"But this ship--this ship was even more undermanned than usual. Less than a week or so ago, one of its two crewmen got sick. He was detached when the scout neared Last Landing, and the ship was ordered to complete its patrol sweep with only one man, until a replacement could be assigned."
Garris leaned back in his swivel seat and considered that, looking thoughtful. "You're right," he said finally. "It's something, but it doesn't provide any answers. And there are an awful lot of questions."
He began to tick off questions on his fingers. "Number one," he said, "--if the scout was attacked, why didn't the crew report it? The computer would have detected an attacker. Number two--why didn't they, or he, or whatever, run away? A scout is faster than any warship. Number three--why would anyone attack a single scoutship anyway? To save a war fleet from detection? But they'd have to knock out more than one ship for that. Number four--if it was an attack, who did it? The KwanDellan? But why? That doesn't make sense. Number five--if it wasn't an attack, why did the ship stop signaling? What else could possibly destroy an armed and shielded starship in deep space? Number six--"
"Enough," Richey interrupted, scowling. "I see what you mean. A lot doesn't fit together."
Garris nodded. "Admiral Mandel has a theory," he said, but his expression made it perfectly clear what he thought of the admiral's theory. "He thinks the KwanDellan hailed our ship openly, acted friendly, and then crept up into range and attacked. That answers some questions--like why the crew didn't run or call. But it doesn't explain the motivation for the attack. And theories that explain that don't explain the other things." He frowned.
After a pause, the captain leaned forward again, and flipped through the papers until he found the crew roster. "Which one of these men was aboard?" he asked.
"Hollander," Richey replied. "Craig Hollander, junior crewman."
"Request a facsimile of the file on the man, " Garris ordered. "Maybe that will tell us something. And have someone locate his next of kin and inform them that he's missing."
The first officer nodded, rose, and saluted briskly. After he had left, Garris continued to turn the puzzle over in his mind.
The captain knew full well what Mandel expected him to find, evidence of a KwanDellan attack. Nothing would please the admiral more. It was common knowledge around the fleet that Mandel was an aging incompetent who had been sent to the Periphery to keep him out of the way. But a war--with him in the front lines--might wipe out some of the admiral's past mistakes and catapult him back into Earth's good graces.
Garris, on the other hand, didn't need a war. He was already indecently young to be wearing a captain's star clusters. And the Mjolnir, although a battle-scarred relic, was still a dreadnought, with awesome firepower and a crew of more than a hundred. Every captain in the fleet who didn't command a dreadnought wanted to--and Garris already had one. The Periphery wasn't exile for him. It was another step on the way up.
But there were still things in his way. Like Mandel, who despised him for his youth and his success and was doing everything in his power to block Garris' further advancement.
If he could crack this thing--and crack it in a way that made the admiral look foolish--it could only help, Garris figured. Mandel would probably be sent off to still more distant exile. And he, Garris, would get a promotion. Perhaps a transfer to one of the new dreadnoughts, engaging in real exploration.
The captain smiled faintly and began to pore over the papers that Richey had left. This was too good an opportunity to pass up.
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