“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 couldn’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.”