But it hadn’t been that. They weren’t, damn it, guilty of anything. There’d been no fight. Nobody was guilty of anything, and the Neiharts, who’d had the most to fear, had just sat there, calmly ordering drinks.
That . . . had stopped him. He’d jumped for the doors along with Niall and Fallan, but while they’d run for it, he’d delayed to ask himself what Finity was doing. How they were reacting. He’d thought—This is stupid. Station’s being the fool. Station’s in the wrong, not us. And the Neiharts aren’t budging.
And just that quick, it had been too late: the Santiagos cut him off, trapped him and Mary T and Ashlan, because of his delay. The side door had sealed and the front door sealed, and he and two of his cousins had been standing there behind the tail end of the Santiagos, who also hadn’t got out.
He wasn’t wholly proud that he’d stayed that moment to look back, that he hadn’t kept with his captain and crew, but he had, and there he’d been, trapped in the bar, while chaos went on outside.
So he’d gone up, ordered a beer, and paid his respects to JR Neihart.
And stared, because the man unexpectedly looked him right in the eyes—no smile there, no matter what the rest of the face was doing. It wasn’t threat. It was just presence, a powerful man wondering, he’d thought, just what this Galway navigator thought he was, or whether he was making a statement, still being there, a wet-behind-the-ears jumped-up trainee, nobody to another ship’s senior captain—cheeky even to approach another ship’s senior captain or make his presence evident.
And he hadn’t had an answer.
He still didn’t. Didn’t know to this hour what he’d felt, beyond stunned and upset.
Damn the Neiharts, if they’d gotten Galway into trouble. Niall still wasn’t back. There might be several captains called on the carpet.
Would he like to sit nav aboard a ship like Rights? Like Finity? In a heartbeat. But trade Galway for it? There were upgrades and then there were quantum leaps.
Scared hell out of him, it did. Just because the EC thought sim-training that crew should be doable, didn’t mean it was.
That The Rights of Man should become a Family ship—that Rights should go to them, Alpha’s ship-Families—maybe to a merger of more than one. . . . Ross personally didn’t know how that would or could work out. He’d seen Finity come in. JR Neihart had said that hot entry was necessary. JR Neihart himself had been mid-list when the whole senior crew of Gaia had stepped aside to put their young people in charge of Finity’s End. JR Neihart had been promoted up to senior at one go, and the same story with a lot of the crew, because the big ships were a whole new universe—and older crew just stepped down to advisory. That was what Fallan said.
God. Scary prospect. And the Finity crew was all one family, knowing each other. What would it be like to merge with Firenze or Santiago, whose ship-speak wasn’t Galway’s, who didn’t read each other like a book? He couldn’t sit a mega-ship’s boards with the team he knew. He wasn’t sure Fallan could, the best they had. And trust their lives to some other team?
Hell, no. But then—any of them would be a damned sight better than any stationer in the same post, wouldn’t they?
“Would you take it?” he asked his cousins, out of long mutual silence. They’d talked out their reactions to the blue-coats’ raid in the first five minutes. “That ship. If they gave it to us . . . if they had us go in with Firenze, say . . .”
“Rights?” Mary T asked. “Hell, no. A monster ship designed from smuggled blueprints? Put together by engees who can’t get Firenze’s problem fixed in three tries?”
“They did get it out of dock,” Ashlan said, in irony.
“Nah,” Mary T said: “Too frickin’ big. Merge with the Gallis? We’re different. We’re not them. They’re not us.”
“We wouldn’t be blood-related to everybody,” Ashlan said suggestively.
“Yeah, well, related often enough,” Mary T said. “What I hear.”
“Am not,” Ashlan said, old argument. “Me pa’s on Santa Maria. Headed for Sol.”
“More than we’ll ever do,” Ross said.
“Unless they find the jump points,” Ashlan said. “And then, hell, Rights won’t matter. We’ll go there, and they’ll have shiny new ships just waiting for us. Won’t have to share with anybody. That’s the promise, right?”
“Believe that when the codes are in my hand,” Ross said, drily. For as long as there’d been FTL, the EC had promised that when Sol finally found that jump point, they’d reward the First Star stations and the ships that had kept the stations going. It was even possible there were ships like Finity just waiting for them, when they could jump to Sol to claim them.
Sol was doing its best in its isolation, to keep up with the technology that came to it down the Stream. They—the ships that served Alpha—believed in Sol and believed that when Sol finally found the route to the Hinder Stars, it would continue to make Alpha its base.
But damn if it wasn’t getting just a little difficult to keep the faith.
Maybe . . . maybe those points had been found. Maybe Rights was just waiting for them to be proved and that someday payoff was just around the corner. Maybe Rights had been given to hire-ons to protect the essential Alpha crews against the dangers of a ship built from blueprints and theory. It was even possible that that ship and the blue-coats were here to defend Alpha’s loyal ships from money-grubbing visitors. To protect their interests in that lucrative trade.
Somehow . . . he didn’t think that was why Finity was here. He wished the blue-coats hadn’t intervened. He wanted to know what JR Neihart would have said.
“So what’s your bet?” he asked his cousins. “What are these outsider ships here for?”
“Making trouble,” Mary T said flatly.
“Wasn’t a thing wrong with what the man said. It’s right, what he said.”
“It’s Rights, isn’t it?” Ashlan muttered. “Rights of Man . . . the way Alpha admin defines them. Maybe it means all those blue-coats to uphold those rights according to the EC. Blue-coats get all the rights and the ships that serve here don’t get any.”
Mary T frowned, rolled her eyes toward the overhead and surrounds. “You don’t know who’s listening.”
That was the way it was. It hadn’t, Ross thought, been that way when the day started. But that was the way it was now—that they had to think about what they said and worry that somebody was listening. They always used a little discretion on the Strip. And Ashlan had said it in ship-speak, which somebody might translate if they wanted to, but . . .
“Listen to us,” he said. “Listen to us running scared, who did nothing wrong. Nothing. Why in hell did the blue-coats pick on Niall? Why’s he been called in?”
“Because they didn’t dare lay hands on a Neihart?” Ashlan said. “Those four ships just about outnumber the blue-coats, all told. Station’s the one running scared.”
“Fuist anois,” Mary T said. Hush.
Ross shoved his chair back on its slide. Got up from the table.
“Where are you going?” Ashlan said.
“Nowhere,” Ross said, then caught himself. A surly tone wouldn’t help matters. “I’m fine.” He lifted a hand. “Back in a bit.”
He had no such intention, point of fact. He wanted to find a cousin who hadn’t been locked down. His com wasn’t telling him a thing. He wanted to know if Niall was back.
He wanted to walk. To shake off the thoughts.
He got as far as two frontages down when com did beep.
It was Niall’s message. Check on Fallan ASAP. Mercy Infirmary, 210 green. Says he’s ok. Be sure. I’ll be there when I can.
Infirmary? His heart sped. And guilt settled in it. Of all people—Fallan.
He began to walk much faster.
Chapter 3 Section iv
Niall Monahan.
One of the
good ones. The dependables.
And not real damn happy with Alpha at the moment.
“Come in,” Ben Abrezio said, and watched a sixty-year-old who looked thirty walk in—Galway patch on a plain grey jacket, red and green and black Celtic knot-figure on the patch: Abrezio had asked once, during a more pleasant meeting. It meant something about unity, or some such.
And unity was the item in question at the moment. Monahan’s face was grim, brows knit.
“Sit down, captain, please.”
Monahan didn’t move.
“It was not an order from this office,” Abrezio said. “I understand a senior member of your crew was injured in the commotion. How is he?”
“Haven’t been allowed to see him,” Monahan said. “Security has a guard on him. They say well enough. He’s an old man, damn it!”
“A mistake,” Abrezio said. “I’ll have the guards removed immediately.” He tapped the intercom and gave the order, got a slight nod from Monahan: acknowledgment. Nothing more. “Let me assure you, captain, that it was not my order that put them there, as the lockdown was not my order, but I take responsibility for station security actions, and the matter is being looked into even as we speak. Station extends profound apologies . . . to all ships involved. And to the establishment. And reluctantly, to our uninvited guests. Alpha appreciates its loyal ships, captain. We know you could be elsewhere. We are sorry for what happened.”
Monahan just stared, waiting, maybe, for a dismissal, apology delivered.
“Sit down, captain. Sit down, please.”
Monahan moved the chair and sat down, no happier.
Abrezio pushed the stop button on the session recording; Monahan’s brow twitched.
“There are things I’d like to say, off the record,” Abrezio explained, trying to keep his voice from betraying his nerves. “We have a problem, here, which was not helped by a security officer’s rash decision, and I hope to prevent it from becoming much worse.”
Nerves, yes, worse than he’d ever suffered. So damn much depended on the next few minutes. He got up and went to the sideboard to pour from a carefully preserved bottle. The best he had. Scotch, real Scotch that had come in by pusher, tended to lose its color over time, but it preserved the essence of its unique flavor. He gave both glasses a generous pour. “The real stuff, this.”
Monahan took the glass. Waited. Abrezio sat down, took a sip and Monahan did.
“Cards on the table,” Abrezio said. “I’m worried about those ships and why they’re here. Cyteen . . . is not the EC’s friend, and half that lot who’ve come in here proposing changes is actively trading with Cyteen. Which is Pell’s policy, and a deal they’ve worked out. That worries me. These outsiders come in here, saying they want benefit for you . . . but it’s a question—why should they come all this way? Purely out of the goodness of their hearts? I personally find that difficult to believe. I have my suspicions Pell is deeply involved, but I admit to a certain bias in that and I’d value your opinion on their intentions. I’d very much value that. If you’ve heard anything we haven’t. What’s this talk about turning Rights over to you? Is that the first you’d heard of it?”
Monahan held the glass on his knee. Said nothing for a moment, then: “You recorded the meeting.”
“I did.” No reason to deny it.
“Then you know everything I know. My opinion is that they’re here because Rights crew reached Bryant’s, and because Rights has tested her engines, and that some plan has been triggered by those events. I’m not sure what they’re offering. Right now it’s pie by-and-by, and a lot of talk about Alpha Family crews taking over Rights, which I strongly doubt is going to happen.”
A little edge to that statement. No surprise. “It’s not in the plan. But—not to the disadvantage of Alpha’s loyal merchant trade, and not to Alpha’s disadvantage, that much I can say. The Company appreciates loyalty—and it reserves privilege for its loyal ships. You had a choice of stations and you chose Alpha, even after Venture gave you Galway.”
“No one gave us anything, sir. We earned that ship. We sat on that list for thirty years, station time.”
“With Alpha’s backing. With Alpha’s release of Atlas to their breakers. We are interconnected, Captain, and we take deep pride in Galway. You’re our finest, our best . . .”
Monahan just looked at him.
“The point is, yes, you’ve earned every benefit you’ve had. Absolutely. You are valued. I am personally sorry—and, yes, embarrassed—about the unfortunate incident, and I don’t want a repetition. In order to prevent it happening, I’m afraid I have to impose on that treasured loyalty a little more right now. Please listen to what I have to say.”
A sip of the Scotch, a sideways glance at the still mostly full glass. “I’m listening.”
“Thank you. We are, not surprisingly, concerned over this sudden, unannounced influx of Pell-based ships. We suspect a more serious threat than a look-see at Rights. Pell’s close relationship with Cyteen concerns us. Venture’s growing . . . its Pell-ification, if you will . . . concerns us. We should ordinarily and in all common sense be allied with Pell. But we cannot, will not, be taken over by them. We have our responsibilities. We are EC. And how we deal with this situation could impact the future of far more than Alpha. Finity’s captain persistently said we . . . and no matter how many times I review it, that we remains ambiguous. We can do something about it, was his point, just before security interrupted the meeting, and I mortally wish Neihart had been able to finish that point and tell us who that we of his really is.”
He paused, giving Monahan a chance to fill in that information. He didn’t.
“He talked a great deal about ships with combined interests, but what I very much fear is that Pell is trying to get a presence here, to undermine EC tradition and impose Pell’s interests on us, much as they have on Venture, whether in collaboration with Cyteen, or in a precautionary move against Cyteen. They’ve grown increasingly self-important, since the introduction of FTL into the system. They would put themselves up as the new Sol, with the power to dictate how this station runs. You must understand I can’t allow that to happen. We are the EC’s voice, the only real connection they have this side of the pusher divide. We must keep their base, the one they created and have maintained for centuries, ready to welcome them. I fear Pell means to challenge that loyalty, to take over control of the station, using our vulnerabilities to force the EC out. I also fear they want to control the Sol trade, when it joins the FTL circuit, cutting out our loyal ships. I fear they plan to take control of the Rights build—promising whatever it takes to get the local ships on their side, promises that they’ll not be bound to deliver on.”
Another pause. Monahan drew a breath. Shrugged. “Possible. Keep going.”
“It’s easy for the Neiharts to say what Alpha should do, whether or not it’s possible. No matter they have no idea of our circumstances, we’re the ones that came out looking bad. Pell sent that ship, a ship that has a specific grievance against us on the Rights matter. That’s pretty clear. A ship that’s dedicated to Pell’s interests above all others. I have to ask myself . . . why else would it come? That system entry of his was designed to put the fear in us. The sudden pile-up of additional bodies on the docks, the presence of numbers that test our facilities, and without any warning. They created the crowd pressure, then called a meeting to throw around accusations of misbehavior on the part of station. They’re entitled to speak. And unfortunately security overreacted.”
“I have a man in infirmary, sir.”
“I am keenly aware of that. And very sorry. Security overreacted and a reprimand has been given. But there’s a nervousness up and down the Strip right now, not unrelated to the push these outsiders have put on us. Everybody’s worried. Everybody’s asking what this visit means. Which I suspect is very much the desired effect. Speculation breeds fear . . . and anger.
And the most available scapegoat is station authority. It’s possible that, had we not reacted, Neihart would have kept pushing until we did react. Still, it’s unfortunate it happened. Period. People were hurt. And now, people are worried. Security is worried, and no good can come of trigger-happy authority.”
“Point.” Monahan’s scowl didn’t lessen.
“Captain, I need your assistance. Badly. And favors now will be remembered. I promise you.”
Another sip, a moment to think. Niall Monahan was not a reckless man, but not reluctant to express an opinion, either.
“How big a favor do you need?”
“Not that big. I need someone on the inside. I’d like you to appear interested in Neihart’s proposals, and keep us abreast of what’s in the works. Satisfy our mutual curiosity—while being quite sure that, henceforward, station security will definitely step very gently in your presence. The Company remembers extraordinary service. It will reward it.”
“In specific?”
“Say that depends on the quality and usefulness of the information. But say that this office already considers Galway uniquely valuable, and Galway will be a priority with us for a long time to come. In informing us, Galway will be protecting all trade that comes through here. Protecting Galway’s own economic future.”
“And all you want is information?”
“Yes.”
“What kind of information? Specifically.”
“Information the visitors might hand other merchant ships, but not want this office to hear. We want to know what they offer under the table, and what they want. We want to know what they promise and what they allege about us in places not so well monitored. Be friendly, encourage confidences, and tell us what you know. That simple.”
Silence. A fairly lengthy one. Then: “Keep the blue-coats off us. Pick up my man’s infirmary tab. And I get your personal call number, sir. I’m not putting my people out on a tether with no quick-call to protect us.”
Abrezio hoped . . . God, he hoped . . . his relief didn’t show on his face.
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