Downbelow Station

“Call just got through,” he said to Elene. “Got word to and from Downbelow. A crippled probe appealing to Mallory for rescue out of main base… and an operator somewhere removed from base — saying Emilio and Miliko are safe. Couldn’t confirm it… things are badly torn up down there. The operator’s base is somewhere in the hills; but evidently everyone was under cover and all right. I need to get a ship of our own down there, and probably some medics.”

“Neihart,” Elene said, looking up at her companions. A big merchanter nodded. “Anything you need,” he said. “We’ll get it down there.”

Chapter Six

i

It was a bizarre gathering, even for Pell, in the rearmost section of the concourse, in the area where separate, illusory screens afforded a little privacy to parties. Damon sat with Elene’s hand locked firmly in his and amid the table, the red eye of a portable camera, a presence in itself, for he had wanted her to be among them tonight, as she had always been with his father and with all of them on family occasions. Emilio was by him; and Miliko; and Josh on his left, and next to Miliko and Emilio a small clutch of Downers, who obviously found chairs uncomfortable and yet delighted in the chance to try them, and to sample special delicacies, fruits out of season. At the far end of the table, the merchanter Neihart and Signy Mallory, the latter with an armed escort who relaxed sociably in the shadows.

About them was music, the slow dance of stars and ships across the walls. The concourse had settled somewhat back into routine… not quite the same, but nothing was.

“I’ll be putting out again,” Mallory said. “Tonight. Staying — was a courtesy.”

“Where?” Neihart asked bluntly.

“Just do as I advise you, merchanter; designate your ships Alliance. You’re offlimits. Besides, I’ve got a full load of supplies for now.”

“You’ll not stray far,” Damon wished her. “Frankly, I don’t trust that Union won’t try something yet. I’d just as soon know you’re in the vicinity.”

She laughed humorlessly. “Take a vote on that. I don’t walk Pell corridors without a guard.”

“All the same,” he said. “We want you close.”

“Don’t ask me my course,” she said. “That’s my business. I’ve places. I’ve sat still long enough.”

“We’re going to try a run to Viking,” Neihart said, “and see what kind of reception we’ll get… in about another month.”

“Might be interesting,” Mallory conceded.

“Luck to us all,” Damon said.

ii

The hour was well into alterday, the docks nearly deserted in this non-commercial zone. Josh moved quickly, with the nervousness he always had outside someone’s protective escort on Pell, with the vulnerable feeling that the few strollers on the dockside might know him. Hisa saw him, stared solemn-eyed. The Pell dock crew by berth four surely recognized him, and the troops on guard there did: rifles angled toward him.

“Need to talk to Mallory,” he said. The officer was a man he knew: Di Janz. Janz gave an order and one of the troopers slung his rifle into carry and motioned him ahead up the access ramp, walked behind him through the tube and into the lock, past the quick traffic of troops this way and that in the noisy corridor and suiting room. They took the lift up, into the main central corridor, where crew hastened about last-minute business. Familiar noises. Familiar smells. All of it.

She was on the bridge. He started to go in and the guard inside stopped him, but Mallory looked his way from her place near the command post and curiously signaled both guards permission.

“Damon send you?” she asked when he stood before her.

He shook his head.

She frowned, set her hand consciously or unconsciously on the gun at her side. “So what brings you?”

“Thought you might need a comp tech. Someone who knows Unionside — inside and out”

She laughed outright. “Or a shot when I’m not looking?”

“I didn’t go with Union,” he said. “They’d have redone the tapes… given me a new past. Sent me out… maybe to Sol Station. I don’t know. But to stay on Pell, right now — I can’t do that. The stationers — know me. And I can’t live on a station. Not comfortably.”

“Nothing another mindwipe can’t cure.”

“I want to remember. I’ve got something. The only real thing. All that I value.”

“So you go off and leave it?”

“For a while,” he said.

“You talked to Damon about this?”

“Before coming down here. He knows. Elene does.”

She leaned back against the counter, looked him up and down thoughtfully, arms folded. “Why Norway?”

He shrugged. “No station calls, are there? Except here.”

“No.” She smiled thinly. “Just here. Sometimes.”

“Ship she go,” Lily murmured, staring at the screens, and smoothed the Dreamer’s hair. The ship pulled away from the Upabove, rolled, with a move quite unlike most ships which came and went, and shot away.

“Norway,” the Dreamer named her.

“Someday,” said the Storyteller, who had come back full of tales from the big hall, “someday we go. Konstantins give we ships. We go, carry we Sun in we eyes, not ’fraid the dark, not we. We see many, many thing. Be

The Dreamer laughed, warm laughter.

And stared out at the wide dark, where Sun walked, and smiled.