She nodded. “Understood. We’re just the edge of it, Damon; I speak for the merchanter interest. They want a neutral port the way things are going, and Pell’s it. I don’t think Pell objects.”
“No,” he said. “Pell doesn’t. Pell’s got some housecleaning to do.” He drew his first whole breath in minutes and followed her glance across the dock at Azov, at Josh standing with Union troops, expecting approach. “Bring a dozen with you and keep the rest guarding that access. Let’s see what Azov’s idea of reason encompasses.”
“The release,” Elene said firmly and softly, leaning on the table with one arm, “ — of the ship Hammer to the Olvig family; of Swan’s Eye to its proper owners; of any other merchanter ship confiscated for use by Union military. The strongest possible condemnation of the seizure and use of Genevieve. You may protest you’re not empowered to grant it; but you have the power of military decisions… on that level, sir, the release of the ships. Or embargo.”
“We do not recognize your organization.”
“That,” Damon interrupted, “rests with Union council. Pell recognizes their organization. And Pell is independent, captain, willing to afford you a port at the moment; but with means to deny it. I would hate to take that decision. We have a mutual enemy… but you would be tied up here, in long unpleasantness. And it might spread.”
There were, from the other side of the table — set up on the open dock and ringed by opposing semicircles of merchanters and troops — frowns. “It’s in our interest,” Azov admitted, “to see that this station doesn’t become a base for Mazianni operation; and that we cooperate in your protection… without which — you don’t stand great chance, for all your threats, Mr. Konstantin.”
“Mutual necessity,” Damon said levelly. “Rest assured that none of Mazian’s ships will ever be welcome at Pell. They are outlaws.”
“We have done you a service,” Elene said. “Merchanter ships have already headed for Sol far in advance of Mazian. One early enough to get there ahead of him; not much, but a little. Sol Station will be warned before he arrives.”
Azov’s face relaxed in surprise. That of the man beside him, delegate Ayres, froze, took on a sudden smile, with the glistening of tears in his eyes. “My gratitude,” Ayres said. “ — Captain Azov, I’d propose… close consultation and quick moves.”
“There seems reason for it,” Azov said. He pushed back from the table. “The station is secure. Our business is finished. Hours are valuable. If Sol is going to prepare a reception for this outlaw, we should be there to follow it up from behind.”
“Pell,” Damon said quietly, “will gladly assist your undocking. But the merchanter ships you’ve appropriated… stay.”
“We have crew aboard them. They come.”
“Take your crew. Those ships are merchanter property and they remain. So does Josh Talley. He’s a citizen of Pell.”
“No,” Azov said. “I don’t leave one of my own at your asking.”
“Josh,” Damon said, looking to the side and behind him, where Josh stood with other Union troops, at last inconspicuous among others likewise perfect. “How do you feel about it?”
Josh’s eyes slid past him, perhaps to Azov, returned to a forward stare. He said nothing.
“Take your troops and your ships,” Damon said to Azov. “If Josh stays, that’s his choice. Take Union presence off this station. You’ll be received for docking hereafter by request and by permission of the stationmaster’s office; it will be granted. But if time is of value to you, I’d suggest you take that offer and agree to it.”
Azov scowled. He signaled his troop officer, who ordered the units to form up. They walked away, headed for the upcurving horizon, for blue dock, where Unity was berthed.
And Josh was still standing there, alone. Elene got up and hugged him awkwardly and Damon clapped him on the shoulder. “Stay put here,” he said to Elene. “I’ve got a Union ship to get undocked. Josh, come on.”
“Neiharts,” Elene said to those nearest her. “See that they reach central in good order.”
They went behind the Union forces; took the niner corridor as the Unioners headed for their ship, started to run. In the corridors there were doors open, the folk of Pell standing there to observe. Some began to shout, to wave, cheers for this last, merchanters’ occupation. “They’re ours,” someone yelled. “They’re ours!”
They took the emergency ramp, came upward at a run; Downers met them in it, scampered along, bounced and bounded and chattered welcomes. The whole spiral echoed with Downer shrieks and squeals and human yells from the corridors outside as the word spread from level to level. A few Unioners passed on the way down, headed out at instructions over helmet com, likely feeling very conspicuous where they were.
They came out in blue one. Downers were back in occupation of central, and grinned welcome at them through the wide-open doors.
“You friends,” Bluetooth said. “You friends, all?”
“It’s all right,” Damon assured him, and worked his way past a crowd of anxious brown bodies to settle himself at the main board. He looked back, at Josh, at the merchanters. “Anyone here who knows this kind of comp?”
Josh settled into place by him. One of the Neiharts took com, another one settled into another comp post. Damon keyed through to com. “Norway,” he said, “you’ve got first release. I trust you’ll ease out without provocations. We don’t need complications.”
“Thank you, Pell,” Mallory’s dry voice came back. “I like your priorities.”
“Hurry it down there. Have your own troops undock you. You can come in again when we’re stable and pick them up. Agreed? They’ll be safe.”
“Pell station,” another voice cut in: Azov’s. “Agreements specified no welcome for Mazianni, This one is ours.”
Damon smiled. “No, Captain Azov. This ship is ours. We’re a world and a station, a sovereign community, and apart from the merchanters who are not residents here, we maintain a militia. Norway constitutes the fleet of Downbelow. I’ll thank you to respect our neutrality.”
“Konstantin,” Mallory’s voice warned him, on the edge of anger.
“Undock and stand off, Captain Mallory. You’ll stay put until the Union fleet has vacated our space. You’re in our traffic pattern and you take our orders.”
“Orders received,” she answered finally. “Stand by. We’re going to pull back and deploy riders. Unity, see that you lay a straight course out of here. And give my regards to Mazian.”
“Your own merchanters,” Azov said, “are going to be the ones to suffer from this decision, Pell station. You’re harboring a vessel that has to prey on shipping to live. Merchanter ships.”
“Get your tail out of here, Union,” Mallory shot back. “Trust at least that Mazian can’t double back on you. He won’t dock at Pell while I’m in the area. Go attend your own business.“
“Quiet,” Damon said. “Captain, move out.” There was a flurry of lights. Norway was loose.
iii
“You too?” Blass asked wryly.
Vittorio adjusted his hold on his meager sackful of belongings, awkwardly hand-over-handed his way in the narrow access, null G, in line with the rest of the crew which had held Hammer. It was cold down here, and dimly lit. There was a vibration, the action of a shuttle tube grappling to their lock. “Don’t see that I have much choice,” he said. “I’m not staying to talk to the merchanters. Sir.”
Blass gave a twisted smile, addressed himself to the lock, which opened to take them out a narrow tube and into the waiting warship. The dark gaped for them.
Unity moved, a steady acceleration. Ayres sat in the cushioned comfort of the Unity’s top-level main room, carpeted, severely modern, with Jacoby beside him. Screens apprised them of their course, a whole array of screens showing numbers and images. They made it clear through an avenue opened by merchanter vessels, a narrow tunnel through the surrounding horde, and finally Azov spared time to look in on them by vid link, occupying one of the screens. “All right?” Azov asked of them.