Downbelow Station

“Take them out,” the officer said. “Search them. Dead ones too.”

It was over. A hundred thoughts poured through Damon’s mind… going for the gun in his pocket — running for it, as far as he could get before they shot him down.

And Josh… and his mother and his brother…

They laid hands on him, turned him against the wall and made him spread his limbs, him and Josh beside him, and Kressich. They searched his pockets and took the cards and the gun, which in itself was cause for a shooting on the spot

They turned him about again, back to the wall, and looked at him more carefully.

“You’re Konstantin?”

He gave no answer. One hit him in the belly and doubled him, and he flung himself at the man shoulder-on and low, carried him and a chair over under the table. A boot slammed into his back and he was trampled in a fight which broke above him. He tore free of the man he had stunned, tried to claw his way to his feet by the table rim, and a shot burned past his shoulder, hit Kressich in the stomach.

A rifle clubbed him. His knees loosened, refusing to drive him to his feet; a second blow, on the arm stretched on the table. He went out, doubled as a boot slammed into him, stayed doubled against the blows until they knocked him half senseless. Then they hauled him up between two of them. “Josh,” he said dazedly. “Josh!”

They had Josh up too, slumped between two of them, trying to shake him into life, and he managed to get his feet under him. His head rolled drunkenly. He was bleeding from the temple. For Kressich there was no use in urging; he was still moving, gut-shot and bleeding fast. They were leaving him.

Damon looked about as they were taken out into the main room. Ngo had fled or they had taken him. The patrons had fled. There was only a scattering of corpses, and a few troops standing about with rifles.

The troops hauled him and Josh outside, into the corridor. A few at Ngo’s stood outside to stare as they were marched along and Damon turned his face aside, shamed to be publicly paraded in his arrest.

He thought they would be taken to the ships across the docks. And then they turned the corner onto the docks and headed left, and he realized otherwise. There was a bar the troops had taken for themselves, a headquarters, a place civs avoided.

Music, drugs, liquor — anything the civ sector had to offer — Damon stared numbly as they were hauled inside, into a lowering smoke and a thunder of music. A desk was there, incredibly enough, a concession to something official. The troops brought them to it and a man carrying a drink sat down and looked them over. “Got ourselves something here,” said the leader of the group which had brought them in. “Fleet’s looking for these two. Konstantin, this one. And we’ve got ourselves a Unioner here. Adjusted man, the rumor says… but Pell did the Adjusting.”

“Unioner.” The sergeant at the desk looked past Damon, grinned unpleasantly at Josh. “And how did the likes of you get onto Pell? Got a good story, Union man?”

Josh said nothing.

“I do,” a harsh voice said from the door, fit to shake the walls. “He’s Norway property.”

Laughter and conversation stopped, if not the music. The newcomers, armored as most in this place were not, came in with a brusqueness that startled the rest. “Norway” someone muttered. “Get out of here, Norway bastards.”

“What’s your name?” the newcomer bellowed.

“Or you shoot all of us?” someone else said.

The short man with the loud voice punched the com button at his shoulder and spoke something the music drowned, turned and waved his hand at the dozen troopers with him, who fanned out. He looked then at the rest, a slow circuit of the room. “You’re none of you in fit condition to handle anything. Straighten up this den. Any of our people in here I’ll skin ’em. Is there?”

“Try down the row,” someone shouted. “This is Australia territory. Norway’s got no call to be putting us on report.”

“Hand the prisoners over,” the short man said. No one moved. Rifles of the Norway troops leveled, and there were outcries of shock and rage from the Australia troopers. Damon stood with his vision hazing as two of the dozen moved in on him and Josh, as a rough grip seized his right arm and jerked him from the hand which held him, hauled him along toward the door. Josh came without struggling. He did. As long as they were together… it was the most they had left.

“Get them out,” the little man bellowed at his troops. They were pushed and hastened outside; two troopers stayed with their officer, in the bar. It was not until they were passing the niner corridor that other troops intercepted them, other Norway troopers.

“Get to the Australia post,” one yelled at the others, a woman’s voice. “McCarthy’s. Di’s got them all at rifle point. He needs some numbers in there, fast.”

The troopers headed past them at a run. Four of those escorting them kept on, taking them toward the blue dock access door, where guards stood.

“Pass us through,” the officer of their escort demanded. “We’ve got a potential riot situation back there.”

The guards were Australia. The lettering and emblem proclaimed it. Reluctantly the squad opened the emergency doors and let them through the passage.

Thereafter was blue dock, where Norway occupied a berth next India, Australia, and Europe. Damon walked, beginning to feel shock from his injuries, if not pain. There was only the military here, troops coming and going, supply bales being loaded by military crews in fatigues.

Norway’s access tube gaped before them. They walked the ramp, into the passage, passed through that chill into the airlock. Others met them, troops all with Norway’s emblem.

“Talley,” one said with a surprised grin. “Welcome back, Talley.”

Josh bolted. He made it as far as the middle of the access tube before they caught him.

iv

Pell: Norway; blue dock; 1/8/53; 1930 hrs.

Signy looked up from her desk, for a moment dialed down the com noise, the reports of her troops on the docks and elsewhere. She gave a quizzical smile at the guards and at Talley. He was considerably the worse for wear… unshaven, diry, bloody. There was a swelling on his jaw.

“Come to see me?” she mocked him. “I hadn’t thought you’d ask again.”

“Damon Konstantin… they’ve got him aboard. The troops have got him. I thought you’d want to talk to him.”

That perplexed her. “You’re trying to turn him in, are you?”

“He’s here. We both are. Get him out of there.”

She leaned back, looked curiously at him. “So you do talk straight,” she said. “You never talked.”

And now he had nothing to say.

“They played games with your mind,” she observed. “And now you’re a friend of Konstantin’s, are you?”

“I appeal to you,” he said in a faint voice.

“On what grounds?”

“Reason. He’s useful to you. And they’ll kill him.”

She regarded him from half-lidded eyes. “Glad to be back, are you?” There was a call blinking, which was something com evidently could not handle.

She dialed up the sound and punched it through. “There’s a fight broken out,” she heard, “at McCarthy’s.”

“Di out of there?” she asked. “Give me Di.”

“Busy,” she heard. She waved a hand at the guards, dismissing the business of Talley. Another light was flashing.

“Mallory!” Talley shouted at her, being forced out the door.

“Europe’s wanting you,” Com said. “Mazian’s on.”

She punched through. They had gotten Talley out, to lock him up somewhere, she hoped.

“Mallory here, Europe.”

“What’s going on over there?”

“I’ve got trouble on the dock, sir. Janz needs instruction, by your leave, sir.” She punched out on him. “He’s down,” she was hearing on another channel. “Captain, Di’s shot.”

She clenched a fist and held it back from the unit “Get him out, get him out, what officer am I talking to?”

“This is Uthup,” a woman’s voice came back. “One of Australia’s shot Di.”

She punched another button. “Get me Edger. Quick!”

“We’re through the door,” she heard from Uthup. “We got Di.”

“General alert Norway troops. We have dock trouble. Get out there!”

“Edger here,” she heard. “Mallory, call your hounds in.”

“Call yours in, Edger, or I’ll shoot them on sight. They’ve shot Di Janz.”

“I’ll stop it,” he said, and cut out. alert was sounding in Norway’s corridors, a raucous klaxon, blue lights flashing. Boards and screens in her office were coming to life as the ship turned out to emergency ready.

“We’re coming in,” Uthup’s voice came back. “He’s still with us, captain.”

“Get him in, Uthup, get him in.”

“Going down there, captain.” That was Graff, heading to the dock. She started pushing buttons, hunting a visual and cursing at the techs; someone should have