Alliance Rising

by C. J. Cherryh

  Aubrey fed it, came back as a loud synthesizer number wailed from the speakers, and dropped into his chair next to Owen. Helm 1, Aubrey, usually sat right next to Fallan. Not this morning. Nav 2.2 was in that spot: Celine, and since the ruckus yesterday, and since there was no imminent prospect of getting a board-call, second-shift was determined to back first-shift in whatever action broke out next. The whole Family was on premises: Fallan getting knocked about had everyone up in arms, determined on asserting the ship’s honor.

  “So, now,” Niall said. “I’ll say this quiet, and in pieces, so you can say it down the table. Just be accurate, cousins. First: Fallan’s back in his sleepover and doing well. He’d be here, if Jack weren’t sitting on him.” A pause as that worked its way down the table. “Second: I’ve talked with Abrezio. His opinion: it’s Pell behind this. His theory is, it’s not going to be an armed incident, but economic pressure aimed at the First Stars, namely us.” Another pause. “Third. He offers us the station’s gratitude and, more to the point, favorable treatment if we will, first, stay loyal to Alpha, and second, keep him informed. Four. My understanding with Abrezio is that we’re an Alpha ship and we’ll tell him what we learn. Five. Finity has invited us to talk, to which we’ve not responded, and won’t until we’ve had time to speak with Firenze. I’ve had a taste of James Robert’s gift of the gab and don’t intend to let it sway common sense. Keep your ears open. We need to know what the outsiders represent and where this money’s coming from. Anything you learn, bring to me ASAP. Change seats.”

  That meant everybody in direct earshot should move, possibly go up and order a refill, and sit down again in a different order.

  The harmonium was blaring, other tables in the place—and there was a fair crowd—were talking twice as loud to be heard. They all got up who’d sat near Niall, went up to the bar and got a refill on tea, then came back to different seats, at other tables, while other people got up to go sit near Niall. It was a family shuffle. It was quiet, it passed information in two directions, and it was fairly discreet, give or take everyone in Rosie’s knew a conference was going on.

  Ross passed the word, and got back, from Dubya Ashlan, the news that Firenze crew had been talking to Qarib and Santiago, and that Qarib was talking to Nomad, which was the Druvs, in a restaurant over in the outsider-occupied part of the Strip.

  Word was spreading fast, that was sure. “Go tell Niall,” Ross said, and Ashlan went. Ross stayed where he was, answering questions, listening to talk, gathering rumors of talks, and crew hookups that involved every Alpha ship but Galway.

  “Everybody but us,” was the judgment at the table where he was. “What they got? A stand-off til Niall signs on the line?”

  “Not exactly,” he said. He wasn’t supposed to inject new information: it was supposed to come from Niall, to keep straight what was official and what wasn’t. “Can’t say more than that. But we had a contact. Ask Niall.”

  “Come on,” Connor Dhu said.

  He shook his head. “Not minor. They’ve asked for a meeting; Niall hasn’t answered. Yet. Niall’s taken it into account. I can’t say more than that.”

  “Is it,” Connor asked—Engee’s mate, second shift. “Is it that lot you talked to in Crit Mass?”

  “Uncle Connor, I can’t and you know it.”

  “Bet you,” Connor said to Netha, beside him. “You and Mary T and Ashlan, hooked up with the Neiharts and the Xiaos.”

  “Yeah, well,” he said, “I’m not the destination of any message, am I? Ask Niall, you.”

  “She pretty?” Netha asked.

  “Damn all,” he said. “Can’t a man have a drink?” He didn’t know who’d talked, or for that matter, who’d witnessed, but somebody had. “I was reconnoitering.”

  “Is that what we’re calling it these days?” Said with a big grin.

  The second he’d said it, Ross knew that was going to become famous on second shift.

  “’Scuse me.” He got up, and Netha reached up and pulled his sleeve.

  “Sit down, sit down, Ross. What’s the truth of this Finity girl?”

  Nothing for it. He sat. “She brought Fallan a bottle. From a woman on Finity that Fallan knows. Or knew some God-many years ago, in convert-days. They were in a bar-fight together. On Venture.”

  “And she sends him a bottle,” Netha said, and exchanged a glance with Connor. “Good stuff, I bet.”

  Fallan . . . was going to kill him.

  “I’ve got to go,” he said, rising a second time, as there was a second general shift, a significant stirring in the Galway tables.

  God, that was not particularly discreet. But Fallan had likely been inquiring after him, and that kid at the infirmary desk had probably had interesting gossip to pass on, not least of which would be a Finity patch inquiring after a Galway.

  And a Galway leaving with a Finity, plain as plain could be.

  He went back to Niall, bent close to Niall’s ear and said, “Second shift engees know I met up with a Finity.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I said—” Maybe he had said too much. “I said about the bottle, about a woman on Finity Fallan knew, a long time ago. Didn’t name names. They knew about me drinking with the girl.”

  Niall nodded. “We’re nothing if not a sharin’ lot. I’m not surprised. You’re marked, Ross-lad, marked. But don’t be telling them your own ideas. Refer ’em to me.”

  “Yes, sir. I did, sir.”

  “Sit.”

  There was a vacant chair at the moment, in the general shifting about. He sat down in Helm 1’s place.

  “You’ll be seeing this girl as you can. Keep us aware where you are.”

  “She says she doesn’t speak for her captain. That’s her standard answer.”

  “Well, you don’t speak for yours, do you? That’ll be your standard answer. But you’ll be meeting this girl often as you like—I take it that’s not an upsetting idea.”

  “No, sir.” His face felt hot. Probably he should say he didn’t like the situation. In part he didn’t. On another level he wanted to know. And on another, still, he wanted Jen Neihart to be a sweet, innocent girl, and her ship to be a ship they’d meet again, in better times.

  Better times was not a thought he’d ever had, where it came to the progress of things on Alpha or anywhere else Galway touched.

  Repairing Firenze. God. It was an air castle, the notion. But seductive.

  “Is Firenze believing the offer, sir?” he asked.

  “Can they say no?” Niall shot back.

  Aubrey was back, expecting his seat.

  “Move Celine down one,” was Niall’s word, aside to Aubrey. “I want to talk to this lad.”

  The table was reassembling. He didn’t have Fallan to buffer Celine, who was going to look at him and ask questions of her own. Dark, quick eyes, those, herself no youngster, and another nav, second shift. He slipped into the chair next to Niall and looked concentratedly at the table top.

  “Understand this,” Niall said. “We’re committed to Alpha. Are you understanding that?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You’re careful what you say to this girl?”

  “Yes, sir. I am. I’m way conscious what I say, and I’m not getting drunk and I’m watching my glass, the way you said.”

  “What’s your sense of her? I’m giving you credit for having some.”

  “She’s careful, too. Doesn’t say a thing I haven’t told you.”

  “Which isn’t much.”

  “There isn’t much, sir.”

  “You like her? Personally, how do you like her? I’m not talking about in the sheets.”

  “I like her. It’s a short impression. I think she’s good and I think she’s honest. But I think she’s honest for her ship, not Galway, and always will be. Not being a total fool, sir.”

 
“You’d be about right. If you start thinking any differently—come tell me.”

  “She wants to set up a meeting. Fallan with this captain. I think—I think I got swept up in the moment.”

  “Fallan wants to.”

  That was a question. “I think he does.”

  “Our Nav 1 and their Fourth, when he feels up to it. I’m not inspired to have that unchaperoned. I’d say you make it two tables, and you keep an eye on the both of them.”

  He had to say it. “Medics say no sex.”

  “Well, I rely on you to remind him of that, don’t I?” Niall was quiet a moment. “It’s important we find out what the game is with these people. If Finity’s come here to bring Pell into the economics of the First Stars, that’s going nowhere good. What cargo has Alpha got that Pell wants, outside of Earth goods every ten years? What are we for a market, going back to Sol at pusher speeds? Bad news for us, is what. And if Firenze is the wedge they’re choosing, and we’ve got no word what they’ve promised elsewhere, what are they going to do? Move Firenze up to Venture, and then maybe Santiago, maybe even Qarib? And with the ring-dock they’re building and all, what will we be there?”

  “What will here be by then?” Aubrey asked. His was one of those voices that could rattle china. He kept it way low. “If big forces are moving, Niall, how the hell do we resist?”

  “I don’t know,” Niall said. “Honest to God, I don’t know. But Alpha’s offering, for what it’s worth. We hold out, we figure loyalty’s worth something. I don’t know what. Yet.”

  Niall never kept things back—his hopes or his misgivings. He let crew know, when they were shut away safe inside Galway’s hull. If there were surprises, they shared them, but mostly Niall said what was on his mind. And honestly given, nobody trusted any stationer that much.

  But Niall said it: Alpha was where they had piled up favor-points, that currency without which there was no trust. The one balance that could never be transferred elsewhere.

  Chapter 7

  Section i

  There was quiet on the Strip—at least to outward appearances. Quiet everywhere, relatively speaking. It didn’t mean peace, in JR’s estimation. It meant people drawing back to think, to plan, and to talk—doubtless Julio and Diego Rodriguez of Santiago were doing some consulting. Certainly Abrezio was consulting. And various other levels of his administration were.

  JR and his fellow captains had their own consultation, again in the restaurant, with the same anti-eavesdropping precaution. Nomad and Little Bear had presented their case to Qarib, smallest of the Alpha ships, and, along with Firenze, chosen to be moved off the mast.

  “They’re a little Family,” Asha Druv said, “but they’ve got fifteen kids under ten years old, five of them of Galli descent, they think. Longtime connection, that, the largest Alpha ship with the smallest. Giovanna had a close talk with the Rahmans before we did. And Nomads have a long-ago tie to Mercury. As does Firenze. Way back.”

  Mercury was a ship of legend—not the first pusher-ship to defy Company orders, but one that had defied Company directives in spectacular fashion, moving upset stationers out of Glory and on to Bryant’s—not utterly stripping Glory, but beginning the slow decline of the whole Glory Reach.

  “What’s the consensus from Qarib?” JR asked.

  “They’re a little ship, specialty cargo. Worried about competition, as they should be, but there’s room for their kind of operation. They’re not pleased with their situation at Alpha. They were picked to let twenty-two personnel from The Rights of Man shadow their boards, a delegation headed by Hewitt, and, the senior captain’s words, they argued with seated crew on procedure and readings before jump, were hopelessly, dangerously disoriented on system entry, made technical errors, interfered with active crew, and during system run-in, they refused all offers of a social nature. They stayed to themselves, complained about the food, and attempted to deny they had brought alcohol aboard as well as pharmaceuticals that they refused to disclose, both contrary to Qarib’s rules. They refused inspection of their quarters and were prepared to use force in the matter. That was on the way to Bryant’s. On the return trip, Hewitt assigned another set of personnel to shadow the boards, who fared no better, and then he tried to insist the senior captain sign a document stating their performance had been satisfactory on a trainee level. Aki Rahman refused to sign, so Hewitt proceeded to the alterday captain, trying the same, with the same result. After Qarib docked at Alpha and saw the backs of these trainees, there was a call from the Rights watch officer again asking for the document. They refused it. The next shift also called, wanting the document signed, and tried to claim the signature was a condition of their payment for having these trainees aboard. Rahman again refused. It went all the way to higher offices before somebody finally gave up and paid. Word is, it was Abrezio’s sig on the credit, not Cruz’s.”

  “One supposes they wanted it for EC official consumption. One also supposes Andrew J. Cruz was deeply upset.”

  “I’d say,” Asha said.

  “Did it dispose Qarib against other proposals? Or dispose them toward us?”

  “They view Abrezio somewhat favorably, but they are not fond of Rights or its command, and least of all its personnel. They’re wary of our offer, but their word regarding Rights undergoing more training at their boards was definite.”

  Xiao Min had listened intently, a slight smile on his face. “I believe his expression was ‘rot in the deepest pit of hell.’”

  “Aki Rahman says he is interested to hear us,” Asha said. “He also asks, ‘Need we serve the godless Cyteeners?’ We answered that no ship will be forced to serve any port, but as a group we would wish members to make special consideration in humanitarian interests, and to support fellow members no matter what their origin. They say they will hold a family meeting, but Aki himself is disposed to sign, provided we place no personnel aboard their ship.”

  “That’s two, then,” JR said. “Santiago is also meeting, and the senior captain wants to know that others are signing, and that they will not be left to defend the document alone, once we have left Alpha. I have assured him that should a station withhold services or charge inappropriately for them—they will have assistance from the organization as a whole, and it will not be assistance directed by or funded by Pell. He’s wary, appropriately so. He fears the inconvenience of upholding Alpha merchanters would leave them on their own to face the EC’s wrath. We have promised this will not happen. Those who sign, until they have signed, have to take that on faith.”

  “As agreed.” Asha nodded. “These ships expect intervention from Sol. They hope it comes soon and they hope it never comes. They see the Sol route as the big prize, but they’re convinced Sol’s been building ships—and that those ships, with non-family crews, will be awarded the Sol-Alpha route.”

  “What does Qarib expect Sol will do?” JR asked, that having been Nomad’s contact.

  “I hear the same sentiment we heard at Bryant’s, only more specific.” Asha began to tick off the points on her fingers. “When Sol does get here, there’s a suspicion they’ll immediately replace Abrezio, which won’t be good. He’ll be a resource, but Cruz will likely be in the ascendant, and bets are they won’t even listen to Abrezio, if history is a guide. Alpha will be important immediately, and they’ll be waking up the mothballed stations, which will be good for merchanters, but which makes absolutely no sense in terms of usefulness to science, and some, well, pose a risk to life. But they are territory, and Sol thinks in those terms: they own it, they should have it, it should function and provide revenue. The bet is that Sol won’t be smarter than it was in the first push outward, and constantly referring back to its home office, which will still be half a year lagged, at best. What worries Qarib is the thought that Pell may snuggle up to Cyteen. According to their sources, Bryant’s Star thinks Venture’s going to peel off and join Pell, and that that’s going to be a
flashpoint, once Sol gets here, and if they sign with us, they’ll be on the wrong side of the blast.”

  “Santiago has the same view,” JR said.

  “What we offer scares Qarib,” Asha said. “They’re small, they’ve been marginal for so long they don’t see any other way to live; but our proposal of converting to courier service, running parts, criticals, and a modified heated storage—they do want to hear more about. They’re fairly emphatic they will not deal with Cyteen, and they will not deal with Pell if Pell allies with Cyteen.”

  “We can still work with them,” Xiao Min said.

  “Definitely,” JR said.

  They had built their own collective idea of the routes Sol could best use, that would bring the Hinder Star ships the greatest profit . . . once Sol broke out . . . granted the route Sol found led to Alpha.

  If the route from Sol lay via El Dorado, as some theorized, that would bring them straight to Pell—but the flare star at El Dorado was not a comfortable waystop. Thule, also mothballed, leading to Bryant’s, was possible, but involving a lot of construction, and pusher-loads.

  And if Sol ever grew desperate enough to take the extant path via Beta to Glory—the whole of the Beyond was going to be upset. If Sol ships came via Beta . . . it was very possible every station beyond Alpha and Glory would break tradition and close their docks. No one wanted to risk whatever lurked at Beta getting into their station.

  The route to Alpha was the optimum—in so many ways. It would support the Hinder Star stations’ entire string, maintain their way of life, and not bring Sol into direct contact with Pell. Even if they had to three-hop it, an Alpha-Sol route was still better than any other option.

  “Timetable,” JR said, “is still guesswork. What I’m hearing of Glory, we could bypass it. Glory’s used to being bypassed. It has no merchanters of its own. But the people there deserve consideration, even so.”

  “The ship out there at the moment is still reckoned to be Bluebell. And only Bluebell.”