“Not top priority,” she was told. “What’s the condition of your passengers?”
Hungry, weak, cranky. What did they expect?
“Capable of half hour EVA in pressure suit?”
No, of course not. They’d been too hungry for too long. She sent No and wished she had a code for an exclamation point. Finally she had the message they were all longing for. Prepare to receive relief party with medical assistance and rations…
This whole thing of standing around waiting for boarding parties was getting old. Ky knew she should be grateful for the rescue, but what she felt was not gratitude. She tried to tell herself it was just the natural effect of fatigue and hunger, perfectly ordinary physical causes for irritability, but she knew it went deeper than that. She had set off on what could have been a boring routine trip or a grand adventure, and here she was being rescued like some twit in a story who hadn’t had the sense to stay out of trouble. She snarled mentally at the little voice that said, Well, did you? Conscience was a wonderful thing except at times like this.
When the knock came on the outer hull, she operated the exterior hatch—by now it worked smoothly—and was surprised to see that the pressure indicator dropped only slightly. The two people who came into the chamber wore only light pressure suits, hoods pushed back. One of them was Master Sergeant Pitt. She opened the inner hatch at Pitt’s signal. The mercenaries? Why the mercenaries? She’d expected a civilian rescue team.
“We’ve got a transfer launch tubed to your hatch, Captain Vatta,” Pitt said without preamble. “Should make it easier. Permission to come aboard?”
Ky did not point out that they already were aboard, and nodded. Pitt came into the little antechamber.
“We’ve got rations enough to last you until we reach the orbital station,” Pitt said. “Anyone’s in bad enough shape, we can take them now. How are they doing?”
“The live ones are fine,” Ky said.
“Some of them died… How did that happen?” Pitt’s expression didn’t change but her tone flattened.
“I guess they didn’t tell you,” Ky said. Why not? she wondered. What was ISC up to? “The captain and first officer of Marie, and the captain of the Empress Rose, were involved in piracy—and working with whoever blew the ansible platforms. They tried to mutiny when you folks left the system. That’s why we’ve got the wrong beacon ID and that’s how our insystem drive went off.”
Pitt’s mouth twitched. “And here I thought you’d decided to head for home on your own. Here—let’s get the com tech and transmitter aboard, while you tell me—” She signaled, and a man carrying an equipment case edged past them. “To the bridge with him?”
“Sure,” Ky said.
“So, how did they manage that?” Pitt asked. It took Ky a moment to realize what she was talking about.
“Tapped into the ship’s data lines and subverted the AI. I’d been afraid of something like that, but we didn’t have any way to secure the system against people who knew what they were doing. Too many of them, too few of us, and no real way to isolate them from everything.”
“I suppose this is payback for the trouble the first time,” Pitt said thoughtfully.
“Huh?”
“ISC must’ve told our commander all that, but nobody told me. Command wasn’t overly thrilled with me for mishandling that first boarding; this must be their idea of a joke.”
Ky hadn’t thought of it that way.
“So, what did you do?” Pitt asked.
“When the ship took off suddenly? Well—I had to stop the mutiny. Paison—Marie’s captain—had a member of my crew hostage and was threatening to kill him unless I surrendered the ship to him.”
“’Course you wouldn’t do that,” Pitt said. Her certainty surprised Ky.
“I didn’t, but why are you so sure?”
“You’re not the type. Military-trained, even though you hadn’t seen action—you wouldn’t fall for that. How many did you lose?”
“Only the one,” Ky said. Only the one, but someone she’d known off and on, and her father’s chosen baby-sitter. “I—had only the pistol bows, Mehar’s target kit. I’d been practicing, just in case. Paison and his mate and a few others had knives; the mate had Gary… they had a mob behind them. So I shot them.” Suddenly she wanted to tell Pitt all about it, get a veteran’s response to it. She must not. “They killed Gary; I killed the leaders; the rest weren’t that eager.”
“Good job, Captain,” Pitt said. “Now—let’s get the rations aboard, eh?”
“Why is Mackensee doing this?” Ky asked.
“ISC,” Pitt said. “Proof of good faith. They still aren’t convinced we had nothing to do with the ansible attack, even with what you said. Or so they say. I think they’re just being punitive, myself. But nobody argues with ISC.”
That was true. Ky dragged her mind away from that and back to the immediate problems. “What about those rations, then?”
“Right, Captain.” Pitt muttered into her shoulder mike and said, “If you’ll go on to the galley, and have someone ready to direct stowage, I’ll stay here and direct the transfer.”
Up in the crew rec space, her crew waited, all but the two on the bridge. They stared at her as she came in, not saying anything.
“It’s all right,” Ky said. “They’re about to transfer rations over to us, and we can start feeding right away. Li, you’re in charge of stowage of the rations.”
The first person in, however, was not carrying ration packs but a bright orange medical kit. “I need to assess physical condition,” he said. “And advise you on refeeding schedules to minimize problems. Do you have records of how much and what you were feeding?”
“Yes—but why do we need that?”
“Because refeeding after prolonged starvation or below-subsistence feeding can be tricky. I’ll need to check everyone individually for metabolic variations, and then make out a program. If we’re lucky we’ll only have two or three main groups to worry with. Spacers come from so many different places, though, with so many different metabolic quirks…”
“You can’t ask people to starve another day or so while you work this out,” Ky said. She could feel her neck getting hot.
“No, of course not,” he agreed. “But the first refeeding must be small and bland. Small meals and frequent is the best for everyone; the details do matter, especially in the next week, and especially since your environmental system is operating near its limits. The last thing you need is two dozen bouts of diarrhea.” Beyond him, troopers were bringing in dollies of ration packs. Ky could hear Li directing them where to put things in storage.
“That’s certainly true,” she said. “But what can I have the crew fix now, right away? We have forty-odd very hungry passengers.”
“I’ll check your crew first, and then them. Let’s start with you. Planet of origin?”
“Slotter Key—I’m fine, you don’t have to worry about me—”
“If the captain goes down, the ship goes down. Put your finger in this.” He held out a fat cylinder with a hole in one end, studded with buttons. Ky put her finger in. “Ah. You last ate when? And what?”
Ky had to think hard to remember, and told him. He touched a button on the side of the fat cylinder, then two others.
“Here’s yours, and I’m perfectly serious. For best recovery and performance in the meantime, you need to adhere to this schedule. Now, right now, one bread ration and one fruit pack. The rest I’ll upload to your system storage.”
“But—”
“That’s your hunger arguing with me.” He turned to the file of people moving the ration packs. “Bring me one of those.” At once, one of the men brought over a flat brown package. The medic ran his finger along a ridge on top; the package folded back. Inside were smaller packets, each with a picture label. Ky stared.
“We had to rip those things open with kitchen knives, and it was a job,” she said. “Nobody told us—”