Merchanter's Luck

Her heart was beating more than fast, and heat flooded her face. “I’d say they voted and passed it, sir. I’d say they have the same chance I’m taking, and there’s dozens more marginers like Lucy. Maybe they don’t want to take that kind of chance; and maybe they don’t want it that bad. I do. Those with me do. Third Helm’s alterday watch—has stayed unitary blamed long, sir; and begging your pardon, sir, it functions.”

“It functions,” Michael Reilly said, looking into her eyes with eyes that missed nothing, “because they’ve got one bastard of a number one who’s been number one in her watch too long, who’s infected with godhood and who finds the stage too small.”

“Sir-”

“Let me tell you about smallness, 21. That ship you’re going to is small. There’s no privacy, no amenities. No luxuries. No safeties and no relief and no backup.”

“Better to reign in hell—”

“Yes. I thought so. And what about this Stevens?”

“He’s better off with us.”

“Is he?”

“Than being beached here with Pell owning his ship, yes, sir.”

The Old Man nodded slowly. “He’ll thank you—about that far. And what will you assign him—when you’ve got his ship?”

“That becomes a council problem, sir, as I believe.”

“Let me tell you something, young ma’am.” Michael Reilly leaned forward and jabbed a forefinger at her. ‘That lies in your watch. Don’t you hand it to council to settle. Clear?”

“Clear, sir.”

“So.” He turned to the console beside him, searched among the papers there, powered the chair back around again and offered her a handful of them. “There’s a communication from Dancer. They’ll withdraw the charge without protest. Understandable nervousness on their part… finding a ship in port they know isn’t clean. But that’s no hide off them, if we guarantee it’s been taken thoroughly in hand. The word’s gone out by ru

“Yes, sir.”

“There’s a voucher that will pay the dock charge; and a document of show-cause from Will that’s going to clear up the matter with Pell Dock Authority. They’ll have to come up with an official complaint with witnesses or drop the charge on the spot and free up the ship, and since Dancer’s not going to stand behind the charge, it’s going to die. So Lucy’s cleared, at least on civil charges. There’s the loan agreement, for dock charges and cargo; and whatever else is reasonable in the way of outfitting. Do it proper, if you’re going to rig out; no need economizing. And you remember what I told you. You come between somebody and his ship, you take that from him, and you know, in your heart of hearts you know what you’re doing. And we know. And he will.”

“You remember that You remember your Name, and you remember who you are.”

“Yes, sir,” she said softly.

“Dismissed.”

She took the precious papers, stood up, nodded in respect and walked for the door—stopped for a moment, a look back at the bridge, the spacious, modern bridge of Dublin, the real thing that she had desired all her life. A knot swelled up in her throat, a final anger, that there was no hope of this—that it had to be the sordid, aged likes of Lucy, because that was the only way left for Dublin’s excess children.

She went to say good-bye, to begin the good-byes, at least, a courtesy to Megan and Co

Chapter VIII

There looked to be no change out across the docks. Sandor kept his eye on Lucy’s berth, covertly, from the doorway of the sleep-over. Workers moved, pedestrian traffic went its unconcerned way up and down—mainday now, and he kept his face in the shadows. Downers shrilled and piped their gossip, busy at tasks like human dockworkers, moving canisters onto ramps or off, making distant echoes over the drone and crash of machinery.

He entertained wild thoughts… like waiting until station lights dimmed again in the half hour of twilight which passed mainday to alterday: like slipping over to that security barrier and decking some unfortunate workman—seeing if he could not liberate a cutter to get past that lock they had on Lucy’s hatch. Improbable. He thought even of going to some other marginer and pleading his way aboard as crew, because he was that panicked. The thought whisked through his mind and out again, banished, because he was not going to give Lucy up. He would try the cutter first; and they would take him in for sure then, with a theft and maybe an assault charge to add to the complaints already lodged against him.

Antisocial conduct. Behavior in willful disregard of others’ rights. That was good for a lockup. Behavior in willful disregard of others’ lives: that was good for a mindwipe for sure. Rehabilitation. Total restruct.

A cutter was as good as a gun, when it came to someone trying to get it away from him. It might bring about shooting. He thought that he preferred that, though he balked at the idea of using a cutter on any living thing. He was not made for this, he thought, not able to kill people; the thought turned him cold.

There was Dublin, and whatever hope that gave. He held onto that.

Militia passed in a group, male and female, blue-uniformed: he retreated inside the foyer and waited until they had gone their way with some other business in mind. Militia. Alliance Forces, Talley had said. Alliance Forces. There was talk that the militia of Pell had at its core a renegade Mazia

But outside port—even if some miracle got him clear of Pell—

A flash across his vision, of armored troops on Lucy’s bridge, of fire coming back at them, and the Old Man dying; and his mother; and the others—of being hit, and Ross falling on him—

And Jal screaming for help, when the troopers dragged him back through that boarding access and onto their ship; Jal and the others they had taken aboard, for whatever purposes they had in mind…

The Alliance played politics with Union; and maybe they wanted, at the moment, to manufacture a pirate threat to Pell interests, to justify the existence of armed Alliance ships. And if they hauled him in—the mindwipe could make sure he told the story they wanted. A paranoid fancy. Not likely. But he was among strangers, and too many things were possible… where pirates hunted pirates and might want to throw out a little deceiving chaff.

A step approached him on his left. He looked about and a hand closed on his arm and he looked straight into the face of Allison Reilly. ‘Told you to stay inside,” she said.

“So I’m here.” The shock still had his pulse thumping. “Find out anything?”

She pulled papers from her pocket, waved them in front of him. “Everything. It’s covered. I’ve got you off clear.”

He shook his head. The words went through without touching. “Clear.”

“Dublin got Dancer to withdraw the allegations. We’ve got a show-cause order for station and they’re not going to be able to come up with anything to substantiate it. We just filed the papers. And this—” She thrust one of the papers at him. “That’s an application for your Alliance registry and trade license. And Dublin’s standing witness. That’ll get you clear paper for this side of the Line. That’s to be signed and filed, but it’s all in order: our lawyer set it up.” A second paper. That’s a show-cause for customs, to get that seal off. They can’t maintain that without the charge from Dancer. This—” A third paper. “A loan, enough for dock charges, refitting, and cargo. I’ve got you crew. I’ve got you all but cleared to pull out of here. A way to outfit with what you need. Are you following me?”