Downbelow Station Part 31

She rose and hurried, called Bluetooth, called others, every hisa within the sound of her voice.

iiNorway; 0130 hrs. md.; 1330 hrs. a.

Com sputtered; vacant longscan suddenly erupted in solid blips. Norway veered tighter into her curve. Signy caught at the console and the cus.h.i.+on with the taste of blood in her mouth. They red-lighted, stress alarms ringing. Josh and Konstantin were clinging desperately to a hold halfway down the aisle, lost it, slid. "Norway, Norway speaking, Unioners. Hold fire. Hold fire. You want a way in, follow me."

There was the obligatory silence while com traveled and caught up to them.

"Say further."

Words, not shots.

"This is Mallory of Norway. I'm going over, you hear me? Run with me a s.p.a.ce and I'll fill you in. Mazian's in the process of blowing Pell and running for Sol. It's already started. I've got your agent Joshua Talley and the younger Konstantin aboard. You're going to lose yourself a station if you hold off. You don't listen to me and you're going to have yourself an Earth-based war." There was a moment of dead silence from the other side. The armscomp board was lit and tracking.

"This is Azov of Unity. What's your proposal, Norway? And how do we trust you?" "We ran; you've got that signal. I'll lead back in. You run tail guard, Unity, the whole lot of you. Mazian won't stand to fight here or anywhere in the neighborhood. He can't afford it, you understand me?" The silence was longer this time. "They're tracking with us," scan advised her.

"Hard as we can, Mr. Graff."

Norway skimmed the edge of disaster, red-lighting in little flickers of stress that flesh protested, heart pounding, hands trembling in maintaining necessary control, experienced crew holding up together in sustained agony while combat synch and inertia warred. Calm and steady, hold it together on the long, long curve, keep the velocity they had gathered as much as possible, headed for Pell... They had a tail guard for certain, Union headed right at their backside all at max... to blow them as readily as they meant to blow Mazian. "Come on," she muttered to Graff, "keep our way, hold onto it. We need all we've got."

"Scan caution," a calm voice advised her and Graff; long-scan flickered with hazed green and gold... obstacles in their path, still in comp's memory and shown to be right where comp remembered them, give or take a freighter's slow progress. Short-haul freighters. They were getting their chatter, as-received, a squeal of conversation and panic that deepened as they came in on it Graff threaded them. Norway shot through the interstices on a computer-aimed straight course and red-lighted to home again on Pell. The Unioners came after and all missed with a rush that would stop hearts on the dead-slow freighters. A deep howl of terror had reached them, vanished again. Norway... Norway... Norway... their own comp was sending frantically, and if their riders.h.i.+ps survived, they would rally to that summons. Blips flashed red and solid ahead of them, too fast for freighters. Comp howled warnings. Mazian was loose. Europe, India, Atlantic, Africa, Pacific. "Where's Australia?" she snapped at Graff. That recognition code had not come through with the others. "'Ware of them!"

Graff must have heard. There was no time for chat. The Fleet was ma.s.sed and collision-coursed for them. Their rider-s.h.i.+ps were locked to, all home to mothers, readied for jump, that grace at least.

"Mallory," she heard Mazian's voice over com. Graff heard too and dropped them in a sickening maneuver that comp transferred into armscomp's aim: they ripped a pattern of fire at Europe as fire came back at them and the hull sang. G slammed at them fighting contrary stresses, and of a sudden fire erupted aft. Union had plowed in, disregarding their safety, not savvy of their comp signals, and hungry for targets. "Out!" she ordered helm, and Norway maneuvered with all bearable angle, finding no precentage in this fight. Alarms rang. Pell and Downbelow lay ahead, minutes ahead at near-C.

They kept veering, comp calculating and recalculating that marginal curve. A carrier blip exploded onto them, underside. Norway held to its necessary course, boards flaring red, alarms ringing, collision with a world imminent and too much speed to dump in time.

And of a sudden there were other blips, small and coming hard in a ring nose on to them.

Norway... Norway... Norway... their comp flashed.

Their own riders.

"Keep on!" she yelled at Graff over a cheer from the bridge. Comp took the maneuver as hard as the s.h.i.+p could bear, a move that tore at human bodies and made nightmare of half a dozen seconds. They started dumping speed hard, with Australia coming dead at them through the needle's eye of their riders, riderless itself or with none deployed.

"Barrage," she said, swallowing the taste of blood. The screens flashed terror: it was collision imminent fore and aft, a C-approximate s.h.i.+p bearing right down their tail and equally locked in escape curve from Pell. Fifty-fifty what maneuver would impact them, up, down, or straight on. Graff dropped: topside fired and Australia whipped over as fields sent instruments into chaos. The hull moaned and the whole s.h.i.+p jolted. Maneuver continued; suddenly there was breakup on scan, dust screaming over their hull. "Where are they?" Graff yelled at the scan tech. Signy bit through her lip and winced, sucked at the blood. Australia could have dumped chaff; could have blown; they kept dumping speed, her order unchanged. "... cleared Pell," a rider voice came to them, what their own scan was beginning to show as they cleared the danger themselves. "And lost a vane... think Edger's lost a vane."

There was no way they could see; Australia was on long-scan: it was the nature of the chaff they reckoned. "Form up," she ordered her riders, feeling more secure with them about Norway like four extra arms. Edger could not risk further damage now, not if a vane was gone; not for any revenge. "They're going for jump," she heard. It was a Union voice, none that she knew-a foreign accent. Suddenly there was a vast coldness in her gut, a knowledge that it was all beyond recall.

Be thorough, Mazian had taught her, teaching her most that she knew. No half-measures.

She leaned back in the cus.h.i.+on. All over Norway there was silence.

iv Pell: sector blue one, number 0475 Lily at least remained. Alicia Lukas-Konstantin let her eyes move about the walls, last of all to the small module, part of the molded white of the bed itself, two lights, one on, one off, one green, one red. Red now. They were on internal systems.

Power was threatened. Lily did not know, perhaps; she managed the machines, but what powered them was likely to be mysterious to her. And the Downer's eyes remained calm, her hand remained gentle, stroking her hair, a remaining contact with the living.

Angelo's gifts, the structures about her, had proven as stubborn as her own brain. The screens kept changing, the machines kept pumping life through her veins, and Lily stayed.

There was an off switch. If she asked Lily, Lily, ignorant, would push it. But that was cruel, to one who believed in her.

She did not.

v Norway Carefully, Damon left his place, felt his way dizzily past the banks of instruments and the techs to reach Mallory. He hurt; an arm was torn, his neck ached in its joints. There could not be a soul on Norway spared such misery, the techs, Mallory herself. She turned bleak eyes on him from her place at the main boards, powered her cus.h.i.+on about to look at him, nodded slightly. "So you've got your wish," she said. "Union's in. They don't need to track Mazian now. They know for certain where he's gone. I'm betting they'll find a base at Pell valuable; they'll save your station, Mr. Konstantin, no question now. And it's high time we got ourselves out of here." "You said," he reminded her quietly, "you'd let me off." Her eyes darkened. "Don't press your luck. So maybe I'll dump you and your Unioner friend on some merchanter when it suits me. If it suits me. Ever." "My home," he said. He had gathered his arguments; but his voice shook, destroying logic. "My station... I belong back there." "You belong nowhere now, Mr. Konstantin."

"Let me talk to them. If I can get a truce from Union to get close enough... I know the systems. I can handle the central systems; the techs... may be dead. They are dead, aren't they?"

She turned her face away, turned the cus.h.i.+on, returning to her own business. He reckoned his danger, leaned forward and set a hand on the arm of the cus.h.i.+on so that she could not ignore him; a trooper moved, but waited orders. "Captain. You've gone this far. I'm asking you... you're a Company officer. You were. One last time... one last time, captain. Get me back to Pell. I'll talk you out again, free. I swear I will."

She sat still a very long moment.

"You going to run from here beaten?" he asked her, "Or leave at your own pace?" She turned, and it was not a good thing to look into her eyes. "You looking to take a walk?"

"Take me back," he said. "Now. While it matters. Or never. Because later won't matter. There'll be nothing I can do and I had as soon be dead." Her lips tightened. For several moments she sat dead still, staring at him. "I'll do what I can. Up to a limit. If they make of your truce what I think I will..." She brought her hand down on the cus.h.i.+oned arm. "This is mine. This s.h.i.+p. You understand that. These people... I was Company. We all were. And Union doesn't want me loose. You're asking for what could turn into a firefight right next to your precious station. Union wants Norway. They want us badly... because they know what we'll do. There's no way I can live, stationer, because I've got no port I'll dare go to. I'll not come in. I never will. None of us will. Graff. Set us a quiet course for Pell."

Damon drew back, reckoned that the wisest move at the moment. He listened to the one-sided com he had accessible, Norway advising the Union fleet that they were moving in. There seemed to be some dispute. Norway argued back. A hand touched his shoulder. He looked around, found Josh there. "I'm sorry," Josh said. He nodded, holding no grudge. Josh... had had few choices given him. "They want you, all right," Mallory said. "Handed over to them."

"I'll go."

"Ignorant," Mallory spat. "They'll mindwipe you. You know that?" He thought about it. Remembered Josh, sitting across from him at a desk and asking for the papers, end of a process Russell's had started. Men came out of it. Josh had. "I'll go," he said again.

Mallory frowned at him. "It's your mind," she said. "Till they get their hands on you, at least." And into com: "This is Mallory. We've got ourselves a standoff, captain. I don't like your terms."

There was a long delay. Silence from the other end.

On scan, Pell showed, with Union s.h.i.+ps hovering about it like birds about carrion. One looked to have docked. Long-scan showed a scattering of red-dotted gold out by the mines, the short-haulers, and the lonely position of one other s.h.i.+p, indicated by a blinking light at the edge of the scope, offscan but in comp's memory. Nothing moved, save for four blips very near Norway, closing into tighter formation.

They had come to a relative halt, drifting in time with everything else in the system.

"This is Azov of Unity," a voice came to them. "Captain Mallory, you have leave to dock with your pa.s.senger to let him off. Your approach to Pell is accepted, with thanks from the people of Union for your invaluable a.s.sistance. We're willing to accept you within the Union Fleet as you are, armed and with your present crew. Over."

"This is Mallory. What a.s.surances has my pa.s.senger got?" Graff leaned closer to her. Held up a finger. Norway resounded to the clang of something against her hull, a lock closing. Damon looked distractedly at scan. "Fighter just docked," Josh said at his shoulder. "They're gathering the riders in. They can run for jump-" "Captain Mallory," Azov's voice returned, "I have a Company representative aboard who will order you to take that action-" "Ayres can shove it," she said. "I'll tell you what I want for what I've got. Docking privileges at Union ports and clear paper. Or maybe I let my valuable pa.s.senger take a walk."

"These matters can be discussed later in detail. We have a crisis on Pell. Lives are in jeopardy."

"You have comp experts. Can it be you can't figure the system?" There was another silence. "Captain. You'll get what you want. Kindly dock under our safeconduct if you want that paper. There's a situation on this station regarding native workers. They're asking for Konstantin." "The Downers," Damon breathed. He had a sudden and terrible vision of Downers facing Union troops.

"You clear your s.h.i.+ps back from that station, Captain Azov. Unity can stay docked. I'll come in on the opposite side and you see to it your s.h.i.+ps don't get out of synch with your position. Anything crosses my tail I'll fire with no questions asked."

"Granted," Azov answered.

"Insane," Graff said. "Now where's our profit? They won't come across with that paper."

Mallory said nothing.

Chapter Five.

Pell: White Dock; 1/9/53; 0400 hrs. md.; 1600 hrs. a. The dockworkers were Union troops, fatigue-clad, but in green, surreal sight on Pell. Damon walked down the ramp toward the armored backs of Norway troops who held the margin and guarded the access. Far across the deserted dock other troopers stood in armor... Unioners. He pa.s.sed the safe perimeter, pa.s.sed through the Norway troops, headed out that lonely crossing of the wide debris-littered decking. Heard disturbance behind him, heard someone coming, and looked back. Josh.

"Mallory sent me," Josh said, overtaking him. "You mind?" He shook his head, mortally glad of his company where he was going. Josh reached into his pocket and handed him a spool of tape. "Mallory sent it. Josh said.

"She set up the comp keys. Says this might help."

He took it, stuffed it into the pocket of his brown Company fatigues. The Union escort waited for them with the troops, black-clad and silver-medaled. He started walking again, appalled as they came closer at the sameness, the beauty of them. Perfect humans, all of a size, all of a type.

"What are they?" he asked of Josh.

"My kind," Josh said. "Less specialized."

He swallowed heavily and kept going. The Union troops fell in about them, wordlessly escorted them along the dock. Pell citizens stood, a handful here and there, stared at them as they walked. Konstantin, he heard murmured. Konstantin. He saw hope in some eyes, and flinched from it, knowing how little there was to be had. There was chaos in some areas they pa.s.sed, whole sections with the lights out, with fans dead, with the stench of fire and bodies lying. G surged a marginal amount, minor instability. No knowing what had happened in the core, in life-support. There was a time beyond which the systems began to deteriorate beyond recovery, when balances were too far gone. Mindless, with central out, Pell had gone to its local ganglia, nerve centers which were not interconnected, automatic systems that fought for its life. Without regulation and balance they would pa.s.s out of phase... like a body dying.

They walked blue nine, where other Union forces stood, entered the emergency ramp... dead here too, bodies they and their escort filed past in their ascent; a long climb, from nine upward, to an area where armored troopers operated, where they stood facing upward, shoulder to shoulder. They could go no higher; the escort leader turned aside and took them through the door into two, into the hall lined with financial offices. Another knot of troops and officers stood there. One, silvered with rejuv and bearing a great deal of rank on his chest, turned toward them. With a dull shock Damon recognized those immediately behind him. Ayres, from Earth.

And Dayin Jacoby. If he had had a gun in his hands he would have shot the man. He did not. He stopped there staring dead at him, and Jacoby's face went a dull crimson.

"Mr. Konstantin," the officer said.

"Captain Azov?" he surmised by the signs of rank.

Azov offered his hand. He took it, in bitterness. "Maj. Talley," Azov said, and offered his hand to Josh. Josh accepted the greeting. "Glad to have you back." "Sir," Josh murmured.

"Mallory's information is correct? Mazian's gone for Sol?"

Josh nodded. "No deception, sir. I think it's true."

"Gabriel?"

"Dead, sir. Shot by the Mazianni."

Azov nodded, frowning, looked at Damon directly again. "I'm giving you a chance," he said. "You think you can get this station back in order?"

"I'll try," Damon said, "if you let me up there."

"That's the immediate problem," Azov said. "We don't have access up there. Natives have the doors blocked. No knowing what damage they've done in there or what shooting could start with them."

Damon nodded slowly, looked back toward the door to the access ramp. "Josh comes with me," he said. "No one else. I'll get Pell settled for you. Your troops can follow... after it's quiet. If shooting starts, you may lose the station, and you wouldn't want that at this stage, would you?"

"No," Azov agreed. "We wouldn't want that."

Damon nodded and started for the doors. Josh walked beside him. A loudspeaker behind them began to recall troops, who came out the doors from the ramp in obedience to the summons, pa.s.sing them as they entered and walked upward. The top was clear, doors to blue one closed. Damon pushed the b.u.t.ton; it was dead. Manual opened it.

Downers sat beyond, huddled together, a ma.s.s that filled the main hall and the side corridors. "Konstantin-man," one exclaimed, scrambling up suddenly, hurt as many of them were hurt, and bleeding from burns. They surged to their feet, reached out hands as he walked in, to touch his hands, his body, bobbing in delight and calling, shrieking in their own tongue.

He walked through, Josh trailing in his wake through the hysterical press. There were more of them inside the control center, beyond the windows, on the floor, sitting on the counters, in every available niche. He reached the doors, rapped on the window. Hisa faces lifted, eyes stared, solemn and calm... and of a sudden brightened. Downers leaped up, danced, bounced, shrieked wild cries silenced by the gla.s.s.

"Open the door," he called to them. It was impossible that they could hear him, but he pointed to the switch, for they had it locked from inside. One did. He walked in among them, touched and hugged, touched them in return, and in a sudden rush, found a hand locked viselike on his, clasping it to a furry breast. "I Satin," the hisa said to him, grinning. "Me eyes warm, warm, Konstantin-man."

And on the other side, Bluetooth. That broad grin and s.h.a.ggy coat he knew, and hugged the Downer. "You mother send," Bluetooth said. "She all right, Konstantin-man. She say lock doors, stand here not move, make they send find Konstantin-man, make all right the Upabove."

He caught his breath, touched furred bodies, went to the central console, with Josh behind him. Human bodies lay there on the floor. Jon Lukas was one, shot through the head. He sat down at the main board, began pus.h.i.+ng keys, rebuilding... took out the spool of tape and hesitated.

Mallory's gift. To Pell. To Union. The tape might contain anything-traps for Union... a final destruct trigger... He wiped a hand across his face, finally made up his mind and fed the leader in. The machinery sucked it in, beyond recall.

Boards began to clear, lights flickering to greens. There was a stir among the hisa. He looked above him, at troops reflected in the gla.s.s, standing in the doorway with rifles leveled. At Josh, behind him, who had turned to face them. "Hold it where you are," Josh snapped at them. They did, and rifles lowered. Maybe it was the face, the look that was Union's lab-born; or the voice, that expected no argument. Josh turned his back on them and stood with his hands on the back of Damon's chair.

Damon kept at work, spared a second glance to the reflecting gla.s.s. "Need a com tech," he said. "Someone to get on public channels and talk. Get me someone with a Pell accent. We're all right. They knocked some of the storage out, slagged some records... but we don't really need those, do we?" "They won't know one name from the other," Josh said softly, "will they?'" "No," he said. The adrenalin that had gotten him this far was wearing off. He found his hands shaking; looked aside as a Unioner tech seated himself at com. "No," he said, rose and started over to object. Troops leveled guns. "Hold off," Josh said, and the officer in charge hesitated. Then Josh himself glanced aside and stepped back. There was another presence in the doorway. Azov and his entourage.

"Private message, Mr. Konstantin?"

"I need to get crews at their jobs," Damon said. "They'll move at a voice they know."

"I'm sure they would, Mr. Konstantin. But no. Stay away from com. Let our techs handle it."

"Sir," Josh said quietly. "May I intervene?"

"Not in this matter," Azov said. "Keep at non-public work, Mr. Konstantin." Damon drew a quiet breath, walked back to the console he had left and carefully sat down. More and more troops had come in. The hisa crowded back against the walls and onto the counters, chattering soft alarm among themselves. "Get these creatures out of here," Azov said. "Now."

"Citizens," Damon said, turning his chair to look at Azov. "Pell citizens."

"Whatever they are."

"Pell," Mallory's voice came over com. "Stand by for un-docking."

"Sir?" the Union com tech asked.

Azov signaled for silence.

Damon leaned and tried to hit an alarm. Rifles leveled and he thought better of it. Azov himself went to com. "Mallory," Azov said, "I'll advise you to stay put."

A moment's silence. "Azov," the voice returned softly, "somehow I thought there was no honor among thieves."

"Captain Mallory, you are attached to the Union fleet, under Union orders.

Accept them or stand in mutiny."

Again a silence. And more silence. Azov gnawed at his lip. He reached past the com tech and keyed in his own numbers. "Captain Myes. Norway refuses orders. Move your s.h.i.+ps out a little."

And on Mallory's channel: "You take our offer, Mallory, or there's no port. You can rip loose and you can run, but you'll be number-one priority for our s.h.i.+ps in Union s.p.a.ce. Or you can run join Mazian. Or you can go with us against him." "Under your orders?"

"Your choice, Mallory. Free pardon... or be hunted down." Dry laughter came back. "How long would I stay in command of Norway once I let Unioners on my deck? And how long would my officers or any of my troops live?" "Pardon, Mallory. Take it or leave it."

"Like your other promises."