Marque and Reprisal by Elizabeth Moon Page B

any of this, I gather.”
    “No,” Ky said. Some of the reactions she’d gotten here and on Sabine now made sense, though. So did that model kit with stray electronic bits Master Sergeant MacRobert had sent her back before she left Slotter Key.
If you need help,
his letter had said, and he was Spaceforce. He must have known about the privateers; he must have been trying to give her a way to contact them. But why hadn’t her father told her? Surely he’d known.
    “Well… you need to know it now. You’re going to be facing hostility and suspicion in many quarters, and whatever is presently going on, with Vatta and Slotter Key’s government at odds, can only make things worse. I don’t suppose you have any seasoned veterans among your crew?”
    “No,” Ky said. “My father thought he was sending me off on a quiet run; he chose crew for their experience with the ship.”
    “You need force you can trust, Captain. The best thing you could do is hire some good toughs. The kind of person you can depend on, so you don’t have to hire guards at every stop.”
    And where would she find someone like that? How could she be sure they weren’t part of a plot to kill her? He must have seen that in her expression.
    “There’s one of our legation guards very close to retiring,” he said. “He’s a bit rough at the edges, but very experienced and strong as an ox. I could speak to him, if you’d like.”
    The memory of what had happened the last time she took on a diplomat’s problem was clear in her mind. Caleb Skeldon had nearly gotten her killed. Would this be another rash idiot?
    “The thing about ex-military is they have discipline as well as training,” Consul Inosyeh said, as if he could read her mind.
    “What I really need is a cargomaster,” Ky said. “Someone who’s good at inventory as well as handling cargo loading.”
    “He is,” Consul Inosyeh said. “That’s if—given what I’ve told you about the government’s position—you trust me.”
    She had already made a fool of herself with the consul’s wife. She had to trust someone, and Inosyeh had missed better chances to do her harm.
    “Ask him, then,” she said. “But I’ll want to talk to him first, if he agrees.”
    “Of course. Now, remember—this conversation took place in the morning, when you arrived here and before I contacted my government.”
    “Yes,” Ky said. She felt numb, even more battered than before. What could she do with one small, slow, unarmed tradeship? How could she find out what was going on? “Um… do you want me to leave now?”
    “Now? No, of course not. It’s night and you’re still not fully recovered. Get a good night’s sleep and by morning I expect the Belinta authorities will have found a way to return you to your ship.” He pushed the hassock away, stood, and stretched. “I have to attend a terminally boring dinner during which I shall pretend that nothing whatever is going on, and you are the hero everyone here thinks you are. I’ll talk to our man when I get back and he’s on duty, and you can meet him in the morning.”
    Ky was sure she would not sleep, and for some time her thoughts ran in giddy circles, but exhaustion took her finally. On her breakfast tray the next morning was a note from Consul Inosyeh advising her that Staff Sergeant Martin would like to speak with her before she left, and she had reservations on a shuttle leaving at 1015 local time.
    Staff Sergeant Gordon Martin was a tall, blocky individual with graying blond hair and gray eyes like frozen pebbles. Though he was out of uniform, no one could have mistaken him for anything but a military man, not with his stance, expression, and attitude. Ky glanced at the information he handed her—he was younger than she’d expected, he had experience in both supply and security, and the summary of his fitness reports suggested why he was retiring that young. No hint of dishonesty or substance abuse, but a pattern of “borderline