"Vatta's War - 02 - Marque And Reprisal" - читать интересную книгу автора (Moon Elizabeth)

MARQUE AND REPRISAL

By ELIZABETH MOON

BALLANTINE BOOKS Х NEW YORK


For all who serve in the armed forces, or in any other capacity in which they discover and must learn to cope with the darkness within, with gratitude for the service, and understanding of the dilemmas. And for Jen, for a rescue.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The Usual Suspects outdid themselves again, from the fencing group to the family. Thanks are also due to the Camp Allen staff, for letting Michael come another year (during which week I got a lot done), and to his special-ed teachers at the high school. The helpers who pitched in with Fox Pavilion (Scott Hawes, Leslie DТAllesandro Hawes, Ruta and Ferris Duhon) saved me a lot of work and worry with that project, and freed more writing time. Beth Sikes is due thanks for insightful comments on some of the characters. The terriers in the Leading Rein, in Austin, instructed me on the character traits of Jack Russell terriers. L. D. offered technical expertise on certain aspects of military procedure. S. and G. shared technical expertise in the areas of communications, corporate organization and finance, and related matters. My agent and editor cheered me on when I felt stuck (which, in this book, happened more than once), and Jennifer Davis helped me unstick from a bad musical situation and get into a good one. Several used-book and antiquities shops in London contributed their ambience to a seedy space station. As always, mistakes are mine.


CHAPTER ONE
Kylara Vatta looked at the mass of paperwork from BelintaТs Economic Development Bureau and sighed. The real life of a tradeship captain: paperwork and more paperwork, negotiation with shippers, customers, Customs officials. The life she hadnТt wanted, when she chose to enter the Slotter Key Spaceforce Academy, and the life she had fallen back into when she was expelled. Boring. Mundane.
Not that her recent experiences in Sabine had been boring or mundaneЧterrifying was more like itЧand no one would want another trip like that.
Except that she did. She remembered very clearly the rush of excitement, the soaring glee of the fight itself, the guilty delight when sheТd killed Paison and Kristoffson. So either she wasnТt sane or . . . or nothing. She thought of the diamonds tucked into her underwear drawer. Not enough to restore her old tub of a ship completely, but enough to take her to somewhere else, somewhere she could make the kind of life she really wanted. Perhaps the mercenaries would accept her violent tendencies; theyТd offered a chance. Perhaps someone else. It would annoy her family, but not as much as the truth would hurt them.
No. She had to finish one job at least. Crew depended on her. The ship belonged to her family, as well, and she could not possibly earn enough to buy it away by the next stop or the next. She sighed again, signed another sheet, and stared at the next. All right, then. Take this old tub to Leonora, deliver that cargo, then to Lastway. If she couldnТt finance a refit by then, return to the original plan and go home by commercial passenger ship. If she made enough profit, enough to do the refit, she could get that done and bring the ship back to Slotter Key, and then resign. OrЧshe stared into a distance far beyond her cabin bulkhead. She could send the ship back with someone else. Quincy, for instance, knew enough to run the ship herself.
In the long run, her family would be better off without her. If her father knew how sheТd felt when she killed . . . no. She had had those nightmares, trying to explain to that gentle man, hoping for his understanding but seeing the horror in his face. Better the smothering, overprotective love that had annoyed her in their last conversation than that horror, that disgust, that rejection. If she went home, he would sense something; he would try to probe, try to get her to confide in him, and eventually he would wear her down. It would be worse than anything else that had happened, to have her father sorry she was ever born.
She should just go away. Years later, maybe, she might be able to explain it to him, and he might be able to accept it. Years might put a safe skin on the raw truth of what she was.
She worked her way through the rest of the forms, then decided to take them to the local postal drop herself. Belinta Station had few amenities, but a walk would be refreshing in itself.
УQuincyЧIТm going to drop the paperwork off,Ф she said into the shipТs intercom.
УFind anything to load, or do you want us to start transferring what we left in storage?Ф
УI havenТt found anything yet,Ф Ky said. УI may have to go downside for that. Go on and load . . . see if you can get some of the station dockworkers to help with that. Usual rates and all.Ф
She glanced at herself in the mirror and decided she was presentable enough. She needed a new uniformЧthe one she had left after Sabine no longer had the crisp, perfect tailoring her mother had paid forЧbut only if she was staying with Vatta. If she joined a mercenary company, she would wear its uniform; if she stayed independent, sheТd have to find one of her own design. But to drop off forms to be transmitted to a bureaucracy, gray tunic and slacks should be sufficient. She clipped on the Belinta Station access pass.
Outside the ship, Belinta Station hardly bustled with activity. Only three ships were in dock, and the other two were insystem haulers servicing BelintaТs meager satellite mining operations. On their own dockside, Quincy was talking to a burly man in the ubiquitous green tunic of Belinta dockworkers. Beeah, beside her, held a compad ready to record employee data if QuincyТs negotiations were successful. Ky walked briskly past two men chatting on a bench, a woman standing by a lift entrance, barely restraining a bouncing toddler, the faded ads for BelintaТs few and unenticing tourist resorts, and turned left into the wide main corridor. Here were the currency exchanges, banks, communications servicesЧlocal and ansibleЧBelinta Port Authority, the hiring hall, and, finally, the postal service. Midshift, few others were in sight. Someone with a briefcase just going into Belinta Savings & Loan, two women chatting as they emerged from Allsystems Exchange.
Beyond were rows of blanked openings to spaces that would someday, if Belinta proved prosperous, house more services, more stores, more people. No traffic at all moved down there.
Ky turned into the postal serviceТs entrance and walked up to the counter where a display readNOW SERVING NUMBER SIX EIGHTY-TWO . The only clerk in sight did not look up, but said, УTake a number.Ф Typical Belintan courtesy, Ky thought, and looked around for the number generator. By the entrance. She pulled the tab; the counter display changed toNOW SERVING SIX EIGHTY-THREE and the clerk said, УNumber six eighty-three!Ф in an annoyed tone, as if sheТd kept him waiting.
УThis is all for the Economic Development Bureau,Ф Ky said.
УTo whose attention?Ф asked the clerk.
УIt doesnТt matter. Just the EDB.Ф
УIt has to be directed to an individual,Ф the clerk said. УYou canТt send mail to the whole bureau.Ф
УIt says on the form,Ф Ky said, pointing to the block underRETURN TO . УNo name, just the bureau.Ф
УIt has to have a name,Ф the clerk said. УItТs the rules. All mail to government agencies must be directed to an individual.Ф
Ky was tempted to make up a name. Instead, she said, УDo you have a directory?Ф
УCustomers are not allowed to use our confidential directories or communications devices,Ф the clerk intoned. УThis is a security issue. Customers are advised to identify the correct recipient prior to arriving in the postal service office. Next, please.Ф
Ky glanced behind her. No one stood in line. УIt wouldnТt take a moment to look it up.Ф
УNext, please.Ф The clerk still wasnТt looking at her. Ky wanted to reach across the counter and wring his skinny neck, but that was the impulse of a moment. This was part of being a tradeship captain; this was the kind of senseless, ridiculous, annoying nonsense she could expect.
УFine,Ф she said instead. УIТll deliver it myself.Ф After all, she had to go downside anyway, to find out if there was any cargo worth carrying from this wretched planet.
УGlad to be of service have a nice day,Ф the clerk said all in one breath.
Ky went back the way sheТd come, past the corridor that led to the docking area, past Goodtime Eats and JerryТs Real Food and Quick-snack, where the two women sheТd seen earlier were head to head over a small table, to the ticket office for the shuttle service. She could not remember just when the daily service leftЧ
УTwo and a half hours,Ф the clerk said. УBe at the boarding area a half hour before departure.Ф
That gave time to go back to her ship and change. She turned to go but a screech from the PA system stopped her. УWhatТs that?Ф
УI donТt know,Ф the clerk said.
УStay wherever you are,Ф a bone-shaking voice said. УAll personnel stay wherever you are. Emergency crews one and two, to dockside on the double. All personnel . . .Ф
УMy ship!Ф Ky said. УI have to get backЧФ
But the ticket office entrance was closed, the metal grate locking with a final chung even as she moved toward it.
УYou heard Тem,Ф the clerk said. УWeТre all supposed to stay put.Ф
УWell, I canТt,Ф Ky said. УOpen that thing.Ф