“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 insubordination.” One commanding officer’s comment, “This individual does not know where initiative ends and rocket-propelled idiocy begins,” stuck in her mind. She looked back up at him.

“Not going to be promoted, Captain,” he said. “Too independent.”

“I don’t need a loose cannon,” she said. “I’ve already had one of those, and he almost got me killed.”

“Ma’am, I’m not a loose cannon. I know what statement you’re referring to, and that officer was willing to let the depot be robbed blind rather than admit he’d trusted the wrong civ. What I did was go over his head, when he wouldn’t do anything about it.” A tight grin split the man’s face. “I couldn’t go over your head, ma’am—you’re the top of your command chain.”

Despite herself, Ky grinned back. “Did the consul explain that I’ve been attacked and so has my ship? It’s not a safe berth I’m offering.”

“Yes, ma’am, Captain. It’ll be my pleasure to keep you alive and the ship safe. And I understand you need someone with expertise in inventory control?”

“Yes. My cargomaster was killed last voyage; his second is excellent but not experienced with inventory, since Gary did all that.”

“I’ve handled inventory control for this post and others.”

“The shuttle leaves in an hour and a half,” Ky said. “I don’t know about transport out—”

“I can take care of that, ma’am. If you’re willing.”

It was crazy. But something about him, about that solid, obviously experienced man, gave her the first real confidence she’d felt since losing contact with Vatta headquarters. He was certainly not the type to need saving, either—for once she couldn’t be accused of playing rescue. “Let’s not miss the shuttle,” she said. “Glad to have you along.”

The trip back to Belinta Station aboard a governmental supply shuttle was as boring and uneventful as she hoped. Flanked by a police escort, with Martin beside her, she made it unscathed through the station corridors to her own dockside and aboard.

There she found not the calm she expected, but chaos and dissension, a knot of obviously scared and angry people yelling in the rec area.

“I’m not staying,” Riel Amat, her senior pilot, was saying. “You can’t make me. It’s too dangerous.”

“You can’t leave!” Quincy’s voice was hoarse, as if she’d been talking a long time.

“What’s going on?” Ky asked. Her crew whirled to face her. Martin, she noticed, had placed himself along the bulkhead in a position to shield her from Riel.

“Captain—” Riel reddened, then plunged on. “I just can’t do it. It was bad enough before, and now that someone almost blew up the ship—I just can’t. The station board says there’s a Pavrati ship headed insystem; I want to transfer.”

Quincy was glaring at Martin now. “Who’s this?”

“Our new cargomaster and security chief,” Ky said. “We need someone in charge of ship security—meet Gordon Martin. Ex-Spaceforce, just retired. Also experienced in supply.” She turned to Riel. “I don’t know if you realize it, but there’s a break in communications between here and Slotter Key—something’s going on, and there’s no guarantee there’ll be another ship home anytime soon.”

“I don’t care. I do not want to stay on this ship and you can’t make me.”

“I can take care of the piloting, Captain,” said Lee. She hadn’t noticed him before; unlike the others in the compartment, he was sitting relaxed on the bench. “I’m staying.”

“Who else wants to leave?” Ky said.

“If there was a ship,” Sheryl Donster, her navigator, began, “I’d want to take it. But there’s not. And I don’t want to stay on this station; we’ve already been attacked here. So I guess I’ll stay…”

“Crew briefing in an hour,” Ky said. “I’ll tell you what I know then. Meanwhile, start preparing for departure. Riel, I’ll see you in my cabin now.”

“Ma’am?” That was Martin, still by the bulkhead.

“We have police security outside for now. Alene, if you’ll show him how to access the cargo records—and by the way, Quincy, did the police give us back our missing cargo?”

“No. They say they need it.”

“Not as bad as we do. I’ll speak to them, after I’ve talked to Riel. I’ll want a time to departure as soon as you know, Quincy.”

Riel followed her to her cabin, silent but radiating stubborn resistance.

“Sit down,” Ky said, when she had seated herself in her desk chair. He perched on the edge of the other chair. “Look, Riel—I know you’re scared and I understand. You have every reason to think I’m a dangerous person to be around, and you may well be right. But before you decide to jump ship, you need to know what I know about the situation out there.”