The Service of the Sword

Yuri hesitated. Then: 'I'd recommend State Security Captain Sharon Justice, Special Investigator. She's —'

'A moment, please.' The loose fists opened and Cachat worked quickly at the console. Within seconds, an information screen came up. Ogilve couldn't be certain, from the angle he was looking at it, but he thought it consisted of personnel records.

Cachat studied the screen for a moment. 'She's attached to PNS Veracity, one of the battleships in Squadron Beta. A good service record here, according to this. Excellent, in fact.'

'Yes, Special Investigator. Sharon—Citizen Captain Justice—is easily my most capable subordinate and she's—'

The hard, clipped voice cut him off again. 'She's also under arrest. I will notify her as soon as this meeting is over and order her to report herself to this ship at once.'

Yuri ogled him. Jean-Pierre was pretty sure his own eyes were just as round with disbelief.

Genevieve's eyes, on the other hand, were very narrow. Some of that was her pronounced epicanthic fold, but Ogilve knew her well enough to know that most of it was anger.

'For what possible reason?' she demanded.

Cachat's eyes moved to her. There was still no expression on his face beyond a sort of detached severity.

'It should be obvious, Citizen Admiral. People's Commissioner Radamacher may be involved in a plot against the state. The murder of his immediate superior Robert Jamka suggests that as a possibility. If so, under the circumstances, he would naturally name a trusted member of his cabal to replace him.'

'That's insane!'

'Treason against the state is a form of insanity, yes. Such is my private opinion, at least, although it certainly wouldn't serve as a defense before a People's Court.'

Genevieve, normally a model of self-composure, was almost hissing. 'I meant the accusation was insane!'

'Is it?' Cachat shrugged. The gesture, this time, was not so minimal. And whether Cachat intended it or not, the easy heaving of the shoulders emphasized just how square and muscular those shoulders were. Much more so than Ogilve would have guessed from the holopic he'd seen a few days earlier. Ogilve was quite sure the man was a fanatic about physical exercise, too. Cachat's frame was naturally that of a rather slimly built man, and the muscle he had added was not massive so much as wiry. But the force of his personality was driving home to the commodore just how ruthlessly this young man would tackle any project—including his own physical transformation.

Cachat continued. 'I can tell you that I spent most of my time on my voyage here studying the records on La Martine, Citizen Admiral Chin. And one thing that is blindingly obvious is that the proper distance between State Security and the Navy has badly eroded in this sector. As is further evident by your own anger at my actions. Why should a Navy admiral care what dispositions State Security makes of its personnel?'

Chin said nothing for a moment. Then, her eyes became sheer slits and Ogilve held his breath. He almost shouted at her. For God's sake, Genevieve—shut up! This maniac would arrest a cat for yawning!

Too late. Genevieve Chin didn't often lose her temper. Nor was it volcanic when she did. But the low, snarling words which came out now contained all of the biting sarcasm of which she was capable.

'You arrogant jackass. Leave it to a desk man to think that in combat you can keep all the rules and regulations in tidy order. Let me explain to you, snotnose, that when you put people together in hard circumstances—for years we've been out here on our own, damn you, and done one hell of a good job—'

The State Security officers enjoying the privilege of being seated in the Special Investigator's presence began spluttering outrage. Two of the StateSec officers standing against the wall stepped forward, as if to seize Chin. The admiral herself, despite her age, slid easily into a martial artist's semi-crouch.

It's all going to blow! Ogilve thought frantically, trying to find some way to—

Wham! 

He jumped. So did everyone in the room. The palm of Cachat's hand, slamming the desk, had sounded like a small explosion. Jean-Pierre Ogilve studied the Special Investigator's hand. It was not particularly large. But, like the shoulders, it was sinewy and square and looked . . . very, very hard.

For the first time, also, there was an actual expression on Cachat's face. A tight-eyed, tight-jawed, glare of cold fury. But, oddly enough, it was not aimed at Admiral Chin but at the two StateSec officers stepping forward.

'Were you given any instructions?' Cachat demanded harshly.

The two officers froze in mid-step.

'Were you?'

Hastily, they shook their heads. Then, just as hastily, stepped back and resumed their position against the wall. Standing at rigid attention, now.

Cachat's hard eyes moved to the StateSec officers seated on the couch and two armchairs.

'And you. In case you have difficulty with simple geometry, it should be obvious that the proper relations between StateSec and Navy could not have collapsed in this sector without the participation of both parties involved.'

One of the two StateSec officers granted an armchair in what Ogilve was coming to think of as The Fanatic's Presence began to protest. Jean-Pierre knew her name—Citizen Captain Jillian Gallanti, the senior of the two captains in command of the superdreadnoughts Hector Van Dragen and Joseph Tilden —but nothing else about her.

Cachat gave her as short a shrift as he was giving everyone else.

'Silence. Whether or not you can handle geometry, your grasp of simple arithmetic leaves much to be desired. Since when do two SDs need to keep their impellers up to handle a task force of battleships and cruisers? Leaving aside the useless wear and tear on the people's equipment'—the words somehow came out in capital letters, People's Equipment—'you've also kept the People's Navy paralyzed for weeks. Weeks, Citizen Captain Gallanti– thereby giving the Manticoran elitists free rein to wreak havoc on the commerce in this sector. All this, mind you, in the midst of the Republic's most desperate hour, when the blueblood Earl of White Haven and his Cossacks are ravening at our door.'

Cachat's eyes narrowed a bit. 'Whether your actions are the product of incompetence, cowardice—or something darker—remains to be determined.'

Gallanti shrunk down in her chair like a mouse under a cat's regard. All the StateSec officers in the compartment now looked like furtive mice. Their eyes moving, if nothing else; desperately trying to avoid the cat's notice.

Cachat studied them for a moment, like a cat selecting its lunch. 'I can assure all of you that Citizen Chairman Saint-Just is no more pleased with the state of StateSec-Navy relations in this sector than I am. And I can also assure you that the man who created our organization understands better than anyone that it is ultimately State Security which is responsible for maintaining those proper relations.'

After a moment, he looked back at Yuri Radamacher. 'Name another replacement.'

Yuri's lips twisted slightly. 'Since Citizen Captain Justice didn't suit you, I'd recommend Citizen Captain James Keppler.'

Cachat's fingers worked at the keyboard again. When the appropriate screen came up, he spent perhaps two minutes studying the information. Then:

'I will warn you only once, Citizen Commissioner Radamacher. Trifle with me again and I will have you shipped back immediately to Nouveau Paris and let you face the investigation in the Institute instead.'

Mention of the Institute brought a chill to the compartment. Before the Harris assassination, the Institute had been the headquarters of the Mental Hygiene Police, and its reputation had become only more sinister since the change in management.