Jacoby, are possible. May we live to see them.”
It was a lie as sober-faced as he had ever delivered. He leaned back in his
chair with nausea urging at him from the effects of jump and from outright
terror.
“Mr. Ayres.”
He looked back at the doorway. It was Azov. The Union officer walked in,
resplendent in black and silver.
“We are monitored,” Ayres observed sourly.
“I don’t delude myself with your affection, Mr. Ayres. Only with your good
sense.”
“I’ll make your recording.”
Azov shook his head. “We go heralded,” he said, “but by a different warning.
There’s no hope that Mazian’s ships will all be docked. We brought you along
first for the Mazianni; and secondly because in the taking of Pell station it
will be useful to have a voice of former authority.”
He nodded weary assent. “If it saves lives, sir.”
Azov simply stared at him. Frowned, finally. “Take time to recover your
equilibrium, sirs. And to contemplate what you might do to benefit Pell.”
Ayres looked to Jacoby as Azov left and saw that Jacoby was also capable of
anxiety. “Doubts?” he asked Jacoby sourly.
“I have kin on that station,” Jacoby said.
BOOK FOUR
^
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter One
« ^ »
Pell 10/10/52; 1100 hrs.
The station was calmer. Queries to Legal Affairs had begun, and that was a good
indication that the tension on the station was easing. The input file was full
of queries about military actions, threatened lawsuits, indignant protests from
merchants on-station who felt damages were due them for the continued curfew on
the docks. There were protests from the merchanter ship Finity’s End regarding a
missing youth, the object of much anxiety, in the theory that one of the
military crews could have swept him up in impressment. In fact the youth was
probably in some station sleepover with a current infatuation from some other
ship. Comp was quietly carrying out a card-use search, not an easy matter, for
merchanter passes were not in such frequent use as stationer cards.
Damon entertained hopes of finding him safe, refused to take alarm until the
records search had come in; he had seen too many of these come across his desk
only to discover a young merchanter who had had a falling out with his family or
drunk too much to listen to vid. The whole thing was more security’s problem at
this level, but security had its hands full, its men and women standing guard
duty with haggard eyes and short tempers. LA could at least punch comp buttons
and take up some of the clerical work. Another killing in Q. It was depressing,
and there was absolutely nothing they could do but note the fact. There was a
report of a guard under suspension, accused of smuggling a case of Downer wine
into Q. Some officer had decided the problem should not wait, when it was likely
there was petty smuggling going on everywhere among the merchanters out there.
The man was being made an example.
He had three postponed hearings in the afternoon. They were likely to be
postponed again, because the council was meeting and the board of justices was
involved in that. He decided to agree with the defender to that effect, and put
the message through, reserving the afternoon instead for the disposal of more
queries that the lower levels of the office could not handle.
And having disposed of that, he swung his chair about and looked back at Josh,
who sat dutifully reading a book on the auxiliary unit and trying not to look as
bored as he ought to be. “Hey,” Damon said. Josh looked at him. “Lunch? We can
take a long one and work out at the gym.”
“We can go there?”
“It’s open.”
Josh turned the machine off.
Damon rose, leaving everything on hold, walked over and gathered up his jacket,
felt after cards and papers to be absolutely sure. Mazian’s troops still stood
guard here and there as unreasonable as they ever had been.
Josh likewise put on a jacket… they were about the same size, and it was
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