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 Mazianni carrier; one of
Conrad Mazian’s captains—Signy Mallory of Norway, who had fought for the old
Earth Company… the name the Mazianni used while they were legitimate; but a
Mazianni captain all the same. Talley… upstairs: that was an officer of what
Pell called its defense, maybe a man who had worked with Mallory. That was what
was doggedly investigating him, a pirate hunting other pirates, who played by
civilized rules in port
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