for wanting to. And you came close. You understand that? The worst thing you can
do is give them a pretext. Josh, it was Mallory’s order that got you out of
detention. I asked it. She did it a second time back there… as a favor. Don’t
depend on a third.”
He nodded, shaken.
“Have you eaten today?”
He considered, confused, finally thought back to the sandwich, realized that at
least part of his malaise was lack of food. “Missed supper,” he said.
“I’ll get you some clothes of mine that will fit. Wash up, relax. We’ll go back
to your apartment tomorrow morning and get whatever you need.”
“How long am I going to stay here?” he asked, turning his head to look at Elene
and back at Damon. It was a small place. He was aware of the inconvenience. “I
can’t move in on you.”
“You stay here until it’s safe,” Damon said. “If we have to make further
arrangements, we will. In the meantime I’m going to do some review on your
papers or whatever excuse I can contrive that will excuse your spending the next
few working days in my office.”
“I don’t go back to the shop?”
“When this is settled. Meanwhile we’re not going to let you out of our sight. We
make it clear they’ll have to create a major incident to touch you. I’ll put my
father onto it too, so that no one in either office gets caught by a surprise
request. Just, please, don’t provoke anything.”
“No,” he agreed. Damon gave a jerk of his head back toward the hall. He rose and
went with Damon, and Damon searched an armload of clothing out of the lockers
outside the bath. He went into the bath, bathed and felt better, clean of the
memory of the detention cell, wrapped himself in the soft robe Damon had lent
him, and came out to the aroma of supper cooking.
They ate, crowded at the table, exchanged what they had seen in their separate
sections. He could talk without anxiousness finally, now that the nightmare was
on him, and he was no longer alone in it.
He chose the far corner of the kitchen, made himself a pallet on the floor, out
of the amazing abundance of bedding Elene urged on him. We’ll get a cot by
tomorrow, she promised him. At the least, a hammock. He settled down in it,
heard them settle in the living room, and felt safe, believing finally what
Damon had told him… that he was in a refuge even Mazian’s Fleet could not
breach.
Chapter Eight
« ^ »
Downbelow: Africa landing probe, main base 2400 hrs. md.; 1200 hrs. a; local
daylight
Emilio leaned back in the chair and stared resolutely at Porey’s scowl, waited,
while the scarred captain made several notes on the printout before him, and
pushed it back across the table at him. Emilio gathered it up, leafed through
the supply request, nodded slowly.
“It may take a little time,” he said.
“At the moment,” said Porey, “I am simply relaying reports and acting on
instructions. You and your staff are not cooperating. Go on with that as long as
you please.”
They sat in the small personnel area of Porey’s ship, flat-decked, never meant
for prolonged space flight. Porey had had his taste of Downbelow air, and of
their domes and the dust and the mud, and retreated to his ship in disgust,
calling him in instead of visiting the main dome. And that would have suited him
well, if it had only taken the troops away as well; it had not. They were still
outside, masked and armed. Q and the residents as well worked the fields under
guns.
“I also am receiving instructions,” Emilio said, “and acting on them. The best
that we can do, captain, is to acknowledge that both sides are aware of the
situation, and your reasonable request will be honored. We are both under
orders.”
A reasonable man might have been placated. Porey was not. He simply scowled.
Perhaps he resented the order which had put him on Downbelow; perhaps it was his
natural expression. Likely he was short of sleep; the short intervals at which