Cherryh, CJ – Merchanters Luck

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 runner: no one else will file a complaint on

that ship 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 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 Connie and Geoff and Ma’am, which was not as hard as that to Dublin herself.

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