She could have been down there. She could have been huddling in that miserable foul-smelling life raft, struggling to learn how to survive in a storm.
“I don’t think I quite like that major,” the professor said. Margiu glanced at him. His amiable face had set into an expression of cold distaste. “Not someone with the right grasp of priorities.”
Safer to say nothing, especially since her stomach was leaping around with the turbulence.
“Are you all right?” he asked, then answered his own question. “No, I see that you are not. Here-” He put something chilly and wet on her cheek, the only exposed skin. “Antinausea patch. I put one on while they were still arguing. Close your eyes, and lean back-takes about thirty seconds.”
Margiu counted to herself, and by twenty-seven felt that her stomach had settled. She opened her eyes. Behind, over the noise of the engines, she heard the major retching, but even the sour smell of vomit didn’t make her stomach lurch. The professor leaned away from her. “Here, Major-an antinausea patch-”
The man said nothing, but the professor’s hand came back empty, and he turned to wink at her. Margiu smiled uncertainly.
“Always come prepared,” the professor said. “Nausea adds to no one’s ability to think and act effectively. You’re better now?”
“Yes,” Margiu said.
Once the plane was in level flight, the pilot spoke over the intercom.
“I realize all of you have urgent orders to the various Stack Islands bases, but we have some problems to deal with. MetSatIV is offline, and has been for several hours. We do not know what our weather will be, and there’s an additional concern about security at Stack Three. They can say what they like, but with the commander dead-we’re heading back to Dark Harbor.”
“I’m going to see what I can do for that poor lad,” the professor said, unstrapping himself.
“But the major-”
“Has no authority over me-as he so rudely pointed out, I’m a civilian. And he’s not any of the military officers to whom I report-he can bluster, but that’s all. Besides-” He pointed, and Margiu craned her head to look. The major was sleeping, ungracefully slumped in the seat with one hand dangling to the deck. The professor winked at her again.
“There are antinausea patches and antinausea patches,” he said. “He’ll be out for several hours.”
The rescued corporal, though swathed in blankets at the rear of the cabin, looked miserable enough. He had not thrown up, but his face had a greenish cast. Across from him, the corpse had been wrapped in another and lashed to the deck.
“How about giving him a patch?” the professor asked the crew chief.
“Fine with me-I notice our major is sleeping peacefully-”
“Nausea is so exhausting,” the professor said. “Here, now-” He put a patch on the corporal’s cheek. “That should help.”
“He really needs fluids and calories,” the crew chief said. “If he can hold ’em down.”
“In a minute or two,” the professor said. “What do you make of this?”
“A mess, sir. This lad’s a Meharry-may not mean much to you, but it’s a family with a proud history in Fleet. Meharrys are known to be a tough bunch to tangle with, but they’ve always been loyal.”
“So-what do you think happened?”
“I don’t know, sir. The major, he said no one was to talk to him-”
“And the major’s authority-”
The crew chief sucked his cheeks in. “Well, sir-he outranks me. The pilot’s in command here, but he’s busy with the craft and I don’t like to bother him. It’s always a pain when one of the MetSats is out.”
“How often does that happen?”
“MetSatIV’s been buggy for the past two years or more. There’s a new youngster at Blue Islands who’s been keeping it up more often, but even he slips sometimes.”
“Mmm . . . and how long has he been there?”
“Oh-eighteen months, perhaps.”
“Is MetSatIV our communications link?”
“No, it’s a general surveillance satellite. Outplanet, it’s part of the passive sensor array for the whole planet; inplanet, it’s a broad-band visual and EM scanner. If it had been up, for instance, we’d have found that life raft with less trouble.”
“But the life raft’s beacon-”
“Oh, it has a direct signal to GPS satellites. But they’re not set up for visual scans. And the beacon has to be turned on by the occupant, after which it puts up a signal every two hours minimum. You can drift a long way in two hours.”
“Tell me, Chief: if there hadn’t been a life raft or a flight out here, and MetSatIV was down, would anyone have spotted a landing out here?”
“Landing, sir?”
“Landing . . . like . . . oh . . . drop shuttles from a warship?”
“On Copper Mountain? Well, Big Ocean is a training area for wet drops, but a ship couldn’t get that close without the other units spotting it, even if MetSat IV were offline.”
“What about the drop shuttles?”
“Once they were down below the horizon-I suppose-there aren’t any ground scanners out here, of course. But-what made you think of that? And what difference would it make?”
“With all due respect for the honor of the Fleet, Chief, I’ve never known a society of saints. If there is a way to smuggle contraband and make a profit off it, people will do it. I can’t think of a better way to smuggle than to be able to turn off the lights when you wish.”
The chief flushed, but finally grinned. “Well, sir, you’re right about that. I’ve never been on a ship that didn’t have at least one unauthorized animal, person, or substance, be it what you will.”
“So my question is, what might be smuggled that would involve the commander of the prison?”
“I don’t know, sir.”
“Nor I. But since I was headed for Stack Islands myself, I am naturally interested. Smuggling goes both ways-persons or materials can be introduced, or removed. The Weapons Research Facility naturally comes to mind-”
“Sir-” That was the corporal, his face now pale but no longer waxy greenish. His voice was weak, but clear enough.
“You need water and food,” said the crew chief. “And I’ll need to tell the pilot you’re able to talk.”
“I can give him something,” Margiu said. The crew chief handed her one of the self-heating soup packets, already squeezed and warming, and went forward. When its heat stripe matched the dot at the end, Margiu put the tube to the corporal’s mouth.
The professor waited until he’d finished, then said, “You had something to tell us?”
“Yes, sir. Commander Bacarion was one of Lepescu’s followers,” the corporal said. Margiu felt a sudden chill.
“Means nothing to me,” the professor said. “You?” The crew chief shook his head. Margiu nodded.
“Admiral Lepescu was using prisoners as prey . . . he was part of a secret society that held manhunts. They used human ears as recognition symbols.”
“How’d you know that?”
“I was reading up on Commander Heris Serrano-because of Xavier, it’s my home planet, and she saved us-and found that after she resigned her commission, her crew had been condemned and used as prey. So I read what I could find on Lepescu. But-you’re sure Bacarion’s one of his followers? They were all arrested, I thought.”
“Yes. She admitted it to me, when she tried to kill me the second time.”
“The second time?”
“Yes. The first time she had someone push me off the cliff.” Corporal Meharry coughed, then went on. “You mentioned Commander Serrano, sir-my sister Methlin Meharry was one of Serrano’s crew. She was imprisoned here, and then hunted later. She survived; she’s back in Fleet now. So when I found out Bacarion had been on Lepescu’s staff, I knew she’d do something. That’s why I made preparations, and even so she almost got me. But that’s not all-not just private vengeance, I mean. I’m sure she was up to something, but I coul
dn’t figure out what.”
“But now that we’ve thought of something-vague enough, still.”
“The prisoners!” Meharry said. “Lepescu used prisoners before, as prey. What if she were using them a different way-as troops?”
“To do what?” the chief asked.
“Nothing good,” the professor said. “Maybe she was going to sell them off to someone who wanted to hunt them, or maybe she was going to use them to hunt something . . . but whatever it was, it’s bound to be bad.”
“We must tell someone-” The same thought must have occurred to them all at once, from the startled glances.
“Yes, but who?” The chief shook his head. “Now our pilot, I’d trust-but you don’t know him. For that matter, you don’t know me.”
“A bit late to worry about that now,” the professor said. “And the pilot must know, you’re right. And must inform as many others as possible. You do not run a major conspiracy from such a small base as Stack Three. You run a small one which you hope will become big. There must be plenty of people not involved within radio range.”
“Big enough if they’re behind turning off MetSatIV,” the chief said. “And if it involves bringing a ship in. Using LACs means conspirators on that ship, a lot of them. The LAC flight crews, for instance, as well as a majority of bridge officers.”
“What if they did embark convicts? Just the ones they’d picked? Then attacked the orbital station? They’d control access to the whole planet . . .”
“And the system defenses,” the professor said. “And the weapons research labs. A fine start to a mutiny, if anyone wanted to start a mutiny.”
Chapter Eighteen
By the time Margiu and the others landed at Dark Harbor, their worst guesses had been confirmed.
“They’ve got the orbital station,” an angry major told them, the cold wind whipping his uniform around his legs as he stood on the end of the quay. “We bounced your call up, but it was already happening. Bonar Tighe picked up convicts from Stack Three with its LACs, and armed them-used them as shock troops. We think-we hope-that somebody on the station got a tightbeam out and tripped the ansible alarm, but we aren’t sure. The mutineers have cut off all communications from topside, and they can control the system defenses from there too. We know of six other ships insystem-anyone care to lay odds on how many of them are mutineers?” No one did.
“So what can we do?” asked the pilot.
“Damn little. Polacek over at Main has declared a state of emergency, of course, but there aren’t any jump-capable ships onplanet, not even little ones. We don’t have any missiles capable of taking out the station or any of the ships in space-why would we? We’re stuck down a gravity well. I hate planets!”
Margiu had heard this before, from many a Fleet officer, but she was just as glad to be on something solid.
“Think they’ll try to invade?” asked the professor.
“I don’t know.” The pilot shrugged. “Who knows what they’re going to do? They’re not telling us anything. Let’s get all of you under cover, and see what else you might know. Does that corporal you rescued need a medical assist?”
“No, sir; I can walk.” Corporal Meharry still looked pale to Margiu, but he was reasonably steady on his feet.
“Good. Chief, get this craft secured; I’ve arranged transport for the corpse. We’ll need statements from all of you . . . where’s that major?”
“Still pretty groggy, I imagine,” the professor said. “I’m afraid I may have administered a stronger antinausea patch than necessary. I’d like to talk to your base commander, if I might.”
Margiu looked at him. He had been calm and even cheerful until he’d thought of the mutiny, but now his face had stiffened into a grim mask. He caught her eye and managed a smile, but with none of his earlier warmth.
The little base headquarters seethed with tension and activity both. The major who had met them ushered them to the base commander’s office. Lieutenant Commander Ardsan glowered at them for a long moment.
“It’s not your fault, but I could wish you’d figured it out an hour earlier,” he said. “Even an hour might’ve given those people a chance.”
Margiu felt guilty, but the professor clearly didn’t. “Nonsense, sir,” he said. “An hour before, we were dealing with a corpse, a survivor, an oncoming squall . . . and I doubt very much that hour would have done more than prolong the carnage. The mutineers will have had accomplices on that station, as they had on Stack Three.”
“You’re probably right,” Ardsan said. “But it’s so frustrating-we don’t have land lines everywhere, and with the mutineers in control topside, we can’t get anything through the relay satellites.” He pushed a data cube from side to side on his desk. “We have short-range ground radio, but they can interdict that from topside if they choose. They’ve cut off the weather information, too, which is going to make it hard to fly from one base to another. Polacek wants everyone to gather at Main, but that just makes us a handy target, the way I look at it.”
“Are we sure of his loyalty?” the professor asked.
“I’m not sure of anyone right now. I never thought anything like this would happen, but then the whole Xavier mess shocked me. I don’t understand it-”
“I think the point is how to handle it now,” the professor said. “I have a very specific problem in mind. I’m a weapons specialist; I was on my way to Stack Two to consult on the progress of some of their research.” He handed Ardsan a flake. “You’ll want to check my clearance, of course.”
“Of course,” Ardsan murmured. He swung around and slid the flake into a slot in the cube reader. Margiu caught a glimpse of the screen before Ardsan flicked it off. “Well, that’s clear enough.” He looked pale. “I don’t think I ever saw a-” He glanced at Margiu and away. “-Anyone with that level clearance before.”
“Probably not,” the professor said. “But we put our pants on one leg at a time, the same as you. Now. I happen to know that there are weapons under development there which you do not want the mutineers to have. And the fact of the matter is, if someone on that base is not part of this, I’ll be very surprised.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Why else would they start a mutiny here, in this system? Why not meet in some quiet out-of-the-way location, safe from discovery? I would wager that if Commander Bacarion had not been killed-if all had gone according to plan-one of those LACs would have picked up personnel and weapons from Stack Two. I suggest you check the records of the personnel stationed there very carefully.”
Ardsan frowned. “We don’t really have the facilities for that, Professor. I can look up who’s in command, but that’s about all. I’m not even sure I can get a list of personnel. With the mutineers in control of our communications, we can’t access the personnel records back at Main, and we don’t keep copies here at Dark Harbor.”
“I see.” The professor drummed his fingers on his knee for a long moment. “Well, Commander, if I were you I’d figure out a way to send some troops out there to secure the base.”
“But-how?”
“We flew out there before. Can’t we do it again?”
“But we have no weather data-they’ve cut off our feed from the weathersats.”
The professor leaned forward. “Commander, I’m telling you-if you don’t secure that base, and keep the mutiny from getting hold of those weapons, you’ll wish you had to the end of your life, which will probably not be a long one. Now several things can happen. We can try to go back and not make it and crash in the sea. We can try to go back and-if enough of the personnel are involved-they might shoot us out of the sky, if they happen to notice us. We can get there and fail to secure the base, although I believe if you send along enough troops that won’t happen. We can get there and secure the base, and the mutineers topside can land a force and drive us off . . . but if we have enough time, we’ll have destroyed at least the worst of the weapons. Or we can sit here and do nothing, and be dea
d with no chance of helping out.” He sat back. “I personally think that is the worst option.”
“I-I should contact Commander Polacek.”
“No, Commander, you should not. You’ve already said you aren’t sure of his loyalty. You know communications are compromised. You know what my authority is.”
“He’s right,” Margiu said, surprising herself by speaking up. “If we’re going back out there, we have to do it before they send shuttles down.”
Ardsan looked from one to the other, frowning. Finally he sighed. “All right. All right . . . let me think. We need transport that can land at Stack Two and carry troops-” He touched his desk comunit. “Chief-look up what we have on the personnel at Stack Two. And give me an estimate of our security forces here.”
The professor interrupted. “Are there any heavy cargo craft based here?”
“We have the heavy-duty aircars we use along the coast, but we don’t like to take them out over the open ocean. They sink like rocks if the power plant fails. That’s why we use the amphibs.”
“How long would it be before the mutineers could send shuttles down?”
“Depends on whether the station had any short-field shuttles ready to go. The usual shuttles require longer landing fields; there are only four long fields on the whole planet, and two of them are only used for emergencies. The LACs from Bonar Tighe can do it, of course, but they’ll require refueling and service-at least a couple of hours of turnaround. Those other ships . . . I don’t know which had LACs, and if those LACs were ready for drop. Then unless a ship did a low pass, the LACs would need several hours-I don’t really know how many-to fly in. If they launched additional LACs immediately after taking the station, the mutineers could be on that island now. Or, if they’re delayed, it could be tomorrow or the next day.”
“And the flight times of your available craft?”
“Depends on the windspeed and direction-and we have no weathersats now. Five hours, six-I can’t say exactly.”
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