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CHAPTER SEVEN

You can feel the difference already, Raeder thought as he moved around the cavernous brightness of Main Deck, talking to the flight crews, making his presence felt.

"My confident attitude isn't making much headway against the failing morale of my people, though," he muttered to himself.

"How long to fix this?" Raeder asked arap Moi.

"This Speed, sir?" Arap Moi was studying a section of wing as he spoke. "Twenty minutes, maybe half an hour." The CPO shrugged. "If you're asking about the way everybody's feeling, sir," he glanced at the commander, "I have no idea when, or how, or even if it can be fixed."

"Don't hold back, Chief," Raeder said dryly. "Tell me how you really feel."

"Mad as hell, sir. Betrayed, beaten up," he looked at Raeder seriously, "and damned sad. You didn't have a chance to get to know Pilot Officer Longo, but she was a nice woman and a good pilot." Arap Moi shook his head. "This really hit me hard. Things were going so well since you got here, I guess we all thought maybe we weren't going to have any more `accidents.' " He put a bitter spin on the word.

Raeder thinned his lips. He'd known that Captain Knott thought he was supposed to save them all from whatever was going on. But he somehow never imagined that everybody else expected him to be the knight-hero of the Invincible, too. He shuddered to think what the Old Man was going to say to him.

He won't have to say anything. All he'll need to do is look at me with those cold gray eyes of his and I'll feel like a three-year-old who's lost his toilet training. 

"Commander Raeder," William Booth said. The head of Security was looking formidably official as he approached.

"Would you mind leaving us alone, Chief?" Booth's eyes studied arap Moi with suspicion and dislike. "I have something confidential to discuss with the commander."

"If you could hang on just a minute, Mr. Booth," Raeder asked, smiling insincerely. "I have something to finish up with the chief. Why don't I meet you in my cubby?"

"Certainly, Commander," the Security chief said, stiff-faced. "I was going to suggest that." Booth saluted, and when Raeder returned it, he spun on his heel and strode off toward the office area.

That fool has a serious pickle up the butt, Raeder thought. His eyes met the chief's, and Raeder couldn't help but grin, because he could see that arap Moi had thought much the same thing.

"You and the Security chief don't seem to be on good terms," Raeder remarked casually.

The chief pursed his lips thoughtfully. "It's more like, Mr. Booth sees it as part of his responsibilities to regard everyone below a certain rank as innately suspicious."

"So he's a bully," Raeder said.

"Now, I didn't say that, sir. I tend to think of Mr. Booth as just being . . . overwhelmingly conscientious." Arap Moi looked at the commander blandly.

Raeder's lips twitched, but he suppressed his smile. Booth's not awfully bright, or very good at his job, but he is overwhelmingly conscientious. That's kinda scary. 

"If there is any history between the two of you, Chief, even if it was an argument over someone else, I'd like to be informed."

The CPO nodded. "I wouldn't exactly call it a history, sir. He threw a couple of our people in the brig for a fistfight and I thought he was being a little hard on 'em."

"And," Raeder prompted.

"And I told him so and he told me to mind my own business. As it happens, the captain agreed with me and ordered the men released. And no," he said quickly, anticipating Raeder's next question, "I didn't speak to the Old Man about it."

"But Booth doesn't know that," Peter said thoughtfully.

"Well, he should," arap Moi sounded disgusted. "It's not like the captain and I are tight. Or like either of us would violate the chain of command."

Raeder did laugh at that. To a career NCO like arap Moi, the chain of command was sacred . . . but, well, adjustable.

"Well, I'd better go see what he wants. Carry on, Chief."

"Yes, sir."

The chief turned back to his inspection and Raeder headed for his cubby.

 

Booth paced back and forth in front of Commander Raeder's locked office, a luxury possible only on a capital ship, and still involving an occasional unconscious duck-and-dodge as someone else used the corridor. He was annoyed to be kept waiting and equally annoyed at how it put him at a disadvantage. It was important to maintain a certain status, a certain balance. Particularly while conducting an investigation.

If, as now, someone succeeded at putting you in a subordinate position, undermined your dignity, then you had a responsibility to do the same to them. "Get your own back," he muttered to himself, wondering just how much longer he would wait. It would serve the commander right if when he finally showed up it was only to find him gone.

He was just turning to leave when Raeder turned the corner.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Booth," he said, holding his hands out and shaking his head. "Every time I turned to go someone else stopped me. As you can imagine, things are chaotic down there." Actually I did intend to make you wait, but not this long. He'd resented the way Booth had treated the CPO and wanted to take him down a peg or two. But this was stretching things; it had been almost thirty minutes.

"As you can imagine," Booth said coldly, "it's pretty chaotic in my department, too." He watched Raeder thumbprint his lock open and then preceded the commander through the door, stopping in the doorway to look around, then stepping forward so that Raeder could enter as well.

"Please, have a seat, Mr. Booth," Raeder said mildly, as though he hadn't almost walked right into the jerk when he'd stopped short in the doorway. "What do you have for me?"

"I have questions," Booth said, looking at Raeder from under his eyebrows.

Well, damn, so do I. Good comeback, though. "So you haven't really learned anything?" Raeder said.

"I didn't say that," the Security chief protested mildly. "I said `I have questions.' "

Suddenly Raeder understood that the Security chief thought he was living a crime novel and, big surprise, Booth was the beleaguered hero. Great, just what we need. The kind of die-hard cynicism that insists everybody's guilty of something. That oughta move things along nicely. It was also the kind of attitude that would dismiss out of hand anything that didn't fit into the ongoing storyline. This guy doesn't have conversations, he recites dialogue. Peter allowed himself an imaginary sigh. Maybe we'll get further if I get into character. Raeder leaned back in his chair.

"Shoot," he said.

Booth narrowed his eyes and casually crossed his legs. "Tell me what you know about Lieutenant Robbins," he invited.

"What I know is pretty much what's in her personnel folder and that is that she's good at her job and not a people person." Raeder shrugged. "I've only been here for a short time, I've had a lot to catch up on and the lieutenant isn't what you'd call a forthcoming person. My overall impression of her is positive, though. She's just not someone who handles people well." Which is what even her most ardent partisans, all two of them, will tell you. So it's not like I'm betraying one of my own. 

It just felt that way.

Booth tapped his right forefinger on Raeder's desk as he studied the commander. "What about the rest of the flight crew?" he asked.

Raeder shrugged. "I'm in the same position with them. There just hasn't been time to really get to know anybody. Heck, I've been wanting to talk to you practically since I came here and I haven't had the chance to do more than say hello at the captain's dinner."

Booth's eyes glittered and he sat forward eagerly. "You wanted to see me?" He looked at Raeder from the corners of his eyes. "Why?"

"I had questions about Commander Okakura's death. Like, what exactly did the investigation turn up. I've heard it was a defective AI that caused the accident." Peter leaned forward, elbows on the desk, his hands folded before him. "Considering this latest incident, I'd really appreciate your sharing whatever information you might have. I need to know what to be on the lookout for." Boy, do I need to know! 

Booth leaned to one side, his eyes narrowed, his lips pursed. "The bare facts you've laid out are all the facts," he said, and shrugged. "The AI malfunctioned. It wasn't as big a deal as today's, of course."

I imagine Okakura would dispute that, Raeder thought.

"So was it a hardware or a software failure?" he asked aloud.

"I was told it was software," Booth said, looking uncomfortable. "But of course I was obliged to take the lieutenant's word for it, she being the primary expert on the scene. We were sort of forced to bring in a verdict of accident. You know what I mean?"

"Mmm," Raeder said noncommittally. No wonder the captain wanted me to investigate. This bozo sure didn't. "So, when can I have my people back? We could use the extra hands."

"We're still interviewing them. I'll probably be releasing the flight crew by tomorrow sometime. But I'm going to keep the lieutenant in custody."

"Do you really suspect anyone in the flight crew?" Raeder asked, wrinkling his forehead. I mean, even I can see the lieutenant makes a good suspect, but that doesn't carry over to everyone who touched that Speed. 

"Not really," Booth said, the faintest of condescending smiles pulling up the corners of his mouth, "but they may know something. If we keep them isolated and question them thoroughly, we might just help them remember a minor detail that could be the key to the big picture."

"And Lieutenant Robbins?" Raeder asked.

"Well," Booth leaned forward confidentially, "this can't become common knowledge, Commander." He waited for Raeder's slow nod. "She was seen late last night entering Lieutenant Givens' Speed." The Security chief pursed his lips and shrugged his brows suggestively. "Y'ask me, that doesn't look too good. Y'know what I mean?"

"I'm told that she always does a last check on all the Speeds the night before they fly," Raeder said. "Who saw her?"

"That would be telling," Booth said coyly.

"Yes. It would be telling me. Which I insist that you do, Chief. Those are my people you're holding and this fiasco happened on my watch. I want, no, I need to know everything about this incident and the last one so that I can help you get to the bottom of this." Because I can see that you couldn't investigate your way out of a revolving door. 

The Security chief shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "I shouldn't," he muttered. "It's an ongoing investigation."

"Are you saying that I'm a suspect?" Raeder asked in disbelief. "Even though this stuff started long before I got here and I hardly even know my own staff."

"No, no of course not, Commander."

"Then tell me what I need to know so that I can help you." Raeder was barely holding on to his temper now. I can just imagine how Robbins must feel. Matter of fact, I think I can feel a super-nova heating up down brig-ward. 

"The quartermaster was down on Main Deck, looking for you, he said.

"For me?" Raeder asked in surprise. "What time was this?"

"Twenty-four hundred," Booth said, looking a little petulant.

"Kind of late, wasn't it?" Raeder asked. And what did he want with me? He never mentioned it at breakfast. 

"Not for the lieutenant," Booth snapped back.

"Mmm. Well, as I've said, she's unusually dedicated." Raeder wanted only two things from the Security chief. One was for him to go, the other was to get his people back.

"Look, Chief," he said, rising, "I'm afraid I'm going to have to insist that you either charge my people or let them go. We can order them not to discuss anything with each other or anybody else, but if you hold them overnight it's going to look like you think they're guilty of something. Given the emotional temperature out on Main Deck, I'd rather not subject them to that kind of suspicion. For one thing it's not fair. For another I'm pretty sure it's not legal, even under the wartime sections of the Space Command Justice Code. And last but not least, it'll play hell with performance. This ship is supposed to be working up to combat readiness, you know."

The chief, who'd been about to protest, shut his mouth with a clop.

"You may be right," he said darkly.

"And the captain probably wouldn't like it."

"No," Booth said, more darkly still.

"So when can I expect them?" Raeder pressed, walking around his desk.

The Security chief rose with a heavy sigh. "Now, I guess. If I can't hold 'em I might as well let them go. But," he raised a cautionary finger at Raeder, "don't let them discuss this with anybody but me."

"Or me, naturally," Raeder said with a smile.

"Yeah," Booth said grimly, "or you."

"And Lieutenant Robbins," Raeder persisted. Although the brig might be the safest place for her until Givens cools off. 

But Booth was shaking his head. "No," he declared firmly and turned to the door, "sir," he said, just as he left.

Is everyone on this ship an eccentric? Peter wondered. Don't we have any normal people? 

Suddenly, Lieutenant Givens, followed by the squadron leader, appeared in the door, righteous anger blazing in their eyes.

Oh, oh. It's the attack of the normal people. 

* * *

Cynthia Robbins' fine brown eyes were practically shooting sparks as she sat stiffly, hands folded on the tabletop before her and answered the Security chief's questions again. 

"As I said, I do a last check on every Speed that's scheduled to fly. I've always done so." She shut her mouth and stared mulishly at the chief.

"And what do you—"

"I run a brief diagnostic," she said anticipating Booth's question. "Look for tools that may have been left behind, make sure that everything that should be sealed is, that kind of thing. Maybe if you wrote this down, Chief, or recorded it, you wouldn't have so much trouble remembering it."

"Except for Lieutenant Givens' craft," Booth said, ignoring her sarcasm and giving her a look of oily suspicion. "You took your time with his."

"Yes, sir, I did. We've had a lot of funny little problems with his Speed, so I felt the extra attention was justified."

"And that's how you just happened to find that insignificant little glitch in the diagnostic," Booth jeered.

"Found it, logged it, and recommended that Lieutenant Givens' Speed be withheld from the exercise," she said with deceptive calm. "But I was overruled."

"But isn't that what you expected, Lieutenant?" Booth goaded. "Isn't that what you planned?"

"What?" Robbins leaned forward as though to hear better, her elfin face screwed up into a perplexed expression.

"All those times that Speed was held back and taken apart, only to find that nothing was wrong. All those false alarms adding up to today." Booth was really hitting his stride now, the accusations coming faster and faster. "Cry wolf often enough and nobody believes you. Isn't that right, Lieutenant? You don't like Lieutenant Givens do you, Lieutenant?"

"About as much as he likes me, Chief. Perhaps he sabotaged his Speed to make me look bad. Did you ever think of that?" Do you ever think at all? she wondered.

"Lieutenant Givens was almost killed today. He was trapped in a rogue Speed, hell, he only barely made it out!" Booth's face reddened slightly in annoyance. He didn't appreciate being force-fed new ideas when he'd made up his mind.

"So he says, Chief, but we only have his word for it. The evidence has been reduced to drifting atoms." Robbins gave the Security chief a straight on look that demanded he listen to her.

"Are you suggesting that he deliberately killed Longo?" Booth's eyes went wide as the implications hit him. "Why would he do that?"

"I have no idea what his relationship with the pilot officer was like," the lieutenant said primly. And I'll bet you don't, either, she sneered mentally. "All I know is that my vigorous protest of releasing that Speed for duty is a matter of record. As are Lieutenant Givens and the squadron leader's equally vigorous insistence that I be overruled."

"Are you accusing the squadron leader now?"

Booth was aware that he'd lost control of this interview, but he didn't care. These were such intriguing ideas. And, hell, he wouldn't object to bagging bigger game. For a few seconds he imagined the sheen it would put on his reputation. But then, Robbins was disliked and alone, whereas the squadron leader and Givens were charismatic and well liked.

"I'm not accusing anybody, Chief, I'm merely pointing out that there are other people you might be suspicious of." And would be if you weren't so lazy. 

"Ah, but you, of all people on the ship, have both the specialized knowledge and the widely known dislike of the lieutenant. And you were seen lurking on Main Deck last night. And those three things make you the ideal suspect, Lieutenant, and that's why I'm arresting you." The urge to shout "Book 'er!" made Booth's lips twitch.

Robbins leaned forward and snapped, "The only thing I'm guilty of is doing my job! And I do not lurk," she said through her teeth.

Booth rose and slowly walked to the door. "That's not how I see it," he said grimly. Then he whisked himself out of the room before she could utter another word.

 

The Mollie laid the steel rod on the floor and, arms in a position of crucifixion, knelt upon it.

"Forgive me, O Mighty One, for my failure. I had thought to put that swaggering fornicator before you for judgment. Forgive me my pride, O Mighty One, that let me imagine myself your tool in bringing sinners to justice. If it were so, then that disgusting pig would be wallowing before your throne begging for mercy, ready for the everlasting flames. Forgive me, O Mighty One, for my self-serving anger that blinded me to my duty. Instead of being motivated by their neglect and scorn for You, O Mighty One, I was angry over their indifference and disdain for me. Forgive me, O Mighty One, I offer my pain in reparation of my selfish lapse in my duty. This moment, I rededicate myself to Your service. I pray that You will hear my plea and accept my unworthy offering. Amen."

The Mollie infiltrator would remain in this painful position for four hours. Far too little time in the eyes of the Interpreters of the Perfect Way. But it was imperative the agent appear unimpaired. Therefore the punishment would be repeated every other night for four nights.

"I am a weak and feeble vessel," the Mollie whispered, arms already beginning to shake with weariness, "yet I will succeed, for my cause is just, and the Mighty One will protect and guide me."

The agent tried to take comfort in the fact that the sabotage had effected some successes. One of the Godless pilots was dead, two Speeds were totally destroyed and would not trouble the Ecclesia again, and many other Speeds were severely damaged. Additionally, the pathetic weaklings, unsustained by the Perfect Way, suffered a severe drop in morale.

The agent shyly laid these accomplishments on the altar of atonement, in hopes of making the offering more sweet.

"May their hearts break within them," the Mollie intoned, "may they die of despair, may they drown in bitterness." Hatred spurted through the wall of shame, as boiling lava springs from the planet's broken crust. And the Mollie knew forgiveness, knew the offering of pain had been accepted.

"Oh, thank you, Mighty One," the agent prayed, while tears as hot as the anger burning within fell, unchecked, to the floor. "Thank you!"

 

 

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