“Best be seated,” the pilot said. “We’re next; she’s aboard.”
Mac walked back to the passenger compartment just as Grace came through the door from the back. She carried two cases he suspected contained special equipment, and she had a pistol holstered on her hip. She gave him a brisk nod. “Good to have you back.”
“I agree,” he said. He looked around. Rafe was visibly tense; Teague expressed a determined lack of tension. “Is this all of us?”
“For now. This flight has scheduled deliveries to make; we’re picking up Stella at Portmentor; I didn’t want her coming into Port Major this trip.” Grace sat down in one of the empty seats. “Rafe, Teague, good to see you. My thanks for your work. Let’s get busy.”
“What else has happened?” Rafe asked.
“Your suggestion that we might want the data our opposition had before we blew their data center was good. I know a few more things of long-term importance—some names and commercial connections going back several hundred years—and some more immediately affecting our situation.”
She paused, head cocked. Mac had noticed the regular bump-bump of the plane’s gear rolling over seams in the taxiway; that had stopped. They were all silent for a time. Mac looked through the open cockpit door and saw the copilot reach out to touch some control. He could hear the Tower communications now, even as the engines’ whine ramped up and the plane shuddered.
“Vatta Transport Flight W-5A, cleared for takeoff. You’re four minutes behind, Duncan… family vacation takes precedence?”
“They own the whole damn line,” the copilot said. “If they want off first, they get the slot. We’ll make it up—good winds aloft, Weather said. Oh—Keith and I have a three-day layover out west—anything we should pick up for you?”
“You’re going salmon fishing again, aren’t you? You can bring me back some smoked salmon from that place you got it three years ago. Julie was crazy about it.”
“Don’t tell the boss,” the copilot said.
“Have I ever?” The sound cut off.
The plane was moving, faster and faster. Mac leaned back in his seat, let the acceleration press him firmly into soft cushions.
“He did, you know,” Grace said. Mac looked at her. “Tell the boss. It’s helpful to have friends in high places—like air traffic control towers.”
He was not surprised by that at all. He was surprised to find himself here, safe, with Grace and the others, on this airplane. And to be so very tired.
When he woke, he was lying almost flat under a warm blanket. For a moment he was frightened and almost dumped his implant again, but he’d already looked around. Grace, Teague, and Rafe were all asleep on their own beds. Teague snored lightly. In one corner of the space, the cabin attendant slept as well, curled in a seat that wasn’t flattened out. Mac pulled off the blanket, levered himself up—someone had removed his shoes—and padded sock-footed to the toilet. He’d slept hours—four or five. When he was through, he glanced back into the passenger area; the attendant was awake, pushing back rumpled hair, and pulling the blanket from her legs.
“Ser—can I get you anything? The others ate dinner; I could heat something up.”
“Nothing fancy,” Mac said. “I don’t want to wake them. Tea? A roll or cookies?”
She nodded and moved forward past him, into the little galley. A light came on over the cockpit door. “The pilots want a hot drink… here’s tea for you.” Mac stepped back, taking a sip of hot tea, as she poured two more mugs, setting them on a tray and then pulling wrapped sandwiches from a warming oven. She took the tray and went forward. Mac opened the warming oven and found a warm roll. “If you want sugar for that, or jam for the roll—”
“Yes, please.”
“I’ll bring a tray.” Go back to your seat, that meant. He took the hint but chose to sit at the table. There was plenty of light to eat by; the attendant brought him a full pot of tea, cream, sugar, another roll, two flaky pastries, a small pot each of jam and honey, and silverware—it felt like actual silverware—wrapped in a warm napkin.
“Thank you,” he said. “This will be ample.” He finished the first mug of tea, and the roll with a generous spoonful of berry jam, feeling better, more solid to himself, with every bite. He poured another mug and had just taken a large bite of a flaky pastry filled with nuts, honey, and cinnamon when his skullphone buzzed. His hand jerked; he hit the teapot, dropped the pastry, and nearly choked trying to get the pastry safely out of his way. “Ughnh?”
“Master Sergeant MacRobert, this is Master Sergeant Pitt.”
His mind came fully awake. It was her voice. “What can I do for you, Master Sergeant?”
“I need to get a message directly to Admiral Vatta; can you alert her that I’m insystem and that I need to speak with her? I’ve read the sitrep she sent Rector Vatta.”
“I’m not sure,” MacRobert said. “I am not current on her situation right now; I was—detained, drugged, and was sleeping off the drug until a few minutes ago.”
“I see. Is there someone at your location who can? It’s fairly urgent.”
“I’m not certain how secure this line is,” MacRobert said. “I’m not behind the same firewalls. I’ll call you back.”
“I’m on Vanguard,” Pitt said. “Transferring to one of my unit’s ships in three hours. I’ll be out of contact for several hours then.”
“Sooner than that,” Mac said.
Grace was stirring; soft as he’d spoken, she’d roused. “Mac?”
“A call from Ky’s old friend in the merc fleet,” he said. “They got here fast, or I was out longer than I thought.”
“What’s she want?”
“To contact Ky directly. Now, if possible.”
Grace flung back her blanket and sat up. “Rafe: we need you.”
Rafe and Teague both jerked awake, rolled off their beds, and reached for weapons.
“Not that way,” Grace said. “Rafe, a mercenary rep—someone Ky knows—needs to contact Ky directly, now. Can she use a skullphone, since that thing you two have doesn’t interface with anything else?”
“Another skullphone?”
“The person’s on a ship, somewhere in the system—it’d have to be ansible-boosted. And Ky needs to know a call’s coming.”
“I’ll call her. It’s—oh, it’s probably after noon where she is—or something dayside, anyway. Grace, tell whoever it is to wait a half hour, in case it takes me that long to get Ky to hook in.”
Grace raised an eyebrow at Mac; he called Pitt and told her that Ky could take a skullphone call but not for a half hour, because it would take that long to locate her and set it up.
“Good,” Pitt said. “That’s still in the safety margin.” A pause then, “How are the other guys?”
“Mostly dead,” Mac said.
She chuckled, then her voice firmed. “It’s not clear from the data we have whether a cruiser could land on that strip—do you know?”
He felt his brows rising. “You’re thinking of taking your ship down—the whole thing?”
“It can do a planet landing. It’s apt to make a bit of a mess.”
“I don’t know anything about the strip except what we’ve been able to see the last fifty days—under a blanket of snow, mostly. No data on construction, no data on foundations. Nobody knew it was there—well, nobody but those who were keeping the secret.”
A longer silence. “I’ll tell my captain. It’s shuttle-length, though?”
“It’s used to supply a base there. Heavy aircraft use it twice a year; I’d land a shuttle on it if I had one. I don’t know what defenses might be in place.”
“I don’t think that will be a problem,” Pitt said. MacRobert could hear the grin in her tone.