Huber locked his faceshield down and cued it to the imagery Tranter’s probe was picking up. He had no context for what he was looking at: a series of chips were set in a board bracketed between iridium bulkheads. On the bottom of the board was an additional chip, attached to the circuits on the other side with hair-fine wires.
“Hang on, I’ve got the catalog,” Edlinger replied. They were using lapel mikes because their commo helmets were too bulky for some of the spaces they were slipping into. “Can you give me more magnification? Are those two reds, a blue and a …”
“Purple and white, Chief,” Tranter said. “The fourth line’s a purple and white.”
“Roger that,” said Edlinger. “A simple control circuit, sonny. Probably made on Sonderby, wouldn’t you say?”
A dozen chips flashed up on Huber’s faceshield beside the real-time image, matches that the chief’s AI had found in a catalog of parts and equipment. They could’ve been many mirror images as far as Huber could tell, but the techs and their electronics apparently found minute differences among them.
“Galieni said he’d been trained on Sonderby,” Edlinger added in a somber voice. “I don’t doubt that he was, but I’d be willing to bet that it wasn’t Southern Cross Spacelines that hired him when he left school.”
The original image blanked as Sergeant Tranter squirmed back out of the equipment bay. Huber raised his faceshield as the chief walked around from the other side of the car.
“All right,” said Huber. “What does it do? Is it a bomb?”
“It isn’t a bomb, El-Tee,” Tranter said, squatting for a moment before he got to his feet. “It’s a control circuit, and it’s been added to the air defense board. It’s got an antenna wire out through the channel for the running lights—that’s how I noticed it.”
“They could’ve set it to switch off the guns when somebody sent a coded radio signal, Huber,” Edlinger added. “That’s the most likely plan, though it depends on exactly where on the board they were plugged in. I’m not sure we can tell with just the maintenance manuals I’ve got here.”
“I’ve got a better guess than that, Buck,” Huber said, standing and feeling his gut contract. “Shutting the guns off wouldn’t be a disaster if it just affected one car in a platoon. What if that chip locked all three tribarrels on full automatic fire in the middle of Benjamin? What do you suppose would happen to the houses for a klick in every direction?”
“Bloody hell,” Tranter muttered.
Huber nodded. “Yeah, that’s exactly what would happen: bloody hell. And coming on top of Rhodesville, the UC government’d cancel the Regiment’s contract so fast we’d be off-planet with our heads swimming before we knew what happened.”
The technicians looked at one another, then back to Huber. “What do we do now, El-Tee?” Tranter asked.
“Have you disconnected the chip?” Huber asked.
“You bet!” Tranter said with a frown of amazement. “I cut both leads as soon as I saw them. Whatever the thing was, I knew it didn’t belong.”
“Then we shut things up and I go talk to Major Steuben in the morning,” Huber said. “I’d do it now, but—”
He grinned with wry honesty.
“—not only do I think it’ll keep, I don’t think I’m in any shape to talk to the major before I’ve had a good night’s sleep.”
Sergeant Tranter rubbed the back of his neck with his knuckles. “And maybe a stiff drink or two, hey El-Tee?” he said. “Which I’m going to share with you, if you don’t mind.”
“I’m buying for both of you for what you’ve done tonight,” Huber said, thinking of the coming interview. “And I just wish you could carry it the rest of the way with the major, but that’s my job….”
Major Steuben wasn’t available through the regimental net at dawn plus thirty, at noon, or at any of the other times Huber checked for him into mid-afternoon. Huber didn’t leave a message—he was sure Steuben would learn about the calls as soon as he wanted to know—and it didn’t even cross his mind to talk to some other member of the White Mice. Little as Huber liked the major, this was no time to bring a subordinate up to speed on the problem. He began to wonder if he was going to reach Steuben before 1800 hours, close of business for the regular staff.
Huber smiled at his own presumption; he’d gotten to think that Steuben would be there any time he wanted him—because the major had been in his office the times he summoned Huber. Why his mind should’ve reversed the pattern was just one of those mysteries of human arrogance, Huber supposed. It wasn’t like Log Section didn’t have work to do, after all.
Now that more crews and vehicles were on the ground, the Regiment was setting up a second operations base outside Arbor Palisades, the second-largest of the United Cities and located on the northeast border with Solace. Two platoons from L Troop plus support vehicles would be leaving Base Alpha tonight for the new location. Huber with the approval of the S-3 shop had decided to send a column of thirty wheeled vehicles along with them. The civilian trucks could’ve moved on their own—the UC and Solace weren’t at war despite the level of tension—but it gave both the troopers and the civilian drivers practice in convoy techniques.
“Via, El-Tee,” Sergeant Tranter said, shaking his head in amusement. “You better not let anybody in L Troop catch you in a dark alley. The trip’ll take ’em four times as long and be about that much rougher per hour besides.”
“Right,” said Huber. “And nobody’s shooting at them. Which won’t be the case if we have to do it for real, as we bloody well will when those trucks start supplying forward bases inside Solace territory as soon as the balloon goes up.”
Huber didn’t take lunch, though he gnawed ration bars at his desk. Most people claimed the bars tasted like compressed sawdust, but Huber found them to have a series of subtle flavors. They were bland, sure, but bland wasn’t such a bad thing. The commander of a line platoon had enough excitement in his life without needing it in his food.
At random moments throughout the day, Huber checked in with the Provost Marshal’s office. At 1530 hours instead of a machine voice announcing, “Unavailable,” Major Steuben himself said, “Go ahead.”
“Sir!” Huber said. His brain disconnected but he’d rehearsed his approach often enough in his head to blurt it out now: “May I see you ASAP with some information about the Rhodesville ambush?”
“If by ‘as soon as possible’ you mean in fifteen minutes, Lieutenant …” Steuben said. He had a pleasant voice, a modulated tenor as smooth and civilized as his appearance; and as deceptive, of course. “Then you may, yes.”
“Sir, on the way, sir!” Huber said, standing and breaking the connection.
“Tranter!” he shouted across the room as he rounded his console; he snatched the 2-cm powergun slung from the back of his chair. “I need to be in front of Major Steuben in fifteen minutes! That means an aircar, and I don’t even pretend to drive the cursed things.”
Huber waved at Hera as he followed the sergeant out the door. “I’ll be back when I’m back,” he said. “I don’t expect to be long.”
The good Lord knew he hoped it wouldn’t be long.
He and Tranter didn’t talk much on the short flight from Benjamin to Base Alpha. The sergeant turned his head toward his passenger a couple times, but he didn’t speak. Huber was concentrating on the open triangle formed by his hands lying in his lap. He was aware of Tranter’s regard, but he really needed to compose himself before he brought this to Major Steuben.
This time when Huber got out of the car in front of the Provost Marshal’s, he reflexively scooped the 2-cm shoulder weapon from the butt-cup holding it upright beside his seat. If he’d been thinking he’d have left the heavy weapon in the vehicle, but since he was holding it anyway he passed it to the watching guard along with his pistol and knife.