Alvarest nodded. "Right. Well, thanks for getting me this far."
"Give a call if you need anything else." The young enlisted man saluted cheerfully and departed.
I wish I could, Alvarest thought. He could use another ally. But he dared not involve Akins further, or tell him what he was really looking for. Sighing, he turned and continued on his way.
* * *
There was a gallery window in the main passageway overlooking the hangar area. Alvarest watched a Space Forces patrol cutter leaving. Service arms pulled back from the craft like implements of some sort of alien dentistry. A pair of slender mooring retainers held the craft as its bay doors slid closed, and two workers in bulky servo-suits jetted clear. The retainers swung back, and the craft drifted slowly away from the dock. Four small thrusters sparked and glowed intermittently, and the cutter slowly dwindled, a white painted bird being swallowed by the enormity of space. When its main engines glowed to life, it scudded out of sight like a puppet on a string.
In the main hangar, no one was visible. The workers in servo-suits had disappeared. Alvarest drifted down to the end of the passage. A bored-looking guard glanced at his Defense Department I.D. and waved him inside. He paused to establish his bearings.
Along one side of the hangar was a catwalk, edging a thick-windowed wall dividing the shirtsleeve environment from the hard-vacuum docking bay from which the cutter had departed. Below the catwalk was an open work area, filled with moving equipment and zero-gee storage racks. The outer wall was punctuated by airlocks of various sizes and entrance tubes to one-man servo-suits docked on the outside. Alvarest moved along the catwalk. Both the outer and inner hangars were deserted.
He gazed down at the silent equipment. It all looked normal enough, though he wondered if he would know something out of the ordinary if he saw it. Conveyor tracks led from storage areas on the right to the main airlocks; winches and manipulating equipment were locked in position at the far ends of the tracks. He dropped easily from the catwalk to take a closer look at the machinery. It was surprising how lightweight the equipment appeared. In zero-gee, even massive loads, properly handled, could be moved with relatively little brute force. He stopped to peer into one of the large airlocks. More equipment.
He heard a whining noise behind him. Turning, he lost his grip momentarily and foundered against the airlock door. As he twisted around, he was horrified to see a winch sliding along its track toward the airlock, its latching mechanism arrowing straight for his head. He struggled to flee from its path, and found himself hanging in midair, swinging and kicking. At last he got a grip on the hatch behind him, and shoved sideways. The winch abruptly clanked to a stop, and a voice rasped through an intercom, "Who's that in there?"
Carried by his momentum, Alvarest hit a structural beam with his left arm and shoulder, and rebounded in slow motion. By the time he turned, a man was sailing out of one of the rear doors toward him.
"You okay?" the man asked, swinging to an easy stop beside him.
"Yeah," Alvarest managed. "I slammed into that beam."
"Man, you were really spinning around there," the worker said. "I didn't see you till you were about to be flattened." He squinted. "You sure you're okay? Jesus, it's a good thing I looked out when I did. I thought nobody was out here. Shit." He scowled toward a window in the rear wall, beyond which was apparently a control room.
"I bunged my elbow pretty good," Alvarest said, wincing as he straightened his arm. "It works, though. I guess I didn't break anything."
The worker shook his head. "Man, I was
sure
there was nobody out here! What are you doing here, anyway? This is no place for a groundheader to be wandering around on his own."
Alvarest reddened, but didn't protest the characterization. "I'm with Defense," he said. "Just looking over the facilities."
"Oh, well, why the hell didn't you come to us and ask? We'd be glad to show you around—but you go poking on your own, you're gonna get hurt."
"Yeah. Guess I was a little stupid." Alvarest looked around. "Mind if I ask what you load here?"
The man shrugged. "You name it. Food, cargo, hardware. Not fuel, that's at the depot down by Delta section."
"Just for the military?" Alvarest asked casually.
"Oh, no—anything the government flies. And commercial stuff."
"How about ordnance. Do you load that, too?"
"Oh, hell no." The man looked at him curiously. "That's done at the ordnance depot. I'm surprised you don't know. We wouldn't have it in here. That stuff scares me."
"Yeah, me too," Alvarest said. "Listen—thanks." He reached for a handhold to shove off from. "I'd better get on going. Sorry to mess up your work. I'll ask for a guide next time."
"Hey, take it easy," the man said.
Alvarest flexed his arm cautiously as he floated along a handrail toward the door. Yes, indeed, he had better get a guide. But how could he do that, except through channels?
* * *
"You're not on Earth now," Ogilvy snapped irritably. "And this isn't your cozy pad in the Cube." His eyes darted, reminding Alvarest of a small, feral animal. "We do things a little differently here. Do you understand what I'm saying?"
Alvarest rubbed his arm unconsciously. "I'm not sure I do."
"Does it have to be spelled out?" Ogilvy said, eyeing him. "You're here at the general's pleasure. If you don't support him, you're against him."
"Excuse me," Alvarest said. "But I work for the Defense Information Bureau. I'm not working for the general, and I'm not under—"
"Don't make too many assumptions about your standing here," Ogilvy said, scowling. "This little trip of yours to the loading dock—"
"Who told you about that?"
"We got a call from the dock supervisor, saying they had a man from Defense wandering around unescorted, getting in the way, and almost getting himself hurt. I notice you're favoring your left arm."
"All right, I should have asked for assistance," Alvarest conceded.
"You were there without authorization in the first place."
"Was that a secure facility? If so, it wasn't marked."
"That's not relevant." Ogilvy frowned at his clipboard. He spoke without meeting Alvarest's eyes. "You're here on a limited fact-finding assignment—pertaining only to a specific criminal prosecution. Those loading docks have nothing to do with your assignment."
Alvarest stared at him impassively. "That's a matter of interpretation. I may need to tour other facilities, as well."
Ogilvy squinted uneasily. "For what purpose?"
"Fact gathering. I'm not sure yet what I'll require," Alvarest said calmly. "I'll keep you informed."
"Will you, now? It may interest you to know that Spaceman Akins is already on report for taking you on that last little joy trip."
"That was my responsibility," Alvarest protested. "Akins was simply complying with my request."
"When we want you to take command of our personnel, we'll let you know," Ogilvy said with quiet sarcasm. "In the meantime, please confine yourself to investigations that have been cleared through this office."
Alvarest cleared his throat. "I have a mandate—"
"Your mandate doesn't mean shit to us," Ogilvy snapped. His calm had broken and his eyes strained and flicked to and fro as he struggled to regain control. "It may surprise you that we don't bow down to every little mandate from Earthside. You may find us a little harder to get along with than what you're used to."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Ogilvy shrugged. "You're an intelligent man. I'm sure you can understand."
Alvarest pinched his lower lip between thumb and forefinger. "I see. Well, Lieutenant, in that case it's been a pleasure, but I have work to do." He turned, and with a single kick, floated out of Ogilvy's office. His movement was graceful until he reached the corridor, and then his anger got the best of him, and he caromed painfully against a wall as he attempted to change directions.
For Alvarest, the next two days were filled with frustration. Hours spent on a terminal with one of Horst's computer wizards produced no results; if there was any proof to be found, it was not accessible from the outside. Horst offered to arrange a visit to Tachylab, for interviews with some of the other scientific personnel; but there were security clearances involved, and it would take a few days to set up. In the meantime, Alvarest studied briefs and talked again with the attorneys and the defendants. He sorted through several months of news files, searching for evidence of actual leaks—that being the alleged goal of the conspiracy. If any news reports qualified, Joe Payne's did; but even his were fairly vague, and could well represent supposition rather than leaked information.
Alvarest wrote a second report to his Earthside control, indicating his belief that
Aquarius
was an illegally armed craft—and admitting that he had no more proof than before. The next day, after considerable deliberation, he called Ogilvy and asked for a tour of the military ordnance depot, preferably with the attorneys in attendance. Ogilvy agreed to arrange a private inspection, but balked at allowing the attorneys. Would tomorrow be satisfactory? Alvarest agreed—surprised, and more than a little suspicious.
He discussed his suspicions with Horst. "I don't trust him—but how else am I going to learn anything? Do you think he may have decided that it's just easier to play along?"
"Well," Horst said, "
Aquarius
has been gone a couple of weeks now. That's plenty of time to remove incriminating evidence." He pressed his lips together. "I'm still shocked that this could happen—either without the President's knowledge, or maybe what's worse,
with
his knowledge." He shook his head. "Either way, we could be in a sticky position."
Alvarest looked at him carefully. "Yeah," he said. "Listen. You don't suppose that there's any danger in my going on this inspection thing alone, do you?"
Horst arched his eyebrows. "I don't think Armstead's a killer, if that's what you mean—though I've heard him called a lot of other things. Still, I suppose it wouldn't hurt to be cautious."
Alvarest gazed at him with a cold feeling.
He tried to shake the feeling later, as he returned to his quarters. He sent a short advisory to his control, indicating his plans. Then, locating paper and a clipboard, he jotted down some of the thoughts that were swirling in his mind—in a letter to Stanley Gerschak—and requested that the astronomer pass the information on to "their mutual friend."
When he was finished, he read the letter over, hesitating a long time, and finally sealed it and went to the central postal exchange, where he paid the premium GEO-to-Earth rates and watched the envelope disappear into a mailbag. Then he returned to his quarters, where he tried, with little success, to sleep.
* * *
"We'll be in hard vacuum, Mr. Alvarest," Spaceman Ramsey said, leading the way into the ready-room. "Have to suit up and take a scooter." He halted before a row of lockers, turned to eye Alvarest for size, and pulled out two spacesuits.
"Why keep it in hard vacuum?" Alvarest asked nervously, taking the suit. "Doesn't that make for more trouble?"
Ramsey shrugged. "Trouble for people who don't belong here. Prevents contamination. You've worn a pressure suit before, right?"
Alvarest shook his head.
"Well, then, there's some things you need to know."
Alvarest tried to listen as Ramsey rattled off the instructions, but he had trouble concentrating.
Contamination?
Of what—the weapons stock? Or radioactive contamination of the station? How would he know if he saw anything incriminating? He knew the symbol for radioactivity, but that was about it.
"—back on this lever," Ramsey was saying.
"Huh? Right. Pull back," Alvarest repeated. By the time they were both suited, he had begun to wish he'd been thinking less and listening more to the checkout.
It wouldn't hurt to be cautious,
Horst had said. Thinking could be a dangerous habit.
Ramsey led the way into the airlock and told him to shut his faceplate. Ramsey checked the seal, and then closed his own. "Check your air," he instructed, his voice crackling in Alvarest's headset. Alvarest took several deep breaths; the air smelled a little stale, but otherwise seemed okay. "What are your pressure and flow readings?" Ramsey said. His voice was loud and harsh, and his breath a rasp in Alvarest's ear.
"Where do I find it?" He fumbled at the controls on his chest.
"Not there!" Ramsey said impatiently. "Fuckin' A, man, didn't you listen? Inside—top of your visor."
"Right." Alvarest found the tiny red digital display reflected on the inner surface of his visor and quoted the figures to Ramsey. Ramsey grunted and turned to the airlock control panel.
The inner door slid shut. An amber light went on above it. The light turned red, and Alvarest felt his suit stiffening slightly. When he turned around, he saw the outer door retracting. Ramsey gestured and moved out of the lock; Alvarest, after a moment's hesitation, followed.
The view in the hangar was essentially the same whether one was looking out through a window or stepping out in a spacesuit, but the
feelings
were very different. Alvarest clung to the doorframe to steady himself. Weightlessness suddenly had a new meaning. If he let go, he might tumble away from the airlock, and safety, with nothing to grab onto. Don't be ridiculous, he thought. How was Ramsey managing?
His guide was hovering, using tiny jets on his suit. "Hook your line to that cleat on your left," Ramsey ordered. Alvarest found the end of his safety line and obeyed. "Now swing around there and get on the rear seat of the scooter." Alvarest focused on a wasplike craft moored to his left. Slowly he swung himself around and clambered onto the second narrow seat on the craft's body. He hooked his legs around the frame, until Ramsey floated up alongside and showed him where to hang on. "When I unhook your line, now, reel it in and hook it right here." He tapped a fitting on the scooter. Alvarest, fumbling in the bulky suit, complied.