The white-haired Commodore bustled down the corridor, the tightness of the tunic and trousers indicating either vanity or a recent weight gain. The gold sleeve slashes glittered, indicating a recent promotion, in contrast to the row of faded ribbons across a heavy chest.
He passed a junior officer in exercise shorts and shirt, sweat streaming from his forehead, who stared at the sight of a Commodore in full-dress uniform hurrying through the Intelligence sector’s physical training and demonstration facilities.
The Commodore felt the look and withered the unfortunate with a single steely glance, continuing his short quick steps until he arrived at the locked portal. His fingers proffered the entry card, danced over the console to enter a code, and presented a full handprint to the screen.
Bleep.
The portal irised open, and the senior officer hurried through, immediately turning left toward the combat simulation sector.
The multiple-target simulator was behind the third portal on the right side.
Taking a small plate from his belt, the Commodore deftly made two adjustments to the entry log console, then stepped through the portal. The small anteroom was empty, two chairs vacant for users who might have to wait their turn. Two additional closed portals confronted the older-looking officer.
Without hesitation, he took the one on the left, and bounded up the two steps into the simulator control room.
“What…Commodore? This—”
Thrummm!
Even before the young technician had collapsed over the console, the Commodore had reached her and pulled her and the swivel in which she had slumped away from the board.
His fingers tapped three studs, and light flooded the simulator below and back up through the armaglass window. He tapped another stud and spoke into the directional cone. “Maintenance problem. The system seems to have dropped the lighting parameters. We should be able to bring the backup on line. Do you want to begin the sequence again, or to continue from where it broke?”
“Hades! Can’t you techs ever run anything right?”
The Commodore smiled a wintry smile through the one-way glass as he saw the man in the camouflage suit stand up in the far corner. Another man moved on the far side of the now large and empty room that had been filled with holographic projections not moments before.
“We do our best, sir.” The Commodore paused, then continued. “While we’re getting back on line, there’s a Commodore Thrukma here. He says he needs a moment with Commander Allen, if one of you is Commander Allen.”
“Thrukma? Never heard of him. What does he want?” The leaner and older man holstered the needler and turned toward the portal that would lead him back to the anteroom.
“He says that you already know.”
Commander Allen frowned, but said nothing as he palmed the portal release. “Be back in a minute, Forstmann. Try the sequence yourself.”
The Commodore obliged by rekeying the holotrack and tapping the “resume” stud. Then he turned to the portal through which he had entered, his own needler in hand.
Thring.
Thud.
The man who wore the name Thrukma on his tunic shook his head slowly as he looked at the body sprawled halfway through the portal.
Commander Allen wore the same frown with which he had left the simulator. Not even the neat hole through his forehead had erased all the lines on his face.
The Commodore checked the body, to ensure that the good Commander was as deceased as he looked, to slip several items into the Commander’s equipment belt, and to make the changes and adjustments to the two needlers.
Then, moving quickly, he ran his fingers over the console. Next he dragged the body all the way into the control room before locking the control room portal behind him.
Finally, he locked the portal into the simulator, making it difficult, if not impossible, for Lieutenant Forstmann to leave the simulator without outside assistance. That would ensure Forstmann raised no alarm until either someone finally broke into the simulator or the technician recovered.
With a last look around, the Commodore palmed the portal to the main corridor, stepping outside. Without seeming to, he scanned the corridor and, seeing no one, made a final entry on the console portal controls, an entry that effectively locked them to all comers. While the tampering would be recorded under Commodore Thrukma’s name, the Commodore would long since have vanished by the time it mattered.
The white-haired man turned from the portal and picked up his short steps toward the less secured section of the Intelligence physical training facility.
With the same deft manipulations, he logged himself out of the secure section and into the regular training area.
He began to bustle toward the main exit.
“Commodore?”
The voice came from a senior Commander, wearing, unfortunately, the Intelligence Service insignia on his collar.
“Yes, Commander.” The Commodore’s voice was neutral, yet condescending at the same time.
“I do not believe we have met, and your name is not posted to Headquarters…”
“Thrukma, Commander. If you check the most recent listing, I believe you will find it. It’s spelled T-H-R-U-K-M-A. From Tierna, Fifth Fleet. Had the Alaric.”
“Alaric? That the one—”
“Exactly. The same one, for better or worse.” The Commodore’s dark gray eyes focused on the Commander. “And you, Commander Persnal, if I recall correctly, were the watch officer on the Challenger at Landrik.”
A slow flush crept over the collar of the dark-haired Commander, and his jaw tightened.
“Your pass, please, Commodore.”
“Of course, Persnal. Of course. You always were a stickler for the rules, and I see you haven’t changed at all.” The Commodore flashed a purple oblong and nodded toward the main exit. “I believe the nearest verification console is there.”
Persnal swallowed, but said nothing, standing well aside from the senior officer. The flush had subsided, and his sallow complexion had become even paler as he trailed the quick-stepping Commodore.
Two Imperial Marines and a duty technician waited behind the shielded consoles, bored looks on all three faces.
“Problems, Commander?”
“Problems, Commodore?”
The Marines had addressed the Commodore. The duty technician had addressed the Commander.
“No,” answered the Commodore. “Just posted here, and the Commander does not know me personally. He has suggested, as ranking Intelligence officer, that I verify my clearance and identity.” The Commodore stepped up to the console and inserted the purple card, tapped in his codes, and presented his hand to the scanner.
Bleep. The console flashed green, after an almost undetectable pause, and displayed an authorization code. All three ratings scanned it and nodded, virtually simultaneously.
The Commander frowned, studied the screen, studied the Commodore, then checked the screen again.
“Now,” suggested the Commodore, “how about verifying who you are?”
“But…I’m the duty officer…”
“I don’t know that…and I don’t think you look like the Major, I mean Commander Persnal who was…on the Challenger. So be a good officer and oblige me, Persnal.”
The Commander looked at the suddenly blank-faced technician and the impassive Marines, then back at the Commodore. The flush returned to his face, but he extracted a purple card seemingly identical to the one that Commodore had proffered and placed it on the console, adding his own keycode and placing his hand on the scanner.
Bleep.
“Good,” noted the Commodore. “Good day, Commander. A pleasure to meet you again and to know you still regard the rules as paramount. I’m sure we’ll be seeing more of each other.” He palmed the portal release and stepped through, out into the afternoon sunshine.
With a glance at the senior officer quarters, he stepped toward the transportation center, where the dispatch records would indicate that Commodore Thrukma had requisitioned a flitter for Central City.