Ky slid into her seat and fastened the safety harness as Vispersen and the Commandant moved forward.
Out the port she saw darkness again, flickers of lightning below, then an arrangement of lights that must be a city. She couldn’t tell which by the pattern the lights made. She thought again of the Commandant’s suggestion that she give a lecture—or was it more than one?—at the Academy, and that reminded her again of the ansible in her implant. The Commandant came back to his seat and fastened his own harness. “Won’t be long,” he said.
“I noticed the pilots were in survival suits,” Ky said. “I remember they made us get into them on the way down, on our cadet trips.”
“That was more to be certain you knew how to put them on,” the Commandant said. “If something does happen, the flight crew shouldn’t need to change, but passengers will have time.”
Ky nodded and looked out the port again. She enjoyed this view of Slotter Key as they passed through the night to dawn, then day.
A soft chime rang. “Commencing reentry in three minutes,” said a recorded voice. “Secure all loose items, ensure safety toggles are engaged in case of any situation. Final warning at one minute. All personnel should be seated and in safety webbing at that time, with all loose items secured.”
Vispersen reappeared, glanced at their safety harnesses, and then went behind the curtain. At the one-minute warning, a louder chime, and reentry shields slid closed across the viewports. Ky felt nothing at the moment the shuttle should have been braking for reentry, which meant the artificial gravity was functioning normally. She wished she had the flight plan and knew this shuttle’s rate of descent, but she was a guest here, not a commander. It felt strange, after all the years in which she had always known exactly what was happening.
“There are some political complications you should be aware of,” the Commandant said.
Ky dragged her mind back to here and now. “Yes?”
“I don’t know if MacRobert briefed you on the situation on Slotter Key when you met him after the Nexus battle—”
“Not entirely, no.”
“Your great-aunt, now Rector, gathered most of the information about the origin of the attack on Vatta. She and MacRobert—whom I assigned to liaise with her—concluded that cover had come from the highest levels of government. She would have acted, if she had not been shot when assassins tried to kill the children she was guarding. And that is why I was the person to assist the former President to make a decision regarding his future.”
Ky blinked, trying to parse that statement. Did he mean he’d talked to the man or—something else? MacRobert had told her little, really, about the change of government on Slotter Key, except that Aunt Grace had provided key information and the former President had committed suicide. Had it been suicide? And why would the Spaceforce Academy Commandant be involved?
He continued before she could think what—and how—to ask.
“What you do not know—what only a few other people now living know—is that your great-aunt and I became acquainted during that civil war when we were both young. I was just a boy, in fact.”
That was not just a surprise; that was an immediate flare of curiosity. She didn’t know much about that war except that it had had something to do with the formation of the planetary government. It had been over long before she was born, and was barely mentioned in her school history class.
“I don’t think you need to know much about that,” the Commandant went on. “But there are still political repercussions from that nasty little war, and she and I both feel that the attack on Vatta may have been motivated by more than Osman Vatta’s personal malice.”
Ky could not think what to say; she was still struggling to imagine the Commandant and her great-aunt involved in a civil war.
“Recent intelligence suggests that there may still be some conspirators we haven’t identified. Rector Vatta has had difficulties with elements of the military, though it may not be related. She rubs some people the wrong way.” Ky could easily imagine that. He shrugged and went on. “The current President, though amenable to reasonable suggestions when he succeeded to the role, has been less so after the elections that followed. There’s a faction that strongly opposed sending ships to support your force. We think they—”
A loud chime interrupted him. The flight crew announcement light came on.
“Commandant, we have a situation.” Ky could not tell which of the pilots it was, but the voice sounded tense.
Ky forced herself not to ask questions. She looked at the port, still covered. She stared at it anyway. She hated being cut off from ship’s systems. She tried to imagine what would be below now, but without the course data the pilots had, it was only a wild guess.
“We’re going to need to make an emergency landing, possibly wet.” That same tense, over-controlled voice.
This was not her shuttle, not her command. The best thing to do was keep quiet and out of the way. She thought of her aide. This would only convince Jen that Slotter Key was a chaotic, undisciplined, dangerous place.
“Why?” The Commandant’s voice rose a fraction. She glanced at him, then back at the blank gray of the shield just outside the port.
“Threats, Commandant. Station Traffic Control reported credible threats during the previous orbit, and now there are anomalies in the instrument readings that were nominal before. We’ll be descending faster, and hoping to make it to Pingat Islands, the nearest field, but we’re getting more anomalies—some systems may fail. You will need to take steps—”
“Sirs—with respect—” Vispersen came into their compartment. He carried two bulging packages in his arms and set them down on the table. “You need to change into survival suits. Commandant, this is yours. Admiral—”
Ky looked at the packages, then back at him. Her suit, transported from her flagship, was in a blue duffel; both these were orange. “I need my own suit,” she said. “I can get it—” She started to release the safety harness.
“Ours has our own codes loaded in its transponder,” Vispersen said. “We got your measurements from your ship. I understand you brought your own—insisted on it—but it’s not compatible with our emergency communications channels.”
The Commandant was already pulling the tabs on the larger package. Spaceforce should be reliable, but—in light of the recent conversation and this emergency—she could not be certain. Survival suits could be sabotaged in any of a hundred ways, with fatal results to the user; she knew who had packed hers, back on Vanguard II. She glanced at the Commandant, and saw the same surmise in his eyes. Yet if they were going down they had to have the suits on. She stood up.
“I’ll use my own suit,” she said, allowing a little edge to her voice. “It’s in the front locker; I can find it.”
“No need, Admiral; I’ll bring it.” Vispersen snatched up the package she’d rejected and hurried forward, returning in a moment with her sealed blue duffel.
She peeled back the closure. “There are enough suits for everyone?” she asked the steward, lifting the suit out.
“Yes, Admiral,” Vispersen said. “Nobody left out.” He grinned. “Even me, when I’ve seen you safely suited. The aft stewards will be taking care of the other compartments.” He paused, then asked, “Will your aide be in her own suit?”
The Commandant gave him a sharp look but said nothing; he had his suit unfolded now, and was unsnapping the front closure. Tiny alarm bells rang in Ky’s mind.
“I’m certain she will,” Ky said, unfolding her own. “I know she brought it.”