Alliance Rising

by C. J. Cherryh

  “I rely on you, Captain, to use discretion in dealing with Finity. Do I understand correctly that once you’ve signed, you’re free to go anywhere, even Sol, without interference from other ships in the alliance?”

  Monahan nodded.

  “Very well. The minute Galway clears Alpha system, outbound on a Sol vector, the news will break, Finity can warn Pell, but they can’t do a thing about it. Pell’s in a peculiar position—not anxious to have their little empire challenged, not anxious to have to deal with Sol, but they’ll have to: by the time the news gets to them, if those points prove out, Sol will already be on its way, and you will be, with a hold full of exotics. Shipments from Sol will be here in increasing numbers and things will change. For the better, for Alpha, and for Alpha’s spacers.”

  Monahan sipped his scotch, savored it a moment, then: “Cruz absolutely doesn’t know?”

  “He does not.”

  “Not going to like you much. And Hewitt’s not to trust, sir, absolutely not to trust.”

  “I’ll worry about that. Not much he can do, once you’re on your way.”

  “Theoretically, Rights can over-jump us.”

  “A ship that can’t make it to Bryant’s? I doubt even he is fool enough to make that move.”

  “Risk aplenty is in this,” Monahan said. “Sim training just isn’t enough. Hewitt proved it on Qarib. Sol’s going to lose ships. Cyteen used azi crew, little more than human computers, and even they didn’t risk it past the initial test of the systems. Cyteen leaves FTL to the Families. Cyteen leaves trade to the Families. If Sol tries to send untested ships with sim-trained crew through barely mapped points, it’s going to be ugly. We’ll warn them, but hell if we’re going to stay and teach them. Hell if we want other ships, company ships, horning in on Sol trade. Galway’s not your only loyal ship.”

  “And I’ll do all I can to protect their interests as well. I can’t promise you that Sol won’t try, but I will urge them to wait and let the points be mapped and fully tested. I’ll extend your concerns and insights.”

  “Can you promise me Galway won’t get tangled in their authority?”

  “I’ll give you every seal and document I can produce to the contrary. Rank as an EC officer, representing me, under my seal, and considering what you’re bringing them, they’ll say thank you, sir, to you and to me. Outside of that, I’d say—take a page from history and use old Gaia’s answer when they wanted to put a new crew aboard. Keep them out. And be on guard. If you have to come back empty from this run, do it. We’ll prefer you for cargo. Enough for you?”

  Monahan drank the last of the glass, set it down. Gave him a direct stare.

  “I’ll be putting together a crew list. Single shift: we’ll be a little frayed, and it will mean some extended downtime between jumps, but we’ll run well enough on that. This is assuming the Family gives us leave to go. I’ll need that secure meeting space.”

  Abrezio pushed buttons, produced a code and a room number, a planning room outside the Strip. He handed it across the desk. “Lift right outside these offices can accept this code. Give it to them. Have your meeting. Get me a yes.”

  “I’ll do that, sir. I think I can say with some assurance that I’ll have a firm yes by shift-change.”

  “Captain.” Abrezio stood up as Monahan stood up, and reached out a hand. “Bring me an agreement. What’s at stake is incalculable.”

  No choice. No real choice. Galway was the best they had.

  “Shift-change,” Monahan said. “Promise.”

  Chapter 11

  Section i

  It was unprecedented, the all-hands call, bringing all the seated crew, trainees, and seniors not to Rosie’s on the Strip, but to the admin offices, and mysteriously so, to a lift in that hallway, which could only take them about ten at a time.

  “This is weird,” Ross said to Fallan. “This is really weird.”

  “New one on me,” Fallan said, which was something Fallan rarely could say.

  Their turn came. They boarded, with Ashlan, Mary T, and others, and the lift raced off a short zig-zag distance to a plain narrow hallway with an open door.

  “Spooky,” was Mary T’s comment.

  But it wasn’t some blue-coat trap, which was the thought in Ross’s mind. Everybody was there. His mother was there. His aunt and two uncles were there, gran, and great-gran, and, looking uncommonly daunted, a very young cousin of his in maintenance.

  Niall and Owen were there, and the lift was still delivering cousins. There was seating at a long table, but Niall and Owen were standing up.

  So they all stood.

  “Is that all of us?” Niall asked. The room had become extremely packed, and only Mary Ruth, who was very pregnant, being encouraged to sit.

  “We were the last four from the lift,” Ellis’s voice called, from the door’s general direction. “There was nobody behind us.”

  “Close the door.” And a moment later: “Secure back there?”

  “It’s closed.” Ellis again.

  “All right,” Niall said. “I’ll make this fast. I’ve talked to Abrezio. We’re given this space with Abrezio’s promise there’s no bugs, and if he’s lying, well, we’ll hope to be arrested and watch the result. Here’s the deal. We leave most of us here on Alpha. Myself and a handful of volunteers, first shift having first call, take Galway to Sol and back.”

  It felt as if the oxygen had gone short in the room.

  Sol. Galway. And volunteers.

  “It’s a high risk,” Niall said. “The jump points aren’t tested. We’ll be first through, with all the risk in that. We’ll be coming back, however, with our kind of speed, with all manner of favor points with Alpha, with Sol; and with finance enough to refit for any sort of docking the future brings. We get special status with the EC; and we assure the saving of the ports we depend on. It’s a fair deal. And I’m for it, because—” There had started to be a murmur. “Listen to me. Risk always exists. And change is definitely coming. Sol will be coming, because the Director’s already transmitted the data down the Stream. It’s six years in transit, and a lot can go wrong in six years, with the whole of space finding out that data’s been sent, and Pell and Cyteen alike maneuvering to deal with Sol, not necessarily in a way we’d like. Not to mention the jostling and fuss among the little stations. What we can do is get to Sol and back again far faster than those wishing us ill can get organized, make ourselves part of the credit, and set ourselves up proper for the new age that’s coming. There’ll be trade with Earth, and Alpha can become the trade hub it’s been hoping to be. And equally important, we get to demonstrate to Sol that Family crews are what can get through with best economy; that they’d be fools to try it with raw crews, cold off sims. We’ll show them what a little honest ship can do that this monster modern ship they built couldn’t do. Their hired crew couldn’t do it; Cruz couldn’t do it; and if they ever want cargo moved reliably, now and in the future, it’s us that’ll move it, so no hired crews.”

  That phrase rang all the way to the bones, quickened the blood and shortened the breath. Ross felt goosebumps.

  But going to Sol, Ross thought. An untested point.

  “We run a risk,” Niall was saying, “a risk of losing the ship herself. And losing us that make the run. But I’ve got Abrezio’s agreement that we can meet with Finity and sign up with their alliance, which assures those of us going on this venture that should anything happen, there’ll still be a Monahan presence up and down this end of space and, by your determination, there’ll always be a Galway operating. We won’t lose the name. Whatever happens, they’ll tell about us, and either way, if we do this, the Monahans will be running with the systems we need to compete in what’s coming. What I’m asking for is your approval of me to go. I’ve committed us far as saying you’ll vote. And I’m asking you to approve; and I’m asking some of you to volunteer. I’ll be le
aving fine skilled people behind, if so happens you have to carry on without me; but I’m hoping to be round-tripping from Sol in what time it takes plus a little time to tell the truth to them that needs to hear it, and after that, after we’re back at Alpha, I’m hoping to take us all aboard Galway again and get on to Venture for a modern refit, clear of debt. I’m planning us to be at the head of Alpha ships that trade with Sol and maybe clear to Pell, ring-dock and all. Enough of scraping by and hoping things change. I’m for taking on this run, to hell with Cruz’s Folly—and God bless us all in the voyage. Will you back me? I’m asking for hands on approval, not volunteers yet. I’m asking for a yes or no from all of you. In the best of my opinion, this is what we should do. Hands for yes. Voices for no.”

  Hands went up, tentatively. Fallan’s did, straightaway. Ross put his hand up, and saw all the others, one and another until it seemed everyone’s hand was up, though none happily.

  “All right,” Niall said. “That’s it, then. I’ll be asking for volunteers now.”

  Hands went up again. Everybody’s. No hesitation.

  Niall turned aside, stayed standing, hands on hips, shaking his head. Finally he turned back, still shaking his head. “You’re going to have me crying yet, cousins. No, hell, no, you all can’t go. Somebody’s got to be here to keep the blue-coats entertained.”

  That got a lowering of the hands in general, and a little obligatory laughter.

  “So I’ll be asking my own shift first. Who’ll go?”

  Hands went up again. Fallan’s among the first. Mary T and Ashlan. How could he not? Ross put up his hand, as other hands were going up, Helm, and Scan, and Com . . . he’d been scared to put it up, and now was scared he’d be told to put it down, himself first shift’s trainee, no more than that.

  “You don’t need to,” Fallan said, beside him. “We can manage.”

  “The hell,” he said, looking straight ahead, past a number of hands. “It’s going to be sights to see, isn’t it? Original Earth. Close up and personal.”

  “Given we live to see it. This is no easy stroll, Ross. It’s feelin’ our way through. In every sense.”

  “So it’s also learning,” Ross said, rock-steady, now, and no way was he going to lower the hand unseen. “I’d for sure be less loss than you’d be.”

  “Let’s don’t plan to lose,” Fallan said.

  “We’ve got too many,” Niall was saying. “Essential ops and maintenance, in case. No services, thank you with all my heart, but we’ll be a bare bones run. Whole first shift bridge crew; two seniormost of all other first shift; plus senior medic, thank you, Jack, and senior cook, since you’ve had the hand up, Charlie, and God bless you both. We’re officially full up for this run, and God knows we’ve no shortage of food. Owen, brother, you’ll be in charge stationside. You’ll be dealing with Abrezio. He’s being reasonable. Extremely. I’m going to have an understanding with Finity and her ilk to get you out of here if there’s any problem—I’m requesting a meeting with them as soon as we’re done here. We’ll have an undock party tonight, open to all, and we’ll share a drink all round. But I want nobody stupid-drunk, and I want each of us to wear the shore ring on the off hand and watch each other politely, got it?”

  The little gold band, engraved Galway, was usually worn on the pinky finger of the hand of choice, and those that couldn’t wear a ring in their work wore it on a chain, and put it on for occasions. It was a proud, proud thing when a junior-junior picked a trade and put that on his hand.

  Wearing it on the off hand meant—remember. Do what you’re supposed to do. Whether keep an appointment or, in this case, stay sober enough to know what you’re saying, don’t get hung over, and don’t forget your orders.

  “The story’s simple,” Niall said. “We’re making our scheduled run to Bryant’s. That’s how it all will work. But if somebody forgets, somebody shut the silly sod up. You all keep an eye and an ear to each other. No slips. We can bet Rosie’s got bugs. Got it?”

  “Yes, sir,” came from the gathering.

  “So. Tomorrow we issue board call, and you all turn out. Everybody pack and check out of the hotel, make it look real. The board call will come when it comes, and you all report to the mast doors as if you’re boarding. Don’t be too prompt. In fact, take your time and trail in by twos and threes as you usually do. First shift boards as prep crew goes aboard, all of us who’re truly going; and at that point we’ll shut the hatch. The lot of you just stand and chat as usual until we fire up, and stay standing as if the board call will come, even while we pull out. It’ll be clear to everybody in fairly short order that we’re not all aboard, we’re moving on an unaccustomed vector, and nobody in ops is apt to know what we’re about. Once the questions start, you just saunter back down the corridor and back to the Strip as a group, and if anybody asks, say some of us took off to Ireland.”

  That got an honest reaction. Old joke on Galway, for dropped out of sight. Ross laughed, and others did, until it came clear that it really was where Galway was bound, this voyage. Earth. The Ireland she’d never seen.

  “And with that, we’re dismissed, cousins.”

  It hardly seemed real, what was happening; but Niall began to leave the room, and was having a hard time of it, cousins and aunts and half-sibs and all wanting to wish him well and hug him and tell him they were with him.

  “You sure about this?” Fallan said quietly, at Ross’s side.

  “Comes to me I’d feel like hell at this moment if my shift was going and I wasn’t.”

  “Fool,” Fallan said.

  “All right, cousins. I’m off to tell Abrezio,” Niall said, at the door. “We’ll be partying tonight as we go up on the schedule boards. We’ll party, and we’ll be happy, and we won’t tell the others what’s really happening, got it?”

  It was normal as normal could be. Their entry on the schedule boards would change, they’d be listed with a time of departure—sleepover partners might drop by Rosie’s for a drink or two, and a wise spacer hoped they all got along.

  Ross could envision the party. It was every time they left dock. He had a clear vision of being at the boards for departure. He had been, the last three years.

  But he couldn’t imagine what it would be for most of his cousins and uncles and aunts to gather up their duffle and go on back to the Strip . . . left behind, trying to get back into the sleepover they’d just checked out of. He was leaving his mother and gran, who might not have participated in his bringing up, but who were especially family; and leaving Peg, who had brought him up, who’d stayed six months on Bryant’s when he was born, and had viewed him as especially hers, among the nursery lot, and become their minder on station calls. Peg was among the senior-seniors now. He was leaving them all. He wouldn’t be seeing them for a while.

  “You’re volunteering,” Peg said when he caught her by the door.

  He gave her a gentle hug. “It’s my shift, Peg. All my shift. Junior I am, but it’s my shift. You expect me back, hey?”

  She hugged him back. “Yeah, sure. Already expecting you. Waiting already.”

  “You take care of Mum and Aunt Lila for me, eh?”

  “You say goodbye proper, boy. See that you do.”

  Mum had left faster than she needed to, and not given him a hug. Which said she was upset.

  Lila and Gran had gone with her. His tie with them was thinner than his tie with Peg, but he felt the tug all the same. Mum and her sister Lila were third shift fitters, not as involved with his life as Peg and his year-mates, who’d scattered to other shifts and gone to the trades as they’d grown; but still—she was his mum. And she’d worry about him. Aunt Lila would. Gran and Great-gran would—maybe—be proud.

  “I’ll do that tonight. But we can’t use goodbye outside this door.”

  “I’ll do it now, then.” Peg hugged him, kissed him on the cheek—she had to stand on tiptoe to d
o that nowadays; and let him go and left with the ebbing crowd.

  Fool, Fallan had called him. And Niall hadn’t accepted him—yet. He was standing in the mostly empty room, a still stone in the outflow of cousins, when older cousin Ashlan came up and put an arm across his shoulders.

  “So it’s us, is it?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah. Am I going to see my shift go, and not be with them?”

  “Hell of a chance,” Ashlan said, and the arm dropped away. “I see my brother over there. Got to talk to him.”

  Chapter 11 Section ii

  Ross went on out the door, thinking about Jen, now the initial shock had passed. He’d hoped that his hookup with Jen might go on another week, maybe, however long it took the visitors to finish their business and the departure hold to lift and life to get back to normal on Alpha. Instead . . . he just had tonight.

  And after that—Who knew? Even if all went well, even if Galway made the round trip and they all returned as heroes, Finity’s course was back to the Beyond, and Galway—if the Luck was with them, Galway would become rich, a favorite child of Alpha, with the greatest prize of all: being main ship on the Sol/Alpha run. Still . . . Fallan and Lisa Marie had met again, one from Gaia, one from Atlas, when the grand old pusher-ships almost never saw one another at dock, and when the pushers’ converted descendants had taken routes on opposite ends of the inhabited universe.

  So he couldn’t say never. And partings happened, every voyage. Hearts got broken, promises got made, and people swore to meet again, and at least you could leave messages for each other—hello, I’m at Bryant’s, doing well . . . hope to hear from you—messages carried in the black box feeds that every ship sucked up and spat out at every docking. Hi, hello, I’m at Pell, hope you’re well . . .

  He’d never gotten much mail. A couple of casual letters, Hi there, it’s Marcy, hope you’re doing well. I’m at Bryant’s and I’m bored . . .