“I thought they said it was some brain virus or something, from his fishing trips to the mountains.”
“That’s what they said then, but when we got that directive on removing rejuved chiefs from active duty until they’d been checked, that’s who I thought of. ’Course, he was medically retired by then, but I asked Pauli in sickbay, and he said he thought it probably had been a bad rejuv.”
“Bad rejuvs would let the people below move up . . .” a sergeant said softly. “Not that anyone would do something like that . . . I saw Chief Wang right at the end.”
“Maybe they didn’t know what it would do. I remember giving my mom’s pet sarri a cookie once, just sharing, y’know, and it went into convulsions and died. I had no idea they couldn’t eat our kind of food. But it was just as dead as if I’d poisoned it on purpose.”
“That’s true. Never attribute to malice what could be stupidity. It’s just as likely to be a cost-containment effort by procurement or even the manufacturer.”
Margiu had not even realized that some Fleet personnel had been rejuvenated; she couldn’t remember anyone mentioning it in the Academy. She wondered if any of the people in that room had been rejuved. How could she tell?
When the professor finished eating, he touched her sleeve. “Ensign—we’d better get some rest while we can. Do you remember where Commander Ardsan said we could bunk?”
Margiu showed him to the assigned room—clearly an officer’s quarters, now theirs for a few hours. They took turns in the shower, and changed into clean clothes. But before either of them dozed off, the commander told them that transport was ready.
This time the professor donned his PPU over street clothes, and then put his yellow leather jacket on top. “My friends out there will recognize this,” he pointed out.
“You’re a fine target that way.” The major who had met them at the quay was in charge of the mission; Margiu now knew his name—Antony Garson. A Lieutenant Lightfoot commanded the troops.
“True, but if we have to make a hostile landing, at least our side will know who I am.”
Margiu, who had on a clean PPU set to midnight blue, the default night-camouflage color, caught the major’s eye. He shrugged, and went to check on the rest of the group. Though it was only afternoon, the heavy cloud cover and spitting rain made it seem much later.
By the time they neared the Stack Islands again, daylight had faded into murky night. They’d had clouds all the way, which was supposed to be protective, though Margiu found it dreary as the plane seemed to crawl between two layers of darkening gray. As the light failed, no lights came on in the plane—for security reasons, she was told—but she could feel, all around her, the bulky shapes of the NEMs. The professor had fallen asleep, snoring as musically as the first time, and Margiu leaned cautiously against his shoulder, letting herself doze. She couldn’t lean the other way; the unfamiliar sidearm poked her. She woke when the plane slanted downward, and peered out the window into darkness.
“Umph!” That was the professor, almost choking on a final snore. “See anything?”
“No—it’s all dark.” How were they going to land? What if they ran into Stack Two, instead of landing on it? She could feel the plane sinking under her, and her ears popped repeatedly.
Then a sparkle of light appeared, somewhere in the gloom . . . a tiny bright line, then another line.
“Lights,” she said to the professor.
As they drew closer, she could see that the lights outlined an ordinary runway, and other lights showed in buildings nearby. It looked so normal. . . .
The plane landed hard, bounced, came down firmly, and she rocked forward as the brakes caught. Instead of rolling up to one of the lighted buildings, the plane swung aside near the end of the landing strip. The NEMs were on their feet as soon as it landed. Margiu, lacking orders, stayed where she was; she and the professor had earbugs set to the same communications channel. Another plane, then another, came to a stop near them. In the dark, with only faint light from the runway lights, Margiu could just make out dark figures leaving one of the other planes.
Then someone forward opened the hatch of their plane, and a cold breath of sea air swirled into the plane, past the dark forms. Someone else muttered an order, and the troops began to move out into the night. Major Garson’s voice in her earbug sounded calm: “Professor—you and the ensign come on, now.” The professor heaved himself up, and Margiu scrambled out of her seat to follow him.
Outside, it was colder, but slightly less dark; Margiu could tell the professor from the others as a slightly lighter blur. She pulled up the hood of her PPU against the chill and stayed close to his side. A delicate red line pointed the way; someone had their laser guide on. She could feel the rasp of the runway surface under her boots. Was it safe? No one had fired a shot yet, and the troops seemed to know where they were going. She wasn’t sure where the first troops had gone; she couldn’t see them anymore.
“Looks secure for now, Professor,” the major’s voice spoke again in her earbug. “Come on inside.”
Margiu felt more than saw the troops closing in around them, a protective cordon, guiding them to one of the buildings near the landing strip. Ahead, a door opened, spilling out yellow light. She blinked, tried not to stare at the welcome light, but watched for any threat. She couldn’t see anything but the troops who had come with them, and the dark night beyond.
Inside, Major Garson was talking to a lieutenant commander; both of them looked tense and unhappy. Armed guards stood at each exit. Margiu looked past them to the civilians—the other scientists, she supposed—in the large room.
“Oh, Lord, it is Gussie,” one of the civilians said to the others. “Complete with that ugly yellow jacket and a cute redhead in tow . . .”
“She’s not a cute redhead in tow, she’s Ensign Pardalt.” The professor nodded at her. “Show some respect; she’s a very intelligent young woman—”
“Meaning he talked your ear off and you didn’t object,” the other man said, flashing a smile at Margiu. “I’m Helmut Swearingen, by the way.” He turned back to the professor.
“When you didn’t show up this morning, Gussie, and then those people took the station, we were afraid you’d been captured—”
“How far have you gotten?” the professor asked.
The other man grimaced and nodded toward the officers near the door. “Nowhere. As soon as we heard—and Ty was on the radio, trying to find out where you were, so we heard right away—I went to our base commander and told him we should start dismantling the work in progress, destroying notes. He wouldn’t have it—insisted he had to wait for orders, that we were under Fleet discipline. Even said we might be mutineers ourselves. He’s had us under guard, in this room—”
“What’s he like?” the professor asked, in a lower voice.
“A worrier. The only good thing about him is that he’s technically trained, so at least he’s understood some of what we’re doing. He’s actually got an advanced degree, studied with Bruno at the Gradus Institute. But he’s got a serious addiction to regulations, and he claims regulations won’t let him make any independent decisions about what we have here.”
“We don’t have time to waste. What’s his name?”
“Alcandor Vinet.”
The two officers were glowering at each other now. Margiu looked from one to the other.
“Excuse me,” the professor said. “Commander Vinet? I’m Professor Aidersson; you were expecting me this morning—”
“You’re late, Professor,” Vinet said. “But I suppose, under the circumstances, this is understandable.”
“Yes,” the professor said. “Now that I’m here, I’m taking charge of the research unit. We’ll need to start clearing away files before the mutineers can capture—”