“They want us to leave,” Quincy went on. “For our own safety, they’re saying, but I can tell they’re scared.”
So was Quincy, by her face and voice, and no wonder. “A good idea,” Ky said. “How close were we to finishing loading?”
“Another six to eight hours.”
“It will take me that long to get back up to the station,” Ky said. “Unless I charter a flight.” Would that be reimbursable as a legitimate expense, under the circumstances? “I’ll let the consul know something’s come up, and forget looking for cargo.”
“Don’t forget to report this to headquarters,” Quincy said.
“Headquarters?”
“All material threats against Vatta ships—you’ll need to give them an ansible call right away. So if it’s more than local, they can warn other ships.”
“That seems a bit extreme,” Ky said. “I think it’s probably something to do with Sabine; it shouldn’t affect anyone else.”
“If you had the Vatta implant, it would be in emergency procedures, Captain. Piracy, sabotage, anything like that. Call headquarters immediately—I would have, if I hadn’t been able to raise you within the hour.”
“You still could—” Ky began.
“No, it’s captain’s responsibility; they’ll want to hear from you.”
“I should wait until I’m up there and have the report from the police,” Ky said. “They’ll ask questions I can’t answer—”
“Immediate notification is the priority,” Quincy said. “It’s in the implants.”
If she did what she planned, she’d never have the Vatta implant. Wrong time to think about that, though. “All right. I’ll call right away, then see how soon I can get back up there. Once you’ve got the ship loaded, button us up. Will the police put a guard on our dock space?”
“Yes. There’s one out there now.”
That was a help. She hoped that was a help.
“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” she said, and signed off. Now for the ansible call home. Belinta’s ansible-access procedures worked normally, the status lights blinking appropriately through their sequences. She had no idea what time it would be at Vatta corporate headquarters, but it didn’t matter. They had someone on duty in the communications suite at all hours. The green lights blinked three times, and the screen lit, but showed no image.
“Vatta Headquarters,” a voice said. “This call originated on Belinta. You are Captain Kylara Vatta, is that correct?”
“Yes,” Ky said. This didn’t sound like standard procedure. “Are you transmitting visual? This screen is blank.”
“Link your implant for urgent download,” the voice said without answering her question.
“I don’t have an implant,” Ky said. “What is it? I was going to report a threat—”
“Uh… go ahead. Report the threat.” She heard voices behind the voice she was listening to, as if the sound shielding weren’t on. She couldn’t quite hear what they were saying.
“Unknown persons posing as dockworkers attempted to load an explosive device onto my ship,” Ky said. “The ship is safe and undamaged, but they got away.”
“Understood,” the voice said. “We have a situation here, too, Captain. We are sending a warning to all ships; there appears to be the possibility of multiple threats to Vatta personnel.”
“What kind of threats?” Ky asked.
“I… am not at liberty to say,” the voice said.
“Could you connect me to my father, please?” Ky said. She would find out more from him than from some communications tech. “Gerard Vatta? Or my uncle?”
“Uh… I’m afraid that’s not possible at this time,” the voice said.
“Why?” Ky asked. “He’s got his skullphone.”
“He is…” A pause. “He is temporarily unavailable. Your message will be forwarded immediately and I’m sure he will want to speak with you.”
Cold swept over her. “What’s wrong?” she asked. “You said a threat—what’s happened?”
“Captain—” Another pause. “It is not for me to say. There is a Situation.”
“Are the senior officers all right?” Ky asked.
“I believe so, yes.” Something in the voice conveyed doubt, not assurance.
“But you aren’t sure—”
“It’s the—” The screen blanked, and the status light went to yellow, blinking. SIGNAL LOST. DO YOU WANT TO RECONNECT? Y/N appeared instead. Ky sat back; she could feel her pulse racing. Whatever had happened had happened—instantaneous communication or no, whatever it had been was over. She could do nothing about it. She would try a direct call to her father—much more expensive, but at the moment money didn’t matter.
She cracked open the booth door to let her security escort know that she would be making more calls, but before the door was fully open she saw a trio of masked figures push through the inner door of the lobby, weapons out. Her escort, standing at the desk chatting with the assistant manager, whirled, but too late: he was dead and so was the assistant manager before either of them could push a panic button. Ky ducked back into the booth, but did not latch the door; that would turn on the ENGAGED light. Instead, she held very still.
“What room?” she heard one of the intruders ask. A mumble, then the same voice said, “Upstairs.” An instant of relief. She eased around to peek out the door. One of the figures was crouched over the bodyguard, going through his pockets. No chance then to run out the door and get help. She could almost feel the blow in her back if she tried it. But once they found she wasn’t in her room they’d search the place, including this booth.
The booth held nothing she could use as a weapon. The booth could not be used for local calls—and would not function anyway without the door being latched, at which the telltale light would come on. All this ran through her mind, a cascade of logic that came down to one conclusion—and she was already in motion when she became aware of it.
The masked figure frisking the dead guard had his back to her at the moment—five strides took her across the lobby. Three before he noticed anything and whirled, but she was already moving so fast that his hasty shot missed, and she was on him. Primary disarm—the weapon flew out of his hand and skidded across the floor. Her chop at his throat met a hard surface; he wore armor under his clothes. He uncoiled a vicious kick; Ky evaded it, whirling and noticing the movement of his left hand toward his side. The next weapon—instead of trying to intercept that movement, she dove toward the dead guard, snatching his weapon as part of a sideways roll, and shot her attacker square through his mask before he had his weapon all the way out. She recognized the stab of emotion that passed through her, sharp and sweet; a wave of guilt followed: Not again. She shook it away.
Seconds had passed. They would be at her floor now. They would be opening the door. And how many were left outside, in case she managed to escape and try to flee? If she’d had an implant, she could have called for help by now. Ky reached over to the reception desk’s outside line. It hummed, and she punched in the local emergency code. A faint rhythmic buzz… three, four, five. Behind the reception desk was the office—she hadn’t been in it, but brief glimpses when the clerk came in and out suggested the usual work space, which might or might not have another exit. The corridor to the left led to the dining room, and from there to the kitchens and presumably another exit, which might also be covered by the assassins. But offices, dining rooms, and kitchens had lots of hiding places. Which…?
The lift hummed suddenly, then clanked into motion. The assassins? Or some innocent bystander? For the first time she thought about the other possible captains in residence. Two—but they might or might not be in their rooms. Around the desk, a glance at the assistant manager, a crumpled heap on the floor, at the monitor. The lift stopped, but now she heard footsteps on the stairs. No time to make it to the corridor. She ducked into the office with its desks, cabinets, shelves stocked with office supplies. Another door led into a smaller room that seemed to function as a storeroom for linens and cleaning supplies. She moved into it, checked that nothing had a reflective surface to reveal her to someone outside, and flattened against a stack of toilet paper cartons.