Ayres sat down at the table in the main room, ignored the guards, to lean his head against his hands and try to recover his balance. He remained as he was for several breaths, then rose, walked to the water dispenser on the wall, unsteady on his feet. He moistened his fingers and bathed his face with the cold water, took a paper cup and drank to settle his stomach.

Someone joined him in the room. He looked, scowled instantly, for it was Dayin Jacoby, who sat down at the only table. He would not have gone back to it, but his legs were too weak to bear long standing. He did not bear up well through jump. Jacoby fared better, and that too he held against him.

“It’s close,” Jacoby said. “I have a good idea where we are.”

Ayres sat down, forced his eyes into focus. The drugs made everything distant. “You should be proud of yourself.”

“Mazian… will be there.”

“They don’t confide in me. But it makes sense that he would… Is this being recorded?”

“I have no idea. What if it is? The fact is, Mr. Ayres, that you can’t retain Pell for the Company, you can’t protect it. You had your chance, and it’s gone. And Pell doesn’t want Mazian. Better Union order than Mazian.”

“Tell that to my companions.”

“Pell,” Jacoby said, leaning forward, “deserves better than the Company can give it. Better than Mazian will give it, that’s sure. I’m for our interest, Mr. Ayres, and we deal as we must.”

“You could have dealt with us.”

“We did… for centuries.”

Ayres bit his lip, refusing to be drawn further into this argument. The drugs he had to have for jump… fogged his thinking. He had already talked, and he had resolved not to. They wanted something of him, or they would not have brought him out of confinement and let him up onto this level of the ship. He leaned his head against his hand and tried to reason himself out of his muzziness while there was still time.

“We’re ready to go in.” Jacoby pursued him. “You know that.”

Jacoby was trying to frighten him. He had been prostrate with terror during the last maneuvering. He had endured jump twice now, with the feeling that his guts were twisted inside out. He refused to think of another one.

“I think they’re going to have a talk with you,” Jacoby said, “about a message for Pell, something to the effect that Earth has signed a treaty; that Earth supports the right of the citizens of Pell to choose their own government. That kind of thing.”

He stared at Jacoby, doubting, for the first time, where right and wrong lay. Jacoby was from Pell. Whatever Earth’s interests, those interests could not be served by antagonizing a man who might, despite all wishes to the contrary, end up high in the government on Pell.

“You’ll be interested, perhaps,” Jacoby said, “in agreements involving Pell itself. If Earth doesn’t want to be cut off… and you protest it seeks trade… it has to go through Pell, Mr. Ayres. We’re important to you.”

“I’m well aware of that fact. Talk to me when you are in authority over Pell. Right now the authority on Pell is Angelo Konstantin, and I have yet to see anything that says differently.”

“Deal now,” Jacoby said, “and expect agreement The party I represent can assure you of safeguards for your interests. We’re a jumping-off point, Mr. Ayres, for Earth and home. A quiet takeover on Pell, a quiet stay for you while you’re waiting on your companions to overtake you, for a journey home in a ship easily engaged here at Pell; or difficulties… prolonged difficulties, resulting from a long and difficult siege. Damage… possibly the destruction of the station. I don’t want that; I don’t think you do. You’re a humane man, Mr. Ayres. And I’m begging you — make it easy on Pell. Just tell the truth. Make it clear to them that there’s a treaty, that their choice has to be Union. That Earth has let them go.”

“You work for Union. Thoroughly.”

“I want my station to survive, Mr. Ayres. Thousands upon thousands of people… could die. You know what it is with Mazian using it for cover? He can’t hold it forever, but he can ruin it.” Ayres sat staring at his hand, knowing that he could not reason accurately in his present condition, knowing that most of what he had been told in all his stay among them was a lie. “Perhaps we should work together, Mr. Jacoby, if it can assure an end to this without further bloodshed.”

Jacoby blinked, perhaps surprised.

“Probably,” Ayres said, “We are both realists, Mr. Jacoby… I suspect you of it. Self-determination is a nice term for last available choice, is it not? I comprehend your argument. Pell has no defenses. Station neutrality… meaning that you go with the winning side.”

“You have it, Mr. Ayres.”

“So do I,” he said. “Order — in the Beyond — benefits trade, and that’s to the Company’s interest. It was inevitable that independence would come out here. It’s just come sooner than Earth was ready to understand. It would have been acknowledged long ago if not for the blindness of ideologies. Brighter days, Mr. Jacoby, are possible. May we live to see them.”

It was a lie as sober-faced as he had ever delivered. He leaned back in his chair with nausea urging at him from the effects of jump and from outright terror.

“Mr. Ayres.”

He looked back at the doorway. It was Azov. The Union officer walked in, resplendent in black and silver.

“We are monitored,” Ayres observed sourly.

“I don’t delude myself with your affection, Mr. Ayres. Only with your good sense.”

“I’ll make your recording.”

Azov shook his head. “We go heralded,” he said, “but by a different warning. There’s no hope that Mazian’s ships will all be docked. We brought you along first for the Mazianni; and secondly because in the taking of Pell station it will be useful to have a voice of former authority.”

He nodded weary assent. “If it saves lives, sir.”

Azov simply stared at him. Frowned, finally. “Take time to recover your equilibrium, sirs. And to contemplate what you might do to benefit Pell.”

Ayres looked to Jacoby as Azov left and saw that Jacoby was also capable of anxiety. “Doubts?” he asked Jacoby sourly.

“I have kin on that station,” Jacoby said.

The station was calmer. Queries to Legal Affairs had begun, and that was a good indication that the tension on the station was easing. The input file was full of queries about military actions, threatened lawsuits, indignant protests from merchants on-station who felt damages were due them for the continued curfew on the docks. There were protests from the merchanter ship Finity’s End regarding a missing youth, the object of much anxiety, in the theory that one of the military crews could have swept him up in impressment. In fact the youth was probably in some station sleepover with a current infatuation from some other ship. Comp was quietly carrying out a card-use search, not an easy matter, for merchanter passes were not in such frequent use as stationer cards.

Damon entertained hopes of finding him safe, refused to take alarm until the records search had come in; he had seen too many of these come across his desk only to discover a young merchanter who had had a falling out with his family or drunk too much to listen to vid. The whole thing was more security’s problem at this level, but security had its hands full, its men and women standing guard duty with haggard eyes and short tempers. LA could at least punch comp buttons and take up some of the clerical work. Another killing in Q. It was depressing, and there was absolutely nothing they could do but note the fact. There was a report of a guard under suspension, accused of smuggling a case of Downer wine into Q. Some officer had decided the problem should not wait, when it was likely there was petty smuggling going on everywhere among the merchanters out there. The man was being made an example.