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True, she'd put them off the ship and onto the station as beyond the ship's ability to sustain any longer. That would have upset Tillington, but the ship would
not
attach itself as a permanent hotel for residency. None of the captains would agree to that.

That
had suddenly made the refugees a Mospheiran problem—Tillington's problem and Captain Ogun's problem.

No, Sabin hadn't made herself highly popular with Mospheiran stationers, and hadn't been high on Ogun's list of favorite people before she'd taken the ship to Reunion. Ramirez, who had been senior captain, was dead. Ogun had been second-senior, Sabin third, when an alien species had come down on Reunion ten years and more ago. And there remained, behind Sabin's voyage back to Reunion, deep questions about command decisions and why the possibility of survivors had been hushed up. Captain Ramirez' deathbed confession about Reunion had left nothing safe or sure between Ogun and Sabin.

But the fact was, despite the personal differences that had arisen between Ogun and Sabin, Ogun had stood by while Sabin took the most precious thing ship-folk had,
Phoenix
itself, and headed out where (one now suspected) Ogun damned well understood there was an extreme danger.

Had Ogun ever fully briefed Sabin about what had really happened out there?

Two hundred years ago, human beings had planted their space station in territory an alien species claimed—had evidently passed unnoticed—until
Phoenix
had poked deeper into that species' territory and triggered alarms.

That species, the kyo, had blown Reunion Station half to ruin—then vanished, only to pop out of the dark again when Sabin arrived.

Monstrous expediency might at that point have said to hell with human survivors
and
the Archive: save our own skins—but Sabin hadn't done that. Sabin had calmly stood her ground with the kyo and gotten all the survivors off.

Sabin
might
have promised the Reunioners any sort of thing while they were in transit, just to keep peace aboard.

But Sabin hadn't done that, either. Bren had been there. Jase had been there, second in command. So Bren knew with certainty that Sabin had never made a deal, never made promises of power—never given the refugees anything but adequate food and a way to survive.

“All right,” he said to Jase. “Lay it out for me. Who stands where in this mess? Who's on whose side and why?”

“One.”
Jase held up his first finger. “Sabin and I. We backed these three kids coming down here. Ogun didn't want that. It wasn't going to happen. You saw what happened to me when I landed—sick as hell for weeks when I came down. All sorts of theories as to why, with me as the living proof of why spacers don't adapt. The medics had their notions. But taking Reunioner children down there and having them sick was not a popular idea, politically speaking. Then Tabini-aiji insisted on it. Sabin and I—and the senior medic—won the argument once atevi politics weighed in.” Jase held up a second finger.
“Two.
From the moment the Reunioners walked onto the station deck, Tillington has wanted to send the Reunioners off to mine Maudit and build a separate station where he never has to see them again.” Third finger.
“Some
Reunioners, notably Braddock, actually want to go do that. You can guess why.”

No question there. Braddock, accustomed for years to being absolute authority on Reunion, had new ambitions.

Fourth finger.
“Sabin
wants them landed on the planet where they'll be swallowed up forever in a sea of Mospheirans.” Thumb. “The
majority
of Reunioners want to build new space onto this station and integrate with the Mospheirans, who don't want them to be there.”

“Six,”
Bren said, holding up his own thumb.
“Mospheira
has an opinion in this affair. Mind, I haven't consulted on this one—I'm a long way from representing Mospheira at all, these days—but Mospheira won't want a rival government setting up out at Maudit any more than they'll want Mospheiran-born workers outnumbered and outvoted by Reunioners on the station. They won't want Reunioners settling in atevi territory, which atevi would never permit, anyway. But they also know, like it or not, that five thousand Reunioners aren't going to go away.”

“Whatever happens,” Jase said, “however we resolve the question, disposition of the Reunioners can't wait another year. It
can't.
The station had to surrender three entire sections to their residency, piecemeal, and jury-rigged. We have people living in what used to be workshops, partitioned-up, but extremely bare bones. Singles are still in barracks—that's a minor problem. But no jobs. No cooking facilities: you get food at kitchens, just like on the voyage. There's a flourishing black market, and theft we haven't had to cope with on the Mospheiran side. Fights break out, and Braddock's people swagger about attempting to say they run things, even holding trials. It's not tolerable long-term. And Tillington's just gone over the edge, accusing Sabin of conspiracy, stirring things up on the Mospheiran side. So this is a quiet request, just an advisement. Can you do something about Tillington—move him out, move him up or down, no preference, but get him somewhere he can't cause more trouble? And is there
any
way to look at getting the Mospheiran legislature to bring the Reunioners downworld?”

Bren drew a deep breath. It was a sane proposal. With the new med, the fact there'd been
no
such sickness as Jase had experienced before, either in Jase or the children—yes. It became possible. That didn't mean it was going to be an easy proposal to advance in the Mospheiran legislature. But yes, if the ship had come up with something to enable an easier transition to the planet—if it had found a way to prove the Reunioners could live and thrive down here—

“I'm doing all right down here,” Jase said. “I'm adjusting. Those Reunioner kids have no problems.
Nothing.
They've skipped pills. Two have been off them more I suspect than they admit. They're not sick, so they forget. So Reunioners
can
adjust to being down here. We supply the population with meds for a few months . . . and their way of looking at the world will adjust. Maybe a few will have to go back, for medical reasons that haven't turned up yet. But right now—if the Mospheiran legislature hasn't been getting the word from their constituents up there—we're still fragile. Damned fragile. We've got water, we've got basic protein and carbohydrate, but there are shortages of things we need. Diet's not what it was. And I waited to bring this up now because I didn't want to be debating it while we were trying to deal with the kids and everything else that was going on. Then the Sabin and Tillington matter blew up, making it impossible to put the problem off any longer. I'm sorry to tie the two together. But they tie themselves together, unfortunately. Tillington doesn't want the Reunioners, and he apparently doesn't want any Reunioner kids on the planet.”

“Landing does become possible.” They'd been consistently hearing only two solutions for the refugees . . . Maudit, or a station expansion. There were serious objections to both. Now . . . “Where do the captains stand? You want me to propose this as a program?”

“It's Sabin's position. And mine.”

“Not Ogun's?”

“Ogun wouldn't be unhappy to be rid of the problem.”

“The logistics are impossible. Five thousand people, going down by shuttle, between cargo runs.”

“Easier down than up.”

“It still takes the passenger modules.”

“There's light freight you could pack into that config on the return.”

“That's still a lot of shuttle loads, while you're having shortages.”

“The more people we shed, the less pressure on the system. Mospheira's program's looking to launch a second shuttle next year. And we can build a second shuttle dock, granted Geigi will give us the resources. That doubles our ability to handle freight.”

“We can't double the shuttle schedule—they take the time they take.”

“We could build more shuttles. In space. So no unneeded ground time.”

Resources and construction gear tagged for the starship under construction had already been diverted to Geigi's robot landers and the satellite system. Resources
would
have to be diverted to a Maudit expedition or a station expansion: that the Reunioner problem was going to absorb resources was a given. And a second dock was safer, did conceivably speed turnover . . . increased options. There were ground holds because of a problem in orbit.

“Have you mentioned the idea to Geigi?”

“Not yet. But he's already contributed supplies, just in housing the refugees. He did say—which I certainly relayed to the Council—that the aiji will not permit the station to increase permanent human occupancy space without a corresponding increase in atevi population; and that if there
is
a decision to build a station out at Maudit, the same principle will apply.”

“That would be correct.”

“Tillington's also said he'd demand a Mospheiran presence at Maudit, whether or not he's gotten an official position on that, which also slows down any movement of the Reunioners elsewhere, because if we don't have shuttle space to spare, we definitely don't have transport for three different construction crews going to Maudit, let alone materials and habitat. I tell you, Bren, the damned thing just accretes parts and pieces, and most of them add to the problems rather than solving them. Everybody wants to control it. Nobody wants to actually do it. Whatever
it
is. And we can't go putting it off. This last year's been difficult. We're entering a second year with these people in temporary housing, on a diet that's bland beyond description and supplemented with pills. We've got to do something. And the anti-nausea med
works
. And human senses adjust. It's our best option, Bren. It's entirely possible.”

“It does change the picture. I agree. The logistics remain a problem.”

“The
politics
are a problem. And they're becoming a worse one. It's not anything analogous to the old situation, but both sides, at least at the administrative level, are treating it as if the old feud is alive and well.”

Mospheirans had fled to the planet in the first place because they'd fallen out with the ship and station administration. And Reunioners were the descendants of the old admin and the loyalists who had taken off and deserted the Mospheirans, only to return in
this
century, tail between their legs, having stirred up a worse mess than the War of the Landing.

Reunioners, in the person of Louis Baynes Braddock, wanted to dictate the future of humanity in space?

Packing the lot down to Earth became an increasingly attractive solution. Possibly it was going to be more attractive to the
majority
of the Reunioners.

“They've never experienced a planet. It won't be the same for them.”

“The kids had no trouble,” Jase said. “And these people aren't their ancestors. Reunion was gravity-anchored to a lump of rock and ice, not really a planet: there was no attraction there. But there
is
a natural attraction to this planet. The past isn't the present. Once you tell the Reunioners that the planet is a possibility for them—minds will change. And those kids just
proved
they can live down here. That's the point.”

“It's a better alternative than we
have
had.”

“Economically and logistically.”

“And politically. Mospheirans can make controversy out of siting a shuttle port they
do
want. Room for five thousand people they envision as the ancestors—”

“Versus an expansion of the station that's going to upset the Treaty. Or a separate state with a history of hostility.”

“The Reunioners won't all favor it,” Bren said.

“Braddock chief among that number. He wants his own station, out there, out of reach, with his hand-picked officers running things again.”

“He can still cause trouble. God knows, Mospheirans are always ready for issues.”

“Up there—there's no shortage of
issues.
Being short of food and living space is productive of
issues.”

“Mospheirans down here don't know Braddock's name,” Bren conceded. “Most don't have a clue about the Pilots' Guild. Nor, for that matter, do we actually care.”

A slight grim laugh. “The fact Louis Baynes Braddock still thinks he should order the Captains' Council doesn't impress them?”

“Not in the least.”

“Maybe we can bring Tillington on board, get him behind the notion of landing
all
the Reunioners, setting things back the way they were. . . .”

“I sincerely doubt it. For other reasons. Bren, the man poses a problem apart from the Reunioner issue.”

“He was a good administrator through the Troubles. He and Geigi worked out a system to communicate without us . . .”

“Which has become a problem. He doesn't want
me
involved and he certainly doesn't want Sabin. He's all snug with Ogun. And so far as his great achievement—that neat little system that doesn't require humans to communicate with atevi in anything
but
code, it's just a longer list of the code the shuttle program worked out, and Tillington's so devoted to it he doesn't call on
me
at all, or ask me to interpret the soft tissue of the answer. Geigi will ask me in depth. I have a good relationship with Lord Geigi. But with Tillington—no. With him, yes is yes, that's the end, and he'll read it according to what
he
thinks yes means. And if it later doesn't turn out to be the precise yes he wanted, then he says Geigi broke his promise. Communication staff to staff is cordial, accurate, and makes things run. Communication between the two stationmasters is another matter.”