took the better part of a year. However, the
CHAPTER 3
A full platoon of Imperial Marines were busy with the search. They were being impeded at full volume by the Leewit. The Marines did not know quite how to deal with this miniature empress. In a lacy girl's party-dress, the Leewit looked to be a little blond girl of somewhere between three and four. With her stuffed fluffy stiff-legged toy puppy under one arm, she stood in the center of the cabin and berated them at the top of her voice.
Her nursemaid was stooped over, as she had been since the Marines entered, trying to put everything in order. She was a skinny old woman with sharp features, wearing a baggy ship's suit. Her head was covered in something like a turban, even her ears and eyebrows. If any of the Marines had noticed something oddly young looking about the nursemaid's very large, grass-green eyes, the ruckus being caused by the Leewit had distracted their attention.
Commodore Fleser looked at the carnage. He turned to the saluting sergeant. 'What happened here?' he demanded.
The NCO gestured helplessly. 'Honest, sir, I don't know. It was like this when we came in, I swear.'
'Was not!' squealed the Leewit. Her accusing finger swept across the squad of Marines. 'They did it!'
'My best stateroom!' bellowed Pausert. 'There is going to be trouble about this! I gave you permission to search, not to destroy the place.'
'We have to find the criminal and the witch. We will take whatever steps we need to!' But even Fleser looked a bit aghast at the paint-splattered walls and the tumbled furniture.
'And I will lodge an official complaint with Duke Abelisson, be sure of it.
'Er. Yessir.'
'One moment,' said the bulldog-faced Fleser. 'These people . . .' He pointed to the Leewit, with her stuffed toy, and the nursemaid. Pausert just hoped he didn't put a hand on them. Goth's light-shift illusions didn't stand up to touch. 'They are not listed by the officials at Green Galaine. Who are they?'
Captain Pausert looked at the sergeant and his Marines. 'I will explain, Commodore. But confidentially, please. It is an Imperial matter.'
The commodore drew himself up. 'I am an officer of the Imperial Space Navy, sir. You can trust me.'
'Good,' said Pausert cheerfully. 'Then I'll reserve it for your ears only. Sergeant, escort Miss Seltzer and her charge next door, please.'
To his horror he began to rell vatch again. '
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
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
As he spoke, the burly engineer gave up waiting and came in anyway. 'Commodore, the
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
'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.