Trading in Danger Read Free

without permission.
    “Dad, listen—”
    “Ky, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?”
    “Dad, no, I’m fine, please listen. I have to leave, I have to leave today. Can you send somebody to the gates?”
    “Ky, what is it?”
    “Dad, please. I have to resign. I have to leave. I don’t have any money for transport; I need a way to get home—”
    “What—!” She could hear the explosion building up, the familiar prelude to the famous roar. Then it ended, surprising her into silence. His voice gentled to a soft growl. “Ky, listen, whatever it is, we can help. Let me call the Commandant—”
    “No, Dad. Don’t do that. I’ll explain when I get there, only help me get there, please?”
    “When do you need transport?”
    She looked at the chronometer. Only 0935. Surely she could write a resignation that would satisfy the Commandant by noon.
    “By noon, if that’s possible.”
    “For you, Kylara-mish, five minutes would be possible. Only tell me, has someone hurt you?”
    Later, she would consider whether Mandy Rocher had hurt her; now she wanted only to get away. And even if Mandy had, she had made it possible; it was her own fault. “It’s not that, Dad.”
    “Good. Because if any one of those fisheaters had laid a finger on you—”
    “Dad, please. Noon?”
    “At the gates. On Vatta honor.”
    “Vatta honor.” The signal died, and she handed the headset back to Commander Terry. He took it without comment, and gave a curt nod.
    “Get on your way, Vatta.”
    “Yes, sir.” She needed a place to write the resignation; if she was forbidden to return to her quarters, where could she go? Outside, she found the answer, of sorts: the wiry gray-haired senior NCO who had been her year’s nemesis in the first four quarters, and an increasingly valuable resource ever since. She had not, she remembered, taken MacRobert’s advice on the matter of Mandy Rocher.
    “Commandant’s library is empty, Cadet Vatta,” he said now. “Fully equipped.”
    “Right,” she said. She would not cry. She would certainly not cry in front of this man. He turned to lead the way and she followed.
    “Right mess you made of things,” he said, when they were around a corner from Signals.
    “Yes,” Ky said.
    “I won’t say I told you so,” he said. He just had, of course, but she didn’t answer. “I daresay you feel bad enough already.”
    A shadow of a question in that. Anger stirred suddenly, beneath the anguish. “Yes, I do,” she said, hearing the sharp edge to her own voice.
    “Thought so,” he said. “Here you are.” He opened the door for her. She had never been in the Commandant’s private library before; the long narrow room held not only racks of ordinary books and journals, but shelves of ancient books like those in her family’s oldest house. A long table ran down the middle of the room, and at one end someone had set out a stack of white paper and a selection of pens. “It’s appropriate that a resignation of this type be handwritten,” MacRobert told her. “You can use the voice recorder or the keyboard to rough it out, but it’s better to stick to the simplest format…” Someone had also laid out a copy of
Naval Etiquette: Essentials for Officers
, and the hand reader.
    “Thank you,” Ky said. It was still not 1000 hours. Her world had ended less than an hour ago. She had another couple of hours…
    “What time did you arrange transport for?” MacRobert asked.
    “Noon,” Ky said.
    “I’ll see that your gear is at the gate by 1130,” MacRobert said.
    “Thank you,” Ky said again. She felt unreal, still, as if this were a dream, as if she were floating a few centimeters off the floor.
    “I’ll leave you alone,” MacRobert said. “When you’re finished, you can leave the resignation here—”
    “The Commandant said on his desk,” Ky said.
    “That’s right. And so it will be; just tell me when you’re finished.” He nodded and went out, shutting the door silently behind him.
    She