Authors: Anne McCaffrey
“How dense can you get, Cutler,” she said, slapping her forehead as it suddenly occurred to her that this was a rough diagram of the Station’s levels. She found her current location, a square, the shape of this room. Keeping the layout of Padrugoi in mind, she worked out two more square repositories like this, one in the Mall, another in the noncommissioned officers’ quarters. She fussed over the circles, which were so oddly placed, gave up on them, and tried to suss out the rectangles. The largest one ought to be on the boat bay. That made a lot of sense. If Flimflam had been responsible for the sabotage of
Limo-34
, and she suspected he had had a lot to do with it, he’d’ve had to have all his supplies for that job in one place, as well as additional help, to do it in the time available. What were the circles? Okay, Cutler, what is circular on a space station? Glancing about the room, wracking her brains, her eye caught the ventilation grille in the ceiling.
“Yes, stupid,” she murmured. “Now did General Johnny give him that idea when he secreted his troops in the conduits around the Inauguration site before the Mutiny?”
There were nine circles on the rough map, ranging up and down Padrugoi’s long stem. In her mind’s eye, she slid a map of Padrugoi over the sketch and memorized the positions. She could hunt for the conduit and ventilation sites later. She should check the boat bay site next. But first for that evidence the boss always needed. She took out the print-recorder and ran it over every surface. It would record all fingerprints, including her own, but would provide undeniable evidence of who frequented this room. Flimflam couldn’t have done the sabotage on his own. He had to have had accomplices. Maybe never allowed in this room but surely when he did that rush job on
Limo-34?
Boat bay next! She removed a change of clothing, and rank, from her trundle-cart so that she could reach her destination without too many questions on the way.
Opening the door and checking to be sure the hall was vacant, she emerged as a CPO from Transport, and pushed the cart out. She closed the door, noting that it was labeled 7299A, and wheeled the cart almost to the next intersection, where she left it and walked smartly away.
The boat bay was occupied when she got there: a maintenance team was working on another Limo but too busy under the eyes of a CPO to notice her entry. Moving as if she were on an urgent errand, she strode to her target door and, slipping in the special key, was relieved when it opened. She entered, letting the door close on her as she palmed on lights. She whistled softly. Unlike 7299A, this room was a mess and was filled with an acrid smell. The grille had been removed from the ceiling ventilator; that was interesting. Improvised steps in the form of empty plastic frames suggested that someone or ones had left via that route. More important to her search, however, were the circuit boards and crystals. Careful not to smear any fingerprints on what surface there was, she peered at the yellow printing on the boards.
“Hmm. For MPUs, huh. Like they use in Limos. Very interesting.” She ran the print-recorder across everything.
Tools were also scattered about an empty container, clearly marked EPOXY Type 34-AS-9, fast-acting. A large red label under that legend warned about using it without safety gloves and mask. She saw the cuff of one safety glove and several masks discarded in a corner.
Let’s see now, six, seven days? There might still be residual traces on skin and clothing that a sensor could pick up. Some of those grunts don’t bother washing, she reminded herself.
She took out the print-recorder and slowly scanned the rest of the printable surfaces available, of which there were quite a few. She had a stitch in her back when she finished the circuit. Hopping up the steps, she flicked the recorder around the aperture. Prints might be smudged but enough could be made of them to confirm that this had been used as an egress for those owning the prints. Then she hoisted herself up into the ventilation shaft, ducking her head as she perched on the edge. Light from other openings in both directions allowed her to see to intersections.
Hmm, Flimflam’d need to pick skinny grunts. He’s not, even in tailor
mades. She spread her hand, which she knew measured twenty centimeters from little finger to thumb, a reliable gauge, and decided the opening was just wide enough for a man not too broad in the shoulder. He’d’ve had to scrunch in his shoulders a bit. Wonder if he’ll have old bruises or scrapes on his arms, she mused. At least there was reason for the boss to do a thorough examination of him. She considered if continuing would be profitable. “Maybe, but I’d get dirty and tired and someone else can do this sort of work,” she muttered. “I’d better get back to the boss. I’ve found Flimflam and I’ve found evidence that should stand up in a trial.”
She lowered herself back through the opening, holding on to the edge to kick the crude steps out of the way before she dropped to the floor. Dusting off her hands and uniform, she exited the room whistling merrily and didn’t bother to notice if the maintenance crew had seen her.
O
n her way back to the commissioner’s temporary office on the CIC level of Padrugoi, she realized one of the things that might be causing Flimflam anxiety:
Limo-34
had landed safely at First Base, though the news had not been bruited about. So all his efforts to sabotage the flight had been in vain. Couldn’t happen to a nicer sucker! She wondered who would be on his back because he’d failed. That was someone else’s problem. She was here because she could recognize Flimflam’s mind. The LEO Commissioner was loaning the admiral appropriate, parapsychic staff in this investigation. Not that she could, or would, probe that scuzball but she certainly could locate him and she had. She found the correct lift, inserted the metal slip of her pass, and continued on her way. As a crowd-control empath with a limited ’path range, she’d have to report in person. Besides, she wanted to see the expression on Boris Roznine’s face. She also needed to get to a schematic of Padrugoi so she could identify the locations of Flimflam’s other depots. She rapped on the office door.
Ah, Cass
, said Boris in his unmistakably deep mental voice.
Come in
.
She did, pausing in surprise at the disarray in the cabin. Roznine’s office in Jerhattan was always tidy but here he was surrounded by pencil files of all colors, hard copy, and two monitors displaying graphs and curves, as well as a tray with half-eaten sandwiches. Boris looked tired; even his fingers wavered a little over his notepad.
“I got proof,” she said, waggling the print-recorder before she passed it
over to him. “And do you have a schematic of the Station? I got some other locations I want to get down before I forget ’em.”
With no hesitation, Boris flipped a sheet from under other hard copy on his desk and flipped it to her.
“Been here,” and she grabbed a marker and circled the point. “Seven deck, room 7299A, and it’d be interesting to know what it’s officially used for because Flimflam made it a dressing room cum food stash, liquor for bribes, tools, and too many vacuum-packed gimmicks for me to identify.”
Boris let her make her notations. With a final flourish she marked the one at the boat bay. “You’ll want to send a security team up there muy pronto, boss. Ottey’s going to love it. Mind you, the Epoxy 34-AS-9 container is empty but that was the one bit of alleged sabotage equipment I could recognize. Smell of the stuff might still make a sensor jump.” She pointed to her markings. “These are places—as near as I can estimate—where he must have other drops. He put an aide-mémoire on the back of the door of room 7299A.” She grinned sardonically.
Boris leaned to one side of his worktop, flipped open the comm, and gave the number. When he had Ottey on-line, he gave crisp requests that were more orders than suggestions to search 7299A and the boat bay storage locker. He paused, listening to a question that was probably just as crisp, if Cass knew Ottey, and turned back to her.
“D’you know where he is right now?”
She twitched a shoulder as she sprawled into a chair. “He had assumed his lowly janitorial persona when he exited 7299A. Once I saw what was inside, I took prints and investigated the one location I was reasonably sure of finding—the boat bay. He’s real worried.” She paused to grin maliciously and then sat forward abruptly. “Oh, tell Ottey that the ventilator shaft in the boat bay site was open, steps up to it and all. I took good prints before I had a look. Must have used small guys or ones with narrow shoulders. Flimflam is a little too broad across the chest.”
“They’re on their way,” Boris said, closing the connection.
“I felt it was wiser to report back to you once I’d ascertained the nature of the boat bay location,” she went on, receiving a positive nod from her boss, “rather than try to discover his current whereabouts. I also found these.” She withdrew the tangle of ID wristbands and let them casually fall from her fingers to the worktop.
Eyes widening with dismay, Boris grabbed the nearest one and popped it into the security clearance unit on one side of his desk. “Lieutenant Schafer, Supply?” Even as he repeated the name of its wearer, the printout informed Boris that Schafer had been transferred three years ago. He picked up another. “Commander Uskar, Engineering?” For the past two years, Uskar had been teaching at Newport Naval Base.
“I wonder Flimflam ever bothered to sleep in that cell of his,” Cass observed wryly. “Though I guess that once in a while he had to be where he was supposed to be. Those first two IDs would have given him access to wherever he wanted to be. From what I saw stashed away, he could change service branch and identity any time he needed to.”
Boris did not bother with the rest of the bands. He reopened the comlink. “Roznine again. Bindra? Ottey’s already gone, has he? Excellent. Something else has come up, if you’d be so kind as to step down to my office?”
Cass grinned. When the LEO Commissioner spoke in that tone, “be so kind” meant like right now! Cass wondered just how Flimflam had acquired them in the first place, since such IDs were worn constantly—by their legitimate owners—and were hard to replicate; perhaps not for a scam artist like Albert Ponce. Or had he just switched counterfeits for the originals?
“For someone supposedly limited to one section of Padrugoi, he certainly had the freedom of the Station,” Boris remarked at his drollest.
“What else could you expect from someone like Flimflam?” Cass could objectively admire the man’s ingenuity and resourcefulness.
“I do not care to speculate,” Boris said repressively, but Cass was not intimidated and grinned back. “What I find somewhat surprising is that he didn’t try to leave the Station.”
“Well paid to stay aboard until it was worth his while to leave?” Cass asked with an innocent expression on her face. “He’s been up here long enough to explore the indigenous opportunities to the fullest. And he was involved in the White-Coat Mutiny, wasn’t he?” She pointed to the secret caches she’d put on the schematic.
“He was, but only peripherally. Barchenka was no fool and he lost privileges, supporting her.” Boris frowned, fingering his lower lip thoughtfully. “LEO is going to have to follow different avenues of investigation.”
Cass knew he was thinking about personnel. LEO was always short
of the right kind of personnel, which was one reason she had drawn this duty.
“International LEO already has cooperated with surveillance on Shimaz’s relatives; those who have been up here, at least, for one reason or another, including one Ahmin Duvachek, who demanded a formal Health and Welfare appointment to ascertain if our facility was according Mr. Albert Ponce his human rights.” Boris’s expression was ironic.
“Ahh!” Cass drawled the syllable out. “You do remember, don’t you, boss, that Flimflam was not the brains behind the child-farming scheme.”
“All too true but we haven’t been able to establish if Shimaz is involved in this mess. Though I remind you that he did work with Barchenka.”
“Maybe he’s bankrolling it?”
“Haven’t traced credit transfers yet. Though Kibon does regularly transfer credits downside. He has relatives, too.”
Cass opened her eyes wide. “All God’s chillun got relatives.”
“Credit going out doesn’t worry me as much as credit coming in, and we haven’t found that yet. It’ll be interesting to see what Flimflam has secreted away at these points.” Boris tapped Cass’s marks.
“Nasty man, Shimaz, waiting so long to get back at Peter.”
“Not just Peter. They’ve been after General Greene a while, too, but he’s slippery. And confidentially, Cass, this is not the first time Peter’s been at risk since he became an official Center employee.”
She was clearly startled by that admission. “You mean, those clowns on his birthday?”
Boris nodded. “The Faithful Brotherhood of whatever-it-was has now been traced back to one of Flimflam’s Religious Interpretation Groups.”
“Really! Has anyone tried for Tirla?” Cass asked, sitting bolt upright on the chair, half-afraid, half-resentful that the girl she had rescued nearly six years ago might be at risk again. Roznine’s sister-in-law, Tirla, had been more involved with Flimflam and Shimaz than Peter was.
“Oh, that one,” and Boris’s expression was affectionately droll. “She suspects there have been quite a few attempts. She has a finely tuned sixth sense of survival.” A small smile of approval turned up the corners of Roznine’s generous mouth. “It’s only recently that we have correlated those incidents as perhaps part of a larger plot for revenge.”
“Barchenka didn’t know
her,
” Cass exclaimed, puzzled.
“We don’t know that Construction Manager Barchenka is involved at
all—bar having had brief visits from two of Shimaz’s relations. We’re trying to find out if Ahmin Duvachek is related or connected in some way to her. Though it takes little imagination to see why she certainly would enjoy getting back at Peter and John Greene.”
“That’s fer damned sure, boss.” Then she rose. “How’s Ranjit doing? I haven’t caught even a twitch from him.”
Boris pursed his lips, but his light blue eyes were amused. “He’s following a different line of investigations, working undercover.”