To his horror he began to rell vatch again. "Vatcherly there is a good explanation," he added. Goth, cloaked in no-shape, would rell the vatch also. But Hantis might not be able to. Best give her some warning that mischief was around.
All but the commodore and one rather slimy-looking individual in plain black coveralls left.
Pausert looked questioningly at the man. "And you are?"
"This is Micher," said the Commodore. "Imperial Interservice Security."
"Ah. Now I understand." Pausert's tone was decidedly frosty. "What I have to say is not for his ears, Commodore."
"This is my assignment," said the ISS man, in a rather whiny voice. Pausert knew the type. A bully to those below him and a bootlicker to those above. There was something odd about him, though. Pausert couldn't quite put his finger on it, but the man gave him an uneasy feeling.
"I have orders from the regional chief of Imperial security about this, Commodore," said Pausert firmly. "Goodbye, Micher."
Micher blinked. "But my orders . . ."
The commodore propelled him firmly out of the door and closed it. "Now, what is this about, Pausert? Whatever it is, the ISS is not going to like it." His expression made clear his own low opinion of the ISS. Fleser was an officer in Imperial service, and thus had to put up with them. Yet, here was Pausert, ostensibly on Imperial service himself, chasing them away. The commodore was plainly fascinated by such apparently contradictory behavior.
Pausert glanced uneasily at the door. "This is strictly between ourselves, Commodore. A very important Imperial lady's honor hangs on it."
Now the commodore's curiosity looked about ready to sit up and beg. "Of course. You can trust me."
Pausert did his best to look even more uneasy. It wasn't hard. "Ask yourself just how a nursemaid and a child could get onto a ship in Green Galaine without being on any passenger list, Commodore. Without being observed by security cameras. In total secret. Just who has the influence to do that?"
It was the commodore's turn to look uneasy. "Something like that could be organized, Captain. But not to keep it secret from the ISS. They have agents everywhere."
Pausert bit his lip and said nothing. Just raised his eyebrows and drew the Charter and Seal of Haile out of his pouch. Tapped it meaningfully.
The commodore's mouth fell open. "You mean . . ."
"The ISS doesn't handle quite everything. The royal family's security is handled by . . . But I never said a word, Commodore Fleser. And if you take my advice, you won't either. The little girl is very imperious, though, isn't she?"
He smiled, allowing the commodore to put his own interpretation on that smile. "The ISS is very jealous about the situation. Speaking personally, I'd be quite happy to hand the whole thing over to them. The girl's a little monster, frankly. I don't doubt for an instant that your Marines were just grossly slandered."
He drew himself up stiffly. "However, that's not my decision—nor yours—and duty is what it is. But that's what this is all about, Commodore. Not some hogwash about mythical witches of Karres and criminals. The ISS is trying to cause embarrassment within—"
A pregnant pause, here, designed to make the commodore even more uneasy. "—certain quarters."
Someone knocked, and then entered the stateroom without waiting for a reply. It was the security agent. His moist eyes were alive with suspicion. "A message for you, Commodore. The Chief Engineer from the Malorn has come across. He insists on seeing you." The ISS agent looked as if he would have liked to kiss the engineer. "He's waiting. Won't let me pass the message on."
As he spoke, the burly engineer gave up waiting and came in anyway. "Commodore, the Malorn's air recycler is not working," he said bluntly.
Even Captain Pausert was stunned by this news. Air recyclers never failed. Never. They were the most reliable piece of equipment on any ship. Without them, space travel would be impossible.
The commodore looked as if someone had kicked his legs out from under him. All the bulldoggy bluster was gone in an instant. "Can you fix it?" he asked.
The chief engineer looked at him gloomily. "It's mostly solid-state engineering, sir. That's why they don't go wrong. I've got my men busy stripping what can be stripped. But we can't get to a lot of it." He took off his cap and ran fingers through close-cropped gray hair. "The auxiliary plant is running, sir. But you know that only gives us thirty-six hours."
At least they had a standby of some sort, thought Pausert. But of course military craft did have, in case of combat-damage. The Venture didn't.
"Suit-bottles," he said, thinking back to his own military training with the Nikkeldepain Space Navy. "You've got Marines on board. They must have air-cylinders. At least a couple of hours each. And the other cruisers must have the same."
The engineer looked gratefully at him. "I hadn't thought of that. We could transfer all but a skeleton crew to the other ships, too."
The commodore nodded. "We're still six days from base. We'll have to move. Sergeant Harris!" he bellowed.
The sergeant came at a run, Blythe rifle at the ready. "Sir." He took in the scene and realized that he wasn't being called to arrest anyone, or shoot it out with a dangerous criminal. He lowered the barrel of the rifle.
"Round up your men and get them back onto the Malorn. At the double."
"But the search!" protested the ISS man. "The witches must have done this."
"That's enough of that rubbish!" snapped the commodore. "Move, Micher, before I leave you behind. I'm not abandoning my new command for the ISS's bit of spite. Besides, if these so-called witches can put my air recycler out of order, then I certainly don't want to fight with them."
Unfortunately, the sergeant had left open the door leading to the next cabin. As they passed by in the corridor, Pausert got another scent of sunlight and the sound of violets. He glanced in and saw that the little vatch was here—and was playing light-shift with the Leewit's head. Making it look like she was wearing an Imperial crown . . .
Even more unfortunately, the commodore had glanced through the floor also. Fleser stopped in his tracks.
"That enough fooling around, my little lady!" said Pausert sternly. He shouldered the commodore aside and stalked into the cabin, obscuring Fleser's view. "That thing is supposed to stay out of sight."
Pausert readied his klatha hooks for the little brute. Even if he couldn't catch it, he could maybe squelch it long enough . . .
Behind him, he heard the commodore mutter something. It sounded like "—glad I don't have to deal with the spoiled—" Fleser's heavy footsteps led away down the corridor.
Pausert sighed with relief. Alas, his klatha hooks once again seemed to be able to nothing worse than reduce the little vatch to giggles.
A few moments later the outer locks clanged. When Captain Pausert arrived back in the control room, the communicator beebled insistently.
The commodore's red face was glaring at him. "Damnation, Pausert. Can you deflect your guns?"
"Oh. Yes, certainly. Good luck, Commodore."
After Pausert deflected the guns, he saw that the vatchy patch of darkness was now above the coffee dispenser in the control room.
What was it going to do this time? He began the klatha-reach. It darted away.
I've got to go, Big Dream Thing. But I'll be back! Back . . . Baaaack . . .
That was really not what he needed to hear. But at least he could see in the screens that the Imperial flotilla was receding. Quite rapidly, in fact.
* * *
"I hope," he said to the indentation on the couch, "that you'll give them back their piece of air recycler. That was cruel. I think you frightened the commodore out of ten years of life. Being stuck in deep space without air is enough to terrify anyone."