what they could, gave up as little as possible… as from the refugee ships she
guided, under her protection. There had been in decades before, a time of
chivalry in the war, of quixotic gestures, of enemy rescuing enemy and parting
under truce. They were human and the Deep was wide,and they all had known it. No
more. From among these civilians, neutrals, she had extracted the useful ones
for herself, a handful who might adapt. There would be protests at Pell. It
would do them no good. No protests would, on this or other matters. The war had
taken another turn, and they were out of painless choices.
They moved slowly, at the crawl which was the best the freighters could manage
in realspace, distance Norway or the riders, unencumbered, could cross pushing
light. They had come in dangerously close to the mass of Pell’s Star, out of
plane with the system, risking jump accident and collisions. It was the only way
these freighters could make haste… and lives rode on making time.
“Receiving approach instructions from Pell,” com told her.
“Graff,” she said to her lieutenant, “take her in.” And punching in another
channel: “Di, put all troops on standby, full arms and gear.” She switched back
to com: “Advise Pell it had better evacuate a section and seal it. Tell the
convoy if anyone breaks formation during approach we’ll blow them. Make them
believe it.”
“Got it,” com senior said; and in due time: “Stationmaster’s on in person.”
The stationmaster protested. She had expected so.
“You do it,” she told him—Angelo Konstantin, of the Konstantins of Pell. “You
clear that section or we do. You start now, strip out everything of value or
hazard, down to the walls; and you put those doors on lock and weld the access
panels shut. You don’t know what we’re bringing you. And if you delay us, I may
have a shipload dead: Hansford’s life support is going. You do it, Mr.
Konstantin, or I send the troops in. And you don’t do it right, Mr. Konstantin,
and you have refugees scattered like vermin all over your station, with no id’s
and ugly-desperate. Forgive my bluntness. I have people dying in their own
filth. We number seven thousand frightened civs on these ships, what left
Mariner and Russell’s Star. They’re out of choices and out of time. You’re not
going to tell me no, sir.”
There was a pause, distance, and more than enough delay for distance. “We’ve
sounded the evacuation for sections of yellow and orange dock. Captain Mallory.
Medical services will be available, all that we can spare. Emergency crews are
moving. We copy regarding sealing of the affected areas. Security plans will be
set in motion at once. We hope that your concern is as great for our citizens.
This station will not permit the military to interfere in our internal-security
operations or to jeopardize our neutrality, but assistance under our command
will be appreciated. Over.”
Signy relaxed slowly, wiped sweat from her face, drew an easier breath.
“Assistance will be given, sir. Estimated docking… four hours, if I delay this
convoy all I can. I can give you that much time to get ready. Has news about
Mariner gotten to you yet? It was blown, sir, sabotage. Over.”
“We copy four hours. We appreciate the measures you urge us to take and we are
taking them in earnest. We are distressed to hear about the Mariner disaster.
Request detailed briefing. Further advise you we have a Company team here at the
moment It’s highly distressed at these proceedings.”
She breathed an obscenity into the com.
“… and they’re demanding to have all of you turned down for some other station.
My staff is attempting to explain to them the condition of the ships and the
hazard to life aboard them, but they’re putting pressure on us. They consider
Pell’s neutrality threatened. Kindly appreciate that in your approach and bear
in mind that the Company agents have requested contact with you in person.
Over.”
She repeated the obscenity, expelled a breath. The Fleet avoided such meetings
when possible, rare as they were in the last decade. “Tell them I’ll be busy.