Downbelow Station

There were, from the other side of the table — set up on the open dock and ringed by opposing semicircles of merchanters and troops — frowns. “It’s in our interest,” Azov admitted, “to see that this station doesn’t become a base for Mazia

“Mutual necessity,” Damon said levelly. “Rest assured that none of Mazian’s ships will ever be welcome at Pell. They are outlaws.”

“We have done you a service,” Elene said. “Merchanter ships have already headed for Sol far in advance of Mazian. One early enough to get there ahead of him; not much, but a little. Sol Station will be warned before he arrives.”

Azov’s face relaxed in surprise. That of the man beside him, delegate Ayres, froze, took on a sudden smile, with the glistening of tears in his eyes. “My gratitude,” Ayres said. “ — Captain Azov, I’d propose… close consultation and quick moves.”

“There seems reason for it,” Azov said. He pushed back from the table. “The station is secure. Our business is finished. Hours are valuable. If Sol is going to prepare a reception for this outlaw, we should be there to follow it up from behind.”

“Pell,” Damon said quietly, “will gladly assist your undocking. But the merchanter ships you’ve appropriated… stay.”

“We have crew aboard them. They come.”

“Take your crew. Those ships are merchanter property and they remain. So does Josh Talley. He’s a citizen of Pell.”

“No,” Azov said. “I don’t leave one of my own at your asking.”

“Josh,” Damon said, looking to the side and behind him, where Josh stood with other Union troops, at last inconspicuous among others likewise perfect. “How do you feel about it?”

Josh’s eyes slid past him, perhaps to Azov, returned to a forward stare. He said nothing.

“Take your troops and your ships,” Damon said to Azov. “If Josh stays, that’s his choice. Take Union presence off this station. You’ll be received for docking hereafter by request and by permission of the stationmaster’s office; it will be granted. But if time is of value to you, I’d suggest you take that offer and agree to it.”

Azov scowled. He signaled his troop officer, who ordered the units to form up. They walked away, headed for the upcurving horizon, for blue dock, where Unity was berthed.

And Josh was still standing there, alone. Elene got up and hugged him awkwardly and Damon clapped him on the shoulder. “Stay put here,” he said to Elene. “I’ve got a Union ship to get undocked. Josh, come on.”

“Neiharts,” Elene said to those nearest her. “See that they reach central in good order.”

They went behind the Union forces; took the niner corridor as the Unioners headed for their ship, started to run. In the corridors there were doors open, the folk of Pell standing there to observe. Some began to shout, to wave, cheers for this last, merchanters’ occupation. “They’re ours,” someone yelled. “They’re ours!”

They took the emergency ramp, came upward at a run; Downers met them in it, scampered along, bounced and bounded and chattered welcomes. The whole spiral echoed with Downer shrieks and squeals and human yells from the corridors outside as the word spread from level to level. A few Unioners passed on the way down, headed out at instructions over helmet com, likely feeling very conspicuous where they were.

They came out in blue one. Downers were back in occupation of central, and gri

“You friends,” Bluetooth said. “You friends, all?”

“It’s all right,” Damon assured him, and worked his way past a crowd of anxious brown bodies to settle himself at the main board. He looked back, at Josh, at the merchanters. “Anyone here who knows this kind of comp?”

Josh settled into place by him. One of the Neiharts took com, another one settled into another comp post. Damon keyed through to com. “Norway,” he said, “you’ve got first release. I trust you’ll ease out without provocations. We don’t need complications.”

“Thank you, Pell,” Mallory’s dry voice came back. “I like your priorities.”

“Hurry it down there. Have your own troops undock you. You can come in again when we’re stable and pick them up. Agreed? They’ll be safe.”

“Pell station,” another voice cut in: Azov’s. “Agreements specified no welcome for Mazia

Damon smiled. “No, Captain Azov. This ship is ours. We’re a world and a station, a sovereign community, and apart from the merchanters who are not residents here, we maintain a militia. Norway constitutes the fleet of Downbelow. I’ll thank you to respect our neutrality.”

“Konstantin,” Mallory’s voice warned him, on the edge of anger.

“Undock and stand off, Captain Mallory. You’ll stay put until the Union fleet has vacated our space. You’re in our traffic pattern and you take our orders.”

“Orders received,” she answered finally. “Stand by. We’re going to pull back and deploy riders. Unity, see that you lay a straight course out of here. And give my regards to Mazian.”

“Your own merchanters,” Azov said, “are going to be the ones to suffer from this decision, Pell station. You’re harboring a vessel that has to prey on shipping to live. Merchanter ships.”

“Get your tail out of here, Union,” Mallory shot back. “Trust at least that Mazian can’t double back on you. He won’t dock at Pell while I’m in the area. Go attend your own business.“

“Quiet,” Damon said. “Captain, move out.” There was a flurry of lights. Norway was loose.

iii

“You too?” Blass asked wryly.

Vittorio adjusted his hold on his meager sackful of belongings, awkwardly hand-over-handed his way in the narrow access, null G, in line with the rest of the crew which had held Hammer. It was cold down here, and dimly lit. There was a vibration, the action of a shuttle tube grappling to their lock. “Don’t see that I have much choice,” he said. “I’m not staying to talk to the merchanters. Sir.”

Blass gave a twisted smile, addressed himself to the lock, which opened to take them out a narrow tube and into the waiting warship. The dark gaped for them.

Unity moved, a steady acceleration. Ayres sat in the cushioned comfort of the Unity’s top-level main room, carpeted, severely modern, with Jacoby beside him. Screens apprised them of their course, a whole array of screens showing numbers and images. They made it clear through an avenue opened by merchanter vessels, a narrow tu

“Going home,” Ayres said softly, self-satisfied. “I’ll propose something to you, captain; that at this moment Sol and Union have more in common than not. That while you’re sending that inevitable courier back to Cyteen, you include a proposal from my side: cooperation for the duration.”

“Your side has no interest in the Beyond,” Azov said.

“Captain, I suggest to you that that interest may be on the verge of awakening. And that it would be far from Union’s advantage… for Union to be less forward in offering Earth its protection — than the merchanter’s alliance is going to be. After all, the alliance has already sent Earth its messenger. So Sol can pick and choose, can’t it? The merchanters’ alliance. Union. Or — Mazian. I suggest a discussion of the matter. A renegotiation. It seems that neither of us has the authority to cede Pell. And I hope that I can give my government favorable recommendations toward yours.”

Elene came, with a great crowd of merchanters, stood in the doorway of battle-scarred central, while Downers scampered aside in mild alarm. But Bluetooth and Satin knew her, and danced and touched her for joy. Damon rose from his place, took her hand, gave her a place to sit near him and Josh. “I don’t feel much like long climbs,” she said, breathing hard, “We’ve got to get the lift system working.” He found time simply to look at her. Looked back to the screen by his own console, at a face lying sideways on white sheets, at tranquility and dark, lively eyes. Alicia Lukas smiled, the faintest of movements.