“JR Neihart is arriving at Rosie’s,” Ames reported. “He’s sent word he will talk after he’s had a word with the Monahans. The Monahan third-shift captain is with their man in the clinic, along with Finity security and medics. There’s also been a dockside meeting between Xiao Min and Sanjay Patel, and rumor is apparently being passed about the situation with Cruz at its core. Whether or not it’s all accurate is not clear.”
“We don’t know what’s accurate, at this point,” Abrezio pointed out. “We just need to keep rumors from becoming riots. Keep airing the statements. New release every fifteen minutes.” It at least kept people focused on the information flow, not ranging the halls. “Tell them meetings are in progress.”
They were running thin on information.
He made a decision. “I want Bellamy Jameson. Tell him I want him in my office an hour ago. And keep it quiet.”
“Yes, sir,” Ames said, and Abrezio leaned back in his chair and stared at the doorway, thinking about Callie, thinking about the scary possibilities of domestic breakdown if panic took hold in the station. Release of information was critical. Keeping the Strip quiet was critical, and that meant controlling Strip security. It was a question, right now, who was in charge, whether Hewitt had gone with Cruz or not, but his gut said No. His gut said Cruz would not leave without securing control of the Rights project, and Hewitt was the only real candidate to run it.
Hewitt had arrived with orders from Sol to audit the station bank, to “double check the supply records for the sake of the station residents.”
A lot of good that had done. It hadn’t gotten them a pusher-load of station supply.
Hewitt had also brought in EC security, and assumed authority to control security around the project. He’d ordered all of A-mast devoted to the project. He’d taken over A-mast offices, and the A-mast access in their entirety. He’d stepped up recruiting EC security from among Alpha citizens, and used a fairly extensive brawl on the Strip as an excuse to declare the Strip a “sensitive” area, thus taking over enforcement authority over both masts and the Strip. On the books, Bellamy was still head of Alpha civil enforcement, and Bellamy still held authority over the rest of the station, its residents, its industrial areas—but the whole space interface had become Hewitt’s. And with Cruz out of the picture?
In recent years Bellamy had lost staff, in an economy that had pinched funds even for lighting in any warehouse section unrelated to Rights. Hewitt had increasingly found Rights’ concerns in the most damnable places, while his eye on the bank’s management of Rights’ funds also kept a watch on civilian supply and product-printer operations.
Oh, without Cruz, there would indeed still be Hewitt. And, previous orders to Bellamy regarding the Monahans notwithstanding . . . Hewitt was still in charge of law enforcement on the Strip, which was so, so delicately balanced right now. If stationers felt blindsided and uncertain about Sol’s now-impending visitation—generally good news, but not for every enterprise—spacers were now getting the news of Cruz’s takeover of Galway and the Sol route. And when spacers were upset, they went to the bars, and when they were truly upset—things could get broken.
And when things got broken—Hewitt found excuse to expand his office.
Bellamy Jameson, dammit, had to do some of the same, push Hewitt back, and get his own force out onto the Strip before Hewitt’s moved in with tasers and batons.
Presumably Bellamy was paying attention. Presumably Bellamy was giving orders, since Bellamy was slow responding to his call, dammit.
He gave Callie a call, just to see how she was doing, how their section was doing, whether things were quiet in the residential corridors.
“I’m watching the vids,” Callie said. Her voice had none of the usual cheer. “It’s quiet. Mother says it’s quiet in their section. Dad’s gone to the pub to try to get news, but nobody knows anything. Is it true the ship’s jumped?”
“Not true. They’re still in shakedown.”
“They do have the coordinates. And Cruz is with them.”
“Yes and yes.”
“I have to ask . . .”
“No. I didn’t order him. And I’m not sure what the exact situation is on the ship. Yet. Information is still coming in. One of Galway’s crew escaped—injured. He’s being treated. You can tell your mother that much. She can relay it. You can say where it’s from. Whatever happened on that ship wasn’t peaceful. You stay in the apartment. Don’t answer the door. Don’t answer calls you don’t recognize. Hear me?”
“Yes,” Callie said. And they ended the call.
The clock ran. And he sweated.
The Strip was quiet, most places. Ominously so.
Ames appeared in the doorway. “Chief of Security Jameson, sir. On com.”
Abrezio picked up the com. “Bellamy.”
“Sir.”
“I expected you here.”
“Counter orders from Hewitt. Kept me waiting on com-hold, or I’d’ve answered sooner, and then the bastard just told me to stay on civ-side alert. Do I have an order, sir?”
“Damned right you have an order. I’m officially freeing you from him. We’re taking back control. I want you to go to the Strip, take charge, move in civil enforcement. Hewitt’s out, you’re in. Hewitt’s authority is confined to Rights personnel, not enforcement.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll need to muster some escort.” There was the sound of the lift working, of button-pushes. “Such as we have.”
“Don’t push the spacers. Regard the spacers as on your side and don’t let Rights throw any weight around. If you have an encounter, defuse it. Hell, offer to buy them a drink and talk it over in a sitdown. And ask politely for their help. Executive order. Cruz’s rules are gone.”
“Yes, sir, understood.”
“Good man. Keep it all low key. Advise me at any time.”
“Yes, sir.”
Abrezio punched out. He’d just set up an unthinkable confrontation, project enforcement with civil enforcement.
Hewitt was not likely to stand down voluntarily. But there was a certain resentment that had grown up between enforcement, in their blue uniforms, and Rights crew, who tended to be young, paid the same, but serving very few duty hours outside their training. And Hewitt’s rules didn’t touch Rights personnel. Oh, no.
Hewitt was a clever man. Cleverness made enemies.
And Hewitt’s enemies were all in his contact list.
So was one other.
He called that com himself. He got one of the serving staff, a woman having trouble hearing him in the ambient racket. She passed him to the owner, with a muffled advisement.
“Mr. Rosenfeld,” Abrezio said. “This is Director Ben Abrezio. Will you pass on some news to the captains? Cruz is gone. Out, along with his rules, along with Hewitt’s authority over the Strip. I will be talking personally with ship authorities and working this out. Tell your patrons—tell them the only valid authority is civil enforcement. Bellamy Jameson is back in charge, and we’d appreciate their cooperation with his officers. I’ll be back to you in . . . Give me an hour.”
A pause. There was a great deal of muttering in the background. “Yes, sir,” Rosie said. “I copy that. I’ll certainly pass that on.”
Chapter 15 Section ii
Head hurt. Things were a little blurry, still, but overall, it was a different pain. Ross put up a hand.
Another hand stopped it. Jen leaned into view. “Don’t mess with it. They did a first-rate job. You got a dent in your skull and a three-inch patch, which looks real good. A few months on you won’t have a scar to speak of.”
“Galway,” he said.
“Not jumped yet,” Jen said soberly, “but no stopping them, Ross. I’m sorry. Captain says trying to clip them, even if we overtake—is just too chancy, for us and them.”
“They communicating at all?”
“No. Not a word out of them. And I’d know. Captain would tell me . . . for you to know. He promised.”
“God.” He shut his eyes a moment, but it did nothing to revise reality. “How’s the rest of us taking it?”
“Number two and three are going to be holding session at Rosie’s, with a lot of sympathy up and down the Strip. Fourth’s been sitting watch over you. What’s happened is a rotten deal. But Finity’s going to stand by you, all of you. The Alliance is.”
“That thing you’re putting together?”
“That thing, yes. We’re going to see you through this, however we have to do it.” Jen held his hand gently. “Senior captain and third are at Rosie’s, talking with your second and third, Mum’s in charge at the Olympian and our second’s here, along with our security and our medics, making sure you’re all right. Brilliant job you did.”
He had to take her word on that. Memory was muddled. A desperate attempt to stay awake, to reach a mammoth ship on the far side of a narrowing gap in a blurry dark sea.
“Your senior got the paper.” Fallan’s last order, to get that to JR.
“You gave it to him yourself. Remember?”
He didn’t remember. And nav, even a trainee, couldn’t go blank on things. “I can’t.” He said it with a little panic. “I can’t remember. You’re sure I did?”
“Saw you. I was there. You’ll remember. You’ll get it back. What was it hit you? Baton?”
He didn’t remember that, either. Just Fallan, saying go. Something about two years. A streaked visor and the view of Finity’s hull below him . . .
“I’ve lost stuff. Two years. What’s with two years?”
“Hush.” She bent and laid a finger on his mouth. And suddenly looked toward the door, alarmed.
Bodies slammed the walls of the hallway. People swore and shouted, and something metal crashed over, clanging, followed by thumps. Jen got up, shut the door.
“What is it?”
Jen shrugged, her back to the shut door. “Somebody dropped a tray, I guess.”
“The hell!”
Jen touched the earpiece she was wearing, head tilted, and looked at nothing in particular for a moment, then looked satisfied.
“Seems you just had visitors. Fortunately, Fletch and Madison were sitting out there. All settled. We’ll be moving you out of here pretty soon, get you back to the Olympian. Or the Fortune, your choice. Either way, you’re not going to be bothered by visitors.”
“My family,” he said. “At Rosie’s?”
“They are. Soon’s you’re cleared, we can move you. We can drop by there on the way if you like.”
“I’ll walk.”
“Hell if you will. Flat on your back, sir.”
“Walking. I’m fine.”
“Concussion and blood loss. You can ride the damn trolley.”
“Sitting up.”
“Deal,” Jen said. “Seriously, are you up to it? Rosie’s, I mean, not the trolley. There’ll be questions you may not want to deal with. You’re not to stress. Doctor’s orders.”
Stress. He laughed, not from humor. Winced.
“Headache?”
“All right, all right. Walking’s not the best. Just get me cleared out of here.”
Chapter 15 Section iii
Mum was holding down the Olympian venue. JR had left her settled in a chair in the lobby, with two of Finity’s security kitted up and meaning business.
JR and John had two more behind them, on their way through the crowds outside Rosie’s. Security from Little Bear and Mumtaz and Nomad were present, with Min, Sanjay, and Asha Druv.
Julio Rodriguez met them at the door, a calm and very serious Julio Rodriguez, doubtless having gotten the news.
“Captain.” Giovanna Galli made her way through, brow furrowed and unhappiness in the lines of her mouth. “What’s the plan? Is it true? They’re going to Sol?”
“No thanks to Andrew Cruz.” He hadn’t stopped moving—in the press around them, stopping meant stalling, and his target was Rosie’s door, if they could penetrate the crowd there. “We have the coordinates. What value they are, Galway intended to test, and for what I know, that’s still their aim, but now they’ve got Cruz on their hands. You can spread that news.”
Galli dropped back into a trailing cluster of her own crew as others surged up with questions; but those were too late. Finity security moved to the fore, moving people from the entry, clearing a path fairly politely.
“Let them in!” somebody inside called out, and a path developed, people crowding back, giving space where there wasn’t much available.
“Captain!” Rosie shouted, from behind the bar. “Back here!”
JR took the offered space. Rosie’s bar, securely bolted, and Rosie behind it, was as secure as the place offered.
“Get a little quiet here!” Rosie yelled, and people shushed each other, and quieted the place.
A middle-aged man with a Galway patch and a captain’s tag shouldered his way to the bar, leaning on it. “Finity! Have we got news?”
“On your man Ross,” JR said, “good. He’s in the clinic, about to be released. On Galway, unfortunately no contact, no message and she’s still proceeding. I’m afraid they are going for jump. You’re Owen Monahan, acting senior.”
“Yes, sir, I am.” A dozen Monahans had elbowed their way in, and those behind hushed the crowd, so the word passed, in furious hisses for quiet.
“Ross carried word from Nav 1. Fallan’s all right, everybody’s all right, so far as we know. Cruz and a group of Rights crew ambushed them on spin-up and took the bridge. Fallan sent Ross out an e-hatch with the numbers . . . on paper. Only copy, so far as we can tell, besides the one in Fallan’s head. Fallan’s word via Ross was, they’re going to Sol and they’ll handle Cruz on the way. Considering the shape he was in, Ross did a hell of a job getting down to Finity, with Galway pulling out. Came in the same e-hatch as the customs lot.”
“What’s he saying, what’s he saying?” was the rising question from the press further back, and JR said, “Get me a chair.”
There was some maneuvering and shoving, the chair came right across the bar, and JR set it in place and stepped up onto it as the crowd of concerned spacers crowded close as they could.
“Here’s the short of it,” JR said. “Galway’s away, bound for Sol by two untested jump points, no prior probe. It was a deal made in good faith with stationmaster Abrezio, as one of Galway’s senior captains explained to me in confidence, before signing with our alliance. He wanted to be certain the Monahans left behind would be covered, under any circumstances.”
Expectant silence, not from the Monahans, who already knew.
“I assured him they would be, and we discussed the details. The one circumstance we did not expect was Cruz lying in wait aboard the unlocked ship itself.”
“Whose orders?” someone shouted. “Abrezio’s?”
“Unknown, as yet. We’ve reason to suspect Cruz was acting on his own. Abrezio has been nothing but respectful in his dealings with us. I’ll be going to his office directly. I’ll know more after I meet with him.”
A tap on his arm. Rosie. And the big man shouted from below:
“Stationmaster’s a good man. Called and asked me to pass to you—Cruz is out and Hewitt with him. Abrezio’s taking the station back. Says Bellamy Jameson is back in charge. Asks you to behave yourselves reasonably well and help the man out!”
That got a cheer from the locals, and a few rude suggestions, then shouts to shut up and let Finity finish.
JR nodded acknowledgment. “Galway resisted, and in the general mixup, Galway’s Nav 1 sent their third nav out in a suit and down to Finity’s hatch with the coordinates, asking him to report the situation. He was injured in the fight, but he made it to Finity, made his report, and he’s currently under the care of ou
r medics in the station clinic. So . . . we’ve got the coordinates, and we’ll not be holding them for ourselves, but giving them to the merchanter’s alliance, which is all of us. There’s not a ship here that hasn’t signed, and we’ll make them available to any and all of you. We’re not advising any other ship try that route ’til it’s proven. Galway’s taking a big risk—for all of us—and we urge that we all wait for their safe return.” He wasn’t mentioning, out loud, for stationer ears, what veteran spacers knew might happen out there—for fear somebody might contact Galway with a warning.
A grim murmur went through the press, nobody dissenting.
“But the future’s not all on the Monahans,” JR said, into the troubled quiet after. “The alliance we’re forming isn’t complete. We have a few ships left to sign, and if Sol’s coming in, we need the stations themselves signed on, assurance they’ll deal with us and not any hired-crew Company ships. Sol may be coming, but the EC won’t take our trade, they won’t take our way of life—and they won’t come back in as the lords of all that moves, either. No and hell, no.”
Hell no echoed back, multiplied by a hundred voices.
“Have they got ships?” JR asked. “We don’t know. Maybe they’ve been building a dozen like The Rights of Man. Maybe they’re all ready to move, and they’ve been sending out probes to find routes in this direction, but there’s no way they’re Family ships. They haven’t our history, they haven’t our experience, and if they want to trade, Sol’s goods need to move on our ships, because a creature like Rights of Man isn’t going to be highly welcome at the stations past Alpha, with no damn cargo hold and way too many EC enforcers aboard.”
“She ain’t highly welcome here!” was the shout from the rear of the crowd.
Alliance Rising Page 41