Company Wars 01 – Downbelow Station

more, lying against him, about more than things… deep feelings; the way

childhood was for a merchanter; the first time she had set foot on a station,

aged twelve and frightened by rude stationers who assumed any merchanter was

fair game. How a cousin had died on Mariner years back, knifed in a stationer

quarrel, not even comprehending a stationer’s jealousy that had killed him.

And an incredible thing… that in the loss of her ship, Elene’s pride had

suffered; pride … the idea set him back, so that for some time he lay staring at

the dark ceiling, thinking about it.

The name was diminished… a possession like the ship. Someone had diminished it

and too anonymously to give her an enemy to get it back from. For a moment he

thought of Mallory, the hard arrogance of an elite breed, the aristocracy of

privilege. Sealed worlds and a law unto itself, where no one had property, and

everyone had it: the ship and all who belonged to it. Merchanters who would spit

in a dockmaster’s eye made grumbling retreat when a Mallory or a Quen ordered

it. She felt grief at losing Estelle. That had to be. But shame too… that she

had not been there when it mattered. That Pell had set her in the dockside

offices where she could use that reputation the Quens had; but now there was

nothing at her back, nothing but the reputation she had not been there to pay

for. A dead name. A dead ship. Maybe she detected pity from other merchanters.

That would be bitterest of all.

One thing she had asked of him. He had cheated her of it without discussing it.

Without seeing.

“The first child,” he murmured, turning his head on the pillow to look at her,

“goes by Quen. You hear me, Elene? Pell has Konstantins enough. My father may

sulk; but he’ll understand. My mother will. I think it’s important it be that

way.”

She began to cry, as she had never cried in his presence, not without resisting

it. She put her arms about him and stayed there, till morning.

Chapter Ten

« ^ »

Viking station: 6/5/52

Viking hung in view, agleam in the light of an angry star. Mining, industry

regarding metals and minerals… that was its support. Segust Ayres watched, from

the vantage of the freighter’s bridge, the image on the screens.

And something was wrong. The bridge whispered with alarm passed from station to

station, frowns on faces and troubled looks. Ayres glanced at his three

companions. They had caught it too, stood uneasily, all of them trying to keep

out of the way of procedures that had officers darting from this station to that

to supervise.

Another ship was coming in with them. Ayres knew enough to interpret that. It

moved up until it was visual on the screens, and ships were not supposed to ride

that close, not at this distance from station; it was big, many-vaned.

“It’s in our lane,” delegate Marsh said.

The ship moved closer still to them, and the merchanter captain rose from his

place, walked across to them. “We have trouble,” he said. “We’re being escorted

in. I don’t recognize the ship that’s riding us. It’s military. Frankly, I don’t

think we’re in Company space any more.”

“Are you going to break and run?” Ayres asked.

“No. You may order it, but we’re not about to do it. You don’t understand the

way of things. It’s wide space. Sometimes ships get surprises. Something’s

happened here. We’ve wandered into it. I’m sending a steady no-fire. We’ll go in

peaceably. And if we’re lucky, they’ll let us go again.”

“You think Union is here.”

“There’s only them and us, sir.”

“And our situation?”

“Very uncomfortable, sir. But those are the chances yon took. I won’t give odds

you people won’t be detained. No, sir. Sorry.”

Marsh started to protest. Ayres put out a hand. “No. I’d suggest we go have a

drink in the main room and simply wait it out. We’ll talk about it.”

Guns made Ayres nervous. Marched by rifle-carrying juveniles across a dock much

the same as Pell’s, crowded into a lift with them, these too-same young

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