of Earth?”
“Sir?”
“You, your brother, Elene and Miliko—think about it, will you?”
“No,” Damon said. “Pull out and run? You think that’s what it’s coming to?”
“Figure the odds, Damon. We didn’t get help from Earth, just observers. They’re
figuring on cutting their losses, not sending us reinforcements or ships. No.
We’re just settling lower and lower. Mazian can’t hold forever. The shipyards at
Mariner… were vital. It’s Viking soon; and whatever else Union reaches out to
take. Union’s cutting the Fleet off from supply; Earth already has. We’re out of
everything but room to run.”
“The Hinder Stars—you know there’s some talk about reopening one of those
stations—”
“A dream. We’d never have the chance. If the Fleet goes… Union would make it a
target, same as us, just as quickly. And selfishly, completely selfishly, I’d
like to see my children out of here.”
Damon’s face was very white. “No. Absolutely no.”
“Don’t be noble. I’d rather your safety than your help. Konstantins won’t fare
well in years to come. It’s mindwipe if they take us. You worry about your
criminals; consider yourself and Elene. That’s Union’s solution… puppets in the
offices; lab-born populations to fill up the world… they’ll plow up Downbelow
and build. Heaven help the Downers, I’d cooperate with them… so would you… to
keep Pell safe from the worst excesses; but they won’t have things that easy
way. And I don’t want to see you in their hands. We’re targets. I’ve lived all
my life in that condition. Surely it’s not asking too much that I do one selfish
thing—that I save my sons.”
“What did Emilio say?”
“Emilio and I are still discussing it.”
“He told you no. Well, so do I.”
“Your mother will have a word with you.”
“Are you sending her?”
Angelo frowned. “You know that’s not possible.”
“So. I know that. And I’m not going, and I don’t think Emilio will choose to
either. My blessing to him if he does, but I’m not.”
“Then you don’t know anything,” Angelo said shortly. “We’ll talk about it
later.”
“We won’t,” Damon said. “If we pulled out, panic would set in here. You know
that. You know how it would look, besides that I won’t do it in the first
place.”
It was true; he knew that it was.
“No,” Damon said again, and laid his hand atop his father’s, rose and left.
Angelo sat, looked toward the wall, toward the portraits which stood on the
shelf, a succession of tridee figures… Alicia before her accident; young Alicia
and himself; a succession of Damons and Emilios from infancy to manhood, to
wives and hopes of grandchildren. He looked at all the figures assembled there,
at all the gathered ages of them, and reckoned that the good days hereafter
would be fewer.
After a fashion he was angry with his boys; and after another… proud. He had
brought them up what they were.
Emilio, he wrote to the succession of images, and the son on Downbelow, your
brother sends his love. Send me what skilled Downers you can spare. I’m sending
you a thousand volunteers from the station; go ahead with the new base if they
have to backpack equipment in. Appeal to the Downers for help, trade for native
foodstuffs. All love.
And to security: Process out the assuredly nonviolent. We’re going to shift them
to Downbelow as volunteers.
He reckoned, even as he did it, where that led; the worst would stay on station,
next the heart and brain of Pell. Transfer the outlaws down and keep the heel on
them; some kept urging it. But fragile agreements with the natives, fragile
self-respect for the techs who had been persuaded to go down there in the mud
and the primitive conditions… it could not be turned into a penal colony. It was
life. It was the body of Pell, and he refused to violate it, to ruin all the
dreams they had had for its future.
There were dark hours when he thought of arranging an accident in which all of Q
might decompress. It was an unspeakable idea, a madman’s solution, to kill
thousands of innocent along with the undesirables… to take in these shiploads