She felt—except when she tried to feel guilty and bad—quite happy. Almost—though she knew this was dangerous—smugly happy. She had had a horrible few months, starting with that morning at the Academy, and yet here she was. People had tried to kill her. She had nearly died. And she was alive and they—at least some of them—were dead. Hal hated her—well, that solved any worry about whether she should ever try to contact him. Mandy Rocher… was a nasty little piece of work, and would get his comeuppance someday. She didn’t even care that she might not know about it when that happened.

They arrived in Belinta’s system four days ahead of schedule—that new FTL drive really was superior—and Ky checked in with the Belinta station. She expected a problem because of the beacon change.

“Vatta Transport Gary Tobai, Kylara Vatta commanding, request inbound vector to Belinta station.”

“Gary Tobai, approved vector relaying to your navigator… Captain Vatta, you have ansible messages in queue. Will you accept them now, or wait until your arrival?”

“I’ll wait,” she said. One would be her father, no doubt. She told herself she didn’t care what he said, but she knew she lied.

The ship eased in, day after day. Ky reassured the Economic Development Bureau that she had their ag equipment, every single tractor and implement that could be crammed into their cargo holds. She spoke to the Slotter Key consul in carefully guarded terms about the situation on Sabine, though with the ansibles back up—as the “stations available” list made clear—he could well find out for himself. She made contact with the ISC ship which was patrolling Belinta’s outer reaches and carefully did not ask if they thought Belinta’s ansible platform was at particular risk.

And finally they arrived, docking neatly at the station. Ky arranged for her escort to meet her at the station downside, and for a room at the Captains’ Guild. She planned to accept her ansible mail before talking to Customs, but Customs was already on the horn, demanding her presence. She put on her dress uniform and went out into the dockside area.

“Captain Vatta—it really is you.” Not just the Customs Inspector she’d met before, but two men in the uniform of the Economic Development Bureau.

“That’s right,” Ky said.

“You bought a new ship?”

“No—we ran into a bit of trouble at Sabine, and changed the ship ID chip.”

“You weren’t… doing anything illegal, were you?”

“Not at all,” Ky said. She realized suddenly that changing ship chips was the sort of thing pirates did in storycubes. “Someone broke into our beacon, stole the original ship chip, and we had to reregister under a new name. I have the paperwork.”

“Oh. Very well. And the inventory of the imports?”

“All here. As you’ll see, I bought you new equipment from FarmPower—”

“Why not used?”

“They aren’t selling used there anymore. They’ve got a war on; the used equipment is all gone. Anyway, all these machines were purchased new on Sabine; I have the inventories ready for you.”

“Then we can start unloading today—”

“Not until your payment clears,” Ky said.

The EDB representatives scowled at her. “You think we would cheat you?”

“Our contract calls for payment prior to offloading,” Ky said. “I’m sorry, but I’m required to adhere to the terms of the contract.”

“But we have to inspect it—”

“Of course,” Ky said. “I’ll escort you to the cargo bays…”

There was scarcely room to move in the cargo bays, with diassembled pieces of equipment stowed carefully to make the most use of the available cubage. Ky had to use a hardcopy of the inventory, but the EDB personnel had implants to compare the visible serial numbers.

“How long will it take to unload this?” one of them asked.

“I don’t know,” Ky said frankly. “My cargomaster was killed in the trouble over near Sabine—”

“Brawling in a bar,” said the other EDB man with a sneer.

“No,” Ky said. “Taken as hostage by a pirate who had been interned on my ship, and killed when I suppressed the mutiny. That’s why I renamed the ship for him. I consider him a hero.”

“Oh. Sorry.” A moment of embarrassed silence, then: “But how long did it take to load?”

“WithoutGary—three days. It was already disassembled, though…” She felt tired even before she started, but gave a quick and incomplete recital of what had happened, at least as far as the cargo was concerned.

“You mean it was out there in space, unprotected, for days and days?”

“It was in the same kind of vacuum it would have experienced in any cargo ship’s hold,” Ky said. “FarmPower assured me that there was no need to keep the holds aired up, or at livable temperature, during transport, and I also have their assurance that ambient radiation while outside the ship would not shorten the working life.” She was gladQuincyhad thought to ask for that. “Now, as soon as the credits are in my account, you can start unloading…”

They dithered another hour or so, but finally authorized the transfer of the agreed amount into her local account, payable without tax in credits. Ky handed over the inventory, toldQuincyto supervise the unloading crews, and at last had time to look at her accumulated messages.

As expected, there was one from her father. A full broadband audiovisual that must have cost… she didn’t want to think. She settled down in her cabin, braced for the worst.

“Kylara, I’m so sorry,” was the first thing she heard. Her eyes filled with tears, despite herself. Her father looked exhausted and distraught. “Furman is an idiot, and I wouldn’t have sent him if anyone else had been close enough. He was supposed to help you, not cause you more trouble. I’m sorryGarydied—I haven’t heard all about it yet, but I’m sure he died trying to help you in some way. I know you were injured… Ky, I hope you know that I—that Vatta—were trying to do everything we could to find you, help you, whatever happened. And all I know now is that you must be at Belinta, to have accessed this message—” His voice wavered, then steadied. “Ky, please call me. I’ve set up a prepaid call; you may not need that option, but just in case… please. Please call me. Anytime.”

Not the worst, then. Not angry, not like Furman. But—did she want to call home, like a teenager who’s gotten herself in a fix and has to call Daddy for help? She had coped with the fix—she had coped with death, with injury. She didn’t need him that way.

But he needed her. That tremor in his voice, those circles under his eyes, were not faked.

She went to the bridge and placed the call, using her own now-fatter account. This time the telltales switched promptly from standby to ready to searching to active connection. A brief delay, with a screen message of “reconnecting: mobile unit.” That meant he had the skullphone on.

He answered immediately; the visual was a bouncing green blur, what the skullphone’s visual pickup faced. “Yes?” His voice sounded annoyed; Ky flinched inwardly.

“Dad—it’sKy.”

A final blur, then motion stopped; the pickup stared at what she could now see was one of the back roads in a tik grove. “Ky! Are you all right?” Not annoyance now, but some combination of eagerness and pleading that saddened her.

“I’m fine, Dad. I’m at Belinta’s orbital station… you knew that, you left the message…” She was babbling, trying to give him time.

“Yes.” His breath huffed out; she could almost see his shoulders relax. “You made it… not that I didn’t think you would, but…”

Only a few weeks ago, it seemed, she had been glad to lean into him, feel his comforting arm around her. Now it felt awkward, and not only because he was light-years away. Other kinds of years away, maybe.

“I don’t know what you’ve heard about what happened,” Ky said.

“Not enough,” her father said. “Not nearly enough. I knew you’d gone rogue—Quincy’s probably told you by now we expected something like that on one of your early voyages…” It was not quite a question.