The Battlestar Glory Ch. 07

(This is not a sexy story. It is a space war thriller.)

Chapter 7: Dangerous Journalism

From the Log of War Admiral Norman North, 5 years after Vitalics:

Time is slowly passing. I keep thinking that we've seen the last of the Insects, but it seems, almost like clockwork, that we run into another one of their fleets every nine to twelve months. We repulse every attack, but we can't replace our losses, and we've lost more three ships. As it is, normal wear and tear is taking a toll on our ships; we have almost exhausted the cannibalization of spare parts that we're able to do; in a year or two we're going to have to start abandoning some ships to keep others working, which will create very difficult decisions of what to do with their crews.

I have to be honest and say that we haven't made very much progress in locating Monumental inhabited planets; it's been over two years since we even encountered a monument. I knew it would be a difficult search to begin with, but I think that because of our desperate need, I had irrational hopes that we would find what we were looking for sooner rather than later. I now have to face up to the prospect that we may never encounter a Monumental civilization that can help us; and as our ships break down, the homesteader sentiment grows stronger.

It started about a year ago. There have been some rumblings in the fleet that we should stop our endless quest and settle down on one of the habitable worlds we encounter from time to time. Occasionally someone has worked up the nerve to mention this idea in my presence. My answer to them is always the same. If we settle down somewhere, not only are we giving up any chance we might have of rescuing our home worlds, but we will be defenseless when the Insects find us. And they will.

But our crew, in flight for so many years without relief, is beginning to believe the fantasy that they can find a place where we can be safe, some obscure planet where the Insects will never look for us. But as their regular attacks indicate, they haven't given up.

The most interesting question is, where are the Insects coming from? We haven't located any signs of Insect bases in this area of space; it would seem that their ships must be coming from formerly Alliance space. But that is years and years behind us now. How are they catching up to us so quickly? Do they have hidden bases we haven't detected? Or have they invented some method of propulsion that enables them to cross light years in minutes? That last would seem unlikely; when they attack, they come at relatively the same speed as our ships. So how are they throwing all these fleets at us, and how are they finding us so easily?

I could go crazy if I didn't find ways to relax, so I have taken up hobbies, and invited the senior staff to participate. Sometimes it's holography, or three dimensional problem solving, or simple graphical games; lately I've been interested in musical composition. I invited Roger Dulin and Stacy Wren to join me, but Dulin quickly dropped out; he prefers quiet time on his own. When it is just Stacy and myself, I invite some of the junior bridge crew to join us; but for whatever reason, they too dropped out. So it's just me and the Half Commander. I sometime wonders how the fact that we spend so much time alone together appears to the crew, but then I realize that the crew probably has bigger issues to worry about.

*******

A short musical composition played over the comm. When it finished, North looked at Wren expectantly.

"That was a little lighter on the drums, but they were still there," said Wren. "You really like the drums, don't you?"

"I like military music," said North. "Military music uses drums." He turned to the console and made some adjustments.

"Is there anything you like that isn't military?" Wren asked, crossing her legs.

"I've been in the military for centuries, for most of my adult life," said the War Admiral. "If I had a life before that, I don't remember it." He pressed a button. "How about this?"

Wren listened to a clip that lasted a few seconds. "Better," she said. "I like the long-winded trumpets."

"That's military too," said the War Admiral.

"Yes, I appreciate the military as well," said Wren. "But I had a life before the military. I used to be a senior administrator on the colony planet of Ulos."

"Yes, I remember reading something like that in your service record," said the War Admiral. "What persuaded you to go military?"

"I was on the planet during the siege of Ulos," said Wren quietly.

North nodded. Nothing more needed be said.

The awkward silence was interrupted by a buzz of someone wanting to enter. "Come," said North.

Captain Dulin entered the room. "He's gone too far this time, Admiral!"

"Who, Captain?" said the War Admiral.

"Oh," said Dulin, calming down. "I presumed you had seen it. I was referring to Took's broadcast about maintenance requests on the civilian ships."

"Yes?"

"He criticized the military, saying that we give maintenance repairs on civilian ships the lowest priority, sometimes forcing them to wait weeks or months for repairs."

"And is it true?" said North.

"Of course not!" said Dulin. "Admiral, you know as well as I do that we prioritize based on the seriousness of the repair. Of course, military repairs are often more vitally needed than civilian ones. Still, if there was a serious problem with one of our merchant ships, like a core breach, we'd be on that-"

"Captain, why are you telling me this?" said North.

"Sir?"

"You should be telling Took," said North. "I'm sure he would interview you for his show."

"Sir, are you seriously suggesting that I dignify his little broadcast with my presence?" Dulin asked.

"Yes," said the War Admiral. "Have you checked the usage logs, Captain? They show that an incredible 91% of the fleet open their weekly e-mail video report from Captain Took. That's an even higher rate than your fleet bulletin."

"I know, sir," said Dulin. "But the fleet bulletin is important-"

"I'm not blaming you or the bulletin," said the War Admiral. "What I am saying is that Took provides something vital--entertainment, discussion, excitement--things in very short supply here. And as long as he doesn't advocate the violent overthrow of the fleet command, I would encourage him to continue."

"But sir... it's just not military."

"Neither is a quarter of the fleet, Captain," the War Admiral pointed out. "And we've been together, without leave or relief, for a long time. Even the strictest military organization can only be taut and proper for so long. I trust I've made my point."

"Sir. Yes sir," said Dulin. He turned and left.

Wren says, "His criticisms don't bother you at all?"

"Believe me, Commander, Idaho Took is the least of my worries. The homesteaders bother me ten times as much. They're the ones that we're going to have more and more trouble with over time," said the War Admiral. "The longer we go without finding anything, the greater the pressure they will put on us to settle on a planet and simply give up."

"What will you do when the pressure rises to a boiling point?" Wren asked.

"The music, Commander, help me work on the music," said the War Admiral.

"All right," said Stacy Wren. "But on one condition. When we're off duty, like we are now, you can call me by my name."

"Very well, Miss Wren," said North, giving a rare smile. "Now help me with these violins...."

*******

"It's going to be a masterpiece, Obe!" said Took.

"Go away," said Obe, turning his head to face away. He was in bed, trying to sleep.

"Obe, I'm on to something big!" said Took. He shook Obe.

"Go away! I'm trying to sleep!"

"But I need my camera man!"

"I'd rather sleep."

"Very funny. Are you going to help me with my biggest story ever, or not?"

"What is it?" Obe muttered.

"The corruption of something vital to our very survival."

"Yes?" said Obe, as if he were waiting for something more.

"Our food supply," said Took.

Obe opened his eyes. "All right," said Obe. "But this better be good."

*******

They took a shuttle from the Glory to the Marist. The Marist was the largest merchant ship they had taken with them from Orotis, and like most of the others, it had been converted into a farming vessel. The walls had been broken out between compartments and soil had been laid on the ground, which now grew a constant rotation of thirty day potatoes, rice, wheat, and other crops.

"So the thing about it is, these ships have actually been producing less and less food over time," Took said to Obe, as they walked across a "field" on deck 4.

"Is that really surprising?" Obe says. "Equipment breaks down, soil becomes exhausted, that sort of thing."

"No, no, no," said Took. "According to my information, we actually have more acres under cultivation and more fresh soil available now than we did when we started, five years ago. We've run into a series of habitable planets lately that have helped us restock."

"If that's true... then why are we under increased rationing?" Obe said.

"Oh, so are you actually interested in my little investigation now?" said Took.

They reached the office of the administrator, Tarolly Odusk.

They rang, but there was no answer. They rang again, but no one responded.

"This is a day shift, isn't it?"

"Yep," said a high-pitched voice behind them.

They turned to see a teenager pushing a grav tram full of dirt.

"Hey, do you know where the director is?" Took asked.

"Gee, you look familiar," said the young man, peering at Took. "You're that guy, that guy on the e-mail program!"

"Yes, why yes I am," said Took. "The name is-"

"Took, of course," said the teenager. "I watch your show all the time. In fact, I reroute the e-mail so I get it first before everyone else."

"You do?" said Took. "No offense, but I didn't think you farmer types knew a lot about computers."

"Oh, computers are just a hobby, they're easy," said the kid dismissively. "By the way, my name's Billy Holiday. But Bill, most people call me Bill."

"Good to meet you," said Took, automatically reaching out to shake the kid's hand. But when he pulled it back, he found it grimy with black dirt.

"Sorry about that," said Bill.

"Listen, kid, can you tell me where we can find the director?"

"No," said Bill. "But if you're looking for him, don't try his office."

"Why not?"

"He never shows up there, except for inspections."

Took and Obe exchanged glances.

"Any idea where we can find him?"

Bill shrugged. "You might try leaving him a message."

"That's a pity," said Took. "We were hoping to ask him some questions about farm production." He turned to Obe. "How much food do you think this ship alone can produce?"

"Assuming an undifferentiated 30 day potato crop with constant soil, temperature, and fertilizer conditions and four potatoes per square foot, the approximate yield would be... 19,455 potatoes across the entire ship," said Bill.

Took looked at Bill. "You're serious?"

"I never joke about potatoes, Mr. Took."

"Bill, what, ah, did you do before you became a farmer?"

"I was the Chief Engineer on the Blue Luna," said Bill.

"You, a kid, a teenager, C. E. on a battleship?" said Obe.

"Well... they called me Chief," said Bill. "At least, that's what they called me while I fixed their engines."

"You fixed the engines on a pocket battleship?"

"Sure," said Bill. "I saw an easy way they could do an upgrade to make the ship almost as fast as your standard battlecruisers. At first no one would listen, but then I showed them the schematics, and they set me to work on it."

"I knew the engines were upgraded... but how come we never heard that a kid did it?"

"That was a few years ago," said Bill. "I think they didn't want word to get out that a kid was fixing the engines of our only battleship."

"So you did it, alone," said Took.

"Yep."

"Had you ever worked with engines before?"

"Nope," said Bill. "Although I read about them, once."

"Once. Then how did you...."

"It just made sense to me," said Bill.

"And how did you get here?"

"Oh. They got tired of hiding me during every inspection tour. One time, when I was almost discovered, they decided it was time for me to move on. So they sent me here."

"And doesn't it bother you, doing farm chores when you could be working on engines?"

"Not really," said Bill. "It gives me a lot of free time. We only really have to work three or four hours a day." He noticed their expressions. "Actually, I don't think I was supposed to say that."

"I think we better have a talk with Director Odusk," said Took. "But first, I think we have an interesting story to report, don't you?"

*******

"-and so this incredible young man rebuilt the engines on the Blue Luna, and now his most complicated job is moving piles of dirt around," said Took, speaking into the camera.

"Well, shucks, it wasn't such a big deal," said Billy Holiday.

Took had been interviewing Bill for the past few minutes, careful to avoid questions about the farm management system. He was on the trail of a much bigger story, and wanted to catch certain people off guard. For now he would have to be content with this "local boy makes engines good" story.

He interviewed Bill for a few more minutes, and then, in mid-interview, someone walked in front of the camera.

"Hey," said Took. "We're filming."

"Hi Bob," said Bill, to the newcomer. "Captain Took, this is my friend Bob."

"Oh, your friend?" said Took, seeing another angle. "Sure, let's meet your friend." He pulled Bob back into camera range.

"Whoa, what?"

"What's your name?"

"Bob Jord," said the farmer. "Is that a camera?"

"Yep," said Took. "Did you know all the wonderful things that your friend Bill can do?"

"Uh... sure," said Jord, looking distracted.

Jord obviously wasn't very enthusiastic, so Took let him go after another harmless question or two.

When he edited the interview before broadcasting it, he reduced Jord's on-camera appearance to fourteen seconds.

Those fourteen seconds were long enough, however, to be fatal to Bob Jord. He died, a day later.

*******

Took didn't even find out about it until the day after it happened.

"Did you see the fleet bulletin?" said Obe. "The kid we interviewed is dead."

"The kid?" said Took, looking bewildered for a second. "You mean Bill?"

"No," said Obe. "The other one. His friend; the one we interviewed for a few seconds."

Took frowned, taking the pad from Obe's hand. "Let me see that." But the details were few. It was an accident report; he had been mauled to death by a malfunctioning thresher.

"This is either got to be the biggest coincidence I've ever seen, or there's something else going on here," said Took.

In moments they were on a shuttle bound for the Marist. Their first stop was Billy Holiday. Bill was morosely pulling a dirtsled when they stopped by.

"I heard what happened to your friend," said Took. "You have my sympathies."

Bill nodded. "He was such a careful guy, too. I can't imagine how he got caught by the thresher."

"Neither can I," said Took. "Listen, was Bob working on anything sensitive?"

"Sensitive?" said Bill.

"Did he happen to stumble across anything, or know something that would've gotten him in trouble?"

Bill thought for a moment. "No, not that I know of."

"Did Bob have any enemies?"

"No."

"People who disliked him?"

"No."

"Not even a little?"

"Not that I know of," said Bill.

"What are you doing interrogating my worker without permission?" said a new voice. They looked up to see a man in a finely tailored civilian suit.

"Just doing my job," said Took.

"Your job?" said the man. Then recognition dawned on his face. "You're the man from that little show."

"Or, you can call me Captain Took," said Took. "Do you have a name as well?"

"Odusk," said the man. "Director Odusk. What are you doing on my ship without permission?"

Took gave Obe a "what's going on here?" glance. "I, ah, didn't realize we needed permission."

"Well you do," said Odusk. "Our work here is vital and can't be disrupted." He turned to leave.

"Was Bob Jord disrupting things?" said Took.

Odusk turned back. "Do you have something to say?"

"I'm here to ask some questions about Jord's death, and the farming ships."

"I don't have to answer any of your questions," said Odusk, turning away again. He started to walk away while Took looked helplessly at Obe. Obe gave him a "Well, I don't know what to do either" look.

"You may not have to answer our questions, but you will have to answer the War Admiral's," Took called after him.

Odusk stopped. "The War Admiral sent you?"

"I, ah, that's right, I'm investigating things for him," said Took, not very convincingly. Obe tried to look elsewhere.

"That's different then," said Odusk. "Why don't you gentlemen come to my office?" he said, giving a sly smile.

As they walked Obe muttered, "Took, does the War Admiral know what you're doing?"

"Relax, buddy," said Took. "What he doesn't know won't concern him in the slightest."

They were offered seats inside Odusk's spacious and luxurious office. The walls were decorated with photos and awards. His desk and countertops were lined with exotic sculptures and awards, and the plush carpeting must have been among the best that Orotis had to offer.

"Nice awards," Took commented, taking a seat.

"Yes, in recognition for my tireless work," said Odusk, typing some keys on his console.

"What are you doing?" Took asked.

A face appeared on the screen. "Yes?" said a familiar voice.

"Ah, Captain Dulin. I was wondering if you could put me through to the War Admiral."

"What-why are you contacting the War Admiral?" Took asked.

"Merely to personally assure him of my full cooperation with your investigation," said Odusk. "I believe in keeping the lines of communication open, don't you?"

"Ah...." For once, Took was speechless. Odusk could obviously tell from their manner that the War Admiral hadn't sent them--and now he was going to make them face the consequences.

"Larolly, what can I do for you?" said a deep familiar voice.

Odusk turned the paper thin screen so that it faced him as well as Took and Obe. "War Admiral, I believe you are acquainted with these gentlemen."

"Indeed I am."

"They say they have come here on your behalf, to investigate the tragic accident we had the other day."

"On my behalf?" said the War Admiral, looking and sounding confused. "Is that what they said?"

"Yes," said Odusk innocently. "Why, is something wrong?"

"No," said the War Admiral, recovering smoothly. "So why are you calling me?"

Now it was Odusk's turn to be speechless. "I... I assumed...."

"You are to give them your full cooperation," said the War Admiral. "Was there anything else?"

"No," said Odusk, looking confused.

"Glory out."

*******

"Let's start with some background questions, shall we, Director?" said Took sweetly.

Odusk recovered quickly. "What-what do you want to know?"

"About Bob Jord. How does a man get killed by a thresher?"

"It was moving, and he walked into the path of it," said Odusk.

"Didn't the operator see him?"

"There was no operator," said Odusk.

"My understanding is that threshers don't move without an operator sitting onboard."

"Normally, no, but this one did," said Odusk. "We hypothesize that he left the thresher on idle, and a malfunction caused it to start moving again."

"A malfunction," said Took. "I'd like one of our techs on the Glory to take a look at this thresher."

"Oh, that's not possible."

"Why not?" said Took.

"It was disassembled immediately after the accident."

"Why?" said Took sharply.

"No one wanted to work with it," said Odusk. "Quite understandably. Some of our workers are unduly superstitious. And we're always in need of spare parts for our other threshers. It was for the best."

"I see," said Took. "And what about the scene of the accident?"

"What about it?"

"Were there any tracks, or clues-"

"I have no idea," said Odusk.

"Well, I'd like to see the area," said Took.

"You're welcome to, but it's a waste of time."

"Why?" Took asked.

"The entire part of that level has been reseeded."

"Reseeded? Why?"

"It's what we do after harvesting," said Odusk, starting to run out of patience.

"All in one day?" said Took.

"Yes," said Odusk. "And now, if there's nothing else-"

"I'm not quite done yet," said Took. "I have a few other questions to ask you. Why has overall farm production declined, while acres under cultivation and soil quantity has gone up?"

"This has nothing to do with your investigation," Odusk frowned.

"I'll be the judge of that," said Took. "You did promise the War Admiral your full cooperation, didn't you?"

"We've had problems with soil toxicity," said Odusk, glaring at him. "That, and equipment breakdowns, have hampered productions."

"I see," said Took.

"Do you have any other pressing questions?"

"No," said Took. "Not right now," he added. Then he got another thought. "You have monitoring stations in every farm bay, correct?"

Odusk nodded.

"Did anyone see the accident happen?"

"No," said Odusk. "The wheat was too tall for the observer to see anything."

"I'd like to speak to this observer," said Took.

*******

His name was Walter Teeks, and he was a grizzled farmhand, but even he had been shaken by what happened.

"I wasn't paying much attention," said Teeks. "We're only supposed to generally supervise the workers, making sure the crops get the proper rains and artificial sunlight, not to look out for the safety of the workers."

"When did you first notice something was wrong?"

"I heard a loud crash; when I went to investigate, I found that the thresher had crashed against the wall; and Jord's body was mangled inside of it."

"I see," said Took. He looked at the observation post monitors. "What are these hooked up to?"

"Surveillance. Mounted all around the deck."

"Did any of these show the accident?"

"I don't know," said Teeks blankly.

"You don't know?"

"I never thought to look," said Teeks. "Listen, I saw Jord's body crumpled into pieces. I wasn't anxious to relive the experience on the monitors."

"Where can I get a copy of the recording for the relevant period?"

"I can punch it up," said Teeks. He peered out of the observation post. "Camera seven should have given a mostly unobstructed view." He typed a few keys on the keyboard. Then he frowned.

"What's wrong?"

"I can't retrieve the recordings for that day."

"What do you mean?"

"They're wiped; or gone; or were never inputted into the system. I can't really tell which."

"There's no log entry on it?"

"Apparently not; it's as if they were never filed. But they always are, automatically. Jerensky set up the system himself."

"Jerensky?"

"Our equipment tech."

Suddenly there was something that sounded like a crash below, and they heard someone yell, "Whoa!"

They ran down to see what was happening. A worker was trying to restart a mulcher.

"It's... it's stuck," he said.

"Try opening it up," Teeks suggested.

The worker flipped open the side, where they saw the mangled body of a fleet technician.

"Jerensky," Teeks whispered.

"I think now we have something a bit more substantial than your typical "thresher bites farmer" story," said Took.

*******

On the shuttleflight back to the Glory, Took said, "Jord and Jerensky were murdered."

"Yes," said Obe.

"But why?"

"Maybe they had an enemy."

"Or maybe they discovered something they weren't supposed to," said Took.

"What?" said Obe.

"I don't know," said Took.

They were on final approach to the Glory when they got a comm from Half Commander Wren. "Are you gentlemen returning?"

"On final approach," said Took.

"Good," said Wren. "The War Admiral would appreciate the pleasure of your company, at your earliest convenience."

*******

"-It didn't start out that way, War Admiral," said Took. "I just meant to say that we were investigating."

The War Admiral looked sternly at them.

"And then your name kind of slipped out."

The War Admiral continued to stare.

"I mean, something's up, right? We've definitely got one murder on our hands, and maybe more. My investigation has revealed that much, hasn't it?"

The War Admiral walked close to Took.

Took gulped.

"Next time, Took, before you use my name, ask me first," he said.

Took nodded.

"Now," said the War Admiral, speaking completely normally, "I do believe you have stumbled onto something important, which is why I've permitted you to proceed. Although sometimes your untamed approach has a tendency to backfire, sometimes you pick up on things the rest of us don't. What do you have to report so far?"

Took was busy trying to decode the back-handed compliment he had just received. He recovered quickly, saying, "I'm not sure, sir. We need to investigate more. Something is definitely going on there."

"Proceed," said the War Admiral. "And feel free to use my name again if it will help your investigation further."

"Thanks!" Then, suddenly unsure if the War Admiral was being serious or sarcastic, he gulped.

"Dismissed," said the War Admiral.

Took and Obe filed out.

Captain Dulin stepped out of the shadows, while the War Admiral chuckled softly.

"I wouldn't have found it so amusing, sir," said Dulin.

The War Admiral stopped laughing. "But he is on to something. I've been studying the reports. Farm production has been slowly declining."

"Odusk has explained-"

"Yes, and we've been very quick to accept his explanations," said the War Admiral. "I'm a soldier, Captain, not an administrator; if I were a good administrator I would have noticed and looked into this problem months ago. But administration was never my specialty...." He looked as if he were remembering something, or someone.

"You're thinking of Quick," said Dulin.

"He was one of the best administrators there ever was, as well as the bulwark of the Alliance. He ran the Directorate more efficiently than it had ever been run, before or since."

"It's a pity he died in that freak accident," said Dulin. "He could have been very helpful in our war against the Insects."

"Yes, a pity," said the War Admiral.

"So what do we have?" said Obe. Took was in his bunk, reading something.

"I don't know," said Took. "I can't make heads or tails of these farm output statistics," he said, holding up a pad. "For all I know, Odusk could be telling the truth."

"Why are you focusing so much on farm output?" said Obe. "What does that have to do with the murders?"

"I've heard rumors of surplus food being sold throughout the fleet, on a kind of black market," said Took. "I've never been able to locate this black market, if it really exists, but the thought occurs to me that if someone's been skimming food off the top, and Jord found out about it--"

"That would make him a liability," said Obe. "But it doesn't make sense. Jord was just a farmhand. Jerensky, who handled the security and surveillance system, was a key employee. But I think Jerensky was killed only to cover up whatever really happened to Jord."

"Well, I know one thing," said Took. "I won't get the answer here, wrestling with these figures." Suddenly a thoughtful look crossed his face. "But I do know someone who is very good with figures."

*******

"I really shouldn't be talking to you, Mr. Took, I'm supposed to be working," said Bill Holiday, rapidly raking the soil.

"I thought you only worked three hours a day," said Took.

"Well, this is one of them," said Bill.

He grabbed Bill by the shoulders. "Bill!" Then in a softer tone, "Bill, two people have been murdered. More could be in danger. We need to find out who's behind this."

"What do you want from me?" Bill said.

Took showed him his pad. "I need you to help me make sense of these figures. If this ship really is producing eight tons of harvest every month-"

"Oh, that's not right," said Bill. "It's almost double that."

"Double?" said Took. "How do you know?"

"Easy," said Bill. "Simply count the number of outbound transports filled with produce that leave the ship every week. There are 14 of them. If you assume a capacity of--" He ran through a set of numbers too quickly for Took to follow.

Took wasn't listening especially hard, he was getting a remote link to the fleet scheduler. Bill was right; there were an average of 14 transports leaving the Marist every week. Why were so many transports if the crop yield was so low? Took brought up another manifest, showing food distribution schedules; only eight of the fourteen transports stopped at ships where food was scheduled to be delivered. Where were the other six transports going?

"Hey kid, would you like a free shuttle ride?" said Took.

*******

They hung in space a short distance behind the Marist in a shuttle. The transport they were waiting for finally launched.

The transport leisurely took its time setting a course, and Took waited until its course was set and let it travel some distance before following.

"Got an exit vector, Obe?" said Took.

"Could be one of three ships," said Obe, checking the scanners. "Wait, ok, it's probably the fast attack destroyer Yorkshire."

"Then that's where we're going." said Took. He pressed a comm. "Yorkshire control, this is Glory shuttle eight, requesting landing clearance."

"This is Yorkshire control," came a military voice. "Purpose of visit?"

"Ah, engineering inspection tour," said Took. "Regulations."

"Glory Eight, you're cleared for landing in the bay."

They landed only a few minutes behind the transport. When they exited, Obe whispered, "Look."

Sealed crates were being unloaded from the transport. Workmen started to move them.

"Let's follow them," said Took, eager to follow.

"In our fighter pilot uniforms?" said Obe. "Don't you think that will be a bit conspicuous?"

"He's right, Mr. Took," said Bill.

"Thanks for the advice, kid," said Took. "All right."

They went the opposite direction, into a changing room just off the landing bay. They borrowed two worker uniforms and put them on.

No one gave them a second glance as they followed the workers carrying the crates down below. When they got to the lower decks, they were in for a shock.

In one of the corridors that supposedly housed the ship's munitions, the crates of food were being stacked on top of the other! One of the Yorkshire's officers was directing the workmen, while another was haggling with the foreman.

"I'd better hang back," said Bill. "That's one of my bosses, he'll recognize me."

Took nodded, and lifted one of the crates to give him an excuse to walk by the officer who was talking to the foreman.

"-All right," said the officer. "10% more. But you can't keep raising your prices forever."

"You know as well as I do that you can make 50% above that on the resale market," said the foreman, a heavy set balding man. "Shall we transfer the credits now?"

Took heard all that he needed to. He found Bill, who was waiting in the corridor outside. He only had one question: "What is the name of that foreman?"

"Roberto Virtuoso," said Bill. "Is he going to get in trouble?"

"You might say that," said Took. He turned to Obe. "Ready?"

"I think so," said Obe.

"Let's get back to the Glory and dig up what we can on this Virtuoso from the fleet memory banks," said Took. "He's involved, but I'm sure he's not the man at the top of this operation."

"Odusk?"

"He's suspect number one," said Took.

They boarded the shuttle and lifted off without incident. "What amazes me is how openly they did it," said Obe. "I wonder how far this web of corruption extends?"

"I don't know," said Took. "If they're so relaxed about it, what that tells me is that they've let down their guard because they've been doing this for so long that they didn't expect to be caught."

Suddenly, a red light lit up on his panel, and alarms sounded.

"What's wrong?" said Obe.

"The engines are overheating," said Took.

"Shut them down!" said Obe.

"I can't!" said Took, desperately pressing buttons. The whine of the engines grew louder. "They're going to blow if we can't shut them down."

"Let me have a look, Mr. Took!" said Bill.

Took looked at Obe, who shrugged. "Go ahead, kid!" said Took.

Bill immediately took over the console, moving his hands almost faster than he could see.

The whine of the engines grew into a roar.

"That's not fair," said Bill. "They've deactivated the engine controls." He pulled up a series of computer codes on the monitor, and started working furiously.

"Ah... kid... I'm not sure we have time for that," said Took, trying his best to be heard over the roar.

He checked the readouts. "We're at 105% maximum, we're going to blow at any second!"

"Hm, yeah," said Bill.

The roar grew so loud that they had to cover their ears. But the kid kept working, hands frantically moving, until he suddenly finished what he was doing, and pressed one of the buttons that Took had pressed before. The whine of the engines died down.

"What did you do?" said Took.

"It was a soft-disconnect--in the software only," said Bill. "Sorry, I should've realized that sooner."

"It's ok, kid," said Took weakly.

Bill managed to restore the controls and assured them it was safe to return to the Glory. While he was doing so, he pulled up a comm log. "Here it is," said Bill.

"Here what is?" Took asked.

"We received an anonymous signal that triggered the engine overload," said Bill. "It was set up to be triggered remotely."

"Where did the signal come from?" Took asked.

"The Marist," said Bill.

"Clever," said Obe. "They blow us up not when we're leaving the Marist, but the Yorkshire, to divert attention away from them."

"Yeah, clever," said Took, appearing to agree, but not sounding fully convinced. An explosion now would've drawn attention to the Yorkshire, something the black marketeers shouldn't have been interested in doing either. There still was another mystery to resolve.

*******

"An interesting report," said the War Admiral. "So now you're perceived as the threat."

"Yes, sir," said Took.

"You're convinced that Director Odusk has been producing extra food, falsifying records, and selling this food on the black market for his own profit?"

"Yes sir."

"And this has been a widespread practice, going on for years without our noticing?"

"Yes... yes sir," said Took.

"Where's the evidence and exactly who is involved, Captain?"

"I'm close to getting the evidence we need, sir," said Took.

"Very good. Keep me posted with regular reports," said the War Admiral. Then, as an afterthought, he said, "Why don't you take Daniel along with you, while you wrap up your investigation?"

"Did the War Admiral order me to accompany you?" the Ken Pilot asked.

"Not exactly an order... well, maybe it was. It was a suggestion, but from the War Admiral, you know?" said Took.

The Ken Pilot gave him a dead look. He obviously wasn't eager for this assignment.

"We'll be docking with the Marist in five minutes," said Obe. "Do you have the clearance codes?"

"Yes," said Took. "And we arranged for our good friend Mr. Virtuoso to be called off-ship for the next few hours."

*******

After they landed, they found Bill purposefully loitering in the corridor near Virtuoso's quarters. He nodded as they approached.

"Ready?" said Took.

Bill nodded.

Took used his access codes to open the door to Virtuoso's quarters. They entered, completely ignoring the contents of his quarters--except for the computer. Bill took a seat, started typing rapidly. "Hm, encrypted."

"Can you handle it?" Took asked.

"Computers are only my hobby," said the kid, typing rapidly.

"Do you need help? We could call in a specialist-"

"I said they were only a hobby. That's because they're so easy," said Bill scornfully.

"Oh," said Took.

"Here you are," said Bill, slowing down the pace of his mad typing. Files started appearing on the screen.

"Names... contacts... dollar amounts... production figures... it does look complete," said Took. "Can you do a search for Bob Jord?"

"Accessing," said Bill, typing rapidly.

In a few seconds part of a file came up. It was an internal log. It read, in part "Jord has caught onto us. He saw one of the transports being loaded and started asking too many questions. I think he has become a liability."

"Well, that seems pretty clear," said Obe.

"Yes," said Took frowning. "It does."

"I'll call Captain Dulin," said Obe. "He'll have security brought here from the Glory."

They were actually able to locate nearly 200 conspirators; a surprisingly large number, given how secret the conspiracy had been, but not so surprising, given how widespread the black market had grown. Odusk had indeed been skimming farm produce and reselling it privately across the fleet to fleet officers and sailors, who in turn resold it to others. At first he had skimmed only 5% of the produce, then 10%, and then more and more, until he expanded production as much as he could and was skimming nearly 40% of the food grown on the agro ships. Only a small core of the farm workers received the vast majority of the profits from the skimming operation; the rest of the farmers involved simply got paid to move shipments, or to look the other way. And many individual farmers, like Bill, simply didn't know what was going on.

The War Admiral dealt with the profiteers sternly, sentencing the ringleaders to confinement in the brig for years; he reassigned others to the maintenance section of the civilian merchant ships, tending the dirtiest jobs imaginable; and a few he left on probation. He could hardly have put the entire farming staff in confinement; manpower was too sorely needed.

A stickier matter concerned what to do with the fleet officers who had been involved in the trade. Again, a handful, seven officers and a number of crewmen, had been involved in actively making a profit. These were court martialed and sentenced to varying terms in confinement. But then there were forty seven other officers and men who were more peripherally involved, whose fate was not so easy to determine. The fourteen officers in the group were demoted or reprimanded, and reassigned; and many of the crewers were also reprimanded and reassigned.

"I'm really surprised how widespread it was," said North, shaking his head. He was talking to Dulin and Wren in private. "They made us look like fools."

"We're military men, not administrators," said Dulin tersely. "That's why we put Odusk in charge in the first place, because he had a background in administration."

"Well, now we'll need to find someone else," said the War Admiral. "One minor mystery remains, though."

"Sir?"

"No one ever admitted to killing Jord and Jerensky."

"Do you think anyone would want to admit to capital murder?"

"No," said North. "But a number of conspirators have confessed and testified against their fellow conspirators, in return for more lenient sentences. I would've thought that someone would have pointed us to the guilty party. Nor have we identified the person responsible for the attempt on Captain Took's life."

"It's regrettable," said Dulin. "Either Odusk ordered it, or one of his chief underlings like Virtuoso did. In fact, Virtuoso implied in his personal files that he got rid of Jord."

"Implied, but didn't admit," said North. "No, I get the impression that there's still some unfinished business here."

"It would be nice to know who the killer is," said Dulin. "But he's almost certainly in confinement; he won't be harming anyone else for some time to come."

The War Admiral said nothing.

*******

The War Admiral wasn't the only one with doubts. Took reflected on some of his own as he waited for a special prisoner to be brought from his holding cell in the Glory. In a few moments he faced the welcoming glare of ex-director Odusk.

"You! Have you come to gloat?" said Odusk caustically.

"No," said Took. "I want to know why you killed Jord, and why you tried to kill me."

"I don't know what you're talking about," said Odusk.

"You rigged my shuttle's engines to overload, remember?"

"I did no such thing," said Odusk. He paused, glaring at Took, and considered his words. "I admit to using my position to my advantage; there's no sense in denying it, given the evidence you amassed. But I didn't kill anyone."

"Then one of your underlings did."

"I never ordered any such thing."

"What if they did it without telling you?

Odusk snorted. "Killed someone? Without clearing it with me? I hope you're a better pilot than you are an investigator."

"Why?"

"Don't you find it convenient that all the details of my guilt were conveniently stored on Virtuoso's database, just waiting to be cracked?"

"Well...."

"Guess what--he never had access to that information."

"You're saying it was fabricated?"

"No, it was real enough--stolen from my database," said Odusk. "And put on Virtuoso's. Someone was helping you get to us."

"Who?"

"The killer, probably," said Odusk. "Once you figured out what else we were doing, it wouldn't take much imagination to blame us for the murders."

"That's an interesting theory," said Took. "But how do I know that you're just not trying to avoid the blame for committing the murders? After all, you were never charged with the murders, and the case is still open; you have no incentive to admit it. And we still practice capital punishment in the military," Took added grimly.

"Why would I want to kill Jord?" said Odusk.

"To silence him when he discovered-"

"Jord WORKED for me," said Odusk.

"What?"

"He was on my payroll, he knew what was going on all along!" said Odusk.

"Then why wasn't his name listed in the records-"

"It was listed in my records," said Odusk. "But I'll bet that his name disappeared from the list before you got to it."

Took leaned back in his chair, stunned. Jord had been working for Odusk? If that could be proved, then there definitely was another person involved. But who could it be? Someone who had the ability to kill. And someone who was exceptionally good with computers.

*******

Took was once again on the Marist, where the hustle and bustle of the new work teams coming aboard were causing a babble of confusion and excitement. He had just finished recording the latest installment of his muckraking special, but he wasn't quite ready to move on to other matters, not yet.

He made his way to one of the observation posts, where Bill was filling in for one of the observers who had been arrested.

"Hey Mr. Took!" said Bill.

"Hey Bill," said Took dully. "I see you've gotten a promotion."

"Well, gee, it may only be temporary," said Bill.

"You know, Bill, there's something that's been bothering me," said Took. "I just spoke with Mr. Odusk earlier today."

"Gee, how's he doing?"

"He says he's pleasantly surprised by his new accommodations, and is actively searching for a good interior decorator," said Took. "But that's getting off-topic. He also told me that Jord was on his payroll, that he knew all about the black market operations."

"Gee, really?"

"Gee, really," said Took. "I did a little digging, and found out that Jord had a secret account, that was keyed to a special number chip found in his quarters."

"Interesting--I guess," said Bill.

"Interesting, because if he was working for Odusk, why would he be killed?"

"Beats me," Bill shrugged.

"And why didn't we find his name in Virtuoso's records, the records that you, Bill, retrieved for us?"

"Beats me," said Bill, shrugging his bony shoulders.

"And why is it a fellow as smart as you didn't realize that there was black market activity going on around here?"

"Oh, I never pay attention to such things," Bill assured Took. "If it doesn't involve science, or numbers, I'm really not that interested." Then, a new thought occurred to him, "Gee, you don't think I killed Bob, did you?"

"Well, now that you mention it.... gee, yes" said Took. He stood ready, watching Bill closely. Would he bolt? Would he try to draw a hidden weapon?

But Bill just shook his head. "You got me all wrong, Mr. Took. Why would I want to kill Bob? He was my friend."

"I don't know," said Took. "But we found those records a little too easily, and you had the opportunity. You worked here, where he died, and you could easily have tampered with the files before we recovered them."

"It sounds like a lot of guesswork to me," said Bill. "But gee, you seemed pretty worked up about it. Why don't you give me a few minutes to look into it?" He turned to his keyboard, started typing.

"What are you doing?" said Took, his hand close to his holstered blaster.

"Going into the fleet's library system. Do you have the access codes for that?"

"Uh..." said Took, debating whether he should give the ones that Captain Dulin had provided.

Bill's hands moved furiously over the keyboard. "Never mind," he said, as the words "Access granted" appeared on the screen.

"You can break into our system that easily?"

"Sure," said Bill. "It's really no effort at all. Hang on, give me a moment or two." He started digging into the records, and pulled up the file on Bob Jord.

"Gee, that's odd," said Bill.

"What?" said Took, not noticing anything.

"It says here that Bob joined the fleet at Orotis," said Bill.

"So he did," said Took.

"And this file is dated five years ago, when the fleet was at Orotis."

"So it was," said Took.

"So why did the internal directory listing-" and Bill pointed to a corner of the screen, "-say that this listing was created four years ago, the year after Bob came aboard?"

"I... I don't know," said Took.

"Give me a minute, let me dig some more," said Bill. He paused, looking up at Took. "This kind of investigating is fun, isn't it?"

"Keep digging, Bill."

Bill kept typing. "It's pretty easy now, actually. All I have to do is check the directory for a file that was purged on the same day this one was created, and reactivate it."

"Wouldn't a previous file have been deleted?"

Bill gave Took a pitying look. "There's no such thing as a delete when it comes to computers, Mr. Took. Even you should know that." He typed away madly. "Here we go."

Took gave a low whistle when he saw what appeared on the screen next.

*******

"His real name was Bob Rigil," said Took. "At least, that's the name that he boarded the ship with on Orotis."

"And then a year later he got into the ship's database and created a different identity?" said the War Admiral.

"Yes," said Took. "He started off as Bob Rigil, a cargo hand on the merchant ship Crawler, and then soon after he was Bob Jord, a farmhand on the Marist."

"Why would he need an alias here, in the fleet?"

"Unknown," said Took. "But another fact we confirmed was that he did receive payments from Odusk's organization. It seems unlikely that his own organization had him killed."

"Curiouser and curiouser," said the War Admiral. "A farm hand tries to cover up a past as a cargo hand. And we have a murder without a motive. This Bob Rigil wasn't wanted by fleet security for any crimes, was he?"

"No," said Took.

"Hm," said the War Admiral. "Keep digging, Captain."

*******

"Why would someone want to kill a farmhand?" Took muttered, lying in his bunk.

"Maybe they didn't like his tomatoes," said Obe, lying in the bunk above him.

"He switched names, jobs, and ships. He was obviously hiding from something," said Took.

"Well, if he was hiding from something, or someone, it wasn't a bright idea for him to appear on your vidcast," said Obe.

"Yeah... that's it!" said Took excitedly.

"What's it?" said Obe.

"That's why he was killed!"

"What?"

"Whoever was after him saw him on the vidcast, recognized him, and killed him," said Took. "Remember how reluctant he was to appear on camera?"

"Yes," said Obe. "Yes, now that you mention it, I do."

"But that gets us back to the original question," said Took. "Why would anyone want to kill him?"

"Maybe he irritated someone in the fleet," said Obe.

"Or maybe he irritated someone before he joined the fleet," said Took. He sat up, moved to the terminal on the nearby desk, and activated the voice interface.

"Computer, activate voice interface, voice authorization, Took, Idaho J, Command Captain."

"Activated," said the soft voice.

"Access Orotis database."

"Access was limited to brief linkup accomplished during our orbit in the Orotis system."

"Did access include news retrieval?"

"Affirmative."

"Search parameters, Bob Jord or Bob Rigil."

"Searching." Then, a few seconds later. "Found. One reference, relating to the criminal known as "The Modem"."

Took gave Obe a look. Jackpot!

"Provide text download of reference," said Took, staring at the screen.

*******

"-A criminal known as "The Modem", War Admiral," said Took. "Not much was known about him. He was a computer expert who committed a series of crimes on Orotis. His specialty was stealing funds electronically, or stealing information and selling it to the highest bidder." Took paused. "He also was wanted for murder."

"Where does the murdered farmhand come into this?" said the War Admiral.

"Rigil was a low-level worker at a bank, working late one night when he stumbled on "The Modem" working on a secured terminal in someone else's executive office. Rigil was smart enough to get out of there and call security. But by the time security got there, The Modem was gone." Took paused. "This made the news about two days before we arrived, which is why we picked it up when we linked into Orotis's planetary network. Rigil provided a general description of what The Modem looked like, but only Rigil could really identify this guy. Rigil became an instant celebrity, and was put under close police guard."

"And then we arrived," said the War Admiral.

"Both of them must have gotten aboard one of the merchant ships we took on," said Took. "I'm guessing that about a year after we left Orotis, their paths must have crossed. Only Rigil spotted The Modem without getting spotted himself. That's when he changed his name and purged his identity. Then he spent the next four years laying low... until I captured him on video," said Took grimly.

"You couldn't have known," said the War Admiral. "Do we have any idea who this "Modem" is or even what he looks like?"

"No," said Took. "But we do know that he was on the Marist when Jord, or Rigil, was killed, and on the Marist again to launch the signal to overload my shuttle's engines. If he's not a crewmember, he's someone who's been there several times, and there should be records in the transit log."

"And what is the result of your search so far?"

"It's unlikely that this Modem is a current member of the Marist crew; if the Modem had been a member of the crew, he would have spotted and killed Rigil long before now. Transit records show nineteen possibles who were visiting the Marist at the time that Rigil was killed, and eight possibles who were there when the signal was sent to my shuttle."

"And the overlap, people who were there during both times?"

"None," said Took. "He's gotten to the transit logs, obviously."

"I'll assign some computer specialists to assist in the search," said the War Admiral.

"I already have Bill looking into things," said Took.

"Yes, that's nice," said the War Admiral. "But it would also be nice to have fleet officers responsible for internal security looking into this too."

"Oh. Oh. I see. Ok," said Took reluctantly.

*******

He returned to his quarters, and activated his comm. "Bill, have you got anything yet?"

"No," said Bill. "He's covered his tracks pretty thoroughly. I'm still searching the database though. By the way, I have to say, I'm very impressed by your professional record; did you know you have several commendations from the War Admiral in your personal record?"

"Bill, you're supposed to be searching for the killer!" Took said.

"Sorry. I got distracted for a minute."

"Hacking into the Glory's personnel database qualifies as a minute's distraction?"

"Sure," said Bill. "I'll keep looking."

"You do that," said Took, frowning. The Modem would have been sure to cover his tracks thoroughly, probably erasing all records of his boarding on Orotis, and anything else that could be used to trace his identity.

But what if a record existed that The Modem didn't know about?

"Bill, are you still there?" said Took, unsure of how long he had been lost in thought.

"Yeah."

"Do a search of the Crawler."

"The Crawler?"

"Personnel transfers and visits to the ship, about the same time that Rigil changed identities."

"I'll dig into it, but it may take a little while."

"I'm going to bed," said Took. "Call me when you have something."

*******

He dropped off to sleep, and was only awakened by the persistent beeping of his terminal several hours later.

"What is it?" he said, a bit sleepy. He flicked on his terminal. There was a priority e-mail, waiting from Bill.

"Took, come quickly, I've found something," Took slowly read. "But we have to meet in private." Attached was the location of a storeroom on the lower decks of the Marist. Well, Bill must really have found something important. But why hadn't he simply called over the comm?

Took yawned, kicked Obe's bunk.

"Leave me alone," said Obe, not opening his eyes.

"I think we're getting to the bottom of things," said Took. "Obe, don't you want to be there to see when I break this story wide open?"

*******

When the shuttle docked with the Marist, they headed off for the storeroom that Bill had specified.

"I still don't know why he didn't just tell you what he found over the comm," said Obe.

"Maybe he thought our comm lines were being tapped," said Took.

They walked through the empty corridors of the Marist; the ship was in "night" phase, and only a skeleton staff was on the upper decks, monitoring the farms and life support.

"17-B, here we are," said Took, fingering the contact which opened the door. The inside was dim, lit only by a light source on the other end of the room.

"Bill?" he said, cautiously entering the room, followed by Obe.

They were in a storeroom of some sort; they made their way past the crates to the lightsource, and, around a corner, found Bill.

All tied up to a chair and gagged.

"Uh-oh," said Took.

"Don't move," said a voice behind them.

"Definitely uh-oh," said Took. Then, "I know you said you didn't want us to move, but can we get a variance to turn around?"

"Slowly," said the voice.

They turned to find themselves facing a tall, thin man with brown hair, pointing a blaster at both of them.

"The Modem, I presume?" said Took.

The man nodded.

"You wouldn't mind filling in a few gaps; before you kill us, I mean," said Took.

The Modem stared at them, considering. "Why not?" he smiled.

"You killed Rigil when you spotted him on the vid."

"Yes," said The Modem. "You can't imagine how surprised I was to see him." And then, in a darker tone. "But, then, you can't imagine how surprised he was to see me."

Took didn't pursue that line of questioning, remembering the grisly description of the thresher. "And you killed Jerensky because he had the security video of your attack on Rigil."

"Yes."

"And you tried to pin the blame on Odusk."

The Modem nodded.

"And the attempt on our lives?

"Yes to that too," said the Modem, who seemed mildly pleased to finally be able to recount his feats. "At first, I thought killing you would be simpler. But you didn't cooperate and die quickly."

"Sorry," said Took.

"I was of course quite aware of the black market sales of food, and it occurred to me that, if logically presented, you might accept them as the culprits."

"Only I didn't."

"No, you didn't," said the Modem. "How disappointing to me!"

"Sorry," said Took.

"And then I detected this young man searching in areas of the database where he shouldn't have been."

"And that set off an alarm," said Took.

"And that set off an alarm," The Modem agreed. "I secured this young man, and sent a message to secure you."

"And now... after having confessed, you're ready to give yourself up?"

The Modem laughed. "Not quite. This young man has one last service to perform. He's going to go into the database to help me remove any possible reference to me or my activities."

"And then?"

"And then... well, you have seen my face," said The Modem. "It's not enough to get rid of you, Captain. You're too persistent, with too much free time on your hands."

"What if I promised to take up a new hobby?"

"It's too late for that, Captain," said The Modem.

"Bill will never cooperate."

"Mmm Mmm," said Bill, through his gag.

"Oh, he'll cooperate," said The Modem, touching an electroblade which was hanging from his belt.

"I guess I was pretty gullible to fall into your trap and be lured here by a simple e-mail message," said Took, speaking louder than usual, in an exaggerated and artificial tone.

"Yes, I guess you were," said the Modem.

At that minute they heard a swishing, like the door of the compartment opening, and then closing. But from their positions behind the crates they couldn't see who it was.

The Modem put his finger to his lips for them to keep quiet, and raised his blaster menacingly. If they spoke or made any noise, he would shoot.

They heard the quiet sounds of a methodical footstep. One, then another, then another. Getting closer to them.

Took looked at Obe. Obe looked at Took. Bill looked bewildered.

The footsteps came closer. And then, around the corner, they saw--

Ken Pilot, 04.

"Don't move," said the Modem, gripping his weapon tightly. He was fortunate enough to have Took, Obe, and the Ken Pilot grouped together in the same field of fire.

"Couldn't you have come from behind him?" Took sighed.

"He knew I was coming when the door opened," said the Ken Pilot.

"You could at least have had your weapon drawn," said Took.

"Mmmm Mmmm," Bill added.

"An unexpected guest," said The Modem, his eyes narrowing.

"He was listening to my open comm the whole time," said Took. "The War Admiral appointed the Ken Pilot as my bodyguard for the duration of this investigation. He flew here with us on the shuttle. Only he was supposed to come in and catch The Modem unaware," he said, glaring at the Ken Pilot. "With a DRAWN weapon."

"There's no way I can silence an active door," said the Ken Pilot.

"You could at least have had your weapon drawn," said Took.

"It wasn't necessary," said the Ken Pilot.

"You're the Graftonite," said The Modem.

"Yes," said the Ken Pilot. "But I've been off-planet for a long time. My reflexes have slowed. They might even be as slow as yours, if you're quick enough."

"K, unless you're going to draw and shoot him while he's got a gun pointed at you, please don't provoke him," said Took.

"All right!" said The Modem. "Turn around, all of you! Slowly! Facing away from me."

Took and Obe complied, but the Ken Pilot just stood there, as if he were calculating something.

"Unless you think you're faster than a half depressed trigger finger, you'd better comply," said The Modem, his eyes glinting and narrowing.

The Ken Pilot considered a second more, and then turned away like the others.

"Now, I want each of you to remove your weapon from its holster, and then let it drop to the ground. And when you move, I want you to do it slowly! Graftonite, you go first."

"That's pretty smart," said the Ken Pilot. "After all, there's no way I can draw and fire on you if I'm not even looking at you, is there?" He said it lazily, as if he were bored, or mildly amused.

"Less talk, and more action!" screamed The Modem. "You could be useful as hostages for Bill's good behavior, but if it takes too much effort, I may just change my mind and shoot you now."

"All right," said the Ken Pilot mildly. Still facing away from The Modem, his hand slowly went to his blaster, and rested his hands on its butt.

"Pull it out slowly, and drop it!"

The Ken Pilot slowly pulled the blaster out of its holster. Then, in a movement almost too quick to see, he flicked the gun backwards and pulled the trigger.

They turned to see The Modem screaming, clutching the charred remains of his gun hand as he twisted to the ground, sobbing.

Took and Obe quickly drew their guns.

"You couldn't even see him and you were able to shoot him that precisely?" said Took. "Do you have one of those electronic humming sensors built into your gunbelt?"

"It wasn't so difficult," said the Ken Pilot. "After all, I saw exactly where he was before I turned away."

*******

"Excellent work, Command Captain," said the War Admiral. "You know, I've always felt that your vidcasts were important to keeping the fleet's morale up. But you did two even more useful tasks this week. A really fine job all around."

"Thanks, War Admiral," Took said. "I just wished we could have located The Modem before we broadcast that vid we did with Rigil."

"You had no way of knowing what would happen," said the War Admiral. "It was random chance. I don't doubt that this Modem is responsible for a number of unsolved crimes in the fleet. But now, like Odusk, he'll never be able to harm anyone again."

"Will he get the death penalty?"

"Perhaps," said the War Admiral. "The only other alternatives are banishment, or permanent confinement. I'll be holding the trial next week--one of my duties I'm less fond of," said the War Admiral grimly. "Based on his confession to you, his guilt is clear. He could face life confinement, or banishment, or capital punishment. We'll see." He turned away. "Was there anything else?

"Well," said Took. "There's just one more thing, War Admiral. Are there any openings in engineering for a civilian engineer?"

"We don't take civilians on the Glory for essential ship's functions, Iday," said the War Admiral. "You should know that."

"Well, there's a special case I think you should know about, in case you're of a mind to make an exception....."