Azov offered his hand. He took it, in bitterness. “Maj. Talley,” Azov said, and
offered his hand to Josh. Josh accepted the greeting. “Glad to have you back.”
“Sir,” Josh murmured.
“Mallory’s information is correct? Mazian’s gone for Sol?”
Josh nodded. “No deception, sir. I think it’s true.”
“Gabriel?”
“Dead, sir. Shot by the Mazianni.”
Azov nodded, frowning, looked at Damon directly again.
“I’m giving you a chance,” he said. “You think you can get this station back in
order?”
“I’ll try,” Damon said, “if you let me up there.”
“That’s the immediate problem,” Azov said. “We don’t have access up there.
Natives have the doors blocked. No knowing what damage they’ve done in there or
what shooting could start with them.”
Damon nodded slowly, looked back toward the door to the access ramp. “Josh comes
with me,” he said. “No one else. I’ll get Pell settled for you. Your troops can
follow… after it’s quiet. If shooting starts, you may lose the station, and you
wouldn’t want that at this stage, would you?”
“No,” Azov agreed. “We wouldn’t want that.”
Damon nodded and started for the doors. Josh walked beside him. A loudspeaker
behind them began to recall troops, who came out the doors from the ramp in
obedience to the summons, passing them as they entered and walked upward. The
top was clear, doors to blue one closed. Damon pushed the button; it was dead.
Manual opened it.
Downers sat beyond, huddled together, a mass that filled the main hall and the
side corridors. “Konstantin-man,” one exclaimed, scrambling up suddenly, hurt as
many of them were hurt, and bleeding from burns. They surged to their feet,
reached out hands as he walked in, to touch his hands, his body, bobbing in
delight and calling, shrieking in their own tongue.
He walked through, Josh trailing in his wake through the hysterical press. There
were more of them inside the control center, beyond the windows, on the floor,
sitting on the counters, in every available niche. He reached the doors, rapped
on the window. Hisa faces lifted, eyes stared, solemn and calm… and of a sudden
brightened. Downers leaped up, danced, bounced, shrieked wild cries silenced by
the glass.
“Open the door,” he called to them. It was impossible that they could hear him,
but he pointed to the switch, for they had it locked from inside.
One did. He walked in among them, touched and hugged, touched them in return,
and in a sudden rush, found a hand locked viselike on his, clasping it to a
furry breast. “I Satin,” the hisa said to him, grinning. “Me eyes warm, warm,
Konstantin-man.”
And on the other side, Bluetooth. That broad grin and shaggy coat he knew, and
hugged the Downer. “You mother send,” Bluetooth said. “She all right,
Konstantin-man. She say lock doors, stand here not move, make they send find
Konstantin-man, make all right the Upabove.”
He caught his breath, touched furred bodies, went to the central console, with
Josh behind him. Human bodies lay there on the floor. Jon Lukas was one, shot
through the head. He sat down at the main board, began pushing keys, rebuilding…
took out the spool of tape and hesitated.
Mallory’s gift. To Pell. To Union. The tape might contain anything—traps for
Union… a final destruct trigger…
He wiped a hand across his face, finally made up his mind and fed the leader in.
The machinery sucked it in, beyond recall.
Boards began to clear, lights flickering to greens. There was a stir among the
hisa. He looked above him, at troops reflected in the glass, standing in the
doorway with rifles leveled. At Josh, behind him, who had turned to face them.
“Hold it where you are,” Josh snapped at them. They did, and rifles lowered.
Maybe it was the face, the look that was Union’s lab-born; or the voice, that
expected no argument. Josh turned his back on them and stood with his hands on
the back of Damon’s chair.
Damon kept at work, spared a second glance to the reflecting glass. “Need a com
tech,” he said. “Someone to get on public channels and talk. Get me someone with
a Pell accent. We’re all right. They knocked some of the storage out, slagged