Russell’s at the height of the panic. They had wanted information at that
threatened station; had used Adjustment techniques in interrogation. Damon
rested his mouth against his hand, watched the fragmentary record roll past,
sick at his stomach. He felt ashamed at the discovery, naive. He had not
questioned Russell’s reports, had not investigated them himself; had had other
things on his hands, and staff to take care of that matter; had not—he admitted
it—wanted to deal with the case any more than he absolutely had to. Talley had
never called him. Had conned him. Had held himself together, already unstrung
from previous treatment, to con Pell into doing the only thing that might put an
end to his mental hell. Talley had looked him straight in the eye and arranged
his own suicide.
The record rambled on… from interrogation under drugs to chaotic evacuation,
with stationer mobs on one side and the military threatening him on the other.
And what it had been, what had happened during that long voyage, a prisoner on
one of Mazian’s ships…
Norway … and Mallory.
He killed the screen, sat staring at the stack of papers, the unfinished
condemnations. After a time he set himself to work again, his fingers numb as he
signed the authorizations.
Men and women had boarded at Russell’s Star, folk who, like Talley, might have
been sane before it all started. What had gotten off those ships, what existed
over in Q… had been made, of folk no different than themselves.
He simply pushed the destruct on lives like Talley’s, which were already gone.
On men like himself, he thought, who had gone over civilized limits, in a place
where civilization had stopped meaning anything.
Mazian’s Fleet—even they, even the likes of Mallory—had surely started
differently.
“I’m not going to challenge,” Tom told him, over a lunch they both drank more
than ate.
And after lunch he went to the small Adjustment facility over in red, and back
into the treatment area. He saw Josh Talley. Talley did not see him, although
perhaps it would not have mattered. Talley was resting at that hour, having
eaten. The tray was still on the table, and he had eaten well. He sat on the bed
with a curiously washed expression on his face, all the lines of strain erased.
ii
Angelo looked up at the aide, took the report of the ship outbound and scanned
the manifest, looked up. “Why Hansford?”
The aide shifted his weight, distressed. “Sir?”
“Two dozen ships idle and Hansford has a commission to launch? Unfitted? And
with what crew?”
“I think crew was hired off the inactive list, sir.”
Angelo leafed through the report. “Lukas Company. Viking-bound with a stripped
ship and a dock-bound crew and Dayin Jacoby for a passenger? Get Jon Lukas on
the com.”
“Sir,” the aide said, “the ship has already left dock.”
“I can see the time. Get me Jon Lukas.”
“Yes, sir.”
The aide went out. In moments the screen on the desk went bright and Jon Lukas
came on. Angelo took a deep breath, calmed himself, angled the report toward the
pickup. “See that?”
“You have a question?”
“What’s going on here?”
“We have holdings at Viking. Business to carry on. Shall we let our interest
there sink into panic and disorder? They’re due some reassurance.”
“With Hansford?”
“We had an opportunity to engage a ship at below standard. Economics, Angelo.”
“Is that all?”
“I’m not sure I take your meaning.”
“She carried nothing like full cargo. What kind of commodity do you plan to pick
up at Viking?”
“We carry as much as we can with Hansford in her present condition. She’ll refit
there, where facilities are less crowded. Refitting is the hire for which we got
her use, if you must know. What she carries will pay the bill; she’ll lade full
on return, critical supplies. I’d think you’d be pleased. Dayin is aboard to
supervise and to administer some business at our Viking office.”
“You’re not minded, are you, that this full lading include Lukas Company
personnel… or others? You’re not going to sell passage off Viking. You’re not
going to pull that office out.”
“Ah. That’s your concern.”
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