Downbelow Station by C. J. Cherryh Read Free Book Online Page A

custom out here?”
    The custom is, sir, that those who know a situation handle it and those who don’t watch and learn, or get out of the way.“ The Company man’s thin face flushed visibly. “It seems we’re constrained to bear with that kind of attitude… temporarily. We need transport up to whatever exists as a border. Norway is available.”
    She drew a sharp breath and drew herself up. “No, sir, you’re not constrained, because Norway isn’t available to civ passengers, and I’m not taking any on. As for the border, the border is wherever the fleet sits at the moment, and nobody but the ships involved knows where that is. There aren’t borders. Hire a freighter.”
    There was dead silence in the hall.
    “I dislike, captain, to use the word court-martial.”
    She laughed, a mere breath. “If you Company people want to tour the war, I’m tempted to take you in. Maybe you’d benefit by it. Maybe you could widen Mother Earth’s sight; maybe we could get a few more ships.” “You’re not in a position to make requisitions and we don’t take them. We’re not here to see only what it’s determined we should see. We’ll be looking at everything, captain, whether or not it suits you.”
    She set her hands on her hips and surveyed the lot of them. “Your name, sir.”
    “Segust Ayres, of the Security Council, second secretary.” “Second secretary. Well, we’ll see what space we come up with. No baggage beyond a duffle. You understand that. No frills. You go where Norway goes. I don’t take my orders from anyone but Mazian.”
    “Captain,” another put forth, “your cooperation is earnestly requested.”
    “You have what I’ll give and not a step further.”
    There was silence, a slow murmuring from the tiers. The man Ayres’s face reddened further, his precise dignity that instinctively galled her now further and further ruffled. “You’re an extension of the Company, captain, and you hold your commission from it. Have you forgotten that?” “Third captain of the Fleet, Mr. Second Secretary, which is military and you’re not. But if you intend to come, be ready within the hour.” “No, captain,” Ayres declared firmly. “We’ll take your suggestion about freighter transport. It got us here from Sol. They’ll go where they’re hired to go.”
    “Within reason, I don’t doubt.” Good. That problem was shed. She could reckon Mazian’s consternation at that in the midst of them. She looked beyond Ayres, at Angelo Konstantin. “I’ve done my service here. I’m leaving. Any message will be relayed.”
    “Captain.” Angelo Konstantin left the head of the table and walked forward, offered his hand, an unusual courtesy and the stranger considering what she had done to them, leaving the refugees. She took the firm handclasp, met the man’s anxious eyes. They knew each other, remotely; had met in years past. Six generations a Beyonder, Angelo Konstantin; like the young man who had come down to help on the dock, a seventh. The Konstantins had built Pell; were scientists and miners, builders and holders. With this man and the others she felt a manner of bond, for all their other differences. This kind of man the Fleet had for its charge, the best of them.
    “Good luck,” she wished them, and turned and left, taking Di and the troopers with her.
    She returned the way she had come, through the beginning establishment of Q zone, and back into the familiar environs of Norway, among friends, where law was as she laid it down and things were as she knew. There were a few last details to work out, a few matters still to be arranged, a few last gifts to bestow on station; her own security’s dredgings—reports, recommendations, a live body, and what salvaged reports came with it.
    She put Norway on ready then, and the siren went and what military presence Pell had for its protection slipped free and left them.
    She went to follow a sequence of courses which was in her head, and of which