Downbelow Station (17 page)

“We must stay still,” she reminded him.

“They will forget us.”

“They will not,” she said, but she had doubts herself, so dark the place was and so desolate, just a little light where they were, above them.
 
There was a terrible clash of metal. The door through which they had come in opened, and there was no view of hills and forest now, but of a ribbed throatlike passage which blasted cold air at them.

A man came up it, dressed in brown, carrying one of the handspeakers. “Come on,” he told them, and they made haste to untie themselves. Satin stood up and found her legs shaking; she leaned on Bluetooth and he staggered too.
 
The man gave them gifts, silver cords to wear. “Your numbers,” he said. “Always wear them.” He took their names and gestured out the passage. “Come with me.
 
We’ll get you checked in.”

They followed, down the frightening passage, out into a place like the ship belly where they had been, metal and cold, but very, very huge. Satin stared about her, shivering. “We are in a bigger ship,” she said. “This is a ship too.” And to the human: “Man, we in Upabove?”

“This is the station,” the human said.

A hint of cold settled on Satin’s heart. She had hoped for sights, for the warmth of Sun. She chided herself to patience, that these things would come, that it would yet be beautiful.

iii

Pell: blue sector five: 9/2/52

The apartment was tidied, the odds and ends rucked into hampers. Damon shrugged into his jacket, straightened his collar, Elene was still dressing, fussing at a waistline that—perhaps—bound a little. It was the second suit she had tried, She looked frustrated with this one too. He walked up behind her and gave her a gentle hug about the middle, met her eyes in the mirror. “You look fine. So what if it shows a little?”

She studied them both in the mirror, put her hand on his. “It looks more like I’m gaining weight.”

“You look wonderful,” he said, expecting a smile. Her mirrored face stayed anxious. He lingered a moment, held her because she seemed to want that. “Is it all right?” he asked. She had, perhaps, overdone, had gone out of her way to look right, had gotten special items from commissary… was nervous about the whole evening, he thought. Therefore the effort. Therefore the fretting about small things. “Does having Talley come here bother you?” Her fingers traced his slowly. “I don’t think it does. But I’m not sure I know what to say to him. I’ve never entertained a Unioner.” He dropped his arms, looked her in the eyes when she turned about. The exhausting preparations… all the anxiety to please. It was not enthusiasm. He had feared so. “You suggested it; I asked were you sure. Elene, if you felt in the least awkward in it—” “He’s ridden your conscience for over three months. Forget my qualms. I’m curious; shouldn’t I be?”

He suspected things… a more-than-willingness to accommodate him, that balance sheet Elene kept; gratitude, maybe; or her way of trying to tell him she cared.
 
He remembered the long evenings, Elene brooding on her side of the table, he on his, her burden Estelle and his—the lives he handled. He had talked about Talley a certain night he ended up listening to her instead; and when the chance came—such gestures were like Elene: he could not remember bringing her another problem but that. So she took it, tried to solve it, however hard it was.
 
Unioner. He had no way of knowing what she felt under those circumstances. He had thought he knew.

“Don’t look that way,” she said. “I’m curious, I said. But it’s the social situation. What do you say? Talk over old times? Have we possibly met before, Mr. Talley? Exchanged fire, maybe? Or maybe we talk over family… How’s yours, Mr, Talley? Or maybe we talk about hospital. How have you enjoyed your stay on Pell, Mr. Talley?”

“Elene—”

“You asked.”

“I wish I’d known how you felt about it.”

“How do you feel about it—honestly?”

“Awkward,” he confessed, leaned against the counter. “But, Elene—” “If you want to know what I feel about it—I’m uneasy. Just uneasy. He’s coming here, and he’ll be here for us to entertain, and frankly, I don’t know what we’re going to do with him.” She turned to the mirror and tugged at the waistline. “All of which is what I think. I’m hoping he’ll be at ease and we’ll all have a pleasant evening.”

He could see it otherwise… long silences. “I’ve got to go get him,” he said.
 
“He’ll be waiting.” And then with a happier thought: “Why don’t we go up to the concourse? Never mind the things here; it might make things easier all round, neither of us having to play host” Her eyes lightened. “Meet you there? I’ll get a table. There’s nothing that can’t go in the freeze.”

“Do it.” He kissed her on the ear, all that was available, and gave her a pat, headed out in haste to make up the time.

The security desk sent a call back for Talley and he was quick in coming down the hall… a new suit, everything new. Damon met him and held out his hand.
 
Talley’s face took on a different smile as he took it, quickly faded.
 
“You’re already checked out,” Damon told him, and gathered up a small plastic wallet from the desk, gave it to him. “When you check in again, this makes it all automatic. Those are your id papers and your credit card, and a chit with your comp number. You memorize the comp number and destroy the chit.” Talley looked at the papers inside, visibly moved. “I’m discharged?” Evidently staff had not gotten around to telling him. His hands trembled, slender fingers shaking in their course over the fine-printed words. He stared at them, taking time to absorb the matter, until Damon touched his sleeve, drew him from the desk and down the corridor.

“You look well,” Damon said. It was so. Their images reflected back from the transport doors ahead, dark and light, his own solid, aquiline darkness and Talley’s pallor like illusions. Of a sudden he thought of Elene, felt the least insecurity in Talley’s presence, the comparison in which he felt all his faults… not alone the look of him, but the look from inside, that stared at him guiltless… which had always been guiltless.

What do I say to him? He echoed Elene’s ugly questions, Sorry? Sorry I never got around to reading your folder? Sorry I executed you … we were pressed for time?
 
Forgive me …usually we do better?

He opened the door and Talley met his eyes in passing through. No accusations, no bitterness. He doesn’t remember. Can’t.

“Your pass,” Damon said as they walked toward the lift, “is what’s called white-tagged. See the colored circles by the door there? There’s a white one too. Your card is a key; so’s your comp number. If you see a white circle you have access by card or number. The computer will accept it. Don’t try anything where there’s no white. You’ll have alarms sounding and security running in a hurry. You know such systems, don’t you?”

“I understand.”

“You recall your comp skills?”

A few spaces of silence. “Armscomp is specialized. But I recall some theory.”

“Much of it?”

“If I sat in front of a board… probably I would remember.”

“Do you remember me?”

They had reached the lift. Damon punched the buttons for private call, privilege of his security clearance: he wanted no crowd. He turned, met Talley’s too-open gaze. Normal adults flinched, moved the eyes, glanced this way and that, focused on one and the other detail. Talley’s stare lacked such movements, like a madman’s, or a child’s, or a graven god’s.

“I remember you asking that before,” Talley said. “You’re one of the Konstantins. You own Pell, don’t you?”

“Not own. But we’ve been here a long time.”

“I haven’t, have I?”

An undertone of worry. What is it, Damon wondered with a crawling of his own skin, what is it to know bits of your mind are gone? How can anything make sense? “We met when you came here. You ought to know… I’m the one who agreed to the Adjustment. Legal Affairs office. I signed the commitment papers.” There was then a little flinching. The car arrived; Damon put his hand inside to hold the door. “You gave me the papers,” Talley said. He stepped inside, and Damon followed, let the door close. The car started moving to the green he had coded. “You kept coming to see me. You were the one who was there so often—weren’t you?”

Damon shrugged. “I didn’t want what happened; I didn’t think it was right. You understand that.”

“Do you want something of me?” Willingness was implicit in the tone—at least acquiescence—in all things, anyway.

Damon returned the stare. “Forgiveness, maybe,” he said, cynical.

“That’s easy.”

“Is it?”

“That’s why you came? That’s why you came to see me? Why you asked me to come with you now?”

“What did you suppose?”

The wide-field stare clouded a bit, seemed to focus. “I have no way to know.

It’s kind of you to come.”

“Did you think it might not be kind?”

“I don’t know how much memory I have. I know there are gaps. I could have known you before. I could remember things that aren’t so. It’s all the same. You did nothing to me, did you?”

“I could have stopped it.”

“I asked for Adjustment… didn’t I? I thought that I asked.”

“You asked, yes.”

“Then I remember something right. Or they told me. I don’t know. Shall I go on with you? Or is that all you wanted?”

“You’d rather not go?”

A series of blinks. “I thought—when I wasn’t so well—that I might have known you. I had no memory at all then. I was glad you came. It was someone… outside the walls. And the books… thank you for the books. I was very glad to have them.”

“Look at me.”

Talley did so, an instant centering, a touch of apprehension.

“I want you to come. I’d like you to come. That’s all.”

“To where you said? To meet your wife?”

“To meet Elene. And to see Pell. The better side of it.” “All right.” Talley’s regard stayed with him. The drifting, he thought… that was defense; retreat. The direct gaze trusted. From a man with gaps in his memory, trust was all-encompassing.

“I know you,” Damon said. “I’ve read the hospital proceedings, I know things about you I don’t know about my own brother. I think it’s fair to tell you that.”

“Everyone’s read them.”

“Who—everyone?”

“Everyone I know. The doctors… all of them in the center.” He thought that over. Hated the thought that anyone should submit to that much intrusion. “The transcripts will be erased.”

“Like me.” The ghost of a smile quirked Talley’s mouth, sadness.

“It wasn’t a total restruct,” Damon said. “Do you understand that?”

“I know as much as they told me.”

The car was coming slowly to rest in green one. The doors opened on one of the busiest corridors in Pell. Other passengers wanted in; Damon took Talley’s arm, shepherded him through. Some few heads turned at their presence in the crowd, the sight of a stranger of unusual aspect, or the face of a Konstantin… mild curiosity. Voices babbled, undisturbed. Music drifted from the concourse, thin, sweet notes. A few of the Downer workers were in the corridor, tending the plants which grew there. He and Talley walked with the general flow of traffic, anonymous within it The hall opened onto the concourse, a darkness, the only light in it coming from the huge projection screens which were its walls: views of stars, of Downbelow’s crescent, of the blaze of the filtered sun, the docks viewed from outside cameras. The music was leisurely, an enchantment of electronics and chimes and sometime quiver of bass, balanced moment by moment to the soft tenor of conversation at the tables which filled the center of the curving hall. The screens changed with the ceaseless spin of Pell itself, and images switched in time from one to another to the screens which extended from floor to lofty ceiling. The floor and the tiny human figures and the tables alone were dark.
 
“Quen-Konstantin,” he said to the young woman at the counter by the entry. A waiter at once moved to guide them to the reserved table.
 
But Talley had stopped. Damon looked back, found him staring about at the screens with a heart-open look on his face. “Josh,” Damon said, and when he did not react, gently took his arm. “This way.” Balance deserted some newcomers to the concourse, difficulty with the slow spin of the images which dwarfed the tables. He kept the grip all the way to the table, a prime one on the margin, with unimpeded view of the screens.

Elene rose at their arrival. “Josh Talley,” Damon said. “Elene Quen, my wife.” Elene blinked. Most reacted to Talley. Slowly she extended her hand, which he took. “Josh, is it? Elene.” She settled back to her chair and they took theirs.
 
The waiter stood expectantly. “Another,” she said.

“Special,” Damon said, looked at Talley. “Any preference? Or trust me.”

Talley shrugged, looking uncomfortable.

“Two,” Damon said, and the waiter vanished. He looked at Elene. “Crowded, this evening.”

“Not many residents go to the dockside lately,” Elene said. That was so; the beached merchanters had staked out a couple of the bars exclusively, a running problem with security.

“They serve dinner here,” Damon said, looking at Talley. “Sandwiches, at least.”

“I’ve eaten,” he said in a remote tone, fit to stop any conversation.

“Have you,” Elene asked, “spent much time on stations?” Damon reached for her hand under the table, but Talley shook his head quite undisturbed.

“Only Russell’s.”

“Pell is the best of them.” She slid past that pit without looking at it. One shot declined, Damon thought, wondering if Elene meant what she did. “Nothing like this at the others.”

“Quen… is a merchanter name.”

“Was. They were destroyed at Mariner.”

Damon clenched his hand on hers in her lap. Talley stared at her stricken. “I’m sorry.”

Elene shook her head. “Not your fault, I’m sure. Merchanters get it from both sides. Bad luck, that’s all.”

“He can’t remember,” Damon said.

“Can you?” Elene asked.

Talley shook his head slightly.

“So,” Elene said, “It’s neither here nor there. I’m glad you could come. The Deep spat you out; only a stationer’d dice with you?” Damon remained perplexed, but Talley smiled wanly, some remote joke he seemed to comprehend.