Alliance Rising

by C. J. Cherryh

  He’d be somebody, when he got back from this one, wouldn’t he? A long, strange trip. He felt exhilarated and scared at once; and if there was one human being he longed to tell, it was Jen, right now, just to see what she’d say.

  But that wasn’t the way it was to be. Galway had been fueled and loaded when the second and third outsiders had shown up, and station had issued a general hold while they sorted that out: none of the locals were allowed to leave, mostly because station wanted live, loyal bodies walking up and down the Strip among the horde of outsiders.

  Then Finity’s End had shown up and station had desperately wanted to hang onto its loyal local live bodies.

  Now station was letting one ship go—so people might think it was the ebb of the crisis and station was relaxing. Galway’s sudden departure appeared as the harbinger of, well, station relaxing its grip, leading to a peaceful outcome.

  And then the news would seep out, and excitement was going to roar up and down the Strip.

  He’d give a bit to see that, too; but he’d have to get that story from Peg and Mum and the others left safe ashore—when he came back.

  Now he had to get into a different frame of mind; and people would drink tonight, but tomorrow they’d be down to business and getting their heads back to work.

  Jen would see the schedule board change. And she’d know to come find him tonight. He didn’t have to tell her. He didn’t know what the customs were at her end of space, but here, people would know, and Rosie’s would be jammed.

  Chapter 11 Section iii

  “Galway’s on the Departures,” Fletcher dropped by the room to say, and JR looked up from his keyboard, in as much of an office as he’d been able to fit in a travel case, and as much as he was willing to take onto Alpha. Computer, mostly, a supply of Pell’s best try at coffee, and his second-favorite mug, his stationside mug. Its older cousin rested—or floated—in his locker in his much more comfortable, but inaccessible, downside corridor office aboard Finity.

  JR pushed a button on the flat black box that sat on his desk, and took a sip from the mug, while Fletcher waited for a reaction, and he waited for the green light to come on.

  It did. He said: “We’ve not heard from them yet.”

  “There’s a party at Rosie’s come maindark,” Fletcher said, standing.

  Same custom all the way to Venture, for a departing ship. Pell had put the lid on the celebrations. Pell had too much traffic and too many ships coming in and going out, not the close-knit sort of community Alpha had. The party-goers here would all know each other’s names.

  Excepting theirs, that had come in as strangers.

  “We haven’t heard from them,” JR said. “Galway’s our one holdout, still. Mum’s had no word of their leaving dock. Neither has Jen, that she’s said. This is a surprise.”

  Fletcher dropped into the chair nearest the spindly desk. “Jen hasn’t said, and she’d have reported it if she’d known. Something else weird. For about an hour there was a stream of Galways headed to the station offices, then out again, and it’s not clear what it was about. Whole damn ship’s crew in the offices?”

  “And now on the boards for departure. Clearly they’ve been fueled and loaded all during our sit here. Everything’s been held, since we arrived. No doubt the station’s wanted a friendly population on the Strip, to keep an eye on us. That plan backfired, leaving the crews in dock to hear our proposal. So now they release the only one we haven’t got, before we’ve scheduled our departure? If anything I’m wondering if station’s been pressuring them. They’re the newest ship Alpha’s got, among the regulars, and maybe Alpha wants to ensure that loyalty, get them out before they sign. But I’m afraid that minor mystery will have to remain unsolved. It’s time we left, too, with or without a decision out of Galway. I’m a little surprised, I admit.”

  “We’ll catch them at Bryant’s, out of Alpha’s direct observation. There’s no great gain by taking the whole lot of us to Glory.”

  “Says sad things to Glory if we don’t, however. We’ve got those unaccounted-for ships to find first, but I don’t want any station to get the notion they’re written off. If we sent off Nomad and Mumtaz—Asha’s more of a diplomat than Min.”

  “God, yes. Min takes no prisoners.”

  “We send Nomad off from Bryant’s and catch up with Galway, where she may be more willing to talk.”

  “I don’t think either Mum or Jen would be too unhappy with that move,” Fletcher said. “What I hear, several more of us wouldn’t be unhappy to run into Galway again.”

  “I’m wondering why the whole crew met. In admin offices, yet.”

  “All the adult crew, and the retireds. Jen’s out and about. Likely she’s on it.”

  “Keep me posted. I think—”

  The com beeped. Given circumstances, he didn’t let it go. He flipped it open. Message from Jen. 18. 14. 1. 21. He keyed 66. Come ahead.

  “Galway wants to talk. Fletch, somebody will be coming into the restaurant. Bring him here.”

  Chapter 11 Section iv

  “It’s kind of a surprise,” Jen said, over a beer, “isn’t it? Are you for Glory beyond that?”

  It was not an easy meeting. Naturally Jen wanted to know what was going on, why the meeting, all of that, and Ross couldn’t say. He’d just relayed a message from Niall, was all, Niall wanting to talk to JR, and she’d sent that.

  Now it was them. Their business. And naturally Jen was curious.

  “Look,” he said, “maybe. Maybe someday. I know you need to know, you know I know, and that’s all I can say except this is the last night, and I’d like to spend it in your place, if you don’t mind. But I’ve got the undock party at Rosie’s. And you’re invited. Well, everybody is, but you, especially; and Fallan will be hoping the same for your Fourth, so however it works out, we’ll say our goodbyes until someday.”

  Jen frowned at him in a way he’d learned in such a short time to read, that little moue that meant you’re holding something, aren’t you? He ducked the gaze and stared off at two Santiagos at a nearby table.

  Her hand touched his. Warmer than his. And it wasn’t all from his holding the cold beer.

  “We’ll be there,” she said. “And for the rest . . . we’ll figure it out.”

  “I do like you,” he said. He could be honest about that. “Really a lot.” Don’t compare your sleepovers, Ashlan had advised him. Never compare. They’ll think you talk about them, too. Just say it was great. But the fact was, he’d never felt like this about anyone. And it was hard, not telling her so.

  “I like you, too,” Jen said, “really a lot. Above and beyond. I want to find you again.”

  “Mutual,” he said. He closed his fingers on hers.

  “Your hand is cold.”

  “The beer,” he said. “That’s all.”

  “We can make use of the time we’ve got,” she said. “We can do that, go to your party, come back to the Olympian.”

  “I’ll be needing to get my stuff in order. Soon’s that’s done, well, I’ll be heading for Rosie’s.” Fact was, he didn’t know what state his nerves would be in tonight. “But we’ll plan on a next time.”

  “We could meet at Bryant’s.”

  He tried to say as naturally as possible, “That’s true.” And took a sip of beer. A lie tasted bad. “Enough of someday. Let’s go for what we’ve got.”

  Chapter 11 Section v

  Fletcher was back. With Captain Niall Monahan. JR stood up, offered a hand. Niall took it, looking solemn and worried.

  “We’re bug-free here,” JR said right off, settling back into his desk chair, as Niall sat down. “I don’t know how many places you can say that, but we’re pretty sure of our safety to talk freely. Pleased you came, sir. What can I do for you?”

  “This insurance you’re offering . . . I talked to the Director. I said I was goin
g to come here. He has no problem with it.”

  “I’m glad if that’s the case. Ultimately, it’s good for everyone. Coffee?”

  Niall shook his head, frowning, looking very much as if there was something else to say.

  “Trouble, sir?” JR asked.

  Deep breath. “Maybe. Maybe not. Say we had something major happen. How far are we covered in this agreement? And what percentage of profits are we paying in? I can pay a big up-front. All we’ve got. But can you then cover us?”

  It was a question what major thing did Niall Monahan anticipate happening to Galway—and when. The man was worried, and there was a specific, definite fear; but it wasn’t up for discussion—yet.

  “The terms are,” JR said, “ten percent of proceeds from all sources, hired-haul and self-owned, per annum, to be reserved within ship’s funds wherever a ship has an account—to cover losses; and if you have to use the insurance, coverage is repayable, once that ship is operating again, by an additional five percent atop the ten, interest-free if repaid in good faith and steadily. Once the fund’s built—and once older ships are up to standard—it’ll be less, we hope.”

  “Pell’s the banker.”

  “Pell’s not. Cyteen’s not. Alpha’s not. You maintain the sum in your own accounting, and send it on call, if needed.”

  “The stations, sir, they’re not going to want to release ship credit that way.”

  “It’s not their credit. And they don’t get to reckon it that way. The ship withdraws it, it’s the ship’s to send where it likes.”

  “Because we say so?”

  Sensible question. And they were at the bag-end of the universe with most of the work done, unstoppable now. “Members by now will include just about every ship that moves. And as for holding a ship’s funds, a station would be ill-advised to claim a ship’s own goods, or to cheat on the sale.”

  Niall nodded slowly. “And if stations are on the outs with each other and aren’t dealing?”

  “If stations are behaving badly, they might not see trade at all for a time. And precious little they can do to each other with no traffic in or out. They can send messages to each other, but they can’t move a kilo of flour. And their messages will take a few years to get there. That’s how it works. We do have teeth. There is a clause in the agreement that says, quote, on a vote of the members, majority ruling, a station can be embargoed, with the sole exception of humanitarian shipments, as long as the issue remains unresolved.”

  Lengthy silence, then.

  “What happens to this organization,” Niall asked, “when Sol comes in and the EC starts issuing orders?”

  “That’s the clock that’s always running on us, isn’t it? This is now. If we wait and let things fall as they will when Sol comes in, well, not so good. We are a political interest, the same as any station. And we need to act like it.”

  Deep breath. The man’s face was a study. Apprehension. Desperation. “I’m about to break a trust at such a level—this is not easy, sir. It is not. Can I have your discretion?”

  “Not where it regards safety of us and ours. Not where it regards the mission we’re on.”

  “Fair enough,” Niall said after a moment. “But discretion as far as you can. When you’ve heard my argument.”

  “That I grant.”

  “Abrezio has the jump-point to Sol.”

  Disastrous news. It hit like a hammer. “Confirmed?”

  “Sure as they can be, but untested. He’s transmitted the coordinates down the Stream. They’ve gone.”

  “Are they going to send a probe?”

  Niall made the apologetic shrug that was common currency on Alpha, for all the shortfalls, all the out of stocks and can’t-do’s. “Not from here. And the point is—the message has gone. It’s unstoppable. There’s no way Cruz can get ahead of it, no way Cruz can get credit to himself. Rights can’t move. Galway can. So we’re elected.”

  “To test that point? Good God, sir.”

  “Abrezio has offered the Family his care and his protection, while a few of us make the run; but that’s saying Abrezio can stay in office the year with Cruz against him. He’s not a young man. He’s got no enforcement but the blue-coats, and it’s gotten real confusing as to who’s an Alpha blue-coat and who’s Rights crew when it comes to the Strip. And without us making the run—it’s six and more years, with Cruz and Enzio Hewitt increasingly in charge. That . . . is not a happy picture. We’ve watched the changes in Alpha. Witness we’re sitting here talking in secret because the man’s got eyes and ears everywhere. It wasn’t always like that. Time was ships got repaired right and people could speak their minds. Not now. Not ever with Cruz having his way and Hewitt grabbing for what he can get. And right now Abrezio’s hit them hard and they don’t know it yet. Abrezio will get in a second, maybe fatal, hit, if we go, sent by him, and we tell Sol how it is, and how Cruz is, and that the man’s a fool and wasting resources, as he’s amply proved. We’ll know the route. We’ll be the guides. And we’ll be giving any new Sol authority the word on who’s to trust in the process.”

  It was a clear enough picture. “When did he transmit?”

  “Yesterday, is my understanding.”

  “So around six years for the coordinates to get there, more to probe and test. But granted you get through—and prove the route—Sol could be here in force within the year.”

  “Assuming they have ships, sir. Assuming Rights’ aborted run wasn’t a mechanical that’s a fundamental flaw in the design Sol might also be using. And assuming their hire-on sim-trained crews are better than what Cruz has put together here.”

  “Let’s assume it,” JR said. “All of it. Worst case scenario. We assume they can build far more efficiently than we can, and some of that effort will have gone into FTL—anticipating, in all that clutter around Sol, there is a way to get here. Whether they’ve meanwhile gone in any other direction—we don’t know. But it seems a given that they’re interested in our direction.”

  “They still need qualified crews. And that’s a worry to us. That’s a deep worry on our side. Supposing they listen and take our warnings to heart . . . we’ll not be devoting our lives to training Sol hire-ons, whose sole purpose will be to take away the very trade we’ve been promised. We’ll not be trusting them. Not in the least.”

  “And we’re not going to say the Sol EC can’t use hired crews,” JR said. “But we can say they’ll not be highly favored anywhere up the line from here. Their hired crew can haul the Earth trade up to Alpha from Sol, and Family ships can take it on from Alpha. As long as Earth keeps feeding goods to Alpha, there’ll be plenty to haul.”

  “A point, sir. One to consider. We figure, at the very least, we’ll have to ferry their trainees to Alpha, if that’s what they want, and we’ll spend the return voyage talking to those people and explaining how we work, and why Cruz is a fool. But—and on this I’m down to begging. I’ve told you what I know. I’ve given you the warning. I’m asking for that insurance you’re promoting—knowing I’m risking my ship. I’m putting my hopes in the alliance you’re promoting. And in Ben Abrezio staying in office and talking sense to the EC. I’ll be risking us so we can stay in operation and not be put out of business by hire-ons and so that we all get a dose of Earth goods to remind us we’re human. And I’m asking you, if nothing else, to take what funds we’ve got to account—I’ll transfer them—and take the rest of the Monahans somewhere they can be safe, and where they can wait for us, safe from Andrew Cruz. Bryant’s is distance enough. And if we’re not back in the year—if things don’t go so well—I’m hoping you’ll find some way to take care of them after that. Other Alpha ships’d take us in, piecemeal. In return . . . I can’t give you the coordinates. I don’t have them yet, Abrezio being no fool. But it’s possible Galway can transmit them far and wide as she’s outbound, so everybody knows. I’d do that. If you ask.”

 
; To be put in such a position—God, JR thought. Both Abrezio and Niall Monahan. Serious lack of options.

  “Once you’ve signed with us,” JR said, “we’ll look out for your Family, with or without those coordinates. We’ll get them to safety—our four ships can do that, no problem. We’ll see them to Bryant’s and if something untoward happens, I’ll personally undertake to get them into the trade as one crew soon as we can. I’ll query the membership in line for a build at Venture, see if they’ll slip the Monahans into queue—and it’s my sense, yes, for what you’re trying to bring, they might well.” The risk was huge, no question. If they only had time, if they could get Venture involved before Galway went, they could build a probe . . .

  But the delay—and if Cyteen involved itself, a potent force with no desire to see Sol and its goods and its influence arrive at all—

  In very fact, it was a good thing to have Abrezio as the man who pushed the button, and not JR Neihart or any merchanter signatory with them. Not even Galway. Galway was doing their best to warn them.

  “I’ll be in your debt,” Niall said. “I’m trusting my people to you. And if ships of your persuasion can possibly make Abrezio look good in the meanwhile—Abrezio didn’t ask this. I’m saying it myself. We need Abrezio to survive this . . . to survive the next week, and to stay in charge until we get back and after. You can see his problems. Supply would help, things to keep the residents on his side.”

  And, JR thought, if Abrezio’s gamble worked, it could be a short wait. Sol’s forces could be here even this year. Which was much too soon.

  Damn that part of it. Definitely.

  “Time is a problem,” JR said. “And we don’t know what Sol might have ready to launch, or whether they’ve gained jump experience in other directions. The organization we’re forming isn’t complete yet. We were hoping to have it done, and to bring the stations onboard as well, before Sol showed up. The Rights build, the numbers of enforcement agents here—far more than Alpha needs—I can’t swear to what they’re planning, but moving a large enforcement presence onto, say, Bryant’s, is one step from doing it at Venture. If they’re building a military force—so can Cyteen, and I don’t think Sol understands that Cyteen can see their bet and raise it. Pell does understand it, but it’s far from certain Pell could do a damned thing if Cyteen moves on them except to try to make a deal—and if Sol makes decisions no better than they ever did, Sol is going to meet the rock it can’t push—with a lot of casualties.”