dock clearance. Sit down. Lights will go out in here in a moment. Can’t keep
them on… comp will find a storeroom light on and turn it out on us, very
economical.”
“Are we safe here?”
He laughed bitterly, sank down against the wall, legs tucked up in the cramped
space to afford Josh room to sit down opposite him. He felt of the gun still in
his pocket, to be sure it was there. Drew a breath. “Nowhere is safe.” Tired,
the angel’s face, grease-smudged, hair stringy. Josh looked terrified, though it
had been Josh’s instincts that had saved them under fire. Between the two of
them, one knowing the accesses and one with the right reflexes, they made a
tough problem for Mazian. “You’ve been shot at before,” he said. “Not just in a
ship… close up. You know that?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Don’t you?”
“I said I don’t.”
“I know the station. Every hole, every passage; and if shuttles start moving
again, if any ships start going and coming from the mines, we just use the cards
to get close enough to the docks, join a loading crew, walk onto a ship…”
“Go where, then?”
“Downbelow. Or outworld mines. No questions asked in either place.” It was a
dream. He fabricated it to comfort them both. “Or maybe Mazian will decide he
can’t go on holding here. Maybe he’ll just pull out.”
“He’ll blow it if he does. Blow the station, the installations on Downbelow with
it. Would he want to leave Union a base to use against him when he falls back?”
Damon frowned at truth he already knew. “You have a better suggestion what we
should do?”
“No.”
“I could turn myself in, negotiate to get back in control, evacuate the
station…”
“You believe that?”
“No,” he said. That account too he had already added up. “No.”
The lights went out. Comp had shut them down. Only the ventilation continued.
ii
Pell: station central; 2130 hrs. md.; 0930 hrs. a.
“But there’s no need,” Porey said softly, his dark, scarred face implacable,
“there’s no further need for your presence, Mr. Lukas. You’ve done your civic
duty. Now go back to your quarters. One of my people will be sure you get there
safely.”
Jon looked about at the control center, at the several troopers who stood there,
with the safeties off the rifles, with eyes constantly on the fresh shift of
techs who managed the controls, the others under guard for the night. He
gathered himself to pass orders to the comp chief, stopped cold as a trooper
made a precise move, a hollow scrape of armor, a lowered rifle. “Mr. Lukas,”
Porey said, “people are shot for ignoring orders.”
“I’m tired,” he said nervously. “I’m glad to go, sir. I don’t need the escort.”
Porey motioned. One of the troopers by the door stood smartly aside, waiting for
him. Jon walked out, the trooper treading behind him at first and then beside
him, an unwanted companion. They passed other troops back on guard in quiet,
riot-scarred blue one.
More of the Fleet was docking. They had drawn in to a tighter perimeter, decided
finally to dock, which seemed to him military insanity, a risk he did not
understand. Mazian’s risk. His now. Pell’s, because Mazian was back.
Perhaps—he found it hard to think—Union had been beaten badly. Perhaps there
were things kept secret. Perhaps there would be delay in the Union takeover. It
worried him, the thought that Mazian’s rule might be long.
Suddenly troops exited the lift ahead into blue one, troops bearing a different
insigna. They intercepted him, presented his escort with a slip of paper.
“Come with us,” one ordered.
“I was instructed by captain Porey—” he objected, but another nudged him with a
gun barrel and moved him toward the lift. Europe, their badges said. Europe
troops. Mazian had come in.
“Where are we going?” he asked in panic. They had left the Africa trooper
behind. “Where are we going?”
There was no answer. It was deliberate bullying. He knew where they were going…
had his suspicions confirmed when, after descent in the lift, he was walked down
the blue niner corridor, out onto the docks, toward the glowing access tube of a