything—everything—about the repairs we need. Nothing’s too trivial.Gary, since the load’s secured at this point, I’d like you to do a personnel survey. The crew records tell me what people’s listed expertise is, but I never heard of a spacer yet who didn’t have at least one unlisted specialty known to a friend. Find it all out, and route it to my desk. If we have someone who used to cobble together ansibles out of paper clips and moly wire, or counterfeit some currency, I want to know it.”