He would have to be satisfied with sending a pair of signals, the first to the petty officers, that he was serious about the 77-12s, the second to the lieutenants, that they had better supervise the department heads very closely.
Dinner with the warrant officers was much more cheerful, and the table was well provided, thanks to Warrant Officer/First Toutou, who headed the commissary. The warrant officers were specialists, pilots or navigators, supply officers or sensor technicians, or the commissary, and didn’t run large departments like the senior petty officers. Their own 77-12s would be much easier to complete.
Some didn’t have to fill 77-12s at all, as was attested by Toutou’s broad smile and laughing demeanor.
The mess orderly was pouring little glasses of a sweet trellinberry liqueur at the end of the meal when Martinez’s sleeve display gave a chime. He answered.
“Captain, I need you in my office.” Michi’s voice told him that she would brook no delay.
“Right away, my lady,” Martinez said. He rose from his chair, and before he could stop them, the others rose too.
“Be seated,” he told them. “And many thanks for your hospitality. I’ll return it someday.”
Dr. Xi waited with Michi in her office. Martinez looked for Garcia and didn’t find him.
“Tell him,” Michi said, without bothering to tell Martinez to relax his salute.
Xi turned his mild eyes to Martinez. “When I was looking through my references for methods of lifting fingerprints, it mentioned that prints left on skin can fluoresce under laser light. So I asked Machinist Strode to provide a suitable laser, and he had one of his minions assemble one for me.”
Martinez, still braced with his chin lifted, looked at Xi from the corner of his eye. “You found fingerprints on the captain?” he asked.
Michi looked up, and an expression of annoyance crossed her face. “For all’s sake, Martinez,” she said, “relax and have a seat, will you?”
“Yes, my lady.”
Xi politely waited for Martinez to take a chair, then continued as if there had been no interruption. “There were fingerprints on the captain, yes. Mine, and Garcia’s, and those of my orderlies. No others that I could find.”
Martinez had no reply to this.
“I then got Lieutenant Kosinic’s body out of the cooler, and I put a sensor net over his head and got a three-dimensional map of his injuries. He died from a single blow to the head, perfectly consistent with losing his balance, falling, and hitting his head on the rim of the hatch.”
One fewer murder, anyway,Martinez thought.
“When I looked for fingerprints with the laser,” Xi continued, “I found my own and my assistants‘. And I also found one large thumbprint on the underside of the jaw on the right side.” He pressed his own thumb to the point. “Right where a thumb might rest if a person were grabbing Kosinic’s head and slamming it into the hatch rim.”
He gave a little grin. “It was quite a job to read that print properly,” he said. “I couldn’t use a normal print reader, and so I had to take several close-up photographs while the print was fluorescing, and then convert the format to—”
“Skip that part,” Michi instructed.
Xi seemed disappointed that he was not getting the chance to fully reveal the scope of his cleverness. He licked his lips and went on.
“The thumbprint was that of Master Engineer Thuc,” he said.
Martinez realized his mouth was open, and he closed it. “I’ll be damned,” he said.
Thuc was enormous and covered with muscle, and certainly strong enough to smash Kosinic’s head on the first try. He looked at Michi.
“So Thuc killed Kosinic,” he said. “And Fletcher found out about it somehow and executed Thuc.”
She nodded. “That seems likely.”
“He said he killed Thuc for the honor of the ship,” Martinez said. “He was very sensitive on points of rank and dignity, and maybe he thought it would be an affront to his own pride to order a formal inquiry to reveal the fact that one of his enlisted personnel killed an officer, and so he decided to handle it himself.”
Michi nodded again. “Go on.”
“But if that’s true,” Martinez said, “then who the hell killedFletcher?”
Michi gave him an odd, searching look. “Who benefits?” she said.
Irritation rasped along Martinez’s nerves. “If you’re expecting me to break down and confess,” he said, “you’re going to be disappointed.”
“Others may benefit besides you,” Michi pointed out. “For example, someone who knew that Fletcher would never favor her ambitions, but who thought you might.”
Martinez suspected that Michi’s choice of pronoun was not accidental. “Thuc might have had an accomplice,” he suggested. “An accomplice who thought he was next on Fletcher’s list.”
“Did you know,” Michi said, “that Lieutenant Prasad excelled in Torminel-style wrestling at the Doria Academy?”
“No,” Martinez said, “I didn’t. I haven’t had time to review her file.”
Even if Torminel wrestling didn’t quite allow bashing an opponent’s head in, Martinez knew it was an aggressive style that included strangulation and all sorts of unpleasant, painful joint manipulation and pressure point attacks. He could now see Chandra immobilizing Fletcher long enough to hustle him to his desk and slam his head against its sharp edge, in the process leaving her fingerprints on the underlip.
“I also see,” Michi said, “that you and Lieutenant Prasad shared a communications course some years ago.”
“That’s true. While she was there, she didn’t murder anyone that I know of.”
Michi’s lips twitched in a grim smile. “I’ll take your enthusiastic character reference under advisement. Did you notice that Captain Fletcher gave Prasad a venomous efficiency report?”
“I saw that, yes. But I know of no evidence that she was aware of it.”
“Perhaps she wanted to prevent it from being written, but was too late.” Michi tapped her fingers on her desktop. “I’d like you to inquire, as discreetly as possible, about Prasad’s movements during the watch in which Captain Fletcher was killed.”
“I can’t possibly be discreet with such an inquiry,” Martinez said. “And besides, Garcia already accounted for everyone on the ship.”
“Garcia is an enlisted man and experiences a natural diffidence when interrogating officers. An officer is best for these things.”
Martinez decided he might as well concede. He no longer knew why he was defending Chandra in any case.
“Well,” he said, “I’m interviewing the lieutenants one by one anyway. I’ll ask them about that night, but I don’t think any will give me a story different from anything they’ve already told Garcia.”
“I mess in the wardroom,” Xi said. “I could make a few inquiries as well.”
“Wemust find an answer,” Michi said.
On his way to his office, Martinez contemplated Michi’s choice of words: she had saidan answer, notthe answer.
He wondered if Michi was willing to sacrificethe answer—thereal answer—in favor ofany answer. An answer that would end the doubts and questions on the ship, that would help to unifyIllustrious under its new captain, that would put the entire incident to bed and letIllustrious, and the entire squadron, get on with their job of fighting Naxids.
It was a solution that would sacrifice an officer, that was true, but an officer who was an outsider, a provincial Peer from a provincial clan, isolated from the others who had all been handpicked by Fletcher. An officer who no one seemed to like very much anyway.