can be reached at home. If it can’t wait, I’ll come back.”
“Yes, sir,” the murmur came back. He gathered up a few of his less disturbing
papers, put them in his case, put on his jacket, and walked out with a nod of
courtesy to his secretary, to the several officials who had their offices in the
same room, and entered the corridor outside.
He had been working late the last several days; was due at least the chance to
work in greater comfort, to read the caseful of documents without interruption.
He had had trouble on Downbelow: Emilio had shipped it all station-side last
week with a scathing denunciation of the personnel involved and the policies
they represented. Damon had urged the troublemakers shipped out to the mining
posts—a quick way to fill up the needed number of workers. Counsel for the
defense protested prejudice in the Legal Affairs office, and urged clearing of
the tainted service records with full reinstatment. It had flared into something
bitter. Jon Lukas had made offers, made demands; they finally had that settled.
Presently he had fifty files on Q residents being processed out as provisionals.
He thought of stopping by the executive lounge for a drink on the way, doing
some of the paperwork there, taking his mind off what still had him sweating. He
had a pager in his pocket, was never without it, even with com to rely on. He
thought about it.
He went home, that little distance down blue one twelve, quietly opened the
door.
“Angelo?”
Alicia was awake, then. He shed his case and his jacket on the chair by the
door. “I’m home,” he said, smiled dutifully at the old Downer female who came
out of Alicia’s room to pat his hand and welcome him. “Good day, Lily?”
“Have good day,” Lily affirmed, grinning her gentle smile. She made herself
noiseless in gathering up what he had put down, and he walked back into Alicia’s
room, leaned down over her bed and kissed her. Alicia smiled, still as she was
always still on the immaculate linens, with Lily to tend her, to turn her, to
love her with the devotion of many years. The walls were screens. About the bed
the view was of stars, as if they hung in mid-space; stars, and sometimes the
sun, the docks, the corridors of Pell; or pictures of Downbelow woods, the base,
of the family, of all such things as gave her pleasure. Lily changed the
sequences for her.
“Damon came by,” Alicia murmured. “He and Elene. For breakfast. It was nice.
Elene’s looking well. So happy.”
Often they stopped by, one or the other of them… especially with Emilio and
Miliko out of reach. He remembered a surprise, a tape he had dropped into his
jacket pocket for fear of forgetting it “Had a message from Emilio. I’ll play it
for you.”
“Angelo, is something wrong?”
He stopped in mid-breath and shook his head ruefully. “You’re sharp, love.”
“I know your face, love. Bad news?”
“Not from Emilio. Things are going very well down there; much better. He reports
considerable progress with the new camps. They haven’t had any trouble out of Q
personnel, the road is through to two, and there’s a number willing to transfer
down the line.”
“I think I get only the better side of the reports. I watch the halls. I get
that too, Angelo.”
He gently turned her head for her, so that she could look at him more easily.
“War’s heating up,” he said. “Is that grim enough?”
The beautiful eyes… still beautiful, in a thin, pale face… were vital and
steady. “How close now?”
“Just merchanters getting nervous. Not at all close; there’s no sign of that.
But I’m concerned about morale.”
She moved her eyes about, a gesture at the walls. “You make all my world
beautiful. Is it beautiful… out there?”
“No harm has come to Pell. There’s nothing imminent. You know I can’t lie to
you.” He sat down on the edge of the bed, the clean, smooth sheets, took her
hand. “We’ve seen the war get hot before and we’re still here.”
“How bad is it?”