She leafed through them, lifted her head with a slight frown. "Mr. Ayres ...
Ines Andilin," she said. "A sorry surprise for you, isn't it? But such things happen. You'll now give us a Company reprimand for seizing your ship?
Feel free to do so."
"No, citizen Andilin. It was, in fact, a surprise, but hardly devastating. I came to see what I might see and I have seen plenty."
"And what have you seen, citizen Ayres?"
"Citizen Andilin." He walked forward a few paces, as far as the anxious faces and sudden movement of rifles would allow. "I'm second secretary to the Security Council on Earth. My companions are of the Earth Company's highest levels. Our inspection of the situation has shown us disorder and a militarism in the Company Fleet which has passed all limit of Company responsibility. We are dismayed at what we find. We disown Mazian; we do not wish to hold any territories in which the citizens have determined they wish to be otherwise governed; we are anxious to be quit of a burdensome conflict and an unprofitable venture. You know well enough that you possess this territory. The line is stretched too thin; we can't possibly enforce what residents of the Beyond don't want; and in fact, why should we be interested to do so? We don't regard this meeting at this station as a disaster. We were, in fact, looking for you."
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There was a settling in the council, a perplexity on their faces.
"We are prepared," Ayres said in a loud voice, "to cede formally all the disputed territories. We frankly have no further interest beyond present limits. The star-faring arm of the Company is dissolved by vote of the Company directorates; the sole interest we have now is to see to our orderly disengagement— our withdrawal— and the establishment of a firm border which will give us both reasonable latitude."
Heads bent. The council murmured together, one way and the other. Even the mannequins about the edges of the chamber seemed disturbed.
"We are a local authority," said Andilin at last. "You'll have opportunity to carry your offers higher. Can you leash the Mazianni and guarantee our security?"
Ayres drew in his breath. "Mazian's Fleet? No, if his captains are an example."
"You're in from Pell."
"Yes."
"And claim experience with Mazian's captains, do you?"
He blanked for the instant ... was not accustomed to such slips. Neither was he accustomed to distances over which such comings and goings would be news. But the merchanters, he reasoned at once, would know and tell as much as he could. Withholding information was more than pointless; it was dangerous. "I met," he confessed, "with Norway's captain, one Mallory."
Andilin's head inclined solemnly. "Signy Mallory. A unique privilege."
"None to me. The Company refuses responsibility for Norway. "
"Disorder, mismanagement; denial of responsibility ... and yet Pell is well reputed for order. I am amazed at your report. What happened there?"
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"I do not serve as your intelligence."
"You do, however, disown Mazian and the Fleet. This is a radical step."
"I don't disown the safety of Pell. That's our territory."
"Then you are not prepared to cede all the disputed territories."
"By disputed territories, of course, we mean those starting with Fargone."
"Ah. And what is your price, citizen Ayres?"
"An orderly transition of power, certain agreements assuring the safeguarding of our interests."
Andilin's face relaxed in laughter. "You seek a treaty with us. You throw aside your own forces, and seek a treaty with us. "
"A reasonable solution to a mutual difficulty. Ten years since the last reliable report out of the Beyond. Many more years than that with a fleet out of our control, refusing our direction, in a war which consumes what could be a mutually profitable trade. That is what brings us here."
There was deathly silence in the room.
At last Andilin nodded, her chins doubling. "Mr. Ayres, we shall wrap you in cotton wool and hand you on most gently, most, most gently, to Cyteen.
With great hope that at last someone on Earth has come to his senses. A last question, rephrased. Was Mallory alone at Pell?"
"I can't answer."
"You have not yet disowned the Fleet, then."
"I retain that option in negotiations."
Andilin pursed her lips. "You need not worry about giving us critical information. The merchanters will deny us nothing. Were it possible for 96
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you to restrain the Mazianni from their immediate maneuvers, I would suggest you try. I'd suggest that to demonstrate the seriousness of your proposal ... you at least make a token gesture toward that restraint during negotiations."
"We cannot control Mazian."
"You know that you will lose," said Andilin. "In fact, that you have already lost, and you're attempting to hand us what we have already won
... and get concessions for it."
"There's little interest for us in pursuing hostilities, win or lose. It seems to us that our original object was to make sure the stars were a viable commercial venture; and you patently are viable. You have an economy worth trading with, in a different kind of economic relationship from what we had before, saving us the entanglements with the Beyond we don't want. We can agree on a route, a meeting point where your ships and ours can come and go as a matter of common right. What you do on your side doesn't interest us; direct the development of the Beyond as you like.
Likewise we will be withdrawing some jump freighters home for the commencement of that trade. If we can possibly secure some restraint on Conrad Mazian, we'll recall those ships as well. I'm being very blunt with you. The interests we pursue are so far from each other, there's no sane reason to continue hostilities. You're being recognized in all points as the legitimate government of the outer colonies. I am the negotiator and the interim ambassador if the negotiations are successful. We don't consider it defeat, if the will of the majority of the colonies has supported you; the fact that you are the government in these regions is persuasive of that fact.
We extend you formal recognition from the new administration which has taken charge in our own affairs ... a situation I will explain further to your central authorities; and we are prepared to open trade negotiations at the same time. All military operations within our power to control will be stopped. Unfortunately ... it isn't within our power to stop them, only to withdraw support and approval."
"I am a regional administrator, a step removed from our central directorate, but I don't think, ambassador Ayres, that the directorate will have any hesitancy in opening discussion on these matters. At least, as a 97
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regional administrator sees things, this is the case. I extend you a cordial welcome."
"Haste— will save lives."
"Haste indeed. These troops will conduct you to a safe lodging. Your companions will join you."
"Arrest?"
"Absolutely the contrary. The station is newly taken and insecure as yet.
We want to be sure no hazard confronts you. Cotton wool, Mr.
Ambassador. Walk where you will, but with a security escort at all times; and by my earnest advice, rest. You'll be shipping out as soon as a vessel can be cleared. It's even uncertain whether you'll have a night's sleep before that departure. You agree, sir?"
"Agreed," he said, and Andilin called the young officer over and spoke to him. The officer gestured, with his hand this time; he took his leave with nods of courtesy from all the table, walked out, with a cold feeling at his back.
Practicalities, he reckoned. He did not like the look of what he saw, the too-alike guards, the coldness everywhere. Security Council on Earth had not seen such things when it gave its orders and laid its plans. The lack of intermediate Earthward stations, since the dismantling of the Hinder Star bases, made the spread of the war logistica
lly unlikely, but Mazian had failed to prevent it from spreading all across the Beyond ... had aggravated the situation, escalated hostilities to dangerous levels. The sudden prospect of having Mazian's forces reactivate those Hinder Star stations in a retrenching action behind Pell turned him sick with the mere contemplation of the possibilities.
The Isolationists had had their way ... too long. Now there were bitter decisions to be taken ... reapproachment to this thing called Union; agreements, borders, barriers ... containment.
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If the line were not held, disaster loomed ... the possibility of having Union itself activating those abandoned Earthward stations, convenient bases. There was a fleet building at Sol Station; it had to have time.
Mazian was fodder for Union guns until then. Sol itself had to be in command of the next resistance, Sol, and not the headless thing the Company Fleet had become, refusing Company orders, doing as they would.
Most of all they had to keep Pell, had to keep that one base.
Ayres walked where he was led, settled into the apartment they gave him several levels down, which was excellent in comforts, and the comfort reassured him. He forced himself to sit and appear relaxed to await his companions, that they assured him would come ... and they did come finally, in a group and unnerved by their situation. Ayres thrust their escort out, closed the door, made a shifting of his eyes toward the peripheries of the compartment, silent warning against free speech. The others, Ted Marsh, Karl Bela, Ramona Dias, understood, and said nothing, as he hoped they had not spoken their minds elsewhere.
Someone on Viking Station, a freighter crew, was in great difficulty, he had no doubt. Supposedly merchanters were able to pass the battle lines, with no worse than occasional shepherding to different ports than they had planned; or sometimes, if it was one of Mazian's ships that stopped them, confiscation of part of the cargo or a man or woman of the crew. The merchanters lived with it. And the merchanters who had brought them to Viking would survive detention until what they had seen at Pell and here ceased to be of military value. He hoped for their sakes that this was the case. He could do nothing for them.
He did not sleep well that night, and before morning of mainday, as Andilin had warned him, they were roused out of bed to take ship further into Union territory. They were promised their destination was Cyteen, the center of the rebel command. It was begun. There was no retreat.
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11
Pell: Detention; red sector: 6/27/52
He was back. Josh Talley looked at the window of his room and met the face which was so often there ... remembered, after the vague fashion in which he remembered anything recent, that he had known this man, and that this man was part of all that had happened to him. He met the eyes this time and, feeling more of definite curiosity than he was wont, moved from his cot, walking with difficulty, for the general weakness of his limbs— advanced to the window and confronted the young man at closer range. He put out his hand to the window, wishing, for others kept far from him, and he lived entirely in white limbo, where all things were suspended, where touch was not keen and tastes all bland, where words came at distance. He drifted in this whiteness, detached and isolated.
Come out, his doctors told him. Come out whenever you feel inclined. The world is out here. You can come when you're ready.
It was a womblike safety. He grew stronger in it. Once he had lain on his cot, disinclined even to move, leaden-limbed and weary. He was much, much stronger; he could feel moved to rise and investigate this stranger.
He grew brave again. For the first time he knew that he was getting well, and that made him braver still.
The man behind the pane moved, reached out his hand, matched it to his on the window, and his numbed nerves tingled with excitement, expecting touch, expecting the numb sensation of another hand. The universe existed beyond a sheet of plastic, all there to touch, unfelt, insulated, cut off. He was hypnotized by this revelation. He stared into dark eyes and a lean young face, of a man in a brown suit; and wondered was it he, himself, as he was outside the womb, that hands matched so perfectly, touching and not touched.
But he wore white, and it was no mirror.
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Nor was it his face. He dimly remembered his own face, but it was a boy his memory saw, an old picture of himself: he could not recover the man.
It was not a boy's hand that he reached out; not a boy's hand that reached back to him, independent of his willing it. A great deal had happened to him and he could not put it all together. Did not want to. He remembered fear.
The face behind the window smiled at him, a faint, kindly smile. He gave it back, reached with his other hand to touch the face as well, barriered by cold plastic.
"Come out," a voice said from the wall. He remembered that he could. He hesitated, but the stranger kept inviting him. He saw the lips move with the sound which came from elsewhere.
And cautiously he moved to the door which was always, they said, open when he wanted it. It did open to him. Of a sudden he must face the universe without safety. He saw the man standing there, staring back at him; and if he touched, it would be cold plastic; and if the man should frown there was no hiding.
"Josh Talley," the young man said, "I'm Damon Konstantin. Do you remember me at all?"
Konstantin. The name was a powerful one. It meant Pell, and power. What else it had meant would not come to him, save that once they had been enemies, and were no longer. It was all wiped clean, all forgiven. Josh Talley. The man knew him. He felt personally obligated to remember this Damon and could not. It embarrassed him.
"How are you feeling?" Damon asked.
That was complicated. He tried to summarize and could not; it required associating his thoughts, and his strayed in all directions at once.
"Do you want anything?" Damon asked.
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"Pudding," he said. "With fruit." That was his favorite. He had it every meal but breakfast; they gave him what he asked for.
"What about books? Would you like some books?"
He had not been offered that. "Yes," he said, brightening with the memory that he had loved books. "Thank you."
"Do you remember me?" Damon asked.
Josh shook his head. "I'm sorry," he said miserably. "We've probably met, but, you see, I don't remember things clearly. I think we must have met after I came here."
"It's natural you'd forget. They tell me you're doing very well. I've been here several times to see about you."
"I remember."
"Do you? When you get well I want you to come to my apartment for a visit sometime. My wife and I would like that."
He considered it and the universe widened, doubling, multiplying itself so that he was not sure of his footing. "Do I know her too?"
"No. But she knows about you. I've talked to her about you. She says she wants you to come."
"What's her name?"
"Elene. Elene Quen."
He repeated it with his lips, not to let it leave him. It was a merchanter name. He had not thought of ships. Now he did. Remembered dark, and stars. He stared fixedly at Damon's face, not to lose contact with it, this point of reality in a shifting white world. He might blink and be alone again. He might wake in his room, in his bed, and not have any of this to hold onto. He clenched his mind about it with all his strength. "You'll come again," he said, "even if I forget. Please come and remind me."
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"You'll remember," Damon said. "But I'll come if you don't."
Josh wept, which he did easily and often, the tears sliding down his face, a mere outwelling of emotion, not of grief, or joy, only profound relief. A cleansing.
"Are you all right?" Damon asked.
"I'm tired," he said, for his legs were weak from standing, and he knew he should go back to his bed before he bec
ame dizzy. "Will you come in?"
"I have to stay in this area," Damon said. "I'll send you the books, though."
He had forgotten the books already. He nodded, pleased and embarrassed at once.
"Go back," Damon said, releasing him. Josh turned and walked back inside.
The door closed. He went to his bed, dizzier than he had thought. He must walk more. Enough of lying still, if he walked he would get well faster.
Damon. Elene. Damon. Elene.
There was a place outside which became real to him, to which for the first time he wanted to go, a place to reach for when he turned loose of this.
He looked to the window. It was empty. For a terrible, lonely moment he thought that he had imagined it all, that it was a part of the dream world which shaped itself in this whiteness, and that he had created it. But it had given him names; it had detail and substance independent of himself; it was real or he was going mad.
The books came, four cassettes to use in the player, and he held them close to his chest and rocked to and fro smiling to himself and laughing, cross-legged on his bed, for it was true. He had touched the real outside and it had touched him.
He looked about him, and it was only a room, with walls he no longer needed.
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BOOK TWO
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1
i
Downbelow main base: 9/2/52
The skies were clear for the morning, only a few fleecy puffs overhead and a line of them marshaling themselves across the northern horizon, beyond the river. It was a long view; it usually needed a day and a half for the horizon clouds to come down to Downbelow base, and they planned to take advantage of that break, patching the washout which had cut them off from base four and all the further camps down the chain. It was, they hoped, the last of the storms of winter. The buds on the trees were swelling to bursting, and the grain sprouts, crowded by flood against the crossed-beam lattices in the fields, would soon want thinning and transplanting to their permanent beds. Main base would be the first to dry out; and then the bases downriver. The river was some bit lower today, so the report came in from the mill.
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