Downbelow Station Part 8

Marsh, he could not help thinking. What was their game with Marsh? They brought him down the corridor in the correct direction for the lift, through the lift-sequence and halls without marking or designation, into the conference rooms and offices, which relieved his immediate apprehensions. They entered a familiar room, and pa.s.sed through into one of the three interview rooms they used. Military this time. The silver-haired man at the small circular table had metal enough studding the pocket-flap of his black uniform to have made up the ranks of the last several he had talked to combined. Insane pattern of insignia. No knowing what, precisely, the intricate emblems represented... amusing on one level, that Union had managed to evolve so complex a system of medals and insignia, as if all that metal were meant to impress. But it was authority, and power; and that was not amusing at all. "Delegate Ayres." The gray-haired man... gray with rejuv, by the scarcely lined vigor of the face, a drug entirely common out here... available on Earth only in inferior subst.i.tutes... rose and offered his hand. Ayres took it solemnly. "Seb Azov," the man introduced himself. "From the Directorate. Pleasure to meet you, sir."

The central government; the Directorate was, he had learned, now a body of three hundred twelve: whether this related to the number of stations and worlds in some proportion, he was not aware. It met not only on Cyteen but elsewhere; and how one got into it, he did not know. This man was, beyond doubt, military. "I regret," Ayres said coldly, "to begin our acquaintance with a protest, citizen Azov, but I refuse to talk until a certain matter is cleared up." Azov lifted bland brows, sat down again. "The matter, sir?"

"The hara.s.sment to which one of my party is being subjected."

"Hara.s.sment, sir?"

He was, he knew, supposed to lose his composure, give way to nervousness or anger. He refused either. "Delegate Marsh and your computer seem to find difficulty locating his room a.s.signments, remarkable, since we are inevitably lodged together. I rate your technical competency above that. I am unable to name it anything but hara.s.sment that this man is kept waiting hours while alleged discrepancies are sorted out. I maintain that this is hara.s.sment designed to lessen our efficiency through exhaustion. I complain of other tactics, such as the inability of your staff to provide us recreational opportunity or room for exercise, such as the inevitable insistence of your staff that they lack authorizations, such as the evasive responses of your staff when we make an inquiry regarding the name of this base. We were promised Cyteen. How are we to know whether we are speaking to authorized persons or merely to low-level functionaries of no competency or authority to negotiate the serious matters on which we have come? We have traveled a far distance, citizen, to settle a grievous and dangerous situation, and we have received precious little cooperation from the persons we have met here." It was not improvisation. He had prepared the speech for an occasion of opportunity, and the visible bra.s.s presented the target. Clearly, Azov was a little taken aback by the attack. Ayres maintained a front of anger, the best miming he had yet done, for he was terrified. His heart hammered against his ribs and he hoped his color had not changed perceptibly. "It will be attended," Azov said after a moment.

"I should prefer," said Ayres, "stronger a.s.surance."

Azov sat staring at him a moment. "Take my word," he said in a tone that quivered with force, "you will be satisfied. Will you sit, sir? We have some business at hand. Accept my personal apology for the inconvenience to delegate Marsh; it will be investigated and remedied."

He considered walking out, considered further argument, considered the man in front of him, and took the offered chair. Azov's eyes fixed on him with, he thought, some measure of respect "On your word, sir," Ayres said.

"I regret the matter; I can say little more at the moment There is a pressing matter regarding the negotiations; we've come upon what you might call... a situation." He pressed a b.u.t.ton on the table console. "Kindly send in Mr. Jacoby."

Ayres looked toward the door, slowly, betraying no strong anxiety, although he felt it. The door opened; a man in civilian clothing came in... civilian, not the uniforms or uniform-like suits which had distinguished all who had previously dealt with them.

"Mr. Segust Ayres, Mr. Dayin Jacoby of Pell Station. I understand you've met." Ayres rose, extended his hand to this arrival in cold courtesy, liking it all less and less. "A casual meeting, perhaps; forgive me, I don't remember you." "Council, Mr. Ayres." The hand gripped his and withdrew without warmth. Jacoby accepted the gestured offer of the third chair at the round table. "A three-cornered conference," Azov murmured. "Your terms, Mr. Ayres, claim Pell and stations in advance of it as the territory you wish to protect. This doesn't seem to be in accord with the wishes of the citizens of that station... and you are on record as supporting the principle of self-determination." "This man," Ayres said without looking at Jacoby, "is no one of consequence on Pell and has no authority to make agreements. I suggest you consult with Mr. Angelo Konstantin, and send appropriate inquiries to the station council. I don't in fact know this person, and as for any claim he makes to be on the council, I can't attest to their validity."

Azov smiled. "We have an offer from Pell which we are accepting. This does throw into question the proposals under discussion, since without Pell, you would be laying claim to an island within Union territory-stations which, I must tell you, are already part of Union territory, by similar decisions. You have no territory in the Beyond. None."

Ayres sat still, feeling the blood draining from his extremities. "This is not negotiation in good faith."

"Your Fleet is now without a single base, sir. We have utterly cut them off. We call on you to perform a humanitarian act; you should inform them of the fact and of their alternatives. There's no need for the loss of ships and lives in defense of a territory which no longer exists. Your cooperation will be appreciated, sir."

"I am outraged," Ayres exclaimed.

That may be," Azov said. "But in the interest of saving lives, you may choose to send that message." "Pell has not ceded itself. You're likely to find the real situation different from what you imagine, citizen Azov, and when you wish better terms from us, when you want that trade which might profit us both, consider what you're throwing away."

"Earth is one world."

He said nothing. Had nothing to say. He did not want to argue the desirability of Earth.

"The matter of Pell," said Azov, "is an easy one. Do you know the vulnerability of a station? And when the will of the citizenry supports those outside, a very simple matter. No destruction; that's not our purpose. But the Fleet will not operate successfully in the absence of a base... and you hold none. We sign the articles you ask, including the arrangement of Pell as a common meeting point-but in our hands, not yours. No difference, really... save in the observance of the will of the people... which you claim to hold so dear." It was better than it might have been; but it was designed to appear so. "There are," he said, "no representatives of the citizens of Pell here, only a self-appointed spokesman. I would like to see his letters of authorization." Azov gathered up a leather-bound folder from before him. "You might be interested in this, sir: the doc.u.ment you offered us... signed by the government and Directorate of Union, and the council, precisely as you worded it... abstracting the control of stations which are now in our hands, and a few minor words regarding the status of Pell: the words 'under Company management' have been struck, here and on the trade doc.u.ment. Three small words. All else is yours, precisely as you gave it. I understand that you are, due to distances, empowered to sign on behalf of your governments and the Company." Refusal was on his lips. He considered it, as he was in the habit of considering what slipped from him. "Subject to ratification by my government. The absence of those words would cause distress."

"I hope that you will urge them to acceptance, sir, after reflection." Azov laid the folder on the table and slid it toward him. "Examine it at your leisure. From our side, it is firm. All the provisions you desired, all the provisions, to put it frankly, that you can possibly ask, since your territories do not exist."

"I frankly doubt that"

"Ah. That is your privilege. But doubt doesn't alter fact, sir. I suggest that you content yourself with what you have won... trade agreements which will profit us all, and heal a long breach. Mr. Ayres, what more in reason do you think you can ask? That we cede what the citizens of Pell are willing to give us?" "Misrepresentation."

"Yet you lack any means to investigate, thus confessing your own limitations of control and possession. You say the government which sent you from Earth has undergone profound changes, and that we must deal with you as a new ent.i.ty, forgetting all past grievances as irrelevant. Does this new ent.i.ty... propose to meet our signing of their doc.u.ment with further demands? I would suggest, sir, that your military strength is at a low ebb... that you have no means to verify anything, that you were obliged to come here in a series of freighters at the whim of merchanters. That a hostile posture is not to the good of your government" "You are making threats?"

"Stating realities. A government without ships, without control of its own military and without resources... is not in a position to insist that its doc.u.ment be signed without changes. We have abstracted meaningless clauses and three words, leaving the government of Pell essentially in the hands of whatever government the citizens of Pell choose to establish; and is this a fit matter for objection on the part of the interest you represent?" Ayres sat still a moment. "I have to consult with others of my delegation. I don't choose to do so with monitoring in progress."

"There is no monitoring."

"We believe to the contrary."

"Again you are without means to verify this one way or the other. You must proceed as best you can."

Ayres took the folder. "Don't expect me or my staff at any meetings today. We'll be in conference."

"As you will." Azov rose, extended his hand. Jacoby remained seated and offered no courtesy.

"I don't promise signature."

"A conference. I quite understand, sir. Pursue your own course; but I should suggest that you seriously consider the effects of refusing this agreement. Presently we consider our border to be Pell. We're leaving you the Hinder Stars, which you may, if you wish, develop to your profit. In case of failure of this agreement, we shall set our own boundaries, and we will be direct neighbors." His heart was beating very hard. This was nearing ground he did not want to discuss at all.

"Further," said Azov, "should you wish to save the lives of your Fleet and recover those ships, we've added to that folder a doc.u.ment of our own. Contingent on your agreement to attempt recall of the Fleet, and your order to them to withdraw to the territories you have taken for your boundary by the signature of this treaty, we will drop all charges against them and against other enemies of the state which you may name. We'll permit them to withdraw under our escort and to accompany you home, although we understand that this is at considerable hazard to our side."

"We are not aggressive."

"We could better believe that did you not refuse to call off your ships, which are presently attacking our citizens."

"I've told you flatly that I have no command over the Fleet and no power to recall it" "We believe that you might use considerable influence. We will make facilities available to you for the transmission of a message... the cessation of hostilities will follow the Fleet ceasefire."

"We'll consider the matter."

"Sir."

Ayres bowed, turned, walked out, met by the ever-present young guards, who began to guide him elsewhere among the offices. "The other meeting has been canceled," he informed them. "We go back to my quarters. All my companions do." "We have our orders," the foremost said, which was all they ever said. It would be straightened out only when they reached the site of the 0800 meeting and gathered the whole party, a new group of young guards then to guide them back, long waiting in between while things were cleared through channels. This was always the way of things, inefficiency meant to drive them mad. His hand sweated on the leather of the folder he was given, the folder with the doc.u.ments signed by the government of Union. Pell, lost. A chance to recover at least the Fleet and a proposal which might destroy it. He much feared that the government of Union was planning further ahead than Earth imagined. The Long View. Union had been born with it. Earth was only now acquiring it. He felt transparent and vulnerable. We know you're stalling, he imagined the thoughts behind Azov's broad, powerful face. We know you want to gain time; and why; and for now it suits us too, a trifling agreement we and you will abrogate at earliest convenience.

Union had swallowed all it meant to digest... for now. They could not afford debate, could not raise deadly issues in a privacy they probably did not have. Sign it and carry it home. What he had in his head was the important matter. They had learned the Beyond; it was about them in the person of soldiers with a single face and virtually a single mind; in the defiance of Norway's captain, the arrogance of the Konstantins, the merchanters who ignored a war that had been going on all about them for generations... att.i.tudes Earth had never understood, that different powers rule out here, different logic.

Generations which had shaken the dust of Earth from off their feet. Getting home-by signing a meaningless paper Mazian would never heed, no more than Mallory would come to heel for the asking-getting back alive was the important thing, to make understood what he had seen. For that he would do the necessary things, sign a lie and hope.

Chapter Three.

Pell: stationmaster's office, sector blue one; 9/9/52; 1100 hrs. The daily ton of disasters extended even to regions beyond station. Angelo Konstantin rested his head on his hand and studied the printout in front of him. A seal blown on Centaur Mine, on Pell IV's third moon... fourteen men killed. Fourteen-he could not help the thought-skilled, cleared workers. They had humanity rotting in its own filth the other side of Q line, and they had to lose the like of these instead. Lack of supply, old parts, things which should have been replaced being rigged to keep working. A quarter credit seal gave way and fourteen men died in vacuum. He typed through a memo to locate workers among Pell techs who could replace the lost ones; their own docks were going idle... jammed with ships on main berths and auxiliaries, but very little moving in or out... and the men were better out there in the mines where their expertise could do some good.

Not all the transferred workers had necessary skills at what they were set to do. A worker had been killed on Downbelow, crushed trying to direct a crawler out of the mud where an inexperienced partner had driven it. Condolences had to be added to those Emillio had already written to the family on-station. There were two more murders known in Q, and a body had been found adrift in the vicinity of the docks. Supposedly the victim had been vented alive. Q was blamed. Security was trying to get id on the victim, but there was considerable mutilation of the body.

There was a case of another kind, a lawsuit involving two longtime resident families sharing quarters in alterday rotation. The original inhabitants accused the newcomers of pilferage and conversion. Damon sent him the case as an example of a growing problem. Some council action was going to have to be taken in legislation to make responsibilities clear in such cases. A docksider newly a.s.signed to his post was in hospital, half killed by the crew of the militarized merchanter Ja.n.u.s. The militarized crews demanded merchanter privileges and access to bars, against some stationer authorities who tried to put them under military discipline. The bones would mend; the relations between station-side officers and the merchanter crews were in worse condition. The next stationer officer who went out with the patrols was looking to get his throat cut. Merchanter families were not used to strangers aboard. No station personnel to be a.s.signed to militia ships without permission of ship's captain, he sent to the militia office. Militia ships will patrol under their own officers pending resolution of morale difficulties. That would create anguish in some quarters. It would create less than a mutiny would, a merchanter ship against the station authority which tried to direct it. Elene had warned him. He found occasion now to take that advice, an emergency in which stationmaster could override council's ill-advised desire to keep its thumb on the armed freighters.

There were petty crises in supply. He stamped authorizations where needed, some after the fact, approval on local supervisors' ingenuity, particularly in the mines. He blessed skilled subordinates who had learned to ferret hidden surpluses out of other departments.

There was need for repair in Q and security asked authorization for armed forces to seal and clear orange three up to the forties, for the duration of the construction, which meant moving out barracksful of residents. It was rated urgent but not life-threatening; taking a repair crew in without sealing the area was. He stamped it Authorized. Shutting down the plumbing in that sector instead threatened them with disease.

"A merchanter captain Ilyko to see you, sir."

He drew in his breath, stabbed at the b.u.t.ton on the console, calling the woman in. The door opened, admitted a huge woman, grayed and seamed with years rejuv had not caught in time. Or perhaps she was in the decline... the drugs would not hold it off forever. He gestured to a chair; the captain took it gratefully. She had sent the interview request an hour ago, while the ship was coming in. She came from Swan's Eye, a can-hauler out of Mariner. He knew the locals, but not this woman. She was one of their own now, militarized; the blue sleeve cord was the insignia she wore to indicate as much.

"What's the message," he asked, "and from whom?" The old woman searched her jacket and extracted an envelope, leaned heavily forward to lay it on his desk. "From the Olvigs' Hammer," she said. "Out of Viking. Flashed us out there and gave us this hand-to-hand. They're going to be out of station scan a while... afraid, sir. They don't like what they see at all." "Viking." Word of that disaster had come in long ago. "And where have they been since then?"

Their message might make it clearer; but they claim to have taken damage clearing Viking. Short-jumped and hung out in nowhere. That's their story. And they're scarred up for sure, but they've got a load. We should have been so lucky when we ran. Then we wouldn't be running militia service, would we, sir, for dock charges?" "You know what's in this?"

"I know," she said. "There's something on the move. Push is coming to shove, Mr. Konstantin. The way I reckon it... Hammer tried a jump Unionside and didn't find it so good over there after all; Union tried to grab her, it seems, and she ran for it. She's scared of the same thing here. Wanted me to come in ahead of her and bring the message, so's she won't have her hands dirty with it. Consider her position if Union figures she blew the whistle on them. Union's moving." Angelo regarded the woman, the round face and deep-sunken dark eyes. Nodded slowly. "You know what happens here if your crew talks on station or elsewhere. Makes it very hard on us."

"Family," she said. "We don't talk to outsiders." The black eyes fixed steadily on him. "I'm militia, Mr. Konstantin, because we had the bad luck to come in with no load and you laid a charge on us; and because there's nowhere else. Swan's Eye isn't one of the combine haulers; got no reserve and no credit here like some. But what's credit, eh, Mr. Konstantin, if Pell folds? From here on, never mind the credits in your bank; I want supplies in my hold." "Blackmail, captain?"

"I'm taking my crew back out there on patrol and we're going to watch your perimeter for you. If we see any Union ships we'll flash you word in a hurry and jump fast. A can-hauler isn't up to seek-and-dodge with a rider ship, and I'm not going to do any heroics. I want the same advantage Pell crews have, that have food and water h.o.a.rded up off the manifests."

"You charge there's h.o.a.rding?"

"Mr. stationmaster, you know there's h.o.a.rding by every ship that's attached to some station-side concern, and you're not going to antagonize those combines by investigating, are you? How many of your station-side officers get their uniforms dirty checking the holds and tanks visually, eh? I'm flat and I'm asking the same break for my family the others got by being combine. Supplies. Then I go back out on the line."

"You'll get them." He turned then and there and keyed it through on priority.

"Be off this station as quickly as possible."

She nodded when he had done and faced her again. "Fair done, Mr. Konstantin."

"Where will you jump, captain, if you have to?"

"The cold Deep. Got me a place I know, out in the dark. Lots of freighters do, you know that, Mr. Konstantin? Long, lean years coming if the push breaks through. Union will patronize them that were Union long before. Lie low and hope they need ships bad, if it comes. New territories would stretch them thin and they'd need it. Or slink Earthward. Some would."

Angelo frowned. "You think it's really coming."

She shrugged. "Feel the draft, stationmaster. Wouldn't be on this station for any bribe if the line don't hold."

"A lot of the merchanters hold your opinions?"

"We've been ready," she said in a low voice, "for half a hundred years. Ask Quen, stationmaster. You looking for a place, too?" "No, captain."

She leaned back and nodded slowly. "My respects to you for it, stationmaster. You can believe we won't jump without giving an alarm, and that's more than some of our cla.s.s will do."

"I know that it's a heavy risk for you. And you've got your supplies, all you need. Anything more?"

She shook her head, a slight flexing of her bulk. She gathered herself to her wide-braced feet. "Wish you luck," she said, and offered her hand. "Wish you luck. All the merchanters that are here and not on the other side of the line-picked their side against the odds; them that still meet out in the dark and get you supplies right out of Union-they don't do it all for profit. No profit here. You know that, Mr. stationmaster? It would have been easier on the other side... in some ways."

He shook her thick hand. "Thank you, captain."

"Huh," she said, and shrugged self-consciously, waddled out. He took the message, opened it. It was a handwritten note, a scrawl. Back from Unionside. Carriers...o...b..ting at Viking, four, maybe more. Rumor says Mazian's on the run, ships lost: Egypt, France, United States, maybe others. Situation falling apart. It was not signed, had no ship's name attached. He studied the message a moment, then rose and finger-keyed the safe, put the paper in, and locked it. His stomach was unsettled. Observers could be wrong. Information could be planted, rumors started deliberately. This ship would not come in. Hammer would observe a while, possibly come in, possibly run; any attempt to drag them in for direct questioning would be bad politics with other merchanters. Freighters circled Pell, hoping for food, for water, consuming station supplies, using up combine credit, which they had to honor for fear of riot: old debts, to vanished stations. Using up station supplies rather than the precious h.o.a.rds which they had conserved aboard... against the day they might have to run. Some brought in supplies, true; but more consumed them. He keyed through to the desk outside. "I'm closing up for the day," he said, "I can be reached at home. If it can't wait, I'll come back." "Yes, sir," the murmur came back. He gathered up a few of his less disturbing papers, put them in his case, put on his jacket, and walked out with a nod of courtesy to his secretary, to the several officials who had their offices in the same room, and entered the corridor outside.

He had been working late the last several days; was due at least the chance to work in greater comfort, to read the caseful of doc.u.ments without interruption. He had had trouble on Downbelow: Emilio had shipped it all station-side last week with a scathing denunciation of the personnel involved and the policies they represented. Damon had urged the troublemakers shipped out to the mining posts-a quick way to fill up the needed number of workers. Counsel for the defense protested prejudice in the Legal Affairs office, and urged clearing of the tainted service records with full reinstatment. It had flared into something bitter. Jon Lukas had made offers, made demands; they finally had that settled. Presently he had fifty files on Q residents being processed out as provisionals. He thought of stopping by the executive lounge for a drink on the way, doing some of the paperwork there, taking his mind off what still had him sweating. He had a pager in his pocket, was never without it, even with com to rely on. He thought about it.

He went home, that little distance down blue one twelve, quietly opened the door.

"Angelo?"

Alicia was awake, then. He shed his case and his jacket on the chair by the door. "I'm home," he said, smiled dutifully at the old Downer female who came out of Alicia's room to pat his hand and welcome him. "Good day, Lily?" "Have good day," Lily affirmed, grinning her gentle smile. She made herself noiseless in gathering up what he had put down, and he walked back into Alicia's room, leaned down over her bed and kissed her. Alicia smiled, still as she was always still on the immaculate linens, with Lily to tend her, to turn her, to love her with the devotion of many years. The walls were screens. About the bed the view was of stars, as if they hung in mid-s.p.a.ce; stars, and sometimes the sun, the docks, the corridors of Pell; or pictures of Downbelow woods, the base, of the family, of all such things as gave her pleasure. Lily changed the sequences for her.

"Damon came by," Alicia murmured. "He and Elene. For breakfast. It was nice.

Elene's looking well. So happy."

Often they stopped by, one or the other of them... especially with Emilio and Miliko out of reach. He remembered a surprise, a tape he had dropped into his jacket pocket for fear of forgetting it "Had a message from Emilio. I'll play it for you."

"Angelo, is something wrong?"

He stopped in mid-breath and shook his head ruefully. "You're sharp, love."

"I know your face, love. Bad news?"

"Not from Emilio. Things are going very well down there; much better. He reports considerable progress with the new camps. They haven't had any trouble out of Q personnel, the road is through to two, and there's a number willing to transfer down the line."

"I think I get only the better side of the reports. I watch the halls. I get that too, Angelo."

He gently turned her head for her, so that she could look at him more easily.

"War's heating up," he said. "Is that grim enough?" The beautiful eyes... still beautiful, in a thin, pale face... were vital and steady. "How close now?"

"Just merchanters getting nervous. Not at all close; there's no sign of that.

But I'm concerned about morale."

She moved her eyes about, a gesture at the walls. "You make all my world beautiful. Is it beautiful... out there?"

"No harm has come to Pell. There's nothing imminent. You know I can't lie to you." He sat down on the edge of the bed, the clean, smooth sheets, took her hand. "We've seen the war get hot before and we're still here." "How bad is it?"

"I talked to a merchanter a few moments ago, who talked about merchanter att.i.tudes; spoke about places out in the Deep, good for sitting and waiting. Thought comes to me, do you know, that there are other stations of a kind, more than Pell left; chunks of rock in unlikely places... things merchanters know about. Maybe Mazian; surely Mazian. Just places where ships know to go. So if there are storms... there are havens, aren't there? If it comes down to any bad situation, we do have some choices."

"You'd leave?"

He shook his head. "Never. Never. But there's still a chance of talking the boys into it, isn't there? We persuaded one to Downbelow; work on your youngest; work on Elene... she's your best hope. She has friends out there; she knows, and she could persuade Damon." He pressed her hand. Alicia Lukas-Konstantin needed Pell, needed the machinery, equipment a ship could not easily maintain. She was wedded to Pell and the machines. Any transfer of her entourage of metal and experts would be public, doomsday headlined on vid. She had reminded him of that. I am Pell she had laughed, not laughing. She had been, once, beside him. He was not leaving. In no wise did he consider that, without her, abandoning what his family had built over the years, what they had built, together. "It's not close," he said again. But he feared it was. ii Pell: White Dock: Lukas Company offices; 1100 hrs. Jon Lukas gathered the pertinent papers together, glared up at the men who crowded his dock-front office. Glared for a long moment to make the point. He laid the papers down on the front of the desk and Bran Hale gathered them up and pa.s.sed them to the rest of the men.

"We appreciate it," Hale said.

"Lukas Company has no need of employees. You understand that. Make yourselves useful. This is a personal favor, a debt, if you like. I appreciate loyalty." "There'll be no trouble," Hale said.

"Just stay low. Temper cost you your security clearance. You won't exercise that temper working for me. I warned you. I warned you when we worked together on Down-below..." "I remember," Hale said. "But we were run off, Mr, Lukas, for personal reasons. Konstantin was looking for an excuse. He's changing your policies, tearing up things, disarranging everything you've done. And we tried, sir." "Can't help that," Jon said. "I'm not down there. I'm not running things. And now you're not. I'd rather Jacoby could have gotten you off with something lighter, but there you are. You're in private employ now." He leaned back at the desk. "I could need you," he said soberly. "Figure on that too. So it could have turned out worse for you... station life now, no more mud, no more headaches from bad air. You work for the company at whatever comes up and you use your heads.

You'll do all right"

"Yes, sir," Hale said.

"And, Lee..." Jon looked at Lee Quale, a level, sober stare. "You may be standing guard on Lukas property from time to time. You just may have a gun on your person. And you don't fire it. You know how close you came to Adjustment on that account?"

"b.a.s.t.a.r.d hit the barrel," Quale muttered.