That wasn’t quite correct I struggled, but managed to lift a hand that was shaking and show two fingers.
“Oh… you spent two tours so that the service would pay for your doctorate as well?”
I indicated that I had.
“So you put in forty percent of the time for a full pension, then walked away?”
I would have shrugged, but decided against it.
“Did the Comity Diplomatic Corps talk to you about your service when they offered you the fellowship?”
I shook my head again. I hadn’t really been offered it. For all the generous remuneration, I’d been given the choice of accepting it or facing severe administration disapproval for the rest of what would have been a severely shortened academic career. Morgan evidently thought I’d been selected because of my commando background. That was not only possible, but, in retrospect, highly probable. Even more chilling was that someone had noted my ongoing dedication to physical fitness and to my continued practice of basic commando moves and techniques.
Morgan’s questions blurred together around the same topic.
“Did anyone ask you if you had maintained your conditioning?”
“Have you ever engaged in any martial arts competitions since your release from duty?”
“Do you know of anyone at the university who was aware of your commando past or your abilities?”
“Have you ever written or published any articles or books that demonstrated a personal knowledge of commando operations or tactics?”
Finally, the commander surveyed me, taking in my inert status. “One last question. Did you apply for the fellowship you were granted?”
That was an easy headshake.
All Morgan had done since arriving in the infirmary was to question me as though I’d been somehow guilty of some obscure failure of military jurisprudence, which I was not. What made it more irritating was that I’d never really even asked to be a part of the expedition. I’d been pushed into it. Exasperation doubtless manifested itself in my eyes—and the set of my jaw.
“I’m sorry, Professor, for asking all that, but we’re still trying to make sense of things.”
I managed a weak snort. He wasn’t trying to do that. He was trying to find out more about the composition of the scientific team and wondering if he’d been outmaneu-vered by the Comity Diplomatic Corps. From his reaction—and mine—it was more than obvious that we’d both been manipulated, and that the Diplomatic Corps had been far more concerned about infiltration than they had indicated to anyone. Morgan was justifiably irritated, but he didn’t have to take it out on me, especially in the state in which I found myself.
“I’m lucky that you can’t talk, because I have the feeling you have more than a bit to say. Just remember, Professor, we’re in this together.”
I scarcely could have forgotten.
When he left, I was still fuming, if bottled and exasperated rage qualified as such, and worried about Lieutenant Chang. She had been headed straight toward the second assassin when I’d been hit, and I still didn’t know if she had been one of the casualties.
The doctor reappeared. “You need to calm down, Professor Fitzhugh. I know that you must be upset about learning about the deaths—”
I shook my head and nodded, attempting to convey the idea that what he said wasn’t precisely correct.
I held up my hand and mimed writing, then keyboard-ing.
“I’ll see what I can do.” His expression was one of concern, far more than Commander Morgan had expressed.
Within moments, he returned with a stylus and an impression pad. “I don’t have a keyboard that I can use around the medcrib.”
The tremors in my hand almost triumphed over my will, but I managed to scrawl two words: “Who died?”
The doctor warred with the major, but finally he spoke. “You’re well enough to know. Not the captain, and the exec wasn’t there. Mostly pilots…”
I tried not to wince, but waited.
“Major Tepper, Major Alynso, Lieutenant Braun, Lieutenant Rigney, Lieutenant Rynd, and Lieutenant Beurck.”
I crabbed out two more words. “Other injured?”
“You’re in your own company, Professor. No one else was injured, except for scrapes and bruises.”
I nodded and mouthed the words, “Thank you.” “You need some rest. I’m going to step up a touch of relaxants.”
More blackness and hot needles weren’t anywhere near the top of my desires, conscious or unconscious, but he had already programmed the medcrib, because my eyes began to close even before I could lift a finger to express a contrary opinion on the impression pad.
51
Chang
Morgan insisted on cutting the number of shuttle runs down to Danann and back. Also worked out something with the mech chiefs so that none of the techs ever worked alone on the shuttles. Still, days were long.
From what I overheard from the experts I carried plan-etside, no one had found anything new. Same kinds of buildings everywhere, all sealed, with nothing inside. No sign of any life, except maybe something on the microscopic goo level. Water still boiled under the first lake, but it reached the equilibrium that Lazar had predicted. Just got steam that froze soon as it cleared the lake ice. Glad he was right. So far, anyway.
I’d checked on the professor several times, but he was still in the medcrib. Early oneday, found a message for me on the system from Major DeLisle. Since I’d stopped to check on Professor Fitzhugh several times, he thought I’d like to know the professor could receive visitors.
Had oneday as a standby. Lerrys was duty with shuttle two. Midmorning I went down to deck thirty. Most times, I’d dealt with the medtech. This time, DeLisle was there, brown-haired, blocky, muscular. Didn’t fit the image of his name.
“Lieutenant Chang, I thought you might like to see the professor. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”
Ignored the question. “Has anyone stopped to see him?”
DeLisle smiled faintly. “One of the other professors. She didn’t stay long. The captain was here briefly. Commander Morgan has stopped several times—and the artist. He was here earlier this morning.”
Morgan wouldn’t give up on the Diplomatic Corps. Didn’t understand why he was pushing Fitzhugh. Unconscious agents were just that, and that was why they used them. Ser Barna seemed decent. He’d been sitting with the professor when everything went to shit. Probably came to thank Fitzhugh.
The professor didn’t look bad. Not for someone who’d almost died, and should have. He was propped up in a bed, but his left side was partly encased in an extension of the medcrib.
“Professor.”
“Lieutenant Chang.” His voice was low and raspy. “I must apologize for the less-than-acceptable resonance of my speech, but I’ve suffered a certain debilitation.”
Couldn’t help but smile at the wryness in his tone and words. “Anyone else wouldn’t have been debilitated. They’d have been dead. I wanted to thank you, tell you…” What could tell him that wouldn’t sound patronizing?
He lifted his right hand, waved off my words. Did it in a courtly way, though. “You did the hard part, I heard. If you had not incapacitated the remaining assassin, what I did would have been immaterial and irrelevant.”
“You were commando, weren’t you? First elite?”
He lifted his eyebrows.
“Team leader, too, I’d bet.”
“I trust that I have the sagacity never to wager anything against you, Lieutenant. You perceive for more than others are willing to credit you. You were doubtless far more effective than I, since you have not spent days unaware of what transpired around you, and you are not surrounded by medical apparatus, with every bodily and mental function fully monitored.”