Downbelow Station tau-3

by Caroline J. Cherryh

  “Get the troops back,” Damon snapped, light-blinded and unable to distinguish Vanars. “Out of the way. Quit waving guns at them.” He urged the Downer to sit on the floor by the wall, and Elene was ordering the medic over. “Back these troops out of here!” Damon said again. “Leave us to it!”

  An order was passed. To his great relief the India troopers began to pull back, and the Downer sat still, with some persuasion yielded his injured arm to examination as the medic knelt down with his kit. Damon tugged his own mask down, stifling in it, squeezed Elene’s hand as she bent down beside him. The air stank of sweating, frightened Downer, a pungent muskiness.

  “Name’s Bluetooth,” the medic said, checking the tag. He made a few swift notes and began gently to treat the injury. “Burn and hemorrhage. Minor, except for shock.”

  “Drink,” Bluetooth pleaded, and reached for the kit. The medic rescued it and quietly promised him water when they could find some.

  The lock opened, yielded up a near dozen Downers. Damon stood up, reading panic in their looks. “I’m Konstantin,” he said at once, for the name carried importance with the Downers. He met them with outstretched hands, suffered himself to be hugged by sweating, shock-hazed Downers, gentle enfoldings of powerful furred arms. Elene welcomed them likewise, and in a moment another lockful had spilled out, making a knot which filled the corridor and outnumbered the troops who stood in the end of the hall. The Downers cast anxious looks in that direction, but kept together. Another lockful, and Bluetooth’s mate was with them, chattering anxiously until she had found him. Vanars came among them, quite without swagger in this brown-furred flood.

  “You’re requested to get them to a secure area as quickly as possible,” Vanars said.

  “Use your com and clear us passage via the emergency ramps via four through nine to the docks,” Damon said. “Their habitat is accessible from there; we’ll escort them back. That’s quickest and safest for all concerned.”

  He did not wait for Vanars’s comment in the matter, but waved an arm at the Downers. “Come,” he said, and they fell silent and began to move. Bluetooth, his arm done up in a white bandage, scrambled up not to be left, and chattered something to the others. Satin added her own voice, and there was a general and sudden cheerfulness among the Downers. He walked, hand in hand with Elene, and the Downers strode along about and behind them with the peculiar accompaniment of the breather-sounds, moving gladly and quickly. The few guards along their route stayed very still, suddenly in the minority, and Downers chattered with increasing freedom among themselves as they reached the end of the hall and entered the spiraling broad ramp which led to doors on all the nine levels. An arm snaked about Damon’s left as they descended; he looked and it was Bluetooth, and Satin was with him, so that they came four abreast down the ramp, bizarre company… five, for another had joined hands with Elene on the right. Satin cried something. A chorus answered. Again she spoke, her voice echoing in the heights and depths; and again the chattering chorus thundered out, with a bounce in steps about them. Another yelled from the rear; and voices answered; and a second time. Damon tightened his hand on Elene’s, at once stirred and alarmed at this behavior, but the Downers were content to walk with him, shouting what had begun to sound like a marching chant.

  They broke into green nine, and marched down the long hall… entered the docks with a great shout, and the echoes rang. The line of troops which guarded the ship accesses stirred ominously, but no more than that. “Stay with me,” Damon ordered his companions sternly, and they did so, up the curving horizon into the area of their habitat, and there to a parting. “Go,” he told them. “Go and mind you be careful. Don’t scare the men with guns.”

  He had expected them to run, scampering free as they had begun to do about him. But one by one they came and wished to hug him and Elene, with tender care, so that the parting took some little time.

  Last, Satin and Bluetooth, who hugged and patted them. “Love you,” Bluetooth said. “Love you,” said Satin, in her turn.

  No word, no question about the dead one. “Bigfellow was lost,” Damon told them, although he was sure by Bluetooth’s burn that they had been somewhere involved in the matter. “Dead.”

  Satin bobbed a solemn agreement “You send he home, Konstantin-man.”

  “I’ll send,” he promised. Humans died, and did not merit transport. They had no strong ties to this soil, or to any soil, a vague distressed desire toward burying, but not at inconvenience. This was inconvenient, but so was it to be murdered far from home. “I’ll see it’s done.”

  “Love you,” she said solemnly, and hugged him a second time, laid her hand most gently on Elene’s belly, and walked away with Bluetooth, running after a moment to the lock which led to their own tunnels.

  It left Elene standing with her own hand to her stomach and a dazed stare at him. “How could she know?” Elene asked with a bewildered laugh. It disturbed him too.

  “It shows a little,” he said.

  “To one of them?”

  “They don’t get large,” he said. And looking past her, to the docks, and the lines of troops. “Come on. I don’t like this area.”

  She looked where he had, to the soldiers and the more motley groups which ranged the upcurving horizon of the docks, near the bars and restaurants. Merchanters, keeping an eye on the military, on a dock which had been taken away from them.

  “Merchanters have owned this place since Pell began,” she said, “and the bars and the sleepovers. Establishments are shutting down, and Mazian’s troops won’t be happy. Freighter crews and Mazian’s… in one bar, in one sleep-over — station security had better be tight when any of those troops go on liberty.”

  “Come on,” he said, taking her arm. “I want you out of this. Running out here, going out into that corridor with the Downers — ”

  “Where were you?” she shot back. “Down in the tunnels.”

  “I know them.”

  “So I know the docks.”

  “So what were you doing up in four?”

  “I was down here when the call came; I asked Keu for a pass and got one, got his lieutenant to cooperate with dock offices; I was doing my job, thank you; and when the call came through Fleet com, I got Vanars up there before someone else got shot.”

  He hugged her gratefully, walked with her around the turn into blue nine, another barren vista of troops stationed at intervals and no one in the corridors.

  “Josh,” he said suddenly, dropping his arm.

  “What?”

  He kept his pace, headed for the lift, gathered his papers from his pocket, but they were India troops, and they were waved through. “Josh got picked up. Mallory knows he’s here and where he is.”

  “What are you going to do about it?”

  “Mallory agreed to release him. They may have let him loose already. I’ve got to check comp and find out where he is, whether still in detention or back at his apartment”

  “He could sleepover with us.”

  He said nothing, thinking about that.

  “Which of us,” she asked, “is really going to sleep easy otherwise?”

  “Not much sleep with him around either. We’ll be jammed up in that apartment. As good have him in bed with us.”

  “So I’ve slept crowded. So it could drag on more than one night. If they get their hands on him — ”

  “Elene. It’s one thing if station handles a protest. There are things in this, personal things with Josh…”

  “Secrets?”

  “Things that don’t bear the light. Things Mallory might not want out, you understand me? She’s dangerous. I’ve talked to multiple murderers less cold-blooded.”

  “Fleet captain. It’s a breed, Damon. Ask any merchanter. You know there’re probably kin of the merchanters on-station standing in those lines, but they’ll not break formation to hail their own mothers, no. What the Fleet takes… doesn’t come back. You don’t tell me anything I don’t know about the Fleet. I can tell
you that if we want to do something we should do it. Now.”

  “If we bring him in with us, we risk having that act in Fleet files…”

  “I think I know what you want to do.”

  She had her own stubbornness. He reckoned matters, stopped at the lift, his hand on the button. “I figure we’d better get him,” he said.

  “So,” she said. “Thought so.”

  Chapter Seven

  i

  Pell: sector white four: 2230 hrs.

  Jon lukas walked nervously through the vacant halls, despite the pass Keu had given to all of them in the council chambers. Troops might be withdrawn progressively starting at maindawn, they had been promised. Had to, he reckoned. Some of them were already being rotated off to rest, some Fleet crew, armorless, taking up guard in their places. It was all quiet; he was not even challenged but once, at the lift exit, and he walked to his door, used his card to open it.

  The front room was deserted. His heart lurched with the immediate fear that his unbidden guest had strayed; but then Bran Hale appeared in the hall by the kitchen and looked relieved to see him.

  “All right,” Hale said, and Jessad came out, and two others of Hale’s men after him.

  “About time,” Jessad said. “This was growing tedious.”

  “It’s going to stay that way,” Jon said peevishly. “Everyone has to stay here tonight: Hale, Daniels, Clay… I’m not having my apartment door pour a horde of visitors out under the troops’ noses. They’ll be gone come morning.”

  “The Fleet?” Hale asked.

  “The troops in the halls.” Jon went to the kitchen bar, examined a bottle which had been full when he left it and which now had two fingers remaining. He poured himself a drink and sipped it with a sigh, his eyes stinging with exhaustion. He walked over to the chair he favored and sank down as Jessad took his place opposite, across the low table, and Hale and his men rummaged at the bar for another bottle. “I’m glad you were prudent,” he said to Jessad. “I was worried.”

  Jessad smiled, cat-eyed. “I surmise you were. That for a moment or two you thought of solutions. Maybe you’re still thinking in that line. Shall we discuss it?”

  Jon frowned, slid a glance at Hale and his men. “I trust them more than you, and that’s a fact.”

  “It’s likely you thought of being rid of me,” Jessad said. “And I wouldn’t be surprised if you aren’t right now more concerned about where rather than if. You might get away with it entirely. Probably you would.”

  The directness disturbed him. “Since you bring it up yourself, I suppose you’ve got a counter proposal.”

  The smile persisted. “One: I’m no present hazard; you may want to think matters over. Two: I am undismayed by Mazian’s arrival.”

  “Why?”

  “Because that contingency is covered.”

  Jon lifted the glass to his lips and took a stinging swallow. “By what?”

  “When you jump to land in the Deep, Mr. Lukas, you can do it three safe ways: not throw much into the jump in the first place… if you’re in regions you know very, very well; or use a star’s G to pull you up; or — if you’re good — the mass in some null point. A lot of junk in Pell’s vicinity, you know that? Nothing very big, but big enough.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The Union Fleet, Mr. Lukas. Do you think there’s no reason Mazian has his ships grouped for the first time in decades? Pell’s all they have left; and the Union Fleet is out there, just as they sent me ahead, knowing where they’d come.”

  Hale and his men had gathered, settled on the couch and along the back of it. Jon shaped the situation in his mind, Pell a battle zone, the worst of all scenarios.

  “And what happens to us when it’s discovered there’s no way to dislodge Mazian?”

  “Mazian can be driven off. And when that’s done he has no bases at all. He’s done; and we have peace, Mr. Lukas, with all the rewards of it. That’s why I’m here.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Officials have to be taken out. The Konstantins have to be taken out. You have to be set in their place. Have you the nerve for that, Mr. Lukas, despite relationships? I understand there’s a — kinship involved here; yourself, Konstantin’s wife — ”

  He clamped his lips together, flinching as he always did, from the thought of Alicia as she was now. Could not face that. Had never been able to stomach it. It was not life, linked to those machines. Not life. He wiped at his face. “My sister and I don’t speak. Haven’t, for years. She’s an invalid; Dayin would have told you that.”

  “I’m aware of it. I’m talking about her husband, her sons. Have you the nerve, Mr. Lukas?”

  “Nerve, yes, if the planning makes sense.”

  “There’s a man on this station named Kressich.”

  He sucked in a slow breath, the drink resting in his hand against the chair arm. “Vassily Kressich, elected councillor of Q. How do you know him?”

  “Dayin Jacoby gave us the name… as the concillor from that zone; and we have files. This man Kressich… comes from Q when the council meets. He then has a pass which will let him do so, or is it visual inspection?”

  “Both. There are guards.”

  “Can those who do the inspecting be bribed?”

  “For some things, yes. But stationers, Mr. Whoever-you-are, have a natural reluctance to doing anything to damage the station they’re living in. You can get drugs and liquor into Q; but a man… a guard’s conscience about a case of liquor and his instinct for self-preservation are two different things.”

  “Then we’ll have to keep any conference with him brief, won’t we?”

  “Not here.”

  “That’s up to you. Perhaps the lending of an id and papers. I’m sure among your many faithful employees something can be arranged, some apartment near the Q zone — ”

  “What kind of conference are you talking about? And what are you looking for from Kressich? The man is spineless.”

  “How many employees do you have in all,” Jessad asked, “as faithful and trusted as these men here? Men who might take risks, who might kill? We have need of that sort.”

  Jon cast a look at Bran Hale, feeling short of breath. Back again. “Well, Kressich isn’t the type, I’ll tell you.”

  “Kressich has contacts. Can a man stay seated atop that monster of Q without them?”

  ii

  Pell: sector green seven: merchanter’s hospice; 2241 hrs.

  Com buzzed. The light was on, a call coming through. Josh looked at it across his room, stopped in his pacing. They had let him go. Go home, they had said, and he had done so, through corridors guarded by police and Mazianni. They knew at this moment where he was. And now someone was calling his room, hard after his arrival.

  The caller insisted; the red light stayed on, blinking. He did not want to answer, but it might be detention checking to be sure he had gotten here. He was afraid not to respond to it. He crossed the room and pushed the reply button.

  “Josh Talley,” he said into the mike.

  “Josh. Josh, it’s Damon. Good to hear your voice. Are you all right?”

  He leaned against the wall, caught his breath.

  “Josh?”

  “I’m all right. Damon, you know what happened.”

  “I know. Your message got to me. I’ve taken personal responsibility for you. You’re coming to our apartment tonight. Pack what you need. I’m coming there after you.”

  “Damon, no. No. Stay out of this.”

  “We’ve talked it over; it’s all right. No argument.”

  “Damon, don’t. Don’t let it get on their records…”

  “We’re your legal sponsors as it is, Josh. It’s already on the records.”

  “Don’t.”

  “Elene and I are on our way.”

  The contact went dead. He wiped his face. The knot which had been at his stomach had risen into his throat. He saw no walls, nothing of where he was. It was all metal, and Sig
ny Mallory, young face and age-silvered hair, and eyes dead and oldest of all. Damon and Elene and the child they wanted… they prepared to put everything at risk. For him.

  He had no weapons. Needed none, if it were to be himself and her alone, as it had been in her quarters. He had been dead then, inside. Had existed, hating his existence. The same kind of paralysis beckoned now… to let things be, accept, take cover where it was offered; it was always easier. He had not threatened Mallory, having had nothing to fight for.

  He pushed from the wall, felt of his pocket, making sure his papers were there. He walked into the hall and through it past the unmanned front desk of the hospice, out into the open where the guards stood. One of the local security started to challenge him. He looked frantically down the corridor where a trooper stood.

  “You!” he shouted, disturbing the vacant quiet of the hall. Police and trooper reacted, the trooper with leveled rifle and a suddenness which had almost been a pulled trigger. Josh swallowed thickly, held his hands in plain view. “I want to talk with you.”

  The rifle motioned. He walked with hands still wide at his sides, toward the armored trooper and the dark muzzle. “Far enough,” the trooper said. “What is it?”

  The insignia was Atlantic’s. “Mallory of Norway” he said. “We’re good friends. Tell her Josh Talley wants to talk with her. Now.”

  The trooper had a disbelieving look, a scowl finally. But he balanced the rifle in the crook of his arm and reached for his com button. “I’ll relay to the Norway duty officer,” he said. “You’ll be going in, in either case — your way, if she does know you, and on general investigation if she doesn’t.”

  “She’ll see me,” he said.

  The trooper pushed the com button and queried. What came back came privately over his helmet com, but his eyes flickered. “Check it, then,” he said to Norway. And after a moment more: “Command central. Got it. Out.” He hooked the com unit to his belt again, and motioned with the rifle barrel. “Keep walking down that hall and go up the ramp. That trooper down there will take you in charge and see you talk to Mallory.”