“That has to be my concern when ships go out of here with no sufficient cargo to
justify their moving, headed for a population we can’t handle if it panics. I’m
telling you, Jon, we can’t take chances on some loose talk or some single
company pulling its favored employees out and starting a panic on another
station. You hear me?”
“I did discuss the matter with Dayin. I assure you our mission is supportive.
Commerce has to continue, doesn’t it, or we strangle. And before us, Viking.
Stations they rely on have collapsed. Let Viking start running into shortages
and they may be here in our laps with no invitation. We’re taking them
foodstuffs and chemicals; nothing Pell may run short of… and we have the only
two usable holds on the ship fully loaded. Is every ship launched subject to
this inquisition? I can provide you with the company books if you want to see
them. I take this amiss. Whatever our private feelings, Angelo, I think Dayin
deserves commendation for being willing to go out there under the circumstances.
It doesn’t deserve a fanfare—we asked for none—but we would have expected
something other than accusations. Do you want the books, Angelo?”
“Hardly. Thank you, Jon, and my apologies. So long as Dayin and your ship’s
master appreciate the hazards. Every ship that launches is going to be
scrutinized, yes. Nothing personal.”
“Any questions you have, Angelo, so long as they’re equally applied. Thank you.”
“Thank you, Jon.” Jon keyed out. Angelo did so, sat staring at the report,
riffled through it, finally signed the authorization after the fact and dumped
it into the Record tray; all the offices were running behind. Everyone. They
were using too many man-hours and too much comp time on the Q processing.
“Sir.” It was his secretary, Mills. “Your son, sir.”
He keyed acceptance of a call, looked up in some surprise as the door opened
instead and Damon walked in. “I brought the processing reports myself,” Damon
said. He sat down, leaned on the desk with both arms. Damon’s eyes looked as
tired as he himself felt, which was considerable. “I’ve processed five men into
Adjustment this morning.”
“Five men isn’t a tragedy,” Angelo said wearily. “I’ve got a lottery process set
up for comp to pick who goes and stays on station. I’ve got another storm on
Downbelow that’s flooded the mill again, and they’ve just found the victims from
the last washout. I’ve got ships pulling at the tether now that the panic’s worn
down, one that’s just slipped, two more to go tomorrow. If rumor has it that
Mazian’s chosen Pell for a refuge, where does that leave the remaining stations?
What when they panic and head here by the shipload? And how do we know that
someone isn’t out there right now, selling passage to more frightened people?
Our life-support won’t take much more.” He gestured loosely toward a stack of
documents. “We’re going to militarize what freighters we can, by some pretty
strong financial coercion.”
“To fire on refugee ships?”
“If ships come in that we can’t handle—yes. I’d like to talk to Elene sometime
today; she’d be the one to make the initial approach to the merchanters. I can’t
muster sympathy for five rioters today. Forgive me.”
His voice cracked. Damon reached across the desk, caught his wrist and pressed
it, let it go again. “Emilio needs help down there?”
“He says not. The mill’s a shambles. Mud everywhere.”
They find all of them dead?“
He nodded. “Last night. Bennett Jacint and Ty Brown; Wes Kyle yesterday noon…
this long, to hunt the banks and the reeds. Emilio and Miliko say morale is all
right, considering. The Downers are building dikes. More of them have been
anxious for human trade; I’ve ordered more let into base and I’ve authorized
some of the trained ones into maintenance up here: their life-support is in good
shape, and it frees up some techs we can upgrade. I’m shuttling down every human
volunteer who’ll go, and that means even trained dock hands; they can handle
construction equipment. Or they can learn. It’s a new age. A tighter one.” He
pressed his lips together, sucked in a long breath. “Have you and Elene thought