carefully. You’ll answer as one of them. But should Hammer be challenged by
merchanter militia, or by Mazian, your life will rely on your skill in
invention. Hammer will suggest to the merchanters remaining that their best
course for survival would be to get to the system fringe and have nothing to do
with this matter, to get utterly out of the way and cease trade with Pell. We
want those ships out of the way, Mr. Lukas; and it wouldn’t at all be politic to
have merchanters know we’ve tampered with Hammer and Swan’s Eye. We don’t intend
to have that known, you understand me?”
The crews of those ships, he thought, would never be set free, not without
Adjustment. It occurred to him that his own memory was hazardous to Union, that
it would never be politic to have merchanters know Union had violated merchanter
neutrality, which they claimed as a sin of Mazian’s alone. That they had
confiscated not just personnel by impressment, but whole ships, and names… most
of all the names, the trust, the selves of those people. He fingered the empty
glass before him, realized what he was doing and stopped at once, trying to seem
sober and sensible. “My own interests lie in that direction,” he said. “My
future on Pell is far from assured.”
“How so, Mr. Lukas?”
“I entertain some hopes of a Union career, captain Azov.” He lifted his eyes to
Azov’s grim face, hoping that he sounded as calm as he tried to be, “Relations
between myself and my father… are not warm, so he threw me to you quite
willingly. I’ve had time to think. Plenty of time. I prefer to make my own
understandings with Union.”
“Pell is running out of friends,” Azov observed softly, with a glance at the
sad-faced Mr. Ayres. “Now the indifferent desert her. The will of the governed,
Mr. Ambassador.”
Ayres’ eyes turned toward Azov, sidelong. “We have accepted the situation. It
was never the intent of my mission to obstruct the will of the people resident
in these areas. Only I am anxious for the safety of Pell Station. We are talking
about thousands of lives, sir.”
“Siege, Mr. Ayres. We cut them off from supplies and disrupt their operations
until they grow uncomfortable.” Azov turned his face toward Vittorio, stared at
him a moment “Mr. Lukas—we have to prevent their access to the resources of the
mines, and of Downbelow itself. A strike there… possible, but militarily costly
getting to it, and costly in its effect. So we proceed by disentanglement.
Mazian has a death grip on Pell; he’ll leave ruin if he loses, blow Downbelow
and the station itself, fall back toward the Hinder Stars… toward Earth. Do you
want your precious motherworld used for a Mazianni base, Mr. Ayres?”
Ayres shot him a troubled look.
“Ah, he is capable of it,” Azov said, not ceasing to look at Vittorio, a cold,
penetrating stare. “Mr. Lukas, that is as much as your duty involves. To gather
information… to dissuade merchanters from trade. Do you understand? Do you think
that’s within your capacity?”
“Yes, sir.”
Azov nodded. “You’ll understand, Mr. Lukas, if we excuse you and Mr. Jacoby at
this point.”
He hesitated, a little dazed, realized it fuzzily as an order and that Azov’s
gray stare brooked no countersuggestions. He rose from the table. Dayin excused
himself past Ayres, and that left Ayres, Blass, and Azov in council. Hammer’s
captain prepared to receive orders the nature of which he much wished to know.
Ships had been lost. Azov had not told the truth as it was. He had heard the
crew talking. There were whole carriers missing. They were to be sent into that.
He paused where the curve curtained the meeting area, looked back at Dayin, sank
down on a bench at the table in this the crew quarters. “You all right?” he
asked Dayin, for whom he had never had great affection; but a face from home was
very welcome in this cold place, in these circumstances.
Dayin nodded. “And you?” It was more courtesy than he had generally had from
uncle Dayin.
“Fine.”
Dayin settled opposite.
“Truth,” Vittorio asked him. “How many did they lose out there?”