moment to attack; there’s a known Union spotter out there we can’t do anything
about. Not even the normalcy of dock traffic on this station. We’re beginning to
go for each others’ throats… and isn’t that precisely what Union hopes for, that
just by keeping us here without exit we’ll rot away? They don’t want to meet us
in open conflict; that’s expensive, even if they push us out. And they don’t
want to take the chance of us scattering and returning to a guerrilla operation…
because there’s Cyteen, isn’t there; there’s their capital, all too vulnerable
if one of us decides to hit it at cost. They know what they’ve got on their
hands if we slip out of here. So they sit. They keep us uncertain. They hope
we’ll stay here in false hope and they offer us just tranquility enough to make
it worth our while not to budge. They gamble; probably they’re gathering forces,
now that they know where we are. And they’re right… we need the rest and the
refuge. It’s the worst thing for the troops, but how else do we manage? We have
a problem. And I propose to give our erring troops a taste of trouble, something
to wake them up and persuade them there’s still action at hand. We’re going
after some of the supplies Pell is short on. The short-haulers staying so
carefully out of our way… can’t run far or fast. And the mines have other items,
the supplies supporting them. We’re going to send a second carrier out on
patrol.”
“After what happened to North Pole—” Kreshov muttered.
“With due caution. We keep all the station-side carriers at ready and we don’t
stray too far from cover. There’s a course which can put a carrier near the
mines and not take it far out of shelter. Kreshov, with your admirable sense of
caution, let that be your task. Get the supplies we need and teach a few lessons
if necessary. A little aggressive action on our part will satisfy the troops and
improve morale.”
Signy bit her lip, gnawed at it, finally leaned forward. “I volunteer for that
one. Let Kreshov sit it out.”
“No,” Mazian said, and quickly held up a pacifying hand. “Not with any
disparagement, far from it. Your work here is vital and you’re doing an
excellent job at it. Atlantic makes the patrol. Herds a few haulers into line
and restores station traffic. Blow one if you have to, Mika. You understand
that. And pay them in Company scrip.”
There was general laughter. Signy stayed sour. “Captain Mallory,” Mazian said,
“you seem discontent.”
“Shootings depress me,” she said cynically. “So does piracy.”
“Another policy debate?”
“Before taking on any large-scale operations of that kind, I’d like to see some
effort toward conscripting the short-haulers, not blowing them. They stood with
us against Union.”
“Couldn’t get out of the way. There’s a far difference, Mallory.”
“That should be remembered… which of them were out there with us. Those ships
should be approached differently.”
Mazian was not in a mood for listening to her reasons, not today. He had a high
flush in his cheeks and his eyes were dark. “Let me get through the orders, old
friend. That’s taken into consideration. Any merchanter in that category will
obtain special privileges when docked at station; and we presume any merchanter
in that category will not be among those out there refusing our orders to move
in.”
She nodded, carefully erased the resentment from her face. There was danger in
upstaging Mazian. He had an enormous vanity. It overbalanced his better
qualities on occasion. He would do what was sensible. He always had. But
sometimes the anger lingered—long.
“I’d like to point out,” Porey’s deep voice interjected, “contrary to Captain
Mallory’s expectations of local help, we have a problem case in the Downbelow
operation. Emilio Konstantin snaps his fingers and gets what he wants out of his
workers down there. It gets us the supplies we need and we put up with it. But
he’s waiting. He’s just waiting; and he knows right now he’s a necessity. If we
get those short-haulers involved at station we’ve got other potential Konstantin