scrap.'
Martinez turned to Gulik. Sweat was pouring down the weaponer's face. He looked as deadly sick as he had been on the morning of Fletcher's last inspection, as the captain stalked toward him with the knife dangling at his waist.
'I also checked the serial number of the antiproton gun that failed in the same battle, and that was supposed to have been retired thirteen months ago. I hope that whoever sold the replacement wasn't selling it to someone who was intending to use it as a weapon.'
'It wasn't me,' Gulik croaked. He wiped sweat from his upper lip. 'I don't know anything about this.'
'Whoever did it,' Martinez said, 'didn't intend to endanger the ship. We weren't at war. Illustrious had been docked in Harzapid for years without so much as shifting its berth. The heavy equipment was going on and off the ship all the time, moving through the locked storage room where substitutions could be made without anyone being the wiser.'
Martinez turned to look down the line of petty officers. 'In order to work this scheme,' he said, 'you'd need that storage room. You'd also need the services of a first-rate machinist, with access to a complete machine shop, so that the old equipment could be rehabilitated before it was reinstalled.'
Strode turned his head to look at Gawbyan. The master machinist's lips had thinned to a tight line across his fleshy face. His mustachios were brandished like tusks. One large, fat-fingered hand had closed into a fist around the stem of his wineglass.
'So far, so good,' Martinez said. 'Our happy band of felons were making a profit. But then they took on some partners. And the partners were Naxids.'
That surprised some of them. Yau and Cho stared. Strode's mouth dropped open.
'Specifically,' Martinez said, 'the Naxid frigate Quest, which was berthed next to Illustrious on the ring station. I expect the gang knew the Naxid petty officers informally before anyone mentioned the possibilities of mutual profit. And then they began using one another's facilities and swapping parts with one another, which is how equipment from the Quest ended up aboard Illustrious.
'Now in order to exchange parts, the codes for the storage areas had to be exchanged as well. And that didn't work out so well, because the Naxids involved somehow got the extra codes for the antiproton storage areas- maybe they came up with a plausible story of needing to exchange antiproton bottles, or maybe they just hid a camera where they could get a view of the lock-but the result was that shortly before the Naxid rebellion, all of our antiproton bottles were exchanged for empty ones.'
The our was deliberate, even though Martinez hadn't been there. In war there was us and them, and Martinez wanted to make it clear who was which.
'The result was that Illustrious was helpless to defend itself in the battle, and unable to aid our comrades. I'm sure you all remember what that was like.'
They did. He watched as they relived their helplessness, as anger blotched their faces, as jaw muscles clenched at the memory of humiliation.
'The bastards,' Nyamugali said. Hatred burned in her eyes. 'The bastards,' she repeated.
Us and them, Martinez thought. Very good, signaler.
'Illustrious survived the battle,' Martinez said, 'no thanks to the thieves. But the Naxid rebellion left them with a problem. Before the war, they were felons; but once shots were fired, they were traitors. And while the penalty for theft from the state can be dire under the Praxis, the cost of being found a traitor is much, much worse.
'The thieves' problems increased,' Martinez said, 'when an officer launched his own, personal investigation of how the antiproton bottles turned up empty. Maybe his injuries had turned him into an obsessive, or maybe when he was running into the storage area to fetch the bottles, he'd seen something that made him suspicious. But once Kosinic started conducting his own equipment inspections-lifting access plates and checking the machine spaces-it was clear that he was going to find the evidence that would condemn our ship's clique. So Kosinic had to die.'
'It was Thuc.' Gawbyan's voice came out in a half-strangled croak. 'Thuc killed Kosinic because of the cult. You said so yourself.'
'I was both right and wrong,' Martinez said. 'Thuc did kill Kosinic. But not because Thuc was a cultist. Kosinic was killed because Thuc was a thief, and Thuc may not have acted alone.'
There was a moment of silence. Somewhere down the table, Master Data Specialist Zhang tossed back her glass of wine, then reached for a bottle and refilled it.
'Kosinic's death was ruled accidental, as it was meant to be,' Martinez continued. 'All continued well for the conspirators, until the worst possible thing happened. Captain Fletcher himself grew suspicious. Maybe it was his turn to wonder how only his antiproton bottles, of all those in the Fourth Fleet, had turned up empty; or maybe he began to realize the weakness in his own system of inspections; or maybe he grew offended when he discovered that a gambling ring composed of high-ranking petty officers was skinning a group of recruits in the mess hall every single night.'
That accusation struck home, Martinez saw. Even those who weren't a part of the gambling had to know about it, and most of them had the decency to look embarrassed.
'Captain Fletcher was a proud man,' Martinez said. 'His pride had already been offended when his ship was disarming in a crucial battle. That was the sort of thing that would have launched an official investigation if Illustrious hadn't been so badly needed in the emergency-and maybe there would have been an investigation anyway if Fletcher hadn't been so well connected, I don't know.
'That his ship had not only been humiliated at Harzapid, but was also home to a gang of traitorous thieves was a further blow to the captain's pride. Any kind of official investigation would reveal how badly Captain Fletcher had let things get out of hand. That would be a black mark that neither his career or his pride would be able to survive.
'So Captain Fletcher decided to handle the situation on his own. He executed Thuc and claimed captain's privilege. No doubt he intended to execute the rest as well.'
'I wasn't a part of any ring,' Gulik said suddenly. 'Fletcher had the chance to execute me, and he didn't.'
Martinez looked at the weaponer and slowly shook his head. 'Fletcher looked at your current bank account and saw that you were broke,' he said. 'He didn't think you were a thief because he couldn't find the profits. But when I looked at a running total of your bank account, I saw that you were very clearly a member of the ring, but that you're also a compulsive gambler whose money slips through your fingers almost as soon as you earn it.'
Desperation shone in Gulik's eyes. There was a strange odor coming off of him, sweat and fear and alcohol ghosting out of his pores.
'I never killed anybody,' he said. 'I didn't have anything to do with that.'
'But you know who did,' Martinez said.
'I-' Gulik began.
'Quiet!' Francis barked. She glared down the table at Gulik. 'Don't you see what he's doing? He's trying to get us to turn on each other.' Her fierce gaze looked at each of the petty officers in turn. 'He's trying to divide us! He's trying to get us so frightened that we start make accusations against each other!' She looked at Martinez, and her lip curled. 'We know who really killed Fletcher, don't we? The man who stepped into his place as captain!'
Martinez fought to control the surge of adrenaline that poured into his veins at the accusation. He pressed his hands carefully to the tabletop to control any trembling. With deliberation he looked at Francis and gave her a sweet smile.
'Nice try, Rigger Francis,' he said. 'You're at liberty to file that accusation if you wish. But you'd better have evidence. And you'd better have an explanation for how air blowers from the Quest ended up on Deck Eight, Access Four.'
She stared at him for a moment, hate-filled eyes locking his, and then she turned away. 'Fucking officers!' she said. 'Fucking Peers!'
Martinez spoke into the ringing silence, and tried to keep his voice level.
'So Fletcher had to die. And once the killers disposed of him, they must have again congratulated themselves again on a narrow escape. Except that then I stepped into Fletcher's place, and I insisted on every department completing its 77-12.'
Martinez permitted himself a thin smile. 'The conspirators must have had a debate among themselves as how best to handle the new requirement. If the 77-12s had accurate information, it would point to obsolete equipment and the Quest. But if the logs were yarned, an inspection could reveal the deception.'
