Union Alliance - Merchanter's Luck Part 6

"Reilly of Dublin Again has offered his...o...b..ard legal counsel. This would be acceptable to Pell."

The blood drained toward his feet "Am I free to make up my own mind in the matter?"

"Absolutely."

"I'd like to talk to them."

"I think our business with you is done, pending your appointment with the military identification process."

"But maybe I don't want to go through that. Maybe-" He stared into a row of adamant faces. Stopped.

"Captain," Talley said, "you have your rights to resist it. The military has its rights to detain you. Your counsel can interview you in detention and advise you. If you wish."

He thought of jails, of a Dubliner arriving to fetch him out, one of Allison's hard-eyed cousins. "No," he said. 'I'll go along with the ID."

That ought to do it, then," Quen said, and looked aside at Talley. Talley nodded, once and economically. "Sufficient, then," Quen said. "Our hopes, Captain Stevens, that there's nothing but a mistake involved here. You're free to address the board in general. We'll listen. But I'd advise selecting your attorney before you do that. And prepare your statements with counsel's advice."

"I'll reserve that, then."

"Captain," Talley said, "if you'd go with the officer."

"Sir," he said, quietly, precisely. "Ma'am." He turned and walked out with the security officer, through the outer office and into the hall, trying in his confusion to remember where he was and which way the lift was and to reckon where he was being taken now. He was lost; he was panicked, inside corridors which were not Lucy's, a geometry which was not the simple circle of dockside.

There was a small office down the corridor, two desks, a counter full of equipment. He stood, waited: a technician in militia blue showed up. "General ID," the officer said, and the tech took him in charge, walked him through it, one procedure and the next, even to a cell sample.

It was done then, irrevocable. The information was launched, and they would send it on. The tech gave him a cup of cold water, urged him to sit down. "No," he said. Maybe it was the look of him that won the sympathy. He failed at unconcern-looked back at the officer who had acquired a companion.

"Your party's waiting for you," the second officer said, "out by the lift."

Allison, he thought, at a new ebb of his affairs. He should have accepted jail; should have refused the typing. He had fouled things up. But confinement-being shut up in a cell for Dubliners to stare at-being shut inside narrow station walls, in places he knew nothing about- The officer indicated the door, opened it for him, pointed down the hall to the left "Around the corner and down."

He went, turned the corner-stopped at the sight of the silver-coveralled figure standing by the lift, a man he had never met But Dubliner. He walked on, and the dark-haired young man gave him no welcome but a cold stare, C. REILLY, the pocket said, on a broad and powerful chest. "Curran Reilly," the Dubliner said.

"Where's Allison?"

"None of your business. You're through getting into trouble, man. Hear me?"

"I'm headed down to the exchange. I'm not looking for any."

"You hold it." An arm shot out, blocking his arm from the lift call b.u.t.ton. "You got any enemies in port, Stevens?"

"No," he said, resisting the impulse to swing. "None that I know about. What's your percentage in it?"

Curran Reilly reached in his coveralls pocket and pulled out several credit chits, thrust them on him and he took them on reflex. "You take this, go get breakfast, book into the same sleep-over as last night. You don't go to the exchange. You don't go near station offices. You don't sign anything you haven't signed already."

"I've been printed."

"A great help. Really great."

He thrust the credits back. "Keep your handout I've got my own funds."

"The blazes you have. Shut your mouth. You go to that sleep-over and stay there and that bar next door. We want to know right where to find you. We don't want any complications and we don't want anything else stupid on your part. Keep that money and don't try to touch what you arrived with. You've got enough troubles."

He stared into black and angry eyes, smothered his own temper, afraid to walk away. "So how do I find the place? I'm lost."

The Dubliner reached and pushed b.u.t.tons on the lift call. "I'll get you there."

"Where's Allison?"

"Don't press your luck, mister."

"That's Captain, and I'm asking where Allison is. Is she in trouble?"

"Captain." The Dubliner hissed, half a laugh, and the scowl darkened. "Her business is her business and none of yours, I'm telling you. She's working to save your hide, and I'm not here because I like the company."

"She's not spending any money-"

"You've got one track in your mind, haven't you, man? Money. You're a precious dockside wh.o.r.e."

"Go-"

"Shut your mouth. You take our charity and you'll do as you're told." The car arrived and the door whipped open. The Dubliner held it for him and he got in, with rage half blinding him to anything but the glare of lights and the realization that they were not alone in the car. Curran Reilly stepped in: the door shut and the car shot away with them. A pair of young girls stood against the rail on the far side of the car; an old man in the front corner. Sandor put his hands in his pockets and felt the Reilly money in his left with the sandwich wrapper, with the adrenalin pulsing in him and Curran Reilly standing there like a statue at his right. The girls whispered behind their hands. Laughed in adolescent insecurity. "It's him" he heard, and he kept staring straight ahead, an edge of raw terror getting through the anger, because his face was known-everywhere. And he had to swallow whatever the Dubliner said and did because there was no other hope but that.

If the Reillys were not themselves plotting revenge, for the stain on their Name.

A long, slow trip on Dublin, Allison had warned him, if he crossed her cousins. Revenge might recover Dublin's sullied Name, when the word pa.s.sed on docksides after that.

But he went where he was told. He knew well enough what station justice offered.

Chapter VII.

It was executive council on Dublin, and to be the centerpiece of such a meeting was no comfortable position. Seventy-six of the posted and the retired crew... and the Old Man himself sitting in the center seat of the table of captains which faced the rest of the room: Michael Reilly, gray-haired with rejuv and frozen somewhere the biological near side of forty. Ma'am was in the first row after the Helm seats, in that first huge lounge behind the bridge that was the posteds lounge when it was not being the council room. And with Ma'am was the rest of Com; and Scan on the other side of the aisle, behind the rest of Helm, and that was Megan and Geoff and others. Allison sat with impa.s.sive calm, hands folded, trying to look easy in the face of all the power of Dublin, all the array of her mother and aunts and grandmother and cousins once and several times removed. She was all too conscious of Curran's empty seat beside hers, Helm 22; and Deirdre missing from 23; and Neill sitting in 24 and trying to look as innocent as she. The Old Man and the other captains had a nest of papers on the long table in front of them. She knew most of the content of them well enough. Some of it she did not, and that worried her.

The Old Man beckoned, and Will, who was the senior lawyer in the family, came up to the table and bent over there and talked a while to the captains in general. Heads nodded, lips pursed, a long slow conversation, and not a paper shuffled elsewhere in the room. The rest of the council listened, eavesdropping; and words fell out like papers and liability; and piracy, and Union forces.

Will went back to his seat then, and the board of captains straightened its papers while Allison tried not to clench her hands. Her gut was knotted up; and somewhere at her back was her mother, who had to be feeling something mortal at her daughter's insanity. People never quit their s.h.i.+ps. Kin stayed together, lifelong; and daughters and sons were there, forever. There was Connie left, to be sure-Connie, waiting elsewhere, not posted, and not ent.i.tled here. There were friends and cousins, Megan's support at a time like this. Allison was numb, convinced that she was committing a betrayal of more than one kind-and still there was no more stopping it than she could stop breathing. Win or lose, she was marked by the attempt.

"Your entire watch," the Old Man said, "21, isn't represented here."

"Sir," she said quietly, "they're settling a situation involving Lucy. Before it gets out of hand."

"I'll refrain from comment," the Old Man said. "Mercifully."

"Yes, sir."

"I'm going to approve the request for financing. Contingent on the rest of your watch applying for this transfer as you represent."

"Yes, sir." A wave of cold and relief went through her. "Thank you, sir."

"You've phrased this as a temporary tour."

"Yes, sir."

"You'll retain your status then. Your watch in Helm will not be vacated."

"Yes, sir," she said. That was the risk they had run. Council supported them, then. "Thank you for the others, sir."

"I'll be talking to you," the Old Man said. "Privately. Now. Council's dismissed. Come to the bridge."

"Sir," she said very softly, and caught Neill's eye, two vacant seats removed, as others began to rise-Neill, whose brow was broken out in sweat. He gave her a nod. She got up, looked back across the rows of chairs for Megan and Geoff, and met her mother's stare as if there were no one else in the room for the moment. Her mother nodded slowly, and it sent a wave of anguish through her, that small gesture: it was all right; it was-if not understood-accepted. Thank you, she said: her mother lipread. Then she turned away toward the forward door the Old Man had taken, which led down the corridor to the bridge.

Little was working... in this heart of hearts of Dublin, most of the boards dark and shut down. Most of the work they did now besides monitor was connected to the cargo facility and to the com links with station. The Old Man had taken his seat in his chair among the rows and rows of dormant instruments and controls, with the few on-duty crew working in the far distance forward on the huge bridge. She went up to that post like a pet.i.tioner going to the throne, that great gimballed black chair in the pit which oversaw anything the captain wanted to look at Anywhere. Instantly.

"Sir," she said.

The Old Man stared at her-white-haired and powerful and young/old with rejuv that took away more hope than it gave... for the ambitious young.

"Allison." Not Allie; Allison. She was always that with him. He rested his elbows on the arms of the chair and locked his hands on his middle. "You'll be interested to know that it's all stalled off. Dancer's the s.h.i.+p that made the complaint. I've talked to their Old Lady. Says she doesn't have anything personal involved, and there hasn't been word of other witnesses. I take it you're still set on this."

"Yes, sir." Soft and careful. "By your leave, sir."

He stared at her with that humorless and unflappable calm that came of being what he was. "Sit down. Let's talk about this."

She had never sat in the Old Man's presence, not called in like this. She looked nervously to her left, where a small black cus.h.i.+on edged the main vid console, there for that purpose. She settled, hands on her knees, eye to eye with Michael Reilly.

"Applying to take a tour off Dublin," the Old Man said. "Applying for finance into the bargain. Let me see if I can quote your application: 'a foot in Pell's doorway, a legitimate Alliance operation... outweighing other disadvantages.' You know where the sequence of command falls, 21, if we buy into another s.h.i.+p. Could that possibly have occurred to you?"

"I know that council could have voted it down, and Second Helm approved."

"If I thought you were the mooncalf dockside paints you, I'd give you the standard lecture, how a transfer is a major step, how strange it can be, on another s.h.i.+p, away from everything you know, taking orders from another command and coping with being different in a crew that-however friendly-isn't yours. But no. I know what you're in love with. I know what you're doing. And I'm not sure you do."

"There's worse can happen to him than Dublin's backing."

"Is there? You look at your own soul, Allison Reilly, and you tell me what you'd do and what you're buying into. You come making requests we should throw our Name behind a ne'er-do-well marginer, we should stop a complaint an honest s.h.i.+p has filed -all of that. And I'll remind you of something you've heard all your life. That every Dubliner is born with one free judgment call. Always... just one. Once, you've got the right to yell trouble on the docks and have the Old Man blow the siren and bring down every mother's son and daughter of us. And every time you do it right, that buys you only one more guaranteed judgment call. No Dubliner I can think of has taken much more on himself than you. You know that?"

"I know that, sir."

"And you apply to keep your status."

To guarantee the loan, sir, begging your pardon."

"Not so pure, 21."

"Not altogether, no, sir."

"You're jumping over the line of succession; you're ignoring the claims your seniors might make ahead of you, if we bought that s.h.i.+p outright. Alterday command right off, isn't it, and not waiting the rest of your life without posting. It's a maneuver and every one of us knows it It's a bald-faced conniving maneuver that oversets those with more right, and you're doing it on a technicality. And how do I answer that?"

Her heart was beating more than fast, and heat flooded her face. "I'd say they voted and pa.s.sed 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 b.a.s.t.a.r.d of a number one who's been number one in her watch too long, who's infected with G.o.dhood and who finds the stage too small."

"Sir-"

"Let me tell you about smallness, 21. That s.h.i.+p 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 h.e.l.l-"

"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 s.h.i.+p, yes, sir."

The Old Man nodded slowly. "He'll thank you-about that far. And what will you a.s.sign him-when you've got his s.h.i.+p?"

"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 s.h.i.+p 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 runner: no one else will file a complaint on that s.h.i.+p without going through Dublin first, and they've had an hour now to think it over. Something would have come in if it was going to, so I tend to agree with your judgment, that it's a financial problem the man has, no merchanter grudge. So he's clear in that respect. About the military, that inquiry can't be stopped; and that's going to be another problem that lies in your watch."

"Yes, sir."

"There's a voucher that will pay the dock charge; and a doc.u.ment 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 s.h.i.+p, 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 s.h.i.+p, 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 s.p.a.cious, 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 Connie and Geoff and Ma'am, which was not as hard as that to Dublin herself.