“I reckoned you meant me to. You don’t set much store by heroes, do you?”
Mallory laughed. It surprised him, that quick, cold humor. “Land on your feet,
do you? No, I didn’t expect it.”
“So I spilled all I knew and invented some. But I’ll trust you’re going to stand
by our agreement.”
“On what, Captain?”
“Hazard rate. On military cargo.”
She thought a moment, wondering, he thought.
“I didn’t breach the seals,” he said, “but they did. And they knew I was a
plant. That wasn’t comfortable.”
“No, I daresay not.” She turned over some papers on her desk. “Vouchers for the
pay you’re due. No dock charge at Venture, under the circumstances. Let’s treat
it as lifesupport freight.”
Mallory had, he thought, a certain sense of humor. He was going to get out of
this. He was insanely tempted to like Mallory, in sheer gratitude. “Captain,” he
said. Thanks stuck in his throat.
“That’s an interesting rig, your ship.” She failed to let go of the papers and
he let go of them in a sudden chill, cursing his momentary trust. “Everything
under lock—papers of clouded origin-backing from one of Union’s major Names. You
know there was a time, Captain, I wondered about Dublin itself… keeping your
company.”
“We don’t take that,” a Dublin officer said.
“Oh, I’m assured otherwise. Our allies from across the Line vouch for you. But
you have odd associates.—Tell me, Captain Reilly—what motive to lend to a
marginer… on that scale?”
“Private business.”
“I don’t doubt” She offered the papers a second time. Sandor took them, his
fingers gone cold. He wanted to sit down. The room proved hot/cold and confused
with sound. “Your papers, Captain—are altered. Do you know that?”
He blinked… felt the edge of the desk with his fingertips, tried to summon up
his wits. That’s not so.”
“And you run gold under the plates.”
“Private store. My own property. I expect it to be there when I board.”
Mallory considered him slowly. “Of course it is.”
“If you ran that thorough a search on Pell—”
“We wondered.”
“That’s under Dublin finance,” Allison said from behind him. “The papers say
that too. We’re good for any debts.”
He looked around slowly at the Dubliners—at Curran’s sweating pale face, and
Allison’s flushed one, Deirdre and Neill unfocused behind them. The rest of the
room blurred. They had it, he reckoned. The keys and the excuse, He made a small
shrug and looked around again at Mallory, “That’s the way the papers are set
up.”
“I know that too. As long as Dublin stands good for it”
“No question,” the Reilly said.
He tucked the voucher into his pocket, finding about all the strength he had
gathered deserting him. He could make it back to Lucy, he reckoned, if he got
that far. He wanted that, just to get home, however long it lasted.
“You want to let me see the aforesaid papers, Captain?”
He felt in his pocket, of the jacket draped about his shoulder on the left,
fumbled the packet out and gave it into Mallory’s hands,
“They are faked,” she said, riffling through them, “Pell caught that Paper
analysis didn’t match. Good job, though. They’re going to go over to disc on
this kind of thing: it’s going to put a lot of paper-traders out of business.
Some merchanters howl at the prospect; but then some have reason, don’t they?
You really ought to get that title straightened up.”
She offered them back. He took them, blind to anything else.
“That ought to be all,” she said. “Dublin vouches for you. And Union, to be
sure, vouches for Dublin. So we don’t ask any more questions.”
“Can I go?”
She nodded, dark eyes full of surmises. He kept his face neutral, turned about
and walked out, in the company of Allison and her crew, unasked. Allison put
herself in front of him and he stopped outside, dizzy and none too steady on his
feet “Get it clear,” she said. “Dublin’s with us. They won’t do anything. You
can clear the Name up, go by your own, you understand that? You can get the
papers cleared.”
“Maybe I don’t want to.”