Company Wars 01 – Downbelow Station

Keep them off the docks and out of our area. Do they need pictures of starving

colonists to take back with them? Bad press, Mr. Konstantin. Keep them out of

our way. Over.”

“They’re armed with government papers. Security Council. That kind of Company

team. They have rank to use and they’re demanding transport deeper Beyond.

Over.”

She chose a second obscenity and swallowed it. “Thank you, Mr. Konstantin. I’ll

capsule you my recommendations on procedures with the refugees; they’ve been

worked out in detail. You can, of course, ignore them, but I’d advise against

it. We can’t even guarantee you that what we’re disembarking on Pell isn’t

armed. We can’t get among them to find out. Armed troops can’t get in there, you

understand? That’s what we’re giving you. I’d advise you keep the Company boys

out of our docking area entirely before we have hostages to deal with. Copy? End

transmission.”

“We copy. Thank you, captain. End transmission.”

She slumped in place, glared at the screens and shot an order to com to capsule

the instructions to station command.

Company men. And refugees from lost stations. Information kept coming steadily

from stricken Hansford, with a calm on the part of its crew she admired.

Strictly procedures. They were dying over there. Crew was sealed into command

and armed, refusing to abandon ship, refusing to let a rider take Hansford in

tow. It was their ship. They stayed by it and did what they could for those

aboard, by remote. They had no thanks from the passengers, who were tearing the

ship apart—or had been doing so, until the air fouled and the systems began to

break down.

Four hours.

ii

Norway. Russell’s had met disaster, and Mariner. Rumor ran through the station

corridors, aboil with the confusion and anger of residents and companies that

had been turned out with all their property. Volunteers and native workers aided

in the evacuation; dock crews used the loading machinery to move personal

belongings out of the area selected for quarantine, tagging items and trying not

to confuse them or allow pilferage. Com echoed with announcements.

“Residents of yellow one through one nineteen are asked to send a representative

to the emergency housing desk. There is a lost child at the aid station, May

Terner. Will a relative please come at once to the aid station?… Latest

estimates from station central indicate housing available in guest residency,

one thousand units. All nonresidents are being removed in favor of permanent

station residents, priority to be determined by lottery. Apartments available by

condensation of occupied units: ninety-two. Compartments available for emergency

conversion to residential space, two thousand, including public meeting areas

and some mainday/alterday rotation of occupancy. The station council urges any

person with personal arrangements possible through lodging with relatives or

friends to secure same and to key this information to comp at the earliest

possible; housing on private initiative will be compensated to the home resident

at a rate equivalent to per capita expense for other housing. We are five

hundred units deficient and this will require barracks-style housing for

on-station residency, or transfer on a temporary basis for Downbelow residency,

unless this deficiency can be made up by volunteering of housing or willingness

of individuals to share assigned living space. Plans are to be considered

immediately for residential use of section blue, which should free five hundred

units within the next one hundred eighty days… Thank you… Will a security team

please report to eight yellow?…”

It was a nightmare. Damon Konstantin stared at the flow of printout and

intermittently paced the matted floors of dock command blue sector, above the

area of the docks where techs tried to cope with the logistics of evacuation.

Two hours left. He could see from the series of windows the chaos all along the

docks where personal belongings had been piled under police guard. Everyone and

every installation in yellow and orange sectors’ ninth through fifth levels had

been displaced: dockside shops, homes, four thousand people crowded elsewhere.

The influx spilled past blue, around the rim to green and white, the big

main-residence sectors. Crowds milled about, bewildered and distraught. They

understood the need: they moved—everyone on station was subject to such

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