Free Marque and Reprisal by Elizabeth Moon

one hundred percent sure,” he said. “Just mostly sure.”
    By this time, Ky had looked over their prisoner, an unprepossessing youngish man with straggly hair and at least a day’s growth of beard. He had a darkening bruise on one cheekbone. From his clothes, he was a Belinta native, but that was all she could tell.
    Martin yanked the man up and propped him against one of the shipping containers. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t space you!”
    The prisoner’s eyes shifted to Ky’s face. “Please! I didn’t do anything! Don’t let ’im kill me.”
    “Didn’t do anything?” Ky said. “You stowed away on my ship. What were you up to? Planting more explosives?”
    “No! I swear! Nothing like that.”
    “What’s your name, boy?” Martin asked.
    “Jim. Jim Hakusar. And I’m not a boy—”
    “Really.” In that one word, Ky heard a tone that had turned many a raw recruit into a soldier. Martin turned to her. “Captain, this stowaway claims to be an adult, which means he’s legally yours; it’s up to you. I’ll be glad to get rid of him for you.”
    “No! No, please! I—I can do things. I’ll—I can work for you. That’s all I wanted, was a chance—”
    “You mean you wanted to be crew?”
    “Yes… anything to get off Belinta. I can do a lot of things, really I can.”
    “Like what?” Martin asked.
    “Well, I… I can build things. You know, like sheds and fences and that.” Mitt gave a choked laugh; Ky fought down her own laughter. “And I can take care of critters, y’know. Carry feed and clean up…” His voice trailed away as he looked around the cargo hold and its obvious lack of wooden sheds, fences, or livestock. “I thought… I heard… ships grow their own food, right, and that means crops and things and I know how to plant and hoe and—”
    “Large ships,” Mitt said. “Large ships grow some of their food in hydroponic gardens. We grow algae in tanks. We don’t use hoes.”
    “But this ship is big… I saw it on the vidscreen. It’s… it’s lots bigger than our house back home; it had room in it for all those tractors and things.” He looked around at the cargo hold. “I mean, look at it. It’s huge.”
    “I’m afraid—” Ky began, but he interrupted.
    “Please, lady! Please let me work. I’ll work hard, I promise.”
    “That’s the captain,” Martin said, with emphasis. “You say
ma’am
to her.”
    “Please… ma’am…”
    Why did it always happen to her? She could just hear what Quincy would say. But Martin’s gaze was direct, steadying.
    “If there’s no evidence he was trying to sabotage the ship, I have no reason to space him,” Ky said. “That’ll be your responsibility, Martin—find out. Meanwhile, we’ll confine him—” And where would they confine him? And could he do anything at all useful, or would he be just another mouth to feed?
    “I’ll take care of him, ma’am,” Martin said. “Find out what he’s done, what he can do, give him something useful to do.” He reached over and unhooked the cargo ties, then pulled the prisoner to his feet. “Now you listen to me, boy. The captain’s said you live—for now. But you’re under my orders, understand?”
    “I—” The prisoner looked at Ky. “Don’t let him hurt me! I’ll do anything you say.”
    “What I say is, do what he tells you. And Martin—the ship comes first.”
    “Yes, ma’am.” Ky turned away, prepared to ignore whatever Martin did, but his stentorian roar almost made her jump. “
Stand up straight, you!
” She clamped her jaw on a giggle. She
had
jumped when MacRobert first roared at their cadet class. She knew within a centimeter what that young man was going to be feeling in the next few hours, and for the first time since she had left, memory of the Academy lightened her heart instead of saddening her.
     
    By third shift, Ky felt that the ship was running smoothly. With the help of the rest of the crew, Martin had finished searching the