tactics; that was not an option here. They were vulnerable; they did as they
could. His companions had borne themselves well in this distressing
circumstance… save Marsh. Marsh grew nervous, restless, tense.
And it was of course Marsh the Unionists singled out for particular attention.
When they were in single session, Marsh was gone from their midst longest; in
the four times they had been shifted lately, Marsh was the last to move in. Bela
and Dias had not commented on this; they did not discuss or speculate on
anything. Ayres did not remark on it, settling in one of the several chairs in
the living area of their suite and picking up from the inevitable vid set the
latest propaganda the Unionists provided for their entertainment: either
closed-circuit, or if it were station vid, it indicated mentalities incredibly
tolerant of boredom—histories years old, accounts cataloging the alleged
atrocities committed by the Company and the Company Fleet.
He had seen it all before. They had requested access to the transcripts of their
own interviews with the local authorities, but these were denied them. Their own
facilities for making such records, even writing materials, had been stolen from
their luggage, and their protests were deferred and ignored. These folk had an
utter lack of respect for diplomatic conventions… typical, Ayres thought, of the
situation, of authority upheld by rifle-bearing juveniles with mad eyes and
ready recitations of regulations. They most frightened him, the young, the
mad-eyed, the too-same young ones. Fanatic, because they knew only what was
poured into their heads. Put in on tape, likely, beyond reason. Don’t talk with
them, he had warned his companions. Do whatever they ask and make your arguments
only to their superiors.
He had long since lost the thread of the broadcast. He cast a look up and about,
where Dias sat with her eyes fixed on the screen, where Bela played a game of
logic with makeshift pieces. Surreptitiously Ayres looked at his watch, which he
had tried to synch with the hours of the Unionists, which were not Earth’s
hours, nor Pell’s, nor the standard kept by the Company. An hour late now. An
hour since they had arrived here.
He bit at his lips, doggedly turned his mind to the material on the screen,
which was no more than anesthetic, and not even effective at that: the slanders,
they had gotten used to. If this was supposed to annoy them, it did not.
There was, eventually, a touch at the door. It opened. Ted Marsh slipped in,
carrying his two bags; there was a glimpse of two young guards in the corridor,
armed. The door closed.
Marsh walked through with his eyes downcast, but all the bedroom doors were slid
closed. “Which?” he asked, compelled to stop and ask of them.
“Other side, other way,” Ayres said. Marsh slung back across the room and set
his bags down at that door. His brown hair fell in disorder, thin strands about
his ears; his collar was rumpled. He would not look at them. All his movements
were small and nervous.
“Where have you been?” Ayres asked sharply, before he could escape.
Marsh darted a look back. “Foulup in my assignment here. Their computer had me
listed somewhere else.”
The others had looked up, listened. Marsh stared at him and sweated.
Challenge the lie? Show distress? The rooms were all monitored; they were sure
of it. He could call Marsh a liar, and make clear that the game was reaching
another level. They could… his instincts shrank from it… take the man into the
bathroom and drown the truth out of him as efficiently as Union could question
him. Marsh’s nerves could hardly stand up to them if they did so. The gain was
questionable on all fronts.
Perhaps… pity urged at him… Marsh was keeping his ordered silence. Perhaps Marsh
wanted to confide in them and obeyed his orders for silence instead, suffering
in loyalty. He doubted it. Of course the Unionists had settled on him… not a
weak man, but the weakest of their four. Marsh glanced aside, carried his bags
into his room, slid the door shut
Ayres refused even to exchange glances with the others. The monitoring was