“Thank you, Sergeant Major,” he said, relief clear in his voice. “I’ll be taking the tram in from here.”
That was a bit odd, if he had his own vehicle. But she agreed, then looked up the schedule and realized she had twenty minutes she could spend making notes in her implant from her meeting with the Rector.
Mata, when he arrived, proved to be a short, square-built young man with the slight furrow in his brow she’d often noted with clerks in every division. His uniform was immaculate, his eyes clear with no clouding from drink or drugs, and his hand, when she shook it was firm and dry. All good signs.
“Come in,” Morrison said. She led him into the dining area, where she’d laid the files she’d brought on the polished table. Grace Vatta’s file was already locked in the suite’s safe. She noticed the slight relaxation when he saw a table with files and a teacup, familiar territory. “Have a seat. Do you want water or anything?”
“No, Sergeant Major. I’m fine.” He sat down after she did, across the table from her.
“You realize I need to record whatever you tell me that bears on official business?” He nodded. “Good. So—what’s the story?” She flicked on the recorder built into the table.
The story, as he told it, brought up the gooseflesh on her arms, even before he mentioned the names.
“Do you have a copy?” she asked.
“Yes, Sergeant Major. Since it’s supposed to be a classified transport I really shouldn’t have, but Irwin—Corporal Irwin, that is—said his colonel insisted on a form 431-B. Classified transports are 433-R. So it’s not a classified form I made copies of, only that the transport’s supposed to be classified.” His look now was pleading.
“Don’t worry,” Morrison said, even as her own worries multiplied. “Do you have a copy with you?”
“Yes—all of them. I made three: one for the file, and one for my colonel. And one for, um, if it was needed.” His face flushed. “I, um, taped them together. Under my shirt.”
“You’re really worried,” Morrison said.
“Yes—it’s not right, Sergeant Major. It’s not just the wrong form, though we have two forms for a reason. If Colonel Higgs had been there, I know he wouldn’t have approved.”
Morrison knew Higgs; she agreed with that assessment. Higgs was the terror of the base when it came to shady transport requests from those who thought the system should be more flexible. And was this why transport of the survivors to a single location had not been immediate: waiting for Higgs to be away on leave? Had someone sent his second, Major Vargas, on TDY to clear the way?
“How long has the lieutenant been in your office?” she asked. “Fairly new or there for… say, the past year?”
“Twenty-six days,” Mata said, in the tone that conveyed too long. “He’s—I shouldn’t criticize an officer—”
Morrison shook her head. “We both work for a living, Mata: spit it out. With his name.”
“Lieutenant Andres Marban. He graduated three years ago and missed his promotion board for O-3. He looks good enough, but he’s always wandering off somewhere. I heard…” A pause in which it was clear Mata realized he might be accused of eavesdropping; she was pleased to note that he didn’t mention it or make up some excuse. “The major ripped into him four days ago—that’s Major Vargas and she’s, um, easily heard—about something.”
“How is he with the office staff?”
A frown. This was not someone eager to criticize officers, another good point. “He’s all right. A bit fussy, but then it’s important to do things the right way. Only he doesn’t, himself. I had something to take to his office and there were red-tabbed files on his desk. He wasn’t there.”
“Mata, you were right to come to me,” Morrison said. “I cannot tell you everything right now—”
“Of course not, Sergeant Major.”
“But there have been concerns, at a high level, about the survivors of the shuttle crash. There’s been difficulty in finding out more, obstructions. This is a very serious matter, and your information is vital. So is your silence. We may even need to protect you from any suspicion.”
“Seriously?”
“Very. Down the passage to the left, there’s a bathroom—get the copies out from under your shirt and bring them to me.”
He returned in a few minutes, uniform correctly put back together, and handed her the copies.
They were warm from his body; she noticed that first. She was familiar with both of the forms he’d mentioned, and ran her eye down the white page of the first copy. Names, ranks, serial numbers—
“Did the other corporal—Irwin—provide you this information?” If so, the opposition was stupid—and she didn’t think they were.
“Not at first, Sergeant Major, not even the names. I told him I had to have names. That’s all he’d give me; he said to make up the rest, but hurry. I told him to get out for a little while, let me work. And he did. Then I looked up the names in the all-branch database. The only one I had to make things up for was Gossin—there are a lot of Gossins.”
“Staff Sergeant Gossin,” Morrison said.
“The database gave me the units of the others, and serial numbers and all. I still didn’t have the signature of the requesting officer, but it had to be Irwin’s colonel—”
She could see the name in the box: Victor Prelutsky. She’d pull his file out of the database when she and Mata were finished. “I’m going to call someone,” she said to Mata. “Sit tight. Have you had supper?”
“No…” The uncertainty in his voice, the fear that he would bolt, stopped her for a moment.
“I have bar food,” she said. “If you eat fried stuff with cheese on it, and watch the game on my big set, then you’ll be able to talk game with the others later, right?”
“Yes,” he said, his eyes lighting.
“Good. Turn it on. I’ll bring the food in and then call.”
Shortly he was settled on the deep soft couch in the suite’s living room, watching the game—not as much fun as in a bar for him, she suspected, though these days she preferred being alone to having her shoulders pounded and her ears assaulted by the noise in a sports bar. The microwave made short work of heating up sausage and chicken chunks and melting the cheese. She put it all in a large bowl, on a large tray, added two kitchen towels, and set that on the table in front of the couch.
“I should warn you, I borrowed this apartment for a few days from a civilian, so we need to be careful about spillage. You would be anyway, but add another fifty percent.”
“Yes, Sergeant Major.”
“But don’t go hungry. I’ll be back shortly.”
Mata turned the volume up on the vid, not too loud but loud enough to cover whatever she said; she leaned against the doorframe in the bedroom and called MacRobert’s number.
“Sergeant Major.”
“Yes. I have just had a most interesting conversation with someone who works on base. It may be connected.”
“Yes?”
“Is Sera Vatta available?”
“I see. I will inquire.”
“Sergeant Major.” That was the Rector. “You have important news?”
“Yes. Not all that we need, but more names than we had before.”
“Can you come now?”
“No. I’m concerned about the informant. He’ll be missed if not on duty tomorrow.”
“Suspected?”
“Possibly.”
“We really can’t stash another at Helen’s.” Grim amusement colored the Rector’s voice. “Assessment of this individual’s acting ability?”
“Moderate. He’s watching the ball game and eating bar snacks.”
“Well, that’s normal enough. Drunk or sober?”
“Only one beer, not here. Sober enough.”