since he was fairly sure of his ground there. At disrupter point, the medtech produced her official inventory and began turning out

drawers under Miles's intent eye. With a sure instinct Miles focused first on drugs capable of abuse, and immediately turned up some

nicely embarrassing discrepancies.

Next was equipment. Miles itched to get to the cryogenic chamber,

but his sense of showmanship held it for last. There were enough

other breakdowns. Some of his grandfather's more acerbic turns of

phrase, suitably edited, had turned the medtech's face to chalk by the time they arrived at the pièce de résistance.

"And just how long has this chamber been out of commission,

Medtech?"

"Six months," she muttered. "The repairs engineer kept saying he'd get to it," she added defensively at Miles's frown and raised eyebrows.

"And you never thought to stir him up? Or more properly, ask your superior officers to do so?"

"It seemed like there was plenty of time. We haven't used—"

"And in that six months your captain never once even ran an in-house inspection?"

"No, sir."

Miles swept Auson and Thorne with a gaze like a dash of cold

water, then let his eye deliberately linger on the covered form of the dead man. "Time ran out for your pilot officer."

"How did he die?" asked Thorne, sharply, like a sword thrust.

Miles parried with a deliberate misunderstanding. "Bravely. Like a soldier." Horribly, like an animal sacrifice, his thought corrected.

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Imperative they don't figure that out. But, "I'm sorry," he added impulsively. "He deserved better."

The medtech was looking at Thorne, stricken. Thorne said gently,

"The cryo chamber wouldn't have done much good for a disrupter blast to the head anyway, Cela."

"But the next casualty," Miles interposed, "might be some other injury." Excellent, that the excessively observant lieutenant had evolved a personal theory as to how the pilot officer happened to be dead without a mark on him. Miles was vastly relieved, not least

because it freed him of having to dishonorably burden the medtech

with a guilt not rightfully hers.

"I will send you the engineering technician later today," Miles went on. "I want every piece of equipment in here operating properly by tomorrow. In the meantime you can start putting this place in an

order more like a military sickbay and less like a broom closet, is that understood, Medtech?" He dropped his voice to a whisper, like the hiss of a whip.

The medtech braced to attention, and cried, "Yes, sir!" Auson was flushed; Thorne's lips were parted in an expression very like

appreciation. They left her pulling out drawers with trembling hands.

Miles motioned the two mercenaries ahead of him down the

corridor, and fell behind for an urgent whispered conference with