We wait and not know we wait. We see humans and we come to Upabove. Ah! time
Bennett come cold time, and old river she quiet…”
The dark, lovely eyes were set upon her, interested, intent upon her words as if
she had skill like the old singers. She wove the truth as best she could, making
this true, and not the terrible things which were Happening elsewhere, making it
truer and truer, that the Dreamer might make it truth, that in the turning
cycles, this truth might come round again as the flowers did, and the rains and
all lasting things.
iii
Station central
The boards had stabilized. Station central had adjusted to panic as a perpetual
condition, apparent in the fevered attention to details, the refusal of techs to
acknowledge the increasing coming and going of armed men in the command center.
Jon patrolled the aisles, scowling, disapproving of any move beyond necessity.
“Another call from the merchanter Finity’s End,” a tech told him. “Elene Quen
speaking, demands information.”
“Denied.”
“Sir—”
“Denied. Tell them to sit and wait it out. Make no more unauthorized calls. Do
you expect us to broadcast information that could aid the enemy?”
The tech turned to her work, visibly trying not to see the guns.
Quen. Young Damon’s wife, with the merchanters, already trouble, making demands,
refusing to come out. The information had already proliferated, and the Fleet
had to be picking it up by now from the merchanters in pattern about the
station. Mazian knew by now what had happened. Quen with the merchanters and
Damon on green section dock; Downers knotted about Alicia’s bedside, blocking
number four crosshall in that area. Let her keep her Downer guard: the section
door was shut. He folded his hands behind him and tried to look calm.
A movement caught his eyes, near the door. Jessad was back after brief absence,
stood there, a silent summons. Jon walked in that direction, misliking Jessad’s
grim sobriety.
“Any progress?” he asked Jessad, stepping outside.
“Located Mr. Kressich,” Jessad said. “He’s here with an escort; wants a
conference.”
Jon scowled, glanced down the hall where Kressich waited with a cluster of
guards about him, and an equal number of their own security.
“Situation as it was with blue one four,” Jessad said. “Downers still have it
blocked. We’ve got the door; we could decompress.”
“We need them,” Jon said tautly. “Let it be.”
“For her sake? Half-measures, Mr. Lukas…”
“We need the Downers; she’s got them. Let be, I said. It’s Damon and Quen who’re
trouble. What are you doing in that regard?”
“Can’t get anyone on that ship; she’s not coming out and they’re not opening. As
for him, we know where he is. We’re working on it.”
“What do you mean you’re working on it?”
“Kressich’s people,” Jessad hissed. “We need to get through out there, you
understand me? Pull yourself together and talk to him; promise him anything.
He’s got the mobs in his hand. He can pull the strings. Do it.”
Jon looked at the group in the hall, his thoughts scattering, Kressich, Mazian,
the merchanter situation… Union. The Union fleet had to move soon, had to. “What
do you mean, need to get through out there? Do you know where he is or don’t
you?”
“Not beyond doubt,” Jessad admitted. “We turn that mob loose on him and there
won’t be enough to identify. And we need to know. Believe me. Talk to Kressich.
And hurry about it, Mr. Lukas.”
He looked, caught Kressich’s eyes, nodded, and the party came closer… Kressich,
as gray and wretched-looking as ever. But those about him were another matter:
young, arrogant, cocky in their bearing.
“The councillor wants a share of this,” one said, small, dark-haired man with a
scar on his face.
“You speak for him?”
“Mr. Nino Coledy,” Kressich identified him, surprising him with a direct answer
and a harder look than Kressich had ever mustered in council. “I advise you to
listen to him. Mr. Lukas, Mr. Jessad. Mr. Coledy heads Q security. We have our
own forces, and we can get order when we ask for it. Are you ready to have it?”
Jon turned a disturbed look on Jessad, obtained nothing; Jessad was blank of